The Black Lion Inn

rnoon; heavy, dull and hot lies the heart of Gray Wolf. There is a profound grief at his soul's roots. The Indian's is not a mobile face. In full expres

even without the aid of graphic ochre, one reads some

nket is rags, and his moccasins are rusty and worn. These be weeds of mourning. Death has

to chin-on yonder hilltop, wrapped her in rawhides, and, as against the curiosity of coyotes and other prowling vermin of the night, budded her solidly about and over with heavy stones. You may see the rude mausole, like some tumbledown chimney, from the agency door. That was a moon ago. Another will go by; Gray Wolf will lay off hi

of the jaw, run downward on the neck until they disappear beneath his blanket, prove Gray Wolf's elevation. They are the marks of an aboriginal nobility whereof the paleface in his ignorance knows noth

. He would not die like the verse maker, he could not laugh like the consul; there is a gulf between Gray Wolf and these as wide as the width of the possible. Gray Wolf is a stoic, and therefore neither so callous nor so wise as an epicure. Moreover, he is a savage and not a poet. Petronius came to be nothing better

eighbor. His conduct goes guiltless of slanderous syllable or gesture. But he criticises you in his heart; he is strenuous to think ill of you; and by some fashion of telepathy you know and feel and burn with th

a. The race had wide advertisement; it took shape between the Osages and the Poncas as an international event. Gray Wolf assured his tribe of victory; his Sundown was a shooting star, the roan a turtle; wher

n as Gray Wolf sits beneath the agency cottonwood and writhes while he considers what his pillaged countrymen must think of him, the exultant Poncas are in the midst of a protracted spree, something in the nature

e face, with gray eyes that dance and gleam, and promise explosiveness of temper. The tan that darkens Bill Henry's skin wherever the sun may get to it, and which is comparable

a plan is running in the thoughts of Bill. There is call for change in Bill'

ltimore's old domain. His folk are of consequence, and intended that Bill should take a high position. Bill's mother, an ardent church woman, had a pulpit in her thoughts for Bill; his father, more of the world, urged on his son th

eep, victuals and work. Bill distasted such orderly matters and felt instinctive abhorrence therefor. The day in

er tugged one way and his mother another, Bill himself went suddenly from under their hands, fled from both altar and forum, and never paused until he found himself within the generous reaches of the Texas Panhandle. There, as related, and becau

;" and Bill, in attempting to supply the deficiencies of a four flush with his six shooter, managed the other's serious wounding. This so shook Bill's standing in the Panhandle, so marked him to the

at does not find shape as an immediate personal invasion of himself. But the government agent-a stern, decisive person-likes not the presence of straggling whites among his cop

orrow, and believeth with all his soul that sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Here was a program to dovetail with those natural moods of Bill. His very being, when once it understood, arose on tiptoe to

He must take a daughter of the tribe to wife; turn "squaw man," as it is called. Th

with the title of "Mrs. Bill." It is this selection that produces Gray Wolf as a factor in Bill's intended happiness, since Gray Wolf is the paren

0

ly bout, on foot and on horseback, his superiority to the young Osage bucks who would pit themselves against him? Has he not out-run, out-wrestled and out-ridden them? And at work with either r

, Bill knows he has touched her heart. Yes, forsooth! Bill feels sure of the Saucy Paoli; it is Gray Wolf, somber of his late defeat by the wily Dull Ox and the evanescent roan, toward whom his apprehensions turn their face. The more, perhaps, since Bill himself, not being a blinded Osage, and

ions of dollars stored in the Great Father's strong chests in Washington; they are paid each one hundred and forty dollars by their fostering Great Father as an annual present; and the head of the house draws all for himself and his own. Marriage will mean an instant yearly income of two hundred and eighty dollars; moreover, there may come the profitab

eply. It would not be the Osage way, but Bill is not yet an Osage, and some reasonable allowance should be made by Gray Wolf for the rudeness of a paleface education.

aucy Paoli and her glances, full of wist and warmth, fasten

way of salutation, as h

employ; he explains his passion, sets forth his hopes, and by dashing swoops arrives at the poi

price? How

e?" retorts the c

stands ready t

across the prairie grasses where the thick smoke

s," says Bill

ndred dollars-Bill knows to be a fat f

to touch his pride and those to wake his patriotism. And because of the recent triumph of the Poncas, and the consequent censures upon

!" says G

ne

beat the Po

he Spanish Peaks, has their fame been flung. About camp fires and among the boys of cows are tales told of Triangle-Dot ponies that overtake coyotes and jack-rabbits. More, they are exalted as having on a time raced even with an antelope. These ponies are children o

s, my father

ed on his best, rides out of Pauhauska. His blankets are strapped behind, his war bags bulge with provand, he is fully

row its shadows long; his eyes follow Bill until the latter's broad bri

al camps; now and again he pauses for the night at some chance plaza of the Mexicans; but fi

muzzle, mild of eye, wide of forehead, deep of lung, silken of mane, slim of limb, a daughter of the great Redempt

lm. He feels her velvet coat; picks up one by

wn and leaves that hopeless cayuse as i

olf, at the finish

nity has wings, though his pony has none, and once he gets it into his savage head that his pony can race, it is never long ere he regards him

cy. Two thousand Osages and Poncas are gathered together. There is no laughter, no uproar, no loud talk; all is gra

take warning. But they do not; wagers run higher. The Osages have by resolution of their fifteen legislators brought the public money

lanket spread on the grass. It is presided ove

s it on the red betting-cloth. Another comes up; the pool master murmurs the name of the pony on which the hundred is offered; it is covered by the second speculator; that wager is complete. Others arrive at the betting blanket; its entire surface becomes dotted with bank notes-two and two they lie together, each wagered against the othe

from little head to little foot, leaves not so much as a stray lock or the tip of an ear for one's gaze to rest upon. The Saucy Paoli is present dutifully to answer the

0

ee Osages on a side they are; they seat themselves opposite each other with twenty feet between.

nding start. A grave buck sits in the saddle near the two racers and to their rear

r than the thrown lance, swift as the sped arrow she comes! With each instant she leaves and still further leaves the roan! What has such as the mong

ray Wolf's eyes gleam, and the cords in his neck swell. He has been redeemed with his people; his honor has been returned; his

here will be feasting and dancing. Now they must be grave and guarded, b

om the saddle. Gray Wolf throws off the blanket from the Saucy Paoli, where she waits, head bowed and silent. Her dress is the climax of Osage ma

esitates. Then, as one who takes courage-just as might a white

Doctor came to a pause; "only I don't like that notion of a white man marrying an Indian. It's apt to

am supposed to have a spoonful of the blood of that daughter of Powhatan in my veins; and while it is unpleasant to recall one's ancestress as having gone from hand to hand as the subject of barter and sale-and

ltless of acquaintance with him. The story

ry well, albeit with a guttural Indian effect, and who had listened to the Jolly Doctor's

that if you-alls don't mind, he'll onfold on you a Injun tale himse'f. It's o

the popular one; thus cheered, our dark-skinned raconteur, first lighting his

s tale, which shows how Forked Tongue, the bad medicine man, was burned, must teach how never to let the hear