 | CHAPTER VII. The prairie |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
“I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.”
Shakspeare.
A second glance sufficed to convince the whole
of the startled party, that the young Pawnee, whom
they had already encountered, again stood before
them. Surprise kept both sides mute, and more than
a minute was passed in surveying each other with
eyes of astonishment, if not of distrust. The wonder
of the young warrior was, however, much more
tempered and dignified than that of his Christian acquaintances.
While Middleton and Paul felt the tremor,
which shook the persons of their dependant
companions, thrilling through their own quickened
to another, as if it could never quail before the rudest
assaults. His gaze, after making the circuit of
every wondering countenance, finally settled in a
proud and steady look on the equally immoveable
features of the trapper. The silence was first broken
by Dr. Battius, in the ejaculation of,—
“Order, primates; genus, homo; species, prairie!”
“Ay—ay—the secret is out,” said the old trapper,
shaking his head, like one who congratulated himself
on having mastered the mystery of some knotty difficulty.
“The lad has been in the grass for a cover;
the fire has come upon him in his sleep, and having
lost his horse, he has been driven to save himself under
that fresh hide of a buffaloe. No bad invention,
when powder and flint were wanting to kindle a ring.
I warrant me, now, this is a clever youth, and one
that it would be safe to journey with. I will speak to
him kindly, for anger can at least serve no turn of
ours. My brother is welcome again,” using the language,
which the other understood; “the Tetons have
been smoking him as they would a raccoon.”
The young Pawnee rolled his eye over the place,
as if he were examining the terrific danger from
which he had just escaped, but he disdained to betray
the smallest emotion at its imminency. His brow
contracted, as he answered to the remark of the trapper
by saying—
“A Teton is a dog. When the Pawnee war whoop
is in their ears, the whole nation howls.”
“It is true. The imps are on our trail, and I am
glad to meet a warrior, with the tomahawk in his
hand, who does not love them. Will my brother lead
my children to his village? If the Siouxes follow
on our path, my young men shall help him to strike
them.”
The young Pawnee warrior turned his eyes from
one to another of the strangers, in a keen scrutiny,
His examination of the males was short, and
apparently satisfactory. But his gaze was fastened
long and admiringly, as in their former interview, on
the surpassing and unwonted beauty of a being so
fair and so unknown as Inez. Though his glance
wandered for moments from her countenance to the
more intelligible and yet extraordinary charms of
Ellen, it did not fail to return promptly to the study
of a creature who, in the view of his unpractised eye
and untutored imagination, was formed with all that
perfection, with which the youthful poet is apt to endow
the glowing images of his heated brain. Nothing
so fair, so ideal, so every way worthy to reward the
courage and self-devotion of a warrior, had ever before
been encountered on the prairies, and the young
brave appeared to be deeply and intuitively sensible
to the influence of so rare a model of the loveliness
of the sex. Perceiving, however, that his gaze gave
uneasiness to the subject of his admiration, he withdrew
his eyes, and laying his hand impressively on
his chest, he, modestly, answered—
“My father shall be welcome. The young men
of my nation shall hunt with his sons; the chiefs
shall smoke with the gray-head. The Pawnee girls
will sing in the ears of his daughters.”
“And if we meet the Tetons?” demanded the
trapper, who wished to understand, thoroughly, the
more important conditions of this new alliance.
“The enemy of the Big-knives shall feel the blow
of the Pawnee.”
“It is well. Now let my brother and I meet in
council, that we may not go on a crooked path, but
that our road to his village may be like the flight of
the pigeons.”
The young Pawnee made a significant gesture of
assent, and followed the other a little apart, in order
to be removed from all danger of interruption from
conference was short, but as it was conducted in the
sententious manner of the natives, it served to make
each of the parties acquainted with all the necessary
information of the other. When they rejoined their
associates, the old man saw fit to explain a portion
of what had passed between them, as follows—
“Ay, I was not mistaken,” he said; “this goodlooking
young warrior—for good-looking and noblelooking
he is, though a little horrified perhaps with
paint—this good-looking youth, then, tells me he is
out on the scout for these very Tetons. His party
was not strong enough to strike the devils, who are
down from their towns in great numbers to hunt the
buffaloe, and runners have gone to the Pawnee villages
for aid. It would seem that this lad is a fearless
boy, for he has been hanging on their skirts alone,
until, like ourselves, he was driven to the grass for a
cover. But he tells me more, my men, and what I
am mainly sorry to hear, which is, that the cunning
Mahtoree instead of going to blows with the squatter,
has become his friend, and that both broods, red and
white, are on our heels, and outlying around this very
burning plain to circumvent us to our destruction.”
