The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 223: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BIG BUFFALO'S condition, but not so of One Horse. He was One Horse in name, but he was an entire stable in talk. That boy could say more and convey less in fifteen minutes, on the most trivial subject, than the report of a Congressional com- mittee. The white man had taken him up and put the brand of education on him, and he displayed his attainments at every turn of the road. It was not alone an ample demonstration of the truth which holds a little learning to be a dangerous thing; it proved undeniably that it can become a positive affliction. One Horse had received the rudi- ments of his education in the mission school. He had been polished off in the blacksmith shop at the military post near by, and his method of expressing his thoughts was startling sometimes, and again alarming, especially when there were ladies around. After a good deal of skirmishing, of which there was no need whatever, but which proved that One Horse had the making of a diplomat in him, the young man came around to the point. He was there as an emissary from Big Buffalo. The old chief resented having his picture taken. He believed that pictures of a strong man made him weak ; that pictures of a sane man made him crazy; that pictures of any man whatever were nothing less than that man’s spirit in captivity. And no man wants to live apart from his own proper spirit. It isn’t com- fortable. So Big Buffalo wanted the black box delivered to him. He wanted to destroy it, and all within it, and set his spirit free. “Why, what a crazy notion!” said Mrs. Tree. “Yes,” admitted One Horse, serene and lofty in the white man’s knowledge of these things; “‘ old man damn fool! - Just like little kid, damn fool! ”’ Everybody said that the request of the ancient man was unreasonable and preposterous. Why, of course she wasn't going to smash up that perfectly good camera, said Jennie, not to please LAs! BAT TEE. 925 all the old Indian granddads that still survived the ardent waters and flannel underclothing of civilization. One Horse said of course not—no lady could be expected to do that. He said a great deal more, for he was the original talking Indian. But for all his chatter he left a good impression when he went away to report to Buffalo. Et JENNIE started for the Big Wind River, which was not more than a mile away, about the middle of that same afternoon. She wanted a picture of rippling water. Everybody that ever owned a camera wanted a picture of rippling water some time or another. None of them ever got it with the rip- ples in it just as it looks in the rapids. No matter, Jennie hadn't tried. And she must have some rippling water. With such a film she could have one of those developing magicians combine it with the Big Buffalo picture. Rippling water would be much more romantic as a background for a chief than a pile of rubbish with broken beer bottles on top of it, and an old rubber boot which she knew perfectly well would show. So communing in her own highly educated mind, Miss Jennie meandered off up the river looking for a ripple. At last she came to it, the loveliest bit of crinkled water that ever laughed in the face of an amateur photographer. It was exactly what she wanted. Wagon tracks came down to it from the bank 6n which she stood, lost them- selves in its pellucid shallows, emerged on the other side, and wavered off into the gray mystery beyond. Jennie had some thoughts that they led away, perhaps, to some place where young ranchers with white dust on their shoulders were pining away and grow- ing thin in the face for young ladies of polish and refinement, to fry their bacon and open their canned tomatoes. It looked fine. It was the very like- liest ripple that Jennie ever had met. She got it in her finder from this point, EORNICLOO “S) (E@)