 | CHAPTER IV The prairie |  |
4. CHAPTER IV
I view the fight, than those that make the fray.”
Merchant of Venice.
The unfortunate bee-hunter and his companions
had now become the captives of a people, who might,
without exaggeration, be called the Ishmaelites of the
American deserts. From time immemorial, the hands
of the Siouxs had been turned against their neighbours
of the prairies, and even at this day, when the
influence and authority of a civilized government are
beginning to be felt around them, they are considered
as a treacherous and dangerous race. At the period
of our tale, the case was far worse; few white men
trusting themselves in the remote and unprotected
regions where so false a tribe was known to dwell.
Notwithstanding the peaceable submission of the
trapper, he was quite aware of the character of the
band, into whose hands he had fallen. It would have
been difficult, however, for the nicest judge to have
determined whether fear, policy or resignation formed
the secret motive of the old man, in permitting
himself to be plundered as he did, without a murmur.
So far from opposing any remonstrance to the
rude and violent manner in which his conquerors
performed the customary office, he even anticipated
their cupidity, by tendering to the chiefs such articles
as he thought might prove the most acceptable. On
the other hand Paul Hover, who had been literally a
conquered man, manifested the strongest repugnance
to submit to the violent liberties that were taken with
his person and property. He even, gave several, exceedingly,
unequivocal demonstrations of his displeasure
during the summary process, and would, more
than once, have broken out, in open and desperate
resistance, but for the admonitions and intreaties of
the trembling girl, who clung to his side, in a manner
so dependant, as to show the youth, that her hopes
were now placed, no less on his discretion, than on
his disposition to serve her.
The Indians had, however, no sooner deprived the
captives of their arms and ammunition, and stript
them of a few articles of dress of little use and perhaps
of less value, than they appeared disposed to
grant them a respite. Business of greater moment
pressed on their hands, and required their instant attention.
Another consultation of the chiefs was con
vened, and it was apparent, by the earnest and vehement
manner of the few who spoke, that the warriors
conceived their success as yet to be far from
complete.
“It will be well,” whispered the trapper, who
knew enough of the language he heard to comprehend
perfectly the subject of the discussion, “if the
awoke out of their sleep by a visit from these miscreants.
They are too cunning to believe that a woman
of the “pale-faces” is to be found so far from
the settlements, without having a white man's inventions
and comforts at hand.”
“If they will carry the tribe of wandering Ishmael
to the Rocky Mountains,” said the young bee-hunter,
laughing in his vexation with a sort of bitter merriment,
“I may forgive the rascals.”
“Paul! Paul!” exclaimed his companion in a tone
of reproach, “you forget all! Think of the dreadful
consequences!”
“Ay, it was thinking of what you call consequences,
Ellen, that prevented me from putting the matter,
at once, to yonder red-devil, and making it a real
knock-down and drag-out! Old trapper, the sin of
this cowardly business lies on your shoulders! But
it is no more than your daily calling, I reckon, to
take men, as well as beasts, in the snares.”
“I implore you, Paul, to be calm—to be patient.”
“Well, since it is your wish, Ellen,” returned the
youth, endeavouring to swallow his spleen, “I will
make the trial; though, as you ought to know, it is
part of the religion of a Kentuckian, to fret himself,
a little, at a mischance.”
“I fear your friends in the other bottom will not
escape the eyes of the imps!” continued the trapper,
as coolly as though he had not heard a syllable
of the intervening discourse—“They scent plunder;
and it would be as hard to drive a hound from his
game as to throw the varmints from its trail.”
“Is there nothing to be done!” asked Ellen, in an
imploring manner which proved the sincerity of her
concern.
“It would be an easy matter to call out, in so loud
a voice as to make old Ishmael dream that the wolves
were among his flock,” Paul replied; “I can make
camp is but a short quarter from us.”
“And get knocked on the head for your pains,”
returned the trapper—“No, no; cunning must match
cunning, or the hounds will murder the whole family.”
