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  CHAPTER IX

  THE MEDICINE OF LONE WOLF

  The Lone Wolf had lost his "medicine," and that was a most seriousdisaster. To lose one's "medicine" among the Indians is equivalent tolosing one's money among the Whites, and means just as bad a mess inone's social and business affairs. One's smell-feast friends of the daybefore go by one with averted or unseeing eye, while everything andeverybody give evidence that one is beneath the notice of aself-respecting world.

  Thus it was with the Lone Wolf when now his "medicine" had left him.Bear Shield, his chief, looked over him or through him without sign orword that might be construed into an admission of his existence. FellowCheyennes who had sat with him in the council or rode knee to knee withhim in the charge no longer knew him by mark of face or sound of name.His squaws moped over the camp-fire with bowed heads; his pappooseswhimpered with the shame of what they felt but did not understand; hisdogs, cowed and dispirited, crept about with craven tails clewed closebetween their legs; even his ponies made a disgraced band by themselves,cropping dejected grass apart, as though unfit to mingle with thereputable mustangs of mankind.

  This situation was all the more a jolt to the sensibilities of the LoneWolf, since he had been a personage of eminence and place. His voice hadbeen high in tribal powwow, his strong hand resistless in war. He wasrich in robes and ponies, in pappooses and dogs and wives. The recordsof the "medicine" lodge showed him entitled to sing of the conquest offour scalps--one Pawnee, two Sioux, and one the former headwear of adrunken teamster of Sun City--which four topknots were drying on histepee pole. By these one may know how to measure the heights from whichthe melancholy Lone Wolf had been hurled.

  The Lone Wolf had lost his "medicine" without fault, that is fault fromthe standpoint of a paleface. He came down to the ford at the Beaver,when storms to the west had rendered it boiling and bank full. By reasonof the boil and swirl, and the shifting quicksands under hoof, his ponylost its foothold and went down. In the splash and water-scramble thatensued, the Lone Wolf and his half-choked pony reached the shore; buthis "medicine," torn from his neck in the struggle, was swept away.There was no argument for a search. In the turbid toss of that ten-milecurrent the "medicine" was as hopelessly lost as though it had exhaled.

  And yet, while the Lone Wolf could relate this blameless story of hisvanished "medicine," it availed him naught. There is no such word asaccident where one's "medicine" is concerned. One's separation from it,no matter by what means brought about, is neither to be honourablyaccounted for nor condoned. One has lost one's "medicine"; and one isthereby and therefore destroyed. It would be a stain, as even thehalf-opened paleface eye may see, were it taken from one by theconquering arm of a foe. It is as deep a stain to part with it, as theLone Wolf parted with his. Such manner of loss makes plain that, becauseof crimes or cowardices unknown, the justice-loving ghosts haveinterfered to strip a villain of this basic requisite of a warrior andan honest man. Only in this way can the ghosts of good Cheyennes gonebefore, having the honour of their tribe in dearest mind, furnish wordto their children of him in their midst, so flagrantly vile that a leastassociation with him provides disgrace, while bordering narrowly onactual sin itself.

  In a far day a leper cloaked his head and hung a tinkling bell at hisgirdle, so that hale men might have warning of his evil case and holdaloof. For kindred reasons the Lone Wolf, when now his "medicine" waslost, killed his pony, broke his pipe-stem, and blackened his face. Inthis sorrowful guise he went afoot the long journey to his home villageon the Cimarron, and all who met him by the way knew him at sight andturned their backs upon him, for that thing below a caste, a man who haslost his "medicine."

  The Lone Wolf's "medicine" had been an exceeding strong "medicine," andthis served to give his loss an emphasis. He had worn it through a dozenbattles, and it so cunningly protected him that, while others fell abouthim knocked over like ninepins, nothing save and except one bullet froma Gatling was able to leave its mark upon him. The Gatling had nickedhim; and the furrow it turned was visible on the cheek of Lone Wolf.This untoward scratch was solvable only upon a theory that the"medicine" of what paleface fired the shot must likewise have possesseduncommon potentialities.

  When boyhood ceased for the Lone Wolf and he trembled on the thresholdof existence as a full-blown buck, in deference to Cheyenne custom hehad wandered abroad and alone upon the blizzard-whipped plains, andfrozen and starved and prayed and mourned for seven nights and days. Inthe end, cold and hunger and self-hypnotism did their work, and the LoneWolf began to see shapes and hear voices. These told him how to compoundhis "medicine," so that thereafter he should be wise as the owl inpeace, fierce as the eagle in strife.

  The "medicine" bag was to be sewed from the skin of an otter, dressedwith claws and tail and head and teeth as though filled with grinninglife. Inside the otter-pelt "medicine" bag were to be hidden charmedtobacco, slips of sacred cedar, a handful of periwinkle shells, as wellas twenty other occult odds and ends, the recondite whole, together withthe otter-skin pouch, to be and remain his "medicine" forevermore.

