his encampment, we will now return to Reginald Brandon and his party,
whom we left starting westward on the trail, marching in regular order,
and prepared, without delaying the progress, to repel any hostile
attempt on the part of the Crows. The latter band seemed, however, so
impressed with the strength, discipline, and appointments of the white
men’s force, now that it had received a strong reinforcement, that
they gave up all present intention of molesting it, and went off in
an opposite direction in search of game, horses, or booty where these
might be acquired with less risk and danger.
Reginald and Ethelston went together on the line of march; and although
the spirits of the former were damped by the recent and melancholy
fate of the Crow youth, in whom he had felt much interest, the buoyant
hilarity of his disposition did not long resist his friend’s endeavours
to banish that subject from his thoughts, and to turn the conversation
to topics more immediately connected with the object of their present
expedition.
Reginald having once confided to Ethelston his love for Prairie–bird,
found a pleasure in describing to him her beauty, her natural grace,
her simplicity,—in short, all those charms and attractions which had
carried by storm the fortress of his heart; and it seemed that his
friend was no less willing to listen than he to talk upon the subject;
repeating question after question, regarding her with an unwearied
intensity of curiosity that excited at length the surprise of Reginald
himself.
“Indeed, Edward,” he said, laughing, “did I not know that you are
devoted to a certain lady on the banks of the Muskingum, and that your
attachments are reasonably steady, I could almost believe that the
fidelity and eloquence with which I have described Prairie–bird had
made you fall in love with her yourself.”
“Perhaps you are claiming more merit for your own eloquence than
is due to it,” said Ethelston, in a similar tone, “you forget that
before I joined you, Paul Müller and I had travelled many hundred
miles together; and it is a topic upon which he speaks as warmly and
partially as yourself.”
“Well he may!” replied Reginald with energy, “for she owes everything
to his affectionate care and instruction, in return for which she loves
and venerates him as if he were her father.”
In such conversation did the friends while away many weary hours on
the march; and at the midday halt and evening camp, they were joined
by the worthy missionary, who, justly proud of his pupil, and knowing
that he was addressing those who would not soon be weary of hearing
her praises, told them many anecdotes of her early youth, with an
earnestness and feeling which often caused Reginald to avert his face,
and Ethelston to shade his brow thoughtfully with his hand.
Nor was the march unenlivened by scenes of a merrier kind, for
Pierre, Baptiste, and Monsieur Perrot kept up a constant round of
fun and raillery around their camp–kettle; the latter continuing to
act as chief cook for all the white men and half–bred in the party,
and leaving the Delawares to dress their food after their own fancy.
Provisions were abundant in the camp, and Perrot contrived by his
ingenuity to give a variety both in appearance and flavour to supplies,
which in truth consisted of little more than parched maize, biscuit,
coffee, and bison–meat. He talked incessantly, and his lively sallies
not only amused his two companions, but often drew a smile from
Reginald, in spite of the anxiety occasioned by the object of the
expedition.
“Master Baptiste,” said the valet cook (as nearly as his language may
be rendered into English), “methinks those great hands of yours are
better skilled in chopping Sioux skulls, or felling bee–trees, than in
the science of butchery; see here, what unchristian lumps of meat you
have brought me to dress!”
“Were it not for these great hands, as you call them,” replied the
sturdy guide, “you, Master Perrot, with those fine–skinned fingers,
would often ere this have seen little of either deer or bison–meat for
your supper.”
“As for that, I deny not that you are tolerably successful in hunting,
and your load of venison is sometimes brought decently home; but in the
cutting up of a bison, your education has been much neglected.”
“It may be so, Monsieur Perrot,” answered Baptiste: “I do not pretend
to much skill in the matter, and yet methinks I should understand as
much of it as one who had never seen a bison a month since; and who
could not now dress a cow’s udder half so well as an Osage squaw.”
Pierre laughed outright at his comrade’s depreciation of Perrot’s
culinary skill; and the latter, whose temper was not a whit ruffled by
this disparagement of his talents, inquired with the utmost gravity,
“Pray, Baptiste, instruct me in this matter, for I doubt not, although
you have so grievously mutilated the ox, that your method of dressing
the cow’s udder must be worth learning.”