“How knows he all this to be true?” demanded
Middleton.
“Anan?”
“In what manner does he know, that these things
are so?”
“In what manner! Do you think news-papers and
town criers are needed to tell a scout what is doing
on the prairies, as they are in the bosom of the States?
No gossipping woman, who hurries from house to
house to spread evil of her neighbour, can carry
tidings with her tongue so fast as these people will
spread their meaning by signs and warnings, that they
alone understand. 'Tis their l'arning, and what is
better, it is got in the open air, and not within the
says is true.”
“For that matter,” said Paul, “I'm ready to swear
to it. It is reasonable, and therefore it must be true.”
“And well you might, lad; well you might. He
furthermore declares, that my old eyes for once were
true to me, and that the river lies, hereaway, at about
the distance of half a league. You see the fire has
done most of its work in that quarter, and our path
is clouded in smoke. He also agrees that it is needful
to wash our trail in water. Yes, we must put
that river atween us and the Sioux eyes, and then,
by the favour of the Lord, not forgetting our own
industry, we may gain the village of the Loups.”
“Words will not forward us a foot,” said Middle
ton, “let us move.”
The old man assented, and the party once more
prepared to renew its route. The Pawnee threw the
skin of the buffaloe over his shoulder and led the advance,
casting many a stolen glance behind him as he
proceeded, in order to fix his gaze on the extraordinary
and to him unaccountable loveliness of the unconscious
Inez.
An hour sufficed to bring the fugitives to the banks
of the stream, which was one of the hundred rivers
that serve to conduct, through the mighty arteries of
the Missouri and Mississippi, the waters of that vast
and still uninhabited region to the Ocean. The river
was not deep, but its current was troubled and rapid.
The flames had scorched the earth to its very margin,
and as the warm streams of the fluid mingled, in
the cooler air of the morning, with the smoke of the
still raging conflagration, most of its surface was
wrapped in a mantle of moving vapour. The trapper
pointed out the circumstance with pleasure, saying,
as he assisted Inez to dismount on the margin of
the water-course—
“The knaves have outwitted themselves! I am
to have got the benefit of this very smoke to hide
our movements, had not the heartless imps saved us
the trouble. I've known such things done in my day,
and done with success. Come, lady, put your tender
foot upon the ground—for a fearful time has it been
to one of your breeding and skeary qualities. Ah's
me! what have I not known the young, and the delicate,
and the virtuous, and the modest, to undergo,
in my time, among the horrifications and circumventions
of Indian warfare! Come, it is a short quarter
of a mile to the other bank, and then our trail, at
least, will be broken.”
Paul had by this time assisted Ellen to dismount,
and he now stood looking, with rueful eyes, at the
naked banks of the river. Neither tree nor shrub
grew along its borders, with the exception of here
and there a solitary thicket of low bushes, from
among which it would not have been an easy matter
to have found a dozen stems of a size sufficient to
make an ordinary walking-stick.
“Harkee, old trapper,” the moody-looking beehunter
exclaimed; “it is very well to talk of the
other side of this ripple of a river, or brook, or whatever
you may call it, but in my judgment it would be
a smart rifle that would throw its lead across it—that
is to any detriment to Indian or deer.”
“That it would—that it would; though I carry a
piece, here, that has done its work in time of need,
at as great a distance.”
“And do you mean to shoot Ellen and the captain's
lady across; or do you intend them to go, trout
fashion, with their mouths under water?”
“Is this river too deep to be forded?” asked Middleton,
who, like Paul, began to consider the impossibility
of transporting her, whose safety he valued
more than his own, to the opposite shore.
“When the mountains above feed it with their
torrents it is, as you see, a swift and powerful stream.
