 | CHAPTER VII. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
The important and interesting discovery
which we referred to in the last
chapter, was one which came to light
from the account of their families. It
revealed to them the fact that they were
related to each other by dearer ties than
they had dreamed of. The reader will
recollect that we mentioned, in the early
part of our history, that the mother of
our hero was the daughter of Mr. Leslie,
of New York; and, also, that Jonathan's
family name was Leslie. The fact escaped
the notice of Charles when it was
first mentioned, but afterwards, when he
became better acquainted, he called the
attention of his companion to it. Jonathan
at once said to him,
“I guess you are my cousin, Charles;
for my father has a cousin in New York
that answers to your account of your
mother's father, whose name is Leslie,
and who is a man of great wealth, and
has been a merchant.”
After several farther inquiries on both
sides, and answers by each, they both
came to the conclusion that it was indeed
both found new cause to congratulate
each other on this discovery, and it
tended to strengthen and confirm the
friendship they already felt for each
other.
Their arrangements completed, without
delay, they hastened onward on their
journey. It was at an early hour in
the morning they left their hotel, and
embarked on board the boat which was
to take them up the Missouri river. It
was their purpose to continue up the
river as far as its western fork, where
they designed to leave the boat, and continue
along this fork of the river. They
made their journey on the boat pleasantly
and speedily, and, leaving her at
the designated spot, pushed their way
west, to a small place which had become
a famous rendezvous for trappers
and hunters. Here, in the fall of the
year, was their head quarters, and here
they found into parties, and here, too,
they purchased the little articles they
might want, and which they had forgotten
to take elsewhere. When they first
arrived, the most important business was
to find and secure a guide, who should
direct their route and remain with them
during their winter's campaign. These
were usually found among the half-breeds,
who were well fitted for the
office. Having acquired both the language
of the white mand and also the Indian,
they could serve as interpreters
between the two parties; but more especially
were they desirable on account of
their thorough and complete knowledge
of the pathless wilderness through which
our bold hunters roam in search of game.
When our two young friends arrived
here, their first object was, I say, to find
such a guide; and here Charles depended
much on the skill, and address, and
acuteness of his Yankee cousin, for success
in their choice and efforts. There
were but few at the haunt when they
arrived. it being yet rather early for
hunting parties to assemble; but, nevertheless,
Jonathan was not long before he
saw the man upon whom his choice fell,
and who would be the man if he could
be persuaded, induced, or hired to accompany
them. He was a half-breed—his
mother was a Delaware, and his father
Frenchman, who, abandoning his people
lived with the tribe, and adopted their
wild, roving habits of life. This half-breed,
who had attracted the attention of
Jonathan, was a noble specimen of man,
physically at least, and no one who saw
could but notice him. More than six
feet in height, he was straight as the
arrow that he formed to his woodland
bow; in proportions he was exceedingly
graceful and beautiful; his symmetrical
and well-formed limbs were well and
closely knit together, and indicative of
great strength. He plainly showed the
features and characteristics of both races,
which were harmoniously blended in
him. There were, however, two feature
of the red skin which no Indian
ever possessed more marked than did
this half-breed, namely, his eye and hair.
His eye had all that piercing keenness
and dazzling brightness for which the
North American Indian is remarkable;
when aroused, it seemed to glow like
liquid fire, and you could see the lightning
spearks in its flash, and sharp and
searching as the eagle's was the gaze
with which he scrutinized all who approached
him. The other peculiarly
Indian feature was his long, glossy black
hair, which hung in thick, luxuriant
locks, straight as a gun, down the sides
of his face, and fell over his neck and
shoulders. Both his hair and eyes were
black as the raven's wing, or like the
polished jet. But with all this, in moments
of social converse, or in his house
of quiet repose, no face could wear a
milder or more winning aspect than did
his. It at once challenged your confidence
and invited trust; you would
without hesitation, pronounce him a generous,
kind, true man; but, at the same
time, one not to be trifled with or provoked.
There was that lurking in his
eye which cautioned you to beware and
anger him not. In his habits and manners
he followed his free born savage
ancestors: usually he seemed thoughtful,
and appeared wrapt in his own reflections
and communings: sitting by
himself alone, he remained long motionless,
and regardless of all that passed
around him; and when mingling with
he ever preserved that stoicism and
calmness for which the Indian is so remarkable'
he manifested no surprise at
those events or spectacles which would
cause his white companions to burst
forth in some external show of feeling;
but seemed ever ready, ever prepared for
what might come, never taken unexpectedly
or by surprise.
