University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

To the great delight of Evaline, as well
as those who sympathized with her, it was
ascertained soon after our arrival at the
fort, that some of the Mysterious Tribe
had been seen quite recently in the vicinity;
from which we drew the conclusion, that
they were still at their winter quarters on
the Black Hills. It being Evaline's desire
to see them as soon as possible, it was
finally arranged that her sister, Lilian,
Charles and myself should bear her company,
along with her Indian Friends, while
her mother and Mrs. Huntly should await
our return at the fort. On learning our
determination some five or six of the party
with whom we had crossed the mountains,
volunteered to go with us—a favor which
we gladly accepted, as this would strengthen
our party, and render us less liable to
attack, should we chance upon hostile
savages. The rest of the company, after
remaining over night at the fort, being
anxious to proceed, bade us adieu, and
resumed their journey on the morning
following.

Before starting for the Black Hills, we
procured a couple of tents for the females,
which we packed on mules, and then,
mounting each on a good horse, with all
the necessary equipments for defense, we
set forth on the second day at an early
hour For a number of miles we made
rapid progress, but at length came to a
stream, whose current being swift and
banks precipitous, delayed us some time
in seeking a place to ford. This crossed,
we soon came to another where a similar
delay awaited us. In short, our progress
was so many times checked through the
day, that when night at last began to draw
her sable curtains, we found, to the best
of our judgment, that hardly two-thirds
of our journey had been gone over.

Selecting a pleasant spot, we pitched
our tents, liberated our animals and encamped.
An hour or two was passed in a
very agreeable manner, when the females,
who appeared more fatigued than we of
the sterner sex, withdrew to their quarters,
leaving the rest of us squatted around a
large fire, which we had started, not to
warm ourselves by, for it was a sultry
July night, but to keep off the wild animals,
of whose proximity we were several
times reminded by dismal howls.

A couple of hours preceding midnight,
our animals were driven in and picketed,
and a guard set, more from caution than
apprehension of danger. This done, the
remainder of the party stretched themselves
around the fire, and, with the exception
of my friend and I, were soon in
the enjoyment of that sweetest of all blessings,
a sound and healthful sleep. For
some time I lay musing on the singular
events of my life, and then turned to
Huntly.

“Well, Charley,” said I, “this seems
like old times.”

“So I have been thinking,” he rejoined,
“with one exception, Frank.”

“The ladies, eh?”

“Exactly. I trust nothing may occur
to make us regret their presence,” he added,
seriously. “You and I have faced
danger too often to fear it for our own
sakes — but if anything should happen
now—”

“Surely you do not dream of danger
here?” I interrupted.

“Why, to tell you the truth, Frank,”
he replied, “I have my misgivings that we
shall see trouble ere we again reach the
fort.”

“God forbid! What makes you think
so?”

“I can give no reason. It is simply a
presentiment of evil.”

“But from what source do you apprehend
danger?”

“From no particular one, Frank.”

“Merely a fancy of yours, probably,
springing from your intense interest in
those more dear to you than life.”

“God send it be only fancy!” he rejoined,
gloomily.

His words made me sad, and, added to
the restlessness I had previously felt, kept
me awake a long time. At last I fell into
a feverish slumber, and was gradually progressing
toward a state of utter forgetfulness,
when a snorting and stamping of the
animals aroused me, and together with
Huntly I sprang to my feet in alarm.

“What is it?” I cried to the guard,
whom I found standing near me, pale as
death, with his rifle pointed in the direction
whence came the disturbance.

“I do not know,” he answered; “this
is the first I have heard. Shall I give the
alarm?”

“No! remain quiet a moment where
you are, and I will steal in among the
animals and ascertain the cause. I do not
think it proceeds from savages, or we
should have had an onset ere this.”

“What then, Frank?” asked Huntly,
taking his position by the tents, rifle in hand.

“Most likely some wild beast, which,
urged on by hunger, has ventured a little
nearer than usual.”

