Still, she wasn't quite satisfied. A few of the shy squaws had been induced to come up and look at things from the outside, peering into the shop through the door and windows. But there were probably twenty who had not been in the store. If only she could persuade them to come once, there would be no more trouble.
The final stroke which brought the Indians, both men and women, into the store was a bit of good luck. Ellie called it a miracle.
It was after a very heavy rain-storm in the mountains that Jennings, the stage-driver, shouted to her one evening: “Do you mind if I leave a big box here for young Creighton over at the Scotia mine? The road's all washed out by Camp 3, and I don't dare take this any farther. It's one of those phonygrafts that makes music, you know. And say, Miss Ellie, will you telephone him that it's here?”
“Yes,” answered Ellie in an absent-minded way. “I'll telephone him. She was still half dreaming as she heard young Creighton's voice at the other end of the line, but at once she became eager and alert. “I want to ask a favor of you, Mr. Creighton? Your phonograph is here. They can't take it up on account of the washout. May I open it and play on it. I'll make sure that it is boxed up again carefully.”
“Why, certainly, Miss Ellie! I'll be glad to have you enjoy the music. The records and everything are in the box. Perhaps I'll come over and hear it myself.”
The next evening, about eight o'clock, Will Creighton arrived on horseback, and found such a throng of Indians close about the door that he had to go in by the kitchen. He heard the strains of the phonograph music and had no need to ask the cause of the excitement. All the squaws were inside the store. Occasionally one would extend a hand and touch the case or peer into the dark box, trying to discover where the sound came from.
Creighton approached Ellie, who was changing a needle. She turned her flushed face to him with a smile. “Isn't this great! They're here, every one of them! You're awfully good to let us use the phonograph. I've ordered one like it for ourselves. These blessed squaws do enjoy music so much!”
Job Lansing was standing near the machine, enjoying it as much as any one. A new record had been put on, the needle adjusted, and the music issued forth from that mysterious box. It was one of those college songs, a “laughing” piece. And soon old Job was doubled over, with his enjoyment of it. The squaws drew closer together. At first they scowled, for they thought that the queer creature in the polished case was laughing at them. Then one began to giggle, and soon another and finally the store was filled with hysterical merriment. Sometimes it would stop for a moment, and then, as the sounds from the phonograph could be heard, it would break forth again.
Ellie stood for hours, playing every record four or five times, and when she finally shut up the box, as a sign that the concert was over, the taciturn Indians filed silently out of the store and went home without a word.
But the girl knew that they would return. She had won!