Yet have I crossed its sandy bed, in my time, without
wetting a knee. But we have the Sioux horses;
I warrant me, that the kicking imps will swim like
so many deer.”
“Old trapper,” said Paul, thrusting his fingers into
his mop of a head, as was usual with him, when any
difficulty confounded his philosophy, “I have swam
like a fish in my day, and I can do it again, when
there is need; nor do I much regard the weather;
but I question if you get Nelly to sit a horse, with
this water whirling like a mill-race before her eyes;
besides, it is manifest the thing is not to be done dryshod.”
“Ah, the lad is right. We must to our inventions,
therefore, or the river cannot be crossed.” Then
cutting the discourse short, he turned to the Pawnee,
and explained to him the difficulty which existed in
relation to the women. The young warrior listened
gravely, and throwing the buffaloe-skin from his
shoulder he immediately commenced, assisted by the
occasional aid of the understanding old man, the preparations
necessary to effect this desirable object.
The hide was soon drawn into the shape of an
umbrella top, or an inverted parachute, by thongs of
deer-skin, with which both the labourers were well
provided. A few light sticks served to keep the parts
from collapsing, or falling in. When this simple and
natural expedient was arranged, it was placed on the
water, the Indian making a sign that it was ready to
receive its freight. Both Inez and Ellen hesitated to
trust themselves in a bark of so frail a construction,
nor would Middleton or Paul consent that they should
do so, until each had assured himself, by actual experiment,
that the vessel was capable of sustaining
a load much heavier than it was destined to receive.
and the skin was made to receive its precious
burthen.
“Now leave the Pawnee to be the pilot,” said the
trapper; “my hand is not so steady as it used to be;
but he has limbs like toughened hickory. Leave all
to the wisdom of the Pawnee.”
The husband and lover could not well do otherwise,
and they were fain to become deeply interested,
it is true, but passive spectators of this primitive species
of ferrying. The Pawnee selected the beast of
Mahtoree, from among the three horses, with a readiness
that proved he was far from being ignorant of
the properties of that noble animal, and throwing
himself upon its back, he rode into the margin of the
river. Thrusting an end of his lance into the hide,
he bore the light vessel up against the stream, and
giving his steed the rein, they pushed boldly into the
current. Middleton and Paul followed, pressing as
nigh the bark as prudence would at all warrant. In
this manner the young warrior bore his precious cargo
to the opposite bank in perfect safety, without the
slightest inconvenience to the passengers, and with a
steadiness and celerity which proved that both horse
and rider were not unused to the operation. When
the shore was gained, the young Indian undid his
work, threw the skin over his shoulder, placed the
sticks under his arm, and returned, without speaking,
to transfer the remainder of the party, in a similar
manner, to what was very justly considered the safer
side of the river.
“Now, friend Doctor,” said the old man, when he
saw the Indian plunging into the river a second time,
“do I know there is faith in yonder Red-skin. He is
a good-looking, ay, and an honest looking youth, but
the winds of Heaven are not more deceitful than
these savages, when the devil has fairly beset them.
Had the Pawnee been a Teton, or one of them heartless
woods of York, a time back, that is some sixty years
agone, we should have seen his back and not his face
turned towards us. My heart had its misgivings
when I saw the lad choose the better horse, for it
would be as easy to leave us with that beast, as it
would for a nimble pigeon to part company from a
flock of noisy and heavy winged crows. But you see
that truth is in the boy, and make a Red-skin once
your friend, he is yours so long as you deal honestly
by him.”
“What may be the distance to the sources of this
stream?” demanded Doctor Battius, whose eyes were
rolling over the whirling eddies of the current with a
very portentous expression of doubt. “At what
distance may its secret springs be found?”
“That may be as the weather proves. I warrant
me your legs would be a-weary before you had followed
its bed into the Rocky Mountains; but then
there are seasons when it might be done without
wetting a foot.”
“And in what particular divisions of the year do
these periodical seasons occur?”
“He that passes this spot a few months from this
time, will find that foaming water-course a desert of
drifting sand.”
