Chapter 5

The old-time western saloon, at least of that time and place,---was not merely a drinking place, but each one had its piano and a player for it just inside the entrance door; there was a violinist who stood beside the pianist and sawed from dark to midnight,---or later if the crowd warranted. The bar came next, lining one side of the front room usually about 18 or 20 feet deep; the next room was of similar dimension, and the third and fourth the same. The first room, in addition to the bar, was devoted to the stud-poker green-baize top horse-shoe table; the second room, to the roulette tables and the others to small circular poker-games tables for private parties; drinking was a very small part of the saloon's business! Gamblers seldom drank, a clear head and steady nerve, quick wit and ready pull of the six-gun, was necessary when one sat down at one of these tables, for each one was ornamented with stacks of red-white-blue chips or often a stack of twenty and ten-dollar gold pieces, along side of which lay a Colt's 45. And there was no loud talking; the spin of the roulette wheel or the click of piling chips and low-toned talking at the bar, was all that disturbed the vibrant melody of fiddle and piano.

Mudge joined the 'gang' for a night roundup; the gang consisted of the meat cutter, Doug McNiven, the butcher, Ed Poole, head teamster, Bob Joynt, and Neal McKeague, who had recently been taken on as stable-man in charge of the work-teams, driving horses and saddlers. They were all single, big and tested westerners, and when they banded for a night out, the town gave them the right-of-way. They were not 'bad' men nor gun-toters, but jolly fellows who knew when they had enough bad liquor, and they were popular with the peace-officers, business men and saloon proprietors. It had been a strenuous day for all of them, and the saloons being crowded, they went forth to help in the merry-making; a couple of rounds of beer at Alice Gray's, then a visit to the Indian village where the bone gatherers held forth in their encampment of tepees covering an area equal to that of the town of the whites. Visiting Indians meant that each tepee be invaded and to sit at one side of the lodge fire and talk with the warrior and smoke his pipe and perhaps give the children a few pennies; if there were a buxom dark-skinned maiden of twenty or so, it was proper to leave a box of candy; to give them liquor was a violation of law with severe penalty,---and so, a bag of tobacco, or a pattern of calico for shirt or dress, and handkerchiefs and ribbon made a party welcome. By nine o'clock the important ponies were picketed, the others, together with the considerable herd of cows, steers and bulls which had been harnessed to the carts, were allowed to graze about on the open prairie under the watchful eye of the night-herders, comprising relays of the young men, like sentinels in an army camp. Thereafter, the fires went out and the camp was quieted until sunrise.

Billy Osborn's saloon was packed; a few at the bar and the stud-poker tables filled to capacity, as were the back rooms. Billy had had a big day and was celebrating the occasion; he had donned his fringed buckskin suit, with broad brim white hat, and wore his Colt's 44 at his hip. The 'gang' was popular with Billy and when they lined up at the bar for a drink of beer, Billy went behind the counter to wait on them personally; he would not take the order for beer but set out champagne, with the remark: "Take one on me for birth of the Great Northern." Then with a finger sign he leaned toward Mudge and whispered,---"Next time I see you with my girl there might be trouble."---and he did not smile when he said it; Mudge made no reply nor did he smile as he led the procession to the next stop.

Last in the row of saloons was Requa's at the next corner to the east; it was filled to the door, and, as elsewhere, the 'gang' was welcomed. As the bartender was out for a moment, Mudge went behind the bar to wait on his crowd and to see that they got beer instead of something stronger; that created a laugh from a nearby poker table amongst whose players was Judge Morgan, a warm friend of all the boys; Morgan had passed a joking remark to Mudge about his awkward handling of the glasses, and everybody laughed again,---everyone but Neale, the tenderfoot. Neale took it as an insult to Mudge, and was for cleaning out the place at once; he did not realize that these were the best of friends of the 'gang' and were merely helping in the celebration of the great day of the Fat Stock Show, and he went berserk at once, started for Morgan in a rage, but big Ed Poole and Tall Bob grabbed him before he got to the judge's table; he broke from them and fought them as a wildman would; he was suddenly a raving maniac, striking out at anyone he came near enough to reach, and then at the wall, until he was frothing at the mouth. But the boys were able to overpower him and bring him to the floor where they trussed him up and locked him in the stable for the night.

That the reader may know the final fate of this fellow, a few days later, he played in a poker game with the Swede bartender, and a dispute arose. McKeague made a threat that he would get even. Some weeks later the Swede went to the frontier along the railroad workings and set up a saloon on his own account; then one day McKeague was sent out with a load of fresh meat for delivery to a grading contractor, and on arrival, he stopped at the Swede's saloon for a drink, not knowing that it was his until he stepped inside and saw behind the bar the very man he had threatened in the card game.