Charles and Jonathan observed him
very closely the first day after their
arrival there, and had some conversation
with him. He appeared to be struck
with their appearance, and showed an
interest in them; and, on their part, they
were both much surprised and pleased
with the intelligence he manifested, the
knowledge which he showed himself
possessed of upon all the subjects they
spoke of, and the noble, generous sentiments
he uttered, in simple but attractive
language. He was a man in years, past
the prime of life; being, as he told
them; upwards of forty years of age;
yet did he display in his motions, in his
ways, and there appeared, also, in his
form, all the vigor and sprightliness of
active youth and strong manhood. At
night, when they retired alone to their
sleeping apartment, he formed the subject
of their consulation. They both
acknowledged themselves favorably impressed
in regard to him; and it was
their spontaneous, quick resolution, the
next morning, to endeavor to find out
what was possible to be known concerning
him from the owner of the hut
where they were, and, in every way
within their reach, to become informed
concerning him; and, if what they could
gather respecting him should be favorable,
to make their proposals to him at
once. Accordingly, the next morning,
they took the first opportunity, when he
was absent, to question their host about
him. In reply to their interrogatories,
he told them that he was the boldest and
most expert hunter in that region. “His
aim with that long rifle you see by his
side is deadly—sure as a thunderbolt,”
said he. “Old Le Beaux can hit the
eye of a squirrel at the distance of a
hundred yards, time after time, so long
as he will fire, and never miss nor very
from the spot he aims at. But,” said
he, “that is not the most remarkable
thing about him: he was wonderful
knowing, he said, and could tell the
wide forest as well as the white
man could the streets of his city; and
he could read the sky and the signs of
the weather, as the white man reads his
book; and besides,” said he, “old Le
Beaux is a christian after his fashion, and
a very good fashion it is too,” said he,
“and many of your talkative, clamorous
christians, that live in your christian land,
would be all the better for learning of
him how to do like a christain. I wish,
indeed, there were many more like him.
When the poor are suffering, and in
trouble, he comes to them with assistance;
supplies their wants, and only
stays with them until they can help themselves,
then leaves them. It matters not
to him whether they be white men, or
red skins, they all alike find a friend in
him; and all the hunters that dwell in
the trackless region that lies West of
here, know him, and love to have in
him a friend. Often has he saved the
lives of the roving parties that range the
woods, when attacked by the savages,
either by warning them before hand, and
preparing them by putting them on their
guard, or else by suddenly appearing in
the midst of them at the moment of peril
and guiding and protecting them. Ah!”
said he, “I could tell you some stories
about his deeds that would make your
eyes stare, and your mouth gape to hear,
and which you would believe impossible
for one man alone to accomplish. He is
both feared and loved by the red skins;
and among all the tribes that roam the
huning grounds, he was warm, fast
friends, that are ever ready to assist
him; and all those hands of hunters
who are known to be his friends are
respected by them. Dare any tribe
slight the claims those bands bave to
protection through his influence, and
presume to injure them, terrible is the
vengeance he takes for such an offence.
And often had the various tribes who
were smarting under the infliction of recent
punishment, endeavored to capture
and destory him, and as often had he baffled
their attempts, and mocked at their
against him, and seemed as if all chance,
all hope of escape were gone, had he in
a wonderful, bold, and undaunted way
saved himself: extricting himself from
the very meshes of their cunning and
treachery.
“But,” said he, on hearing the object
for which they sought him, “I doubt if
you can induce him to go with you. He
is not one who hires himself out as a
guide. All that he does, he does voluntarily,
and will receive no reward for his
labors. He gives often, always, but
never receives, and besides, he is fond
of being alone by himself. All alone,
save only the company of that shaggy,
large dog, you see ever at his heels, or
by his side, he goes through the whole
range of forest that lies between the
white settlements and the Pacific ocean.
In the course of the winter he visits the
many hunters' camps that are pitched in
the midst of the thick, dense forests, or
by the side of the running brooks, or on
the margin of some crystal lake, and
gladdens all and each with the thoughts
and feelings of safety which his presence
near them and with them always brings.
Sometimes you hear of him hundreds of
miles at the cold, frozen North, where
the hardy hunter pursues his wild game;
and soon again he is seen away off at the
mouth of the Columbia river, or else
without notice or hint of his coming, he
walks into my cabin here. If there is
any trouble any where he is pretty sure
soon to be where it exists, and all is restored
to peace as soon as he appears.—
The Indian hold him in reverence and
awe, as the creature of a higher world;
and the hunters, bold as they are, tremble
with fear the thought of angering him.
