Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 11 (3/4) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/4), (2/4), (3/4), (4/4). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3.

We were totally engrossed in observing the company in which we found ourselves and, of course, by tucking into the food mountains on our plates. I didn't notice John Nelson leaving us. Half the food was eaten and already my stomach was feeling the strain. I needed a respite, so I tried my coffee. I took a mouthful and immediately spit it back into the enamel mug. I'd never tasted anything so foul before. 'Too much sugar?' George was surprised by my action.

I shook my head, unable to speak. My mouth was still tingling. Finally, I managed a single sound. 'Ugh!' These men must be real men to drink this witch's brew. Gingerly George took a sip from his mug. His reaction was the same as mine. Further down the table unshaven faces under tipped back Stetsons were laughing at our antics. How did they manage to drink hot coffee without any problem? I was not sure whether I envied or pitied them.

The mood of the moment was broken by the arrival in the tent of the Sioux warrior who spoke a smattering of English. 'Come with me! Come now!' There was a look of anxiety behind the war paint. A heap of uneaten food remained on my plate and surprisingly even George was still confronted by a substantial hill of beans.

It went against the grain to let good food go to waste but we both admitted defeat in our battle with the sheer scale of Wild West cuisine. We lowered ourselves slowly from our bench seats and followed the warrior. 'What's up?' I asked. The brave gave a look of incomprehension. 'Why do you want us to come?' A less colloquial expression was more understandable. 'Come. Red Shirt take care of you. Come!' He became more insistent and he led us out of the marquee, back in the direction of his campfire. A young female member of the tribe was now standing among the band.

Once we were back with the Sioux, they formed a circle around us again but their posture told me this was more a protective formation rather than one of attack. The girl was at its centre together with Red Shirt. 'I am Laughing Waters.' Her English was clear, although she had the same novel accent as the American men. Her appearance was striking. Her face was a dark olive colour with delicate features quite unlike those of the harsh faced warriors. Coal black hair tied in a long ponytail hung down to the waist of a buckskin dress. 'I have been to missionary school and speak the language of the American. Red Shirt wants me to give his words to you.'

'I thought that Mr Nelson ...' She cut me short. 'Cha-Sha-Cha-Opeyeo told the chief that you must be returned to the orphanage. He said this is what the great white queen would want.' She nodded seriously. 'But Red Shirt has met the great white queen and says that she is wise. She would not want to punish children because they have no family.' George and I nodded in agreement and continued listening. Her words were melodic. George gave me a nudge with his elbow, which made me aware that my mouth was hanging open. I shut it again quickly.

Continued... Next Page (4/4)

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