 | CHAPTER III. The prairie |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
“Welcome, ancient Pistol.”
—Shakspeare.
It was not long, before the trapper pointed out
the commanding person of Mahtoree, as the leader
of the Siouxes. This chief, who had been among
the last to obey the vociferous summons of Weucha,
no sooner reached the spot, where his whole party
horse, and proceeded to examine the marks of the
extraordinary trail, with that degree of dignity and
attention which became his high and responsible station.
The warriors, for it was but too evident that
they were to a man of that fearless and ruthless
class, awaited the result of his investigation with patient
reserve; none but a few of the principal braves
presuming even to speak, while their leader was thus
gravely occupied. It was several minutes before
Mahtoree seemed satisfied. He then directed his
eyes along the ground to those several places where
Ishmael had found the same revolting evidences of
the passage of some bloody struggle, and motioned
to his people to follow.”
The whole band advanced in a body towards the
thicket, until they came to a halt within a few yards
of the precise spot where Esther had stimulated her
sluggish sons to break into the cover. The reader
will readily imagine that the trapper and his companions
were not indifferent observers of such a
threatening movement. The old man summoned all
who were capable of bearing arms to his side, and
demanded, in very unequivocal terms, though in a
voice that was suitably lowered, in order to escape
the ears of their dangerous neighbours, whether they
were disposed to make battle for their liberty, or
whether they should try the milder expedient of conciliation.
As it was a subject, in which all had an
equal interest, he put the question as to a council of
war, and not without some slight exhibition of the
lingering vestiges of a nearly extinct military pride.
Paul and the Doctor were diametrically opposed to
each other in opinion; the former advocating an immediate
appeal to arms, and the latter as warmly espousing
the policy of pacific measures. Middleton,
who saw that there was great danger of a hot verbal
dispute between two men, who were governed by
office of arbiter; or rather to decide the question, in
virtue of his situation making him a sort of umpire.
He also leaned to the side of peace, for he evidently
saw that, in consequence of the vast superiority of
their enemies, violence would irretrievably lead to
their destruction.
The trapper listened to the reasons of the young
soldier with great attention; and, as they were given
with the steadiness of one who did not suffer apprehension
to blind his judgment, they did not fail to
produce a suitable impression.
“It is rational,” rejoined the trapper, when the
other had delivered his reasons; “It is very rational,
for what man cannot move with his strength he must
circumvent with his wits. It is reason that makes
him stronger than the buffaloe and swifter than the
moose. Now stay you here, and keep yourselves
close. My life and my traps are but of little value,
when the welfare of so many human souls are concerned,
and, moreover, I may say that I know the
windings of Indian cunning. Therefore will I go
alone upon the prairie. It may so happen, that I can
yet draw the eyes of a Sioux from this spot and give
you time and room to fly.”
As if resolved to listen to no remonstrance, the
old man quietly shouldered his rifle, and moving leisurely
through the thicket, he issued on the plain, at
a point whence he might first appear before the eyes
of the Siouxes, without exciting their suspicions that
he came from its cover.
The instant that the figure of a man dressed in the
garb of a hunter, and bearing the well known and
much dreaded rifle, appeared before the eyes of the
Siouxes, there was a sensible, though a suppressed
sensation in the band. The artifice of the trapper
had so far succeeded as to render it extremely doubtful
whether he came from some point on the open
continued to cast frequent and suspicious glances at
the cover. They had made their halt at the distance of
an arrow-flight from the bushes, but when the stranger
came sufficiently nigh to show that the deep coating
of red and brown, which time and exposure had
given to his features, was laid upon the original colour
of a Pale-face, they slowly receded from the
spot, until they reached a distance that might render
the aim of fire-arms less fatal.
In the mean time the old man continued to advance,
until he had got nigh enough to make himself
heard without difficulty. Here he stopped, and
dropping his rifle to the earth, he raised his hand
with the palm outward, in token of peace. After uttering
a few words of reproach to his hound, who
watched the savage groupe with eyes that seemed to
recognise them, as the former captors of his master,
he spoke in the Sioux tongue—
“My brothers are welcome,” he said, cunningly
constituting himself the master of the region in
which they had met, and assuming the offices of hospitality.
