CHAPTER IX
FISH-HOOKS AND HOOKY
After breakfast the next morning when Injun and Whitey came out of theranch house, Whitey was heavy-hearted. The thought of going to thatschool at the Forks was the cause of his depression. It was like somesort of penalty one must pay for being a boy. Injun was to escort Whiteyto the school, as an act of friendship--as one might go to another'sfuneral.
Sitting Bull was sleeping peaceably on the veranda. Sitting Bull had noregard for the man who said that "early to bed and early to rise makes aman healthy and wealthy and wise," or he never had heard of him. SittingBull always slept late. There were other rules that boys must follow towhich Bull paid no attention. He did not chew his food carefully, asevery one knows that boys should. There were times when Whitey enviedBull, and this first day of school was one of them.
But when the boys started for the corral to get their ponies, Bullroused himself and expressed a wish to go with them. He had a mistakenidea that he could keep up with the horses for nine miles, and it waswith some difficulty that Whitey got him to give it up.
"He don't know what he's missing," Whitey said sadly, as he and Injunturned from the disappointed Bull and walked reluctantly to the corral.
It was a beautiful day, too. Did you ever notice that the first day ofschool always is beautiful? Injun and Whitey's ponies made short work ofthe nine miles of road that skirted the foothills and led to the Forks,the spirited animals seeming to drink in the bracing morning air thatswept down from the mountains as though it were a tonic, which indeed itwas.
The Forks was a spot at which a road that led down from the mountainsjoined the road to the Junction. The mountain road was little more thana trail, seldom traveled, and almost overgrown with grass, and where itjoined the other stood the shack which was used as a schoolhouse. Thisshack had been built by some early homeseeker, who had long agoabandoned it to seek other pastures. It was old and discouraged-looking,and patched in spots with pieces of tin and boards. As a temple oflearning it was not an inviting-looking place.
The pupils evidently had assembled in the shack, for tied in the shelterof some maples near by were four cayuses and two weary-looking mules.There were eight scholars, as Whitey knew, so he guessed that the mulescarried double. Injun seemed much more cheerful on this occasion thanWhitey, who dismounted and tied Monty near the other animals. Then,before entering for the sacrifice, he tiptoed over to the shack andpeeped into the window. He tiptoed back to where Injun sat calmly on hispinto. There was a look of horror on Whitey's face.
"Girls!" he whispered.
Bill Jordan had not told Whitey that some of Miss Adams's pupils were ofthe fair sex. He had left that as a pleasant surprise. And there werejust two things in life that Whitey was mortally afraid of--one wasgirls and the other was school.
Some persons regard the Indians as a cruel and heartless race. I do nothold with this opinion, but I am bound to state what Whitey's friendInjun did now. He grinned--actually grinned. Whitey gave him a sad,reproachful look, and with his package of lunch under his arm, slouchedinto the schoolhouse.
It is needless to follow Whitey into this seat of learning. If this werea record of the torments and horrors he underwent during his boyhooddays, it might be well to describe this period at length. But suffice itto say that Jennie Adams, the teacher, was a young woman who, if given alittle time to think, could tell you, without using a paper or pencil,how much six pounds of butter would cost at twelve cents a pound. Also,that the girl pupils, of whom there were four,--those who rode the mulesdouble,--had a habit of tittering, also of leaning over close to eachand making whispered remarks about Whitey.
A week of this did not add to Whitey's thirst for knowledge, which wasnot very strong at best, and it was just a week from this first daythat he was again riding toward the schoolhouse, and somethinghappened. It was another bright morning, and Whitey had reached a spotwhere the road branched up into the foothills to avoid a marsh, when henoticed signs of excitement in his pony, Monty. These signs would havebeen stronger had the wind been blowing the other way, and had Monty'snose made him aware of the exact danger that lurked near. As it was, hisears, which were much keener than Whitey's, caught sounds of somedisturbing presence, and Whitey had difficulty in keeping him in theroad.
