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Page 10
"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 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?"
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