I said he traveled alone. There is one
who often accompanies him, and only
one. He is a yougn Indian of a division
of the Pawnee tribe, who many years
ago separated from the main tribe and
lived apart by themselves: some say he
is Le Beaux's son, but I don't believe
that. But it is true he loves the youngster
as much as he could were he his own
flesh and blood; and always keeps his
eye upon him, and always is at his side
when the boy is in peril; but that is not
often, for the boy is much like old Le
Beaux, and lives after his fashion. And
he is, to be sure, the finest Indian I ever
saw, and already has he won a name
known far and wide, as a brave hunter
and warrior too. His name is Ottahontas.”
Here the host was interrupted in his
narrative, and being called out, left our
friends to form their plans, and determine
them as best they might with the information
which he had given them. Both
were pleased, even delighted, with the
character of Le Beaux, as painted by
their host; and their determination was
concluded, fixed without further delay, to
attach him to their party if possible. If
possible, I say, for it must be confessed
they were not now so sanguine as yesterday,
in their expectations of success
on this point. A few minutes after the
host had left the room, Charles, thinking
of his dogs which he had brought with
him, and which were left in front of the
door, went out to look after them. He
valued them very highly for their real
worth, as well as from the fact that they
were a gift to him from one of his most
esteemed and beloved friends. They
were indeed noble dogs, being real blood
hounds, large and strong, and well trained
in the chase. These animals, as it is
well known, are of rather savage nature
not sociable and playful like other breeds
of dogs: even in early youth they wear
long faces, and bear a haughty, stern aspect,
which keeps both man and beast at
a respectful distance. Their deep-set,
blood-shot eyes, have a cross, ferocious
look, that speaks a warning to the meddler
which he had certainly better
ceive. Nature seems to have fitted them
on purpose for the bloody work they
love so well to do. The obstinacy and
ardor with which they continue on the
chase, in truly wonderful and astonishing;
so long as they can run, or even
walk, will they follow their prey. But
Charles was very much surprised when
he came out of the hut to find his two
hounds standing at Le Beaux's side, receiving
his attentions very gladly, and
apparently on the most amicable terms
with him. His own dog, too, was with
them, and they appeared to have agreed
hard work for the half-breed favorite
to brook the presence of these
strangers, and witness his master stroking
their smooth coats with his hands,
and occasionally a low half-suppressed
growl would issue from him, and his
opening mouth would display a pair of
huge jaws, armed with white strong
teeth; but the hounds on seeing their
master, instantly quitted Le Beaux and
came up to Charles, wagging their tails
and testifying their joy at again seeing
him.
“Those are two noble dogs of yours,
sir,” said Le Beaux in a pleasant, lively
tone, appearing to admire them while he
spoke, and looking after them.
“They are very fine dogs, indeed,”
replied Charles, “and I value them very
much, but, sir,” said he “you are the
first person that has ever attemtped to
caress them succeeded. They are
not usually, I may say never, much disposed
to make friends with strangers, or
even to suffer any advances from them;
and I must confess that I was a good
deal surprised to see them at your side
when I came out here.”
“Oh,” replied Le Beaux, “that is not
very strange, sir, for I love a dog very
much, and I often think that they know
a good deal more than many men do, and
they certainly often are a good deal better
friends than rational animals. I never
saw a dog yet that would not answer my
kindness by affection, and unceasing devotion,
and I never found one that injured,
me. These dogs, if I am not much mistaken,
are full blooded hounds, and very
fine samples of their breed they are too,
if I can judge from their looks: may I
ask you where you obtained them?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Charles, “I
brought them from New York; they
were a gift to me from an old friend.
They are of a famours dam, and pure
breed, and I believe cannot be excelled
for their qualities as hunters.”
“They are truly powerful looking
dogs,” said Le Beaux, “with limbs as
muscular and strong as those of a panther,
and a buck would stand but a poor
chance with them at his heels.”
“Yes,” said Charles, “I can, without
fear of contradiction, assure you that
there are not a pair of better trained
hounds to be found in the country.—
They will follow the chase from sunrise
to sunrise, right sharply too, without
resting.”
“I like much to follow after such dogs
as those,” said Le Beaux, “their strength
is truly remarkable. I can readily see
that, from their deep full chests, and the
large strong muscles that hang about their
throats, and around their jaws; I think
they would be more than a match for a
bear, in a fair fight, or even a panther.”
Charles thought this a good opportunity
for opening his negotiations with him,
and Jonathan having joined him, they sat
down beside Le Beaux, and replied to
his remarks:
“I should indeed be glad to have you
hunt with my hounds; and perhaps we
may enjoy that pleasure together; I am
bound for the hunting groudns West, and
wait only to find a friend and companion
who is acquainted with these long forests,
to set off. I wish I might persuade
you to go with us, sir; it would be a very
great obligation you would confer upon
us yb so doing; but from what I have
learned of your occupation and manner
of spending your time, I hardly dare to
hope that I can induce you to accompany
us.”