“Murder! no—no murder. Ishmael loves travel
so well, there would be no harm in his having a look
at the other sea, but the old fellow is in a bad condition
to take the long journey! I would try a lock
myself before he should be quite murdered.”
“His party is strong in number, and well armed;
do you think it will fight?”
“Look here, old trapper—Few men love Ishmael
Bush and his seven sledge-hammer sons less than one
Paul Hover; but I scorn to slander even a Tennessee
shot-gun. There is as much of the true stand-up
courage among them, as there is in any family that
was ever raised in Kentuck. They are a long-sided
and a double-jointed breed; and let me tell you, that
he who takes the measure of one of them on the
ground, must be a workman at a hug.”
“Hist! The savages have done their talk, and are
about to set their accursed devices in motion Let
us be patient; something may yet offer in favour of
your friends.”
“Friends! call none of the race a friend of mine,
trapper, if you have the smallest regard for my affection!
What I say in their favour is less from love
than honesty.”
“I did not know but the young woman was of the
kin,” returned the other, a little drily—“But no offence
should be taken, where none was intended.”
The mouth of Paul was again stopped by the hand
of Ellen, who took on herself to reply, in her gentle
and conciliating tones, “We should be all of a family,
when it is in our power to serve each other. We
depend entirely on your experience, honest old man,
danger.”
“There will be a real time of it,” muttered the
bee-hunter, laughing, “if the boys get at work in
good earnest with these red skins!”
He was interrupted by a general movement which
took place among the band. The Indians dismounted
to a man, giving their horses in charge to three or
four of the party, who were also intrusted with the
safe keeping of the prisoners. They then formed
themselves in a circle around a warrior, who appeared
to possess the chief authority; and at a given signal
the whole array moved slowly and cautiously
from the centre in straight and consequently in diverging
lines. Most of their dark forms were soon
blended with the brown covering of the prairie;
though the captives, who watched the slightest movement
of their enemies with vigilant eyes, were now
and then enabled to discern a human figure, drawn
against the horizon, as some one, more eager than
the rest, rose to his greatest height in order to extend
the limits of his view. But it was not long before
even these fugitive glimpses of the moving, and constantly
increasing circle, were lost, and uncertainty
and conjecture were added to apprehension. In this
manner passed many anxious and weary minutes, during
the close of which the listeners expected at each
moment to hear the whoop of the assailants and the
shrieks of the assailed, rising together on the stillness
of the night. But it would seem, that the search
which was so evidently making, was without a sufficient
object; for at the expiration of half an hour
the different individuals of the band began to return
singly, gloomy and sullen, like men who were disappointed.
“Our time is at hand,” observed the trapper, who
noted the smallest incident, or the slightest indication
of hostility among the savages; “we are now to be
of our case, I should say it would be wise to choose
one among us to hold the discourse, in order that our
testimony may agree. And furthermore, if an opinion
from one as old and as worthless as a hunter of fourscore,
is to be regarded, I would just venture to say,
that man should be the one most skilled in the natur'
of an Indian, and that he should also know something
of their language—Are you acquainted with the
tongue of the Siouxes, friend?”
“Swarm your own hive,” returned the discontented
bee-hunter. “You are good at buzzing, old trapper,
if you are good at nothing else.”
“'Tis the gift of youth to be rash and heady,” the
trapper calmly retorted. “The day has been, boy,
when my blood was like your own, too swift and too
hot to run quietly in my veins. But what will it profit
to talk of silly risks and foolish acts at this time of
life! A grey head should cover a brain of reason,
and not the tongue of a boaster.”
“True, true,” whispered Ellen; “and we have
other things to attend to now! Here comes the Indian
to put his questions.”
The girl, whose apprehensions had quickened her
senses, was not deceived. She was yet speaking when
a tall, half naked savage, approached the spot where
they stood, and after examining the whole party as
closely as the dim light permitted, for more than a
minute in perfect stillness, he gave the usual salutation
in the harsh and guttural tones of his own language.
