Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest | Page 8

girl received was vociferous. Most of the
spectators believed that the shooting of the glass ball out of the man's
hand had been rehearsed and was one of Wonota's chief feats. Ruth and
her friends had watched what had gone before too closely to make that
mistake. There was plainly a serious schism between Dakota Joe and
the girl whom he had called the Indian princess.
The girls settled back in their seats after Wonota had replied to the
applause with a stiff little bow from the entrance to the dressing-tent.
The usual representation of "Pioneer Days" was then put on, and while
the "stage" was being set for the attack on the emigrant train and Indian
massacre, the fellow who had stood at the pasture fence and talked to
the girls when the black bull had done his turn, suddenly appeared in
the aisle between the plank seats and gestured to Ruth.
"What?" asked the girl of the Red Mill "You want me?"
"You're the lady," he said, grinning. "Won't keep you a minute. You
can git back and see the rest of the show all right."
"It must be that Wonota has sent him for me," explained Ruth, seeing
no other possible reason for this call. Refusing to let even Helen go
with her, she followed the man up the aisle and down a narrow flight of

steps to the ground.
"What is the matter with her? What does she want me for?" Ruth asked
him when she could get within earshot and away from the audience.
"Her?"
"Yes. You come from Wonota, don't you?"
The man chuckled, but still kept on. "You'll see her in a minute. Right
this way, Miss," he said.
They came to a canvas-enclosed place with a flap pinned back as
though it were the entrance to a tent. The guide flourished a hamlike
hand, holding back the canvas flap.
"Just step in and you'll find her," he said, again chuckling.
Ruth was one not easily alarmed. But the fellow seemed impudent. She
gave him a reproving look and marched into what appeared to be an
office, for there was a desk and a chair in view.
There, to her surprise, was Dakota Joe, the long-haired proprietor of the
Wild West Show! He stood leaning against a post, his arms folded and
smoking a very long and very black cigar. He did not remove his hat as
Ruth entered, but rolled his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the
other and demanded harshly:
"You know this Injun girl I got with the show?"
"Certainly I know her!" Ruth exclaimed without hesitation, "She saved
my life."
"Huh! I heard about that, ma'am. And I don't mean it just that way. I'm
talking about her--drat her! She says she has got a date with you and
your friends between the afternoon and night shows."
"Yes," Ruth said wonderingly. "We are to meet--and talk."

"That's just it, ma'am," said the man, rolling the cigar again in an
offensive way. "That's just it. When you come to talk with that Injun
girl, I want you to steer her proper on one p'int. We're white, you an'
me, and I reckon white folks will stick together when it comes to a
game against reds. Get me?"
"I do not think I do--yet," answered Ruth hesitatingly.
"Why, see here, now," Dakota Joe went on. "It's easy to see you're a
lady--a white lady. I'm a white gent. This Injun wench has got it in for
me. Did you see what she come near doin' to me right out there in the
ring?"
Ruth restrained a strong wish to tell him exactly what she had seen. But
somehow she felt that caution in the handling of this rough man would
be the wiser part.
"I saw that she made a very clever shot in breaking that ball in your
hand, Mr. Dakota Joe," the girl of the Red Mill said.
"Heh? Well, didn't you see she aimed straight at me? Them reds ain't
got no morals. They'd jest as lief shoot a feller they didn't like as not.
We have to keep 'em down all the time. I know. I been handling 'em for
years."
"Well, sir?" asked Ruth impatiently.
"Why, this Wonota--drat her!--is under contract with me. She's a
drawin' card, I will say. But she's been writin' back to the agency where
I got her and making me trouble. She means to leave me flat if she
can---and a good winter season coming on."
"What do you expect me to do about it, Mr.--er--Dakota Joe?" asked
Ruth.
"Fenbrook. Fenbrook's my name, ma'am," tardily explained the
showman. "Now, see here. She's nothin' but an ignorant redskin. Yep.
She's daughter of old Totantora, hereditary chief of the Osages. But he's

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