The naturalist pondered deeply. Like most others,
who are not endowed with a superfluity of physical
fortitude, the worthy man had found the danger of
passing the river, in so simple a manner, magnifying
itself in his eyes so rapidly, as the moment of adventure
approached, that he actually contemplated
the desperate effort of going round the river, in order
to escape the hazard of crossing it. It may not be
necessary to dwell on the incredible ingenuity, with
which terror will at any time prop a tottering argument.
The worthy Obed had gone over the whole
subject, with commendable diligence, and had just arrived
nearly as much glory in discerning the hidden sources
of so considerable a stream, as in adding a plant or
an insect to the lists of the learned, when the Pawnee
reached the shore for the second time. The old man
took his seat, with the utmost deliberation, in the
vessel of skin (so soon as it had been duly arranged
for his reception,) and having carefully disposed of
Hector between his legs, he beckoned to his companion
to occupy the third place.
The naturalist placed a foot in the frail vessel, as
an elephant will try a bridge, or a horse is often seen
to make a similar experiment, before he will trust the
whole of his corporeal treasure on the dreaded flat,
and then withdrew just as the old man believed he
was about to seat himself.
“Venerable venator,” he said, mournfully, “this
is a most unscientific bark. There is an inward
monitor which bids me distrust its security!”
“Anan?” said the old man, who was pinching the
ears of the hound, as a father would play with the
same member in a favourite child.
“I incline not to this irregular mode of experimenting
on fluids. The vessel has neither form nor
proportions.”
“It is not as handsomely turned as I have seen a
canoe in birchen bark, but comfort may be taken in
a wigwam as well as in a palace.”
“It is impossible that any vessel constructed on
principles so repugnant to science can be safe. This
tub, venerable hunter, will never reach the opposite
shore in safety.”
“You are a witness of what it has done.”
“Ay; but it was an anomaly in prosperity. If exceptions
were to be taken as rules, in the government
of things, the human race would speedily be plunged
in the abysses of ignorance. Venerable trapper, this
expedient, in which you would repose your safety, is,
may be termed in the lists of natural history—
a monster!”
How much longer Doctor Battius might have felt
disposed to prolong the discourse, it is difficult to say,
for in addition to the powerful personal considerations,
which induced him to procrastinate an experiment,
which was certainly not without its dangers,
the pride of reason was beginning to sustain him in
the discussion. But, fortunately for the credit of the
old man's forbearance, when the naturalist reached
the word, with which he terminated his last speech,
a sound arose in the air that seemed a sort of supernatural
echo to the idea itself. The young Pawnee,
who had awaited the termination of the incomprehensible
discussion, with grave and characteristic
patience, raised his head and listened to the unknown
cry, like a stag, whose mysterious faculties had detected
the footsteps of the distant hounds in the gale.
The trapper and the Doctor were not, however, entirely
so uninstructed as to the nature of the extraordinary
sounds. The latter recognised in them the
well-known voice of his own beast, and he was about
to rush up the little bank, which confined the current,
with all the longings of a strong affection, when
Asinus himself gallopped into view, at no great distance,
urged to the unnatural gait by the impatient
and brutal Weucha, who bestrode him.
The eyes of the Teton, and those of the fugitives
met. The former raised a long, loud, and piercing
yell, in which the notes of exultation were fearfully
blended with those of warning. The signal served
for a finishing blow to the discussion on the merits of
the bark, the Doctor stepping as promptly to the side
of the old man, as though a mental mist had been
miraculously removed from his eyes. In another instant
the steed of the young Pawnee was struggling
powerfully with the torrent.
The utmost strength of the horse was needed to
urge the fugitives beyond the flight of arrows that
came sailing through the air, at the next moment.
The cry of Weucha had brought fifty of his comrades
to the shore, but fortunately among them all was not
one of a rank sufficient to entitle him to the privilege
of bearing a fusee. One half the stream, however,
was not passed, before the form of Mahtoree
himself was seen on its bank, and an ineffectual discharge
of fire-arms announced the rage and disappointment
of the chief. More than once the trapper
had raised his rifle, as if about to try its power on
his enemies, but he as often lowered it, without firing.
The eyes of the Pawnee warrior glared like those of
the cougar at the sight of so many of the hostile
tribe, and he answered to the impotent effort of their
chief, by tossing a hand into the air in contempt, and
raising the war-cry of his nation. The challenge was
too taunting to be endured. The Tetons dashed into
the stream in a body, and the river became dotted
with the dark forms of beasts and riders.