“Nay,” replied Baptiste, “I will show you that when we come among cows
and squaws; meanwhile I recommend you to make yourself a spare peruke,
as we may soon be running foul of those Osages, or some other roving
Indians, who may chance to carry off that moveable scalp on the top of
your head.”
This allusion to Perrot’s disaster and narrow escape among the Sioux,
turned the laugh against him; but he quickly checked its current by
placing before his companions some buffalo steaks, and cakes of maize
flour, which practically contradicted all that they had been saying in
his disparagement of the good–humoured Frenchman’s cookery.
Towards the close of the second day’s march, one of the Delawares,
who had been sent forward to reconnoitre, galloped to the rear and
reported that he had seen one or two men at a great distance a–head,
nearly in the line of the trail which they were now following. Reginald
immediately sprung upon Nekimi, who was walking like a pet–dog at
his side; and, accompanied by Ethelston, rode forward to examine the
strangers with his telescope. The undulations of the intervening
ground hid them for a considerable time from his view, and when they
reappeared they were near enough to be clearly distinguished through
his glass.
“War–Eagle,” he exclaimed, “Heaven be praised! It is my brave Indian
brother returning with young Wingenund. Edward, I will now present to
you the noblest creature that ever yet I encountered in human shape.
My feelings would prompt me to rush forward and embrace him; but we
must conform ourselves to Indian usage here, or we shall lose the good
opinion of our Delaware friends.”
Reginald had confided to his friend all that had passed between himself
and War–Eagle, not even omitting his unfortunate and long–cherished
passion for Prairie–bird, so that Ethelston awaited his approach with
no ordinary interest.
As the Delaware chieftain advanced with erect front, his expanded chest
thrown slightly forward, and the fine symmetry of his form developed
in every movement as he stepped lightly over the prairie, Ethelston
felt that he had never seen, either in nature or in the works of art, a
finer specimen of manhood; and when he witnessed the grave simplicity
which mingled with his cordial greeting of Reginald Brandon, he
could not deny that features, form, and bearing stamped the Delaware
chieftain at once as one of the lords of the creation. Neither did the
gentle gracefulness of the slighter figure by whom he was accompanied
escape Ethelston’s notice, and he felt no difficulty in recognising, in
the interesting features of the youth, that Wingenund of whose high and
amiable qualities he had heard so much from Reginald.
“These are, indeed,” said Ethelston to himself, “worthy descendants
of the Lenapé princes, whose sway in bygone days extended over many
hundred leagues of fertile territory, from the Ohio to the Atlantic
coast: whose broad lands are now tilled by the Saxon plough, on the
site of whose ancient villages now stand the churches and the popular
streets of Baltimore, and the city of Brotherly Love. With the loss
of their dominion, most of these once–powerful tribes have lost the
highest and best characteristics of their race; subdued by the rifle,
corrupted by the silver, degraded by the ardent spirits of the white
man, they present but too often a spectacle in which it is difficult to
recognise any traces of the attributes with which the narratives of our
early travellers and missionaries invest them. But these are, indeed,
features which a Titian would not have scorned to delineate; these are
forms which the pencil of Michael Angelo and the chisel of Praxiteles
would have rejoiced to immortalise.”
While these thoughts were rapidly passing through the mind of
Ethelston, the greeting between Reginald and War–Eagle was exchanged;
and the former had given to his Indian brother a hasty sketch of the
events which had occurred in his absence and of those which had led to
the reinforcement brought by Ethelston. A gleam of joy shot athwart
the features of the Delaware, as he learnt the vengeance which
his warriors had taken of their enemies; and his quick eye glanced
with gratified pride over the scalps which they displayed, and the
magnificent bear–claw collar dependent from Attō’s neck. The Lenapé
braves saw too that the tomahawk of their leader had not slept in its
belt on his solitary war–path, for the scalps of the two unfortunate
Osages whom he had slain hung close to its handle; and though there was
no shout of triumph, an audible murmur of satisfaction ran through the
whole band.
When Reginald presented Ethelston to War–Eagle as his earliest and most
faithful friend from childhood, the chief, taking him by the hand,
said, “The friend of Netis is the friend of War–Eagle,—their hearts
are one; he is very welcome.” Reginald then presented Wingenund to his
friend, as the gallant youth who had saved his life on the banks of the
Muskingum.