Instead of calling for a drink, he reached across the flimsy bar of pine boards, grabbed the rear side in an effort to wrench it from its wobbly foundation. Instantly, the Swede raised a double-barrelled shotgun from below the bar's top, leveled it, and pulled both triggers; the double blast struck just above the eyes taking off the upper half of the head and scattering blood and brains all about the room. Mudge looked up a new man for the vacant driver's job, and things went along as usual for a while. McKeague had come across the border from Manitoba and was accustomed to rigid enforcement of the British law and custom; he could not get used to the open ways and lawlessness of the new United States frontier, then made up of Indians, soldiers, half-breeds, Finns, Laps, and the stream of emigrants by train and covered wagons from the eastern states and Europe; and when the railroad began construction into the western wilderness, there came an influx of outlaws, gamblers, rum-runners and land speculators to enlarge the simmering melting pot.

Wa-na-ta was becoming a fast friend; he came semi-monthly from the reservation to have his smoke from the good tobacco which Mudge always treated him to. The old chief was ninety-eight; somewhat emaciated with long hair slightly grey, teeth worn to the gums, almost deaf, and he suffered from trachoma; his dress was ill-fitting white man's style of coat and trousers but he wore his fancy beaded pouch and bead moccasins, and around his shoulders draped the regulation blanket, dark in color with green stripes along the border, and always across the left arm rested the long-stem red-stone pipe.

In a report of a government expedition which visited his tribe in 1845 Wanata was referred to as the head chief who then had more power than any Indian in the North American continent. His bearing and behavior was always dignified and proved that reputation to be entirely justified, when on his visits to the white man's town. One day he signed to Mudge that he wished to talk in private; to oblige, Mudge led the way to an unoccupied room where the old chief drew from within his blanket a package well encased in old newspaper wrappings, and displayed an old parchment which bore his name as head-chief of the Sioux to which were attached the signatures of government officials, and after a hasty reading, the old man folded it carefully in the wrapper and replaced it beneath the folds of his blanket. He was ready to go, he indicated in sign language; he seemed to want no one else to know that he was once a great chief, and, so far as his association with others in the town or the fort indicated, he was entirely indifferent to their opinions of him. A few got to know him by his beautiful bead pouch he wore hanging to his belt, but they did not know that he was a man who once wielded power second only to the president of the United States. A titled English ranch-owner who knew of his importance in history offered any price that the old chief would name, for the pipe and pouch, but the chief disdained to listen to any offer of money. But when Mudge squatted beside him on the floor, where he was puffing meditatively on his long red-stone pipe, to tell him of leaving next week for a trip east, he arose instantly, untied his belt, laid both pouch and pipe across his left hand and extended it to him as a present and token to be preserved after he had passed to the long sleep.

One of Mudge's duties was to go twice monthly to the fort to collect accounts there from the post-traders, the mission schools and the officers and commissary and the Indian agency; the trip was, in summer, by the steamer of Captain Heerman, which made the round trip daily. In winter, the trip must be made by stage or sleigh over the ice,---the distance was fourteen miles each way. Captain Heerman was an old-time Missouri and Mississippi steamboat operator of considerable note; he had been induced by James J. Hill to build his boats on the big lake as a connecting link between the railroad and the fort,---one called the Minnie H and the other and smaller one Rock Island; the larger boat was a side-wheeler while the little boat had a screw-propeller and was used only when business was light in both freight and passengers.

The old captain was a practical joker and missed no opportunity to play one on an unsuspecting passenger. Knowing Mudge as representative of one of his heavy shippers, he set up a scheme with the Commandant at the fort to have Mudge arrested and placed in the guardhouse when he attempted to land on his first trip to the U.S. Military Reservation. When the boat was tied to its pier and the gangplank let down, Mudge, with a three-inch thick file of statements under his arm, and an air of self-importance, bolted for the shore; but on the wharf two armed guards stepped forward and presented bayonets to his breast with a harsh command: "Halt, Present Pass!" On shore the lordly Major Bacon sat astride his black bespangled charger, himself adorned with all the gold braid and other insignia that showed his exalted place in the army of the U.S.A. He barked to the guard: "Detain him until I know what business he has on government property."---and riding closer, he directed the question to the young man: "What sir, is your errand here?" Instantly Mudge replied, "I have a lot of bills to collect from Major Bacon and the officers at the fort and I want to get back to my office on the next boat!" The old steamer captain could restrain himself no longer as he let out a loud roar of laughter from the wheel house, and the commandant, shaking with repressed laughter at the turn of the joke on himself, wheeled his horse and galloped up the trail to his headquarters in the fort. By the time the greenhorn collector reached the commander's office, he had learned from the captains and lieutenants how and when to salute military dignitaries, and so he approached the major with a sweep of the hand, and was received with a smile, handed a pass and a check with a hearty hand-shake and an invitation to come freely and often. And he did catch the return boat home.