“For Heaven’s sake, choke him off!” ejaculated the sad funny-man, with blanched face. The cracking of boughs in the choice trees in which the small boys had ensconced themselves were punctuating the Indian’s remarks.
The interpreter turned to the red man and soberly remarked that the White Hunter wanted more talk, and on he went. Every time Twain cried for quarter the chief was told to give another hunting story. Finally his Indian vocabulary was exhausted and he quit.
Twain made a brief reply which the interpreter translated into a marvellous hunting yarn. The Chief listened stolidly, and when he got away grunted contemptuously and muttered:
“White man heap big liar.”
Adam Forepaugh, in the latter years of his circus life, carried with his show a “Wild West” department. He had Indians, cowboys, Mexicans, Cossacks, Arabs, scouts, guides, detachments of regular soldiers from the armies of several nations and all the others that go to make a spectacular rough-riding production. I remember an amusing incident which illustrates that the veteran tented-amusement purveyor did not allow sentiment to interfere with the ticket wagon end of the business. One of the features of the exhibition was a representation of Custer’s disastrous battle with the Sioux Indians under Sitting Bull. The mise en scène was correct in most particulars, and carried out with fidelity to the subject. It was a graphic illustration of the Indian mode of warfare. The cowboys who participated were true children of the plains who had faced danger in many of its deadliest forms. They were very proud of their records as scouts, plainsmen and warriors.
Along about the middle of the season Mr. Forepaugh picked up a famous addition to the show in Mt. Vernon, O. He was Sergeant George C. Wagner, “representative frontiersman of the past.” He came unannounced, looking for a job in the Wild West department, hopping on to the lot like a clumsy bird. A wooden prop replaced the flesh and bone of his right leg below the knee. He explained to Mr. Forepaugh that he was the sole survivor of Custer’s immediate command; he had escaped death in the last rally, because at the time of the fight he was riding the plains with a message to Major Reno, seventy-two miles away. During his lonely journey he had encountered Indians, and a poisoned arrow received in the running conflict had necessitated amputation of his leg. He looked the figure of romance and adventure, impressed the circus owner as sincere and was hired on the spot.
ACROBATS PRACTISING NEW FEATS.
As the days went by the sergeant became more and more a conspicuous part of the show. He was a skilful horseman, despite his abbreviated limb, although we all wondered how he was able to hold his seat. His name appeared in black type on the programme, and he always got a tremendous ovation when he scurried on a big bay horse around the hippodrome amid the blare of trumpets, after a highly complimentary introduction by the announcer. After the show, Grand Army posts frequently gave him informal receptions, at which he regaled the veterans with thrilling stories of life on the trail and of incidents of the excitement and turmoil of the unsettled West. He drank whiskey with great freedom and frequency, but it seemed to affect only his tongue. His encounters with red men then became innumerable and his life history was written all over with blood. His knowledge of Custer’s campaigns was comprehensive to a detail.