The old hunter watched Charles very
closely while he was speaking, but not a
clear birght eye was fixed straight upon
him, and he lost not a word that was uttered.
When Charles stopped speaking,
Le Beaux asked him what his plan for
his hunt was, and how far he meant to
go, and how large a company he proposed
to take with him.
Charles, in reply, detailed to him his
plan as we have already described it.
When he came to speak of his motives
and wished in regard to it, and the interest
he felt for the red man, his feelings
kindled, his eye beamed with warmth,
and truth declard herself present with
him in the earnest, deep tones of his
voice. Le Beaux at this seemed much
moved—his countenance assumed a look
of deep interest; his eye sparkled with
responsive sentiments, and his whole
deeply moved listener; and when Charles
ceased, his features were animated, and
glowing with excitement, for he was
aware that he experienced a strange,
thrilling feeling of enthusiasm, in the
presence of this man. Something misty,
indistinct, indescribable, it is true,
but yet powerful and commanding, impressed
him when in the presence of this
hunter, and seemed to shadow forth in
the future, that he was to be much influenced
and closely allied to him; he felt
as if he had met a being who was born
to exercise a powerful or spiritual interest
over him. As he was speaking, his
great personal beauty shone forth with
most impressive power, and excited the
admiration of both his listeners. The old
hunter gazed upon him with a stedfast
look, and undisguised pleasure and delight.
He had from the first moment he
saw him, felt an unusual and strange interest
in him, though he had not manifested
it; it had deepened, too, and in
spite of himself, Charles would occupy
his thoughts; he felt in fact, a secret,
spiritual influence upon him—a reciprocal
feeling, and knew from a conviction
that sprang up spontaneously in his mind
that he was to be deeply, intimately connected
with his future welfare.
“Yes,” said Le Beaux, when Charles
finished speaking, “I will willingly, gladly
go with you. I knew before you asked
me that you would apply to me; and I
have thought it all over, and have concluded
to be your guide and companion.”
He spoke this in a firm, decided tone,
like one whose mind is made up.
Charles and his cousin started, and exchanged
glances of surprise with each
other; there was something so singular
in his abrupt address—so unexpected
was his sudden acceptance of their offer;
so gladly and even delightedly did he
appear to grant their request, which they
had been led to believe, would be so difficult
for them to obtain from him. Besides,
his manner and the tone which he
used, was that of one who has deliberated,
and reflected, and decided carefully and
advisedly what he says. All these circumstances
surprised them, and struck
them with astonishment and wonder.—
Something very like fear not unmixed
with awe, took possession of the mind
of Charles, but he almost instantly recovered
from it. His cousin, who, as
we have seen, formed a high opinion of
Le Beaux at first sight, and had his opinion
strengthened by what he had both
heard and seen of him since then, and
who never feared anything, was only
glad that their proposition was so well
received; a little surprised perhaps, at
the manner in which it was done, but he
felt that they had secured an excellent
guide, and one entitled to their confidence
and esteem. Charles very warmly
thanked him for the readiness with which
he obliged them. His cousin joined his
thanks with them, and then promising to
see him again soon, they separated.
Soon after our young friends departed
from Le Beaux, and were alone by
themselves, their interview with him was
brought forward as the subject most interesting
to them:
“Well, my shrewd cousin, what do
you think of our new companion and
guide, now?” said Charles.
“I am even better pleased with him,
than before,” said Jonathan, “I don't
know when I've met with a stranger that
has interested me so much on a first acquaintance,—always
excepting yourself,
my excellent cousin.”
“But that was a strange way of accepting
our offer, you must confess; and did
you mark what he said at the same time.
I know that I did however, without waiting
your reply; for I recollect just as he
uttered it, I caught your eye turned to me;
how was it possible that he should have
known we were about to ask him to be
our guide? It really perplexes and puzzles
me, I must confess.”
“I did not remark anything very strange
about his manner,” replied Jonathan, “I
thought it a straight forward, honest answer,
and felt much obliged to him for
not keeping us in doubt and delay; I
saw you start a little when he said he
knew that we should ask him to accompany
us, but I really don't think there
was anything very remarkable in that; it
proved him, to be sure, to be a keen observer
of men, and a bold philosopher
in declaring his suspicions; I see nothing
the settlements, and observing I presume
the trappings we had with us, he very naturally
judged that we were bound on a
hunting expedition; and from our appearance,
I suppose he conjectured we
should want a guide, and he knew enough
of himself, to feel assured that he would
be the one we should choose, as sensible
men; but he is certainly a fine fellow,
and very intelligent; I feel perfectly satisfied
with our success in this respect, I
assure you, and hope that we may meet
with equal good fortune in other things.