At a sharp turn, Whitey and Monty were greeted by a roar that was deeperthan that of any automobile horn you ever heard, a roar that had menacebehind it, and that came from a large brown bear which had risen on itshind legs and was advancing into the road with both front paws extendedwide, as though with the intent of embracing both Whitey and Monty.
ADVANCING INTO THE ROAD WITH BOTH FRONT PAWS EXTENDED]
Monty did not wait for any guiding rein to turn him. He wheeled on aspace about as big as a cigar-box, and hit the trail for home, and forsome time he and Whitey gave a fair imitation of a runaway train on adown grade. All Whitey could do was to lie low on Monty's neck, digginghis moccasins into Monty's ribs, for fear he would change hismind--which he didn't.
And neither Whitey nor Monty knew that that roar came from a motherbear, and that back of the bear was a small cub, with a round, funnylittle stomach, industriously combing the bushes for berries, andregarding life as one round of pleasure. There was no need for them toknow that. Whitey had had experiences with bears, as you may remember.If wireless had been invented, he might possibly have been willing touse it as a means of introduction, but in no way he could think of atthe moment was he willing to meet a bear on its native heath.
That settled it. No school that day. Couldn't expect a fellow to go toschool when he had to run into bears on the trail. What was an old beardoing near the ranch, anyhow? Didn't seem right. When Monty had toneddown his headlong trip away from that bear, or thought he was at a safedistance, Whitey found himself near the river, and idly turned Montytoward its banks. Might as well take a little ride. Fellow didn't learnmuch at that school, anyway. And so, after the ways of boys and men,Whitey made excuses for not doing what he didn't want to do.
With his mind somewhat at ease, Monty ambled along the shore of theYellowstone, with Whitey enjoying the scenery as much as his consciencewould let him, and his conscience getting weaker every minute. Andpresently, at some distance, he saw a small huddled-up figure sitting onthe bank. Closer inspection proved this figure to be pink, and stillcloser inspection revealed it to be Injun. Wondering what Injun wasdoing in that neighborhood, Whitey approached, and was surprised to findthat Injun was fishing.
Knowing that Indians never fish except through necessity, Whitey waspuzzled. As he drew nearer, Injun turned and regarded him, betraying nosurprise at Whitey's being there; at his not being in school. Whiteydismounted and sat near his friend.
"What are you fishing for, Injun?" he asked.
"Fish," Injun replied seriously.
"Of course," said Whitey. "I mean what do you want to catch the fishfor?"
"Gum," spoke Injun briefly.
"Gum?" demanded the bewildered Whitey. "You can't make gum out of fish."
Injun said nothing at all. Whitey thought that perhaps he had a bite,but he hadn't. He just didn't ooze information. It had to be draggedfrom him. So Whitey proceeded.
"Please explain about this fishing for gum," he said politely.
"Gum him chew," Injun replied.
"Oh, chewing-gum!" cried Whitey. A light dawned on him, for he knew thatInjun was very fond of chewing-gum. So was Whitey. "You trade the fishfor gum."
"No trade; sell 'em; get much gum."
This was the first commercial instinct that Whitey had ever known Injunto show, and he looked at him admiringly. At that moment Injun got abite. He did not betray any of the excitement a white boy does on suchan occasion. He solemnly pulled in his line, and when it was almost in,a good-sized pickerel squirmed off the hook, and flopped back into thewater. And now Injun showed no disappointment. He seriously examined theworm on his hook, to see that it was intact, then cast the line into theriver again.
Whitey watched him in silence. Injun got another bite, and the sameoperation was repeated, except that the fish that escaped was largerthan the other. Injun patiently rebaited his hook. "Biggest one him getaway," he grunted.
Whitey knew something about fishermen and the stories they tell: that itis always the biggest fish that escaped. But in this case it seemed tobe true, for strung on a willow twig was Injun's catch, about six smallpickerel.
"How long you been fishing here?" Whitey asked.
"Since sunup."
"And that's all you've caught?" Whitey indicated the string of fish.
"Um."
"Let's see your hook," Whitey said, as another pickerel was pulledalmost to shore, and then flopped back into its native element.
When Injun displayed the hook, Whitey saw that it was one of the littleones they had used in fastening the tick-tack to Wong's window. "Why,this is too small for pickerel," exclaimed Whitey. "It's for perch. Youought to have a bigger one."
"Yes, me know," said Injun.
Again Whitey was impressed by Injun's patience. There he had sat forseveral hours, watching those big fish return to the Yellowstone andsafety. Whitey knew that he never could have stood it. Finally hequestioned him.
"If you knew that the big fish would fall off that hook, and that theyare just waiting to be caught, how could you stand just getting thelittle ones?" Whitey said. "They're not worth much."
"Mebbe after time big fish him swallow hook, then me get him," answeredInjun, which was a pretty long speech for him, and explained manymatters.
As Whitey sat watching Injun waiting for an accommodating and greedypickerel to come along, a great idea was born to him--a fishingpartnership between him and Injun.
And that was why, if Whitey could have been closely watched, one wouldhave seen him sneaking around the ranch barn every morning, just beforeit was time to start for school, and slipping things into his pockets.And on examination these things would have been seen to be fishing-linesand hooks of the proper size for pickerel.
And that is why, for about four days a week, Injun and Whitey satdangling their feet in the Yellowstone River, catching large flocks ofpickerel, which they peddled to neighboring ranchmen at two bits ahalf-dozen. And that is why they were always well supplied withchewing-gum.
Now, it is not my purpose to defend or excuse this conduct of Injun andWhitey's, but simply to record it. If you are looking for a moral inthis story, you may find it in what followed on the heels of thisfishing partnership. In the first place, no boy without money maydisplay things which cost money without attracting attention, followedby suspicion. Gum costs money, and the chewing of it is a very apparentaction.
Soon Bill Jordan was saying to Jim Walker: "Where d'you s'pose them kidsget all that gum?"
Jim was answering, "Down t' th' Junction."
"But they ain't got no money," Bill was objecting.
Then Buck Higgins was sauntering up and remarking, "Say, Sid Griggs,over t' th' Diamond Dagger, was tellin' me, t'day, how Injun and Whiteysells him herds o' fine pick'rul at six bits a throw."
"Why don't they bring some home? When do they ketch them pick'rul?That's where they get th' cash!" Bill Jordan was exclaiming, in a ratherdisconnected manner, thus showing that the putting of two and twotogether is fatal to wrongdoers.
Then Bill called on Miss Jennie Adams, at her temple of learning, andfound that Whitey had spent only a week there, and confirmedhis--Bill's--suspicion that school hours had become fishing hours.
Bill Jordan was big and strong enough to lick Whitey, but he felt thathe had not the moral right to do so, and he was greatly puzzled. Herealized that, as you may lead a horse to the water but you can't makehim drink, so you may lead a boy to school but you can't make him study.Most of Bill's own school hours had been spent in hunting, as he didn'tcare for fishing. Thus, if Bill lectured Whitey, the boy could throwBill's own ignorance of book-learning in his face.
The more Bill thought over this matter the more undecided he became, andfinally he saddled his horse and rode down to the Junction, and resortedto what was, for him, a very unusual action. So later in the day Mr.Sherwood received the following telegram, in his New York office:
Whitey wont learn nothin. Ketches pickrul. What will I do?
William Jordan
You will notice that this message took exactly ten words--which wasevidence of more thinking on Bill's part.
Bill waited patiently at the Junction, and late that night received thefollowing answer:
Put the boy at such a hard job that he will be glad to resume hisstudies.
Sherwood
Injun and Whitey to the Rescue Page 10