University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

During the occurrence of these events on the upland
plain, the warriors on the bottom had not been
idle. We left the adverse bands watching each other
on the opposite banks of the stream, each endeavouring
to excite its enemy to some act of indiscretion,
by the most reproachful taunts and revilings. But
the Pawnee chief was not slow to discover that his
crafty antagonist had no objection to waste the time
so idly, and, as they mutually proved, in expedients
that were so entirely useless. He changed his plans,
accordingly, and withdrew from the bank, as has been
already explained through the mouth of the trapper,
in order to invite the more numerous host of the
Siouxes to cross. The challenge was not accepted,
and the Loups were compelled to frame some other
method to attain their end.

Instead of any longer throwing away the precious
moments, in fruitless endeavours to induce his foe to
cross the stream, the young partisan of the Pawnees
led his troops, at a swift gallop, along its margin, in
quest of some favourable spot, where by a sudden
push he might throw his own band without loss to
the opposite shore. The instant his object was discovered,
each mounted Teton received a footman
behind him, and Mahtoree was still enabled to concentrate
his whole force against the effort. Perceiving
that his design was anticipated, and unwilling to
blow his horses by a race that would disqualify them
for service even after they had succeeded in outstripping
the more heavily-burdened cattle of the Siouxes,
Hard-Heart drew up, and came to a dead halt on the
very margin of the water-course.

As the country was too open for any of the usual
devices of savage warfare, and time was so pressing,
the chivalrous Pawnee resolved to bring on the result
by one of those acts of personal daring, for
which the Indian braves are so remarkable, and by
which they so often purchase their highest and dearest
renown. The spot he had selected was favourable
to such a project. The river, which throughout
most of its course was deep and rapid, had expanded
there to more than twice its customary width, and
the rippling of its waters proved that it flowed over
a shallow bottom. In the centre of the current there
was an extensive and naked bed of sand, but a little
raised above the level of the stream, and of a colour
and consistency which warranted, to a practised eye,
that it afforded a firm and safe foundation for the
foot. To this spot the partisan now turned his wistful
gaze, nor was he long in making his decision.
First speaking to his warriors, and apprizing them of
his intentions, he dashed into the current, and partly
by swimming, and more by the use of his horse's feet,
he quickly reached the island in safety.

The experience of Hard-Heart had not deceived
him. When his snorting steed issued from the water,
he found himself on a tremulous but damp and compact
bed of sand, that was admirably adapted to the
exhibition of the finest powers of the animal. The
horse seemed conscious of the advantage, and bore
his warlike rider, with an elasticity of step and a
loftiness of air, that would have done no discredit to
the highest trained and most generous charger. The
blood of the chief himself quickened with the excitement
of his striking situation. He sat the beast as
though he was conscious that the eyes of two tribes
were on his movements, and as nothing could be
more acceptable and grateful to his own band than
this display of native grace and courage, so nothing
could be more taunting and humiliating to their
enemies.

The sudden appearance of the Pawnee on the
sands was announced among the Tetons by a general
yell of savage anger. A rush was made to the shore,
followed by a discharge of fifty arrows and a few
fusees, and on the part of several braves there was a
plain manifestation of a desire to plunge into the
water, in order to punish the temerity of their insolent
foe. But a call and a mandate from Mahtoree
checked the rising, and nearly ungovernable, temper
of his band. So far from allowing a single foot to be
wet, or a repetition of the fruitless efforts of his people
to drive away their foe with missiles, the whole
of the party was commanded to retire from the shore,
while he himself communicated his intentions to one
or two of his most favoured followers.

When the Pawnees had observed the rush of their
enemies, twenty warriors rode into the stream; but
so soon as they perceived that the Tetons had withdrawn,
they fell back to a man, leaving the young
chief to the support of his own often-tried skill and
well-established courage. The instructions of Hard-Heart,

on quitting his band, had been worthy of the
self-devotion and daring of his character. So long
as single warriors came against him, he was to be left
to the keeping of the Wahcondah and his own arm,
but should the Siouxes attack him in numbers, he
was to be sustained, man for man, even to the extent
of his whole force. These generous orders were
strictly obeyed; and though so many hearts in the
troop panted to share in the glory and danger of
their partisan, not a warrior was found, among them
all, who did not know how to conceal his impatience
under the usual mask of Indian self-restraint. They
watched the issue with quick and jealous eyes, nor
did a single exclamation of surprise escape them,
when they saw, as will soon be apparent, that the
experiment of their chief was as likely to conduce to
peace as to war.