But you are not afraid of him, Charles,
because he guessed right about us, are
you? There's nothing to fear about that
man, I'll answer for it; and besides, I do
really believe he has conceived a strong
liking for you.”
“No,” said Charles, “far from having
any fear of him, I am inclined to put the
greatest confidence in him; and I see by
the way in which he is treated here, that
he is considered no common personage.
I am equally pleased and well satisfied as
yourself on this point; although I may
not think about him in all respects as you
do, I anticipate with such a guide, we
shall have some rare sport this winter.
Certainly, if he is so well acquainted
with the forests as our host would have
us believe, we shall find hunting ground
at least, and the rest depends upon ourselves.
Are you a good shot, Jonathan?”
“Well done, Charles,” said Jonathan,
“that's what I call a plumper. If I say
yea, and hereafter miss my aim, then I
shall be laughed at as a vain boaster; and
serve me right, too; but if, on the other
hand, I answer nay, then do I belie my
very kind and much esteemed friends,
who were wont to assure me I was a
great marksman; and, moreover, I shall
lose my chance of showing my skill, or
betraying my lack of it. I trust we
shall soon have a chance of showing how
true an eye and steady a nerve we possess;
and if I am not much mistaken
we shall need all the sharpness we possess
to preserve the good opinion of our
guide as sportsmen. But I have a rifle,
Charles, I am not ashamed of, at any
time, or in any place; all I hope is, that
my rifle is as well pleased with me as I
am with it. A better piece I believe
never was made. It will carry five hundred
yards without dropping a hair's
breadth; with force sufficient, too, to
drive it through a two inch plank.”
“Well,” said Charles, we shall soon
have an opportunity to display our skill;
for we shall leave immediately, if our
good friend Le Beaux is prepared and
willing to do so. I am not much in the
habit of boasting, but I have a rifle that
I will put against any other you can
find. It throws its balls true as a die,
and will hit wherever it is aimed at.—
But this reminds me of one thing; you
have no shot-gun with you, my excellent
cousin; I have two double barreled,
and as we may meet with opportunities
for using them on our journey to the
camping ground, I shall insist upon
you taking one of them; I cannot possibly
want or use them both, and it
will be quite a relief to me if you will
take one. I will bring it out to-night before
we retire.”
Jonathan, though reluctant to accept of
this generous offer, thought, still, that he
would best please his cousin by doing
so; that his feelings would indeed be
hurt if he did not; and it was therefore
settled without any opposition on his
part, that he was to receive and carry off
the gun. He was the more reluctant to
do so, as he had seen the guns, and knew
them to be of the most expensive workmanship,
and most highly finished, richly
ornamented guns.
“And now,” said Jonathan, “these
things being settled, what do you say to
our starting off immediately? The
sooner the better, I think; you know
the old adage, `first come, first served.'—
If we are first on the ground, we stand
the best chance of a favorable choice.—
Suppose we mention this to old Le
Beaux, in the morning.”
“Very well,” said Charles, “I am as
anxious to leave as yourself, and there is
no reason I know of, why we should
remain here longer, now that we have obtained
a guide, and unless Le Beaux has
something to keep him, we will start at
once. I will follow your suggestion and
speak to him in the morning.”
This ended their conversation upon
devoted to their own individual affairs;
and in the afternoon they took a walk
together in the woods near the cabin,
conversing about their plans for the winter,
and picturing in their imagination the
scenes which a forest life would open
to them.
On returning in the evening they found
an addition to their party, of two Indian
warriors and hunters; they were on
their way from the lakes, where they had
been with a large party of their tribe on
their annual fishing and hunting and trading
expedition. The rest of the party
had gone on several days before, and
they were now endeavoring to overtake
them. They were dressed in loose deer
skin breeches, a cotton shirt, and a
slouched cap. They wore on their feet
deer skin moccasins, that were richly ornamented
with stained porcupine quills,
and beads wrought into them. They
carried in the girdle that they wore about
their loins, a long hunting knife and a
tomahawk, the true Indian weapon.—
Both were also armed with short rifles.