  The Lone Wolf followed, religiously, the ghostly directions. He caughtand skinned and tanned and sewed his otter, and then invested theprecious bag with those chronicled weird fragments of matter. To theselatter, as all must admit, the lip of bat, and toe of toad, and eye ofnewt--so valuable in witchcraft--or the negro necromancer's dried snake'shead, and left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit killed in the dark of themoon, are as children's toys; and so thought the Lone Wolf. Whencomplete, he hung his "medicine" about his neck, and felt himself aproud, big warrior and a man. He had never been parted from it, were itday or night, or war or peace. He had even worn it during his schooldays at Carlisle, saving it from curious professors, who might havedecried it as some heathen fetish, by wearing it under his calico shirt.Now it was gone, eaten up by the hungry Beaver, and the name of the LoneWolf had been dropped from all the aboriginal roll calls of good repute.Not alone among the Cheyennes, but in the estimation of every Indianthat yelped between the Yellowstone and the Rio Grande, the unlucky LoneWolf, with a lost "medicine" bag to his discredit, was utterly abandonedand undone.

  And the worst feature of the case was that the Lone Wolf could not makea new "medicine." Since the Great Spirit invented the institution of"medicine" and placed it upon earth, all men have known that one maycreate his "medicine" but once. Any second attempt serves only tointroduce one to a covey of malevolent spirits, whose power will beexercised to wet one's bowstring, blunt one's arrow, lame one's pony,and break one's lance. No, the Lone Wolf could not make another"medicine."

  Was there no hope for the Lone Wolf?

  About an even century before the Lone Wolf slumped into that quicksandcrossing of the Beaver, and was robbed by the waters of his otter-skin"medicine," Mr. Goldsmith wrote a three act oratorio, called it "TheCaptivity" and sold it to Dodsley for ten guineas. Among other tunefulcommodities in said oratorio contained, Mr. Goldsmith penned thefollowing:

  The wretch condemned with life to part, Still, still on hope relies; And every pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise.

  Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And still as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

  Since he knew neither the one nor the other, it is fair to assume thatwhen Mr. Goldsmith wrote the above he was thinking as deeply on the LoneWolf as on you. Certainly the habit of hope therein set forth is asprevalently sweeping among savages as among civilised folk. The Indiandoes not hope for the same things, but to what extent and in whatdirection his anticipations stray he hopes as industriously as everhoped any white man of you all. And so it was with the unhappy LoneWolf. In this, his darkest hour, there remained the glimmer of a hope.

  When the Great Spirit fixed his commands against making a second"medicine," a fiat necessary lest a "medicine" easily replaceddegenerate to be a trivial gewgaw creature of small moment, he leftopen, should one lose one's "medicine," a sing
le gateway of relief. Onemight conquer, in such pinch, an enemy, strip him of his personal"medicine," and thus redeem one's self. The "medicine" of that dead foewould take the place of the lost "medicine," and by its virtuesrehabilitate the victor and restore him unto what tribal place was hisbefore his own original "medicine" had disappeared.

  In this black hour of his fortunes, the Lone Wolf upheld his heart withthis. He might go north, and knock over some casual Pawnee orinadvertent Sioux. Hundreds of these at this season would be met withamong the buffaloes. True, it would be a long, hard trail; but not solong nor so hard as the life-trail of the Lone Wolf when now he waswithout caste or tribal countenance.

  Stripping himself of feathers and hawk-bells and bearclaw necklace andevery form of ornament, wrapped in his raggedest blanket, with a daub ofmud in his hair as one who mourns, without word or sign to anyconcerning his purpose, the Lone Wolf turned his back on the Cimarronand wended northward. His face paints were black, for his heart was sad.The only matters about him that did not tell of woe and bankruptcy, andwarn one of an Indian without fortune or future, were his pony and hisarms. These showed of the best, and this weapon-care was not without areason. More than ever would the Lone Wolf require a pony tireless asthe storm and as swift, and lance and bow and knife without flaw orfault; for now when he had lost his "medicine," he was singularlyundefended and weak. No one knew better these latter helpless truthsthan did the Lone Wolf. It was by no means sure that a child might notovercome him--he who, but a fortnight before with his otter-skin"medicine," had been a thunderbolt of war. Wherefore, with his heartlittle, his courage water, his bow an arc of weakness, his arrows nobetter than windle-straws, and his lance as forceless as a cornstalk--forlosing one's "medicine" means all these grievous conditions of undefenceand inability to smite--it behooved the Lone Wolf to provide as much ashe might, with prudence and farsighted care, in favour of a possiblesuccess.

  The Lone Wolf would have no help from the good ghosts, for these hadleft him with the lost "medicine." What ghosts might still be riding inhis disgraceful company, were bad ghosts. So far as they did anythingthey would do harm, not good, and the best he might look for at theirhands was a sort of ghostly non-interference.

