Cogewea stood on the veranda watching the dust-column approaching from the southeast. She was glad, in some ways, that the boys were coming home. The story of Green-blanket Feet had impressed her deeply. The tribal marriage! Why had Densmore insisted so strongly on this old rite; he a man of education and wealth with all the advantages of refined society? Jim, the rough, rugged breed of the range, had never intimated this form of wedlock. While it was true that she had spoken in defense of this ancient custom, it was in comparison with the manifest abuses of the nuptial relations as governed by the laws of the white man. She had not supposed that he would take her so seriously and with self-application. But perhaps things would adjust themselves. In the meantime the inevitable must be met⁠—Jim⁠—and the coming crisis.

But, if Cogewea was restless, Densmore was doubly so. He was disappointed and half angry. The three weeks had passed during which time he had had a clear field. Retrospectively, what had he accomplished in the heart-conquest of this wildly fascinating girl of the range? Inscrutable as the Sphinx, he had failed to fathom her. At times he was led to believe that she cared for him and was willing to concede the Indian marriage; but when pressed for a decision, she invariably “shied” and seemed frightened. All his patient tolerance of her heathen philosophy and her bitter arraignment of a potent Government Bureau, had been for naught. His gifts of game and fish had also failed to win the friendship of the old grandmother. Baffled, he now saw the final overthrow of his cherished plans in the return of the dashing young foreman. However, he would change tactics. Perhaps the game was worth a greater risk. She had hinted at lands; and she would not sell herself for money! Well, he was not so squeamish! A silver lining should make a difference. For the present, he must content himself and investigate.

As the dust-cloud rolled nearer, the individual riders became distinguishable. Cogewea ran down the yard path, calling to Densmore:

“See! the conquering heroes come!”

She rushed on to open the corral gate; greeted with a chorus of cheery salutations as the outfit filed into the enclosure. These she returned with a graceful wave of the hand. Jim, springing from his horse, was soon at her side. This demonstration of devotion, Densmore remarked from a distance and mentally cursed the “copper” breed.

“How is Sis, my little squ⁠—? How has she behaved while I was gone? How’s that there busted tenderfoot?”

The girl’s eyes blazed, but she made no reply. A wan smile came over the bronze face of the foreman; as turning to Silent Bob he observed sadly:

“See Sis’ ‘glintin’ optics? She’s mad already ’cause we’re back home.”

“I hater see them there fine lookers ablazin’ like coals; I hater see po’ Jim all freezed in th’ sunshine,” lamented the Silent One as he passed into the barn. The Westerner again addressed the object of his solicitude:

“What’re you war-pathin’ me for, little⁠—ah⁠—squaw?”

Cogewea laughed. Seemingly she could not be angry at Jim for long, no difference what he said to her. Turning to him, she said saucily:

“I came to tell you the news, but you ruffled me and now I’m not going to do it. You can be sorry enough!”

“Aw! come on, Sis,” he coaxed with mock gravity. “Tell me, and I’ll buy you some candy and ribbons next time I go to town for a spree.”

“Huh! You talk as if I were some kid with pigtails down my back. I no longer wear streamers in my hair. I left dolls and toys several snows back on the trail. Your bribe hardly goes this time.”

“What is them there news, little Injun?”

“But I might take some chocolates!”

“Tell me what you know!”

“Come to think, you may bring me a yard of sateen lace for a belt. Don’t get it more than two inches in width.”

“Is some fellers a gettin’ married? Goin’ be a weddin’ dance somewhere?”

“You must be afflicted with that mismatic brain disorder, since it is about the first topic that enters your dome after running loose so long.”

“Well, what is it? Has that there city dood croaked? If he has, then a whole pound of candy and a lot of belt runnin’ gear will be sure comin’. I’d be plum tickled for such chance to celebrate.”

“No! There has been no demising about here, nor is there any altar splicing brewing that I know of. But there is to be a basket social in the town opera hall tomorrow night for the benefit of the new church building. We’re all going, Julia, Mary and myself; taking baskets, including one for the Stemteemä, who will not go. Loads of chicken and goodies with everything that a cowpuncher likes. Everybody will buy his girl’s basket, if he knows which one it is.”

