University of Virginia Library

LEGEND OF MISSOURI:
OR, THE CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE.

INTRODUCTION.

There are certain races who are employed evidently as the
pioneers for a superior people — who seem to have no mission
of performance, — only one of preparation, — and who simply
keep the earth, a sort of rude possession, of which they make no
use, yeilding it, by an inevitable necessity, to the conquering
people, so soon as they appear. Our red men seem to have belonged
to this category. Their modes of life were inconsistent
with length of tenure; and, even had the white man never appeared,
their duration must have still been short. They would
have preyed upon one another, tribe against tribe, in compliance
with necessity, until all were destroyed; — and there is nothing
to be deplored in this spectacle! Either they had no further
uses, or they never, of themselves, developed them; and a people
that destroy only, and never create or build, are not designed,
anywhere, to cumber God's earth long! This is the substantial
condition upon which all human securities depend. We are to
advance. We are to build, create, endow; thus showing that
we are made in the likeness of the Creator. Those who destroy
only, by laws of strict moral justice, must perish, without having
been said to live!

And yet, surveying this spectacle thro' the medium of the
picturesque, one naturally broods with sympathy over the fate
of this people. There is a solitary grandeur in their fortunes,

and the intense melancholy which they exhibit, which compels
us, in spite of philosophy, to regret the necessity under which
they perish. Their valor, their natural eloquence, their passionate
sense of freedom, the sad nobleness of their aspects, the
subtlety of their genius, — these forbid that we should regard
them with indifference; and we watch their prolonged battle for
existence and place, with that feeling of admiration with which
we behold the “great man struggling with the storms of fate.”
The conflict between rival races, one representing the highest
civilization, the other the totally opposite nature of the savage,
is always one of exquisite interest; and not an acre of our vast
country but exhibits scenes of struggle between these rivals,
which, properly delineated, would ravish from the canvass, and
thrill all passions from the stage. The thousand progresses, in
all directions, of the white pioneer; — the thousand trials of
strength, and skill, and spirit, between him and the red hunter;
— make of the face of the country one vast theatre, scene after
scene, swelling the great event, until all closes in the grand denouëment
which exhibits the dying agonies of the savage, with
the conquering civilization striding triumphantly over his neck.
Tradition will help us in process of time to large elements of
romance in the survey of these events, and the red man is destined
to a longer life in art than he ever knew in reality.

The sketch which follows might as well be true of a thousand
histories, as of the one which it records. It is one which the
painter might crown with all the glories of his art; one which
future invention may weave into permanent song and story, for

generations, to whom the memory of the red man will be nothing
but a dream, doubtful in all its changes, and casting doubts upon
the sober history.

1. CHAPTER I.

The Pawnees and the Omahas were neighboring but hostile
nations. Their wars were perpetual, and this was due to their
propinquity. It was the necessity of their nature and modes of
life. They hunted in the same forest ranges. They were contending
claimants for the same land and game. The successes
of the one in the chase, were so many wrongs done to the rights
of the other; and every buck or bear that fell into the hands of
either party, was a positive loss of property to the other. That
they should hate, and fight, whenever they met, was just as
certain as that they should eat of the venison when the game
was taken. Every conflict increased the mutual hostility of the
parties. Successes emboldened the repetition of assault; defeat
stimulated the desire for revenge. Every scalp which provoked
triumph in the conqueror, demanded a bloody revenge at the
hands of the vanquished; and thus they brooded over bloody fancies
when they did not meet, and met only to realize their bloody
dreams. It was soon evident to themselves, if it was not known
to other nations, that the war was one of annihilation — that
there could be no cessation of strife between them, until one of
the parties should tear the last scalp from the brows of his hateful
enemy.

Such a conviction, pressing equally upon the minds of both
people, forced upon them the exercise of all their arts, their subtlety,
their skill in circumventing their opponents, their savage
and unsparing ferocity when they obtained any advantages. It
prompted their devotions, also, to an intensity, which rendered
both races complete subjects of the most terrible superstitions.
Their priests naturally fed these superstitions, until war, which
is the usual passion of the red man, became their fanaticism.
Wild, mystical, horrid, were their midnight orgies and sacrifices;
and, when they were not in battle — when a breathing spell from
conflict had given them a temporary respite, in which to rebuild
and repair their burned and broken lodges, and store away the
provisions which were to serve them in new trials of strength,—

then religion claimed all their hearts, and fed their souls upon
the one frenzied appetite which it thus made the decree of providence.
The red man's Moloch has always been supreme among
his gods, and he now absorbed wholly the devotions equally of
Pawnee and Omaha. And thus, from generation to generation,
had the fierce madness been transmitted. Their oldest traditions
failed to say when the hatred did not exist between the two nations;
and the boy of the Pawnee, and him of the Omaha, for
hundreds of moons had still been taught the same passion at the
altar; and his nightly dream, until he could take the field as a
man, was one in which he found himself bestriding an enemy,
and tearing his reeking scalp from his forehead. And this, by
the way, is the common history of all these Indian tribes. They
were thus perpetually in conflict with their neighbors, destined
to slaughter or be slain. What wonder the sad solemnity on
their faces, the national gloom over their villages, their passions
which hide darkly, as wolves in the mountain caverns, concealing,
in the cold aspect, their silent wretchedness; their horrid rages,
under the stolid, though only seeming, indifference in every
visage. Their savage god was dealing with them everywhere,
after his usual fashion. They were themselves the sacrifices upon
his bloody altars, and he nursed their frenzies only for self-destruction.

Gloomy, stern, intensely savage, was the spirit thus prevailing
over the minds of both people, at the time of which we speak.
The season was approaching, when, their summer crops laid by,
they were again to take the field, in the twofold character of
warriors and hunters. The union of the two, in the case of
people living mostly by the chase, is natural and apparent
enough. The forests where they sought their prey equally
harbored their enemies, and for both they made the same preparations.
The period of these events is within modern times.
The coasts of the great Atlantic have been populously settled
by the white race. The red men have gradually yielded before
their pioneers. The restless Anglo-Norman is pushing his way
rapidly into the forests — into the pathless solitudes — into sullen
mountain-gorges, and dense and gloomy thickets. He has
possessed himself everywhere of some foothold, and converted
every foothold into a fastness. The borderers were already

known to both Pawnee and Omaha. But, while these raged
against each other, they took little heed of that approaching
power under which both were to succumb. Its coming inspired
no fear, while the hate for each other remained undiminished.

The autumn campaign was about to open, and the Pawnees
and the Omahas were soon busy in their preparations for it.
Before setting out upon the war-path, many things had to be
done — mystic, wild, solemn — by which to propitiate their gods,
and consecrate their sacrifices. The youth of each nation, who
had never yet taken the field, were each conveyed to the
“Silent Lodges,” where, for a certain time, under trials of hunger,
thirst, and exposure, they were to go through a sort of
sacred probation, during which their visions were to become
auguries, and to shadow forth the duties and the events of their
future career. This probation over, they took their part in
solemn feast and council, in order to decide upon the most
plausible plans of action, and to obtain the sanction and direction
of the Great Spirit, as ascertained by their priests. You
already possess some general idea of the horrid and unseemly
rites which were held proper to these occasions. We are all,
more or less familiar with that barbarous mummery, in which,
on such occasions, most savages indulge; blindly, and to us
insanely, but having their own motives, and the greatest confidence
in the efficacy of their rites. These proceedings lasted
days and nights, and nothing was omitted, of their usual performances,
which could excite the enthusiasm of the people,
while strengthening their faith in their gods, their priesthood,
and their destiny. In the deepest recesses of wood the incantations
were carried on. Half naked, with bodies blackened and
painted, the priests officiated before flaming altars of wood and
brush. On these they piled native offerings. The fat of the
bear and buffalo sent up reeking steams to the nostrils of their
savage gods, mingled with gentler essences, aromatic scents,
extracted from bruised or burning shrubs of strong odorous properties.
The atmosphere became impregnated with their fumes,
and the audience — the worshippers, rather — grew intoxicated
as they inhaled. The priests were already intoxicated, drinking
decoctions of acrid, bitter, fiery roots of the forests, the
qualities of which they thoroughly knew. Filled with their