“I feel as if I had long known him,” said Ethelston, shaking his hand
cordially; “I have come lately from Mooshanne, where his name is not
forgotten.”
“Is the Lily of Mooshanne well?” inquired the youth, fixing his dark
and earnest eyes full upon the countenance of the person whom he was
addressing. Ethelston had been prepared by his friend’s description
of Wingenund for a demeanour and character highly interesting; but
there was a melody, a pathos, a slight tremor in the tone in which he
spoke those few words, there was also in his countenance a touching
expression of melancholy, that thrilled to the heart of Ethelston. How
quick is the jealous eye of love! Ethelston knew that Wingenund had
passed only one day in the society of Lucy, yet he saw in an instant
the deep impression which that day had left on the young Indian’s mind.
“The Lily of Mooshanne is well,” he replied. “If she had known that I
should visit her brother, and his Lenapé friends, she would have bid me
speak many kind words to them from her.”
Wingenund passed on, and War–Eagle related to the two friends the
leading circumstances of his own expedition, omitting all mention of
the fatigue, the hunger, the sleepless nights that he had undergone,
before he discovered and reached the Osage camp.
As he described the scene of Wingenund being tied to the post, with
the dried faggots at his feet, and the appearance of Prairie–bird when
Mahéga called upon her to pronounce her own or her brother’s fate,
both of his auditors held their breath with anxious suspense, which
gave place to astonishment, as he proceeded to relate with undisguised
awe the mystery of the solar eclipse, which led to the liberation of
Wingenund.
When he had concluded his narrative, Reginald was speechless; and
Ethelston, catching the Delaware’s arm, inquired in a low whisper, “Has
the Osage dared, or will he dare, to make Prairie–bird his wife by
force?”
“He has not,” replied the chief; “the words of Olitipa, and the black
sun, made him afraid.” He added, drawing himself proudly to his full
height, “Had the wolf threatened to touch her with his paw, the
tomahawk of War–Eagle would have pierced his heart, or the bones of the
Lenapé chief and his brother would have been picked by the buzzards of
the mountains.” So saying, War–Eagle joined his expectant warriors.
In the meantime Mahéga returned to his camp, in a vexed and gloomy
state of mind; as he passed the tent of Prairie–bird, a darker frown
lowered upon his brow; and having entered his lodge, he seated himself,
without speaking to any of those who had assembled there in expectation
of his return.
The youngest of the Osages present having handed him a lighted pipe,
retired to a corner of the lodge, where he resumed his occupation
of sharpening the head of a barbed arrow, leaving the chief to his
own meditations. These dwelt mainly upon Prairie–bird, and were of a
nature so mingled and vague, as to cause him the greatest perplexity.
The effect of her beauty and attractions upon his passions had rather
increased than diminished: he loved her as much as one so fierce and
selfish could love another; yet, on the other hand, he felt that he
ought to hate her, as being the sister of War–Eagle, and the betrothed
of the man who had struck and disgraced him: with these contending
feelings there was blended a superstitious awe of her communion with
the world of spirits, and a remote hope that some of these supernatural
agencies might turn her heart in his favour, and induce her not only to
become his bride, but zealously to employ all her mysterious powers in
the furtherance of his ambitious schemes.
Such was the train of thought pursued by the Osage, as he leaned
against the pile of furs that supported his back, and stretching his
huge limbs at their ease, watched the eddying wreaths of fragrant
smoke, which gently puffed from his mouth and _nostril_, wound their
slow way to the fissures in the lodge–roof by which they escaped.[60]
The suggestion of Toweno had made a strong impression upon Mahéga’s
mind, and led him to expect, at no distant period, an attack on the
part of the Delawares; and as he was uncertain of the force which his
enemy might bring against him, he resolved to make a timely retreat to
some spot where a pursuit, if attempted by the Delawares, might enable
him to take them at a disadvantage.