“They are far from their villages, and are
hungry. Will they follow to my lodge, to eat and
sleep?”
No sooner was his voice heard, than the yell of
pleasure, which burst from a dozen mouths, convinced
the sagacious trapper, that he also was recognized.
Feeling that it was too late to retreat, he profited
by the confusion which prevailed among them,
while Weucha was explaining his character, to advance,
until he was again face to face with the redoubtable
Mahtoree himself. The second interview
between these two men, each of whom was extraordinary
in his way, was marked by the usual caution
of the frontiers. They stood, for nearly a minute,
examining each other without speaking.
“Where are your young men?” sternly demanded
features of the trapper refused to betray
any of their master's secrets under his intimidating
look.
“The Long-knives do not come in bands to trap
the beaver? I am alone.”
“Your head is white, but you have a forked
tongue. Mahtoree has been in your camp. He
knows that you are not alone. Where is your young
wife, and the warrior that I found upon the prairie?”
“I have no wife. I have told my brother that the
woman and her friend were strangers. The words
of a gray head should be heard, and not forgotten.
The Dahcotahs found travellers asleep, and they
thought they had no need of horses. The women
and children of a Pale-face are not used to go far on
foot. Let them be sought where you left them.”
The eyes of the Teton flashed fire as he answered—
“They are gone: but Mahtoree is a wise chief,
and his eyes can see a great distance!”
“Does the partisan of the Tetons see men on
these naked fields?” retorted the trapper, with great
steadiness of mien. “I am very old, and my eyes
grow dim. Where do they stand?”
The chief remained silent a moment, as if he disdained
to contest any further the truth of a fact,
concerning which he was already satisfied. Then
pointing to the traces on the earth, he said, with a
sudden transition to mildness, in his eye and manner—
“My father has learnt wisdom, in many winters;
can he tell me whose moccasin has left this trail?”
“There have been wolves and buffaloes on the
prairies; and there may have been cougars too.”
Mahtoree glanced his eye at the thicket, as if he
thought the latter suggestion not impossible. Pointing
it more closely, cautioning them, at the same
time, with a stern look at the trapper, to beware of
treachery from the Big-knives. Three or four half-naked,
eager-looking youths lashed their horses at
the word, and darted away to obey the mandate.
The old man trembled a little for the discretion of
Paul, when he saw this demonstration. The Tetons
encircled the place two or three times, approaching
nigher and nigher at each circuit, and then gallopped
back to their leader to report that the copse
seemed empty. Notwithstanding the trapper watched
the eye of Mahtoree, to detect the inward movements
of his mind, and if possible to anticipate, in
order to direct his suspicions, the utmost sagacity of
one so long accustomed to study the cold habits of
the Indian race, could however detect no symptom
or expression that denoted how far he credited or
distrusted this intelligence. Instead of replying to
the information of his scouts, he spoke kindly to his
horse, and motioning to a youth to receive the bridle,
or rather halter, by which he governed the animal,
he took the trapper by the arm, and led him a
little apart from the rest of the band.
“Has my brother been a warrior?” said the wily
Teton, in a tone that he intended should be conciliating.
“Do the leaves cover the trees in the season of
fruits? Go. The Dahcotahs have not seen as many
warriors living as I have looked on in their blood!
But what signifies idle remembrancing,” he added
in English, “when limbs grow stiff, and sight is failing!”
The chief regarded him a moment with a severe
look, as if he would lay bare the falsehood he had
heard, but meeting in the calm eye and steady mien
of the trapper a confirmation of the truth of what
gently on his head, in token of the respect that was
due to the other's years and experience.
“Why then do the Big-knives tell their red brethren
to bury the tomahawk,” he said, “when their
own young men never forget that they are braves,
and meet each other so often with bloody hands?”
“My nation is more numerous than the buffaloes
on the prairies, or the pigeons in the air. Their
quarrels are frequent; yet their warriors are few.
None go out on the war-path but they who are gifted
with the qualities of a brave, and therefore such see
many battles.”