exciting fires, they danced, they sang, they ran, and sent up,
meanwhile, the most horrid howls to their demon. Filled with
a sacred fury, they rushed hither and thither, smiting themselves
unsparingly with sharp flints, which covered their breasts
and arms with blood. Thus maddened, they divined, and the
nation hung trembling, as with a single heart, upon the awful
revelations from their lips. The scene is one for the most vivid
and intense of the melodramas. Talk of your Druid sacrifices,
as seen in your operas. They are not, for the picturesque and
terrible, to be spoken of in the same hour with those of our
aboriginal tribes.

In the case of both nations, as might be expected, the priests
divined and predicted general success. They took care, however,
as is usually the case with the prophets of the superstitious,
to speak in language sufficiently vague to allow of its application
to any sort of events; or they rested solely upon safe predictions
which commonly bring about their own verification. They
did not, however, content themselves with prophesying the
events of the war. They consulted as well the course of the
action to be pursued — the plans to be adopted — the leaders
chosen; and this, too, in such manner as to leave no loopholes
for evasion. Thus they encouraged their favorites, rebuked
and kept down leaders whom they feared, and kept the nation
subject wholly to their own exclusive despotism.

The response especially made by the Pawnee priesthood,
when consulting their gods with reference to the approaching
campaign, announced the victory to rest with that nation which
should first succeed in making a captive. This captive was
doomed to the torture by fire. Such a response as this, however
cruel and barbarous it may seem, was yet of a highly merciful
tendency, calculated really to ameliorate the horrors of
war, and to promote the safety of human life. The effect upon
the Pawnees — a people eager and impetuous — was to restrain
their appetite for battle. Their great policy was to escape
unnecessary risks of any sort, while employing all their subtlety
for the possession of a native Omaha. To this the warriors
addressed themselves with wonderful unanimity, but to
the grievous sacrifice of their chief appetites, all of which indicated
the fiercer conflict as their true delight.

2. CHAPTER II.

The Omahas, on the other hand, had their favorite auguries
also, and the response from their gods was not dissimilar to that
which had been given to the Pawnees. It said that the nation
should infallibly succeed in the campaign, which should receive
the first blow. But nothing was said of captivity. Similar, but
in conflict, were the predictions. In both cases, as in battles
usually, everything was made to depend upon the first blow.
While, therefore, the policy of the Pawnees was to escape from
everything like conflict, that of the Omahas was to provoke
action and hurry into danger. Their warriors assembled, accordingly,
at all points, and issued from their lodges and towns,
taking the trail for the enemy's country. This they soon penetrated.
But the Pawnees were very wary. They stood only
on the defensive, and wholly avoided action; retreated before
equal numbers, and simply contented themselves with keeping
out of danger, while keeping the Omahas for ever vigilant.
Their caution, which was a very unwonted virtue, provoked the
Omahas to desperation. Their effrontery was prodigious. They
exposed themselves to the shaft on all occasions, rushing beneath
the fastnesses of the Pawnees, striking their naked breasts,
and defying their enemies to shoot. But the latter lay perdu,
quietly, if not calmly, looking on, and apparently satisfied to
keep their towns and camps in safety. They neither invited
attack nor awaited it, and resolutely avoided giving — what the
Omahas solicited — that first blow! It is true that the young
Pawnee braves felt sorely the necessity to which they were
required to submit. Bitterly, in their hearts, they cursed the
decree which kept them inactive; forced to submit to taunts,
reproaches, and invectives, from a people whom they loathed,
and affected to despise. It was scarcely possible to restrain
the young Pawnee bloods under such severe trials of their
temper; — but the voice of the priesthood was paramount; and,
blindly believing that safety lay only in their predictions, they
were persuaded to suspend the thirst of blood, and to substitute
subtlety for valor. To circumvent the enemy — to make the
captive, — not to slay, not even to wound: this was the great
duty and the eager desire with the warriors of the Pawnee.

But this was no easy matter. The Omahas longed for the conflict.
They desired to be smitten. They would struggle to
receive the stroke. They would force the captors to strike the
blow, which was to defeat the one prophecy and satisfy the conditions
of the other. They were not to be ensnared. They
exposed themselves but seldom singly, and they were always
armed for battle. Turn where the Pawnees would — set what
snares they might — employ what arts, — still they found themselves
met and foiled by their now strangely insolent and assailing
enemies.

But the Pawnee warriors had some long heads among them,
and they cogitated earnestly, and planned with equal deliberation
and method. Among these was a fellow of great renown,
with the uneuphonic name of Kionk, or as he was sometimes
called, Awé-Kionk. He was as shrewd and sensible as he was
brave and active, and was full of energy and spirit, being just
about thirty years of age. He was what we might call a splendid
looking savage — a sort of Mark Antony among the red
men — fond of good living — a rather merry companion for an Indian,
but in battle a genuine Birserker — becoming drunk and
delirious with a Hunnish rapture at the sight or taste of blood.
Such was the chief Kionk. He had his devices, and after a secret
conference with the head men of the nation he suddenly
disappeared with a small but select party of warriors, to put them
into execution. What was this famous project about which so
much mystery was thrown? So secretly did Kionk and his
followers depart, that nobody dreamed of their absence, even
when they were far away; and so wide was the circuit which
they took that they passed unseen and unsuspected, meeting
not one of the cloud of spies whom the Omahas had set to watch
along the line separating them from their enemies. The object
of Kionk was the captive, unhurt, unwounded, whose agonies,
reserved for the fiery torture, were to satisfy all the demands of
their gods and secure them the victory.

Within the whole wide ranges of a country which boasts an
almost perpetual spring, the Omaha village occupied one of the
sweetest and most beautiful situations that could anywhere be
seen. Their principal settlement was upon a small island, embosomed
in a broad and glassy lake, which empties into the

river Platte. The Pawnees had long looked with eager and
lustful eyes upon this lovely abiding place. It seemed to realize
to their imaginations the dream of the Indian heavens. It
was so cool, so solitary, and, though an island, so shady with
noble groves. There the banks seemed to wear the green of a
perpetual summer. Never were there such flowers as bloomed
for them by the wayside; and the singing birds loved the region,
and dwelt there, cherished choristers, throughout the year.
There were other luxuries in that little island home of the Omahas
which were even more precious and wooing in the sight of
the hungry Pawnees. The fish inhabiting the lake were in
abundance, and of surpassing fatness and flavor. No wonder
that the Loups hated a people in the exclusive possession of such
a delicious home!

