CHAPTER XV
A FRONTIER DANCE
Two cowboys came to the ranch of the scout with a herd of cattle; one a half-breed, the other a white man, sinewy, tall and straight. He was a typical cowboy who had lived a life of adventure and hardship, rugged and bronzed by the sun. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, leather chaps, and high-heeled boots; a knotted scarlet handkerchief round his neck, and a cartridge belt with a six-shooter hanging from his hips. His fearless gray eyes looked straight out at me, and he moved and spoke with an easy, careless air of confidence. He had a smiling face and talked in a high squeaky voice that sometimes broke.
Yellow Bird told me, with mingled awe and admiration, that he was a famous bandit named “Slim.” The United States Government had a reward on him dead or alive. Single-handed he held up a Montana stage, and an express train on the Northern Pacific Railway. Now he was trying to get a herd of stolen cattle across the border-line into Canada; they were “mavericks,” or unbranded cattle, taken out of many herds.
Because of his adventurous life, Slim carried several bullets in his body. His right arm was so crippled that he could not lift his hand to his mouth. But, in spite of his wounds, he could still rope cattle and break wild horses; and was a dead shot with both hands.
I saw him break a vicious bronco to the saddle. He went into our high round horse corral, with smooth and easy gait, jangling spurs, and dragging his lariat which he coiled as he went. He lost no time and his movements were quiet and catlike. He did not seem to lift his arm or move; suddenly his noose shot out its full length and settled gracefully over the neck of the bronco. It bawled with rage and fear; threw down its head and sprang high into the air. It walked about on its hind legs, striking with forefeet and threw itself over backwards. But Slim finally mastered and tied it to the snubbing post. When he had finished his job, he could ride it without bucking, and led it about with a rope.
From the first I took a liking to this brave and hardy bandit, with smiling face and winning way and nerves of steel. He had a pleasant and easy-going disposition, with a broad and genial tolerance. He did not look down upon people with a different code, or hold it against me because my actions were within the law. To him there was nothing out of the way in robbing stages and trains and driving stolen cattle. He did not speak of these things, nor did he boast of them; to him they needed no apology. He was simple-hearted and generous—a type that would quietly face death without flinching, be faithful to friends and chivalrous towards women. But he would pursue an enemy with bitter and vindictive hatred.
Like all cowboys Slim loved excitement—especially a dance. That night there was going to be a party down the river at the Lone Wolf Ranch; and Slim asked me to go along.
Before dark we saddled our horses and rode together. I did not ask about his life; it was not customary in that country. But he told me of adventures in former days with wild animals and hostile Indians; and all the time he spoke his steel-gray eyes looked straight into mine. He talked simply and with a careless drawl, not seeming to feel there was anything unusual or exciting in his tales. But for me they had a strange charm—the way he told them, with a high squeaky voice, dry humor, picturesque cowboy language, and good-natured oaths.
With his partner he once roped a big grizzly, which charged from a thicket and chased them into the open. They were mounted on agile cow-horses that ran like the wind; but a fall would have meant death. Slim threw his lariat round the neck of the bear and his partner roped her hind feet. The grizzly bellowed with rage and foamed at the mouth. She tried to charge and floundered on the ropes; she reared and struck wildly with all fours; but in their grasp she was helpless. With ropes snubbed to their pommels and horses pulling in different directions they together stretched her out; and after a while turned her loose.
The dance at the Lone Wolf Ranch was given by the sisters Katoyísa and Nínake, and was free to all; every one in that region, both Indian and white, was welcome. People came long distances in wagons or on horseback—entire families—mothers with young babies. A log-shack close to the cabin was used by the women, and there they left their babies and young children to sleep on the floor.
The ranch cabin was lighted by lamps and candles; all three rooms, including the kitchen, were used for dancing. The front door opened upon the main room, a long apartment with low ceiling and walls of hewn logs, chinked and plastered, all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The windows and doors were decorated with green branches and pine boughs, with the Lone Wolf brand made out of juniper on the log walls, also the heads and horns of deer, elk, and mountain sheep. The guests were squaw men with Indian wives, cowboys, and half-breeds. But no men of the older generation of Indians came; it was not their kind of a dance.
The solitary musician was a half-breed who played on a wheezy accordion. He had only one tune, a sort of lively jig. But he played it over and over throughout the night, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.
Slim, Yellow Bird and I took partners and joined in a square dance. At first there was little life or spirit; the dancers were stiff and self-conscious, until Slim took hold. He was a good mixer and a natural master of ceremonies. He was looked up to because of his brawn and genial disposition. He was the life of the party. He went from one room to another, shouting directions to the dancers; he was the caller-off and was witty and funny; he wakened up the half-breed musician and made every dancer “toe the mark.”
Around the walls were bashful cowboys who had not the courage to ask a woman to dance, and breeds of all sorts and mixtures. It was hard to distinguish between Indians and whites. Among the spectators were elderly squaws in bright-colored Indian clothes, grandmothers looking after babies and children, while their daughters danced and had a good time.
At midnight I helped Katoyísa feed the hungry people. We had sweet cake—an unusual luxury—cold beef and bread. The people wanted nourishing food. They always had a craving for meat, especially beef; it took the place of buffalo meat and they felt abused if they did not get it.
We made tea in a great washboiler that nearly covered the stove. The people ate in relays; and we washed dishes in between. I helped Námo, a young Indian woman who had charge of the dishes; she was a great talker and good natured.
After supper even the bashful cowboys limbered up; although some slipped out of sight, because they had not the courage to dance. But never have I seen a crowd of dancers with more dash and enthusiasm.
After midnight only those who were experts in the square dance took the floor. Some had odd steps, like jigs, which they used at every chance. The dancers had no time to rest or sit down; and in their joy they stamped so hard the cabin was filled with dust.
In the early hours of the morning, old women and children lay asleep on the floors. And outside in the shack, they lay so close, there was no room to step, or turn over without waking the others.
At the height of the dance some women got excited and I heard exclamations of fear. They said they had seen a wild face look in at a window. They thought it was the Mad Indian—the murderer who came at night and killed people in the light. So they covered all the windows with blankets and shawls; and for a while no one was willing to open the door, or go out into the night. Perhaps somebody did look in. At the time I paid but little attention; Indian women are superstitious and have vivid imaginations. Besides, I thought the wild tales I heard of a “Mad Indian” might be a myth. But he was no myth. He turned out to be a real Indian, an outcast who had committed murder and was on the warpath—a menace to everybody in that country both Indian and white, seeking to kill as many people as he could before he himself had to die. Later I heard his story from one of the Indian Mounted Police who had captured him alive.