The Jeweled Spur (28 page)

“I guess some things a Christian doesn’t need to look at, Sam.”

“You’re sure right about that! And I finally remembered the scripture in Psalms that says, ‘I will set no unclean thing before mine eyes.’ Never was quite sure what that meant—but I sure do now!” He gave her a rueful grin. “Guess that’s the end of my experimenting with sin just to see what it’s like.”

“I think that’s wise, Sam.”

The two left the cook tent and began to walk around. They walked outside the arena, savoring the coolness of the air. There was a snap in it, for though the winter was mild,
it was still cold. Finally, Sam said cautiously, “Tell me about your folks.”

Laurie raised her eyebrows, surprised, but shrugged her shoulders and began to talk about her home and her parents. Soon, she found herself telling about the whole Winslow clan, those who had wound up in New York, some in the far West, and finally about the original home in Virginia. She stopped suddenly and shook her head with a rueful smile. “You couldn’t be interested in all this. I must be boring you.”

The ready smile was gone from Sam Novak’s face. He looked at her with a strange look and said, “Well, this may come as a shock to you, but I guess I’m gonna break it to you.”

“What is it, Sam?” He sounded so serious she was disturbed. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, maybe nothing. Only, my father is Thad Novak.” He saw something stir in her eyes and nodded. “I think you might remember. He married Patience Winslow.”

“Why, she was Sky Winslow’s daughter—my father’s sister!” she exclaimed. “Sam—” Her eyes shone and she took him by the shoulders. “Is that true?”

He saw she was happy and said with a relieved smile, “It’s true enough. I sort of wondered all the time if we were kin, and now we come to find out we’re in the same family.”

She began to question him, and as they talked he told her how he had had to have one look at the world before he began his career.

“As a preacher?” she asked. “Or are you joking about that?”

“No joke,” he said seriously. “I want to see the world and learn about the people. I’ll never be a pastor of a big church. It’ll always be small, with ordinary people. That’s where God has put my heart.”

She looked at him and felt the fondness that she had for him grow into something deeper. “Well, it’ll be good to have another preacher in the family. We have quite a few in the Winslow clan, as you know.”

He laughed and said, “I guess that makes us kissin’ cousins,
doesn’t it?” He leaned over and kissed her cheek and saw her blink in surprise as the memory of what Cody had said the night before came to her.

“Kissing cousins,” she said, smiling at him. “That’s what we are, Sam.” She glanced involuntarily over to the tent where Cody stayed with the rest of the hands, and he interpreted her glance at once.

“He’ll come around, and God will provide. You just listen to your kissing cousin!”

Laurie nodded slowly and said, “That’s what his mother says, and I’m going to believe it. You and me, his mother, his stepfather, and Mac, we’ll all pray for him, and we’ll see Cody come through it, won’t we?”

The two talked for a long time, and finally Sam left, saying, “I better not steal another kiss. That might not look good for a future minister.” It was late, but Laurie walked around for a long time, thinking about her life. Taking out her writing material, she began to put down what was going on inside her. She had learned that putting her thoughts and emotions on paper helped her to think more clearly. She wrote for a time, then ended her entry:

“I shouldn’t have let Cody kiss me. He’ll think I’m one of those easy girls who kisses every boy she sees! But he seemed so lonely, and I’m not sorry!”

She was confused, but somehow a strange peace had come to her as she thought about the trouble Cody was in.
What a miracle it would take!
And then she remembered what several had said—
Nothing is impossible with God!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sitting Bull

One of the reasons for the success of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show was the ability of Colonel Cody to seek out new acts that would catch the public’s attention. One of these attempts that met with the greatest success came when he decided to add Sitting Bull, the conqueror of George Armstrong Custer, to perform in the show.

“Well, he won’t actually perform,” Colonel Cody said to a reporter who had accompanied him as he went to encourage, or bribe, or hire Sitting Bull to come with the troop.

