Injun and Whitey to the Rescue

by William S. Hart

  CHAPTER XVII

  "THE PRIDE OF THE WEST"

  Whitey wandered over to the Star Circle Ranch house. He wanted to seeWalt Lampson, who had paid little attention to him since the night ofthe fight. Whitey was getting tired of staying at the Star Circle, andthought Walt might be ready now to ship the cattle to the Bar O, andthus give Whitey something to do.

  Walt was not in the living-room, which was a large, untidy place thatalso served as an office. There was a great, flat desk in one corner,and lying on it--among some dusty papers, reports and stock books--was asix-gun, with its belt and holster, a silver watch, a knife, and otherodds and ends. These were the property of poor Buck Milton, waiting tillthey were claimed, or would be disposed of.

  Whitey looked at them sadly. Near the watch lay a crumpled and soiledpiece of paper, and as Whitey glanced at it his own name caught his eye.Surprised, he picked the paper up and read it through before herealized what it was--Bill Jordan's letter to Dan Brayton, of the T Upand Down, the letter Whitey had delivered. It ran:

  Friend Dan--

  Whitey Sherwood, the kid what fetches this here letter, is tired uvschool. He had ruther fish. This here letter is sposed to be onimportunt business uv his dads, the owner uv this here ranch. Thebusiness is to make Whitey tireder out uv school than what he was in it.I started the ball rollin. Kin you keep it goin?

  Hopin this will find you the same

  Yours truly Wm Jordan

  There were two notations in pencil at the bottom of the letter. Oneread:

  Walt--Im passin the kid along to you. Get busy.

  Dan

  And the other, Buck's:

  Dont kill this kid but come as near to it as you kin.

  Walt

  A great light broke in on Whitey. So this was the meaning of it all? thetwenty-five mile walk to Cal Smith's house; the singular conduct of themen at the T Up and Down; the nester's lending him that jack Felix, thathe knew would run home and leave Whitey alone on the plains; and WaltLampson's sending him out on the range, in the face of a storm. And as asort of high peak in his mountain range of troubles Whitey rememberedLittle Thompson's talk about funerals. Whitey buried his head in hishands and groaned at the thought. He had dreamed of funerals ever since.He determined to make a will and put in it that Little Thompson shouldnot be allowed to come to his (Whitey's) funeral.

  They had passed him along from one to another, making a fool of him, andlaughing behind his back all the time. He knew how rough cowmen oftenwere in their fun, and the only wonder was that they hadn't treated himworse. He supposed that they would have done so had his father not beena ranch-owner. So! they probably thought he was something of amolly-coddle. He was angry enough, but this thought made himangrier--that he hadn't been treated worse. Which goes to show what areasonable thing anger is!

  Whitey went out, sat down behind the cook's shack, and gave way togloomy reflections. He reviewed his past life for quite a way back, andeverything in it seemed to be wrong. He wanted to do big things, and healways was just missing them. If he had been earlier when he followedthose train robbers, he might have warned the people on the train, andbeen a sort of hero. If, if, if--oh, what was the use?

  But it certainly is bitter to think you might make yourself a hero, andfind that some one else has made a fool of you. Whitey remembered asaying that the first time a fellow is fooled it is the other fellow'sfault--and the next time it is his own. They wouldn't fool him again.He'd do something big yet. He'd show them!

  The first thing to do was to find Injun. The next thing to do was toleave that Star Circle Ranch. Whitey hated it there, anyway. And thenext was a thing not to do--not to go back to the Bar O, and have BillJordan and the others laugh at him. The first thing proved easy, andWhitey proceeded to tell Injun his troubles.

  "Huh," said Injun. "Better'n him school."

  "I know it's better than school," said Whitey, annoyed, as we always arewhen we seek sympathy and get facts. "I'd rather do 'most anything thango to that awful school. But what I object to is being made a fool of."He was suffering from mortification, which is a sort of ingrowing anger,and the more it sunk in, the angrier he got.

  And here was the plan he unfolded to Injun; the plan to get even withBill Jordan. They would go to Moose Lake, in the foothills of themountains. You may remember that on the southwestern shore of this lakewas a cabin, which had been the scene of some of the boys' formeradventures. They would make this cabin their headquarters. Bill Jordannever would suspect that they were there. They would live by fishingand hunting, which were good at that time of year. As for otherprovisions, Whitey had some money, and they could buy them at Jimtown,on the way. No one knew them there. Whitey even planned getting amessage to Bill Jordan that he, Whitey, was dead. Bill would feel prettysorry then, at the result of his silly trick. And when Whitey thoughtBill was sorry enough, he would return, and advise Bill never to be sosilly again. You see, he was in a very savage mood. He would get overthat, but he didn't realize it then.