The trapper replied as well as he could,
which it seems was sufficiently well to be understood.
In order to escape the imputation of pedantry we
shall render the substance, and, so far as it is possible
the form of the dialogue that succeeded, into the
English tongue.
“Have the pale-faces eaten their own buffaloes,
and taken the skins from all their own beavers,” continued
to elapse, after his words of greeting, before
he again spoke, “that they come to count how many
are left among the Pawnees?”
“Some of us are here to buy, and some to sell,”
returned the trapper; “but none will follow, if they
hear it is not safe to come nigh the lodge of a Sioux.”
“The Siouxes are thieves, and they live among
the snow; why do we talk of a people who are so
far, when we are in the country of the Pawnees?”
“If the Pawnees are the owners of this land, then
white and red are here by equal right.”
“Have not the pale-faces stolen enough from the
red men, that you come so far to carry a lie? I have
said that this is a hunting-ground of my tribe.”
“My right to be here is equal to your own,” the
trapper rejoined with undisturbed coolness; “I do
not speak as I might—It is better to be silent. The
Pawnees and the white men are brothers, but a Sioux
dare not show his face in the village of the Loups.”
“The Dahcotahs are men!” exclaimed the savage,
fiercely; forgetting in his anger to maintain the
character he had assumed, and using the appellation
of which his nation was most proud; “the Dahcotahs
have no fear! Speak; what brings you so far from
the villages of the pale-faces?”
“I have seen the sun rise and set on many councils,
and have heard the words only of wise men.
Let your chiefs come, and my mouth shall not be
shut.”
“I am a great chief!” said the savage, affecting an
air of offended dignity. “Do you take me for an
Assiniboine! Weucha is a warrior often named, and
much believed!”
“Am I a fool not to know a burnt-wood Teton!”
demanded the trapper, with a steadiness that did
great credit to his nerves. “Go; it is dark, and you
do not see that my head is grey!”
The Indian now appeared convinced that he had
adopted too shallow an artifice to deceive one so
practised as the man he addressed, and he was deliberating
what fiction he should next invent, in order
to obtain his real object, when a slight commotion
among the band put an end at once to all his schemes.
Casting his eyes behind him, as if fearful of a speedy
interruption, he said in tones much less pretending
than those he had first resorted to—
“Give Weucha the milk of the Long-Knives, and
he will sing your name in the ears of the great men
of his tribe.”
“Go;” said the trapper, motioning him away, with
strong disgust. “Your young men are speaking of
Mahtoree—My words are for the ears of a chief.”
The savage cast a look on the other, which, notwithstanding
the dim light, was sufficiently indicative
of implacable hostility. He then stole away among
his fellows, anxious to conceal the counterfeit he had
attempted to practise, no less than the treachery he
had contemplated against a fair division of the spoils,
from the man named by the trapper, whom he now
also knew to be approaching, by the manner in which
his name passed from one to another, in the band.
He had hardly disappeared before a warrior of powerful
frame advanced out of the dark circle, and placed
himself before the captives, with that high and
proud bearing for which a distinguished Indian chief
is ever so remarkable. He was followed by all the
party, who arranged themselves around his person,
in a deep and respectful silence.
“The earth is very large,” the chief commenced,
after a pause of that true dignity which his counterfeit
had so miserably affected—“Why can the children
of my great white father never find room on
it?”
“Some among them have heard that their friends
in the prairies are in want of many things,” returned
Some want, in their turns, what the red men are willing
to sell, and they come to make their friends rich,
with powder and blankets.”
“Do traders cross the big river with empty hands?”
“Our hands are empty because your young men
thought we were tired, and they lightened us of our
load. They were mistaken, I am old, but I am
strong.”
“It cannot be. Your load has fallen in the prairies.