The reporter, a young man named Jones, stared at Buffalo Bill cynically. “I’m not sure the public will stand for it. I mean, after all, he’s the enemy of the United States, isn’t he?”

“They’ll come out to see him.” Buffalo Bill nodded with a stark certainty.

The reporter wrote something in his book, then he asked abruptly, “How do you respond to P.T. Barnum’s charge that you stole the idea for the show from him?”

“Barnum is just one of his own freaks to me. He’s free to buy a ticket and come in and see for himself.”

The two had gotten off the train at Fort Gates, and the reporter, Jones, had been introduced to his first live Indian. He had given the tall warrior a cigar, and the Indian had smoked it with enthusiasm.

“I’ll bring you a whole box, Chief,” Jones promised airily.

After they had moved away, Colonel Cody said sharply, “Whatever you do, don’t forget those cigars. Maybe you didn’t
mean it, but don’t ever promise an Indian anything unless you mean to pay up. Get a box of cigars and charge it to me. Don’t forget.”

They moved over to the office of the Commander, Colonel Frank Norris, who was not at all in sympathy with Buffalo Bill’s proposal. “You understand,” Colonel Norris said, “that he’s almost sixty. Which, among the Sioux, as you know, is very old, Colonel Cody.” He hesitated and grinned. “But he’s just about as sharp an operator as you’ll find this side of Chicago.”

Buffalo Bill nodded and returned the colonel’s smile. “I’m aware of that. However, I think I can do the chief some good.”

“He’s a medicine man, not a chief,” Colonel Norris corrected. “If he doesn’t want to go, you understand, he can’t be made to.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be able to persuade him,” said Cody confidently.

“Maybe.” Colonel Norris looked at the showman with a critical eye. “Last year he got an offer telling him he could meet the President, and he didn’t get any closer than a New York wax museum. He’s a little bit shy of show business right now.”

“I understand, but you must understand, too, Colonel, that I know a little about Indians, and I know that breaking a promise to them is unforgivable.”

After a little more discussion, Colonel Norris instructed a sergeant to take Cody and the reporter to the chief’s. As they crossed the parade ground, Jones looked at the Indians, pulling at his collar uncomfortably. Finally, when they had reached a group of Indians in a cluster he asked, “Who’s that squaw with the hat?”

“That’s not a squaw,” Colonel Cody said. “That’s Sitting Bull.”

The reporter stopped dead still and blinked his eyes with surprise. He looked closely at the medicine man, whose visions of soldiers falling upside down into the Indian camp had
united the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho Nations, and had led to Custer’s massacre nine years earlier. Sitting Bull was small and slight, with hair dangling in graying, unadorned plaits, and he had the puffed eyelids and fallen features of an old Chinese woman.

There was a great deal of ceremony, and, taking his cues, Jones stepped back as Colonel Cody stood before the Indian. Sitting Bull spoke in a guttural tone. “Long Hair Cody is welcome in this house.”

The reporter jotted down everything that was said, remembering what Cody had told him about Indians.
They are not in a hurry. They have no clock, and you’ll have to be patient.
He learned that lesson well that day, for it was nearly an hour before Colonel Cody broached the subject for his visit. He offered a box that he had brought and said, “These are gifts for the Great Chief.” Inside was a great deal of candy. Cody had explained earlier to Jones that candy holds up in the heat, and even if the chief didn’t have any teeth he could at least suck on it.

After more negotiations, and having listened carefully to everything the chief said, Colonel Cody said, “We will offer fifty dollars a week and living expenses to the great Sitting Bull if he will agree to tour with the show.”

There was a long silence and finally, again, Sitting Bull spoke. “I will join Long Hair Cody’s show if he will promise me all the money from selling pictures of me. I will have this in writing.” His dark eyes glittered as he nodded, “Words on paper are the only words the white man needs.”

