DAN BEARD AND THE BOYS. 



Anything which brings nature nearer to us, 

 and gives recreation, innocent and refined, 

 is an influence for good. — Sir Edwin Arnold. 



When I was a lad I used to dream dreams 

 of the Wild West, where there really lived 

 people like those described by Captain Mayne 

 Reid, a country where the towering moun- 

 tains wore white caps of 

 snow in midsummer to keep 

 their heads cool, where the 

 prairies were covered with 

 flowers and dotted with buf- 

 falo,, but I did not expect 

 to see all this existing to- 

 day, therefore, it was with 

 grateful surprise that I noted 

 all these things while on a 

 camping trip in the Flat- 

 head Indian Country. Even 

 the buffalo were there. But 

 it was not of this part of 

 the trip that I meant to 

 speak; what I intended to 

 say is that an Indian boy is 

 just like any other sort of 

 a boy — he is all boy. The 

 one in the illustration looks 

 embarrassed, and he is em- 

 barrassed; a camera is 

 pointed at him and he has 

 been told by the older In- 

 dians that the picture the 

 camera takes is the spirit, 

 the soul, of the object pho- 

 tographed. Who would not 

 feel and look embarrassed if 

 they thought some stranger 

 was about to pull their soul 

 out of their body by the 

 heels and press it flat like a 

 flower or botanical specimen 

 on a piece of paper? 



White boys have many 

 just as silly beliefs ; for in- 

 stance, they spit on their 

 taw or shooter when playing 

 marbles to give it luck. 

 You see the Indian lad and 

 the white lad both have pe- 

 culiar beliefs of their own, 

 but both are fond of play 

 and fun. I once saw two little Indians trying 

 to ride a little donkey, and the latter would 

 buck exactly like a real big cowboy's pony 

 until it bounced the boys off its back, to the 

 great delight of the Indian men who lay 

 stretched full length on their blankets watch- 

 ing the fun. 



One handsome young warrior, gorgeous in 

 beads, feathers and stained porcupine quills, 



HE IS EMBARRASSED. By Cantwell 



looked on the boy's efforts with a solemn, dig- 

 nified countenance until by a skillful twisting 

 side jump the little donkey sent both the boys 

 up in the air to fall on their backs in the sun- 

 baked grass, then the young 

 warrior quite shocked me 

 by exclaiming in English, 

 "Hey ! hey ! rubber neck ; 

 what?" The idea of that 

 stately warrior using such 

 an expression ! Nor was he 

 content with this, but he 

 must throw dignity to the 

 winds and roll over and 

 over in a violent attack of 

 merriment. 



It was then that I learned 

 that not only was an Indian 

 boy all boy, but, that Indian 

 men were very much like 

 the rest of us. You will no- 

 tice that the little white boy, 

 in the next picture, does not 

 seem to care how often he 

 is photographed, because he 

 does not believe that he is 

 having his soul torn from 

 his body. If he did, you 

 would not catch him posing 

 so unconcernedly. Even the 

 dog pays no attention to the 

 young photographer, but 

 that may be because the dog 

 has been taught that it has 

 no soul. 



Speaking of souls reminds 

 me of the time long ago 

 when I went to Sunday 

 School in Painesville, Ohio, 

 and the teacher was so anx- 

 ious about my soul and so 

 earnest in her desire that I 

 should save it that I became 

 quite indignant and told her 

 she might have it if she 

 wanted it so very much, and 

 that she might put it with 

 the other souls she had saved. 

 You see, I was only a little toddler at that 

 time and should not have been bothered with 

 such serious affairs. I thought my soul was 

 some sort of an invisible thing hitched on 

 to me without my consent and that it needed 

 constant care to keep it from being damaged 

 by contact with furniture, trees and things. 

 If the expression of the face is any indica- 

 tion of a thing's soul a snapping turtle must 



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