  There was a least slant ray to encourage the latter hope. If the LoneWolf had the luck to cross up with a Pawnee or a Sioux as contemptibleas himself, the ghosts would not choose between them. In such miserablecoil of coyote-snap-coyote, the disgusted ghosts would stand afar off.They would be content with the outcome, whatever it was, and refuse tocontaminate their vapourish hands by mixing in the business.

  That was the one favouring chance that lay before the Lone Wolf. To havefull advantage of it, he wore his best weapons and rode his best warpony. If he happened upon a Pawnee or Sioux, disreputable in the eyes ofgods and men, he might yet be saved from out those fires of disgracethat were consuming him. He would kill that Pawnee or Sioux, and washhimself free of stain with his victim's "medicine."

  On the other and more likely hand--since good is more rife than evil--werehe to encounter an Indian, tribally eminent and high, one who stood wellwith his people and of whose company therefore the most exactinglyexclusive ghost need not feel ashamed, the Lone Wolf knew the upcome.His fate was written; he was no better than a dead Cheyenne. To thesepoor conditions the Lone Wolf tacitly agreed. And wherefore no? Whatdeath was not preferable to a life of endless ignominy--the life of onewho has lost his "medicine?" Such indeed were the thoughts to skulk inthe mind of the Lone Wolf like quails in corn, as he rode forward on hisquest.

  The Lone Wolf could not expect to find that required Pawnee or neededSioux short of the Platte or perhaps the Yellowstone. He resolved to gothither by way of Dodge. The Lone Wolf was not wanting in a kind ofsapiency. Now that his own weapons were undeniably weak--he could onlyknow how weak when he had tried them, and the news might come toolate--he decided to purchase a rifle of the palefaces. Such a weaponwould not have been sapped of its powers by any former possession of hisown, and he might possibly corral that "medicine" he sought before ithad been long enough in his hands to have degenerated. With this wisdomin mind, the Lone Wolf drove before him two pack ponies, laden to theears of robes and furs. This sumpter stuff would buy that rifle, withits accompanying belts and cartridges.

  The Lone Wolf knew Mr. Masterson, and liked him. They had both fought atthe 'Dobe Walls and gained a deal of respect for one another. Also theyhad met since at sundry agencies; and in good truth it was the Lone Wolfwho told Mr. Masterson how many of those charging savages went under inthat hot fortnight of fight.

  "How many of you did we blink out?" asked Mr. Masterson, who had hisstatistical side.

  The Lone Wolf's mathematics were wholly aboriginal, for all he had beento Carlisle. He opened and closed his ten fingers eight times--eighty.Then he held up one finger.

  "Buffalo soldier," said the Lone Wolf.

  The one finger stood for that traitorous black bugler, who fought forthe side of the Indians and sounded rally and charge on his stolenbugle, the property of the state. The Indians style such "buffalosoldiers" because of their woolly heads like unto the curled frontlet ofa buffalo bull.

  Having decided upon that rifle and its acquirement, the Lone Wolf wouldgo seeking his new "medicine" by way of Dodge. He would inquire out Mr.Masterson and crave his aid in the rifle's selection. This was highlyimportant. Some bad paleface might otherwise sell him a gun that wasbewitched. Mr. Masterson would protect him from that fearful risk. Mr.Masterson was an honest man. No one could fight as Mr. Masterson hadfought, unless his heart were very pure and strong.

  The only drawback to a visit to Dodge lurked in this that it wouldcompel the Lone Wolf to speak English. Surely, he had learned English atCarlisle; but knowing, as know all Indians, that to speak the whiteman's language brings misfortune and sickness and death, he had had thewit to discontinue the practice. Likewise and at the same time he laidaside his paleface clothes as being extremely "bad medicine." Of course,there was also a commonsense side to the latter move, since anyone whosticks to coat and trousers when, without shaking his position, he maybe freely comfortable in breech-clout and blanket, is an unimaginableass. Yes; in Dodge the Lone Wolf would be driven to speak English.However, it would not last for long, and in the desolate pitch of hisfortune, what mattered it what he spoke? It would mean companionship,and therefore a kind of comfort; for your Indian is as gregarious as aprairie dog, and the Lone Wolf--who had not spoken to buck or squaw orpappoose since he lost his "medicine"--was beginning to feel as solitaryand as lonesome as a good man in Chicago.

  Six months before the Lone Wolf lost his "medicine" in the Beaver, therehad come to the Dodge Opera House that dramatic organization known asthe Red Stocking Blondes. The advent of this talented combination washailed with local delight, for it had ever been a favourite in Dodge.

  The first violin of the Red Stocking Blondes, on this particularoccasion, was not the individual whom Mr. Wagner roped on a formermemorable evening. This first violin was thoroughly the artist. What hecouldn't coax from a fiddle in the way of melody would have to bedeveloped by an Ole Bull.

