“So, this’s what we’re gonna have t’do. Same turns, but mebbe in a different order, an’ this time, the Injuns gotta be heroes.” He stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest, setting his weight back on his heels. “Ain’t like that’s completely outa the question. Pawnee like Fox been Scouts wit’ the Cavalry forever, seems like. So, I figgered I’d set my ideers up, an’ y’all tell me iffin it ain’t gonna work, an’ how we kin make it work.” He nodded sagely. “An’ I thought a good place ter start would be with the attack on th’ settlers.”
Giselle kept her eyes on her food, and as the attention of the rest of the troupe left her, and the heat in her face began to fade, but the formerly savory stew tasted of chagrin now. “They could do with learning manners,” Leading Fox said quietly in Pawnee. “But they mean no harm.”
She shrugged a little, and thought about some of the comments she’d overheard her countrymen making about the “barbaric frontiersmen.”
“They were not laughing at me,” she admitted. “They were laughing at what the writer said.”
“Which is absurd,” Leading Fox pointed out.
“. . . well . . . yes,” she admitted. She ate a few more bites, then listened to what the Captain was saying with more than half an ear.
And she had to admit that he had given all of this a great deal of thought. Then again, he does know these people very well.
They certainly were a contentious lot, however. Every single one of them seemed to have an opinion, every single one of them wanted to voice that opinion, and every single one of them thought his opinion, however unconsidered, was worthy of being heard. She got tired of it all long before it was over, but not before Leading Fox had silently gotten up and left. When it became clear that far too many of the troupe found arguing to be entertaining, she gave up as well. If some of her fellow players wanted to waste time when they could be sleeping in favor of listening to their own voices, well . . . that was one Americanism she was not inclined to emulate!
7
SILBERBRUCKE was a handsome town, a little bigger than Schopfheim. The narrow river that gave it its name neatly bisected the place, with three handsome stone bridges crossing it. They camped beside the river and set up the show in the river meadow on the opposite side of town from where they had entered. Kellermann had ridden ahead and plastered the place with handbills, and by the time the cavalcade had reached it, there were people lined up on both sides of the road to see them enter.
Anticipating this, Cody had ordered that they all don show costumes that day, so Giselle was in her fringed leather leggings, skirt and shirt, with a red neckerchief and a broad-brimmed leather hat. Someone else was driving her wagon, which had been pulled to the campsite ahead by two of the Quadrille horses, while she rode Lebkuchen. Her mare was sporting that odd American saddle with rifle sheathes at either knee, complete with rifles.
Cody had assembled them in a particular riding order as well. He led, of course, but per the plan to make the Indians as prominent as any of the white men, directly after him came Leading Fox and Giselle riding side by side, followed by the rest of the Pawnee. An abbreviated version of the band marched behind them, playing a song she now knew to be “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” It certainly was lively, and the people of the Schwarzwald loved brass bands. As they passed between the lines of eager spectators, horses seemingly nodding their heads in time to the music, the townsfolk cheered and clapped along.
Fox stared stoically ahead, which matched what the readers of Karl May expected out of an Indian, but Giselle smiled and nodded and waved to either side of her, all the way to their camping grounds. The advance crew had already performed the duty of setting up the canvas “wall” around what would be the show grounds, keeping those who had not paid out. The show parade trooped in through the entrance, passed by the ticket booth, and made their way around the right side of the show tent to where the camps had been set up.
This meadow was not as big as the one at Schopfheim, so the canvas