very creditable--quite as good as one sees on any polo field in
England."
Major Hammerslea looked at him severely, as if his youth were not wholly
an excuse. "It is, as I said," he observed. "It is one thing to ride an
American pony and another to ride a British Hunter. One requires
horsemanship, the other does not. And horsemanship," he continued,
"which properly is the guiding of a horse across country, requires years
of study and experience."
Lord Frederic looked somewhat unconvinced but he said nothing.
"Of course the dear Major (she called it deah Majaw) is unquestionably
right," said Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"Undoubtedly," said Mr. Carteret. "I suppose that he has often seen
Indians ride?"
"Have you often seen these Indians ride?" inquired Mrs. Ascott-Smith of
the Major.
"Do you mean Indians or the Red Men of North America?" replied the
Major. "And do you mean upon ponies in a show or upon British Hunters?"
"Which do you mean?" asked Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"I suppose that I mean American Indians," said Mr. Carteret, "and either
upon ponies or upon British Hunters."
"No," said the Major, "I have not. Have you?"
"Not upon British Hunters," said Mr. Carteret.
"But do you think that they could?" inquired Lord Frederic.
"It would be foolish of me to express an opinion," replied Mr. Carteret,
"because, in the first place, I have never seen them ride British
Hunters over jumps--"
"They would come off at the first obstacle," observed the Major, more in
sorrow than in anger.
"And in the second place," continued Mr. Carteret, "I am perhaps
naturally prejudiced in behalf of my fellow countrymen."
Mrs. Ascott-Smith looked at him anxiously. His sister had married a
British peer. "But you Americans are quite distinct from the red
Indians," she said. "We quite understand that nowadays. To be sure, my
dear Aunt--" She stopped.
"Rather!" said Mrs. Archie Brawle. "You don't even intermarry with them,
do you?"
"That is a matter of personal taste," said Mr. Carteret. "There is no
law against it."
"But nobody that one knows--" began Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"There was John Rohlfs," said Mr. Carteret; "he was a very well known
chap."
"Do you know him?" asked Mrs. Brawle.
The Curate sniggered. His hour of triumph had come. "Rohlfs is dead," he
said.
"Really!" said Mrs. Brawle, coldly. "It had quite slipped my mind. You
see I never read the papers during the hunting. But is his wife
received?"
"I believe that she was," said Mr. Carteret.
The Curate was still sniggering and Mrs. Brawle put her glass in her eye
and looked at him. Then she turned to Mr. Carteret. "But all this," she
said, "of course, has nothing to do with the question. Do you think that
these red Indians could ride bareback across our country?"
"As I said before," replied Mr. Carteret, "it would be silly of me to
express an opinion, but I should be interested in seeing them try it."
"I have a topping idea!" cried Lord Frederic. He was a simple-minded
fellow.
"You must tell us," exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"Let us have them down, and take them hunting!"
"How exciting!" exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith. "What sport!"
The Major looked at her reprovingly. "It would be as I said," he
observed.
"But it would be rather interesting," said Mrs. Brawle.
"It might," said the Major, "it might be interesting."
"It would be ripping!" said Lord Frederic. "But how can we manage it?"
"I'll mount them," said the Major with a grim smile. "My word! They
shall have the pick of my stable though I have to spend a month
rebreaking horses that have run away."
"But it isn't the mounts," said Lord Frederic. "You see I've never met
any of these chaps." He turned to Mr. Carteret with a sudden
inspiration. "Are any of them friends of yours?" he asked.
Mrs. Ascott-Smith looked anxiously at Mr. Carteret, as if she feared
that it would develop that some of the people in the show were his
cousins.
"No," he replied, "I don't think so, although I may have met some of
them in crossing the reservations. But I once went shooting with Grady,
one of the managers of the show."
"Better yet!" said Lord Frederic. "Do you think that he would come and
bring some of them down?" he asked.
"I think he would," said Mr. Carteret. He knew that the showman was
strong in Grady--if not the sportsman.
The Major rose to go to the billiard room. "I have one piece of advice
to give you," he said. "This prank is harmless enough, but establish a
definite understanding with this fellow that you are not to be liable in
damages for personal injuries which his Indians may receive. Explain to
him that it is not child's play and have him put it in writing."
"You mean to have him execute a kind of release?" said Mr. Carteret.