  Once, Cimarron Bill, after listening to several of the first violin'smost unstudied performances, had asked:

  "Can you play the Bootiful Bloo Danyoob? I hears it 'leven years ago inSt. Looey, an' have been honin' for it ever since."

  The artist, thus appealed to, played that swelling piece of waltz music,and when he finished, the emotional Cimarron, eyes a-swim with tears ofecstasy, grasped his hand.

  "Pard!" exclaimed the worthy Cimarron, in a gush of hyperbole, "youcould play a fiddle with your feet!" However, this is in advance of thestory.

  The first violin of the Red Stocking Blondes was named Algernon Pepin,albeit this may have been a _nom de theatre_. Mr. Pepin was small, lean,shy, silent, timid, with a long, sad, defeated face. His back washumped, as were the backs of Aesop, Richard of Gloster, the poet Pope,and many another gentleman of genius. He had rakehandle arms, and skinnyfi
ngers like the claws of a great bird.

  Of all who marched with the banners of the Red Stocking Blondes, Mr.Pepin, when they came into Dodge, was the only one troubled of spirit.The rest showed as gay as larks; for the troupe was on the road toBroadway, and six weeks more would find its members in Rector's,Shanley's, Brown's and Luechow's, relating their adventures to guilelessones who had never crossed the Hudson. It was that thought of Broadwayto pale the sallow, anxious cheek of Mr. Pepin. And the reason of theterror which tugged at his soul was this:

  Two years rearward Mr. Pepin, by several fortunate strokes and the aidof a legacy, had made himself master of an opera company. It was one ofthose terrible opera companies that sing Wagner and are both fashionableand awful to hear.

  The contralto of the opera company was a large, powerful woman whosename ended in "ski." Her upper lip was distinctly mustached, and hervoice sounded like a man in a cistern. There are, in divers parts ofEurope, just such beings as this contralto who, yoked with cattle,assist in agriculture by pulling plows. This happy condition, however,is confined to Europe; here they sing in Wagner.

  Any lady of the theaters will tell you there is advantage in being thewife of the owner of the show. It means spotlights, music, three-sheets,puffs; in short the center of the stage. The contralto in question waswholly aware of these advantages. Acting on that knowledge, thisformidable woman arose one New York morning, conveyed Mr. Pepin to theLittle Church Around the Corner, almost with force and arms, and marriedhim to her for better or for worse. It turned out to be the latteralternative in the dismal case of Mr. Pepin.

  There came a time when the opera company fell upon poor days. Then thedays went from poor to bad and bad to worse. Lastly, came the crash. Atthe close of a losing week the treasurer fled with the receipts, and ahost of creditors, the sheriff at their hungry head, tore Mr. Pepin intoinsolvent bits. When the dust of that last fierce struggle had subsided,Mr. Pepin crawled from the wreck with two fiddles and the necessity ofbeginning life anew.

  Mr. Pepin, at that time, would have said that he had nothing further tofear from fate. Ill-fortune, he would have argued, had shot its bolt anddone its worst. Most folk, after an unbiased review, would havecoincided with Mr. Pepin. Also, most folk, like Mr. Pepin, would bewrong, since they would have overlooked that fell contralto.

  When the opera company went to grief, and with it her position, thecontralto scrupled not to revile Mr. Pepin. She even taunted him withhis misshapen back. Then she beat him. When he ran from her andconcealed himself, she charged him with abandonment and cruelty, and thepolice dragged Mr. Pepin from his place of hiding.

  One day by some masterly sleight, Mr. Pepin escaped, and went fiddlingforth into the land. He was not after position; salary was no object;the one purpose of Mr. Pepin was to keep out of New York and thereby outof the clutches of his contralto, for whom--since she never left thatmetropolis--New York had become the dread synonym. You who read may nowconsider how far Mr. Pepin was justified of his shudders at the mentionof Broadway.

  Two days prior to the coming of those Red Stocking Blondes, Mr.Peacock's Dance Hall had suffered an orchestral setback. In the midst ofthe evening's gayety five couples presented themselves in the formationof one quadrille--a manifest solecism!

  Mr. Peacock, alive to the dangerous impropriety described, warned themusicians, by a repressive gesture of his hand, not to strike up. HadMr. Peacock's signals been heeded there would have been no trouble inthe Dance Hall, for the gentlemen concerned would have either adjustedtheir differences by tossing a copper or gone outside to shoot.

  But the signals of Mr. Peacock were not obeyed. The violinist of theDance Hall was one of your ill-conditioned natures that dislike a quietlife. Observing those five couple where only four should be, andcareless of the pantomime of Mr. Peacock, with a brief exultant remarkto the pianist that he thought he saw in the snarl the rudiments oftrouble, the violinist went ranting off into the "Arkansas Traveler" anddragged the pianist along.

