Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest | Page 5

feather head-dress and all. Or, perhaps, one would better say she was dressed as the white man expects an Indian to dress when on exhibition.
But aside from her dress, which was most attractive, the girl herself held Ruth's keen interest. Despite her high cheekbones and the dusky copper color of her skin, this strange girl's features were handsome. There was pride expressed in them--pride and firmness and, withal, a certain sadness that added not a little to the charm of the Indian girl's visage.
"What a strange person!" murmured Helen Cameron.
"She is pretty," announced the assured Mercy Curtis, who always held her own opinion to be right on any subject. "One brunette never does like another," and she made a little face at Helen.
"Listen!" commanded Jennie Stone. "What does she say?"
The Indian girl spoke again, and this time they all heard her.
"Is the white lady injured, Conlon?"
"No, ma'am!" declared the broad-hatted man. "She'll be as chipper as a blue-jay in a minute. That was a near shot, Wonota. For an Injun you're some shot, I'll tell the world."
An expression of disdain passed over the Indian girl's face. She looked away from the man and Ruth's glance caught her attention.
"I thank you very much, Miss--Miss--"
"I am called Wonota in the Osage tongue," interposed the Indian maiden composedly enough.
"She's Dakota Joe's Injun sharpshooter," put in the man at the fence. "And she ain't no business out here in her play-actin' costume--or with her gun loaded that-a-way. Aginst the law. That gun she uses is for shootin' glass balls and clay pigeons in the show."
"Well, Miss Wonota," said Ruth, trying to ignore the officious man who evidently annoyed the Indian maiden, "I am very thankful you did have your rifle with you at this particular juncture." She approached the fence and reached over it to clasp the Indian girl's hand warmly.
"We are going in to see you shoot at the glass balls, for I see the show is about to start. But afterward, Wonota, can't we see you again?"
The Indian girl's expression betrayed some faint surprise. But she bowed gravely.
"If the white ladies desire," she said. "I must appear now in the tent. The boss is strict."
"You bet he is," added the broad-hatted man, who seemed offensively determined to push himself forward.
"After the show, then," said Ruth promptly to the girl. "I will tell you then just how much obliged to you I am," and she smiled in a most friendly fashion.
Wonota's smile was faint, but her black eyes seemed suddenly to sparkle. The man at the fence looked suspiciously from the white girls to the Indian maid, but he made no further comment as Wonota hastened away.
CHAPTER III
IN THE RING
"What do you know about that Indian girl?" demanded Jennie Stone excitedly. "She was just as cool as a cucumber. Think of her shooting that bull just in the nick of time and saving our Ruth!"
"It does seem," remarked Mercy Curtis in her sharp way, "that Ruthie Fielding cannot venture abroad without getting into trouble."
"And getting out of it, I thank you," rejoined Helen, somewhat offended by Mercy's remark.
"Certainly I have not been killed yet," was Ruth's mild observation, pinching Helen's arm to warn her that she was not to quarrel with the rather caustic lame girl. Mercy's affliction, which still somewhat troubled her, had never improved her naturally crabbed disposition, and few of her girl friends had Ruth's patience with her.
"I don't know that I feel much like seeing cowboys rope steers and all that after seeing that horrid black bull charge our Ruthie," complained Helen. "Shall we really go to the show?"
"Why! Ruth just told that girl we would," said Jennie.
"I wouldn't miss seeing that Wonota shoot for anything," Ruth declared.
"But there is nobody here to watch the automobile now," went on Helen, who was more nervous than her chum.
"Yes," Jennie remarked. "Here comes 'Silas Simpkins, the straw-chewing rube,'" and she giggled.
The farmer was at hand, puffing and blowing. He assured them that "that critter" was tightly housed and would do no more harm.
"Hope none o' you warn't hurt," he added. "By jinks! that bull is jest as much excited by this here Wild West Show as I be. Did you pay me for your ortymobile, young ladies?"
"I most certainly did," said Ruth. "Your bull did not drive all memory away."
"All right. All right," said the farmer hastily. "I thought you did, but I wasn't positive you'd remember it."
With which frank confession he turned away to meet another motor-car party that was attempting to park their machine on his land.
The four girls got out into the dusty road and marched to the ticket wagon that was gaily painted with the sign of "Dakota Joe's Wild West and Frontier Round-Up."
"This is my treat," declared Ruth, going ahead to the ticket window with the