Ted Strong in Montana Part 58

"Na-to-no-mah, John Fisher!" called the clerk, and a middle-aged Indian stepped forward listlessly and stood aside.

"The first name is his Indian or tribe name," explained Ted. "The name John Fisher is the name given him in Washington, so that the clerks will not get him mixed with an Indian whose name is similar."

So the reading went on, and after each name the clerk said "one" or "two," meaning that the owner of the name was ent.i.tled to one or two cows, according to the number of members of his family.

"Running Bear!" called the clerk.

There was no answer.

"Running Bear! Where is Running Bear?" The clerk looked around anxiously, for Running Bear was a prominent Indian, and was ent.i.tled to three cows, or as many as he could graft, and was never known to miss a beef issue. There were murmurs of wonder among the Indians at the absence of Running Bear, and the clerk was about to mark off his name, when he staggered out of the agent's house, groggy from the punishment he had received, with one eye a vivid green, and holding on to his jaw as if he was afraid of losing it.

"Ah, there you are, Running Bear," said the clerk. "You look as if you had collided with a streak of lightning. What's the matter?"

But the Indian only shook his head and pressed his jaw harder.

"Reckon you've got the toothache, eh? Well, when you get your teeth fastened into a piece of fresh bull meat you'll be all right."

Running Bear gave one look, in which all the concentrated hatred of a lifetime was to be seen. Then he turned away and went out to his tepee, where one of his squaws bound his jaw in a wet cloth.

But the roll had been called, and the Indians stood expectant close to the gate of the corral.

While the clerk stood up on the fence with his list he repeated the names and the number of cattle to which each Indian was ent.i.tled, and men inside the corral opened the gate and drove them out.

As a frightened cow or angry steer was loosed from the corral it was met with shouts, wild and blood-curdling, from all the Indians, and its owner sprang upon his pony and took after the poor beast, driving it into the open beyond, and away from the house and corral.

"Now begins the chase," said Ted. "We'll get out here where we will have a good view, but I don't think you will care to see much of it. It gets to be pretty--well, pretty raw after a while."

"Why don't they kill their beef in a slaughterhouse and give them the meat, instead of turning the animals over to them alive?" asked Stella.

"The Indians wouldn't stand for that," answered Ted. "This is the only sport they have in a year's time. You see, they are not permitted to leave the reservations to go far away to hunt big game, and they take it out in hunting, or playing they are hunting, these miserable cows."

"I don't see any fun in that," said Miss Croffut.

"You haven't the imagination of an Indian. You see, they make believe they are hunting buffalo again, and the chase is quite as exciting to them as if they were doing the real thing."

By this time the prairie was covered with steers and cows, lumbering along in front of the Indians, who were pursuing them with shrill cries, shooting at them with bows and arrows or with rifles, striving always to wound them, but not to kill them too soon, for if they killed them right away they would miss the fun of the chase.

This made the beef issue a carnival of brutality, and Ted soon saw that the girls were getting tired of it.

In the center of the great circle in which there were several dozen cattle running around aimlessly, pursued by a yelling, exultant, bloodthirsty band of Indians, were several wounded steers and cows, which had gone down and were unable to rise. Several groups of Indians, squatting on the rim of the circle, were shooting at them.

This was dangerous business, and the white spectators moved back out of range.

The shooting was very reckless at times, and the Indian agent had to protest to the soldiers, who, under Lieutenant Barrows, had the issue in charge.

Ted and the two girls were sitting on their ponies, watching the show from a position of safety, as they were out of line of any of the shooting parties.

Without warning a ball sang through the air, clipped through the mane of Ted's pony, and pierced the sleeve of Ted's jacket, pa.s.sing out between him and Miss Croffut, who was by his side.

As Ted looked up hastily he caught a gleam of blue across the circle as it dodged behind the group of yelling and shooting Indians.

Ted glanced at Stella, and saw a look in her eyes which plainly said:

"Did you see it, too?" And Ted nodded.

Miss Croffut had screamed as the ball went past, and Ted's pony, burned by it, reared.

"Let's get out of this," said Ted quietly. "Those Indians are beginning to shoot wildly, and some one is going to get accidentally hit. I wonder that the soldiers don't regulate it better."

"They are afraid of getting the Indians angry," explained Miss Croffut.

"The war department allows them to do as they please at this function, to keep them quiet at other times."

But most of the poor dumb brutes had succ.u.mbed to this slow method of butchering, and the squaws, with horrible cries, rushed into the field, every one to the steer which her lord and master had killed, and the hideous rites of skinning and cutting up the animals was begun by the women, who were even more bloodthirsty than the men.

"Come, we don't want to see this," said Ted, and led the way from the field.

"It is time for dinner," said Miss Croffut. "Then we must get ready for the trail. We will get a wagon from the storekeeper--a regular camp wagon with beds and a tent. Papa will arrange it all, and he will detail an orderly to drive it for us, and care for our things."

"That will be fine for you and aunt, but for me--the saddle and the camp fire," said Stella.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A SLAP ON THE FACE.

As they were riding toward the post they were joined by Ben, Bud, Kit, Clay, and Carl, who came riding up like Cossacks, and were presented to Miss Croffut, on either side of whom they fell into place, and began to talk animatedly and enthusiastically about the coming trail.

Ben expanded mightily in the presence of a new girl, while quiet Kit contented himself by slipping in a witty remark that was pointed enough to puncture Ben's gas bag of grand talk once in a while, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the army girl, who had never before met such fine, free, and easy, yet gentlemanly, fellows.

Ted and Stella were riding together behind them.

"Did you see him?" asked Stella at last, looking up at Ted.

"See who?" asked Ted.

"The man who shot at you, trying to murder you, and cast the blame on the Indians," she replied directly.

"Oh, that was an accident," said Ted. "I saw a flash of a blue coat over where the shot came from, but it was probably an Indian with a blue shirt on."

"And you didn't see who it was?" she asked again wonderingly.

"No."

"Don't you even suspect?"

"Hadn't thought of it."