They took no notice whatever of our
young friends when entering the room;
although they both continued to watch
them closely, all the while supper was
preparing; and Jonathan made two or
three ineffectual attempts to enter into
conversation with them. The only reply
he received from them being a sound
coming from the lowest depths of their
throats, and sounding more like a low
grunt than anything else. When supper
was ready, all sat down together; the
new comers showed their free and easy
manners by helping very abundantly at
once, without word or sign, to whatever
they fancied, using their fingers in a way
that showed how much superior hands
and fingers are to knives and forks, for
such purposes. They ate a great deal
and ate very fast. As soon as they had
finished, a few satisfied grunts attested
that fact; then without further social discourse
they moved away from the table,
and drawing near the fire-place, stretched
upon the floor, and were soon lost in
sleep.
Our friends who had remained in the
room to watch their proceedings, and who
were much amused at their manner of
doing things, now lighting their cigars
repaired to the grass plot in front of the
cabin, where Le Beaux was sitting quietly
smoking his pipe, and taking their
seat beside him, entered into conversation
with him.
In reply to the questions they asked
concerning the Indians they left in the
cabin, he told them what we have already
said about them; and further added
“they belong to the Sioux nation, and
are very bad Indians; the lie is always
first on their tongue, and cunning in their
hearts; they are dogs, and bitter enemies
to the white man.”
Jonathan then asked him who Ottahontas
was, and what tribe he belonged
to? He said from what he had heard of
him, he felt much interested in him, and
desired to see him.
The question seemed to pain Le
Beaux, for he at once suffered his head
to sink down upon his chest. He made
no answer. He seemed at once to have
sunk into profound reflection, and to be
lost in the absorbing thoughts which
Jonathan's question excited. For some
minutes he preserved this attitude, during
which not a word was spoken; and
Jonathan began to fear he had said something
that had wounded his feelings; when
suddenly he raised his head, and regarding
them for a few moments with a sad
look, thus commenced speaking in a low,
earnest tone:
“It is now more than eighteen years
since I saw the boy of whom you spoke,
but it seems as fresh to my mind as if it
were but yesterday, when the sad scenes
of which I am about to speak, were before
my eyes. I was then but a youngster
myself. I was passing through the
thick and verdant forests that lay near
the sources of the great Columbia river,
after having paid a visit to the white settlers,
who had established a trading post
at the mouth of that river, when I entered
a part of the woods that was covered
with a dense undergrowth of stunted
hemlock and bushes, intermingled
with the wild vines, which in those places
grow most luxuriantly, forming with
their thick tangled masses, impenetrable
coverts for the wild beasts, where they
hunters.
“As I cautiously approached this spot
I thought I heard a sudden rustling of
the leaves, and looking closely in the direction
of the sound, which appeared to
come from the thicket, I distinguished a
slight trembling of the branches—so
slight, however, that none but the most
watchful eye could possibly have detected
it. It ceased almost the instant I
looked that way; and from this circumstance
I was led to suspect that the voice
I had heard, and the moving of leaves I
had seen, proceeded from some more
cunning and crafty creature, than any of
the wild animals that roamed in those
wilds. It was indeed very like the
skulking, cowardly red skin, when dogging
the footsteps of an enemy, whose
blood he thirsts after, and whose scalp
he covets. Carrying my rifle to my
arm, I carefully examined the priming,
then tried the lock, and after rubbing my
thumb nail across the flint several times,
and satisfying myself that all was right, I
noislessly cocked it, and looking out
carefully from behind the tree, where I
had ensconced myself at the first sound
I heard, and which hid me from the
thicket, I watched in breathless silence
for some further sound or motion, which
should enable me to distinguish what
sort of an animal I had fallen upon, and
how I should act. I knew very well,
that if it was any wild animal, by keeping
perfectly still, it would soon recover
from the surprise and fright my approach
had caused it, and again be in
motion. But if, on the contrary, it was a
red skin as I suspected, and he had only
been startled by the noise of my footsteps
as I came up, and had not seen me,
he would at last come out from his
hiding place; though I would, in this
case, be obliged to keep my concealment
somewhat longer. But if I had been observed,
which I thought most probably
was the case, then it was a trial of cunning
and sharpness between us, and woe
to him who should expose himself in
any part. I must resort to some trick
to baffle his designs upon me, and cheat
him, if possible, of his desired victim.—
My wish was, if possible, to lure him
from his hiding place. While I revolved
in my mind the stratagems that were
suggested to me, or were before known
to me, and endeavored to fix upon some
device by which to accomplish my wish,
the thought came to me that if I were to
take my cap and put it upon the end of
a stick, and then slowly move it to one
side of the tree, where it would be seen
by my enemy, it would perhaps draw
his fire, and thus give me an advantage
over him. As I was about putting this
scheme into execution, still keeping my
eye fixed upon the spot where I had
heard the rustling of the leaves, and
holding my ear attentively to catch the
slightest sound that might fall, I saw
the branches slowly and gently parting,
and soon I beheld a head peeping through
this opening: still I did not fire; something
whispered to me to forbear. After
carefully looking around and listening,
my enemy seemed satisfied with his
search, nothing being in view; I having
withdrawn myself behind my tree in
such a manner that I could observe all
his motions without exposing myself.