  As Injun heard these plans, he considered them. He was very wellsatisfied where he was. There had been fighting there, there might bemore, and he liked fighting. Fishing and hunting were all very well, buthe'd had a lot of them in his young life, and they were no novelty. Itwas like asking a sailor to go for a sail, on his day off. And Injuncouldn't fully understand Whitey's wanting to do all these things. Butdo you think he voiced his objections to them? He did not. For in oneway Injun was like a faithful dog he accepted things he didn'tunderstand. So one liked his loyalty more than one pitied his ignorance.

  No one paid any attention to the boys when they rode away from the StarCircle Ranch. They might be going hunting, or just for a ride, for allthe ranchmen knew or cared. They struck off toward the northwest, inwhich direction lay Jimtown, with Moose Lake far beyond, nestling in thefoothills of the Rockies.

  It was a beautiful day, with the haze of fall shrouding the distance, ahint of brown tingeing the prairie grass, the sun a bit milder with itsrays and paler in its face than in midsummer. And the old sun seemed atrifle lazy, as if lying back awaiting the frost that would nip therolling mesa, to be followed by the gales that would sweep across it,then by the whirling blizzards that would hold the plains in theirfrigid grasp. Yes, it was a beautiful day--a day on which it was veryhard to stay mad.

  Creeping across the northern distance the boys saw two wagons. Evidentlythey had come from Jimtown. Wagons are as interesting sights on aprairie as they are uninteresting in a city, so the boys shifted theircourse slightly that they might investigate. And these were the rarestwagons that crawled across the plains, for they carried a show!

  During the many months that Whitey had been in the West only one showhad come to the Junction, and that at a time when Injun and Whitey hadbeen hunting in the mountains. Lives there a boy with soul so dead thathe does not hunger for a show? I leave you to answer that, and to guesshow hungry Whitey was for one.

  But if you have in your mind any big, gilded wagons, with pictures ofbeautiful women on their sides, and drawn by many prancing white horseswith red plumes on their heads, get that vision right out of your mind.These were "prairie schooners," covered with old, weather-beaten canvas,creaking along on wheels on which mud had long taken the place of paint,and drawn by mules!

  And the only things to indicate their character were letters painted onthe old canvas sides, where they drooped between the wooden arches thatsupported them; letters which read: "The Mildini Troupe. Pride ofthe West." And that was enough. For everybody in that part ofMontana knew the Mildinis. They came once a year--if nothing happened toprevent.

  There were three in the company--Mr. Mildini, who was short and fat, andhad a twinkle in his eye, and had been born Murphy; Mrs. Mildini, whowas slim and sharp-featured, and whose eyes were bright, without anytwinkle in them; and Signor Antolini, who was of medium
height andrather thin, and had a nose like a hawk, and had been born on MulberryStreet, in New York City. Two thirds of this troupe remained the same,year after year, but sometimes Signor Antolini was Signor Somebody Else.

  This doesn't seem to offer much chance for entertainment, does it? ToInjun it was a wonderful troupe. To Whitey, who had been to all sorts ofentertainments in the East, it was a novelty. Perhaps it would be badenough to be good. Anyway, it was a show. Thoughts of revenge againstBill Jordan could be abandoned for the time being. They would have towait. Meanwhile, Injun and Whitey would follow the show.

  Mr. Mildini, who drove the first wagon, was very friendly, and smoked apipe. Signor Antolini, who drove the second wagon, was also friendly,and smoked cigarettes. Mrs. Mildini, who slept in the first wagon,expressed no feelings at all. That wagon contained the trunks andchattels of Mildini and wife, and in it they made their home. The otherwagon held the instruments and properties of the show, the cookingutensils, and the bed of Signor Antolini. It was all very simple, andvery fascinating, when you thought of it, to be traveling around thecountry in the sunshine, pausing at different places to entertainadmiring audiences.

  Where were they from? From Jimtown, where they had showed the nightbefore. And where bound? To the Hanley Ranch, a big wheat ranch, abouttwenty miles east. It was threshing-time there, and there would beplenty of men to make an audience. Mr. Mildini meant plenty from hispoint of view. A settlement of five houses looked good to him.

  Oh, yes, Whitey knew the Hanley Ranch. It was fourteen miles west of theBar O. Oh, no, Mr. Mildini didn't mind their riding along with thetroupe. He was glad of the company. They could have dinner with them,too, if they liked. And perhaps they wouldn't mind helping with thestock, if they didn't make the ranch that day, and had to camp.

  Sometimes they had trouble with the wagons; they were old. Sometimesthey got stuck in the mud. You never could tell. Yes, the show businesswas fascinating, but very uncertain. Mr. Mildini was chatty and not abit stand-offish, as one might think a talented person would be.

  So, when that old fall sun sank down toward the west, it outlined twoshabby wagons, crawling along the lonely prairie. Near one rode an eagerwhite boy, occasionally leaning over and drinking in the wisdom thatfell from the lips of a little Irishman; near the other, a pink-shirtedIndian lad, stolid and silent, but in his breast burning the fever thatstirs every boy who is going to a show.