"Well, no," said Jordan, "not all of 'em. That feller evidently don't b'long up here; he's prob'ly from the Southwest an' ain't nuthin' but a sort of a hobo. He's jest a sample of the kind that hangs 'round towns. An Indian h'aint no business in a town—he belongs in the open. He h'aint no more business bein' in a town ner an eagle has bein' in a cage—both on 'em is plumb ruint by it. Now, the's some Indians up North fu'ther," Jordan went on, after a pause, "that's quite consider'ble men—'twouldn't be safe exac'ly, to kick none of 'em, 'less you wanted a fight. But they keeps to theirselves—'way from town." Whitey's fallen hopes in the noble Red Man revived a little at this.
"Do those fellows give you any trouble now?" asked Mr. Sherwood. "I mean the Indians that gave Mr. Granville so much trouble some years ago."
"Not lately," said Jordan, and his grim face set hard. "We give 'em quite consider'ble of a lesson, one time. They was a bunch o' Dakotas wanderin' 'round, an' they sure played hob with the cattle, fer a spell. The' was some Greasers among 'em, too; but we give a few neck-tie parties an' they kind o' got discouraged."
"What is a neck-tie party, Mr. Jordan?" asked Whitey.
"Well," said Jordan, smiling, "the way o' playin' the game is like this: you take a man—gener'ly a Greaser—an' tie his hands behind him an' set him onto a horse. Then you make a slip-knot in a rope, or a lariat, an' you put it 'round the Greaser's neck an' throw the other end over the limb of a tree, an' two or three o' the boys takes a holt of it. Then, if somebody happens to hit the horse a slap—well, most gener'ly the neck-tie fits sort o' snug!"
"Why, that's hanging a man!" exclaimed Whitey, all excitement.
"Some calls it that," said Jordan, dryly. "I guess it 'mounts to 'bout the same thing—fer the man! But, y' see, this way, it's gener'ly a kind of a accident—somebody jes' happens to slap the horse, or mebbe the horse is res'less an' moves hisself. Then th' ain't nobody to blame!"
"Gee!" said Whitey, "I'd like to see one of those parties!"
"Well, I dunno," said Jordan, soberly, "they ain't altogether such all-fired pleasant an' sociable affairs as y' might think. I hope I've seen the last one—in these parts." And Jordan didn't speak again for some time.
Whitey figured that, after all, maybe all the Indians wouldn't stay tame and dispirited, and that maybe there would be "something doing," before the summer was over.