Mahtoree was not long in communicating his plans
to his confidants, whom he as quickly dismissed to
join their fellows in the rear. The Teton entered a
short distance into the stream and halted. Here he
raised his hand several times, with the palm outwards,
and made several of those other signs, which
are construed into a pledge of amicable intentions
among the inhabitants of those regions. Then, as if
to confirm the sincerity of his faith, he cast his fusee
to the shore, and entered deeper into the water,
where he again came to a stand, in order to see in
what manner the Pawnee would receive his pledges
of peace.

The crafty Sioux had not made his calculations on
the noble and honest nature of his more youthful
rival in vain. Hard-Heart had continued galloping
across the sands, during the discharge of missiles and
the appearance of a general onset, with the same
proud and confident mien, as that with which he had
first braved the danger. When he saw the well-known
person of the Teton partisan enter the river,

he waved his hand in triumph, and flourishing his
lance, he raised the thrilling war-cry of his people,
as a challenge for him to come on. But when he
saw the signs of a truce, though deeply practised in
the treachery of savage combats, he disdained to
show a less manly reliance on himself, than that
which his enemy had seen fit to exhibit. Riding to
the farthest extremity of the sands, he cast his own
fusee from him, and returned to the point whence he
had started.

The two chiefs were now armed alike. Each had
his spear, his bow, his quiver, his little battle-axe and
his knife; and each had, also, a shield of hides, which
might serve as a means of defence against a surprise
from any of these weapons. The Sioux no longer
hesitated, but advanced deeper into the stream, and
soon landed on a point of the island which his courteous
adversary had left free for that purpose. Had
one been there to watch the countenance of Mahtoree,
as he crossed the water that separated him
from the most formidable and the most hated of all
his rivals, he might have fancied that he could trace
the gleamings of a secret joy, breaking through the
cloud which deep cunning and heartless treachery
had drawn before his swarthy visage; and yet there
would have been moments, when he might have believed
that the flashings of the Teton's eye and the
expansion of his nostrils, had their origin in a nobler
sentiment, and one far more worthy of an Indian
chief.

The Pawnee had withdrawn to his own side of the
sands, where he awaited the time of his enemy with
calmness and dignity. The Teton made a short turn
or two, to curb the impatience of his steed, and to
recover his seat after the effort of crossing, and then
he rode into the centre of the place, and invited the
other, by a courteous gesture, to approach. Hard-Heart
drew nigh, until he found himself at a distance

equally suited to advance or to retreat, and, in his
turn, he came to a stand, keeping his glowing eye
riveted on that of his enemy. A long and grave
pause succeeded this movement, during which these
two distinguished braves, who were now, for the first
time, confronted, with arms in their hands, sat regarding
each other, like warriors who knew how to
value the merits of a gallant foe, however hated.
But the mien of Mahtoree was far less stern and
warlike than that of the partisan of the Loups.
Throwing his shield over his shoulder, as if to invite
the confidence of the other, he made a gesture of
salutation and was the first to speak.

“Let the Pawnees go upon the hills,” he said,
“and look from the morning to the evening sun,
from the country of snows to the land of many
flowers, and they will see that the earth is very large.
Why cannot the Red-men find room on it for all their
villages?”

“Has the Teton ever known a warrior of the Loups
come to his towns to beg a place for his lodge?” returned
the young brave, with a look in which pride
and contempt were not attempted to be concealed;
“when the Pawnees hunt, do they send runners to
ask Mahtoree if there are no Siouxes on the prairies?”