Show my young men the place, that they may
pick it up, before the Pawnees find it.”
“The path to the spot is crooked, and it is now,
night. The hour is come for sleep,” said the trapper,
with perfect composure—“Bid your warriors
go over yonder hill; there is water and there is wood;
let them light their fires and sleep with warm feet.
When the sun comes again I will speak to you.”
A low murmur, but one that was clearly indicative
of great dissatisfaction, passed among the attentive
listeners, and served to inform the old man that
he had not been sufficiently wary in proposing a measure
that he intended should notify the travellers in
the brake of the presence of such dangerous neighbours.
Mahtoree, however, without betraying in the
slightest degree, the excitement which was so strongly
exhibited by his companions, continued the discourse
in the same lofty manner as before. “I know
that my friend is rich,” he said; “that he has many
warriors not far off, and that horses are plentier with
him, than dogs among the red-skins.”
“You see my warriors, and my horses.”
“What! has the woman the feet of a Dahcotah,
that she can walk for thirty nights in the prairies, and
not fall! I know the red men of the woods make
long marches on foot, but we, who live where the
eye cannot see from one lodge to another, love our
horses.”
The trapper now hesitated, in his turn. He was
perfectly aware that deception, if detected, might
prove dangerous, and for one of his pursuits and
character, he was strongly troubled with an unaccommodating
regard to the truth. But, recollecting
that he controlled the fate of others as well as of
himself, he quickly decided to let things take their
course, and to permit the Dahcotah chief to deceive
himself if he would.
“The women of the Siouxes and of the white
men are not of the same wigwam,” he answered
evasively. “Would a Teton warrior make his wife
greater than himself! I know he would not; and
yet my ears have heard that there are lands where
the councils are held by squaws.”
Another slight movement in the dark circle apprised
the trapper that his declaration was not received
without surprise, if entirely without distrust.
The chief alone seemed unmoved or disposed, in
any degree, to relax from the loftiness and high dignity
of his air.
“My white fathers who live on the great lakes
have declared,” he said, “that their brothers towards
the rising sun are not men; and now I know
they did not lie! Go—what is a nation whose chief
is a squaw! Are you the dog and not the husband
of this woman?”
“I am neither. Never did I see her face before
this day. She came into the prairies, because they
had told her a great and generous nation called the
Dahcotahs lived there, and she wished to look on
men. The women of the pale-faces, like the women
of the Siouxes, open their eyes to see things that are
new; but she is poor, like myself, and she will want
corn and buffaloes, if you take away the little that
she and her friend still have.”
“Now do my ears listen to many wicked lies!”
exclaimed the Teton warrior, in a voice so stern that
Has not a Dahcotah eyes! Tell me, white hunter;
who are the men of your colour, that sleep near the
fallen trees?”
As he spoke, the indignant chief pointed in the
direction of Ishmael's encampment, leaving the trapper
no reason to doubt, that the superior industry
and sagacity of this man had effected a discovery,
which had eluded the search of the rest of his party.
Notwithstanding his regret at an event that might
prove fatal to the sleepers, and some little vexation
at having been so completely outwitted, in the dialogue
just related, the old man continued to maintain
his former air of inflexible composure.
“It may be true,” he answered, “that white men
are sleeping in the prairie. If my brother says it, it
is true; but what men are thus trusting to the generosity
of the Tetons, I cannot tell. If there be strangers
asleep, send your young men to wake them up,
and let them say why they are here; every pale-face
has a tongue.”
The chief shook his head with a wild and fierce
smile, answering abruptly, as he turned away to put
an end to the conference—
“The Dahcotahs are a wise race, and Mahtoree
is their chief! He will not call to the strangers, that
they may rise and speak to him with their carabines.
He will whisper softly in their ears. Then let the
men of their own colour come and awake them!”
