“I want you to understand that personally we do not care how many sheep
you have stolen.”
* * * * *
I am at a loss to describe what happened, for the reason that I do not
know. When I awoke I found that I was sitting on the ground with my back
against sort of a trough affair, and Mr. Warner was laving my face with
water, which he was pouring from a boot. Mr. Suggs was sitting in the
same position, with his hands folded on his lap. I said to Mr. Warner—
“Was any one else saved?”
He said something about quite a lot of them getting away alive.
“It was a dreadful calamity,” said Willie Suggs, and his voice sounded
far away. “Some powerful explosive, I presume.”
“I am thankful to have gotten away with my life,” said I.
“I am not sure about mine,” replied Willie. “At times I think I am not
going to recover my equilibrium.”
“I reckon you got Jay-Bird’s goat,” said Mr. Warner.
Willie said he was sorry that a dumb animal should suffer. I asked Mr.
Warner what really happened, and he said it was beyond his descriptive
powers. I think he has little imagination.
Mr. Jones and Mr. Harper came over to us, and Mr. Jones said that we had
better quit and call it a day. It was getting dark.
Mr. Jones took us over and introduced us to a Mr. Samuel Holt, who owns
the hotel. Mr. Jones told us that Mr. Holt was a good old Injun, but he
did not resemble one in the least. We procured a room. I have read
considerable about the American Indian, and I never look down upon any
race, regardless of color. I wished to be friendly with Mr. Holt, so I
asked—
“Have you any papooses?”
He did not seem to understand.
“Have you any papooses?” I cried very loudly. “Indian children?”
There were several cowboys coming out of the dining-room when I asked
the question. I know that Mr. Holt understood, or at least I think he
did.
He stooped down behind the counter and when he came up he had a
two-barreled gun in his hands. Then he slowly laid the gun down. I
noticed that Mr. Jones had a pistol in his hand and it was pointing at
Mr. Holt. Mr. Jones said—
“Have a little sense, Sam.”
We went up-stairs, and as we went I saw the cowboys come up to the
counter. Mr. Holt was watching us go up. One of the cowboys began a
peculiar dance around the room, and at each step he would grunt—
“Hy-yah, hy-yah, hy-yah!”
It seemed to amuse the others—except Mr. Holt.
Mr. Jones took us to a room. I asked him why Mr. Holt was angered at my
question, and he said that Mr. Holt had so many papooses that it made
him angry when anybody asked him how many he had. Mr. Jones went away
after bidding us goodnight.
Willie was very thoughtful for a while, and then he said that we really
should go down and apologize to Mr. Holt. He said that it was the only
decent thing to do. I agreed with him.
We went back down the stairs and found Mr. Holt and three other
gentlemen playing cards in the hotel office. I started to speak to Mr.
Holt, and just then several more men came in. I waited until they come
up to us, and then I said:
“Mr. Holt, my friend Mr. William Burton Suggs and myself have decided to
make a public apology to you. I asked you a very personal question a
short time ago, and I wish to apologize for it.
“I did not know at the time that you were the father of so many
papooses, or I would have never spoken as I did. Although you are a
proud Indian I hope you will accept this apology from a white man.”
Mr. Holt got to his feet very slowly and faced me. I put out my hand to
shake hands with him when something seemed to hit me right between the
eyes, and when I quit rolling I was almost to the door. Then I heard a
voice cry, “Run, you —— fool!” and the form of William Burton Suggs
hurdled over me, evidently intending to go out of the door; but poor
Willie is a trifle nearsighted and mistook the window for the door. I
heard the crash of glass, and then came two thunderous reports. Missiles
seemed to rain all around me, and I tumbled outside.