Colonel Cody heaved a sigh of relief and assured the chief that there would be no problem. He was aware that the photography concession was one of the Wild West’s more lucrative sidelines, and that Nate Salsbury would be furious. But he knew that it would be worth it.

****

Sitting Bull joined the show, making his first appearance
in Little Rock, Arkansas. He was accompanied by four of his braves, who were never far away from the short, stubby form of the great medicine man. Con and Laurie watched the crowds who lined up to file by and take a look at the most famous Indian—outside of Pocahantas—who had ever lived.

“He sure don’t look like much, does he?” said Con, shaking his head.

Laurie studied the stoic face of Sitting Bull then shrugged. “I suppose not, but looks don’t matter all that much, do they Con?”

Later that night, after supper, Laurie changed and was walking through the camp when she saw Sitting Bull and his four bodyguards, as such, sitting outside their tent.

On a whim, Laurie walked over and stood in front of the Indian, saying in the Sioux language, “I welcome the Great Chief Sitting Bull to the show.”

A flicker of surprise ran through Sitting Bull’s eyes, and a mutter was heard from his four attendants. “How does the white woman speak the language of the People?”

Laurie explained that she had grown up in the West, that her father had been an Indian agent for a while, and was now an officer in the Seventh Cavalry.

Sitting Bull studied her even more carefully. “He was not with Long Hair Custer?”

“No. He was sent by General Custer to be in Reno’s group.”

The novelty of a young woman speaking the Sioux language fascinated Sitting Bull, and few days passed when he did not manage to have a conversation with her. Then abruptly, he asked her, “You have no husband?”

“No, not yet, Chief.”

Sitting Bull shook his head and scowled, “It’s bad to waste squaws.” He looked around and said, “Tall Antelope—he needs a squaw.”

Laurie was not shocked, for she knew the casual ways of the Indian. She smiled at the tall Indian and said to Sitting Bull, “I am honored, but I will not marry for some time,
Chief.” Laurie was grateful for all that she had learned from Luis Montoya and her father in dealing with the Sioux. Even in turning down an offer of marriage, she answered with great respect, acknowledging the great chief sitting in front of her. She then rose, and started back through the camp toward her tent.

Later, she was invited by Con to go into town to see the sights, and she accompanied him gladly. She had expected, as the days had gone on, to be closer to Cody. But he had thrown himself into his work and seemed oblivious to everything else, so she had accepted the cowboy’s offer, and the two had made their way to the center of town. It was not Chicago, or New York, but they enjoyed moving along the main street, looking into the windows. Finally, they came to stand before a furniture store with a display lit by a gas light fixture inside.

“Now that’s right pretty, ain’t it, Laurie?” Con remarked. He cocked his head to one side and shoved his hat back. His blond hair fell over his forehead. He was, Laurie thought, an intensely attractive man. Not handsome in the ordinary sense of the word, but vital, strong—and there was some sort of magnetism that flowed out of him. Now she looked at him with a smile and said, “You’d have a hard time carrying a room full of furniture around the way we travel.”

A strange look flickered into his eyes, and he did not speak of it again until they were sitting in the ornate restaurant at the Arlington Hotel. The waiter took their order, and when it arrived they found the food delicious. Finally, when they were finished, they sat looking at the customers, admiring the heavy, glass chandelier, and enjoying the rich decor surrounding them. And it was then Con said suddenly, “I guess that would be a lot of furniture for a man to carry, wouldn’t it?”

“What?” Laurie could not understand the sudden change in conversation and stared at him in bewilderment.

“That furniture back in that store—you said a man couldn’t carry that on the Wild West Show.”

Laurie answered, “Oh, I did say that. Well, it’s true enough, isn’t it?”

“True enough, Laurie, but I’ve been thinking a lot about this show lately.” He picked up his coffee cup, and she noticed how large and strong his hands were. They were the hands of an outdoorsman, callused and muscular. He lifted his eyes and spoke almost urgently. “A man can’t keep on doing this sort of thing forever—nor a woman either.”