As he uttered these words, and turned on his heel,
a low and approving laugh passed around the dark
circle, which instantly broke its order and followed
him to a little distance from the stand of the captives,
where those who might presume to mingle
opinions with so great a warrior, again gathered
about him in consultation. Weucha profited by the
occasion to renew his importunities; but the trapper,
who had now discovered how great a counterfeit he
however, more effectually put to the annoyance of
this malignant savage, by a mandate for the whole
party, including men and beasts, to change their position.
The movement was made in dead silence, and
with an order that would have done credit to far
more enlightened beings. A halt, however, was soon
made, and when the captives had time to look about
them, they found they were in view of the low, dark
outline of the copse, near which lay the slumbering
party of Ishmael.
Here another short but exceedingly grave and deliberative
consultation was held.
The beasts, which seemed trained to such covert
and silent attacks, were once more placed under the
care of keepers, who as before were again charged
with the duty of watching the prisoners. The mind
of the trapper was in no degree relieved from the
uneasiness which was, at each instant, getting a
stronger possession of him, when he found Weucha
was placed nearest to his own person, and, as it appeared
by the air of triumph and authority he assumed,
at the head of the guard also. The savage, however,
who doubtless had his secret instructions, was
content, for the present, with making a significant
gesture with his tomahawk, which threatened instant
destruction to Ellen. After admonishing in this expressive
manner his male captives of the fate that
would instantly attend their female companion, on
the slightest alarm proceeding from any of the party,
he was content to maintain during the whole of the
succeeding scene a rigid and deep silence. This unexpected
forbearance, on the part of Weucha, enabled
the trapper and his two associates to give their
undivided attention to the little that might be seen
of those interesting movements which were passing
in their front.
Mahtoree took the entire disposition of the arrangements
situation he wished each individual to occupy, like
one intimately acquainted with the qualifications of
his respective followers, and he was obeyed with the
deference and promptitude with which an Indian
warrior is wont to submit to the instructions of his
chief, in moments of trial. Some he despatched to
the right, and others to the left. Each man departed
with the noiseless and quick step peculiar to the
race, until all had assumed their alloted stations, with
the exception of two chosen warriors, who remained
nigh the person of their leader. When the rest had
disappeared, Mahtoree turned to these select companions,
and intimated by a sign that the critical moment
had now arrived, when the enterprise he contemplated
was to be put in execution.
Each man laid aside the light fowling-piece which,
under the name of a carabine, he carried in virtue
of his rank, and then divesting himself of every article
of exterior or heavy clothing, he stood resembling
a dark and fierce looking statue, in the attitude
and nearly in the garb of nature. Mahtoree assured
himself of the right position of his tomahawk, felt
that his knife was secure in its sheath of skin, tightened
his girdle of wampum, and saw that the lacing
of his fringed and highly ornamented leggings was secure
and likely to offer no impediment to his exertions.
Thus prepared at all points, and ready for
his desperate undertaking, the Teton chieftain gave
the signal to proceed.
The three advanced in a line with the encampment
of the travellers, until, in the dim light by
which they were seen, their dusky forms were nearly
lost to the eyes of the prisoners. Here they paused,
looking around them like men who deliberate and
ponder long on the consequences before they take a
desperate leap. Then sinking together, they became
lost in the grass of the prairie.
It is not difficult to imagine the distress and anxiety
of those different spectators of these threatening
movements, who felt so deep an interest in their results.
Whatever might be the reasons of Ellen for
entertaining no strong attachment to the family in
which she has first been seen by the reader, the feelings
of her sex, and, perhaps, some lingering seeds of
kindness, asserted their existence in her bosom.
More than once she felt tempted to brave the awful
and instant danger that awaited such an offence, and
to raise her feeble and in truth impotent voice in the
notes of warning. So strong, indeed, and so very
natural was the inclination, that she would most
probably have put it in execution, but for the often-repeated
though whispered remonstrances of Paul
Hover. In the breast of the young bee-hunter himself,
there was a singular union of emotions. His
first and chiefest solicitude was certainly in behalf of
his gentle and dependant companion; but the sense
of her danger was mingled in the breast of the reckless
woods-man with a consciousness of a high and
wild, and by no means unpleasant excitement.