"Precisely that," said the Major. "I was once sued for twenty pounds by
a groom that fell off my best hunter and let him run away, and damme,
the fellow recovered." He bowed to the ladies and left the room.
"Of course we can fix all that up," said Lord Frederic. "The old chap is
a bit over cautious nowadays, but how can we get hold of this fellow
Grady?"
"I'll wire him at once, if you wish," said Mr. Carteret, and he went to
the writing table.
"When do you want him to come down?" he asked, as he wrote the address.
"We might take them out with the Pytchley on Saturday," said Lord
Frederic, "but the meet is rather far from our station. Perhaps it would
be better to have them on Thursday with Charley Ploversdale's hounds."
Mr. Carteret hesitated a moment. "Wouldn't Ploversdale be apt to be
fussy about experiments? He's rather conservative, you know, about the
way people are turned out. I saw him send a man home one day who was out
without a hat. It was an American who was afraid that his hair was
coming out."
"Pish," said Lord Frederic, "Charley Ploversdale is mild as a dove."
"Suit yourself," said Mr. Carteret. "I'll make it Thursday. One more
question," he added. "How many shall I ask him to bring down?" At this
moment the Major came into the room again. He had mislaid his
eyeglasses.
"I should think that a dozen would be about the right number," said Lord
Frederic, replying to Mr. Carteret. "It would be very imposing."
"Too many!" said the Major. "We must mount them on good horses and I
don't want my entire stable ruined by men who have never lepped a
fence."
"I think the Major is right about the matter of numbers," said Mr.
Carteret. "How would three do?"
"Make it three," said the Major.
Before dinner was over a reply came from Grady saying that he and three
bucks would be pleased to arrive Thursday morning prepared for a hunting
party.
This took place on Monday, and at various times during Tuesday and
Wednesday, Mr. Carteret gave the subject thought. By Thursday morning
his views had ripened. He ordered his tea and eggs to be served in his
room and came down a little past ten dressed in morning clothes. He
wandered into the dining-room and found Mrs. Ascott-Smith sitting by the
fire entertaining Lord Frederic, as he went to and from the sideboard in
search of things to eat.
"Good morning," said Mr. Carteret, hoarsely.
Lord Frederic looked around and as he noticed Mr. Carteret's morning
clothes his face showed surprise.
"Hello!" he said, "you had better hurry and change, or you will be late.
We have to start in half an hour to meet Grady."
Mr. Carteret coughed. "I don't think that I can go out to-day. It is a
great disappointment."
"Not going hunting?" exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith. "What is the matter?"
"I have a bad cold," said Mr. Carteret miserably.
"But, my dear fellow," exclaimed Lord Frederic, "it will do your cold a
world of good!"
"Not a cold like mine," said Mr. Carteret.
"But this is the day, don't you know?" said Lord Frederic. "How am I
going to manage things without you?"
"All that you have to do is to meet them at the station and take them to
the meet," said Mr. Carteret. "Everything else has been arranged."
"But I'm awfully disappointed," said Lord Frederic. "I had counted on
you to help, don't you see, and introduce them to Ploversdale. It would
be more graceful for an American to do it than for me. You understand?"
"Yes," said Mr. Carteret, "I understand. It's a great disappointment,
but I must bear it philosophically."
Mrs. Ascott-Smith looked at him sympathetically, and he coughed twice.
"You are suffering," she said. "Lord Frederic, you really must not urge
him to expose himself. Have you a pain here?" she inquired, touching
herself in the region of the pleura.
"Yes," said Mr. Carteret, "it is rather bad, but I daresay that it will
soon be better."
"I am afraid that it may be pneumonia," said his hostess. "You must take
a medicine that I have. They say that it is quite wonderful for
inflammatory colds. I'll send Hodgson for it," and she touched the bell.
"Please, please don't take that trouble," entreated Mr. Carteret.
"But you must take it," said Mrs. Ascott-Smith. "They call it
Broncholine. You pour it in a tin and inhale it or swallow it, I forget
which, but it's very efficacious. They used it on Teddy's pony when it
was sick. The little creature died but that was because they gave it too
much, or not enough, I forget which."
Hodgson appeared and Mrs. Ascott-Smith gave directions about the
Broncholine.
"I thank you very much," said Mr. Carteret humbly. "I'll go to my room
and try it at once."
"That's a good chap!" said Lord Frederic, "perhaps you will feel so much
better that you can join us.
