University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
TRYING EVENTS.

FOR a few moments the black, piercing eyes of the
Leaping Fawn remained fixed upon mine, with a penetrating
intensity: then her thin lips parted, and she inquired:

“Is the home of the Dark-Eye far away?”

“Far, very far, toward the rising sun,” I replied.

“Within the dominions of him they call the Great
White Father of the States?”

“It is.”

“Lives the Blue-Eye near the home of the Dark-Eye?”

“Scarcely nearer than the Leaping Fawn.”

“How comes it then that both are here, the captives of
the Wepecoolahs?”

I narrated to her how we were riding out to visit a sick
friend, and how we lost our way and were taken prisoners
at the hut of the Hermit.

“That was Langee,” she rejoined: “I learned so much
from those that brought you here.”

“You know him then?”

“Yes; it was he, and one other, that taught Dundenah
to speak the language of the Dark-Eye.”

“And pray who is that mysterious being?” I inquired.

“We know him only as Langee, which in your language
signifies the Learned, or Man of Knowledge. He first
came among the Wepecoolahs when Dundenah was very
young. He professed to worship Wandewah, the Great
Spirit—but his actions were not in accordance with the

principles he proclaimed. After living with the Wepecoolahs
for years, he went to a neighboring tribe, where,
for some immoral conduct, he was seized, tried, and
condemned to death. He escaped by stratagem, and fled;
but his retreat has been discovered, and he is now a
prisoner.”

“And is he to be punished by the Wepecoolahs for an
offence against another nation?” I inquired.

“Dundenah can answer after his trial,” she replied.
And then fixing her black eyes steadily upon my countenance,
she continued: “Does the Dark-Eye prize
liberty?”

“What so dear as liberty, Dundenah?” I said: “what
is life without it?”

“Would the Dark-Eye go, and leave the Blue-Eye in
bondage?”

“No, Dundenah—no!” I replied, quickly.

“Then the Blue-Eye is dearer to the Dark-Eye than
liberty?” was the quick rejoinder.

“I confess it is even so, Dundenah. But tell me of the
Biue-Eye—is she safe and well?”

“And if not?”

“If not?” cried I, forgetting where I was, and springing
to my feet with an energy that caused my companion
to take two or three steps backward.

“Well, and if not?” she repeated, drawing herself up
proudly, and motioning the Indian near the door to
approach.

“I shall grieve in silence,” I replied, softening my
tone. “Pardon my excitement! I had forgotten I was
a prisoner, unable to redress the wrongs and insults that
might be heaped upon me, or my companion in captivity,”
I added, in a tone of some bitterness.

Dundenah looked at me sternly for a few moments; and

then turning abruptly away, went out. My savage guard
glared upon me for a while after she had gone, and then
resumed his place by the door. I was thus again left to
myself, and to my own not very pleasant reflections.

I saw no more of Dundenah that day; and this gave
me no little uneasiness; for if I had offended her, it would
doubtless be the worse for myself and Clara; and that I
had offended her, I thought more than probable from her
manner of leaving me.

Left to myself in solitude, a closely guarded prisoner,
among savages, with a terrible uncertainty hanging over
my fate and Clara's, the day, as may naturally be supposed,
dragged wearily to a close. At sunset my guard
was changed, some food and water were given me, and
then my limbs were tightly bound, and in this condition
I was left to pass the night.

And a horrible night it was to me; for I could not
sleep; and thought was busy conjuring up a thousand
frightful fancies. At break of day, however, greatly to my
relief, I was freed from my cords; when, throwing myself
upon the ground, I managed, in spite of circumstances, to
lose myself for a couple of hours.

Somewhere about midday, Dundenah again made her
appearance; but to my eager questions concerning Clara,
she returned me no answer. In fact, she seemed resolved
to hold no further conversation with me; for after walking
up and down the Council House a few times—occasionally
stopping in front of me, in a proud attitude, and fixing
her black eyes upon me, with a cold, penetrating expression—she
waved her hand loftily, and went out. She did
not return again that day, which went much as the one
preceding; and at night I was secured as before, though I
managed to get some sleep.