“Slowly he emerged from his concealment.
First, after having got his arms
and shoulders through the tangled vines
and netted underbrush, he raised himself
up and took a long, a searching survey
of all around him. He then, as if fully
assured of his being alone, came boldly
out, and began at once picking and eating
the wild berries that grew near the
thicket. When he came fairly before
my view, I was much surprised and
pleasantly disappointed on discovering
that he was but a small child. He
could not have been much upwards of
four years old, yet had he practiced all
the art and cunning of an old red skin. I
still continued concealed from him, behind
the tree, having made the resolution
to catch him; for, on seeing his face, I
at once recognized him as the son of the
Valley chief, my much esteemed friend.
As I was reflecting, and doubting, and
perplexing my brain as to what could
have caused the youngster to be here, so
far from the camp ground of his father's
lodge, I recollected a report that had
reached me a few days before, that a
large party of warriors of the Blackfeet
neighborhood of the Valley chief's
lodge; and suddenly the truth flashed
upon me: the report which I had deemed
idle was true—their enemies had
fallen upon them. This explained the
conduct of the child, and the fact of his
presence where I found him, while it
excited my worst fears for my friend
and his people. Believing if I spoke to
the child, he would run away from me
at the sound of my voice, and take to his
hiding place, I rested my rifle against the
tree behind which I was standing, and
watching my opportunity, when he had
approached near to where I stood, and
his back was turned to me, while he was
stooping down to pluck some berries, I
crept softly up to him, and, ere he was
aware of my approach, put my arms
about him. He gave a wild, piercing
scream at first, and his little frame trembled
in my arms; but it was for a few
minutes only; for, turning his head
round, he glanced timidly at me: one
look was sufficient to reveal to him his
father's friend and frequent guest.
“He uttered an exclamation of joy
and delight, and turning round, threw
his arms about my neck, and clung to
me as if I had been his only friend, and
he feared he should lose me. I spoke
to him in my kindest manner, and asked
him how long he had been there, and if
he was not cold and hungry? The poor
little fellow looked up in my face, while
I spoke to him, and the tears came filling
his eyes and trickling down his cheeks,
then, in a voice so low and sad it made
my heart ache to hear it, he said he had
been here four dark nights, counting over
his fingers to me; that he had called
after his father and mother till he fell to
crying, and then, he said, he knew not
how it was, but he went to sleep, and
when he opened his eyes again, the sun
was bright, and night had gone. But
his father and mother, he could not find
them; they were gone, too; and he was
hungry, so he came out of the bushes,
where he had hid himself when his
mother told him to run and hide, because
they wanted to kill him, and he plucked
those wild berries, pointing to those that
grew around the spot where we were,
and ate them. He said he had found
nothing but those to eat since the warriors
drove him away, and carried off his
father and mother. He was afraid to go
away from the bushes, he said, lest those
fierce warriors should find him and kill
him; and when he ceased, he sobbed as
if his little heart were breaking. I
soothed him with kind words, and promised
I would take care of him and go
with him to find his parents. In this
way I comforted him. I then took from
my pouch some dried venison and maize
cakes, and gave them to him to eat.
After he had finished his meal, I questioned
him as to what happened when
he ran away. I gathered from him
enough to convince me that my fears,
which I have already spoken of, were
true; and as I afterwards heard the facts
of that fatal attack, I will here relate
them to you.
“Ten days before the time when I
found Ottahontas, his father's people
were sitting around their camp fires,
after having returned from a successful
hunt, and a general feast was preparing
for them, that all the village might join
in welcoming back the brave hunters,
and share in the bountiful repast their
labors had won for them. They were
completely off their guard, having
thrown aside their arms to enjoy the
feast; not the most distant suspicion of
danger disturbed their happy breasts;
they knew not that the deadliest, bitterest
foe of their tribe was lurking close at
hand, watching, like blood-thirsty devils,
for the most unguarded moment when
they could strike their unsuspecting victims.