My conjecture this time proved correct;
for on cautiously approaching the frightened
animals, I discovered a small wolf
in the act of gnawing a tether rope of
buffalo hide. I could have shot him from
where I stood; but this I did not care to
do, as it would only create unnecessary
alarm. Retreating a few paces and selecting
a good sized club, I informed the guard
and Huntly there was no cause for alarm,
and returning with a stealthy pace, got
close to the hungry beast without making
him aware of my presence. His head was
from me, and he was eagerly engaged in
getting a morsel to eke out a half-famished
existence. I believe I could have killed
the poor creature with a single blow, and
raised my club for the purpose; but pity
gained power over my resolution, and I
gave him only a gentle tap, which rather
scared than hurt him, and he ran away
howling.

This little incident, though nothing in
itself, tended so to increase the nervousness
of both Huntly and myself, that we
did not fall soundly asleep till the first sign
of daybreak streamed up golden in the
east. An hour later we were all on our
feet, and having partaken a slight repast,
and laughed over our fears of the departed
night, we mounted our horses and again
proceeded on our journey.

No more delays occurred, and ere the
sun gained the meridian, we came in sight
of the village, when our Indian companions,
unable to restrain themselves longer,
uttered shouts of delight, and darted away
in advance of us. I turned to Evaline,
and beheld her seated quietly on her little
pony, her gaze rivetted upon the village,
but apparently laboring under no excitement.
A closer scrutiny convinced me I
was mistaken. There was little outward
display of her feelings; but I perceived in
her ashen cheeks and absent stare, that
thoughts, mighty in their power, were
stirring the soul within. For a short time
she seemed unconscious of anything around
her, and it was not until Eva had addressed
her thrice that she received an answer
to her question:

“Is this the spot, sister?”

On the second repetition, Evaline started,
turned to the fair querist and sighed:

“This is the spot.”

Then covering her face with her hands,
she remained silent until addressed again.

“Why are you so sad, Evaline?”
inquired Lilian.

“Ay, sister, tell us!” added Eva.

“I am thinking of the past and the future,”
was the answer, in a low, tremulous
tone. “Oh, my friends!” she continued,
“you cannot know my feelings. I am
about to bid farewell to those who have
been to me as brothers and sisters. I am
about to leave—to see them no more—to
go far away to the land of the stranger.
True, you will say, I go not alone; I shall
have with me a kind mother and sister, and
other dear friends; but still you know not
what it is to suddenly and utterly tear
yourself away from old ties and old associations.
You know not the fascinations
of the wilderness, to one who, like myself,
has never known aught else. Even danger
has a charm to those who are bred to

it; and it is hard, with all the inducements
before me, to break the spell of unlimited
freedom with which I have roamed over
thousands of miles of uncultivated territory.
But I feel it my duty to go with
you. I cannot think of parting from my
dear mother again in life. As she has
suggested, the tie binding me to her I acknowledge
to be stronger than that of
mere association.

“And have you no other inducement to
part from the Mysterious Tribe?” asked
Huntly, a little reproachfully.

Evaline looked up, her eye met his, a
slight flush colored her pale features, and
frankly taking his hand, she replied, in a
sweet, timid voice:

“Yes, dear Charles, there is more than
one.”

“God bless you, Evaline!” was the
hearty response. “We will all strive to
make you happy; and in the joy of the
future, you will ere long forget the past.”

“Forget, say you?” she repeated,
looking earnestly in his face. “Forget
the past?” — forget my old friends?
Nay,” she continued, “you know not yet
the heart of Prairie Flower, if you think
she can ever forget.”

“No, no, not exactly forget,” returned
Huntly, endeavoring to recover
from his mistake: “Not exactly forget:
I do not mean that, Evaline—but rather
that you will cease to regret this change
of life.”

“Perhaps so,” she sighed.

“See!” I exclaimed, “the Indians
have nearly gained the village, and the inhabitants
are already flocking down the
hill to meet them. Let us quicken our
pace;” and galloping forward, we soon
drew rein in the center of the crowd.

“Leni Leoti!” “Prairie Flower!” was
the universal cry on every hand, as Evaline
leaped from her saddle and sprang to
the embrace of her Indian friends, who
pressed around her as children around a
parent—old and young—men, women and
children—each eager to be first to greet
her with a hearty welcome. For some
time the rest of us remained wholly unnoticed.
At length, the first joyful excitement
over, Evaline pointed to us, and bade
the Indians give us welcome, which they
did in a hearty manner.