  Somewhere it has been put forth--and the assertion has had solemnacceptance to this day--that the man was a public benefactor who made twoblades of grass grow where but one had grown before. However much thismay be of value as a statement concerning grass, it fails when oneattempts its application to quadrilles. Instead of benefiting thepublic, he who sought to make two couples dance where but one had dancedbefore, would simply be laying the foundations of civil war. And this inparticular were the scene of his operations Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall inthe hour borne in mind.

  And so the sequel showed. That malignant violinist, when he plowed offinto the "Arkansas Traveler"--to which music, be it known, more men haveperished than to the "British Grenadier"--he gave the fatal call:

  "First four forward and back!"

  The "First Four" on this overloaded occasion, carrying as it did thatextra couple and being not four but six, fell at once into a generalknot. Upon the knot growing worse instead of better, those thereininvolved attempted to untie it with their guns.

  It was over in a moment, with a gratifying count of one killed and nonewounded. The word "gratifying" is used, because the one killed was thattroublemongering violinist who, with his "Arkansas Traveler," had shovedthe row from shore. Justice is blind, and now and then an accident maybe counted upon to do an equity.

  While every right-thinking soul in Dodge felt glad that the malignantviolinist was killed, his blotting out none the less became a commoninjury. There was no one to put in his place; which, it may be said inpassing, furnished the precise reason why he had not been shot before.

  Now a violinist was a highly important personage in Dodge. Your cowboy,after the sixth drink, is a being of mood and romance--a dreamysentimentalist! He requires the violin, as the Jewish king required theharp, and nothing else will soothe him. Wherefore, while Mr. Peacock'spianist--he had lived through that overstocked quadrille untouched--mighthammer out a dance tune, the atmosphere was sorely lacking in thosecalmative elements which only a violin could give. It offered a state ofaffairs especially hectic and explosive, one which the cooler spiritsmust watch in order to preserve a peace.

  The dead violinist was buried on the day when the Red Stocking Blondescame to town, and it is safe to assume that those funeral doings taughtMr. Pepin, by the gossip they provoked, of the refuge for himself andfortunes which those obsequies inferred. Whether that be so or no, atthe end of the week when the Red Stocking Blondes closed their brilliantengagement and on the breath of Dodge's plaudits were wafted to the nextstand, Mr. Pepin remained behind. He lapsed into that bullet-constructedvacancy in Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall, while his light companions of thetheater set their faces eastward, singing:

  "The sun is always shining on Broadway."

  One can imagine a war that would have obliterated, but not one thatwould have conquered Dodge. Mere force could never have brought it toits knees; and yet within a week it had unconditionally surrendered tothe melodious genius of Mr. Pepin. He enraptured Dodge. It took him toits heart; it would have defended him to the latest gasp. Mr. Pepinrepayed this local worship. Never had he drawn sweeter strains from hisinstrument; for never, of late at least, had his heart been moreprotected and at perfect ease.

  Also, the musical taste of Dodge was elevated by Mr. Pepin. In thistaste improvement, Mr. Pepin showed himself equipped of tact, and a warywit. He played selections from "Trovatore" and "Martha," and renderedMendelssohn's "Spring Song," and "Old Madrid." But he renamed them--infavour of local colour, probably--"Midnight Along the Arkansas," "TwoBlack Bears," "The Fieste at Santa Fe," and "Daybreak On the Plains."This was a sagacious nomenclature; it plowed 'round suspicion, andavoided prejudices that otherwise might have been invoked.

  When the Red Stocking Blondes departed for the East, Mr. Pepin severallyswore every member of that organisation to say nothing of hiswhereabouts to the contralto, and it is creditable to the dramaticprofession that every member kept the oath. Mr. Pepin, released frombondage and doubly safe with distance and an address that was
nowsuppressed, might have scraped an unscared fiddle to the ending of hisdays, had it not been for his own loquacity--a loquacity that was broughtabout in this wise.

  Mr. Pepin had dwelt in Dodge, and been the soul of those revels thatfound nightly place in Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall, for divers months, whenthe town dedicated its first church. The event was epoch-making, andDodge, impressed as to what onward and upward strides were suggested ofthat day, gave way to vast rejoicing. A deal of Old Jordan wasdestroyed, and Mr. Pepin, contrary to a usual habit, was among thoseovercome. Most of Mr. Pepin's liquor was consumed in the Alhambra; forhe and Mr. Kelly--who owned a musical ear--had become as brothers.

  There is a proverb which says _In vino veritas_, and talks of truth inwine. This is manifest mistake. Intoxication is the very seed ofmendacity, and a drunken man is always and everywhere a liar. After thetenth drink, Mr. Pepin and Mr. Kelly communed together affectionately,and Mr. Pepin told Mr. Kelly of the contralto. He spoke of the domesticaffections; said it was the one sorrow of his life that the contraltowasn't with him in Dodge, and bewept a poverty which separated them. Heexplained that if Mr. Kelly could but see his heart he might then gainsome glimmer of the grief that fed upon it. Mr. Pepin cried profoundly,and Mr. Kelly, who loved him, united his sobs to Mr. Pepin's.Controlling his grief, Mr. Pepin averred that he lived only for a daywhen, having accumulated what treasure was necessary for the enterprise,he could bring his contralto to Dodge, and show that aggregation ofbumpkins what a real lady was like. Then Mr. Pepin went to sleep withhis head on a poker table, and forgot every word he had spoken to Mr.Kelly.

