The Moon, the Maid, and the Winged Shoes Page #3

"The Moon, the Maid, and the Winged Shoes" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a captivating adventure novel that intertwines elements of fantasy and romance. The story follows an intrepid protagonist who embarks on a quest that leads him through mystical realms and encounters with enchanting characters. As he navigates challenges and confronts obstacles, the tale explores themes of love, bravery, and the pursuit of one's dreams. With vivid descriptions and imaginative storytelling, Beach crafts a whimsical narrative that transports readers to a world where the extraordinary meets the sublime.

• Short story

								

then throw 'em on to a flat rock endways, bettin' whether an odd or an
even number will fall outside of a ring drawed in the dirt. After a
couple of hours Mike strolled up and tipped me the wink that he'd
dusted his victims.

"Say," he began, "there's the niftiest chicken down here that I ever
see."

"Don't start any didos with the domestic relations of this tribe," I
told him, "or they'll spread us out, and spread us thin. Remember,
you're here on business bent, and if you bend back and forrads, from
business to pleasure, and versy visa, you'll bust. These people has
scrooplous ideas regardin' their wives and I respect 'em."

"She ain't married," Mike told me. "She's the chief's daughter, and
she looks better to me than a silver mine."

Durin' that evening we give the impression that we was well heeled, so
the tribe wasn't in no hurry to break camp on the following morning.

Along about noon I missed Mike, and I took a stroll to look for him. I
found him--and the chief's daughter--alongside of a shady trout pool.
She was weavin' a horsehair bracelet onto his wrist, and I seen the
flash of his ring on her finger. Mike could travel some.

He was a bit flustered, it seemed to me, and he tried to laugh the
matter off, but the girl didn't. There was something about the look
of her that I didn't like. I've seen a whole lot of trouble come from
less than a horsehair bracelet. This here quail was mebbe seventeen;
she was slim and shy, and she had big black eyes and a skin like
velvet. I spoke to Mike in words of one syllable, and I drug him away
with me to our tent.

That afternoon some half-grown boys got to runnin' foot-races and Mike
entered. He let 'em beat him, then he offered to bet a pony that they
couldn't do it again. The kids was game, and they took him quick. Mike
faked the race, of course, and lost his horse, that bein' part of our
progam.

When it was all over I seen the chief's daughter had been watchin' us,
but she didn't say nuthin'. The next mornin', however, when we got up
we found a bully pinto pony tied to one of our tent stakes.

"Look who's here," said I. "Young Minnie Ha-ha has made good your
losin's."

"That pony is worth forty dollars," said Mike.

"Sure. And you're as good as a squaw-man this minute. You're
betrothed."

"Am I?" The idy didn't seem to faze Mike. "If that's the case," said
he, "I reckon I'll play the string out. I sort of like it as far as
I've gone."

"I wish she'd gave us that cream-colored mare or hers," I said. "It's
worth two of this one."

"I'll get it to-day," Mike declared. And sure enough, he lost another
foot-race, and the next morning the cream-colored mare was picketed in
front of our tent.

Well, this didn't look good to me, and I told Mike so. I never was
much of a hand to take money from women, so I served a warnin' on
him that if we didn't get down to business pretty quick and make our
clean-up I proposed to leave him flat on his back.

That day the young men of the tribe did a little foot-runnin', and
Mike begged 'em to let him in. It was comical to see how pleased
they was. They felt so sure of him that they began pro-ratin' our
belongin's among one another. They laid out a half-mile course, and
everybody in camp went out to the finish-line to see the contest and
to bet on it. The old chief acted as judge, bookmaker, clerk of the
course, referee, and stakeholder. I s'pose by the time the race was
ready to start there must of been fifty ponies up, besides a lot of
money, but the old bird kept every wager in his head. He rolled up a
couple of blankets and placed 'em on opposite sides of the track, and
showed us by motions that the first man between 'em would be declared
the winner. All the money that had been bet he put in little piles on
a blanket; then he give the word to get ready.

I had no trouble layin' our money at one to five, and our ponies at
the same odds; then, when everything was geared up, I called Mike from
his tent. Say, when he opened the fly and stepped out there was a
commotion, for all he had on was his runnin'-trunks and his spiked
shoes. The Injuns was in breech-cloths and moccasins, and, of course,
they created no comment; but the sight of a half-nekked white man was
something new to these people, and the first flash they got at Mike's
fancy togs told 'em they'd once more fell a victim to the white man's
wiles.

They was wise in a minute, and some of the young hot-bloods was for
smokin' us up, but the chief was a sport--I got to give the old bird
credit. He rared back on his hind legs and made a stormy palaver;
as near as I could judge he told his ghost-dancers they'd been
cold-decked, but he expected 'em to take their medicine and grin, and,
anyhow, it was a lesson to 'em. Next time they'd know better'n to
monkey with strangers. Whatever it was he said, he made his point, and
after a right smart lot of powwowin' the entertainment proceeded. But
Mike and me was as popular with them people as a couple of polecats at
a picnic.

Mike certainly made a picture when he lined up at the start; he stood
out like a marble statue in a slate quarry. I caught a glimpse of the
chief's daughter, and her eyes was bigger than ever, and she had her
hands clinched at her side. He must have looked like a god to her;
but, for that matter, he was a sight to turn any untamed female heart,
whether the owner et Belgian hare off of silver service or boiled
jack-rabbit out of a coal-oil can. Women are funny thataway.

It's a pot-hunter's maxim never to win by a big margin, but to nose
out his man at the finish. This Mike did, winnin' by a yard; then he
acted as if he was all in--faked a faint, and I doused him with a
sombrero of water from the creek. It was a spectacular race, at that,
for at the finish the runners was bunched till a blanket would of
covered 'em. When they tore into the finish I seen the chief's girl do
a trick. Mike was runnin' on the outside, and when nobody was watchin'
her the little squaw kicked one of them blanket bundles about two feet
down the course, givin' Mike that much the "edge." She done it clever
and it would have throwed a close race.

Them savages swallered their physic and grinned, like the chief had
told 'em, and they took it standin' up. They turned over the flower of
their pony herd to us, not to mention about six quarts of silver money
and enough blankets to fill our tent. The old chief patted Mike on the
back, then put both hands to his temples with his fingers spread out,
as much as to say, "He runs like a deer."

Bimeby a buck stepped up and begun makin' signs. He pointed to the sun
four times, and we gathered that he wanted us to wait four days until
he could go and get another man.

Mike tipped me the wink, sayin': "They're goin' after the champeen of
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