The great scheme of Kionk was to effect a descent upon the
island, and carry off one at least of the inhabitants. This, it
was assumed, it was quite easy to do, provided the utmost caution
was observed, and that nothing happened to render the
Omahas suspicious of their object. Kionk reasoned rightly,
when he urged upon the chiefs that, while invading their enemy's
country, the Omahas would never dream of any foray into
their own! Their chief strength was well known to be in the
field, hovering all about the Pawnee settlements. It was argued
that the secluded situation of the village — its remoteness from
the scene of active operations — and its natural securities would,
in all probability, render the Omahas over-confident of its safety;
that they had probably left few men upon the island, and those
mostly the infirm and timid. These would offer but a weak defence;
but as assault was not the object, only surprise, even this
was not apprehended. Kionk, as we have seen, succeeded in
persuading the chiefs in council, and departed with his chosen
band, making a successful circuit, which enabled him to pass the
scouts of the Omahas, his progress entirely unsuspected.

3. CHAPTER III.

Meanwhile, the Omahas labored in vain to provoke their
enemies to action. Never did warriors show themselves so solicitous
of being beaten — struck at least — and never did Christian

warriors show themselves more reluctant to bestow the much
desired chastisement. This sort of strategy could not last for
ever. Our Omahas began to be very impatient, and to curse
the priesthood and its prophecies, in their heart of hearts. It is
true that they were not kept idle, but constantly watchful and
busy; true, also, that they kept their hands in for war, by practising
a very slaughterous campaign against bear, buffalo, and
buck. But this did not satisfy the national appetite for the
blood of their hated rivals. And they groaned with impatience
at the difficulty of complying with the conditions of the war,
which the prophets had prescribed, in consequence of the most
unnatural forbearance displayed by the Pawnees.

Among the young warriors of the Omahas who suffered from
this impatience, there was one, a gallant youth, little more than
grown to manhood, who had already made himself famous by
his excellence in all the qualities of warrior and hunter. A
more daring or accomplished fellow than Enemoya, the nation
did not possess. Though quite young still, he had been tried
in frequent battles, and had acquired such a reputation for equal
spirit, skill, and understanding, that he took a foremost rank
among his people, whether in action, or in the preliminary deliberations
of the council. But Enemoya, though brave and
savage in war, had yet his weaknesses. He was not insensible
to the tender passion. There was a young woman of his tribe,
known by the pretty poetical name of Missouri; and the first
symptoms which Enemoya had that this young woman was of
any importance in his eyes, consisted in his sudden discovery of
the great beauties of this name.— The Indian warrior, like Richard
Cœur de Leon, and the knights most famous of Provence, is
something of a Jongleur.— At all events, every chief of the red
men sings his war song, his battle hymn, his song of rejoicing,
and his death chant. Of the quality of these songs, as works
of art, we have not a syllable to say. They were probably not
any better than those of Cœur de Leon and his brother bardknights
of Provence. Perhaps, metrical harmony considered,
they were not half so good. In making songs for the fair Missouri,
Enemoya did by no means set up for a poet; and that
his song has been preserved at all, is due to the fact that it has
been found to answer the purposes of other lovers among the

red knights of the Omaha. It has even found circulation among
the Pawnees, and, by the last advices from that tribe, it is said
that this people actually claim the original verses for one of their
own warriors — a claim which we need scarcely assure you
is totally unfounded. Perhaps, however, it matters very little
with whom the authorship properly lies. It is certain that
Enemoya, stealing behind the lovely Missouri, while she played
with her sister's children in a stately grove on the borders of
the beautiful lake, chanted the following ditty in her ear. We
make a close translation from the original, putting it, however,
into good English rhymes, in the hope that it may be adopted
by Russell, or some other popular singer, and become the substitute
for the poor, flat, puny, mean-spirited love songs, which
are at present so discreditable to the manhood of the Anglo-Saxon
race. We are constrained to add that Enemoya, though
he had a good voice, and could scream with any eagle, was yet
rather monotonous in singing his ditty.

LOVE SONG OF ENEMOYA,
ONE OF THE GREAT WAR CHIEFS OF THE OMAHAS.

This will be called rather a rough style of wooing, in our
softly sentimental society, but, among the red men, the chant
of Enemoya, on this occasion, was deemed the very perfection

of a love song. It dealt frankly with the maiden. It
told her all that she ought to know, and warned her of what she
had to expect, whether she took him or not. The lover never
thought of the damsel's fortune; but he freely tendered everything
that he himself possessed. It was herself only that he
wanted. He was no fortune-hunter. He was a man, and he
talked to her like a man. “See what provision I have made for
you. Look into my lodge. See the piles of meat in yonder
corner. They are humps of the buffalo. These alone will last
us two all the winter. But look up at the thirty venison
hams, and the quarters of the bear now smoking, hanging from
the rafters. There's a sight to give a young woman an appetite.
They are all your own, my beauty. You perceive that
there's much more than enough, and in green pea season we can
give any number of suppers. Lift yon blanket. That is our
sleeping apartment. See the piles of bear skins: they shall
form our couch. Look at the tin ware — that most precious of
all the metals of the white man — yet I have appropriated all
these to culinary purposes. As for jewels and ornaments, the
beads, of which I have given you a sample, are here in abundance.
These are all your treasures, and you will do wisely to
accept. Now, my beauty, I don't want to coerce your tastes, or
to bias your judgment in making a free choice; but I must say
that you shall never marry anybody but myself. I'm the very
man for you; able to fight your battles and bring you plentiful
supplies; and feeling that I am the only proper man for you, I
shall scalp the first rival that looks on you with impertinent
eyes of passion; nay, scalp you too, if you are so absurd as to
look on him with eyes of requital. I'm the only proper person
for you, I tell you.”

We need scarcely say that this performance made Enemoya
as famous as a poet, as he had been as a warrior and hunter. It
is now universally considered the chef d'œuvre of the Omahas.
As a matter of course, it proved irresistible with the fair Missouri.
It had an unctuous property about it, which commended
the lover to all her tastes. She suffered him to put his arms
about her, to give her the kiss of betrothal, which, among the
Omaha women, is called the “kiss of consolation,” and the result
was, an arrangement for the bridal, with the close of the

present campaign, and the opening of the spring — that is, taking
for granted that Enemoya does not happen, by any chance, to
leave his own scalp along the war-path. But neither party
thought of this contingency, or they made very light of it. The
courtship occurred that very autumn, and just as the warriors
were preparing for the winter campaign. It was during the
“windy month” (October), and they were to wait till May.
And Enemoya was to be absent all the winter! It was quite a
trial even for a Birserker Omaha!

4. CHAPTER IV.

His new relations with the damsel Missouri, and the impossibility
of forcing the Pawnee Loups to make the assault, rendered
Enemoya very impatient of the war. Day by day he became
more and more restless — more and more dissatisfied — more and
more troubled by the strongest longing to steal away, and take,
if only a look, at the dusky but beautiful damsel, by the lake
side, and among the thickets. He had picked up certain spoils
among the villages of the Pawnees — for the decree of the
Omaha prophets did not denounce the spoiling of the Egyptians;
only the slaying of them — and, now that he was a betrothed
lover, Enemoya was quite as avid after spoils as ever feudal
chieftain in the palmy days of chivalry. And why should he
not draw off from the camp, and carry home his treasures and
his trophies? What was there to be done? The Pawnees would
not fight — would not strike, at all events — and eluded all efforts
to bring them to blows, and dodged admirably every sort of
danger. He could do no more than he had done, and the
business of the war having subsided into a question of mere vigilance
and patience, he felt that this could be carried on quite as
well by ordinary warriors as by the best. As for hunting, why
should he fatigue himself in this business? Had he not already
shown to Missouri the rafters of his cabin reeking of the most
savory meats? Thus thinking, he daily grew more and more
convinced of the propriety of returning home. His meditations
influenced his dreams, and these filled him with trouble. An
Indian is a great dreamer, and has a great faith in the quality
of dreams. The practice of oneirocromancy is a favorite among