"Perhaps," said Mr. Carteret gloomily, "or it may work as it did on the
pony." And he left the room.
After Hodgson had departed from his chamber leaving explicit directions
as to how and how not to use the excellent Broncholine, Mr. Carteret
poured a quantity of it from the bottle and threw it out of the window
resolving to be on the safe side. Then he looked at his boots and his
pink coat and white leathers which were laid out upon a chair. "I don't
think there can be any danger," he thought, "if I turn up after they
have started. I loathe stopping in all day." He dressed leisurely,
ordered his horse, and some time after the rest of the household had
sallied forth, he followed. As he knew the country and the coverts which
Lord Ploversdale would draw, he counted on joining the tail of the hunt,
thus keeping out of sight. He inquired of a rustic if he had seen hounds
pass and receiving "no," for an answer he jogged on at a faster trot,
fearing that the hounds might have gone away in some other direction. As
he came around a bend in the road, he saw four women riding toward him,
and as they drew near, he saw that it was Lady Violet Weatherbone and
her three daughters. These young ladies were known as the Three
Guardsmen, a sobriquet not wholly inappropriate; for, as Lord Frederic
described them, they were "uncommon big boned, upstanding fillies,"
between twenty-five and thirty and very hard goers across any country,
and always together.
"Good morning," said Mr. Carteret, bowing. "I suppose the hounds are
close by?" It was a natural assumption, as Lady Violet on hunting days
was never very far from the hounds.
"I do not know," she responded, and her tone further implied that she
did not care.
Mr. Carteret hesitated a moment. "Has anything happened?" he asked.
"Yes," said Lady Violet frankly, "something has happened." Here the
daughters modestly turned their horses away.
"Some one," continued Lady Violet, "brought savages to the meet." She
paused impressively.
"Not really!" said Mr. Carteret with hypocritical surprise.
"Yes," said Lady Violet, "and while it would have mattered little to me,
it was impossible--" She motioned with her head toward the three
maidens, and paused.
"Forgive me," said Mr. Carteret, "but I hardly understand."
"At the first I thought," said Lady Violet, "that they were attired in
painted fleshings, but upon using my glass, it was clear that I was
mistaken. Otherwise, I should have brought them away at the first
moment."
"I see," said Mr. Carteret. "It is outrageous."
"It is indeed!" said Lady Violet; "but the matter will not be allowed to
drop. They were brought to the meet by that young profligate, Lord
Frederic Westcote."
"You surprise me," said Mr. Carteret, wholly without shame. He bowed,
started his horse, and jogged along for five minutes, then he turned to
the right upon a crossroad and suddenly found himself upon the hounds.
They were feathering excitedly about the mouth of a tile drain into
which the fox had evidently gone. No master, huntsmen nor whips were in
sight, but sitting, wet and mud daubed, upon horses dripping with muddy
water were Grady dressed in cowboy costume and three naked Indians. Mr.
Carteret glanced about over the country and understood. They had swum
the brook at the place where it ran between steep clay banks and the
rest of the field had gone around to the bridge. As he looked toward the
south, he saw Lord Ploversdale riding furiously toward him followed by
Smith, the first whip. Grady had not recognized him turned out in pink
as he was, and for the moment he decided to remain incognito.
Before Lord Ploversdale, Master of Fox-hounds, reached the road, he
began waving his crop. He appeared excited. "What do you mean by riding
upon my hounds?" he shouted. He said this in several ways with various
accompanying phrases, but neither the Indians nor Grady seemed to notice
him. It occurred to Mr. Carteret that although Lord Ploversdale's power
of expression was wonderful for England, it, nevertheless, fell short of
Arizona standards. Then, however, he noticed that Grady was absorbed in
adjusting a kodak camera, with which he was evidently about to take a
picture of the Indians alone with the hounds. He drew back in order both
to avoid being in the field of the picture and to avoid too close
proximity with Lord Ploversdale as he came over the fence into the road.
"What do you mean, sir!" shouted the enraged Master of Fox-hounds, as he
pulled up his horse.
"A little more in the middle," replied Grady, still absorbed in taking
the picture.
Lord Ploversdale hesitated. He was speechless with surprise for the
moment.
Grady pressed the button and began putting up the machine.
"What do you mean by riding on my hounds, you and these persons?"
demanded Lord Ploversdale.
"We didn't," said Grady amiably, "but if your bunch of dogs don't know
enough to keep out of the way of a horse, they ought to learn."
