“Come, folks, hurry, hurry! I can hear the Indians’ drums already!” cried Bess, as she ran through the hall and downstairs.
Several guests who had come from Kalispell the day before to see the Indian celebration were with Mrs. West in the living-room.
James Fletcher and Henry West, together with the other gentlemen of the party, were waiting at the gate with several extra saddle horses. Mrs. West expected to drive and call for Mrs. White on the way through Polson. The site selected for the various races and Indian dances was on a level stretch of county South and East from Polson. As the merry party mounted their horses and started they soon came in sight of the large crowd which had already congregated. The incessant muffled sound of the tom-toms or the loud cry of an Indian, came to their ears as they urged the horses so that they might not miss any of the performances.
The first sight which attracted them was a number of squaws and bucks who were seated on either side of a log rapping upon it with sticks. The squaws sang in weird monotones in time with their sounding sticks; and occasionally a buck joined them for a few notes as if to give the song a greater impetus. With a swift motion and a sharp cry one of the bucks pointed with his stick at another Indian who sat opposite him only further down the line. Instantly the music (if indeed it could be called music) ceased, and each one in this gambling game looked expectantly to see if the Indian designated held in his hand the piece of bone which had been passed deftly, and with no little sleight of hand, from one to another. A look of sheer disappointment came into his face, however, and he placed a forfeit with the opposing side. Again the song and drumming were resumed more vigorously than before, the result this time was that one of the bucks arose, removed his blanket and stalked away, amid calls and words of derision and laughter from the others.
West suggested that the party move on and seek some shady place where they might rest and view the dances. They had not long to wait, for presently they saw marching towards them a long file of brilliantly dressed Indians, squaws, papooses and larger children. The squaws were gorgeous in flaming reds and yellows, in purple velvet or red satin, in greens and even one in pink, with floating ribbons and flashing beads and ornaments. They sang in high, shrill tones to the accompaniment of the tom-tom, which was carried by four stalwart bucks beating vigorously and marching ahead.
The Indians in the procession now began forming a circle with the squaws and the drummers in the center where they squatted upon the ground. Now the tom-toms assumed a different tempo, the nasal, piercing singing of the squaws began anew, and simultaneously, at a certain note in the music, all the Indians began the dance. To some, it looked like a confused mass of bending, jumping, moving beings, each of whom seemed bent upon going through the greatest contortions. But when one observed closely it was seen that at a certain beat of the drum the heels came to the ground, then the toes or the whole foot. Their bodies moved forward and backward in graceful savagery. See their gorgeous blankets sway! How the festoons of feathers and fixings wave with each movement of their supple bodies; watch the interested expression on the faces! See that tall, slender buck with a whirl of eagle feathers hanging down his back; hear the bells about his ankles as they jingle in perfect rhythm to the song and drum! Now he has bent forward till the feathers in his hair sweep the dust! Backward he sways and his knees fairly touch his face! See his eyes gleam, how eager is his whole face! How his hands lift high the war implement with its decoration of eagle feathers!
But hark, the music ceases, and at one shrill note the dancers stop. Already each brow is dripping with beads of sweat. Now one Indian, straight, strong, lithe of limb, steps alone upon the trodden circle. The sun makes his almost nude body gleam like burnished copper and dazzles the beads upon his belt and bracelets. A large war bonnet of weasel skins and eagle feathers, with two curved buffalo horns, covers his head and falls down his back till it nearly touches the ground. Bells tinkle upon his moccasins and at his wrists. As he steps out from among the others, cries of approval are heard upon all sides, and Bess knows that he must be some extraordinary Indian. Turning to West she asked who the Indian was, who was about to dance, and what the dance was to be.
“He is Two Feathers, and is noted for his wonderful dancing. This is to be the snake dance, I think,” replied Henry West, as he moved Mauchacho to a better position for the benefit of Bess. Glancing about to see that his guests also had a good view, he rode Eagle over to the carriage where his mother and several other ladies were seated. Assuring himself that they were comfortable and could see the sport, he started to return to Bess’ side when he saw to his chagrin that Mr. Davis, the Indian Agent, had just assumed that position. The girl greeted Mr. Davis, and was introducing him to her companions, when she noticed West standing aloof from the others. In response to a gesture from her he came quickly to her side. “Please stay here, Henry; I want you to tell me about the dances.”
Reluctant though he was to be near Davis and to be compelled to speak with him, he did as she requested. Dismounting, he leaned an arm across the saddle, and only occasionally lifted his face to Bess’ in response to her questions during the dance.
But she was now all absorbed in the graceful undulations of the dancer. See how he stretches out his neck and writhes his body like a huge reptile, curving now to the right, till his face nearly touches his shoulder, and swiftly moving forward and again to the left, in long, gliding vibrations! Some of his manoeuvers were so suggestive of a living snake, that Bess could feel her flesh creep. When the music increased, the singing of the squaws shrieked higher and shriller, the dancer thrust forth his head and hissed. She impulsively threw up her hands which came in unexpected contact with the decoration on her sombrero. She gave a little, nervous scream as she felt the rattles quiver under her touch. West glanced quickly at her and asked anxiously if she were ill. Before she could reply, however, Davis said, “Really Bess, this exhibition of savagery is rather hard on your nerves. Let me take you away!”