Calling to him an Osage who was leaning against one of the outer posts
that supported the lodge, he desired him to make, with a comrade,
a careful search of the neighbourhood, and to report any trail or
suspicious appearance that they might find; and when he had given these
orders he summoned Toweno, and started with him towards the head of
the little valley, without informing him of the object which he had
in view; but as the latter was the only person to whom the chief had
entrusted the secret of the câche, where his most valuable spoils were
deposited, and as they were now marching in that direction, he was not
at a loss to divine Mahéga’s intentions. After a brief silence, the
chief said to his follower, “Do the thoughts of Toweno walk upon the
same path with the thoughts of Mahéga?”
“They do,” he replied.
“Can Toweno speak them?”
“Mahéga intends to leave the camp before the Lenapé come; and taking
some goods with him as presents to the mountain tribes, to find a safe
place where the enemy cannot follow him.”
“Toweno says well,” answered the chief, with a grim smile, “but that is
not enough, the Lenapé must be made a fool, he must be put upon a wrong
trail.”
“That is good, if it can be done,” said Toweno, gravely, “but it is not
easy to put sand in the eyes of War–Eagle.”
“Mahéga will put sand into his eyes, and a knife into his heart before
this moon becomes a circle,” replied the chief, clutching as he went
the haft of his scalp–knife, and unconsciously lengthening his stride
under the excitement produced by the thoughts of a conflict with his
hated foe. They had now reached the “câche,” which was a large dry
hole in the side of a rocky bank, the entrance to which was closed by
a stone, and admirably concealed by a dense thicket of brambles and
wild raspberry bushes: having rolled away the stone, Mahéga withdrew
from the câche a plentiful supply of beads, vermillion, powder, and
cloths of various colour, being part of the plunder taken from the camp
of the unfortunate Delawares, and wrapping in two blankets as much as
he and his companion could carry, they replaced the stone, carefully
concealing their foot–prints as they retreated, by strewing them with
leaves and grass. At a spot very near the câche was the skeleton of
a deer, which Mahéga had killed on a former occasion, and purposely
dragged thither. As soon as they reached this point, they took no
further precaution to conceal their trail, because, even if it were
found, the party discovering it would stop under the impression that it
was made by the hunters who had killed the deer. On returning to the
camp they met the two Osages who had been despatched to reconnoitre,
and who reported that they had found one fresh Indian trail in the
woods opposite the little valley, and that they had followed it as far
as the stream, where, from its direction and appearance, they were
assured it was the trail of War–Eagle; and Mahéga now first learnt
that his daring foe had been within eighty yards of the spot selected
for the torture of Wingenund. His was not a nature to give way to idle
regrets; equally a stranger to fear and to remorse, the future troubled
him but little, the past not at all, excepting when it afforded him
food wherewith to cherish his revenge; so the information now received
did not interrupt him in carrying into execution his plans for retreat.
Accordingly, he desired Toweno to summon his warriors to a council,
and in a short time the band, now reduced to eight besides himself,
assembled in front of his lodge. Here he harangued them with his usual
cunning sagacity, pointing out to them the risk of remaining in their
present position, and setting before them in the most favourable light
the advantages which might accrue from their falling in with some
of the peaceable tribes among the mountains, and carrying back from
them to the banks of the Osage and Kansas rivers a plentiful cargo of
beaver and other valuable skins. Having concluded his harangue, he
opened before them the largest (although the least precious) of the
bales brought from the câche, which he divided equally amongst them,
so that each warrior knowing what belonged to him, might use it as he
thought fit; the remaining bale he ordered to be carefully secured in
wrappers of hide, and to be reserved for negotiations for the benefit
of the whole band. The Osages were loud in their approbation of the
speech, and of the liberal distribution of presents by which it had
been accompanied, and they retired from his lodge to make immediate
preparations for departure.