  Mr. Kelly had a better memory; he was capable of more liquor than wasMr. Pepin. And he was Mr. Pepin's friend. Mr. Kelly resolved upon asentimental surprise. He would restore that contralto to the arms andheart of Mr. Pepin. The latter should not wait upon the painful, slowachievement of what funds were called for. Mr. Kelly had money; and towhat better purpose, pray, can one's money be put than a promotion ofthe happiness of a friend? Mr. Kelly had jotted down the lady'saddress--being that of a dramatic agency--as furnished drunkenly by Mr.Pepin, and he now wired her to come at once. Mr. Kelly benevolentlyclosed his message with:

  "If you're broke, draw on me for five hundred."

  Having accomplished so much, Mr. Kelly as a reward of merit bestowedupon himself a huge drink. Then he gave himself up to those feelings ofself-approval that come blandly to souls engaged upon virtuous works.

  The day next but one after sending his message, Mr. Kelly received thefollowing from the contralto:

  "Have drawn for five hundred. Will start for Dodge in a week."

  In the beginning, Mr. Kelly had planned to keep the joy in store for Mr.Pepin a secret from that virtuoso. Mr. Pepin was to know nothing of thebliss that was being arranged for him. His earliest information shouldcome when Mr. Kelly led him to the Wright House, where his contralto wasawaiting him with parted lips and outstretched, loving hands.

  "Which I'll nacherally bring down heaven on him like a pan of milk froma top shelf!" quoth the excellent Mr. Kelly.

  As stated, this was the plan; but after receiving the contralto'smessage, Mr. Kelly decided upon amendments. It would be safer, when allwas said, to let Mr. Pepin hear of the contralto and her coming. Mr.Pepin was a frail man; a sudden joy might strike him dead. Mr. Kelly hadheard of such cases. Not to invite any similar catastrophe in thefragile instance of Mr. Pepin, Mr. Kelly took him aside and told him ofthe happiness ahead. He was ten minutes in the telling, rolling theblessed secret beneath his tongue, until the last possible moment, likea sweet morsel.

  Mr. Pepin, rendered mute by his peril, said never a word. He read thecontralto's message and then fell into a chair--glazed of eye and pale ofcheek. Mr. Kelly poured whiskey down Mr. Pepin, laying his faintness tobliss. Mr. Pepin was at last so far recovered that he could walk. Buthis eyes roved wildly, like the eyes of a trapped animal, and how hefiddled through the night he never knew.

  Nature preserves herself by equilibriums. He who will stop and thinkmust see that this is so. Wherever there is danger there is defence, apoison means an antidote and the distillery and the rattlesnake go handin hand. The day of Mr. Kelly's headlong breaking into the domesticaffairs of Mr. Pepin, was the day upon which the Lone Wolf came intoDodge. The Lone Wolf lost no time, but sought out Mr. Masterson. Hisragged blanket and blackened face must be explained, and the Lone Wolftold Mr. Masterson of his lost "medicine." Moreover, he set forth hisdesign of presently potting that Pawnee or Sioux, and sequestering, _debene esse_, the dead person's "medicine."

  Mr. Masterson spoke against this latter scheme; to carry it out wouldbetray the Lone Wolf into all sorts and fashions of trouble. The LoneWolf's Great Father in Washington objected to these unauthorizedhomicides, and would send the walkaheaps or the pony-soldiers from theFort upon the trail of the Lone Wolf.

  As against this, the Lone Wolf showed that he was even then in all sortsand fashions of trouble by reason of his lost "medicine," and nothingthe Great Father did could add to it. What was he, the Lone Wolf, to do?He must have a "medicine." He could not make a new one, for the GreatSpirit had passed commands against it. He could not buy one, for everyIndian urgently needed his "medicine" in his own affairs, and when hedied it must be buried with him since he would then need it more thanever. There was no other solution. He must knock out the brains of thatPawnee or Sioux of whom he was in pursuit. There would then be an extra"medicine" on earth, and he might claim it.

  Mr. Masterson owned a fertile intelligence; a bright thought came tohim. He told the Lone Wolf that he knew one who was the chief of allmedicine men, and master of the mightiest "medicines." This personage,by a most marvellous chance, had an extra "medicine." Mr. Masterson wassure that if the need were properly presented, his friend the Lone Wolfcould buy this "medicine." The Lone Wolf would then, in that matter of a"medicine," to quote from Mr. Masterson, "have every other Cheyenne toodead to skin."