He looked with insolent eyes at Henry West who met the gaze without a tremor of the eyelashes.
“It is not that which made me act so silly. I unconsciously touched these things on my hat and they always send the shivers through me. I could not bear them at all, except that they are my first trophy.”
“Are you coming with me?” asked Davis, as he began to turn his horse’s head.
“Oh, no; for see, all the others are now joining Two Feathers in the snake ceremony! See! even those small boys are dancing like old warriors!”
Forward and backward swayed the circle of dancers, undulating in and out past each other; bending their bodies low towards the ground with a creeping movement until they seemed like a huge, squirming mass of bright colored and winged reptiles. In measured tread they danced, they swayed, they moved, in perfect time to the singing of the squaws and the hollow sounding drum. Their heels struck the earth with such unison that one could feel the vibrations. Would they never tire?
West asked to be excused, as he wished to prepare his horses for the relay race which was to begin later. The fact was, he felt himself growing hot and angry in Davis’ presence and feared that something might occur to make him lose his self-control. Once during the conversation Davis had asked Henry West why he had not joined in the dance. Bess did not see the smiling sneer as he asked the question, and consequently thought it was only meant for a joke.
“Fancy Henry dancing with the Indians and with a blanket on,” laughed Bess, as she patted him on the shoulder and looked at him with saucy, smiling eyes from under her fluffy hair. She could not know that the malicious remark of Davis cut West like a knife, and did not understand that the purport of the words was—“why do you not go where you belong instead of mingling with white people.” For a brief moment West looked at Davis, who quickly turned his face; then he said carelessly and indifferently, “I know all those dances, Miss Bess, and perhaps some day you may be applauding me instead of Two Feathers.”
As he lifted his broad-brimmed hat to her and the others in the party, he sprang to the saddle with one easy swing of his leg, reined Eagle abruptly about and started swiftly away. Davis looked at Bess as she watched Henry West, feeling no little chagrin at her look. She seemed to lose interest in the dances now that he was gone, and though Davis tried to point out the especial features of the Sun dance and Medicine dance, she watched them half-interestedly.
“Come—let us see if the others have not had quite enough by this time,” said Bess, after the Indians had given two more long, fantastic dances.
As the horses were brought out for the relay race, and the party moved to be nearer the track Bess again became filled with excitement. James had explained to her that this race was ten miles, or around the half-mile track twenty times; there were three entries and each rider could have three horses. They were to change horses, re-saddle and remount unassisted, except that some one could help in holding the horses after each mile. The rider completing in the quickest time, of course, won the prize. Bess had only eyes for Henry West as he led his horses down the track to the starting point. One horse was already saddled, and walking by West’s side was the Indian who was to ride his horses.
Presently the other men with their horses and riders were ready. The three Indians mounted; the crowd was waved back out of the way; everyone grew expectant and interested. At the crack of a pistol the horses were off like a flash amid clouds of dust. Evidently they were not new at this kind of racing and were eager for the sport. As they sped around the track they were almost abreast, and as the mile was nearly run West’s horse was a length behind the other two. As they neared the wire where each horse was being held ready to receive its saddle and respective rider, each slackened his pace and now simultaneously the three riders slid from their horses, quickly unbuckled the saddles, flung them upon the waiting horses, and with quick and sure fingers girted them, remounted and were off! Swift Arrow, the Indian riding for West, had changed his saddle so quickly that his horse was ready to start when the others were. This second horse kept apace with the others and toward the end of the half mile was gaining slightly. One of the other horses suddenly bolted off the track, and by the time the rider had him under control he was at least a quarter behind. Again at the change Swift Arrow’s deft fingers had adjusted the saddle, remounted and was off before the second Indian had fairly gained his feet. On and on they rode, first one gaining, then the other ahead according to the fleetness of the horses. How the crowd cheered as the favorite horse came in ahead! How they shouted as Louie pounded his heels into the horse’s sides in vain! See, here he comes at last, a half lap behind the other two, with his shirt flopping in the wind and one of his leggings hanging down over the stirrup. As he passes the man who holds his horses the legging is caught and jerked free. Again the others have remounted and gone, as Louie comes steaming up, half falling as the other loosened legging dangles at his feet. His long braids have become untied, and now the black, straight hair with its single feather is standing straight out with the breeze. Nothing daunted, with his fleeing companions already nearly a mile ahead, he bends low over his horse and rides as only an Indian can. Seven miles are run! Swift Arrow still leading! The eighth begun! Look! What attracts West, as he runs hurriedly across the track? His keen eye caught a glimpse of the saddle as Swift Arrow sped past! See, now, it is surely loose! Will he be able to hold until the end of the mile? Here he comes dashing forward! Already he seems to be beginning to dismount! Look. The horse suddenly turns, and the loosened saddle with the rider are flung to the ground almost at West’s feet! The frightened horse plunges and is gone. Two men quickly draw the stunned Indian to one side and shouts of “West! West!” are heard coming from the excited crowd.
