The Three Prigs: Not-So Indian Brave

The dandies have an unexpected run in with an Indian on a London Street. Go figure.

It was a chilly morning and the thoroughfare was almost empty before the crowd would come. It was market day and one by one the wooden carts and wagons would come rolling into the street, each carrying various goods from vegetables to old tin pots and kettles, to old and battered books. While the street vendors prepared their things, there were a few early birds who came to purchase the best of the items, or the freshest food while they could.

"I tell you, we must learn to be more frugal with our money or we won't have hats to put on our heads!"

Lord Crowther spoke emphatically as he strolled ahead of his two companions, his steps sprite and his cane tucked under one arm, the other lifted to hold the monocle in front of his eye to observe the various carts as they passed them by. His companions, however, did not share his lively enthusiasm.

"There was no need to wake me for this exploit, Crowther..." Groaned a very sleepy Abram. His puffy eyes were barely open as he followed mindlessly, occasionally covering a yawn that would escape from beneath his blond mustache. "I could be just as useless at home asleep beneath-" he yawned loudly, "warm blankets..."

The third gentleman, meanwhile, followed closely but at a sort of wide-eyed daze in which he looked like a zombie. His youthful face was made sallow by sleepy circles beneath his eyes and an occasional wobble in his gait that contrasted his proud posture. This was, of course, Baron Darnell.

The sky was yellow towards the eastern horizon, but a light blue faded slowly away to the west while more and more people gradually began to form a growing and bustling crowd in the narrow street below. As the bustle of the street gradually rose, a figure brushed past Baron Darnell, snapping him out of his wide-eyed state and bringing him to at last blink for the first time all morning.

"Terribly sorry, excuse me..." he said quickly out of polite habit.

However, as he blinked and allowed his eyes to focus on his surroundings, he looked quite befuddled at the stranger who bumped him as they walked away. It was a woman, but what especially confused him, was that from the back she appeared to be an Indian. And he was not the only one to notice.

Crowther, who walked merrily at the front of the trio, slowed as the Indian passed by. He then stopped suddenly, throwing out his arms to halt his companions and stop them as well.

"I say!" he breathed as he popped the monocle over his eye.

"Heaping teaspoons!" chirped Abram. "What is that?"

"It is obviously an Indian, Abram," Darnell said shortly. Like his companions, he gawked at her as though she was from another planet.

"OH!" Squealed Abram as he violently clutched Darnell's arm. "See if she speaks that Navajo jargon!" He then tittered and grinned from the Indian (who walked further away) to his friend. "Oh, confront her Derry, do! Ask her if she's ever had a proper Jolly-English-Roger! Maybe she'll ask for one, what?" He laughed and Crowther joined him.

Darnell, however, jerked his arm free. "And have some damnable hex put on my head? I think not! Perhaps I'll-"

But Crowther interrupted with an abrupt, "Let me!"

Giving each of his pals a quick pat on their shoulders, he skipped off towards the Indian maiden. He jogged to her side where he grinned widely, showing his squirrely teeth. His top hat was lifted from his head to reveal his dirty blonde hair that was imprinted from the hat being worn so snugly.

"Good morning, miss!" He said cheerfully. "You must be lost, and if so, I can point you where you need to go!"

The woman stopped when he spoke to her. She was tall, half a head taller than Crowther himself, and from head to foot she was dressed in the traditional Native American garb, feathers fringe, and rabbit skins. There was no comprehension of his words to be seen as she stared at him.

"Si yu...?" she spoke with a remarkably clear voice.

Crowther's hand hovered the lifted hat over his head as he stared blankly at her. "See me?" He repeated to the best of his knowledge. Finally replacing his hat, he adjusted his monocle in his eye and squinted as he glanced over her. "Hm... Well, this is indeed awkward..."

"Gads Crowther!" Abram laughed as her and Darnell caught up. "She's taller than you are! Haha!"

"Don't anger her!" Darnell chimed in with a smirk. "She may scalp you."

Crowther seemed deaf to his friends as he stared at her, pondering. With a smile, he seemed to reach a decision. Clearing his throat, he tapped his cane on the ground and leaned forward to emphasize the words he now blared out.

"I say! Do-you-speak-a-word-of-English?" He practically screamed as though it would make any difference in her understanding. "Or... Perhaps-signing?" Here, he demonstrated a meaningless little thing with his hands, linking them together and wriggling his fingers.

"How! What?" Abram could not help including himself with a chuckle as he elbowed Darnell beside him.

Then, without warning and in the blink of an eye, the woman's fist pounded into Crowther's face. It was something like a sack of flour being dropped the way that he hit the ground, his hat falling from his head and rolling away on the grimy cobblestones.

"O yo i!" She seemed to curse at the lot of them as she turned and disappeared among the crowd.

Abram and Darnell all the while watched from the sidelines as she clocked him, and while their initial reaction was a singular stupefied and shocked gasp, they were quick to erupt into laughter as they pointed at their fallen friend.

"Crowther, you asinine blockhead!" Darnell said through laughs. "Now there is a woman who can hold her own!"

"Indeed!" Laughed Abram as he finally moved forward to help Crowther off the ground. "She seems damned furious, Crowther... Perhaps you should make a peace offering?"

"I don't want her to his me again..." Crowther muffled through his hands as they were clasped over his now throbbing nose.

His eyes were full of tears to the point of near blindness as he was pulled to his feet. With strands of hair hanging over his eyes, his monocle had fallen from his eye while his hat and cane were being retrieved by Darnell. Crowther then checked his hand for any sign of blood. On his palm was a smear of red which brought an unexpected grin on his thin face.

"I'm bleeding!" He said almost triumphantly.

"Congratulations, you're a man," Darnell said with boredom. He then grabbed Crowther by the arm and began to pull along the crowded thoroughfare. Abram, meanwhile, linked himself with Crowther's other arm.

"Crowther, my friend..." He said with a smile. "Thank you for getting me out of bed this morning!"
 

Author's Note

Yes, I know. A Native American in London. It lacks sense here, but I do hope to bring it back in a later story to add at least a little logic to it. lol