There was now a fearful struggle for the friendly
bank. As the Dahcotahs advanced with beasts, which
had not, like that of the Pawnee, expended their
strength in former efforts, and as they now moved unincumbered
by any thing but their riders, the speed of
the pursuers greatly outstripped that of the fugitives.
The trapper, who clearly comprehended the whole
danger of their situation, calmly turned his eyes from
the Tetons to his young Indian associate, in order to
examine whether the resolution of the latter began
to falter, as the former lessened the distance between
them. Instead of betraying fear, however, or any of
that concern which might so readily have been excited
by the peculiarity of his risk, the brow of the
young warrior contracted to a look which indicated
high and deadly hostility.
“Do you greatly value life, friend Doctor?” demanded
calmness, which made the question doubly appalling
to his companion.
“Not for itself,” returned the naturalist, sipping
some of the water of the river from the hollow of
his hand, in order to clear his husky throat. “Not
for itself, but exceedingly, inasmuch as natural history
has so deep a stake in my existence. Therefore—”
“Ay!” resumed the other, who mused too deeply
to dissect the ideas of the Doctor with his usual sagacity,
“'Tis in truth the history of natur', and a base
and craven feeling it is! Now is life as precious to
this young Pawnee, as to any governor in the States,
and he might save it, or at least stand some chance
of saving it, by letting us go down the stream; and
yet you see he keeps his faith manfully, and like an
Indian warrior. For myself, I am old, and willing
to take the fortune that the Lord may see fit to give,
nor do I conceit that you are of much benefit to mankind;
and it is a crying shame, if not a sin, that so
fine a youth as this should lose his scalp for two beings
so worthless as ourselves. I am therefore disposed,
provided that it shall prove agreeable to you,
to tell the lad to make the best of his way, and to
leave us to the mercy of the Tetons.”
“I repel the proposition, as repugnant to nature
and as treason to science!” exclaimed the alarmed
naturalist. “Our progress is miraculous, and as this
admirable invention moves with so wonderful a facility,
a few more minutes will serve to bring us to land.”
The old man regarded him intently for an instant,
and shaking his head he said—
“Lord what a thing is fear! it transforms the creatur's
of the world and the craft of man, making that
which is ugly, seemly in our eyes, and that which
is beautiful, unsightly! Lord, Lord, what a thing is
fear!”
A termination was, however, put to the discussion,
by the increasing interest of the chase. The horses
of the Dahcotahs had, by this time, gained the middle
of the current, and their riders were already filling
the air with yells of triumph. At this moment
Middleton and Paul, who had led the females to a
little thicket, appeared again on the margin of the
stream, menacing their enemies with the rifle.
“Mount, mount,” shouted the trapper, the instant
he beheld them; “mount and fly, if you value those
who lean on you for help. Mount, and leave us in
the hands of the Lord.”
“Stoop your head, old trapper,” returned the
voice of Paul, “down with ye both into your nest.
The Teton devil is in your line; down with your
heads and make way for a Kentucky bullet.”
The old man turned his head, and saw that the
eager Mahtoree, who preceded his party some distance,
had brought himself nearly in a line with the
bark and the bee-hunter, who stood perfectly ready
to execute his hostile threat. Bending his body low,
the rifle was discharged, and the swift lead whizzed
harmlessly past him on its more distant errand. But
the eye of the Teton chief was not less quick and
certain than that of his enemy. He threw himself
from his horse the moment preceding the report, and
sunk into the water. The beast snorted with terror
and anguish, throwing half his form out of the river
in a desperate plunge. Then he was seen drifting
away in the torrent, and dying the turbid waters
deeply with his blood.
The Teton chief soon re-appeared on the surface,
and understanding the nature of his loss, he swam
with vigorous strokes to the nearest of the young
men, who relinquished his steed, as a matter of
course, to so renowned a warrior. The incident,
however, created a confusion in the whole of the
Dahcotah band, who appeared to await the intention
reach the shore. In the mean time the vessel of skin
had reached the land, and the fugitives were once
more united on the margin of the river.