“When yo’ say it’s a comin’ off?” interrupted Celluloid Bill, who at that moment happened to be passing.

“Tomorrow night; and the baskets are to be auctioned and a prize given for the one bringing the most money. A dance is scheduled.”

“Yo’ can count me twice,” volunteered the rider as he sauntered towards the bunkhouse.

“Next to a grave diggin’, a church dance’ll be tonic for the trail-wearies,” sighed Jim. “I’ll go my month’s wages on your basket, Sis, if only I knowed your brand.”

“Now don’t start throwing me that hot air stuff,” came the counter. “I was born farther west than Montana, and you can’t make anything like that stick with this squaw. Savey?”

“I mean it, Chipmunk! Am goin’ ask for my September kale tonight so to have it ready for the big doin’s. Put me wise to your feed basket, won’t you? I want to sample that there grubstake.”

Cogewea spoke something close to Jim’s ear in their own tongue. He laughed softly and made reply in like manner. Drawing suddenly away, she exclaimed:

“If you do, James LaGrinder, I’ll get even with you and don’t you forget it! You never could keep a secret, unless⁠—” she glanced cautiously around⁠—“you were deeply concerned.”

“Ain’t scalp-huntin’, are you? I’ve been lonesome! And you know I can keep some secret worth while.”

The girl gave him a smile as she walked away, but under that smile was planned revenge. The foreman joyed in these wordy tilts. While ever true to a pledge, about the only time that he had ever failed to make capital of a joke at her expense, was when he found her stranded afoot out on the range that afternoon, when their mutual misfortunes demanded silence.

That evening the riders and their foreman assembled in the center of the main corral in secret conclave. The topic was important; one in which honor of the H-B ranch was at stake. With lowered voice lest hostile ears be listening, Jim opened the meeting.

“Boys,” he began, “basket social in town tomorrow night. Big doin’s and dance! We’re all goin’ take it in, and we want to hold up the good standin’ of this here outfit. There’ll be city guys with hair parted in middle, all dressed in shiny shoes, white shirts, and a wearin’ stiff standin’ collars and choke rags. Out here from Noo York, Chicago and Omyhaw, they’re huntin’ lonely school marms with payin’ homesteads. Them there ’venturers go in for grabbin’ baskets at four bits; maybe as much as a dollar. The Hoss-shoe boys is a goin’ all togged in best silk shirts and handkerchiefs; and none cinch a feed box for less than five bones. We’ll dig into them there city birds and spur ’em up with dollar bids. Got to show what kind of stuff a cowpuncher is made. Money is for the new church, an’ a durn’ good cause, and maybe we’ll be credited in the last general roundup; where every brand gets honest ’spection.

“Now here’s Bob,” continued the instructor. “I hear his schoolmarm has spent a week preparin’ her basket. Got Boston beans; chicken done brown and built pies and cookees and things made with nuts and spices. Goin’ have them there paper handrags, all flowered and folded to a p’int at one end and a spreadin’ out at t’other end like a struttin’ turkey’s tail. You want to show your ’preciation and make a killin’ hit by payin’ ten dollars for her feed and lettin’ on you feel skunk-mean ’cause you got it so cheap.”

“Aw! come off!” expostulated the Silent one. “I’m willin’ to help make this here ’fair a roarin scream, but I sho’ never can’t foller such dev’ous ’structions. I hater get stampeded in thick woods; I hater be los’ on a blin’ trail.”

“Never mind, Bob!” broke in Celluloid Bill. “Yo’ go ’head an’ nab that there schoolmarm’s feed, an’ as I’m some ’sperienced in s’ciety frun’tions, I’ll jus’ keep lamps on yo’ an’ if yo’ lattigo slips or yo’ get in quicksan’, I’ll rope and yank yo’ to solid groun’. Be no ’casion for failin’ with my ’fishus guidance.”