“It is not so—my father is mistaken,” returned
Mahtoree, indulging in a smile of exulting penetration,
at the very instant he corrected the force of his
denial, in deference to the years and services of one
so aged. “The Big-knives are very wise, and they
are men; all of them would be warriors. They
would leave the Red-skins to dig roots and hoe the
corn. But a Dahcotah is not born to live like a woman;
he must strike the Pawnee and the Omahaw,
or he will lose the name of his fathers.”
“The Master of Life looks with an open eye on
his children, who die in a battle that is fought for the
right; but he is blind, and his ears are shut to the
cries of an Indian, who is killed when plundering or
doing evil to his neighbour.”
“My father is old;” said Mahtoree, looking at his
aged companion, with an expression of irony, that
sufficiently denoted he was one of those who overstep
the trammels of education, and who are perhaps
a little given to abuse the mental liberty they thus
obtain. “He is very old: Has he made a journey
to the far country; and has he been at the trouble
to come back, to tell the young men what he has
seen?”
“Teton,” returned the trapper, throwing the
and regarding his companion with steady serenity,
“I have heard that there are men, among my
people, who study their great medicines until they
believe themselves to be gods, and who laugh at all
faith except in their own vanities. It may be true.
It is true; for I have seen them. When man is shut
up in towns and schools, with his own follies, it may
be easy to believe himself greater than the Master
of Life; but a warrior, who lives in a house with
the clouds for its roof, where he can at any moment
look both at the heavens and at the earth, and who
daily sees the power of the Great Spirit, should be
more humble. A Dahcotah chieftain ought to be too
wise to laugh at justice.”
The crafty Mahtoree, who saw that his free-thinking
was not likely to produce a favourable impression
on the old man, instantly changed his ground, by alluding
to the more immediate subject of their interview.
Laying his hand gently on the shoulder of
the trapper, he led him forward, until they both
stood within fifty feet of the margin of the thicket.
Here he fastened his penetrating eyes on the other's
honest countenance, and continued the discourse—
“If my father has hid his young men in the bush,
let him tell them to come forth. You see that a
Dahcotah is not afraid. Mahtoree is a great chief!
A warrior, whose head is white, and who is about to
go to the Land of Spirits, cannot have a tongue with
two ends, like a serpent.”
“Dahcotah, I have told no lie. Since the Great
Spirit made me a man, I have lived in the wilderness,
or on these naked plains, without lodge or family.
I am a hunter and go on my path alone.”
“My father has a good carabine. Let him point
it in the bush and fire.”
The old man hesitated a moment, and then slowly
prepared himself to give this delicate assurance of
perceived the suspicions of his crafty companion
could not be lulled. As he lowered his rifle, his
eye, although greatly dimmed and weakened by age,
ran over the confused collection of objects, that lay
embedded amid the party-coloured foliage of the
thicket, until it succeeded in catching a glimpse of
the brown covering of the stem of a small tree.
With this object in view, he raised the piece to a
level and fired. The bullet had no sooner glided
from the barrel than a tremor seized the hands of
the trapper, which, had it occurred a moment sooner,
would have utterly disqualified him for such a
hazardous experiment. A frightful silence for an instant
succeeded the report, during which he expected
to hear the shrieks of the females, and then, as
the smoke whirled away in the wind, he caught a
view of the fluttering bark, and felt assured that all
his former skill was not entirely departed from him.
Dropping the piece to the earth, he turned again to
his companion with an air of the utmost composure,
and demanded—
“Is my brother satisfied?”
“Mahtoree is a chief of the Dahcotahs;” returned
the cunning Teton, laying his hand on his chest;
in acknowledgement of the other's sincerity. “He
knows that a warrior, who has smoked at so many
council-fires, until his head has grown white, would
not be found in wicked company. But did not my
father once ride on a horse, like a rich chief of the
Pale-faces, instead of travelling on foot like a hungry
Konza?”
“Never! The Wahcondah has given me legs and
he has given me resolution to use them. For sixty
summers and winters did I journey in the woods of
America, and ten tiresome years have I dwelt on
these open fields, without finding need to call often
carry me from place to place.”
“If my father has so long lived in the shade, why
has he come upon the prairies? The sun will scorch
him.”
