CHAPTER VII
EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS
Winter dragged coldly by, saddened by the lessons of John Big Moose, andbrightened by an occasional hunting trip the boys took to the mountains.Sitting Bull did not seem to justify Whitey's first idea of him; that hewas a magnet for excitement. Apparently Bull was satisfied to lie by thebig living-room stove and sleep, except when the boys were going forgame. Then he was eager to go.
"That there dog is like some folks," declared Bill Jordan. "He'spowerful smart, but he's got a lot o' false idees 'bout himself. Heain't built for huntin' no more'n he is for runnin'. Why don't you takehim along onc't, an' show him his mistake?"
So one day when the snow was light, and snowshoes were not needed, Injunand Whitey took Bull to the hills with them, and he was mad withdelight. But all he did was to rush excitedly about and frighten thegame, except once, when Whitey had a good but hard shot at a rabbit.Then Bull got between Whitey's legs and tripped him up, so that Whiteymissed the shot.
The boys came back without any game, and apparently without convincingBull that he was no hunter, for the next time they started he was justas eager to go as before.
"You thought he'd be cured of wanting to hunt, but he isn't," Whiteysaid reproachfully to Bill Jordan. "I don't think he's so smart, afterall."
"Smart!" exclaimed Bill. "Why, he's just nachally too clever t' give up.He'd keep on tryin' till he did b'come a great hunter."
This was the usual satisfaction Whitey got out of Bill's arguments, butBull went hunting no more.
One of the boys' other diversions had to do with a Chinaman named WongLee. Wong had succeeded the colored man, Slim, as cook at the Bar O.Slim had thought the Montana winter too severe for his miseries, and hadgone South for good, and as Wong was a much better cook, no one feltsorry. Wong was placid, industrious, and very amiable, but beneath allthis he must have had nerves, as I suppose Chinamen have, in common withother people.
He slept in a shack near the bunk house, and carried his industry so farthat at night he would do all the washing that was to be done at theranch house, for which he was paid extra. And here was the boys' chance.Injun was like most other boys when it came to mischief, and Whiteytaught him the ancient game of tick-tack. In case you don't know it,I'll tell you how it's done.
To make a tick-tack get a long string, the longer the better; meaningthe longer the safer. Then get a small fish-hook, and tie it to the endof your string, and tie a little stone about eight inches below yourfish-hook. Select a dark night and the window of the person whose nervesyou wish to disturb. Then sneak up, and fasten the fish-hook to one ofthe cross pieces of the window. Then go to the end of your line, andhide behind a wagon or a post. Pull your string, and "tick-tack" goesthe stone on the window.
Wong Lee took it all in good part. He had been a boy once, himself,away off in China. And though Wong Lee never had played tick-tack, heprobably had played other, Chinese boy games that Injun and Whitey wouldhave been glad to know about, and Wong Lee was of such a dispositionthat he probably would have told them all about it, had he and the boyscome to an understanding in the matter.
Instead of that, when that irritating little sound got on his Chinesenerves, Wong Lee would chase out in answer to the tick-tack, with hispigtail standing straight out in the wind, and pursue the boys fromcover to cover. But he was game, and though he must have known who histormentors were, he never reported them to Mr. Sherwood or to BillJordan.
And so, with one thing and another, the winter finally merged intospring, the soft rains melting away the snow, and giving the brown earthits chance to turn to tender green. And the swollen river was dottedwith cakes of ice, among which the wild ducks dropped on their way Southwhere, it was to be hoped, Slim had recovered from his miseries. And, aseverybody knows, spring is a time that stirs boys and young men tounrest.
Perhaps you have noticed that when a fellow is just swelling up with adesire to do something big in the world, some trifling little thingcomes along and knocks his ambition to splinters. When he is burning tokill a bear, he has to go on an errand for his mother--or something likethat. Well, here was Whitey, with this spring feeling inciting him togreat deeds, instead of making him lazy, as it does some people, and hewent to the bunk house, followed by Sitting Bull. And there was BillJordan, with a letter in his hand, and something on his mind that he wasdying to tell, but would rather die than not take his time abouttelling.
So Bill proceeded to peddle out his news, a bit at a time. "John BigMoose's goin' t' New York," was the first thing Bill said.
"Hooray!" Whitey cried.
"That's a fine way t' take th' news that you're goin' t' lose your dearteacher," Bill said reproachfully.