As if Bob’s fate was settled, Jim resumed his dissertation.

“Slim,” he said, addressing this late recruit, “you want to show your colors. Lots old maids from the flats goin’ be there. Your pockets is full of dough, and if you capture a big feed with the cook thrown in, maybe you can begin startin’ a ranch of your own.”

“Chillin’ breezes of Sayharry!” exclaimed that worthy, who was to remain on the ranch for a time. “Yo’ sho’ talk as though ’ployed to spiel for any f’aternizin’ gatherin’. But yo’ll see a whirlin’ rope in th’ game, nor does ‘Leather Slim o’ th’ Foothills’ ever throw for no tame maverick. Yo’ gotter hus’el for th’ bes’, even to th’ six-gun chor’s echo.”

“That’s sho’ a howlin’!” chimed Rodeo Jack. “All H-B boys don’t vacate th’ corral for no galoots; shoot scrappin’ nor buck dancin’.”

“You’re spoutin’ true, Rodeo,” was the encomium of the prideful foreman. “You and Bill don’t need no urgin’ and Slim ’pears of the same bran’. You fellers never pull leather in no kind of contest and you can scratch the best. But there ain’t to be no gun-barkin. No ’casion! This here outfit is a goin’ to bust all social and law ’bidin’ records of the Flathead. No gun-muzzle tooth rattlin’ where religion is mixed. Savey?”40

“S’pose that there eastern masher’ll captur’ th’ fine feed yo’ gal goin’ put up, won’t he Jim?” gibed Bill. “He’s had the run of th’ range so long that⁠—”

“There’s where you tangle your rawhide, old boss;” and to the surprise of all the foreman laughed good naturedly. “I got that there part of program cinched. Watch an Injun pattered cano-basket, made by the Stemteemä for th’ ’casion, bring the banner price of the evenin’. You just keep this here short secret safe corralled and see the brandin’ iron put to a tenderfoot pretender. No guy who can’t fall off a standin, still cayuse without hurtin’ his‑self is goin’ have any show in a relay with the champeen rider of the Flathead. The race wouldn’t be even amusin’.”

“Frenchy,” Jim addressed the camp “toy,” “you buy a dozen baskets that don’t look too promisin, and donate ’em to the city ginks who ain’t got the dough. ’Twill be a good ’vestment for the church cause.”

“Sacre! I geetz a plan-tee blee-ed zor zalf. Zen ze ozer⁠—”

“Bah!” broke in Celluloid Bill. “Why don’t yo’ say what yo’re talkin’ ’bout? yo’⁠—from-cross-th’-sea, toad-eatin’-son-of-Gaul? Yo’ speak like a Chink with hot mush in th’ crater of his map.”

Frenchy stood up, threw his breast out with pride, as he continued:

“I speik ze zord vare splan-deed. At ze zosi-bla, I geet plan-tee zor ze ten-dorzoot. I maik zone zee big baz-ze-ket⁠—”

Then growing excited, the “toy” began beating the air in the way of emphasis, when the clang of the big tin pan vibrating on the evening breeze, summoned the hungry crew to the supper table. That the bounteous repast was appreciated by the rollicking riders, was amply attested by the inroads on the tempting viands.

The meal over, the boys under cover of darkness, repaired to the river for a splash in the cooling waters. Refreshed, by the dip, Rodeo Jack and Silent Bob sprawled under the pines for a smoke and discussion of the coming social. Rodeo was in high spirits and went over every detail of dress and minor arrangements, with all the glee of a child. But the Silent one was not so sure of his premises. He had never participated in any of “them there mixin’s.”

