Bower, 1874-1940 - The heritage of the Sioux

Annie-Many-Ponies stooped and slid safely past the window that might betray her, and then slipped away behind the house. She waited, and she listened; for though the adobe walls were thick, there were open windows and her hearing was keen. Within was animated babel and much laughter. But not once again did Annie-Many-Ponies hear her name spoken. Not once again did Wagalexa Conka remember her. Save when she, that slim woman who had come to play his leads, asked to see her, she had been wholly forgotten. Even then she had been named a squaw. It was as though they had been speaking of a horse. They did not count her worthy of a place in their company, they did not miss her voice and her smile.

" Hid out," Wagalexa Conka had said. Well, she would hide out, then — she, the daughter of a chief of the Sioux; she, whom Wagalexa Conka had been glad to have in his picture when he was poor and had no money to pay white leading women. But now he had much money; now he

THE DAUGHTER OF A CHIEF

could come in a big automobile, with a slim, white leading woman and a camera man and scenic artist and much money in his pocket; and she — she was just a squaw who had hid out, and who would show up after a while and be grateful if he took her by the hand and said, " How! "

With so many persons moving eagerly here and there, none but an Indian could have slipped away from that house and from the ranch without being seen. But though the place was bald and open to the four winds save for a few detached outbuildings, Annie-Many-Ponies went away upon the mesa and no one saw her go.

She did not dare go to the corral for her horse. The corral was in plain sight of the house, and the eyes of Wagalexa Conka were keen as the eye of the Sioux, his foster brothers. He would see her there. He would call: " Annie, come here! " and she would go, and would stand submissive before him, and would be glad that he noticed her; for she was born of the tribe where women obey their masters, and the heritage of centuries may not be lightly lain aside like an outgrown garment. She felt that this was so; that although her heart might

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX

burn with resentment because he had forgotten and must be reminded by a strange white woman that the " squaw " was not present, still, if he called her she must go, because Wagalexa Conka was master there and the master must be obeyed.

Down the dry wash where Applehead had hunted for baling wire she went swiftly, with the straight-backed, free stride of the plainswoman who knows not the muscle-bondage of boned girdle. In moccasins she walked; for a certain pride of race, a certain sense of the picture-value of beaded buckskin and bright cloth, held her fast to the gala dress of her people, modified and touched here and there with the gay ornaments of civilization. So much had her work in the silent drama taught her. Bareheaded, her hair in two glossy braids each tied with a big red bow, she strode on and on in the clear sunlight of spring.

i^ot until she was more than two miles from the ranch did she show herself upon one of the numberless small ridges which, blended together in the distance, give that deceptive look of flatness to the mesa. Even two miles away, in that clear air that dwarfs distance so amazingly, Wagalexa Conka

THE DAUGHTER OF A CHIEF

might recognize her if he looked at her with sufficient attention. But Wagalexa Conka, she told herself with a flash of her black eyes, would not look. Wagalexa Conka was too busy looking at that slim woman he had brought with him.

That ridge she crossed, and two others. On the last one she stopped and stood, straight and still, and stared away towards the mountains, shading her eyes with one spread palm. On a distant slope a small herd of cattle fed, scattered and at peace. Nearer, a great hawk circled slowly on widespread wings, his neck craned downward as if he were watching his own shadow move ghostlike over the grass. Annie-Many-Ponies, turning her eyes disappointedly from the empty mesa, envied the hawk his swift-winged freedom.

When she looked again toward the far slopes next the mountains, a black speck rolled into view, the nucleus of a little dust cloud. Her face bright-

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ened a little; she turned abruptly and sought easy footing down that ridge, and climbed hurriedly the longer rise beyond. Once or twice, when she was on high ground, she glanced behind her uneasily, as does one whose mind holds a certain conscious-

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX

ness of wrongdoing. She did not pause, even then, but hurried on toward the dust cloud.

On the rim of a shallow, saucer-like basin that lay cunningly concealed until one stood upon the very edge of it, Annie-Many-Ponies stopped again and stood looking out from under her spread palm. Presently the dust cloud moved over the crest of a ridge, and now that it was so much closer she saw clearly the horseman loping abreast of the dust. Annie-Many-Ponies stood for another moment watching, with that inscrutable half smile on her lips. She untied the cerise silk kerchief which she wore knotted loosely around her slim neck, waited until the horseman showed plainly in the distance and then, raising her right hand high above her head, waved the scarf three times in slow, sweeping half circles from right to left. She waited, her eyes fixed expectantly upon the horseman. Like a startled rabbit he darted to the left, pulled in his horse, turned and rode for three or four jumps sharply to the right; stopped short for ten seconds and then came straight on, spurring his horse to a swifter pace.

Annie-Many-Ponies smiled and went down into 34

THE DAUGHTER OF A CHIEF

the shallow basin and seated herself upon the wide, adobe curbing of an old well that marked, with the nearby ruins of an adobe house, the site of an old habitation of tragic history. She waited with the absolute patience of her race for the horseman had yet a good two miles to cover. While she waited she smiled dreamily to herself and with dainty little pats and pulls she widened the flaring red bows on her hair and retied the cerise scarf in its picturesque, loose knot about her throat. As a final tribute to that feminine instinct which knows no race she drew from some cunningly devised hiding place a small, cheap " vanity box," and proceeded very gravely to powder her nose.

CHAPTER III

TO THE VICTOBS THE SPOILS

"T_TEY, boys!" Luck Lindsay shouted to A A Applehead and one or two of the Happy Family who were down at the chuck-wagon engaged in uneasy discussion as to what Luck would say when he found out about their intention to leave. " Come on up here — this is going to be a wiping out of old scores and I want to get it over with!"

" Well, now, I calc'late the fur's about to fly," Applehead made dismal prophecy, as they started to obey the summons. " All 't su'prises me is 't he's held off this long. Two hours is a dang long time fer Luck to git in action, now I'm tellin' yuh! " He took off his hat and polished his shiny pate, as was his habit when perturbed. " I'm shore glad we had t' wait and set them wagon-tires," he added. " We'd bin started this mornin* only fer that."

TO THE VICTORS THE SPOILS

" Aw, we ain't done nothing," Happy Jack protested in premature self defense. " We ain't left the ranch yet. I guess a feller's got a right to think!"

" He has, if he's got anything to do it with," Pink could not forbear to remark pointedly.

" Well, if a feller didn't have, he'd have a fat chance berrying from you," Happy Jack retorted.

" Well, by cripes, I ain't perpared to bet very high that there's a teacupful uh brains in this hull outfit," Big Medicine asserted. " We might a knowed Luck'd come back loaded fer bear; we would a knowed it if we had any brains in our heads. I'm plumb sore at myself. By cripes, I need kickin'! "