  Mr. Masterson conveyed the Lone Wolf to Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall, andcalled his attention to Mr. Pepin, who, made desperate by the peep intoa contralto-filled future which the kindness of Mr. Kelly had affordedhim, was fiddling as he n'er fiddled before. The Lone Wolf gazedplanet-smitten. Even without the spotless word of Mr. Masterson, hewould have known by the hump on his shoulders--that especial mark of theGreat Spirit's favour!--how Mr. Pepin was a most tremendous medicine man.Neither was it needed that Mr. Masterson instruct him as to theprodigious qualities of the resounding "medicine" which Mr. Pepinfondled. The Lone Wolf could hear the wailing and sobbing and singing ofthe scores of ghosts--as many as four screaming at once!--that dwelttherein, and whose sensibilities Mr. Pepin worked upon with the wand inhis right hand.

  Between dances, that gentleman being at leisure, Mr. Masterson made Mr.Pepin acquainted with the Lone Wolf, and set forth--winking instructivelythe while--the sore dilemma of his Cheyenne friend. Mr. Mastersonexplained that he had told the Lone Wolf about an extra "medicine"whereof he, Mr. Pepin, was endowed. Would Mr. Pepin, from his charityand goodness, sell this priceless "medicine" to the Lone Wolf, and lifthim out of that abyss into which he had fallen?

  Mr. Pepin owned an extra violin, that was not a good violin andtherefore out of commission. It abode in a black, oblong box, like alittle coffin. Being the kindest of souls, he declined the thought ofsale, and said that he would give it to Mr. Masterson's friend, the LoneWolf. He took it from its case, which on being opened displayed anadvantageous lining of red. The Lone Wolf received it reverently,smelled to it, peered through the slashes in its bosom, placed it to hisear, and then with a kind of awe turned to Mr. Pepin. Was this"medicine" also full of ghosts? Mr. Pepin took it and bowfully showedhim that it was a very hive of ghosts.

  The Lone Wolf declared that he would receive this inestimable "medicine"from Mr. Pepin. To simply handle it had given him a good heart. Its meretouch, to say nothing of the voices of those ghosts imprisoned in itscherry coloured belly, cheered him and thrilled him as had no other"medicine." He
would return to his people, and scowl in every man'sface. His squaws should again hold up their heads, his pappooses ceasetheir crying. His dogs' tails should proudly curl aloft, and his poniessnort contempt for the broncos of feebler folk. Altogether the Lone Wolfpictured for himself a balmy future. In conclusion, the grateful LoneWolf set forth that, while he was proud to take this wondrous "medicine"as a gift, he must still bestow those pack ponies, with their cargoes ofrobes and furs, upon Mr. Pepin, who was his heart's brother.

  The Lone Wolf told Mr. Masterson that he would put in the balance of theevening in Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall. He desired to sit by the side ofhis heart's brother and listen to the talk of his "medicine." Mr. Pepininstructed the Lone Wolf how he might bind that precious fiddle-case tohis shoulders with straps, and wear it like a knapsack. The Lone Wolf,being thus adorned, gave himself a new title. He was no more the LoneWolf; he had lost that name in the Beaver with his old "medicine." Hehad become "The-Man-who-packs-his-medicine-on-his-back."

  After the Dance Hall revels were done, being alone together, the LoneWolf and Mr. Pepin fell into closer talk. Two days later, no one couldhave found Mr. Pepin with a search warrant. The Lone Wolf, too, haddisappeared.

  When Dodge realised the spiriting away of Mr. Pepin, a howl, not to saya hue and cry, went up. In the woeful midst of the excitement, Mr. Kellyinformed the world of his negotiations with the contralto. This newscreated the utmost consternation.

  "It was that which run him out o' camp," said Cimarron Bill, referringto the departed Mr. Pepin. "You've stampeded him by sendin' for hiswife."

  Dodge could not but look coldly upon Mr. Kelly for his foolish headerinto the household affairs of Mr. Pepin. And there was a serious side:the contralto had said she would start for Dodge in a week. When shearrived, and Mr. Kelly could not produce Mr. Pepin, what would be hercourse? Dodge could not guess; it could only shudder. In her resentmentthe contralto might marry Mr. Kelly. Cimarron Bill expressed a hope thatshe would. He said that such an upcome would punish Mr. Kelly as well asoffer safety to Dodge.

  "For that lady's disapp'intment," said Cimarron Bill, "is goin' to befrightful; an' if ever she turns loose once, thar'll be nothin' forDodge to do but adjourn _sine die_."

  Mr. Kelly had lived long on the border and was a resourceful man. He sawthe dangers that surrounded him, and appreciated, as he phrased it, thathe "was out on a limb." He must act without delay, or there was nomeasuring the calamities that might overtake him. Thank heaven! thecontralto would not start for three full days. There was still time, ifMr. Kelly moved rapidly. Mr. Kelly wired the contralto:

  "Your husband dropped dead with joy on hearing you were coming. You may keep the money."