“Jim’s all thar’ as fo’man an’ boss on th’ roun’up,” he drawled in disgust, “but I ain’t knowin’ ’bout this here church bisence; whar’ th’ range is all differen’. I like to know th’ corral fencin’ ain’t down an’ my cinchin’ is a holdin’ when I saddle on to a strange bronc. I hater get spilled in a crowd; I hater be th’⁠—”

“Aw! what’s a eatin’ yo’?” interrupted Rodeo impatiently. “Yo’re on a dead easy trail, an’ with Bill a champerronin’ yo’, yo’ needn’t take no feller’s dust. None of them there city guys’ll put anythin’ over on Bill when it comes to shinin’ in s’ciety circuses. He’s been clean to Omyhaw with cattle onst, where he ’tended three dances in a big corral they said was a garden. But Bill, he looked all roun’ an’ didn’t fine’ nary a durn ’tater patch nor nothin’ growin’ ’cept some kin’ greas’ wood in a nail-keg, an’ a lit’le bush in a half whiskey bar’l, what they tol’ him was a roder-john or somethin’. But hell! th’ ’tractions! Some fiddlers, a pianer an’ a silver horn all a playin’ at same time. Bill said as it kinder took his breath when he stepped into that there dancin’ place, a kind of stampedin’ wing to th’ main corral, with swingin’ gates.

“Th’ gals was all done up in jul’ry an’ ribbons from armpits to nearly th’r knees; an’ paint on face somethin’ like Injuns, only more permiskus. They wore flamin’ stockin’s made outen ’skeeter nettin’ that yo’ could see both sides at the same time an’ shoes reachin’ nearly to their ankles.

“Th’ men had white shiny shirts all standin’ out flat and roun’ in front, an’ coats with long tails a ’hind like an Injun breechclout. But th’ tailor mus’ a bin short on goods, but cut off square at belt clean back to hips, as if to be outen way of th’ six-gun none of ’em had. These here fellers all had on standin’ collars like one Bill brought home with him. He paid a dollar for it, just to show what they had back there.

“One of them there gals, all dressed in th’ middle, come an’ danced with Bill an’ he liked it some, ’cause no danger gettin’ spurs tangled in no skirts; an’ when they get through a steppin’ to th’ moosic, she kicks his hat offen his haid an’ takes th’ silk handkerchief from his naik, to make a dancin’ custom out of it. Bill said as the gals seemed to like him better than they did them there half-clouted slick-shirted guys; an’ he went back twice jus’ to get onto s’ciety ways. An’ yo’ bet he got there! Bill’s wide awake an’ yo’ goter stop this here ’durn kickin’ like a range steer afore yo’ feel th’ bran’in’ iron. Yo’ll bring disgrace on the H-B outfit, an’ all them there cowpunchers from t’other ranges, will have th’ laugh on us. Savey?”

The Virginian agreed that he would try “foller-th’ trail” as instructed, and if the H-B failed in its high aim, it should not be accredited to any wanton dereliction on his part, although the “proceedin’s” was most funereal, as he viewed them.

Jim and the other boys had long left the river, the one to seek Cogewea, the others to engage in a card-game at the Bunkhouse. The foreman met the girl returning from the teepee, and walking together to the veranda, they sat down on the steps. He was first to open conversation:

“Ain’t you glad to see me, Sis? Wasn’t you lonesome when I was gone?”

“Lonesome for you?” was the laughing reply. “Bah! You torment me so! I should have been glad had you remained away forever.”

“Now you don’t mean that!” and there was real solicitude in the tone. “You ain’t gone and fell in love with that there white feller while I was away, have you?”

The evident anxiety of the foreman was hardly allayed by the exasperating response:

“ ‘Well do I know, but dare not tell!’ lest I become a tattler. Does the lovelorn warrior spend his suns in dreaming-sleep that he must come to the squaw to learn of his rival’s trail?”

“By gollies, little gal! I’ll find out! Don’t you think that ol’ Jim is a goin’ to be caught with his lariat a trailin! The best rider of the Flathead never⁠—”

“Aw come off! Let that ‘best rider’ stuff have a rest. If you rode as well as you talk, you certainly would be great and have all the girls dead in love with you, myself included.”

“Then there’s hope for me!” he exclaimed eagerly. “How about last Fourth of July? Didn’t I stick Croppy to a finish, when some of them there brag riders from everywhere got landed good?”

“Pshaw! Croppy was dead easy that day. I really believe you had him ‘doped’ for the occasion.”

