" His very virtues become a fault, for men and
women love best those who are human like themselves, however they may
respect. Among the troopers Blakely was as yet something of an enigma.
His manner of speaking to them was unlike that of most of his
fellows--it was grave, courteous, dignified, never petulant or
irritable. In those old cavalry days most men better fancied something
more demonstrative. "I like to see an officer flare up and--say
things," said a veteran sergeant. "This here bug-catcher is too damned
cold-blooded." They respected him, yes; yet they little understood and
less loved him. They had known him too short a time.
But among the Indians Blakely was a demi-god. Grave, unruffled,
scrupulously exact in word and deed, he made them trust him. Brave,
calm, quick in moments of peril, he made them admire him. How
fearlessly he had stepped into the midst of that half-frenzied
sextette, _tiswin_ drunk, and disarmed Kwonagietah and two of his
fellow-revelers! How instant had been his punishment of that raging,
rampant, mutinous old medicine man, 'Skiminzin, who dared to threaten
him and the agency! (That episode only long years after reached the
ears of the Indian Advancement Association in the imaginative East.)
How gently and skillfully he had ministered to Shield's younger
brother, and to the children of old Chief Toyah! It was this, in fact,
that won the hate and envy of 'Skiminzin.
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