“When there is hunger in the lodge of a warrior,
he looks for the buffaloe, which is given him for
food,” the Teton continued, struggling to keep down
the ire which was excited by the other's scorn.
“The Wahcondah has made more of them than he
has made Indians. He has not said, this buffaloe
shall be for a Pawnee, and that for a Dahcotah; this
beaver for a Konza, and that for an Omahaw. No;
he said, there are enough. I love my red children,
and I have given them great riches. The swiftest
horse shall not go from the village of the Tetons to
the village of the Loups in many suns. It is far from

the towns of the Pawnees to the river of the Osages.
There is room for all that I love. Why then should
a Red-man strike his brother?”

Hard-Heart dropped one end of his lance to the
earth, and having also cast his shield across his
shoulder, he sat leaning lightly on the weapon, as he
answered with a smile of no doubtful expression—

“Are the Tetons weary of the hunts and of the
war-path? do they wish to cook the venison, and
not to kill it? Do they intend to let the hair cover
their heads, that their enemies shall not know where
to find their scalps! Go; a Pawnee warrior will
never come among such Sioux squaws for a wife!”

A frightful gleam of ferocity broke out of the restraint
of the Dahcotah's countenance, as he listened
to this biting insult, but he was quick in subduing the
tell-tale sentiment, in an expression much better
suited to his present purpose.

“This is the way a young chief should talk of
war,” he answered with singular composure; “but
Mahtoree has seen the misery of more winters than
his brother. When the nights have been long, and
darkness has been in his lodge, while the young men
slept, he has thought of the hardships of his people.
He has said to himself: Teton, count the scalps in
your smoke. They are all red but two! Does the
wolf destroy the wolf, or the rattler strike his brother?
You know they do not; therefore, Teton, are you
wrong to go on a path that leads to the village of a
Red-skin, with the tomahawk in your hand.”

“The Sioux would rob the warrior of his fame?
He would say to his young men: go, dig roots in the
prairies, and find holes to bury your tomahawks in;
you are no longer braves!”

“If the tongue of Mahtoree ever says thus,” returned
the crafty chief, with an appearance of strong
indignation, “let his women cut it out, and burn it
with the offals of the buffaloe. No,” he added, advancing

a few feet nigher to the immoveable Hard-Heart,
as if in the sincerity of his confidence; “the
Red-man can never want an enemy; they are plentier
than the leaves on the trees, the birds in the heavens,
or the buffaloes on the prairies. Let my brother
open his eyes wide; does he no where see an enemy
he would strike?”

“How long is it since the Teton counted the scalps
of his warriors, that were drying in the smoke of a
Pawnee lodge? The hand that took them is here,
and ready to make eighteen, twenty.”

“Now let not the mind of my brother go on a crooked
path. If a Red-skin strikes a Red-skin forever, who
will be masters of the prairies, when nk warriors are
left to say. `they are mine.' Hear the voices of the
old men. They tell us that in their days many Indians
have come out of the woods under the rising
sun, and that they have filled the prairies with their
complaints of the robberies of the Long-knives.
Where a Pale-face comes, a Red-man cannot stay.
The land is too small. They are always hungry.
See, they are here already!”

As the Teton spoke, he pointed towards the tents
of Ishmael, which were in plain sight, and then he
paused, to await the effect of his words on the mind
of his ingenuous foe. Hard-Heart listened, like one
in whom a train of novel ideas had been excited by
the reasoning of the other. He mused for near a
minute, before he demanded—

“What do the wise chiefs of the Sioux say must
be done?”

“They think that the moccasin of every Pale-face
should be followed, like the track of the bear. That
the Long-knife, who comes upon the prairie, should
never go back. That the path shall be open to those
who come, and shut to those who go. Yonder are
many. They have horses and guns. They are rich,
but we are poor. Will the Pawnees meet the Tetons

in council; and when the sun is gone behind the
Rocky Mountains, they will say, this is for a Loup
and this for a Sioux.”

“Teton—no! Hard-Heart has never struck the
stranger. They come into his lodge and eat, and
they go out in safety. A mighty chief is their friend!
When my people call the young men to go on the
war-path, the moccasin of Hard-Heart is the last.
But his village is no sooner hid by the trees, than it
is the first. No, Teton; his arm will never be lifted
against the stranger.”