Though united to the emigrants by ties still less
binding than those of Ellen, he longed to hear the
crack of their rifles, and, had occasion offered, he
would gladly have been among the first to rush to
their rescue. There were in truth moments when
he felt in his turn an impulse, that was nearly resistless,
to spring forward and awake the unconscious
sleepers; but a glance at Ellen would serve to recall
his tottering prudence, and to admonish him of the
consequences. The trapper, alone, remained calm
and observant, as though nothing that involved his
personal comfort or safety had occurred. His evermoving,
vigilant eyes, watched the smallest change
with the composure of one too long inured to scenes
of danger to be easily moved, and with an expression
of cool determination which denoted the intention
oversight on the part of the captors.
In the mean time the Teton warriors had not been
idle. Profiting by the high fog which grew in the
bottoms, they had wormed their way through the matted
grass, like so many treacherous serpents stealing
on their prey, until the point was gained, where an
extraordinary caution became necessary to their
further advance. Mahtoree, alone, had occasionally
elevated his dark, grim countenance above the herbage,
straining his eye-balls to penetrate the gloom
which skirted the border of the brake. In these
momentary glances he gained sufficient knowledge,
added to that he had obtained in his former search,
to be the perfect master of the position of his intended
victims, though he was still profoundly ignorant
of their numbers, and of their means of defence.
His efforts to possess himself of the requisite
knowledge concerning these two latter and essential
points were, however, completely baffled by the stillness
of the camp, which lay in a quiet as deep as
though it were literally a place of the dead. Too
wary and distrustful to rely, in circumstances of so
much doubt, on the discretion of any less firm and
crafty than himself, the Dahcotah bade his companions
remain where they lay, and pursued the adventure
alone.
The progress of Mahtoree was now slow, and to
one less accustomed to such a species of exercise, it
would have proved painfully laborious. But the advance
of the wily snake itself is not more certain or
noiseless than was his approach. He drew his form,
foot by foot, through the bending grass, pausing at
each movement to catch the smallest sound that
might betray any knowledge on the part of the travellers
of his proximity. He succeeded, at length, in
dragging himself out of the sickly light of the moon,
into the shadows of the brake, where not only his
but where the sorrounding objects became more distinctly
visible to his keen and active glances.
Here the Teton paused long and warily to make
his observations, before he ventured further. His
position enabled him to bring the whole encampment,
with its tent, wagons and lodges, into a dark
but clearly marked profile; furnishing a clue by which
the practised warrior was led to a tolerably accurate
estimate of the force he was about to encounter.
Still an unnatural silence pervaded the spot, as
though men suppressed even the quiet breathings of
sleep, in order to render the appearance of their
confidence more evident. The chief bent his head
to the earth, and listened intently. He was about to
raise it again in disappointment, when the long drawn
and trembling respiration of one who slumbered imperfectly
met his ear. The Indian was too well
skilled in all the means of deception to become himself
the victim of any common artifice. He knew
the sound to be natural, by its peculiar quivering,
and he hesitated no longer.
A man of nerves less tried than those of the fierce
and conquering Mahtoree would have been keenly
sensible of all the hazard he now so fearlessly incurred.
The reputation of those hardy and powerful
white adventurers, who so often penetrated the wilds
inhabited by his people, was well known to him; but
while he drew nigher, with the respect and caution
that a brave enemy never fails to inspire, it was with
the vindictive animosity of a red man, jealous and
resentful of the lawless inroads of the stranger.
Turning from the line of his former route, the
Teton dragged himself directly towards the margin
of the thicket. When this material object was effected
in safety, he arose to his seat, and took a still
better survey of his situation. A single moment served
to apprise him of the place where the unsuspecting
that the savage had succeeded in gaining a dangerous
proximity to one of those slothful sons of Ishmael,
who were deputed to watch over the isolated encampment
of the travellers.