“Well, I’ll ride any hoss that breathes, for you, Sis. I think a deal lot of you, and I only ask that you give me a show, an even chance with that there blasted tenderfoot. I don’t like his eyes and I don’t think he’s meanin’ right by you. Let me love you!”

“Go to it, old boy! Guess it will not hurt me and maybe the practice will aid you in catchin a real good girl. One who can return your affections; one capable of ‘ ’preciatin the best rider of the Flathead.’ ”

“Cogewea! I don’t want a gal too blamed good. You are my kind! There ain’t no more like you. Don’t let any white feller steal your heart.”

“I don’t think that he is any ipsoot kapswallie,”41 she laughed amusedly. “But I will be on my guard, for I prefer giving my heart away rather than have someone sneak in and take it simply because he happens to find the latch string on the outside.”

“Give it to me, Sis! Don’t you love me just a little?”

“Can’t do it, pard! I love you, but it is as a brother only.”

“Brother hell!” growled Jim. “Take that there tenderfoot, who can’t ride a cayuse, for a brother. He needs a sister to look after him while away from his mother.”

“I don’t want a Shoyahpee brother,” was the counter. “I like the Injun breed best.”

“You have an awful’ poor way of expressin’ your likin’s. If I thought you really loved that⁠—”

“H-hu-hush!” and Cogewea laid a hand on her companion’s arm. “There comes the Shoyahpee now!”

Densmore came around the veranda. He paused as if to speak and then passed on to the bunkhouse. A sigh of relief escaped the girl. The foreman muttered an oath as he asked:

“Why didn’t you let me finish what I was sayin’?”

“Because I don’t want to see any trouble between you two on my account. And Jim,” she continued earnestly, “if you really care for me, please do not kick up any dust with him. It won’t pay. Won’t you promise?”

The breed’s soul was rent with the contending passions, love and hate. As if weighing his answer, he hesitated long before breaking silence:

“Sis, it’s hard to refuse anything you request, but if I catch that there guy who can’t ride a gentle hoss without hurtin’ hisself, a goin’ round here with your heart, I’ll be very likely to treat him as any sneakin’ cattle rustler. I guess you know how that is.”

“Jim,” Cogewea whispered as her hand slipped to the hilt of his weapon, “I’m scared! when I see you near this Shoyahpee with gun so handy. I wish you would let me have it. Let me keep it for you, won’t you?”

Jim’s own strong hand closed about the tapering, brown fingers clasping his pistol’s grip, as he answered feelingly:

“Little Injun chum, I love you and I’ll try always to please you, but I can’t give this here request. I couldn’t walk level without no side ballast. No, Sis! I’m holdin’ on to my old pardner, and it may all rest with you whether there’ll be some funeral-trouble, ’stead of a weddin’-dance. You’re a breed, same as myself. You know the callin’ of the blood! A man will sometimes fight for what he wants.”

“Oh! Jim!” and the girl’s voice was tremulous with agitation. “Promise me not to make trouble with this white man.”

The Westerner’s words were low, measured, and deadly even:

“The best rider of the Flathead hunts no trouble. Neither does he run should it hunt him. A brother is sometimes more dangerous than a lover. As a brother, I’d be a howlin’ bad actor if feelin’ called on to protect my dependent sister from a low crawlin’ puch-qeeh.42 Ol’ Jim would sure be locoed.”

Cogewea laughed nervously. While the half-blood was all kindness to her, she well knew his fierce temperament and how best to placate it. It was with something of her old-time banter and spirit of coquetry, that she spoke; falling into the easy range vernacular:

“I b’lieve yo’ would! Some time, if yo’ don’t look out, maybe I’ll disown yo’ as a brother. Do yo’ savey? Now run ’long an’ hit th’ hay! I’m a goin’ tumble in an’ harvest a good crop of sleep. Goin’ give yo’ th’ first dance tomorrow night!”

With this, the girl of moods sprang up and dashed into the house, leaving her dusky lover pondering in doubt.