Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest | Page 7

Joe.
What she said to the man certainly Ruth and her friends could not
understand. It was said in the Osage tongue in any case. But with the
words the Indian girl thrust forward the light rifle which she carried.
For a moment its blue muzzle was set full against the white man's
chest.
"Oh!" gasped Jennie. And she was not alone in thus giving vent to her
excitement. "Oh!"
"Why doesn't she shoot him?" drawled Mercy Curtis.
"I--I guess It was only in fun," said Helen rather shakingly, as the
Indian girl wheeled her mount again and rode away from Dakota Joe.

"I wouldn't want her to be that funny with me," gasped Jennie Stone.
"She must be a regular wild Indian, after all."
"I am sure, at least, that this Dakota Joe person would have deserved
little sympathy if she had shot him," declared Mercy, with confidence.
"Dear me," admitted Ruth herself, "I want to meet that girl more than
ever now. There must be some mystery regarding her connection with
the owner of the show. They certainly are not in accord."
"You've said something!" agreed Jennie, likewise with conviction.
If Wonota had been at all flurried because of her treatment by her
employer, she no longer showed it. Having ridden to the proper spot,
she wheeled the white pony again and faced the place where there was
a steel shield against which the objects she was to shoot at were
thrown.
Dakota Joe rode forward as though to affix the first clay ball to the
string. Then he pulled in his horse, scowled across the ring at Wonota,
and beckoned one of the cowboys to approach. This man took up the
duty of affixing the targets for the Indian girl.
"Do you see that?" chuckled Jennie Stone. "He's afraid she might
change her mind and shoot him after all."
"Sh!" cautioned Ruth. "Somebody might hear you. Now look."
The swinging targets were shattered by Wonota as fast as the man
could hook them to the string and set the string to swinging. Then he
threw glass balls filled with feathers into the air for the Indian girl to
explode.
It was evident that she was not doing as well as usual, for she missed
several shots. But this was not because of her own nervousness. Since
the pony had been cut with Dakota Joe's whip it would not stand still,
and its nervousness was plainly the cause of Wonota's misses.

The owner of the show was, however, the last person to admit this. He
showed more than annoyance as the act progressed.
Perhaps it was the strained relations so evident between the owner of
the show and Wonota that affected the man attending to the targets, for
he became rather wild. He threw a glass ball so far to one side that to
have shot at it would have endangered the spectators, and the Indian
girl dropped the muzzle of her rifle and shook her head. The curving
ball came within Dakota Joe's reach.
"Some baseball player, I'll say!" ejaculated Jennie Stone slangily.
For the owner of the show caught the flying ball. He wheeled his
spirited horse, and, holding the ball at arm's length, he spurred down
the field toward the Indian girl.
"Oh!" cried Ruth under her breath. "He is going to throw it at her!"
"The villain!" ejaculated Mercy Curtis, her eyes flashing.
But if that was his intention, Dakota Joe did not fulfill it. The Indian
girl whipped up the muzzle of her rifle and seemed to take deliberate
aim at the angry man. Evidently this act was not on the bill!
CHAPTER IV
SMOKING THE PEACE PIPE
Ruth Fielding almost screamed aloud. She rose in her seat, clinging to
Helen Cameron's arm.
"Oh! what will she do?" gasped the girl of the Red Mill, just as the rifle
in the Indian sharp-shooter's hands spat its brief tongue of flame.
The glass ball in Dakota Joe's fingers was shattered and he went
through a cloud of feathers as he turned his horse at a tangent and rode
away from the Indian girl. It was a good shot, but one that the
proprietor of the Wild West Show did not approve of!

"Oh!" exclaimed Mercy Curtis, bitterly, "why didn't she shoot him
instead of the ball? He deserves it, I know."
"Dear me, Mercy," drawled Jennie Stone, "you most certainly are a
blood-thirsty person!"
"I just know that man is a villain, and the Indian girl is in his power."
"Next reel!" giggled Helen. "It is a regular Western cinema drama, isn't
it?"
"I certainly want to become better acquainted with that Wonota,"
declared Ruth, not at all sure but that Mercy Curtis was right in her
opinion. "There! Wonota is going off."
The applause the Indian