“Fool, then die, with empty hands!” Mahtoree
exclaimed, setting an arrow to his bow, and sending
it, with a sudden and deadly aim, full at the naked
bosom of his generous and confiding enemy.

The action of the treacherous Teton was too
quick, and too well matured to admit of any of the
ordinary means of defence, on the part of the Pawnee.
His shield was hanging from his shoulder, and
even the arrow had been suffered to fall from its
place, and lay in the hollow of the hand, which
grasped his bow. But the quick eye of the brave
had time to see the movement, and his ready thoughts
did not desert him. Pulling hard and with a jerk upon
the rein, his steed reared his forward legs into the
air, and, as the rider bent his body low, the horse itself
served for a shield against the danger. So true,
however, was the aim, and so powerful the force by
which it was sent, that the arrow entered the neck of
the animal and broke the skin on the opposite side.

Quicker than thought Hard-Heart sent back an
answering arrow. The shield of the Teton was transfixed,
but his person was untouched. For a few moments
the twang of the bow and the glancing of arrows
were incessant, notwithstanding the combatants
were compelled to give so large a portion of their
care to the means of defence. The quivers were
soon exhausted, and though blood had been drawn,

it was not in sufficient quantities to impair the energy
of the combat.

A series of masterly and rapid evolutions with the
horses now commenced. The wheelings, the charges,
the advances, and the circuitous retreats, were like
the flights of circling swallows. Blows were struck
with the lance, the sand was scattered in the air, and
the shocks often seemed to be unavoidably fatal; but
still each party kept his seat, and still each rein was
managed with a steady hand. At length the Teton
was driven to the necessity of throwing himself from
his horse, to escape a thrust that would otherwise
have proved fatal. The Pawnee passed his lance
through the beast, uttering a shout of triumph as he
galloped by. Turning in his tracks he was about to
push the advantage, when his own mettled steed staggered
and fell, under a burden that he could no longer
sustain. Mahtoree answered his premature cry of
victory, and rushed upon the entangled youth, with
knife and tomahawk. The utmost agility of Hard-Heart
had not sufficed to extricate himself in season
from the fallen beast. He saw that his case was desperate.
Feeling for his knife, he took the blade between
a finger and thumb, and cast it with admirable
coolness at his advancing foe. The keen weapon
whirled a few times in the air and its point meeting
the naked breast of the impetuous Sioux, the blade
was buried to the buck-horn haft.

Mahtoree laid his hand on the weapon, and seemed
to hesitate whether to withdraw it or not. For a
moment his countenance darkened with the most inextinguishable
hatred and ferocity, and then, as if
inwardly admonished how little time he had to lose,
he staggered to the edge of the sands, and halted with
his feet in the water. The cunning and duplicity,
which had so long obscured the brighter and nobler
traits of his character, were lost in the never dying
sentiment of pride, which he had imbibed in youth.

“Boy of the Loups!” he said with a smile of grim
satisfaction, “the scalp of a mighty Dahcotah shall
never dry in Pawnee smoke!”

Drawing the knife from the wound he hurled it
towards the enemy in disdain. Then shaking his
arm at his successful foe, his swarthy countenance
appearing to struggle with volumes of scorn and
hatred that he could not utter with the tongue, he
cast himself headlong into one of the most rapid
veins of the current, his hand still waving in triumph
above the fluid, even after his body had sunk into the
tide forever. Hard-Heart was by this time free. The
silence, which had hitherto reigned in the bands, was
suddenly broken by general and tumultuous shouts.
Fifty of the adverse warriors were already in the
river, hastening to destroy or to defend the conqueror,
and the combat was rather on the eve of its commencement
than near its termination. But to all
these signs of danger and need, the young victor was
insensible. He sprange for the knife, and bounded
with the foot of an antelope along the sands, looking
for the receding fluid, which concealed his prize. A
dark, bloody spot indicated the place, and, armed
with the knife, he plunged into the stream, resolute
to die in the flood, or to return with his trophy.