“Oh! Will he be able to finish the race,” cried Bess, excitedly to James, who stood near Mauchacho.
“His other two horses cannot stand it to run alternately now, surely,” replied her brother, “and already both the others are ahead! See, here comes Nedreau’s horse on the finish of the eighth, and West has still the last half of the eighth to go. He might as well give up.”
West had assured himself that Swift Arrow was not seriously injured, and then lifting his sombrero to the calling crowd, snatched the saddle from the ground, threw it upon the resisting horse, fastened it, leaped upon the horse and was off! His head fairly touched the horse’s neck as he bent over, and in a steady voice urged the animal into even greater speed! Nedreau’s rider was already mounted and off as West came up the half-mile with Louie not far behind. He re-saddled to begin the ninth mile, but the tired, restive horse did not gain a foot over the others. Bess could not sit still in her saddle. “That is not fair,” she cried, “for they have three horses and Henry only two!” She saw with trepidation that his horse was falling far behind, and knew that he could not go much farther.
Before any of her companions was aware of her purpose, Bess gave Mauchacho a quick cut with the quirt and flew across the intervening space to the man holding West’s horse ready for the remount. Bess sprang to the ground, unfastened and jerked off the saddle and thrust the reins into the man’s hands just as West came up. He had seen the girl as he neared the wire, and quickly divined her purpose. She sprang back out of the way and cried, “Take Mauchacho, take my Bird! Win the race for me!”
At first the crowd could not see what was going on, and when the girl’s purpose dawned upon them they cheered and shouted wildly. Cries of “Ride,” “Go win,” “Mount the Bird,” came to the breed’s ears, and he threw his saddle upon the anxious, eager animal and was off.
See how easily he starts; he even leans over to pat the horse’s neck; he does not seem to care nor to notice that Nedreau’s Indian is almost a half ahead! Now he is bending low over the saddle till man and horse seem one; neither hear the cries and shouts as they begin the last half of the race. On Mauchacho speeds—swiftly, steadily; nearer, nearer, nearer the other horse! Almost to the other’s tail! A leap and they are even! A stretch, and his nose is ahead! One supreme effort and daylight is between the two horses, just as they pass under the wire amid frantic cries, tossing hats and waving handkerchiefs. In a moment the cheers were changed to laughter as poor Louie came trotting under the wire, dressed only in his feather, so strenuous had been his exertions.
Bess stood alone near the track, her hands clasped together. Not even a cry escaped her lips as she saw, not West, but Mauchacho win the race.
As soon as West could slow the horse and bring him back before the judges, he heard the starter announce that “West had won the race.” West sprang to the ground, gave the reins to a man standing near, and entered the judges’ stand.
“I did not win this race, gentlemen; I had no right to take a fresh horse; the money goes to Nedreau and Louie,” and before they could offer any protest he had gone. As he led Mauchacho over to the waiting and now smiling mistress, West paused a moment as he heard the announcement of the correction of the race, and felt relieved as he saw the two Indians receive the prize.
Bess flung her arms about Mauchacho’s neck and happy tears filled her eyes. “You beauty! I had no idea that you could go so like a bird! Oh, you dear!” and she patted his neck and kissed his nose just as the men threw a blanket over him and led him away to be cooled off.
Henry West was just about to take Bess back to her companions, when he turned and directly faced Dave Davis.
“Come, Bess—permit me to take you away from here. What prompted you to do such a strange thing? Besides, the race was unfair and West did not win,” he said, as he glanced with lowering eyes at the man by her side.
“It may not have been fair, Mr. Davis, but it was a mighty fine race! I will go back to Mrs. West with Henry, thank you,” and she gave him a queer smile as she left him, which he did not quite understand.
“Please, little Mother—now, James, don’t both of you look so. I just had to have Henry win that race, even though it took Mauchacho and me both to help him do it!”
“Well, sister, we can’t truthfully call you a tenderfoot any longer.”
“How long have you been in the West, Miss Fletcher?” asked one of the company, as he looked at the happy, satisfied expression on the girl’s face. Bess turned her full, brown eyes to the man’s face, but for the moment she did not speak. Unconsciously she had slid her fingers into Henry West’s brown hand as he stood near to her, but did not heed its tremor nor faint pressure. Then her eyes sought the deep, blue hills with the soft masses of white, fleecy clouds crowning their crests and the verdant pines caressing their feet.
“How long! Oh, how long? When was I not here? Here my heart has been since God’s divine touch first made those hills! Here my soul shall be when they have passed away!” replied the girl, her head raised toward the deepening shadows on the crests.
Then came the evening with its cool and quiet; with its rest and peace; with its quivering stars and pale radiance of the moon.