Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 17 (1/3) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3). 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.

When we got further out into the Atlantic my companions became wary of going up on deck. When they did they scanned the horizon and talked in low voices if there were dark clouds heading towards us. The ocean swell was stronger but these weren't the rough seas they expected in repetition of the previous crossing. I was pleased we weren't enjoying the great sickness foretold by the absentee Black Elk. However, I was not immune from the need to hang over the ship's side and give the ocean the contents of my stomach. After it happened the first time it tempered my greed at meal times.

Swell or no swell the ponies still needed our care and I discovered animals, like men, could also suffer from seasickness. I'd become blasé about going up on the deck alone to tend to their needs. Laughing Waters said the captain wasn't likely to turn the ship around now if a stowaway was discovered and Colonel Cody wouldn't allow him to throw me overboard. I was rubbing the coat of an appreciative black and white piebald mare with a rag. My mind was miles away, thinking about George. I always thought of him when I was with ponies. A woman's voice broke the trance. Her words were in what I took to be Lakota. I turned with a smile expecting to see one of the squaws.

My expression changed instantly when I saw the originator of the words. It was a young white woman dressed in a red and white gingham shirt and blue denim jeans. Her tied back hair was dark and her eyes were sparkling blue. I'd seen her before albeit from a distance but I didn't know who she was. Close up there was something familiar in her face. She reminded me of someone else but I didn't have time to speculate on this. She spoke again. As usual I tried playing my dumb act but it wasn't going to work this time. I looked around, desperately seeking Laughing Waters or Dog That Stands or any other tribe member who might recognise my predicament but there was no one around to help me.

'You deef child?' she broke into English. Her American accent was as broad as the prairie. I nodded in agreement but this was my undoing. 'You understand English but you don't understand Sioux!' Her exasperated expression became perplexed. 'What tribe you from, boy?' A pair of cowboys tending their animals on deck became interested in the conversation and strolled across to see what was happening. One was as tall as a tree and a drooping walrus moustache dominated his face. I recognised him as the man who was announced by the show's Orator as Buck Taylor. He performed miraculous tricks on horseback. I hadn't encountered the enormity of him so close up before. He walked with a severe limp, which I learned later was the result of an accident a few months earlier in London.

'What's goin' on, Miss Arta?' Buck drawled, towering over us all with hands placed casually on his hips. 'This young Sioux buck don't seem to understand his own language.' Miss Arta's full lips pouted slightly. 'Maybe he's one of them Arapaho,' Buck said. Buck tried some halting words in another language that was equally unintelligible to me. There were also Arapaho Indians in the company but at that time, I couldn't tell the difference between the tribes or their languages. So much for my great expertise on Native Americans.

Continued... Next Page (2/3)

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