The savages were now swimming about in indecision,
as a flock of pigeons is often seen to hover in
confusion after receiving a heavy discharge into its
leading column, apparently hesitating on the risk of
storming a bank so formidably defended. The well-known
precaution of Indian warfare prevailed, and
Mahtoree, admonished by his recent adventure, led
his warriors back to the shore from which they had
come, in order to relieve their beasts, which were
already becoming unruly.
“Now mount you, with the tender ones, and ride
for yonder hillock,” said the trapper; “beyond it,
you will find another stream, into which you must
enter, and turning to the sun, follow its bed for a
mile, until you reach a high and sandy plain; there
will I meet you. Go; mount; this Pawnee youth
and I, and my stout friend the physician, who is a
desperate warrior, are men enough to keep the bank,
seeing that show and not use is all that is needed.”
Middleton and Paul saw no use in wasting their
breath in remonstrances against this proposal. Glad
to know that their rear was to be covered, even in
this imperfect manner, they hastily got their horses
in motion, and soon disappeared on the required
route. Some twenty or thirty minutes succeeded
this movement, before the Tetons on the opposite
shore seemed inclined to enter on any new enterprise.
Mahtoree was distinctly visible, in the midst
of his warriors, issuing his mandates and betraying his
desire for vengeance, by occasionally shaking an arm
in the direction of the fugitives; but no step was
taken, which appeared to threaten any further act of
immediate hostility. At length a yell arose among
the savages, which announced the occurrence of
sons were seen in the distance, and soon the whole
of the united force moved down to the very limits of
the stream. The squatter proceeded to examine the
position of his enemies with his usual coolness, and,
as if to try the power of his rifle, he sent a bullet
among them, with a force sufficient to do execution,
even at the distance at which he stood.
“Now let us depart!” exclaimed Obed, endeavouring
to catch a furtive glimpse of the lead, which he
fancied was whizzing at his very ear; “we have
maintained the bank in a gallant manner, for a sufficient
length of time; quite as much military skill is
to be displayed in a retreat, as in an advance.”
The old man cast a look behind him, and seeing
that the equestrains had reached the cover of the
hill, he made no objections to the proposal. The remaining
horse was given to the Doctor, with instructions
to pursue the course just taken by Middleton
and Paul. When the naturalist was mounted and in
full retreat, the trapper and the young Pawnee stole
from the spot in such a manner as to leave their enemies
some time in doubt as to their movements. Instead,
however, of proceeding across the plain towards
the hill, a route on which they must have been in
open view, they took a shorter path, covered by the
formation of the ground, and intersected the little
water-course at the point where Middleton had been
directed to leave it, and just in season to join his
party. The Doctor had used so much diligence in
the retreat, as to have already overtaken his friends,
and of course the fugitives were all again assembled.
The trapper now looked about him for some convenient
spot, where the whole party might halt, as he
expressed it, for some five or six hours.
“Halt!” exclaimed the Doctor, when the alarming
proposal reached his ears; “venerable hunter,
be passed in industrious flight.”
Middleton and Paul were both of this opinion, and
each in his particular manner expressed as much.
The old man heard them with patience, but shook
his head like one who was unconvinced, and then
answered all their arguments, in one general and
positive reply.
“Why should we fly?” he asked. “Can the leg
of mortal men outstrip the speed of horses? Do you
think the Tetons will lie down and sleep; or will
they cross the water and nose for our trail? Thanks
be to the Lord, we have washed it well in this stream,
and if we leave the place with discretion and wisdom,
we may yet throw them off its track. But a prairie
is not a wood. There a man may journey long, caring
for nothing but the prints his moccasin leaves,
whereas, in these open plains a runner, placed on
yonder hill, for instance, could see far on every side
of him, like a hovering hawk looking down on his
prey. No, no; night must come, and darkness be
upon us, afore we leave this spot. But listen to the
words of the Pawnee; he is a lad of spirit, and!
warrant me many is the hard race that he has run
with the Sioux bands. Does my brother think our
trail is long enough?” he then demanded in the
Indian tongue.
“Is a Teton a fish, that he can see it in the river?”
“But my young men think we should stretch it,
until it reaches across the prairie.”
“Mahtoree has eyes; he will see it.”