his priests and prophets. The orientals were never such famous
interpreters in the days of “the Elders.” Being a poet also,
Enemoya shared in the dreaming endowment of the priesthood.
His sleep was wholly occupied with dreams. In all of these,
Missouri was a conspicuous feature. Now he saw her in flight;
now in tears, and trembling; anon he beheld her fettered; and
again she seemed to float away from his embrace, a bleeding
spectre, melting away finally into thin air. In most of these
dreams, he beheld always, as one of the persons of the drama, a
warrior in the hateful guise of a Pawnee. How should a Pawnee
dare to hover, even in a dream, about the person of Missouri, the
betrothed of a great chief of the Omahas? What had he to do
there? and why did the spectre of one unknown, whom indeed
he only saw dimly, and always with face averted, and looking
toward Missouri — why did he presume to thrust himself between
his visions and the object so precious and ever present to his
dreams? The heart of the young warrior became uneasy, as he
could conjecture no reasonable solution of his difficulty, unless,
indeed, one of which he dared not think. Was Missouri the
captive of the Pawnee? He recoiled at the notion — he laughed,
but rather hollowly, and with great effort — and became more
uneasy than ever. His waking dreams, shaped by those that
came to him in sleep, became still more troublesome, and he resolved
to depart secretly for the dear islet in the little lake, if
only to disarm his doubts, and get rid of his vexatious fancies.
An opportunity soon enabled him to do so. A large party of
the Omahas had resolved upon a long hunt, and they applied to
Enemoya to join them. The sport in no way promised to interfere
with the quasi warfare which was carried on; and, finding
it impossible to bring the Pawnees to the striking point, the
Omahas contented themselves with the warfare upon the quadrupeds
of the forest. Enemoya joined the hunt, but soon disappeared
from the party. They did not miss him till nightfall,
and in the meantime he had sped, fast and far, pushing backward
along the paths leading to the little island, and the dusky
damsel whom he loved.

But the young warrior was late, though no laggard. His
enemy had been before him. That subtle and enterprising Kionk
had led his party with surprising address, and had succeeded in

fetching such a compass as brought him entirely without the
alignment of spies and scouts, which the Omahas had stretched
across the country, and, without impediment or interruption, had
made his way successfully to the borders of the little lake in
which the blessed island seemed to be brooding upon its own
bosom in a dream of peace. — Nothing could look more calm,
more inoffensive, more winning. One would think that, to behold
it only, would disarm the hostile passions of the enemy.
There lay the quiet groves beyond. There rose the soft white
curling smokes from the little cabin; and see beneath the trees
where the young damsels and the children are skipping gayly
about, as little conscious of care as danger.

The prospect did not disarm the Pawnee chief. On the contrary,
it rather strengthened his resolve, and stimulated his
enterprise. “If we obtain this captive,” he thought to himself,
“we conquer these rascally Omahas; and then we take possession
of this beautiful island, this fine lake always full of the sweetest
fish, and these broad green meadows, where I can keep a score
of horses without sending them out to grass.” And the eye of
Kionk already selected a particular site for his own future settlement,
and by no means stinted himself in the number of his
self-allotted acres. But he did not, while thus thinking of his
own projects of plunder, become neglectful of the duties which
he had undertaken. He looked about him, the better to prosecute
his objects. We need not to be told that this inquiry was
prosecuted with as much caution as energy. Everybody understands
that the red men kept themselves well covered in the
woods, so that none of the innocent children and the thoughtless
girls, sporting along the banks of the islet, on the opposite shore,
could get the slightest glimpse of their persons or their projects.
The marauders stole up the stream, for the lake was simply
formed by the expansion of a river, which the islet divided in
the middle. The Pawnees kept under cover till they almost
lost sight of the islet. At length they emerged upon the banks
of the river. Here they found a canoe, with which they put out
from shore, leaving it to the current to take them down to the
islet, and using their paddles simply to shape their course, so as
to touch the point aimed at only where its shrubs and willows
would afford concealment. The whole affair was well managed,

and was quite successful. The Pawnee warriors found themselves,
for the first time, on the blessed island of the Omahas.
The reptile was in the garden. He crawled, and crept, or
sneaked, crouching or gliding from cover to cover, from thicket
to thicket, and stealing from side to side, wherever he thought
it most probable that he should happen upon the victim he
sought. More than once Kionk might have caught up a child,
a nice little girl of seven or eight, or a stout chunk of a boy of
similar age; but he had his doubts if such juveniles were contemplated
by the oracle. He must do his work thoroughly, and
having gone thus far in his enterprise, peril nothing upon a
miserable doubt.

5. CHAPTER V.

Little did the beautiful damsel Missouri fancy, as she sat
singing that evening by the shore of the quiet lake, while the
infant child of her sister, Tanewahakila, was rocking in a case
of wicker work from the boughs of an outspreading tree, that
danger hung about her footsteps. She sung, in the gladness of
a young warm heart, scarcely knowing what she sang, and
musing, in delicious reveries, upon the spring season, which it is
so pleasant to think of when one is lonely in cold weather, and
which was to bring back Enemoya to her arms, a triumphant
warrior. Alas! what a happy dream the Fates are about to
mock with their cruel performances. What a lovely picture of
peace and felicity is about to be blackened with the thunderbolt
and storm!

While Missouri sang, or mused, lost in her sweet reveries, the
hand of the fierce Pawnee chief, Kionk, was laid upon her shoulder.
Before she could turn to see who was the rude assailant,
his shawl had been wound about her mouth, shutting in her
cries. In another moment she was lifted in his powerful arms
and borne into the thickets. The infant was left swinging in his
basket rocker from the tree!

The lightfooted Enemoya, meanwhile, sped with all the impetuous
diligence of a lover toward the precious little islet, so
full of treasure for his heart. Pursuing a direct course, he was
not long in consummating his journey, and at the close of a fine

day in November we find him once more on the borders of the
little lake, and looking across to the happy haven which he
sought. He paused for an instant only to take from the bough
from which it depended the clear yellow gourd, such as was
everywhere placed conveniently for the wayfarer, and scooped
up a sweet draught from the flowing waters. Then he sought
out a little canoe,— one of many which lay along the shore,—
and paddled out into the lake, making his way toward the well-remembered
headlands, where Missouri was wont to play with
the children of her sister, Tanewahakila, the wife of his cousin,
the grim warrior of Ouanawega-poree. It somewhat surprised
Enemoya that he seemed to be unseen by the villagers, of whom
he himself beheld none; and it was with a feeling of inquietude
that he looked vainly to the headlands he was approaching for
some signs of Missouri herself.—But, when he reached the island,
and his little boat shot up along the si0lvery beach, he began to
tremble with a strange fear at the deep and utter silence which
prevailed everywhere. He pushed rapidly for the lodge of Tanewahakila,
but it was silent and untenanted. The fire had gone
out upon the hearth. He was confounded, and hurried off to
the village. Here he found the women and children gathered
within the picketed enclosure, and, from a score of tongues, he
soon learned the disaster. Missouri had disappeared. She had
been seen borne upon strong Pawnee shoulders to the boat at
the upper end of the island, and, before the alarm could be given,
she had been carried safely to the opposite side. Not knowing
how many of the subtle Pawnees were about, the old and decrepit
warriors of the village had all set off on the route said to
be taken by the enemy. As yet, there was no report of the
result. But what report, or what result, could be anticipated —
unless that of disappointment — from a pursuit against young and
vigorous foes, undertaken by the superannuated? Poor Enemoya
listened with the saddest feeling of hopelessness and desolation.
“One stupid moment motionless he stood;” then, having
heard all which the women had to tell, he darted off in pursuit,
resolved to perish or rescue his dusky beauty from the talons of
her cruel ravishers!

