Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest | Page 5

than
I'd want to have myself. Some savage critter, that bull. And if Dakota
Joe's gal wasn't a crack shot that young lady would sure been throwed
higher than Haman."
Ruth had now struggled to her feet with the aid of Jenny and Mercy.
"Do find out who it was shot the bull!" she cried.
Jennie, although still white-faced, grinned broadly again. "Now who is
guilty of the most atrocious slang? 'Shot the bull,' indeed!"
"Thar she is," answered the broad-hatted man, pointing to a figure
approaching the fence. Helen fairly gasped at sight of her.
"Right out of a Remington black-and-white," she shrilled in Ruth
Fielding's ear.
The sight actually jolted Ruth's mind away from the fright which had
overwhelmed it. She stared at the person indicated with growing
interest as well as appreciation of the picturesque figure she made. She
was an Indian girl in the gala costume of her tribe, 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