While these were rapidly advancing, Mahéga, who had made himself
thoroughly familiar with the neighbouring locality, considered and
matured his plans for retreat, the chief object of which was to mislead
the Delawares, in the event of their attempting a pursuit. The result
of his meditations he confined to his own breast, and his followers
neither wished nor cared to know it, having full reliance upon his
sagacity and judgment. Meanwhile, Prairie–bird remained quietly in her
tent, grateful for the deliverance of her young brothers, and indulging
in a thousand dreamy visions of her own escape, contrived and effected
by Reginald and War–Eagle. These were suddenly interrupted by the
entrance of Lita, who, while engaging in carrying water from the brook,
had gathered from one of the Osages some intelligence of what was going
forward. If the truth must be told, this Indian, separated from the
woman–kind of his own tribe, had begun to look on the expressive gipsy
countenance of the Comanche girl with an eye of favour; and she not
being slow to detect the influence which she had acquired, encouraged
him just enough to render him communicative, and willing to offer her
such attentions as were admissible in their relative situations. Yet
in her heart she scorned him as a “dog of an Osage,” and though he
knew her to be only a slave, there was something in her manner that
attracted him in spite of himself; it was not difficult for the quick
girl to gather from her admirer the news of Wingenund’s escape, and
the death of the two Osages sent to guard him; but when she heard the
latter attributed with an execration to the hand of War–Eagle, she was
obliged to avert her face, that her informant might not observe the
look of triumph that gleamed in her dark eyes.
Having ascertained at the same time that Mahéga was about to strike his
camp and resume his march, she rewarded the Osage by an arch smile,
that sent him away contented, while she, taking up her water–vessel,
pursued her way to her mistress’s tent.
To the latter Lita lost no time in communicating what she had learnt,
and was disappointed to observe that Prairie–bird seemed rather vexed
than gratified by the intelligence.
“Does Olitipa not rejoice?” inquired she eagerly, “that the scalps of
the Washashee dogs who kept Wingenund prisoner are hanging at the belt
of the Lenapé chief?”
“Olitipa is tired of blood,” answered the maiden, mournfully, “and the
loss of his warriors will make Mahéga more fierce and cruel to us.
See already he prepares to go on a distant path, where the eyes of
War–Eagle and Netis may not find us;” and the poor girl shuddered at
the prospect of a journey to regions yet more wild and remote, and a
captivity yet more hopeless of deliverance.
“Let him go where never Washashee foot stepped before,” replied Lita,
“where no trail is seen but that of the bighorn, and the black–tailed
deer: War–Eagle will follow and will find him.”
Prairie–bird smiled sadly at the eagerness of her companion, and then
desired her aid in getting their wardrobe and few moveables ready for
the expected journey. While they were thus employed Mahéga called
Prairie–bird to the door of her tent, where she found the chief, with
his arm wrapped round with a cloth; and believing him to be wounded,
she acceded at once to his request that she would give him one of her
kerchiefs for a bandage. During the remainder of the evening she saw
nothing more of him or of his people, and she slept undisturbed until
an hour before dawn, when she was awakened by the bustle of preparation
for departure.
As soon as her light tent was struck and fastened to the poles which
supported it, she observed that a kind of cradle had been constructed
by the Osages, which was covered with skins, and was adapted to
the purpose of carrying herself or her moveables, when slung to the
tent–poles, as well as to convey its contents dry over any river that
might obstruct their passage.
The Osage party was now divided into two, of which one was reserved
by Mahéga for his own guidance, the other being entrusted to that of
Toweno: all the horses were placed under the charge of the latter,
including those carrying the packages, and the palfrey usually ridden
by Prairie–bird: this party bent their course to the northward,
and Mahéga accompanied them a few hundred yards, repeating many
instructions to Toweno, which seemed from his earnest gesticulation to
be both minute and important.
The heart of Prairie–bird sank within her, when she saw her favourite
horse led away, and herself left with Lita on foot, attended by Mahéga
and four of his men: knowing, however, the inutility of any present
attempt either at resistance or flight, she awaited in uncomplaining
silence the further commands of her captor, although she easily saw
through the mocking veil of courtesy with which he disguised his
anticipated triumph over her baffled friends. To his inquiry whether
she preferred travelling on foot to being carried in the wicker–frame
by two of his men, she replied, without hesitation, in the affirmative;
upon which he presented her with a pair of mocassins, to be worn over
her own, so ingeniously contrived that although they did not encumber
her movements by their weight, they yet rendered it impossible that
her foot–print should be recognised, even by the practised eye of
War–Eagle. A similar pair was also placed on the feet of Lita.
It may easily be imagined that the Osages, during their residence
at this encampment, made various excursions for hunting and other
purposes; they had used on these occasions old trails made by native
tribes or by the bison; one of these ran in a north–east direction,
skirting the base of the high western hills, and offering the prospect
of easy travelling, through an undulating and partially wooded country.