While Enemoya was thus, with all his soul and strength,
urging the pursuit, Kionk, with his captive and his companions,

was equally earnest in pressing his retreat. But, to make this
safe, he was compelled to make it circuitous. He had to fetch
a wide compass, as before, to escape the scouts and war parties
of the Omahas. Though indefatigable, therefore, in the prosecution
of his journey, Kionk made little direct headway. But
he was in no hurry. He could afford to lose time now that he
had his captive. It was only required that he should keep his
trophy. To do this needed every precaution. He knew that
he would be pursued. He gave sufficient credit to his enemies
to assume that they would not give slumber to their eyelids, nor
rest to their feet, in the effort to rescue his prey, and to revenge
the indignity which they had suffered. He also took for granted
that they would bring to the work an ingenuity and skill, a
sagacity and intelligence, very nearly if not equal to his own.
He must be heedful, therefore, to obliterate all traces of his
progress; to wind about and double upon his own tracks; to
take to the streams and water-courses whenever this was possible,
and to baffle by superior arts those of his pursuers. That
there would be much energy in the pursuit, whatever might
be its sagacity, he did not apprehend; for he knew that the
guardians of the village were mostly superannuated, and a cold
scent is usually fatal to enterprise. He knew that they would
fight, perhaps as well as ever, upon their own ground, and in
defence; but for a war of invasion, or one which involved the
necessity of prompt decision and rapid action, old men are
nearly useless. He was therefore cool, taking his leisure, but
playing fox-work admirably, and omitting no precaution. He
contrived to throw out the veterans after a brief interval, and to
shake himself free of their attentions. But he did not dream
of that fierce wolf-dog upon the scent — the young, strong, and
audaciously-brave chief, Enemoya.

6. CHAPTER VI.

It was not long before Kionk began to take a curious
interest in the looks and behavior of his captive. Very sad
and wretched, indeed, was our dusky damsel; but she was very
patient withal, and bore up firmly against fatigue, and never
once complained, and seemed to show herself perfectly insensible

to danger. She had been chosen as the wife of a great
warrior, and she was resolved to show that she possessed a soul
worthy of so proud a destiny. Kionk beheld her patience and
endurance with a grim sort of satisfaction. Such a woman, he
thought, deserves to have a famous husband: she will do honor
to the fire torture. And yet, again, he mused upon the grievous
pity of burning up so much fine flesh and blood; such a fine
figure, such a pretty face; a creature of so many graces and beauties;
and one who would bear such noble-looking men-children,
gladdening a warlike father's heart. Kionk began to think
how much better it would be if he could pick up another captive,
and save Missouri from the fire-torture. She would make
such a commendable wife. But Kionk had a wife already; for
that matter, it must be confessed that he had three, and did not
enjoy any great reputation as an indulgent husband. But great
chiefs have peculiar privileges, and a chief like Kionk might
as safely repudiate his wives as any of the Napoleons, or any
of the Guelphs of Europe. Positively, the thought began to
grow upon the mighty Kionk, of the beauties and virtues and
excellent domestic nature of Missouri. More than once he
caught himself muttering: “What a pity such a fine figure
should be scorched and blackened by the fire!” He watched
her pitifully as he mused. When they paused for food and
rest, he attended kindlily to her wants. He brought her the food
himself; he chose the ground where she slept, and threw his
buffalo robe over her, and watched at her head during the brief
hours at midnight which were accorded to rest. When, long
before dawn, the party was again in motion, he himself gave her
the signal to rise, and helped her up. He was curiously attentive
for so rough a sort of Birserkir. Could Enemoya have witnessed
these attentions! Could he have seen what thoughts were
passing through the brain of Kionk — what feelings were working
in his heart! But his jealous and apprehensive spirit conjectured
all. What lover but apprehended the worst of dangers
from a charming rival?

While such were the relations between the captor and the
captive, Enemoya pursued the search with as much rapidity as
consisted with the necessity of keeping on the track of the
fugitives. He encountered the party of exhausted veterans at

the spot where they were thrown out of the chase; and, while
they returned sorrowfully to the little islet, no longer safe and
happy, he contrived to catch up the traces which they had
lost, and once more resumed the pursuit with new hopes and
spirit. Under any circumstances, the free step, the bold heart,
the keen eye, and prompt sagacity, of Enemoya would have
made him fearful as a pursuer; but now, with jealous fire and
a fierce anger working terribly in his soul, all his powers of
mind and body seemed to acquire greater vigor than ever.
Passion and despair gave him wings, and he seemed to carry
eyes in his wings. Nothing escaped his glance. He soon persuaded
himself that he gained upon his enemy. There are
traces which the keen vision of the hunter will detect, even
though another hunter shall toil to baffle him; and, in spite of
the care and precautions of Kionk, he could not wholly succeed
in obscuring the tracks which his party unavoidably made.
Besides, anticipating pursuit, though certainly not that of her
lover, Missouri had quietly done all that she might, in leaving
clues of her progress behind her. She was not allowed to
break the shrubs as she passed, nor to peal the green wands,
nor to linger by the way. Where she slept at night the careful
hands of her captors stirred the leaves, and smoothed out all
pressure from the surface. But the captors were not always
watchful, and Missouri noted their lapses very heedfully. As
Enemoya hurries forward over a little sandy ridge, what is it
that sparkles in the path? It is one of the bright blue beads
which he himself has wound about the neck of the dusky maiden.
His hopes rekindle and multiply in his breast. Anon he sees
another, and another, dropped always on the clear track, and
where it may imprison the glistening rays of the sun. Now he
hurries forward, exulting in the certainty of his clues. Toward
sunset he happens upon the clearly-defined track of a man's
moccasin. The foot is large and distinct. There are other like
tracks, set down without any reserve or seeming apprehension.
Enemoya at once concludes that the Pawnee party, deeming
themselves secure, no longer continue their precautions. This
encourages him still further. He will now catch them napping.
Again he darts forward, following the obvious tracks before
him. But night came down, and he could only travel under the
guidance of a star, chosen, as pointing in the seemingly given
direction. Thus, for an hour or more after night, he followed
on through the dim forest. Suddenly, as he rounds a water-course,
which he can not wade, he is startled by the blaze of a
camp-fire.

“Such a fire,” quoth Enemoya to himself, “was never made
by Pawnee warrior. He would never be the fool so to advertise
his sleeping place to his enemies.”

The prospect which would have cheered the white man, disappointed
our chief of Omaha. He now knew that he had been
misled, and had turned aside from the true path indicated by the
beads of Missouri, to follow upon one which had been evidently
made by quite another party. But, though mortified with himself
at this blundering, and in allowing himself to reason from a
false assumption — his pride as hunter and warrior being equally
wounded — he cautiously approached the fire, around which the
outlines of a group of persons, dimly seen by the blaze, were
crouching. They proved to be a party of white men, and were
busily engaged in the discussion of a supper of broiled venison
and smoking hoecake. — The intercourse of Enemoya with the
white traders, had, as we have already seen, been rather considerable,
and the larger profits had not certainly lain with the
red man. The chief had learned some little of the English
tongue in this intercourse, however, and he suddenly stood
among the strangers, introducing himself with a softly murmured:
“Huddye do, brudder; I berry glad to see you in my
country.”