The old man looked sorrowfully about for a moment,
and then turning with a sort of confidential air
to the other, he replied—
“I passed the spring, summer, and autumn of life
among the trees. The winter of my days had come,
and found me where I loved to be, in the quiet—ay,
and in the honesty of the woods! Teton, then I
slept happily where my eyes could look up through
the branches of the pines and the beeches, to the
very dwelling of the Good Spirit of my people. If
I had need to open my heart to him, while his fires
were burning above my head, the door was open and
before my eyes. But the axes of the choppers awoke
me. For a long time my ears heard nothing, but the
uproar of clearings. I bore it like a warrior and a
man; there was a reason that I should bear it: but
when that reason was ended, I bethought me to get
beyond the accursed sounds. It was trying to the
courage and to the habits, but I had heard of these
vast and naked fields, and I came hither to escape
the wasteful temper of my people. Tell me, Dahcotah,
have I not done well?”
The trapper laid his long lean finger on the naked
shoulder of the Indian as he ended, and seemed to
demand his felicitations on his ingenuity and success,
with a ghastly smile, in which triumph was singularly
blended with regret. His companion listened intently,
and replied to the question by saying, in the sententious
manner of his race—
“The head of my father is very gray; he has always
lived with men, and he has seen every thing.
What he does is good; what he speaks is wise. Now
Big-knives, who are looking for their beasts on every
side of the prairies and cannot find them?”
“Dahcotah, what I have said is true. I live alone,
and never do I mingle with men whose skins are
white, if—”
His mouth was suddenly closed by an interruption
that was as mortifying as it was unexpected. The
words were still on his tongue, when the bushes on
the side of the thicket where they stood, opened, and
the whole of the party whom he had just left, and
in whose behalf he was endeavouring to reconcile
his love of truth to the necessity of prevaricating,
came openly into view. A pause of mute astonishment
succeeded this unlooked-for spectacle. Then
Mahtoree, who did not suffer a muscle or a joint to
betray the wonder and surprise he actually experienced,
motioned towards the advancing friends of the
trapper with an air of assumed civility and a smile,
that lighted his fierce, dark visage, as the glare of the
setting sun reveals the vast volumes and portentous
load of the cloud that is seen charged to bursting
with the electric fluid. He however disdained to
speak, or to give any other evidence of his intentions
than by calling to his side the distant band,
who sprang forward at his beck with the alacrity of
willing subordinates.
In the mean time the friends of the old man continued
to advance. Middleton himself was foremost,
supporting the light and aerial looking figure of Inez,
on whose anxious and speaking countenance he cast
such occasional glances of tender interest as, in similar
circumstances, a father would have given to his
child. Paul led Ellen close in their rear. But while
the eye of the bee-hunter did not neglect his blooming
companion, it scowled angrily, resembling more
the aspect of the sullen and retreating bear than the
soft intelligence of a favoured suitor. Obed and
with a degree of fondness that could hardly be said
to be exceeded by any other of the party. The approach
of the naturalist was far less rapid than that
of those who preceded him. His feet seemed equally
reluctant to advance or to remain stationary; his
position bearing a great analogy to that of Mahomet's
coffin, with the exception that the quality of
repulsion rather than that of attraction held him in
a state of rest. The repulsive power in his rear
however appeared to predominate, and by a singular
exception, as he would have said himself, to all philosophical
principles, it rather increased than diminished
by distance. As the eyes of the naturalist
steadily maintained a position that was the opposite
of his route, they served to give a direction to those
of the observers of all these movements, and at once
furnished a sufficient clue by which to unravel the
mystery of so sudden a debouchement from the
cover.
Another cluster of stout and armed men was seen
at no great distance, just rounding a point of the
thicket, and moving directly though cautiously towards
the place where the band of the Siouxes was
posted, as a squadron of cruisers is often seen to
steer across the waste of waters, towards the rich
but well-protected convoy. In short, the family of
the squatter, or at least such among them as were
capable of bearing arms, appeared in view, on the
broad prairie, evidently bent on revenging their
wrongs.