  Mr. Masterson, to whom he read this message, approved it, and said thatit did Mr. Kelly credit. At Mr. Masterson's suggestion, Mr. Kelly addedthe inquiry,

  "Shall I ship body to New York?"

  as calculated to allay doubts.

  Both Mr. Kelly and Dodge breathed more freely when the contraltoreplied, expressed her tearful thanks, and said that, as to shipmentsuggested, Mr. Kelly needn't mind.

  "An' you can gamble, Bat," observed Mr. Kelly, solemnly, "it's the lasttime I'll open a correspondence, that a-way, with another gent's wife."

  It was during the frosts of a next autumn that Mr. Masterson, in hisofficial character, was over on the Cimarron looking for stolen horses.He decided upon a visit to Bear Shield's band, since stolen horses amongthe Cheyennes were not without a precedent.

  In the earlier hours of an evening full of moonlight and natural peace,Mr. Masterson came into Bear Shield's village through a yelping skirmishline of dogs. As he rode leisurely forward, he could hear above thehowling of the dogs the "Tunk, tunk!" of a native drum, which is not adrum but a tomtom. As he drew slowly nearer, the "Hy yah! hy yah! hy!"of savage singing taught an experienced intelligence that the Cheyenneswere holding a dance. This was not surprising; the Cheyennes, when nothunting nor robbing nor scalping, are generally holding a dance.

  And yet the situation was not lacking in elements of amazement. The"Tunk! tunk!" and the "Hy yah! hy yah! hy!" Mr. Masterson could explain,for he had heard them many times. But over and under and through themall ran a thin, wailing note which would have been understandable in ahurdy-gurdy, but fell strangely not to say fantastically upon the earwhen heard in an Indian village among the cottonwoods, with thewhispering soft rush of the Cimarron to bear it company.

  Full of curiosity, and yet with a half guess, Mr. Masterson threwhimself from the saddle and made his way through the circle ofspectators that were as a frame for the dance. There, in good sooth! satMr. Pepin, flourishing a tuneful bow. He was giving them the "GypsyChorus," while an Indian drummer beat out the time on his tomtom. Backof Mr. Pepin were squatted a half dozen young squaws, who furnished the"Hy yah! hy!" It cannot be said that these fair vocalists closelyfollowed the score as written by Mr. Balfe; but they struck all abouthim, and since time was perfect the dancers skated and crouched andtowered and leaped and crept thereunto with the utmost eclat.

  Mr. Masterson moved into a position where he might have the moonlightfull upon Mr. Pepin. That lost genius was indeed a splendid spectacle!His hair exhibited a plumy bristle of feathers, while the paints on hisface offered a colour scheme by the dazzling side of which the mostbrilliant among the Cheyennes dwindled into dreary failure.

  After the dance, Mr. Masterson talked with Mr. Pepin. It was as Mr.Masterson had surmised; in his despair at the threatened coming of thecontralto, and having advantage of the Lone Wolf's new friendship, Mr.Pepin had thrown himself upon the Cheyennes. They received him mostdecorously, for the Lone Wolf made a speech that opened their eyes. TheLone Wolf had exhibited his new "medicine," and requested Mr. Pepin tomake the ghosts talk, which he did. The hunch on Mr. Pepin's back wasalso a mighty endorsement. It was as the signature of the Great Spirit,and bespoke for him an instant Cheyenne vogue. Bear Shield became hisfriend; the Lone Wolf continued to be his heart's brother. He was givena lodge. Then Bear Shield bestowed upon him his daughter Red Bud to behis wife.

  Mr. Pepin confessed that he might have hesitated at this final honour,but the thoroughgoing Bear Shield accompanied the gift of the bloomingRed Bud with a fine elm club. The two went ever together, Bear Shieldsaid, and explained the marital possibilities of the elm club. Mr. Pepinhad always heard how there was a per cent. of good among every sort andsept of men. He could now bear witness that the Cheyennes nourishedviews concerning matrimony, and the rights of husband and wife, forwhich much might be said.

  Mr. Pepin did not wish to return to the whites; the Indians were devoidof contraltos. The Lone Wolf filled his lodge with buffalo beef androbes. By way of receiving return, he came once a week, and asked hisheart's brother to make the ghosts in his "medicine" tell him theirimpressions. Under Mr. Pepin's spell the ghosts were sure to talkhopefully and with courageous optimism. Their usual discourse took theform of "Johnny Comes Marching Home," or "The Girl I Left Behind Me."These never failed to make the Lone Wolf's heart both bold and good.

  Mr. Masterson presently met the Lone Wolf. That warrior was wearing hisfiddle-case "medicine" on his back, after the manner of a squaw carryingher pappoose. The Lone Wolf had a prideful look which he held was one ofthe beneficent effects of his "medicine." He confided to Mr. Mastersonthat Mr. Pepin's Cheyenne name was a rumbling procession of gutturalsthat, translated, meant "The-toad-that-sings-like-a-thrush."