Our pioneers were fellows of “the true grit,” to employ their
own verbal currency, — as big-limbed, muscular, hardy, and daredevil
scamps, as ever came from “Roaring river.” They were
taken by surprise, but were on their legs in the twinkling of an
eye, each brandishing his rifle, club-fashion, and feeling that his
knife was convenient to his grasp. They were on the old route
looking for a new route; had drawn up stakes in a too thickly
settled neighborhood, having three neighbors in a square league,
and were seeking where to plant them anew in a less-crowded
region. The gentle language of Enemoya reassured them.

“No fight — good friends — brudders all. The Omaha chief
is a friend to the pale-faces.”

And he extended his hand which they promptly shook, all
round, and then frankly bade him sit and share of their provisions.
Enemoya's heart was not in the feast, nor yet with his
new companions. He would much rather never have encountered
them, but still kept on the track of the true enemy, as pointed
out by the occasionally dropped bead of the poor Missouri. Many
were the secret imprecations which he muttered against the big
feet of the pale-faces, which had diverted him from the true
course. Weary, almost to exhaustion, he was for the moment
utterly desponding. The last feather breaks the camel's back.
Now Enemoya's spine was still, in sooth, unshaken, but the conviction
that he had lost ground which he might never be able to
recover, made him succumb, as the hardiest man is apt to do,
for a time, under the constantly accumulated pressure of misfortunes.
He did as the Kentuckians bade him, and sat down
with them to the supper, but not to eat. The white men noted
his despondency, and, little by little, they wound out of the warrior
the whole history of his affairs — the present war between
Pawnee and Omaha — the predictions upon which the result was
to depend — the secret foray of the Pawnees, and their capture
of the dusky beauty whom he was to carry to his lodge in the
spring. He narrated also the details of his pursuit thus far, and
confessed in what manner he had been misled, never dreaming
of the moccasin track of a white man in the country of the red,
at such a moment.

“Well, now, yours is a mighty hard case for a young fellow;
I must say it though I'm rather an old one myself,” was the
remark of one of the elders of the white party — a grisly giant,
some forty-five years of age, yet probably with a more certain
vigor than he had at thirty-five. “It's not so bad to lose one's
wife, after he's got a little usen to her; but where it's only at
the beginning of a man's married life, and where it's nothing but
the happiness of the thing that he's considerin', to have the gal
caught up, and carried away by an inimy, makes a sore place in
a person's feelings. It's like having one's supper snapped up
by a hungry wolf, jest before he's tasted the leetlest morsel, and
when he's a-wiping his mouth to eat. I confess, I feels oneasy
at your perdicament. Now, what do you say ef we lends you a
hand to help you git back the gal.”

Enemoya was cheered by the prospect, and expressed his
gratitude.

“Well, that's pretty well said for a red-skin. We are the
boys to help you, my lad, for there ain't one of us that can't
double up an Ingin in mighty short order. With these pretty
little critters here,” touching one of the rifles, “we can see to a
mighty great distance, and can stretch the longest legs you ever
did see after an inimy. And we're good at scouting, and can
take a track, and sarcumvent the heathen jist as well as we can
sarcumvent the b'ar and buffalo.—And we will sarve you, ef
we can make tarms upon it.”

Enemoya was willing to admit the prowess of the white men;
but he didn't altogether comprehend the latter part of what was
said about the “tarms.”

“Oh! don't make out that you're so green as all that comes
to. You've been trading with our people, and ought to know
what we mean by `tarms.' But, ef you don't, it's only to make
it cl'ar to you by using some easier words. Tarms is conditions
— that is, the pay, the hire, the salary — what you're to give us
for helping to git the gal back, sound in wind and limb, and
other sarcumstances. No cure, no pay — no gal, no tarms.”

Enemoya was not long in comprehending the suggestion. He
felt the importance of such an alliance, and well knew that the
proffered assistance was highly valuable. It filled him with
new hope and courage. He was accordingly as liberal as the
sunshine in his gratitude and promises. He had deer, and bear,
and buffalo skins, which were all at the service of his allies, if
they were successful in the chase.

“Ay, ay, all them's mighty good things; but the gal's worth
a great deal more. Now, you jist now spoke of this being your
country. Ef we chose, 'twould be mighty easy to dispute that
argyment; for what made it more your country than mine? It's
all God's country, and God grants no pr'emptions to any but a
Christian people. The heathen's got to die out, any how, some
day. But I won't dispute with a man when he's in a peck of
troubles, so we'll leave that argyment over for another time.
We'll take the skins, but you'll throw in some rifle-shots of land
with 'em, won't you, ef so be we gits back your gal?”

Enemoya required some further explanations, and finally

agreed that our pioneers, if successful in recovering Missouri,
should have as much territory of Omaha, wherever they were
pleased to locate, as they could shoot round in a day. He did
not calculate the number of acres that could be thus covered by
a score of long Kentucky rifles. The bargain was concluded.
And here we may observe that such leagues were quite frequent
from the earliest periods of our history, between the red men
and the white pioneers. The latter most commonly took sides
with the tribe with which they hunted, harbored, or trafficked.
The trappers and traders were always ready to lead in the wars
between the tribes, and their presence usually determined the
contest. They were in fact so many bold, hardy, fighting men,
and were always active in the old French war, in subsidizing
the Indians for their respective nations, against French or English,
as it happened. Let them fight as they pleased, however,
the red men were losers in the end. The rifle shots invariably
resulted in the absorption of their acres. But the bargain was
concluded, and the supper. The squatters leaped to their feet,
girded themselves up for travel, reprimed their rifles, and set
off, under the guidance of Enemoya — now refreshed by rest,
and a new stimulus to hope — to recover the trail of the fugitive
Pawness, which he had lost.

7. CHAPTER VII.

While Enemoya was thus strengthening himself for the pursuit,
passions of a strange and exciting character were slowly
kindling in the camp of the Pawnees. The growing sympathy
which Kionk showed for the beautiful captive, became intelligible
to his comrades a little sooner than to himself. They had
no such feelings, and they were a little resentful of his, accordingly.
Besides, one of his companions was a brother to one of
his many wives, and was particularly watchful of those peculiar
weaknesses of his kinsman, which were sufficiently notorious
among his people. Like Mark Antony, to whom we have
already compared him, Kionk had too tender a heart — he was
a born admirer of the sex, and would cheerfully lose the world
any day for any dusky Cleopatra. He suffered his companions
to see the progress which Missouri had made in his affections,

by gravely proposing to them, as they rested in camp, the very
hour that Enemoya was making his bargain with the white men,
to “seek for another captive.” He was not quite sure that a
woman sacrifice was contemplated by the gods, or would be acceptable
to them. He very much doubted it himself. Indeed,
how should it be so. It was the war-god to whom the victim
was to be offered, and what should the victim be but a warrior.
They had seen the defenceless condition of the islet. It would
surely be easy to cast the snare about the feet of some one of
the veterans, and carry him off, as they had carried off Missouri.”
The brother-in-law answered with a sneer:—

“Is my brother prepared, when he hath taken the old warrior,
to leave the damsel behind him?”

This was a puzzler, by which Kionk began to see that he was
suspected. But he was a bold fellow, who did not care much to
offer apologies or excuses. He answered with equal promptness
and determination:—

“No, indeed; the captive woman is comely, and would be
the mother of many braves to a chief among the Pawnees.”