In short, a week passed away in this dull, monotonous

manner; and at last I grew so wearied with my confinement
and suspense, that I fancied I could welcome any
change, even though it were to pass from imprisonment to
death. During this time Dundenah visited me daily; but
her lips were sealed; she would utter no word; and I
could learn nothing as to the fate of Clara.

On the eighth day of my imprisonment, Dundenah came
to visit me earlier than usual. She entered with a quick
step; and as she advanced straight to where I was seated,
I saw by her manner, and the expression of her features,
that she had something of importance to communicate.

“Kenneloo, the great chief of the Wepecoolahs, has
returned from the war-path,” she said, in a quick, excited
tone. “He has not met with the success he expected,
and has to mourn the loss of many a gallant brave. As a
consequence, he brings a clouded brow and an angry
heart. Let the Dark-Eye beware of his words, when he
speaks to the great chief through the lips of Langee! Let
him say nothing to stir the heart of Kenneloo to revenge,
or the life of the Dark-Eye will not last him to look
upon the sun of Wandewah. So speaks Dundenah, who
would not see the earth drink the blood of the Dark-Eye.”

“But the Blue-Eye, Dundenah—what of her?”

At this moment a long, loud, mournful wail, of many
voices, came borne to our ears.

“Hark!” cried Dundenah: “'tis the death howl of the
Wepecoolahs: already they mourn their dead. Let the
Dark-Eye remember the caution of Dundenah!”

Saying this, she turned, darted away, and disappeared
from my view through the doorway of the Council House.

Scarcely had she gone, when I heard various cries,
whoops, yells, and the trampling of a large body of horse.
My guard still maintained his position by the door—but
his whole attention was now fixed on what was taking

place without. A few minutes after, he stepped aside, with
an air of respect; and Kenneloo, accompanied by Langee,
or the Hermit, entered the Council House.

There was a dark frown on the brow of the chief, a
compression of the lips, and a fierceness in the glance of
his black eyes, as he advanced directly toward me, that I
fancied boded me no good. He came close up to me,
glared upon me savagely for a few moments, and then
grasped my arm so roughly, that I could scarcely avoid
uttering a cry of pain. I felt my blood boil at this indignity;
and but for the warning words of Dundenah, I
believe I should have resented it by a blow, chief though
he was. But by a great effort I controlled my feelings,
and returned his rude gaze calmly and unflinchingly.

He was a powerful personage, physically considered,
being over six feet in stature, and finely proportioned,
with strength and grace in every limb. His features,
now that I had a fair view of them, I could not call ugly
in themselves, though horribly disfigured by paint, and by
two long, deep scars, one of which ran obliquely across the
nose, and led me to infer that that member had been
severed by the sharp cut of a sword, or tomahawk, during
some conflict. His eyes were black, and now seemed to
gleam with meditated vengeance; but still I could see in
them a look of intelligence far superior to most of his
tribe. The forehead, too, was high and broad; but I did
not altogether admire the phrenological development of
the shaved head—from the crown of which dangled the
scalp-lock, with the feathers, intended to adorn it, now
soiled with dust and mud, and otherwise in disarray. His
loins were covered with a panther skin, belted around his
waist; and this, with moccasins, comprised his whole costume.
In his belt were stuck his tomahawk and scalping-knife—and
these were all the weapons he had about him.

With the exception of the feathers attached to his scalp-lock,
and a couple of coarse, heavy rings, dangling from
his ears, he was devoid of any attempt at ornament—and
there was nothing by which to distinguish him from his followers
as the chief of his tribe.

After grasping my arm in the manner related, and
impudently thrusting his face so close to mine that I was
obliged to inhale his breath, while his black, snakey eyes
fairly gleamed with what seemed a fiendish thirst for
vengeance—and finding I made no attempt at resistance
or resentment, and neither uttered a cry of pain, nor
showed signs of surprise or fear—he threw me from him
with such force, that, in spite of myself, I fell heavily to
the ground. Then turning to the Hermit—who was
watching me, with what I fancied to be a look of commiseration—he
made an exclamation in the Indian tongue, to
which the other nodded in reply.

