2. CHAPTER II.
It needed but a glance at the new comer to detect
at once the form and features of the haughty aborigine—the
untaught and untrammeled son of the forest.
Over one shoulder a blanket, negligently but
gracefully thrown, disclosed a bare and powerful
breast, decorated with a quantity of three cent postage
stamps which he had despoiled from an Overland
Mail stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off beaver
of Judge Tompkins's, adorned by a simple feather,
covered his erect head, from beneath which his
straight locks descended. His right hand hung
lightly by his side, while his left was engaged in
holding on a pair of pantaloons, which the lawless
grace and freedom of his lower limbs evidently
could not brook.
“Why,” said the Indian, in a low sweet tone,
“why does the Pale Face still follow the track of
the Red Man? Why does he pursue him, even as,
O-kee-chow, the wild-cat, chases
Ka-ka, the skunk?
Why are the feet of
Sorrel-top, the white chief, among
the acorns of
Muck-a-Muck, the mountain forest?
Why,” he repeated, quietly but firmly, abstracting a
silver spoon from the table, “why do you seek to
drive him from the wigwams of his fathers? His
brothers are already gone to the happy hunting
grounds. Will the Pale Face seek him there?”
And, averting his face from the Judge, he hastily
slipped a silver cake-basket beneath his blanket, to
conceal his emotion.
“Muck-a-Muck has spoken,” said Genevra softly.
“Let him now listen. Are the acorns of the mountain
sweeter than the esculent and nutritious bean of
the Pale Face miner? Does my brother prize the
edible qualities of the snail above that of the crisp
and oleaginous bacon? Delicious are the grasshoppers
that sport on the hillside—are they better than
the dried apples of the Pale Faces? Pleasant is the gurgle
of the torrent, Kish-Kish, but is it better than the
cluck-cluck of old Bourbon from the old stone bottle?”
“Ugh!” said the Indian, “Ugh! good. The
White Rabbit is wise. Her words fall as the snow on
Tootoonolo, and the rocky heart of Muck-a-Muck is
hidden. What says my brother the Gray Gopher of
Dutch Flat?'
“She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck,” said the Judge,
gazing fondly on his daughter. It is well. Our
treaty is concluded. No, thank you—you need not
dance the Dance of Snow Shoes, or the Moccasin
Dance, the Dance of Green Corn, or the Treaty Dance.
I would be alone. A strange sadness overpowers
me.”
“I go,” said the Indian. “Tell your great chief
in Washington, the Sachem Andy, that the Red Man
is retiring before the footsteps of the adventurous
Pioneer. Inform him, if you please, that westward
the star of empire takes its way, that the chiefs of
the Pi-Ute nation are for Reconstruction to a man,
and that Klamath will poll a heavy Republican vote
in the fall.
And folding his blanket more tightly around him,
Muck-a Muck withdrew.