“As if the Pawness had no women of their own,” was the
reply of the other; and his sentiments were clearly those of the
larger number of his companions.—Kionk, bold as he was, was
not prepared to take the bull by the horns at that moment. He
saw that public opinion was against him, and he must wait events.
And this forbearance became much more essential, when his savage
brother-in-law deliberately urged upon the party “to subject
Missouri in the fire torture where they then were, and thus render
the matter certain. They would thus free themselves from
an incumbrance; would be better able to turn upon their enemies;
could then strike and scalp with impunity, and revenge
themselves fearfully for all the taunts of their impudent assailants,
made safe by the oracle, to which they had found it so
painful to submit. The requisitions of the oracle once complied
with, they would be free to use their scalping-knives on every
side.”

It required all the logic and eloquence of Kionk to silence
this terrible suggestion, one which better taught him to understand
the extent of his newly-awakened passion for his beautiful
and dangerous captive. His argument proved conclusive

with all but his savage brother-in-law. He urged that the sacrifice
could only take place under the immediate sanction and
sight of the high-priest. But before the decision of his companions
could be made, the party had nearly come to blows. In
the midst of the discussion between Kionk and his kinsman, and
when both were nearly roused to madness, the latter sprang
suddenly upon Missouri — who had tremblingly listened to the
whole dispute — seized her by her long black hair, whirled her
furiously around, and actually lifted his knife to strike, before any
of them could interpose. Then it was that the whole lion nature
of Kionk was in arms, and tearing her away from the brutal assailant,
he hurled him to the earth, and, but for his companions,
would have brained him with his hatchet on the spot. But he
warned him with terrible eye, as he suffered him to rise, that if
he but laid his finger on the damsel again, he would hew him to
pieces. The kinsman rose, silent, sullen, unsubdued, and secretly
swearing in his soul to have his revenge yet. These events delayed
the party. It was long that night before they slept. It
was late — after daylight, next day — before the journey was
resumed. This gave new opportunities to the pursuers.

It was not difficult to retrace the steps of the white men,
which Enemoya had so unwisely followed, until he reached the
point where he had turned aside from the true object of pursuit.
To this the squatters themselves, who were as good at scouting,
any day, as the red men, very easily conducted. This brought
them to a late hour in the night, and here our whites proceeded
to make their camp, though, this time, without venturing to
make a fire. The Omaha chief would have hurried on, but his
companions very coolly and doggedly refused. He soon saw
the wisdom of curbing his impatience, not only because of the
inflexibility of his allies, but because, as they showed him, his
impatience would only cause him again to lose the trail, which it
was not possible to pursue by night. With the dawn, however,
the whites were on the alert, and one of them soon appeared
with a bead in his hand, the certain indication of the damsel's
route and providence. Enemoya readily conjectured the general
direction which would be taken by the Pawnees, and an
occasional bead, glistening upon the sandy spots, sufficed every
now and then to encourage the pursuers. At this period, the

better knowledge of the country possessed by Enemoya, enabled
him, by striking an oblique course for the head of a creek,
which the Pawnees would be compelled to cross, to gain considerably
upon them, ignorant as they were of this shorter
route. The suggestion was fortunate; and, never once dreaming
of the events which had delayed the fugitives the last night, the
Omaha chief with his allies came unexpectedly upon them about
midday, where, squat beside a brooklet, they were taking a
brief rest and a little refreshment. This pause had become especially
necessary for Missouri, who, with incessant travel, and
the terror of the scene of the previous night, had succumbed,
and actually fainted that morning along the route. Kionk was
compelled to carry her, at various stages, in his arms — which
he did with the greatest tenderness — till the moment when the
party stopped for nooning beside the little brooklet, where Enemoya
and his white allies came upon them.

The Pawnees were overtaken, but not taken by surprise.
They did not certainly expect to be overtaken, but they had
relaxed in none of their vigilance, and their scout reported the
enemy before the latter had discovered the quarry. The Pawnees
were sitting upon the ground, scattered around a small circuit,
Missouri in the centre of the group, resting against a tree.
Her long hair was dishevelled, and lay heavily upon the leaves;
her face was sad and anxious, weary and without hope; — so
woful was the sight that the impulses of Enemoya, as he beheld
her, got for a moment the better of his prudence, and he rushed
out of the covert, shouting his war cry, and bounding forward
with uplifted tomahawk. It was with no scrupulous or gentle
hand that the elder of the white men caught him in his sinewy
grasp, and drew him back into the thickets.

With the signal whistle of their scout, the Pawnee warriors
were at once upon their legs, each covering himself with a tree;
and a dozen arrows were rapidly shot into the wood where our
squatters had taken harbor. But they were as quick and as
practised in woodcraft as the Pawnees, and laughed at this
demonstration. In numbers they exceeded the small party of
their enemies, and could have overwhelmed them probably by
a sudden rush from opposite quarters; but they were warned
against such audacity by beholding the danger of the dusky

maiden, who was seized by the hair by one of the captors as soon
as Enemoya had shown himself, while a knife lifted over her bosom
threatened her with instant death at the first demonstration
of attack. Never had Enemoya before found himself in a situation
in which he was so little capable of resolving what should
be done. But the squatters who accompanied him were persons
of as much shrewdness and experience as daring. While they
felt that confidence and boldness were prime qualities of the
warrior, they also well knew that rashness and precipitance
would be fatal to their object. They held counsel among themselves,
never consulting the red chief, though he stood up and
listened. The Anglo-Norman has profound faith in parliaments.
“We must argyfy the case with these red devils,” was the conclusion
to which they came. They had profound faith in their
ability for “argyment.” The result of their deliberations was
to send forth one of their number, accompanied by Enemoya,
bearing a white handkerchief at the end of his rifle, and a long
pipe in his left hand — both signs of truce and amnesty — the
calumet that of the red men, the flag that of the white. The
object was to ascertain upon what terms the maiden would be
given up. Of course they did not know what issues hung upon
her fate, or what was her destiny, or that she was the subject
of an awful oracle.

8. CHAPTER VIII.

At the appearance of the flag and the Omaha chief, Kionk,
followed by three others, emerged from his place of shelter.
They advanced to meet the flag without apprehension, though
both parties kept their weapons ready, and their eyes bright.
Treachery is a warlike virtue among the savages, and our squatters
well understood the necessity of covering an enemy, each
with his rifle, while their comrades were engaged in conference.
How shall we report this conference? It would be impossible
to follow step by step the details, as developed in the broken
English of the one party, and the half savage Pawnee of
the other. But the high contracting parties contrived, after a
fashion, to make themselves separately understood. Our squatter
embassador had little hesitation in coming as promptly to the

point as possible. We sum up much in little, when we report
the following: —

“'Taint a manly way of carrying on the war, catching a poor
young woman. What's the sperrit of a man to lay hands upon a
girl, onless for love and affection? And now you've got her,
what's the use of her to you? You have plenty of gals in your
own nation. What do you want with this Omaha?”

The Pawnee acknowledged that his people were by no means
wanting in specimens of the tender gender. They had enough,
Heaven knows, even if all their chiefs were of the Kionk temper.

“Well, then, let's have the gal. We'll buy her from you at
a fair vallyation. What do you say now to half a dozen tomahawks,
a dozen knifes, two little bells, a pound of fishhooks, four
pounds of beads, and a good overcoat, handsome enough for a king.”

The goods were all displayed. Kionk acknowledged that
the offer was a liberal one. But — and here he revealed the
true difficulty — the captive-girl was the subject of an oracle.
The fate of Pawnees or Omahas depended upon her life. She
was doomed to the fiery torture. In her ashes lay the future
triumph of his people over the accursed tribe of the Omaha!
There could be no trade; no price could buy the captive; no
power save her life; he would forego his hold upon her only
with his own life; and in a few days she should undergo the
torture by fire. Such was the final answer.