In the mean time the sands became a scene of
bloodshed and violence. Better mounted and perhaps
more ardent, the Pawnees had, however, reached
the spot in sufficient numbers to force their enemies
to retire. The victors pushed their success to
the opposite shore and gained the solid ground in the
mêlée of the fight. Here they were met by all the
unmounted Tetons and, in their turn, they were forced
to give way.

The combat now became more characteristic and
circumspect. As the hot impulses, which had driven
both parties to mingle in so deadly a struggle, began
to cool, the chiefs were enabled to exercise their influence

and to temper the assaults with prudence. In
consequence of the admonitions of their leaders, the
Siouxes sought such covers as the grass afforded, or
here and there some bush or slight inequality of the
ground, and the charges of the Pawnee warriors
necessarily became more wary, and of course less
fatal.

In this manner the contest continued with a varied
success, and without much loss. The Siouxes had
succeeded in forcing themselves into a thick growth
of rank grass, where the horses of their enemies
could not enter, or where, when entered, they were
worse than useless. It became necessary to dislodge
the Tetons from this cover, or the object of the
combat must be abandoned. Several desperate efforts
had been repulsed, and the disheartened Pawnees
were beginning to think of a retreat, when the well-known
war-cry of Hard-Heart was heard at hand, and
at the next instant the chief appeared in their centre,
flourishing the scalp of the Great Sioux, as a banner
that would lead to victory.

He was greeted by a shout of delight, and followed
into the cover, with an impetuosity that, for the moment,
drove all before it. But the bloody trophy in
the hand of the partisan served as an incentive to the
attacked as well as to the assailants. Mahtoree had
left many a daring brave behind him in his band, and
the orator, who in the debates of that day had manifested
such pacific thoughts, now exhibited the most
generous self-devotion, in order to wrest the memorial
of a man he had never loved, from the hands of
the avowed enemies of his people.

The result was in favour of numbers. After a
severe struggle, in which the finest displays of personal
intrepidity were exhibited by all the chiefs, the
Pawnees were compelled to retire upon the open
bottom, closely pressed by the Siouxes, who failed

not to seize each foot of ground that was ceded by
their enemies. Had the Tetons stayed their efforts
on the margin of the grass, it is probable that the
honour of the day would have been theirs, notwithstanding
the irretrievable loss they had sustained in
the death of Mahtoree. But the more reckless braves
of the band were guilty of an indiscretion, that entirely
changed the fortunes of the fight, and suddenly
stripped them of all their hard-earned advantages.

A Pawnee chief had sunk under the numerous
wounds he had received, and he fell, a target for a
dozen arrows, in the very last groupe of his retiring
party. Regardless alike of inflicting further injury
on their foes, and of the temerity of the act, every
Sioux brave bounded forward with a whoop, each
man burning with the wish to reap the high renown
of striking the body of the dead. They were met
by Hard-Heart and a chosen knot of warriors, all of
whom were just as stoutly bent on saving the honour
of their nation from so foul a stain. The struggle
was now hand to hand, and blood began to flow more
freely. As the Pawnees retired with the body, the
Siouxes pressed upon their footsteps, and at length
the whole of the latter broke out of the cover with
a common yell, and threatened to bear down all opposition
by sheer physical superiority.

The fate of Hard-Heart and his companions, all of
whom would have died rather than relinquish their
object, would now have been quickly sealed, but for
a powerful and unlooked-for interposition in their
favour. A shout was heard from a little brake on
the left, and a volley from the fatal western rifle immediately
succeeded. Some five or six Siouxes leaped
forward and fell in the death agony at the reports, and
every arm among them was as suddenly suspended,
as though the lightning had flashed from the clouds to
aid the cause of the Loups. Then came Ishmael

and his stout sons in open view, bearing down upon
their late treacherous allies, with looks and voices
that proclaimed the character of their succour.

The shock was too much for the fortitude of the
Tetons. Several of their bravest chiefs had already
fallen, and those that remained were instantly abandoned
by the whole of the inferior herd. A few of
the most desperate braves still lingered nigh the fatal
symbol of their honour, and there nobly met their
deaths under the blows of the re-encouraged Pawnees.
A second discharge from the rifles of the squatter
and his party, however, completed the victory.