The chief then spoke a few words to Langee, in a rapid
tone; and as I rose to my feet, the latter advanced to me
and said:

“Young man, your presence of mind, and the restraint
put upon your passions, under the insult offered you, has
prolonged your life, perhaps saved it. When Kenneloo
entered here, I trembled for your safety; for had you
offered the least resistance, or exhibited the least sign of
fear, he would have brained you on the spot. He now
deems you a fit subject for the torture, to which he intends
to devote you, as an offering to Kailwanondah, the Evil
Spirit, to appease his wrath for the signal failure of his
expedition against your countrymen.”

“I am much obliged to Kenneloo for his good opinion
and kind intentions,” I replied, with sarcastic bitterness;
“but though I am duly sensible of the honor he would
thus confer upon me, yet I would rather decline it; and,

if I must die, would prefer to be killed outright, where I
stand, even though my courage should suffer in savage
estimation. Had I known for what purpose he was testing
my presence of mind and forbearance, rest assured the
insult had not been tamely borne—of which he may even
yet convince himself by attempting to repeat it. But I
had been warned to be guarded against giving offence—
though not till your explanation was I aware for what
diabolical purpose.”

“You allude to Dundenah?” said Langee.

“I do.”

“Wrong her not with that suspicion then: the Leaping
Fawn would save you.”

“Ha! say you so? But how do you know this?

“I had it from her own lips.”

“You have seen her then?”

“I have. She spoke with me as I was about to enter
here with the chief; and her last words were: `Save the
Dark-eyed prisoner.' ”

“Who is she, pray tell me?”

“The daughter of Kenneloo.”

“Indeed! but her features are not like the others of
the tribe.”

“Her mother was of another race. But I will tell you
more at some future time, should opportunity permit. At
present it is my painful duty to inform you, that Kenneloo
will reserve you for the stake, and he waits to see how
you will bear the announcement of your doom.”

“Good heavens! you seem as cold-blooded as he—and
speak of my sentence as though you were conferring a
favor.”

“I speak of your sentence as something better than
certain death; and in order to give you a chance for your
life, I will tell you what to reply. You must demand a

trial by Council—which, according to the laws of the
Wepecoolahs, cannot be refused.”

“And will this proceeding save me?”

“We hope to save you by this proceeding.”

“Then make such demand for me.”

Langee turned to the chief, who seemed to be getting
impatient, and spoke a few words in the Indian tongue.

Kenneloo started, with a look of surprise and anger;
and then replying in a loud, fierce tone, stalked out of the
Council House, leaving the Hermit alone with me.

The latter now turned to me, with a troubled expression,
and said:

“To save you, young man, I fear I have sealed my own
doom.”

“How so?” I inquired, in surprise.

“He says that I either dictated your reply, or have
translated it falsely; and that be it which it may, I shall
answer for it.”

“And what will be the consequences to you, my
friend?”

“If you escape the torture, I shall probably be tried by
Council; and if condemned, must suffer in your stead—
for Kenneloo declares he will have a victim.”

“Then do not save my life at the sacrifice of your own,
Langee,” I replied. “I could not ask that, even were
you a tried friend, instead of a stranger.”

“God's will be done!” returned the Hermit, calmly.
“You are more worthy to live than I—and there are ties
binding you to earth—while I have none. No, no,” he
continued, reflectingly, sadly, and touchingly—“there are
none now to mourn the loss of a wretch like me—life is
become a burden rather than a pleasure—and the sooner
I sleep in death the better. Nature, it is true, shrinks
from death, even when the spirit longs for it—and nature

doubly revolts at physical torture—but we must all pass
the great bourne, in some way, sooner or later; and if
this is to be my fate, I will try to bear it with Christian
fortitude and resignation, as a portion of the punishment
due to my transgressions, and say, `God's will be done!' ”

I was struck with the manner and language of my
strange companion; and believing him sincerely repentant,
I felt that, however great were his sins, they would be forgiven.