“What does my brother counsel?”
The young warrior studied the heavens a moment,
and appeared to hesitate. He mused some time with
himself, and then he replied, like one whose opinion
was irrevocably fixed.
“The Dahcotahs are not asleep,” he said; “we
must lie in the grass.”
“Ah! the lad is of my mind,” said the old man,
briefly explaining the opinion of his companion to
his white friends. Middleton was obliged to acquiesce,
and as it was confessedly dangerous to remain upon
their feet, each one set about assisting in the means
to be adopted for their security. Inez and Ellen
were quickly bestowed beneath the warm and not
uncomfortable shelter of the buffaloe skins, which
formed a thick covering, and tall grass was drawn
over the place, in such a manner as to evade any
examination from a common eye. Paul and the
Pawnee fettered the beasts and cast them to the
earth, where, after supplying them with food, they
were also left concealed in the fog of the prairie.
No time was lost when these several arrangements
were completed, before each of the others sought a
place of rest and concealment, and then the plain
appeared again deserted to its solitude.
The old man had advised his companions of the absolute
necessity of their continuing for hours in this
concealment. All their hopes of escape depended
on the success of the artifice. If they might elude
the cunning of their pursuers, by this simple and
therefore less suspected expedient, they could renew
their flight as the evening approached, and, by changing
their course, the chance of final success would be
greatly increased. Influenced by these momentous
considerations the whole party lay, musing on their
situation, until thoughts grew weary, and sleep finally
settled on them all, one after another.
The deepest silence had prevailed for hours when
the quick ears of the trapper and the Pawnee were
startled by a faint cry of surprise from Inez. Springing
to their feet, like men, who were about to struggle
for their lives, they found the vast plain, the rolling
swells, the little hillock, and the scattered thickets,
covered alike in one, white, dazzling sheet of snow.
“The Lord have mercy on ye all!” exclaimed the
“now Pawnee do I know the reason why you studied
the clouds so closely; but it is too late; it is now too
late! A squirrel would leave his trail on this light
coating of the 'arth. Ha! there come the imps to;
certainty. Down with ye all, down with ye; your
chance is but small, and yet it must not be wilfully
cast away.”
The whole party was instantly concealed, again,
though many an anxious and stolen glance was directed
through the tops of the grass, on the movements
of their enemies. At the distance of half,
mile, the Teton band was seen riding in a circuit,
which was gradually contracting itself, and evidents
closing upon the very spot where the fugitives lay.
There was but little difficulty in solving the mystery
of this movement. The snow had fallen in time to
assure them that those they sought were in their rear,
and they were now employed, with the unwearied
perseverance and patience of Indian warriors, in
circling the certain boundaries of their place of concealment.
Each minute added to the jeopardy of the fugitives
Paul and Middleton deliberately prepared their rifles
and as the earnestly occupied Mahtoree came, at
length, within fifty feet of them, keeping his eye
riveted on the grass through which he rode, they levelled
them together and pulled the triggers. The
effort was answered by the mere snapping of the
locks.
“Enough,” said the old man rising with dignity;
“I have cast away the priming; for certain death
would follow your rashness. Now let us meet our
fates like men. Cringing and complaining find no
favour in Indian eyes.”
His appearance was greeted by a yell, that spread
far and wide over the plain, and in a moment a hundred
savages were seen riding madly to the spot.
though a single gleam of fierce joy broke
through his clouded brow, and the heart of Middleton
grew cold as he caught the expression of that eye,
which the chief turned on the nearly insensible but
still lovely Inez.
The exultation of receiving the white captives was
so great, as for a time to throw the dark and immoveable
form of their young Indian companion entirely
out of view. He stood apart, disdaining to turn an
eye on his enemies, as motionless as though he were
frozen in that attitude of dignity and composure.
But when a little time had passed, even this secondary
object attracted the attention of the Tetons.
Then it was that the trapper first learned, by the
shout of triumph and the long drawn yell of delight,
which burst at once from a hundred throats, as well
as by the terrible name, which filled the air, that his
youthful friend was no other than that redoubtable
and hitherto invincible warrior, the mighty Hard-Heart.
| CHAPTER VII. The prairie | |