Approaching Eva, Evaline took her by
the hand and said:

“In this lady, my friends, you behold
the sister of Prairie Flower.”

“Another Prairie Flower!” “Another
Leni Leoti!” was the almost simultaneous
exclamation; and instantly collecting
around, they gazed upon her in surprise,
and began talking to each other in their
own dialect. Then, one after another,
they approached and took her hand, and
said, in broken English, that they were
most happy to see her, and that she was
welcome, as the sister of Prairie Flower,
to a share in all they possessed. This reception
over, they invited us to the village,
where everything in their power was done
to make us comfortable and contented.
Our animals were taken in charge and
liberated, and three or four lodges assigned
us during our stay among them.

On learning that Evaline had only returned
to bid them a final farewell, the
Wahsochees one and all became very sad,
and a gloom pervaded the village, as on
the funeral day of one universally beloved.
The women and children wept at the
thought, and some of them begged of her
in piteous tones not to leave them. Evaline
could not witness these sincere manifestations
of lasting affection unmoved, and
in consequence her eyes were continually
filled with tears. As it had been arranged
that we should leave on the following morning,
she was kept busy through the day in
making preparations therefor. Her costume
for different occasions, which had
been procured for her by Great Medicine,
and which she had preserved with great
care, together with sundry other articles
and trinkets, some of which she had purchased
in Oregon City and brought with
her, she now proceeded to distribute one
by one, giving something to each as a remembrance.
This occupied her time and
attention till night, when a conference of
the nation was called, to which none of
our party save Evaline was admitted. This
conference lasted till midnight, and long
before it broke up, I, as well as most of
my companions, was sound asleep.

At an early hour in the morning, our
horses were caught and saddled, our two
mules packed, and everything prepared
for our immediate departure. Evaline was

silent and sad, and her features showed
traces of having passed a feverish, restless
night. Thinking she might feel a diffidence
in having us present at her last interview,
I approached her and said:

“Evaline, the time has come to take our
final leave.”

“I know it,” she faltered.

“As there are some strangers in our
party, perhaps it were better, all things
considered, that we should go on before,
and await your coming at a proper distance?”

“Thank you!” she replied; “the very
favor I would have asked, had I dared.”

“It shall be so. There is a little hill
you see yonder, somewhat out of the direct
course to the fort, whither we will ride,
merely for the view it affords of the prairie
beyond, and there remain till you join us.”

She again expressed her thanks, and I
returned to the others and informed them
of the new arrangement. We then proceeded
to shake hands with each of the
wibe, which occupied us some ten minutes,
and mounting our horses, rode slowly away
down the mountain, crossed the little
streamlet, and galloped over a short level
to the hill in question, on whose summit
we came to a halt as preconcerted.

It was a warm day, and the sun, about
an hour above the horizon, streamed down
his golden, mellow rays, beautifying each
object, by giving it that soft and dreamy
appearance, which, in the poetic mind,
awakens those sweet fancies that fill the
soul with holy meditation and make earth
seem a paradise. A heavy dew had fallen
during the night, and its crystalline drops,
still hanging on leaf, blade, and flower,
sparkled in the morning sunbeams like so
many diamonds. Above us gay plumaged
birds flittered from branch to branch, and
poured forth their morning carols in a variety
of strains, or flapping their wings,
darted up and away through the deep blue
ether. Around and about us bees, beetles
and insects of divers kinds were buzzing
or basking in the sunlight, now dipping
into the flower to sip its sweets, now alighting
on the leaf to take a dainty morsel,
now plunging to the ground with no apparent
design, and then each and all up
and away, filling the air with a drowsy,
pleasing hum.

Not the least enchanting of all was the
beautiful landscape that here lay spread to
our view. Behind us was the little valley
we had just crossed over, carpeted with
green and variegated with bright flowers,
through which wound a silvery streamlet,
and beyond which, like some mighty barrier,
the Black Hills lifted their heads far
heavenward. To the right and left, at
some little distance, was a wood, over the
top of which loomed hills one above another,
but gradually retreating, till the last
one, far, far in the distance, either showed
the fleecy-like palace of eternal snow, or
gently blended with the cerulean blue.

