Now, we knew that Jimmy was a good Injun, or he wouldn't have
had any letter at all; that great, grave face, coupling the seriousness
of childhood and of philosophy, simply offered an irresistible
temptation to the writer of the letter. There was something pathetic
in the way the gigantic savage folded up his treasure and replaced it
in his coat. I think Forsythe would have weakened had he seen it.
Still, after we laughed, we felt all the better disposed toward Jimmy,
so I don't know but it was a good form of introduction after all.
Jimmy was looking for work, a subject of research not general to the
Injun, but by no means so rare as his detractors would make out. He
got it. The job was to clean out Billy Buck's corral. Steve found
employment for the hands close to home for the day, that no one should
miss the result. It is always business first on the ranch, and a
practical joke takes precedence over other labours. Steve hung around
the corral, where he could peek through the chinks. Hoarse whispers
inquiring "Anything up yet?" were for so long answered in the negative,
that it seemed the day had been in vain. At last the welcome shout
rang out, "Injun and deer fight! Everybody run!" We flew, breathless
with anticipatory chuckles. We landed on top of the shed, to witness
an inspiring scene--one long-legged, six-foot-and-a-half Injun,
suitably attired in a plug hat, cutaway coat, breech-clout, and
mocassins, grappling in mortal combat a large and very angry deer.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52