When certain that he was undiscovered, the Dahcotah
raised his person again, and bending forward,
he moved his dark visage above the face of the sleeper,
in that sort of wanton and subtle manner with
which a reptile is often seen to play about its victim
before it strikes the deadly blow. Satisfied at length,
by his scrutiny, not only of the condition but of the
character of the stranger, Mahtoree was in the act
of withdrawing his head when a slight movement on
the part of the sleeper announced the symptoms of
reviving consciousness. The savage seized the knife
which hung at his girdle, and in an instant it was
poised above the breast of the young emigrant.
Then changing his purpose, with an action as rapid
as his own flashing thoughts, he sunk back behind the
trunk of the fallen tree against which the other reclined,
and lay in its shadow, as dark, as motionless,
and apparently as insensible as the wood itself.
The slothful sentinel opened his heavy eyes, and
after gazing upward for a moment at the hazy heavens,
he made an extraordinary exertion and raised
his powerful frame from the support of the log.
Then he looked about him, with an air of something
like watchfulness, suffering his dull glances to run
over the misty objects of the encampment until they
finally settled on the distant and dim field of the open
prairie. Meeting with nothing more attractive than
the same faint outlines of swell and interval, which
everywhere rose before his drowsy eyes, he changed
his position so as completely to turn his back on his
dangerous neighbour, and suffered his person to sink
sluggishly down into its former recumbent attitude.
A long, and, on the part of the Teton, an anxious and
of the traveller again announced that he was indulging
in his slumbers. The savage was, however, far
too jealous of a counterfeit to trust to the first appearance
of sleep. But the fatigues of a day of unusual
toil lay too heavy on the sentinel to leave the
other long in doubt. Still the motion with which
Mahtoree again raised himself to his knees was so
noiseless and guarded, that even a vigilant observer
might have hesitated to believe he stirred. The
change was, however, at length effected, and the Dahcotah
chief, then bent again over his enemy, without
having produced a noise louder than that of the cotton-wood
leaf which fluttered at his side in the currents
of the passing air.
Mahtoree now felt himself master of the sleeper's
fate. At the same time that he scanned the vast proportions
and athletic limbs of the youth, in that sort
of admiration which physical excellence seldom fails
to excite in the breast of a savage, he very coolly
prepared to extinguish the principle of vitality which
could alone render them formidable. After making
himself sure of the seat of life, by gently removing
the folds of the intervening cloth, he raised his keen
weapon, and was about to unite his strength and skill
in the impending blow, when the young man threw
his brawny arm carelessly backward, exhibiting in
the action the vast volume of its muscles.
The sagacious and wary Teton paused. It struck
his acute faculties that sleep was less dangerous to
him, at that moment, than even death itself might
prove. The smallest noise, the agony of struggling,
with which such a frame would probably relinquish
its hold of life, suggested themselves to his rapid
thoughts, and were all present to his experienced
senses. He looked back into the encampment, turned
his head into the thicket, and glanced his glowing
eyes abroad into the wild and silent prairies. Bending
himself that he was sleeping heavily, and then abandoned
his immediate purpose in obedience alone to
the suggestions of a more crafty policy.
The retreat of Mahtoree was as still and guarded
as had been his approach. He now took the direction
of the encampment, stealing along the margin
of the brake, as a cover into which he might easily
plunge at the smallest alarm. The drapery of the
solitary hut attracted his notice in passing. After
examining the whole of its exterior, and listening
with painful intensity, in order to gather counsel from
his ears, the savage ventured to raise the cloth at the
bottom, and to thrust his dark visage beneath. It
might have been a minute before the Teton chief
drew back and seated himself again with the whole
of his form without the linen tenement. Here he
sat, seemingly brooding over his own reflections, for
many moments, in rigid inaction. Then he resumed
his crouching attitude, and once more projected his
visage beyond the covering of the linen dwelling.