The first warning that awoke
them from their dream of pleasure, was
the sudden barking and howling of the
dogs of the village; but it came too late;
the next instant the Blackfeet warriors
were upon them: their savage war cries
filled the air, and howling like so many
devils, more fierce and ferocious that
wild beasts, they fell upon their surprised
and defenceless victims. The fight was
a short one—overpowered by doubled
their own number, and all unprepared
they were mercilessly cut down when
they stood—men, women, and children
were most inhumanly, most cruelly murdered.
and one only, save little Ottahontas,
escaped destruction. He fled, with his
mother, at the first onset, and, running
with all his speed so long as he could
stand, he at last crept into an old hollow
log, and hid himself. His mother, to
baffle his pursuers, and save her boy,
sacrificed herself. She might have escaped;
but then her boy would have
been in danger; and, like a heroine, she
died for him. All night long the Black-feet
hung about the village, destroying
all that remained of this once happy
people. Towards morning, having burnt
the wigwams and plundered all the property
they found, they departed. Ottahontas
lay still, scarce daring to breathe,
in his hiding place: and not till some
hours after the murderers had left, did
he dare to crawl out: he then crept
cautiously back to the village. What
sorrow, what grief, what despair, child
though he was, seized him as he looked
around the wasted and ruined place, and
saw the smoking ruins of all that was
left of his father's and his tribe's happy
home! And here, on either side, scattered
around him, lay the dead bodies of
his friends mutilated and horribly disfigured—all,
all were dead. In silence and
motionless he beheld the spectacle for
some minutes, then, bursting into tears,
he called on his father and mother to
come to him—he besought them, with
sobs and crying, to hear him; but still
no answer: all was cold, still, motionless.
He covered his eyes with his little
hands, and wept as if he would weep
away his life, or bring the dead back
again: again he shouted his father's
name: he plead, in tones of grief that
might melt the very rocks, for his mother
to come once more to him; but there
was no answer—still, all still, and lifeless
was the solitude. The terrible quiet,
the deathlike stillness, that reigned there,
brought terror to him. He jumped to
his feet—one moment he looked again
upon the sad sight—all of anguish that
his heart could feel was crowded upon
him and depicted in that look—he gave
one loud, long, agonizing scream, and
then fled away like a wounded, affrighted
fawn; hour after hour he kept on, and
stopped not till the reached the spot
where I found him, and where he hid
himself.
“After I had finished questioning him,
I took him with me and went back to
his father's village, hoping, in spite of
what he had told me, in spite of my
own fears, that I might still find some
of his family or friends alive. But,
alas, my fears were all too true! I
found them all dead—no voice nor sound
broke the mournful silence that hung like
a funeral pall above the place. There
were the noble warriors whom I had
known, with whom I had often smoked
the pipe of peace and friendship, and
from whom, not many days gone by, I
had parted as if they were my brothers;
there they all lay, their bodies mutilated
and half consumed by the flames that
burnt their peaceful homes—at the very
side and opening of their wigwams had
they died. Oh! how my heart ached at
the sight! And even now, long gone as
those days are, I cannot think of the
scene, or speak of it, without tears,” and
he brushed away, with his large, rough
hand, the tears that filled his eyes.
“But soon another spirit came over
me—hot, burning hate for the murderers
dried my eyes, and I vowed vengeance
for the hellish wrong they had committed.
I swore that they should answer
me for the murder of my friends and
companions; then, digging a grave, I
buried them all in one great tomb, and,
with little Ottahontas by my side, I said
a prayer over them, and departed. The
child cried again to his mother, and his
grief poured forth afresh; but, taking
him in my arms, I soothed him, and
carried him from the place. He clung
to me as if all his hopes, his very life,
depended upon being with me. From
that time up to this, he has been my
companion, my son. I love him as if
he were my own boy indeed; and he
returns my love with all the ardor of
his noble nature. And he is indeed
worthy of all that I can do for him—of
all the love I bear him. He is brave as
a lion; at the same time full of generosity
and benevolence, ever ready, and
more than ready, to help and succor the
needy and distressed. In daring and
sire. In the chase, none so swift of
foot as he: fleet as the mountain deer
he follows the chase. In him his father's
and his people's murderers have
found a mighty and terrible avenger.
Often have I stood by his side, when
warring against the Blackfeet, and been
filled with wonder and astonishment at
his unrivaled prowess and supernatural
strength. But he is, with all these traits,
modest and unostentatious; his heart is
a Christian heart, and full of love and
pity towards his fellows; all who know
him respect and love him. Of his person
I need not speak, as you will soon
have an opportunity to judge for yourselves.”
With this Le Beaux ceased speaking,
and again, as suddenly as before, withdrew
into himself, at once yielding to the
reflections and sentiments which were
awakened afresh in his bosom. Charles
and his companion did not disturb him;
but, as the evening was quite spent, they
soon bade him good evening, and left
him.
| CHAPTER VII. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure | |