The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country
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CHAPTER XXV
The Secret of Yellowbank Canyon
Lou Chamreau was of French and Indian blood, chiefly Crow Indian. Fortwenty years he had been trading out of Pierre, Dakota, among thewestern tribes. He spoke French and Crow perfectly, he knew a littleSioux, and he was quite proficient in the universal Sign Language. Louhad lost money on the July horse-race, and was quite ready to play thewhite man's game.
On a certain afternoon in the latter part of August the trader mighthave been seen driving a very rickety wagon along the rough trailthrough the Badlands twenty miles to the eastward of Fort Ryan. Muchhard luck had pursued him, if one might judge by the appearance of hisoutfit and from his story. In his extremity his teamster had left himand he was travelling alone. It was just as he reached theboulder-strewn descent into Yellowbank Creek that the climax came. Thewagon upset and, falling some twenty feet, was lodged between thecutbanks in very bad shape. The horses were saved though the giving wayof the harness; and having hobbled and turned them out to graze, Loumounted a butte to seek for sign of help.
The sun was low in the west now; and across the glowing sky he noted athread of smoke. Within a few minutes it had been his guide to an Indiantepee--a solitary tepee in this lone and little-known canyon of theYellowbank--and entering, he recognized an old acquaintance. Aftersitting and smoking, he told of his troubles and asked the Red man tocome and help get the wagon out of the gully.
The Indian made the signs: "Yes, at sunrise."
Chamreau smoked for a time, then said: "I'm afraid I'll lose the 'firewater' in that keg. It may be leaking under the wagon." To which theSioux warrior said:
"Let us go now."
The keg was found intact, and to obviate all risk, was brought to theIndian camp. Chamreau deferred opening it as long as he could, so thatit was midnight before the "Cowboy's delight" was handed round, and bythree or four in the morning the camp was sunken in a deadly stupor.
According to the plan, Chamreau was to take a brand from the lodge and,in the black night outside, make a vivid zigzag in the air a few times,when his plot was obviously a success. But he became so deeplyinterested in giving realism to his own share of the spree that heforgot about everything else, and the rest of the scheme was omitted, sofar as he was concerned.
But with the dim dawn there arrived in camp a couple of horsemen, one anIndian. The camp was dead. With the exception of a dog at the doorwayand a horse in the corral, there was none to note their arrival. The doggrowled, barked and sneaked aside. The Crow Indian hurled a stone withsuch accuracy that the dog accepted the arrivals as lawful, and satdown, afar off, to think it over.
The inmates of the lodge; man, woman, boy and Chamreau, were insensibleand would evidently remain so for many hours. The Crow Indian and Kyletook brands from the fire and made vivid lightnings in the air. Withinten minutes, a group of horsemen came trampling down the slope and upthe pleasant valley of the Yellowbank.
It was not without some twinges of conscience that Hartigan peeped intothe lodge to see the utterly degrading stupefaction of the poison, buthe was alone in feeling anything like regret. The rest of the party weregiven over to wild hilarity. At once, they made for the corral. Yes,there he was, really a fine animal, the buckskin cayuse that had provedso important. And there, carefully protected, was a lot of baled timothyhay and fine oats, brought there at great cost. It is not often that alot of jockeys and horsemen are so careful of the enemy's mount. Theyhandled that buckskin as if he had been made of glass, they watered him,they groomed him, they gave him a light feed and walked him gently upand down. Then, as the sun rose, he was taken for a short canter.
"He's pretty good," said the jockey as they came in, "but nothingwonderful that I can see."
Meanwhile, Red Rover was also watered, fed, rubbed down, limbered up,and after every loving, horse-wise care was spent on both animals, thejockeys were given their mounts and headed for the starting point on thetwo-mile course.
First they ambled easily around the track to study the ground. Theystarted together and ran neck and neck for a quarter of a mile, thenpulled rein, as this was a mere warm-up. Then they returned to thestarting post, and the cowboy jockey on the buckskin said: "Well, boys,he's a good bronk, but I don't seem to feel any blood in him."
At the signal, they went off together, and behind them Captain Wayne,the Preacher, and a dozen more white men who were interested. Theseonlookers dropped behind as the racers went at high speed, but the viewwas clear, even when afar. The tall sorrel horse was a little ahead, butthe buckskin displayed surprising power and speed. At the turning pointhe was very little behind. And now, on the home run, was to be the realtrial. Would the bottom of the prairie pony overmatch the legs of theblooded horse?
The spectators were assembled at the place half way down, to meet themcoming back, and follow close behind. It grew very exciting as bothhorses developed their best speed, and as they came to the winning post,it was clear to all that the buckskin had no chance in a fair race withRed Rover. It was incidentally clear to Hartigan, and those near by,that Red Rover had no chance against Blazing Star, even though thelatter bore a heavy load; but that was not the point of generalinterest.
The serious business happily done, they tenderly groomed the buckskinand returned him to the corral, gave him a good supply of hay and saidgood-bye to the drunken Indians, the two-faced Chamreau, and theglorious Yellowbank, with its lonely lodge, its strange corral and itsgrowlsome Indian dog.