His second visit to the interior was longer, and, if
possible, more ominous than the first. But it had,
like every thing else, its termination, and the savage
again withdrew his glaring eyes from the secrets of
the place.
Mahtoree had drawn his person many yards from
the spot, in his slow progress towards the cluster of
objects which pointed out the centre of the position,
before he again stopped. Then he made another
pause, and looked back at the solitary little dwelling
he had left, as if doubtful whether he should not return.
But the chevaux-de-frise of branches now lay
within reach of his arm, and the very appearance of
precaution it presented, as it announced the value of
the effects it encircled, tempted his cupidity the
more strongly, and induced him to proceed.
The passage of the savage through the tender and
only to the sinuous and noiseless winding of the reptiles
which he imitated no less in sagacity than
in the manner of his approach. When, however, he
had effected his object, and had taken an instant to
become acquainted with the nature of the localities
within the enclosure, the Teton used the precaution
to open a way through which a retreat might be
made with fewer impediments to obstruct its rapidiity.
Then raising himself on his feet, he stalked
through the encampment, like the master of evil, seeking
whom and what he should first devote to his fell
purposes. He had already ascertained the contents
of the lodge in which were collected the woman and
her young children, and had passed several gigantic
frames, stretched on different piles of brush, which
happily for him lay in unconscious helplessness, when
he at last reached the spot occupied by Ishmael in
person. It could not escape the sagacity of one like
Mahtoree, that he had now within his power the
principal man among the travellers. He stood long
hovering above the recumbent and Herculean form
of the emigrant, keenly debating in his own mind the
chances of his enterprise, and the most effectual
means of reaping its richest harvest.
He had sheathed the knife, which, under the hasty
and burning impulse of his thoughts, he had been
tempted to draw, and was passing on, when Ishmael
turned in his lair, and demanded roughly who it was
that he dimly saw moving before his half-opened
eyes. Nothing short of the readiness and cunning
of a savage could now have evaded bringing the crisis
to an immediate issue. Imitating the gruff tones
and nearly unintelligible sounds he heard, Mahtoree
threw his body heavily on the earth, and appeared
to dispose himself to sleep. Though the whole
movement was seen by Ishmael in a sort of stupid
observation. the artifice was too bold and too admirably
once more closed his eyes, and soon slept heavily,
with this treacherous inmate in the very bosom of
his family.
It was necessary for the Teton to maintain the
position he had taken for many long and weary minutes,
in order to make sure that he was no longer
watched. Though his body lay so motionless, his
active mind was not idle. He profited by the delay
to mature a plan which he intended should put the
whole encampment, including both its effects and
their proprietors, entirely at his mercy. The instant
he could do so with safety, the indefatigable savage
was again in motion. He now took his way towards
the slight pen which contained the domestic animals,
worming himself along the ground in his former subtle
and guarded manner.
The first animal he encountered among the beasts
occasioned a long and hazardous delay. The weary
creature, perhaps conscious through its secret instinct
that in the endless wastes of the prairies its surest
protector was to be found in man, was so exceedingly
docile as quietly to submit to the close examination
it was doomed to undergo. The hand of the wandering
Teton passed over the downy coat, the meek
countenance and the slender limbs of the gentle animal,
with untiring curiosity; but he finally abandoned
the prize, as useless in his predatory expeditions,
and offering too little temptation to the appetite. As
soon, however, as he found himself among the beasts
of burden, his gratification was extreme, and it was
with difficulty that he restrained the customary ejaculations
of pleasure that were more than once on the
point of bursting from his lips. Here he lost sight
of the hazards by which he had gained access to his
dangerous position, and the watchfulness of the wary
and long practised warrior was momentarily forgotten
in the exultation of a savage.
| CHAPTER IV The prairie | |