The Siouxes were now to be seen flying to more
distant covers, with the same eagerness and desperation
as, a few moments before, they had been plunging
into the fight. The triumphant Pawnees bounded
forward in chase, like so many high-blooded and well-trained
hounds. On every side were heard the cries
of victory or the yell of revenge. A few of the fugitives
endeavoured to bear away the bodies of their
fallen warriors, but the hot pursuit quickly compelled
them to abandon the slain, in order to preserve the
living. Among all the struggles, which were made
on that occasion, to guard the honour of the Siouxes
from the stain which their peculiar opinions attached
to the possession of the scalp of a fallen brave, but
one solitary instance of success occurred.

The opposition of a particular chief to the hostile
proceedings in the councils of that morning has been
already seen. But, after having raised his voice in
vain, in support of peace, his arm was not backward in
doing its duty in the war. His prowess has been mentioned,
and it was chiefly by his courage and example,
that the Tetons sustained themselves in the heroic
manner they did, when the death of Mahtoree was
known. This warrior, who was called in the figurative
language of his people `the Swooping Eagle,' had
been the last to abandon the hopes of victory. When

he found that the support of the dreaded rifle had
robbed his band of their hard-earned advantages, he
sullenly retired amid a shower of missiles, to the
secret spot where he had hid his horse in the mazes
of the highest grass. Here he found a new and an
entirely unexpected competitor, ready to dispute with
him for the possession of the beast. It was Boreecheena,
the aged friend of Mahtoree; he whose voice
had been given in opposition to his own wiser opinions,
transfixed with an arrow, and evidently suffering
under the pangs of approaching death.

“I have been on my last war-path,” said the grim
old warrior, when he found that the real owner of
the animal had come to claim his property; “shall
a Pawnee carry the white hairs of a Sioux into his
village, to be a scorn to his women and children?”

The other grasped his hand, answering to the appeal
with the stern look of inflexible resolution.
With this silent pledge, he assisted the wounded
man to mount. So soon as he had led the horse to
the margin of the cover, he threw himself also on its
back, and securing his companion to his belt, he issued
on the open plain, trusting entirely to the well-known
speed of the beast for their mutual safety.
The Pawnees were not long in catching a view of
these new objects, and several turned their steeds to
pursue. The race continued for a mile, without a
murmur from the sufferer, though in addition to the
agony of his body, he had the pain of seeing his enemies
approach at every leap of their horses.

“Stop,” he said, raising a feeble arm to check the
speed of his companion; “the Eagle of my tribe
must spread his wings wider. Let him carry the
white hairs of an old warrior into the burnt-wood
village!”

Few words were necessary between men who
were governed by the same feelings of glory, and
who were so well trained in the principles of their

romantic honour. The Swooping Eagle threw himself
from the back of the horse and assisted the other
to alight. The old man raised his tottering frame to
its knees, and first casting a glance upward at the
countenance of his countryman, as if to bid him
adieu, he stretched out his neck to the blow he himself
invited. A few strokes of the tomahawk, with a
circling gash from the knife, sufficed to sever the
head from the less valued trunk. The Teton mounted
again, just in season to escape a flight of arrows
which came from his eager and disappointed pursuers.
Flourishing the grim and bloody visage, he
darted away from the spot with a shout of triumph,
and was seen scouring the plains, as though he were
actually borne along on the wings of the powerful
bird from whose qualities he had received his flattering
name. The Swooping Eagle reached his village
in safety. He was one of the few Siouxes who
escaped from the massacre of that fatal day, and for
a long time he alone of the saved was able to lift his
voice again, in the councils of his nation, with undiminished
confidence.

The knife and the lance cut short the retreat of
the larger portion of the vanquished. Even the retiring
party of the women and children were scattered
by the conquerors, and the sun had long sunk behind
the rolling outline of the western horizon before
the fell business of that disastrous defeat was
entirely ended.