Mahtoree and his party slowly retired from the
thicket, the moment they caught a view of the strangers,
until they halted on a swell that commanded a
wide and unobstructed view of the naked fields on
which they stood. Here the Dahcotah appeared disposed
to make his stand, and to bring matters to an
issue. Notwithstanding this retreat, in which he
still advanced, until he too halted on the same elevation
and within speaking distance of the warlike
Siouxes. The borderers in their turn took a favourable
position, though at a much greater distance.
The three groups now resembled so many fleets at
sea, lying with their topsails to the masts, with the
commendable precaution of reconnoitring before
each could ascertain who among the strangers might
be considered as friends and who as foes.
During this moment of suspense, the dark, threatening
eye of Mahtoree rolled from one of the strange
parties to the other, in keen and hasty examination,
and then it turned its withering look on the old man,
as the chief said, in a tone of high and bitter scorn—
“The Big-knives are fools! It is easier to catch
the cougar asleep than to find a blind Dahcotah.
Did the white head think to ride on the horse of a
Sioux?”
The trapper, who had found time to collect his
perplexed faculties, saw at once that Middleton, having
perceived Ishmael on the trail by which they had
fled, preferred trusting to the hospitality of the savages,
than to the treatment he would be likely to receive
from the hands of the squatter. He therefore
disposed himself to clear the way for the favourable
reception of his friends, since he found that the unnatural
coalition became necessary to secure the liberty
if not the lives of the party.
“Did my brother ever go on a war-path to strike
my people?” he calmly demanded of the indignant
chief, who still awaited his reply.
The lowering aspect of the Teton warrior so far
lost its severity, as to suffer a gleam of pleasure and
triumph to lighten its ferocity, as sweeping his arm
in an entire circle around his person he answered—
“What tribe or nation has not felt the blows of
the Dahcotahs? Mahtoree is their partisan.”
“And has he found the Big-knives women, or has
he found them men?”
A multitude of fierce passions seemed struggling
together in the tawny countenance of the Indian, as
he heard this interrogatory. For a moment inextinguishable
hatred seemed to hold the mastery, and
then a nobler expression, and one that better became
the character of a brave warrior, got possession of his
features, and maintained itself until, first throwing
aside his light robe of pictured deer-skin and pointing
to the scar of a bayonet in his breast, he replied—
“It was given as it was taken, face to face.”
“It is enough. My brother is a brave chief, and
he should be a wise one. Let him look; is that a
warrior of the Pale-faces? Was it one such as that
who gave the great Dahcotah his hurt?”
The eyes of Mahtoree followed the direction of the
old man's extended arm, until they rested on the
drooping form of Inez. The look of the Teton was
long, riveted and admiring. Like that of the young
Pawnee, it resembled more the gaze of a mortal on
some heavenly image, than the admiration with which
man is wont to contemplate even the loveliness of
woman. Starting as if suddenly self-convicted of forgetfulness,
the chief next turned his eyes on Ellen,
where they lingered an instant with a much more intelligible
expression of admiration, and then pursued
their course until they had taken another glance at
each individual of the party.
“My brother sees that my tongue is not forked,”
continued the trapper, watching the emotions the
other betrayed with a readiness of comprehension
little inferior to that of the Teton himself. “The
Big-knives do not send their women to war. I know
that the Dahcotahs will smoke with the strangers.”
“Mahtoree is a great chief. The Big-knives are
welcome,” said the Teton, laying his hand on his
breast, with an air of lofty politeness that would have
my young men are in their quivers.”
The trapper motioned to Middleton to approach,
and in a few moments the two parties were blended
in one, each of the males having exchanged friendly
greetings after the fashions of the prairie warriors.
But, even while engaged in this hospitable manner,
the Dahcotah did not fail to keep a strict watch on
the more distant party of white men, as though he
still distrusted an artifice or sought a further explanation.
The old man in his turn perceived the necessity
of being more explicit, and of securing the slight and
equivocal advantage he had already obtained. While
affecting to examine the groupe, which still lingered
at the spot where it had first halted, as if to discover
the characters of those who composed it, he plainly
saw that Ishmael contemplated immediate hostilities.