But before us was the scene which fixed
our whole attention. Here, for miles upon
miles, stretched away a vast prairie, whose
tail, rank grass, gently touched by a light
breeze, undulated like the swelling of the
sea in a calm, over which fluttered and
hovered myriads of birds and insects, now
dipping down, skimming along the surface
and disappearing altogether, or soaring upward,
cleaving the balmy air, and displaying
their little bodies as mere specks upon
the blue background. To relieve the monotony
otherwise attendant, here and there,
at long intervals, rose little knolls, clustered
with trees, resembling islands pushing
up from the glassy surface of a tranquil
ocean. And away, and away, and away to
the dim distance stretched this same sea-like
prairie, till the eye, unable to trace it
farther, saw nothing but the soft blending
of earth and sky.

For some moments we all remained silent,
gazing upon the scene with feelings
peculiar to each. Lilian was the first to
speak:

“O, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, rapturously.
“How beautiful and how sublime
is this great ocean of earth!”

“Ay, sublime indeed!” rejoined Eva.
“It is just such a scene as ever fills me
with rapture—inspires me with the sacred
feeling of poesy. O, that like one of those
gay birds, I could wing my way above it!
Would it not be delightful, Lilian?”

“Charming!” answered the other.

“But can we not skim its surface on our
fleet steeds? Come! for a ride! a ride!
What say you, gentleman?” she added,
appealing to us.

“So pleasant a request, from so fair a

petitioner, must needs be complied with,”
returned one of the party, gallantly, bowing
gracefully to Eva.

The speaker was a young man, some
twenty-five years of age, of fine person
and good address, with a handsome and
prepossessing countenance, whereon was
legibly stamped frankness, generosity and
nobleness of soul. There was an eloquence
in his soft, dark eye, and a loftiness of
purpose on his clear, open brow, which
would have ranked him far above the herd,
had even a finished education, of which he
was-possessed, been wanting. To be brief
in my remarks, he was the only son of one
of the merchants who had emigrated from
the State of New York to Oregon City during
the previous summer, and one of the
party who had so far been our companions
of the long journey. He was now on his
way East, to arrange some unsettled affairs
and purchase more goods for his father,
with the design of returning to Oregon the
following season. During the past winter,
Elmer Fitzgerald (so he was named) had
once or twice met with Eva Mortimer; but
no acquaintance had been formed with each
other previous to both parties setting forth
on the present journey, where, being daily
and hourly thrown together, sharing alike
the hardships and perils of the wilderness,
it was but natural, that between two such
individuals of refined manners and cultivated
tastes, there should gradually spring
up an intimacy, which time and circumstances
might ripen to something more.
But, as I have said before, let me not anticipate.

As Elmer spoke, I noted that both his
own and the countenance of Eva slightly
flushed, and quickly turning to me, the latter
said:

“And what say you, Francis?”

“I shall echo the words of Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Then we will go!” said Lilian, joyfully.
“But brother,” she added, turning
to Charles, “you appear gloomy, and dejected.
Do you object to this arrangement?”

“Why, to speak candidly,” he answered
seriously, “I do.”

“For what reason?” I inquired.

“I can give you no other than what I told
you last night—a presentiment of danger.”

“Pshaw! Charley,” I rejoined, “there
is no danger here. The sadness of Evaline
has made you gloomy, and a brisk
ride over this prairie will set you right
again.”

“And it will be beneficial to dear sister
Evaline also,” chimed in Eva, “by diverting
her thoughts from her present cause of
grief.”

“Suit yourselves in the matter,” rejoined
Huntly. “I shall of course do as the
rest. I merely spoke my apprehensions,
which, after all, may only be foolish fancies.”

“Lo! yonder Evaline comes!” cried
Lilian; and looking toward the village, a
part of which was visible from where we
stood, we beheld her rapidly descending
the mountain on her little pony.

Charles instantly wheeled his horse and
rode away to meet her, and presently returned
in her company. She was sad and
silent, and her eyes were red with weeping,
while her features generally, showed
traces of having recently passed through
a very trying scene.

On being informed of our present design,
she silently acquiesced; and liberating
our mules, that they might not suffer
in our absence, we rode slowly down to the
prairie, and set off at a gallop, most of us
in gay spirits, with the understanding that,
in case we became separated, we should
all meet again at the starting point.

Man plans and God performs. That
meeting, for some of the party, was destined
never to take place.