Lord Ploversdale looked aghast, and Smith, the whip, pinched himself to
make sure that he was not dreaming.
"Many thanks for your advice," said Lord Ploversdale. "May I inquire who
you and your friends may be?"
"I'm James Grady," said that gentleman. "This," he said, pointing to the
Indian nearest, "is Chief Hole-in-the-Ground of the Olgallala Sioux. Him
in the middle is Mr. Jim Snake, and the one beyond is Chief Skytail,
being a Pawnee."
"Thank you, that is very interesting," said Lord Ploversdale, with
polite irony. "Now will you kindly take them home?"
"See here," said Grady, strapping the camera to his saddle, "I was
invited to this round-up regular, and if you hand me out any more
hostile talk--" He paused.
"Who invited you?" inquired Lord Ploversdale.
"One of your own bunch," said Grady, "Lord Frederic Westcote. I'm no
butter-in."
"Your language is unintelligible," said Lord Ploversdale. "Where is Lord
Westcote?"
Mr. Carteret had watched the field approaching as fast as whip and spur
could drive them, and in the first flight he noticed Lord Frederic and
the Major. For this reason he still hesitated about thrusting himself
into the discussion. It seemed that the interference of a third party
could only complicate matters, inasmuch as Lord Frederic would so soon
be upon the spot.
Lord Ploversdale looked across the field impatiently. "I've no doubt, my
good fellow, that Lord Westcote brought you here, and I'll see him about
it, but kindly take these fellows home. They'll kill all my hounds."
"Now you're beginning to talk reasonable," said Grady. "I'll discuss
with you."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the hounds gave tongue
riotously and went off. The fox had slipped out of the other end of the
drain and old Archer had found the line.
As if shot out of a gun the three Indians dashed at the stake and bound
fence on the farther side of the road, joyously using their heavy quirts
on the Major's thoroughbreds. Skytail's horse being hurried top much,
blundered his take-off, hit above the knees and rolled over on the
Chief, who was sitting tight. There was a stifled grunt and then the
Pawnee word "Go-dam!"
Hole-in-the-Ground looked back and laughed one of the few laughs of his
life. It was a joke which he could understand. Then he used the quirt
again to make the most of his advantage.
"That one is finished," said Lord Ploversdale gratefully. But as the
words were in his mouth, Skytail rose with his horse, vaulted up and was
away.
The M. F. H. followed over the hedge shouting at Smith to whip off the
hounds. But the hounds were going too fast. They had got a view of the
fox and three whooping horsemen were behind them driving them on.
The first flight of the field followed the M. F. H. out of the road, and
so did Mr. Carteret, and presently he found himself riding between Lord
Frederic and the Major. They were both a bit winded and had evidently
come fast.
"I say," exclaimed Lord Frederic, "where did you come from?"
"I was cured by the Broncholine," said Mr. Carteret.
"Is your horse fresh?" asked Lord Frederic.
"Yes," replied Mr. Carteret, "I happened upon them at the road."
"Then go after that man Grady," said Lord Frederic, "and implore him to
take those beggars home. They have been riding on the hounds for twenty
minutes."
"Were they able," asked Mr. Carteret, "to stay with their horses at the
fences?"
"Stay with their horses!" puffed the Major.
"Go on, like a good chap," said Lord Frederic, "stop that fellow or I
shall be expelled from the hunt. Was Lord Ploversdale vexed?" he added.
"I should judge by his language," said Mr. Carteret, "that he was
vexed."
"Hurry on," said Lord Frederic. "Put your spurs in."
Mr. Carteret gave his horse its head and he shot to the front, but Grady
was nearly a field in the lead, and it promised to be a long chase, as
he was on the Major's black thoroughbred. The cowboy rode along with a
loose rein and an easy balance seat. At his fences he swung his hat and
cheered. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and Mr. Carteret was anxious
lest he might begin to shoot for pure delight. Such a demonstration
would have been misconstrued. Nearly two hundred yards ahead at the
heels of the pack galloped the Indians, and in the middle distance
between them and Grady rode Lord Ploversdale and Smith vainly trying to
overtake the hounds and whip them off. Behind and trailing over a mile
or more came the field and the rest of the hunt servants in little
groups, all awestruck at what had happened. It was unspeakable that Lord
Ploversdale's hounds, which had been hunted by his father and his
grandfather, should be so scandalized.
Mr. Carteret finally got within a length of Grady and hailed him.
"Hello, Carty," said Grady, "glad to see you. I thought you was sick.
What can I do? They've stampeded. But it's a great ad. for the show,
isn't it? There's four reporters that I brought along."
"Forget about the show," said Mr. Carteret. "This isn't any laughing
matter. It's one of the smartest packs in England. You don't
understand."
"It will make all the better story in the papers," said Grady.
"No it won't," said Mr. Carteret. "They won't print it. It's like a
blasphemy upon the Church."
"Whoop!" yelled Grady, as they tore through a bullfinch.
"Call them off," said Mr. Carteret, straightening his hat.
"But I can't catch 'em," said Grady, and that was the truth.
Lord Ploversdale, however, had been gaining on the Indians, and by the
way in which he clubbed his heavy crop, loaded at the butt, it was
apparent that he meant to put an end to the proceedings if he could.
Just then the hounds swept over the crest of a green hill, and as they
went down the other side they viewed the fox in the field beyond. He was
in distress, and it looked as if the pack would kill in the open. They
were running wonderfully together, a blanket would have covered them,
and in the natural glow of pride which came over the M. F. H., he
loosened his grip upon the crop. But as the hounds viewed the fox, so
did the three sons of the wilderness who were following close behind.
From the hill-top fifty of the hardest going men in England saw
Hole-in-the-Ground flogging his horse with the heavy quirt which hung
from his wrist. The outraged British hunter shot forward scattering
hounds to right and left, flew a ditch and hedge and was close on the
fox, who had stopped to make a last stand. Without drawing rein, the
astonished onlookers saw the lean Indian suddenly disappear under the
neck of his horse and almost instantly swing back into his seat waving a
brown thing above his head. Hole-in-the-Ground had caught the fox.
"Most unprecedented!" Mr. Carteret heard the Major exclaim. He pulled up
his horse, as the field did with theirs, and waited apprehensively. He
saw Hole-in-the-Ground circle around, jerk the Major's five hundred
guinea hunter to a standstill close to Lord Ploversdale and address him.
He was speaking in his own language.
As the Chief went on, he saw Grady smile.
"He says," says Grady, translating, "that the white chief can eat the
fox if he wants him. He's proud himself, bein' packed with store grub."
The English onlookers heard and beheld with blank faces. It was beyond
them.
The M. F. H. bowed stiffly as Hole-in-the-Ground's offer was made known
to him. He regarded them a moment in thought. A vague light was breaking
in upon him. "Aw, thank you," he said. "Smith, take the fox. Good
afternoon!"
Then he wheeled his horse, called the hounds in with his horn and
trotted out to the road that led to the kennels. Lord Ploversdale,
though he had never been out of England, was cast in a large mold.
The three Indians sat on their panting horses, motionless, stolidly
facing the curious gaze of the crowd; or rather they looked through the
crowd, as the lion, with the high breeding of the desert, looks through
and beyond the faces that stare and gape before the bars of his cage.
"Most amazing! Most amazing!" muttered the Major.
"It is," said Mr. Carteret, "if you have never been away from this." He
made a sweeping gesture over the restricted English scenery, pampered
and brought up by hand.
"Been away from this?" repeated the Major. "I don't understand."
Mr. Carteret turned to him. How could he explain it?
"With us," he began, laying an emphasis on the "us." Then he stopped.
"Look into their eyes," he said hopelessly.
The Major looked at him blankly. How could he, Major Hammerslea, know
what those inexplicable dark eyes saw beyond the fenced tillage--the
brown, bare, illimitable range under the noonday sun, the evening light
on far, silent mountains, the starlit desert!
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Copyright, 1905, by the Metropolitan Magazine Company.
A BOSTON BALLAD
BY WALT WHITMAN
To get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;
Here's a good place at the corner--I must stand and see the show.
Clear the way there, Jonathan!
Way for the President's marshal! Way for the government cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons--and the apparitions copiously
tumbling.
I love to look on the stars and stripes--I hope the fifes will play
Yankee Doodle.
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town.
A fog follows--antiques of the same come limping,
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless.
Why this is indeed a show! It has called the dead out of the earth!
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see!
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!
Cocked hats of mothy mould! crutches made of mist!
Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's shoulders!
What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering of
bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake your crutches for
fire-locks, and level them?
If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see the President's
marshal;
If you groan such groans, you might balk the government cannon.