“May I be etarnally burned myself, ef I stand by and see her
burned; so look to it, red-skin! I'm a human, after all; and
my rifle shall talk like blazes before you take her off!”

The conference had reached this point, and Kionk had been
made to comprehend the fiercely-expressed declaration of the
representative squatter, when Missouri, arousing from her stupor,
caught a glimpse of Enemoya. The sight seemed to restore instantly
her strength and energies. With a single bound, and a
wild passionate cry, she darted suddenly away from the savage
who stood over her, and who had somewhat relaxed his vigilance
in the curiosity which he felt with regard to the conference.
She flew, rather than ran, over the space which lay between, and
Enemoya sprang forward to receive her. But before they could
meet, a blow from the fist of one of the savages felled her to the
earth.

In a moment the work of death had begun. The hatchet of
Enemoya cleft the skull of the brutal assailant. Then rose his
war-cry — then came the fierce shout of Kionk and the rest.
Every arrow was drawn to its head. Every rifle-bead rested
with dead aim upon the tree which gave shelter to an enemy.
The charge d'affaires of the squatters, quick as lightning, tore
the white kerchief from his rifle, and dodged into cover; while
Enemoya, no longer capable of restraint, dashed forward to
gather up the beautiful damsel from the ground where she still
lay, stunned by the blow of the Indian. But he was not permitted
to reach his object. It was now Kionk's turn. He threw
himself into the path of the young chief of the Omahas, and together
grappling they came together to the earth. It was the
death grapple for one or both. In their hearts they felt mutually
the instinct of a deadly personal hatred, apart from that which
belonged to their national hostilities. Closely did they cling;
sinuously, like serpents, did they wind about each other on the
earth, rapidly rolling over, fiercely striving, without a word spoken
on either part. But one weapon could either now use, and
that was the scalp-knife which each bore in his belt. But to
get at this was not easy, since neither dared forego his grasp,
lest he should give his opponent the advantage.

Meanwhile the rest were not idle. The Pawnees, highly excited
by the death of one of their number, and seeing but two
enemies before them — never dreaming that there were no less
than six Kentuckians in ambush — darted, with terrible yells,
into the foreground. Two of them, in an instant, bit the dust;
and the rest recoiled from the unanticipated danger. The Kentuckians
now made a rush in order to extricate Enemoya, and
to brain Kionk; and the aspect of affairs was hopeful in the last
degree; when, at this very moment, one of the Pawnees darted
out of cover. He was the brother-in-law of Kionk — the sullen
chief whom he had overthrown, and whose black passions meditated
the most hateful of revenges. Before the squatters could
reach the scene of action, the murderous monster, whose purpose
was wholly unexpected, threw himself upon the crouching Missouri,
and with a single blow buried his hatchet in her brain.
With a howl of mixed scorn and exultation he had shrouded
himself in the woods, and among his comrades, a moment after.

The wretched Enemoya beheld the horrid stroke, but, grappling
with his own assailant he had not the power to interfere.
In striving to loose himself for this purpose, he gave his enemy
the advantage. In a moment both were on their feet, and Kionk
already brandished his scalp-knife in his grasp. But the eyes
of Enemoya swam in a blind horror. He had seen the whizzing
tomahawk descend, crushing into the head of the dusky beauty
whom he so much loved. He saw no more; and the uplifted
knife of Kionk was already about to sheathe itself in his bosom,
when a rifle bullet from one of the squatters sent him reeling to
the earth in the last agonies of death. When Enemoya sunk
beside the poor damsel, her eyes were already glazed. She
knew him not. She looked on him no more. He took the scalp
of Kionk, but it gave him no consolation. He fought like a
demon — he slew many enemies,— took many scalps,— but never
felt a whit the happier. His hope was blighted — he loved the
dusky beauty of the blessed islet, much more tenderly than we
should suppose from the manner of his wooing: and he never
recovered from her loss. He moved among his people like a
shadow, and they called him the ghost only of the great warrior.

The campaign that season was indecisive between the rival
nations of the Pawnee and Omaha. Neither had succeeded in
complying with the requisitions of the oracle. The Pawnees had
forfeited their hope in failing to bring their captive to the torture
of fire. The Omahas had been equally unfortunate in being
compelled to strike the first blow. The first life taken in the
war was that of the savage Pawnee who smote Missouri with his
fist, and whom Enemoya immediately slew. But the campaign
of the ensuing winter went against the Omahas. They had lost
the soul of Enemoya; who ceased to exhibit any enterprise,
though he fought terribly when the hour came for conflict.
Meanwhile, our squatters from Kentucky were joined by others
from that daring region. Their rifles helped the Omahas for a
long time; but the latter were finally defeated. The remnant
of the nation were ready to disperse; they knew not where to
turn. The blessed island was almost the only territory remaining
in their possession. But for this there suddenly appeared a
new claimant.

“These are pleasant places, boys,” said the head man of the

squatters, looking at the lovely region around; “it seems to me
to be good if we drive stakes and build our cabins here — here
by this quiet lake, among these beautiful meadows.— What say
you,— shall it be here? I don't want to go further, 'till it comes
to be crowded.”

“But this is the abiding place of my people, my brother; —
here is the wigwam of Enemoya, — yonder was the dwelling
which I built for the wife of my bosom, the beautiful Missouri.”

“Look you, Inimowya,” answered the white chief, “the argyment
of territory, after all, lies at the eend of my rifle. As I told
you once afore, when we first met, I could dispute with you that
pr'emption title, but I wouldn't; and I won't now; considering
that you've had a bad time of it. But what's the use of your
talking, when you see the country's got to be ours. Why, you
know we kin shoot round it every day”— again touching his
rifle. — “But that's not the argyment I want to use with you.
Your brown gal, who was a beauty for an Ingin, I'm willing to
allow, is a sperrit now in the other world. What sort of heaven
they find for the red-skins, is unbeknowing to me; but I reckon
she's living thar. Thar's no living for her hyar, you see, so
what's the use of the cabin you built. But that's not to say I
wants to drive you out. By no possible means. I like you —
all the boys like you. For a red-skin you're a gentleman, and
as you hev' no nation now, and hardly any tribe of your own, why
squat down with us, by any man's fireside you choose, and ef you
choose, you kin only set down and look on, and see how we'll take
the shine out of these Pawnee cock-a-doodles. You kin share
with us, and do as we do, with all the right nateral to a free
white man; but as for your getting this island from us, now that
we're all ready to plant stakes, it's a matter onpossible to be
argyfied except with the tongue of the rifle. Thar's no speech
that ever was invented that shall make us pull up stakes now.”

And the rifle butt came down heavily upon the earth, as the
chief of the squatters declared himself. Enemoya regarded him
with a grave indifference, and said calmly: —

“Be it so: the island is young; the country! Why should you
not have it? I need it not! neither I nor Missouri! I thank
you for what you say. But though your cabin door is wide for
my coming, I do not see Missouri beside the hearth.”

“Oh! for that matter, as you are quite a gentleman for a red-skin,
there's many a pretty white gal that would hev you for
the axing.”

“No! I shall follow my people to the black prairies, and wait
for the voice of that bird of the Spirit, that shall summon me to
the happy valley where Missouri walks.”

“Well, as you choose, Inimowya; but let's to supper now,
and you'll sleep under my bush to-night.”

The chief silently consented. But at the dawn he was nowhere
to be seen, nor have the hunters ever heard of him since.
Meanwhile the country of the Omaha, which includes the lake
and the beautiful islet, has become the possession of the pale-faces,
but they call it still after the dusky damsel of Omaha, the
lovely and loving Missouri.