“God is above all, and rules all, generous stranger!” I
said, seizing his hand; and “peradventure He will yet
deliver us both from the hands of our enemies. But tell
me—know you any thing of my fair companion?'

“Ha!” he said, starting—“the lady that was with you
—I hope no harm has befallen her?”

“Then you know nothing of her?”

“Nothing: I have not seen her since we parted on the
night you were made captives. Was she not brought to
the village with you?”

“Yes; but immediately after we were separated by
Dundenah; and for more than a week I have neither seen
nor heard from her, and know not whether she is living or
dead.”

“And did you question Dundenah?”

“Yes, many times—but she would give me no answer.”

“This is strange!” returned Langee, musingly, and
shaking his head, as one in doubt: “this is strange!
Can it be?” he proceeded, rather thinking aloud than addressing
me: “Can it be? There is something to favor
the suspicion; and then she was always wayward, wilful,
and even passionately rash when a child. But then again
it was too soon for her to stake all upon so bold a stroke.
You say you were separated almost immediately after your
arrival in the village?” he continued, raising his large,

dark, wild-looking eyes from the ground, and fixing them
upon me.

“Yes—we were scarcely together here a quarter of an
hour. But what do you fear, Langee? Speak! tell me
the worst at once?”

“Could Dundenah have known from your manner that
you loved the maiden?”

“Undoubtedly. But what could this have to do with
our separation?”

“Nothing, perhaps, with your separation—though much,
perchance, with what followed.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Well, let it pass: I must see more, ere I venture to
tell you my conjectures: they may be erroneous ones.”

“But what think you has been done with Clara?”

“I cannot say.”

“You surely do not think any harm has befallen her?”

“I hope not.”

“Hope not?” cried I. “Good heavens! you alarm me
with even a vague suspicion—you who so well know Dundenah
and the Wepecoolahs.”

“Well, I know nothing of this matter, and therefore
you should not get alarmed at my words. In truth, I
rather think the girl is safe and unharmed.”

“If otherwise, they may lead me to death as soon as
they like,” said I, despondingly.

“Then you prize her more than life?”

“I would give my life for hers.”

“That is true love, and springs from a noble heart,”
rejoined Langee. “But were the maiden dead, have you
no other ties to bind you to earth?”

“Yes, many,” replied I, as my thoughts reverted to
home and my friends.

“Then you are to be envied, even in your misfortune,”
rejoined the Hermit, gloomily.

And turning aside to one of the benches, he seated himself,
hid his face in his hands, and commenced rocking to
and fro, as I had seen him do in his own hovel on the
prairie.

I seated myself also; and for several minutes gave way
to such poignant reflections as my own situation, and the
uncertainty shrouding the fate of poor Clara, naturally
awakened. I thought in silence, till thought without utterance
became too painful to bear; and I resolved to renew
conversation with my strange companion. At the same
time it occurred to me; that I had forgotten to question
him concerning the expedition of the Wepecoolahs; and
approaching him at once, I touched him on the shoulder—
but I had to repeat this, and even to shake him, before I
could rouse him from his deep reverie.

At length he raised his head, and looking around somewhat
wildly, fixed his eyes upon mine, and said, with a
kind of sigh:

“Ah me! you have recalled me from the past to the
present—and I suffer by the transition. Rare thing for
me! memory was busy with the early and happy scenes of
my existence—and they have been all too few.”

“I crave pardon then!” I replied. “Had I known you
were occupied with pleasant reflections, I might have
envied, but certainly should not have disturbed you.”

“Well, well—no matter,” he rejoined, gloomily: “the
present had to return, and you only hastened it by a few
moments.”

“I wished to ask you concerning the last expedition of
the Wepecoolahs?”

