Cogewea, the Half-Blood

It was sunset on the river Pend d’Oreille. The last rays of the day-God, glinting through the tangled vines screening the great porch of the homestead of the Horseshoe Bend Ranch, fell upon a face of rare type. The features were rather prominent and well defined. The rich olive complexion, the grave, pensive countenance, proclaimed a proud descent from the only true American⁠—the Indian. Of mixed blood, was Cogewea; a “breed”!⁠—the socially ostracized of two races. Her eyes of the deepest jet, sparkled, when under excitement, like the ruby’s fire. Hair of the same hue was as lustrous as the raven’s wing, falling when loose, in great billowy folds, enveloping her entire form. Her voice was low and musical, with a laugh to madden the gods.

Cogewea’s mother had died when she was but a small child, and her father, Bertram McDonnald, had followed the gold rush to Alaska, leaving her and two sisters to be cared for by the old Indian grandmother. Through the aid of friends⁠—an inherent principle in Indian life⁠—the wolf was kept from the teepee door. During all the long years no word had come from the silent North, and it was supposed that this father had succumbed to death in the realms of storms and ghastly whiteness.

The girl, remained several minutes lost in reverie; then turning her steed with a quick movement, she loped down the wagon grade. By making shortcuts she thought to reach home sooner than by the main road, and in so doing, she came to a high ridge. On its brow she reined in Wanawish in startled amazement. Not far down the slope was a prostrate form⁠—a rider⁠—while his faithful horse was feeding on the bunch-grass near by. Recovering from her surprise, she approached. It was James LaGrinder sleeping in the broiling sun. Her first emotion was of pity, knowing the hardships he had encountered during the past week. But the spirit of mischief predominated, and poor, tired Jim was to suffer humiliation at the hands of one for whom he would at any time have laid down his own life.

Catching his horse, she led it away, leaving the foreman to dream of the “one nearest his heart.” Thoughtless girl! Had she known that the rider, after a long, hard chase had dismounted to readjust his cinch, and, thinking to give his winded mount a few moments rest, had sat down only immediately to fall asleep from utter exhaustion, she would not have left him afoot so far from home. But ignorant of all this, she rode away elated. What a joke, she thought, for Jim to be obliged to walk six miles when he awoke.

“Say boys!” Jim spoke in an undertone, “we’re goin’ to have a little circus of our own. We’ll saddle Croppy for that there swell guy. White shirts and stand-up collars don’t go on this here ranch. We’ll have fun to the finish. He’ll be lucky if he gets off with a skinned nose and elbows. His high bridge will be scratched some. We’ll see some saddle chokin’, eh! pardner?” turning to Silent Bob to second him in his purpose. The Virginian dragged:

“I kinder hater see the pore feller throwed; I hater dig a six-foot grave this hot weather.”

“We’ll help yo’ dig it,” volunteered Celluloid Bill.

“The feller said he could ride,” interrupted Rodeo Jack. “I asked him an’ he said with that there polished manner of his’n: ‘Why cer‑tain‑ly!’ An’ he comes from that there King George country an’ maybe he has a little s’prise up his sleeve for us bronc twisters.”

“Hell! We’ll chance it,” rejoined Jim. “No rider ever wears a stiff caddy; and Croppy hates a plug-hat worse nor pizen. John said to give him an old skate to ride, but he ain’t a goin’ to loco our little show. He’s gone ’cross the river in a skiff to see that there geezer over there.” Jim waved his arm towards the opposite side of the Pend d’Oreille, where another stockman lived.

Cogewea was assigned place abreast the other riders, her number placing her on the outer circle or flank of the field. Verona, the eldest Webster girl, was a noted rider and her jet mount, known as the “Black Snake,” had never lost a race. This was the first match between the two famous riders, and as Cogewea fell into line, Verona, who had second place, stared at her contemptuously and spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by those standing near:

“Why is this squaw permitted to ride? This is a ladies’ race!”

Her companions were unanimous that it was a gross outrage and that they should protest. Stung by the biting insult, Cogewea retorted:

“Perhaps I am allowed because no ladies of the silvery-hue have entered and this race is being tolerated only that the audience may not be wholly disappointed.”

Further colloquy was cut short by the stentorian voice of the starter, as he raised pistol in air:

“A‑l‑l rea‑d‑y!” Bang!

The field was off! and it soon because apparent that the actual contest was to be between the two mighty racers. For the first quarter, the Black led the Bay, by a full length.

“ ‘I had some food tied in a handkerchief, a very small amount. I took up my papoose and walked slowly out from the dim fire light. When hidden by the shadows, I placed him on my back and threw my green blanket over him. Then I ran swiftly away. Halish, a wolf breed dog that we had with us, came to me from hunting on the prairie. I glanced back to see the two pale faces bounding from the tent, each with a gun. They made after me and the fright, I think, caused me to drop into a badger hole large enough to shield me from sight. The dog stopped over me and I pulled him down close to me. I was glad that he was the color of brown. Though half wild, he appeared to know, for he lay perfectly still. The two men passed by, cursing loudly. I could have reached out and touched my white husband, nor did he suspect my place of hiding. The Great Spirit must have favored me, for my papoose did not move nor make a sound. I think, too, that he was awake.

“ ‘The pursuing pale faces fired their guns into the night darkness and threatened me, but to no effect. Then they coaxed for me to come out from the shadows, but I was so afraid that I hardly breathed. Twice the wolf-dog showed his gleaming fangs, but he did not growl. I did not tremble, but I knew what it meant should my Shoyahpee husband find me. I had long known that he was keeping me only to care for our children and not that he had love for me. I was told by the other pale face, that he had a white squaw far away, who bore him no papooses.