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Laughing Bill Hyde
by
A squaw was bent over a tub of washing, another stood beside the tiny frosted window staring out. Neither woman answered the greeting of the white men.
“Must be the chief’s house,” Thomas observed.
“Must be! I s’pose the old bird is out adding up his reindeer. ‘Sapolio Sue’ is prob’ly his head wife.” Laughing Bill ran an interested eye over the orderly interior. “Some shack, but–I miss the usual smell.”
Neither woman paid them the least attention, so they continued to talk with each other.
“I wonder what she is washing,” Doctor Thomas said, finally.
The figure at the window turned, exposing the face of a comely young Indian girl. Her features were good, her skin was light. She eyed the intruders coolly, then in a well-modulated voice, and in excellent English, she said:
“She is washing a pair of sealskin pants.”
Both men removed their caps in sudden embarrassment. Thomas exclaimed:
“I beg your pardon! We thought this was just an ordinary native house, or we wouldn’t have intruded.”
“You haven’t intruded. This is ‘Reindeer Mary’s’ house.” The girl had again turned her back.
“Are you Reindeer Mary?”
“No, I am Ponatah. Mary befriended me; she lets me live with her.”
“Allow me to introduce Mr. Hyde. I am Doctor Thomas. We were very rude–“
“Oh, everybody comes here.” The men recognized instantly in the speaker’s face, as well as in her voice, that education had set its stamp. “Will you sit down and wait for her?”
“You overwhelm us.” After an awkward moment the physician queried, “How in the world did you learn to speak such good English?”
“A missionary took an interest in me when I was a little girl. He sent me to Carlisle.”
Laughing Bill had been an attentive listener, now he ventured to say: “I know this Carlisle. He’s a swell football player, or something.”
Ponatah smiled, showing a row of small, white teeth. “Carlisle is an Indian school.”
“What made you come back?” Thomas inquired, curiously.
Ponatah shrugged her shoulders. “There was an end to the money. What could I do? At first I thought I’d be able to help my people, but–I couldn’t. They will learn from the white people, but not from one of their own kind.”
“Your parents–?”
“They died when I was a baby. Mary took me in.” The girl spoke in a flat, emotionless tone.
“It must be tough to come back to this, now that you know what life really is,” said Thomas, after a time.
Ponatah’s eyes were dark with tragedy when she turned them to the speaker. “God!” she cried, unexpectedly, then abruptly she faced the window once more. It was a moment before she went on in fierce resentment:
“Why didn’t they leave me as they found me? Why did they teach me their ways, and then send me back to this–this dirt and ignorance and squalor? Sometimes I think I can’t stand it. But what can I do? Nobody understands. Mary can’t see why I’m different from her and the others. She has grown rich, with her reindeer; she says if this is good enough for her it should be good enough for me. As for the white men who come through, they can’t, or they won’t, understand. They’re hateful to me. Petersen, the mail-carrier, for instance! I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re strangers. You’re probably just like Petersen.”
“I know why you’re telling us,” Thomas said, slowly. “It’s because I–because we’re not like Petersen and the others; it’s because I–we can help you.”
“Help me?” sneered the girl. “How?”
“I don’t know, yet. But you’re out of place here. There’s a place for you somewhere; I’ll find it.”
Ponatah shook her head wearily. “Mary says I belong here, with my people.”
“No. You belong with white people–people who will treat you well.”
This time the girl smiled bitterly. “They have treated me worse than my own people have. I know them, and–I hate them.”
“Ain’t you the sore-head, now?” Laughing Bill murmured. “You got a hundred-per-cent. grouch, but if the old medicine-man says he’ll put you in right, you bet your string of beads he’ll do it. He’s got a gift for helpin’ down-and-outers. You got class, Kid; you certainly rhinestone this whole bunch of red men. Why, you belong in French heels and a boodwar cap; that’s how I dope you.”