"Oh, of course I'm sorry that John is going away, but just think,there'll be no more lessons," Whitey answered.
"O' course," Bill said, and he looked at the boy in a very peculiar way.
But Whitey was too excited to notice the look. "What's John going for?"he asked.
"Your father's sent for him," answered Bill. Mr. Sherwood's business hadagain taken him to the big city. "An' now that this here gold mine'sturnin' out so well," Bill continued, "an' John has some money, yourfather don't think it's fair t' keep him here teachin' a couple o' kids,when there's a big openin' for John right there in New York. An' itseems your father's got John some job as a chemist, though goin' into adrug store don't seem no big openin' t' me," Bill added thoughtfully.
"John isn't going to be a drug clerk," Whitey said, disgusted at Bill'signorance. Whitey knew something of the big Indian's ambitions, havingheard him discuss them with Mr. Sherwood. "Father probably has heard ofan opening in some college, where John can become an instructor inchemistry."
Bill didn't know what that meant, either, but, not wishing to displayhis ignorance further, he said hastily, "Oh, that's diff'runt."
"When's John going?" demanded Whitey.
"Right off. Gonna drive him t' th' Junction to-day."
"Then no more lessons!" cried Whitey. "We'll be off for a hunting trip.I hear Moose Lake is just loaded with wild geese. Where's Injun? I mustrun and tell him."
"Wait a minit," cautioned Bill. "There's somethin' more. But first Imust tell you how s'prised an' pained you make me by showin' this heredislike for learnin'."
"Surprised nothing," retorted Whitey. "Did you like it when you were akid?"
"Nope," Bill confessed promptly. "But I'm dern sorry I didn't, now. Youain't got no idea what a handicap a feller's under what ain't got noeddication."
Whitey thought that what Bill had just said had given him a pretty goodidea of the handicap, but he was wise enough to say nothing. Bill satdown and began to roll a cigarette.
"O' course, they's a lot of things in life that you can't learn outabooks," Bill said. "But th' feller with th' book-learnin' generally hasth' upper hand. There's one thing books never rightly teached no boy,an' that's lookin' ahead. I've often wondered why they didn't pay more'tention t' that, but mostly a boy has t' learn it for himself. If hehappens t' be born in the wilderness he just nach'lly has t' learn it,or I reckon he'd die."
Whitey fidgeted about, knowing that Bill was on one of his favoritetopics, and wouldn't stop and tell the rest of his news until he was rundown.
"Take Injun, f'r instance," Bill went on. "He's got a way o' figurin'out things that's wonderful, an' once in a while that way o' figurin'has saved his life. They's a highbrow word for that stuff, an' it's'observation.' You just stick to that observation thing, kid, an' you'llfind it a heap o' use t' you in this country."
Whitey knew of Injun's wonderful powers of observation which he hadoften shown on the trail, but could not help thinking that some of hisred friend's cleverness was due to the lore inherited from his Indianancestors, with their knowledge of the wild and of the habits of itsbeasts and birds. But Bill droned on while Whitey squirmed withimpatience, and presently a welcome interruption came in the person ofShorty Palmer, who dashed into the room.
"Say,
Bill," Shorty cried, "you got th' new time-table?"
"Sure," said Bill. "Last time I was to the Junction."
"Well, didn't you notice that th' Eastern Express leaves two hoursearlier now?"
"No."
"It does, an' you'll have t' burn up th' prairie t' make it, an' Buck'sgot th' team all hitched, an' John Big Moose's just throwin' things intohis trunk, an' you'd best get a move on."
"Jumpin' garter snakes!" cried Bill. "I never--"
"Oh," Whitey interrupted, "this observation thing is great stuff. Andyou just stick to it, and--"
"Shucks, I ain't got no time t' argue with kids," said Bill, andstarted for the door.
"Hold on," called Whitey. "What was that other news you were going totell me?"
"Nothin'," said Bill, "'cept your father writes that now John Big Mooseis goin', you an' Injun'll have t' go t' school at th' Forks," and hehurried from the bunk house, followed by Shorty.
Whitey sank down on a stool in despair. Gone were the dreams ofadventure, of wild geese and bears just wakening from their winter'ssleep. School! And with those few kids at the Forks!
"What's the use of anything?" Whitey muttered dejectedly.
And Bull, who at times was very sympathetic, looked up at him as much asto say, "Nothing."
Injun and Whitey to the Rescue Page 8