The result of a conflict on the open prairie, between
a dozen resolute border-men, and the half-armed natives,
even though seconded by their white allies, was
in his experienced judgment a point of great uncertainty,
and though far from reluctant to engage in the
struggle on account of himself, the aged trapper
thought it far more worthy of his years and his character
to avoid than to court the contest. His feelings
were for obvious reasons in accordance with
those of Paul and Middleton, who had lives still more
precious than their own to watch over and protect.
In this dilemma the three consulted on the means of
escaping the frightful consequences, which might immediately
follow a single act of hostility on the part
of the borderers, the old man taking care that their
communication should, in the eyes of those who noted
the expression of their countenances with jealous
watchfulness, bear the appearance of explanations as
to the reason, why such a party of travellers was met
so far in the deserts.
“I know that the Dahcotahs are a wise and great
himself to the chief; “but does not their
partisan know a single brother who is base?”
The eye of Mahtoree wandered proudly around
his band, but rested a moment reluctantly on Weucha,
as he answered—
“The Master of Life has made chiefs, and warriors,
and women;” conceiving that he thus embraced all
the gradations of human excellence from the highest
to the lowest.
“And he has also made Pale-faces, who are wicked.
Such are they whom my brother sees yonder.”
“Do they go on foot to do wrong?” demanded the
Teton, with a wild gleam from his eyes, that sufficiently
betrayed how well he knew the reason why they were
reduced to so humble an expedient.
“Their beasts are gone. But their powder, and
their lead, and their blankets still remain.”
“Do they carry their riches in their hands like
miserable Konzas? or are they brave, and leave
them with the women, as men should do, who know
where to find what they lose.”
“My brother sees the spot of blue across the prairie;
look, the sun has touched it for the last time to
day.”
“Mahtoree is not a mole.”
“It is a rock, and on it are the goods of the Big-knives.”
An expression of savage joy shot into the dark
countenance of the Teton as he listened; turning to
the old man he seemed to read his soul for an instant,
as if to assure himself he was not deceived. Then he
bent his look on the party of Ishmael and counted its
number.
“One warrior is wanting,” he said.
“Does my brother see the buzzards? there is his
grave. Did he find blood on the prairie? it was his.”
“Enough! Mahtoree is a wise chief. Put your
see, for our eyes are open very wide.”
The trapper wasted no unnecessary words in further
explanations. Familiar with the brevity and
promptitude of the natives, he immediately communicated
the result to his companions. Paul was
mounted in an instant, with Ellen at his back. A
few more moments were necessary to assure Middleton
of the security and ease of Inez. While he was
thus engaged Mahtoree advanced to the side of the
beast he had allotted to this service, which was his
own, and manifested an intention to occupy his customary
place on its back. The young soldier seized
the reins of the animal, and glances of sudden anger
and lofty pride were exchanged between them.
“No man takes this seat but myself,” said Middleton,
sternly, in English.
“Mahtoree is a great chief!” retorted the savage;
neither comprehending the meaning of the other's
words.
“The Dahcotah will be too late,” whispered the
old man at his elbow, “see; the Big-knives are afraid
and they will soon run.”
The Teton chief instantly abandoned his claim,
and threw himself on another horse, directing one of
his young men to furnish a similar accommodation
for the trapper. The warriors, who were dismounted,
got up behind as many of their companions.
Doctor Battius bestrode Asinus, and notwithstanding
the brief interruption, in half the time we have taken
to relate it the whole party was prepared to move.
When he saw that all were ready, Mahtoree gave
the signal to advance. A few of the best mounted
of the warriors, the chief himself included, moved a
little in front, and made a threatening demonstration,
as if they intended to attack the strangers. The
squatter, who was in truth slowly retiring, instantly
halted his party, and showed a willing front. Instead
aim of the western rifle, the subtle savages kept
wheeling about the strangers, until they had made a
half circuit, keeping the latter in constant expectation
of an assault. Then perfectly secure of their
object, the Tetons raised a loud shout and darted
across the prairie in a line for the distant rock, with
the directness and nearly with the velocity of the arrow
that has just been shot from its bow.
| CHAPTER III. The prairie | |