The Tale of the Indian Princess

It’s been a slow day, both in weather and activity.  We were supposed to get rain by this morning, but all we’ve had are dull gray clouds.  They were enough — especially on the day after a holiday — to discourage most people from coming out, though.  They also discouraged me from going out.

I’ve often thought that on these quiet days, I ought to tell some of the stories of odd things that have happened here over the years.  The trouble is that I can’t remember which ones I’ve already told, and which I haven’t.  I think, for example, that I told the story of The Horse that Sat on the Rabbit fairly recently.  I didn’t tag it, so I’m not sure when I wrote about it.

So I’ve decided to retell some of those stories, and this time tag them as stories.  The first is the Tale of the Indian Princess.  I wasn’t actually there for it; Billy told me about it.  I’ll try to recreate it as I remember it from years ago.

One day, Billy came in from one of his usual horse-checking rounds with a flummoxed expression.  When he has that look on his face, I know something interesting has happened.  After he sat down and got comfortable, he told me about it.

He had been driving around, looking at horses, when he noticed a woman walking from pen to pen.  Every once in a while she would look around.  She checked the tackrooms, the mobile homes, the arenas — everything.  Finally he decided to ask her if she wanted anything.

“Oh, no,” she said.  “I’m just looking at my new property.”

“Your new property?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “You see, I’m an Indian princess, and I just got a land settlement from the government.  They said I could choose any piece of land I wanted, and I chose this one.”

“Okay . . .”

“Actually, there’s more to it than that.  You see, I’m also Stalin’s granddaughter.”

“You are?”

“Yes.  You remember when she came to the United States?  Svetlana Stalin?  Well, while she was here she fell in love with an Indian chief, and I’m their daughter.  It was all hushed up, of course; and that’s why I got to choose my land.”

“I see.  Well, you just go ahead and look it over, then. ”

“And off she went,” he told me, “Perfectly happy.  She wandered off after a while.  I kind of think she won’t remember where we are after a while.  There’s only one thing . . . ”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t think there could be any truth in it . . . do you?”