“Thank God, it was for the most part a failure!” he
said, earnestly; “for though I would mingle not with my

kind, for reasons of my own, yet I bear no ill-feeling
toward them, and really wish them well—least of all
would I voluntarily be an accessory to blood and plunder,
even were the parties assailed my enemies.

“The object of the expedition of the Wepecoolahs was
revenge upon their natural foes, the whites; and their intention
was to steal, like a cat upon her prey, upon a certain
frontier settlement, and achieve a sudden and awful
victory, by indiscriminate massacre, fire and plunder. I
went with them the more readily, that, in the first place,
resistance was out of the question; secondly, I could do
nothing to prevent the diabolical attempt being made; and
thirdly, I thought if I could not by any means warn the
inhabitants of their approach, I might perhaps succeed in
rescuing some poor fellow being from the general doom.

“But Providence frustrated their bloody design, and
made it recoil upon themselves. They crossed the Brazos,
and penetrated the country low down toward the Gulf,
without being discovered; and one stormy night, about the
mid-hour, having left their horses in a neighboring wood,
they stole down upon a small settlement, and, simultaneously
uttering their terrible war-whoop, rushed on, as
they supposed to easy conquest.

“But it so chanced that a gallant band of Texas Rangers
were just entering the village to quarter for the night,
and they met the savages in their fierce career.

“The result was a signal defeat to the latter, with a loss
of some ten or twelve killed outright, and several others
wounded. The Indians made a precipitate retreat to their
horses; and such of them as were fortunate enough to
reach them in advance of their pursuers, effected their
escape; but there are nineteen notches to be cut from the
tally-stick of the tribe; and among the missing, who will

return no more, they number some of their best and
bravest fighters.”

I could not but rejoice at this signal defeat of the
Wepecoolahs, although it rendered the mere chance of
escape from such a body of disappointed and infuriated
beings next to a miracle, and I so expressed myself to
Langee.

“Yes,” he replied, “in all probability we shall be the
victims, on whom will fall most heavily their retaliatory
vengeance. I could have escaped during the melee—but I
had passed my word of honor to Kenneloo, not to do so
under any circumstances, and I would not forfeit that to
save my unworthy life. If he, an Indian, an uncultivated
savage, and a foe to my race, had faith enough in my
integrity to take my unsupported word for the security of
my person, it would be a burning shame, I thought, for
me to be the first to convince him that a Christian white
man values life more than honor, to say nothing of the sin
of deliberately telling a falsehood.”

“You may be in the right,” I rejoined; “but the very
fewest number would have reasoned so under such circumstances.”

“That may be,” he pursued; “but a thousand wrongs
never made a right; and he who attempts to act on principle,
should keep principle paramount to all other objects
or considerations.”

“What to me seems the most wonderful part of the
whole matter is, that Kenneloo should have accepted your
word as sufficient security for your person,” I said.

“He had seen me tried before,” said Langee.

“And think you, after all this, he will deliberately put
you to death?”

“He may do so—for there is no calculating on the
whims of an untutored savage.”

“And does your word bind you not to escape now?” I
inquired.

“I do not know that it does.”

“Then were I in your place, I would avail myself of
the first opportunity to get out of the clutches of such
dangerous enemies.”

“It is no easy matter to escape now,” replied Langee,
“even were I so inclined. Kenneloo, as I have already
informed you, has become suspicious of me; and it would
not surprise me to find myself ere long deprived of my
liberty. But I will go,” he pursued, “and endeavor to
ascertain the state of feeling among the savages with
regard to both of us; and also learn, if I can, what has
been done with your fair companion.”

“Do,” I said, “and let me see you at the earliest
moment practicable—for I am in a state of anxious suspense.”

The Hermit rose, and went to the door, where he spoke
a few words with the Indian guard; and then returning to
me, said:

“It is as I feared—I am already a close prisoner: the
sentry has orders not to let me leave the Council House.”

At this moment we heard voices without; and directly
after, Kenneloo entered the building, followed by some
twenty of his most distinguished warriors.