Into this path Mahéga struck at once, leading the way himself, followed
by Prairie–bird and Lita, the four Osages bringing up the rear. This
line of march being adopted by the cunning chief, first, that he might
have frequent opportunity of watching and speaking with the maiden,
and secondly, that his men might be the better enabled to fulfil his
strict injunction that they should carefully remove any trace which she
might purposely or accidentally leave on the trail.
Such an idea did not, however, appear to have entered the thoughts
of Prairie–bird, for she followed the Osage chief with a blithe and
cheerful air, replying good–humouredly to the observations which he
from time to time addressed to her, and pointing out to Lita the
beauties of the scenery through which they were passing.
It was indeed a lovely region, abounding in rock, herbage, and
magnificent timber, the latter affording an agreeable shelter from the
rays of the sun, while the fresh breeze, blowing from the snow–capped
mountains, which bounded the western prospect, rendered the exercise of
walking pleasant in the highest degree.
They had followed the trail for some time without meeting with any game
when the quick eye of Mahéga detected a mountain–deer, browsing at
no great distance, and in a moment an arrow from his bow pierced its
flank; the wounded animal bounded onward into the glade, and the chief
sprang forward in pursuit. The Osages fixed their keen and eager eyes
on the chase, muttering half–aloud expressions of impatient discontent
at being prevented from joining it. Swift as had been the arrow of
Mahéga, it was not more so than the thought and hand of Prairie–bird,
who contrived while her guards were gazing intently on the deer and its
pursuer, to let fall unperceived a small slip of paper upon the trail:
so completely did she appear absorbed in watching the chase, that the
movement was unnoticed even by Lita, and the party continued their way
a few hundred steps when a signal from Mahéga, now out of sight, soon
brought one of his followers to assist him in cutting up the quarry.
Before leaving her tent, Prairie–bird had prepared and secreted about
her person several small slips of paper, on each of which she had
written the word, “Follow,” trusting to her own ingenuity to find an
opportunity of dropping one now and then unobserved by the Osages.
Such an opportunity having now occurred, it had been successfully
employed, and the maiden went forward with a lighter heart, in the
confident hope that Providence would cause some friendly eye to rest
upon the slight, yet guiding token left upon her path.
For two days Mahéga pursued his march leisurely, as if fearless
of pursuit, halting frequently to afford rest and refreshment to
Prairie–bird, and camping at night, on some sheltered spot, where his
men constructed for her protection a hut, or bower of branches, over
which was thrown a covering of skins: before setting out in the morning
this bower was destroyed, and the branches dragged to some distance in
several directions; and Mahéga having carefully examined the spot, was
the last to leave it, in order to ensure that no indication or trace of
his fair prisoner might remain.
On the third day about noon they reached the banks of a broad stream,
which two of the Osages crossed immediately, with instructions from
their chief to make a visible trail in a N.E. direction for some
distance, when they were to enter the river again at another place, and
to wade or swim down it until they rejoined him: meanwhile Prairie–bird
and Lita, with such articles as they wished to keep dry, were placed in
the light coriole or wicker–boat covered with skins, and Mahéga guided
its course down the stream, followed by the remainder of his men: they
descended the bed of the river for several miles in this way; and
although more than one trail appeared on the banks as a crossing–place
for Indians or bison, he passed them all unheeded, until he came to a
broad track which had very lately been trodden by so many feet that
the trail of his own party could not be distinguished upon it; here he
halted until he was rejoined by the men whom he had left behind, when
they proceeded forward at a brisk pace, towards the spot which he had
appointed as the rendezvous for his party in charge of the packages and
the horses.
Mahéga was now in high spirits, being confident that the precautions
which he had taken would throw the pursuers off the scent, and enable
him to follow out his plans, which were to trade during the summer,
with the Shosonies and other tribes hovering about the spurs of the
mountains, procuring from them beaver and other valuable furs in
exchange for the fine cloths and goods which he had brought from the
Delaware camp; after which he proposed to return to the northern
portion of the Osage country, enriched by his traffic, and glorying in
the possession of his mysterious and beautiful bride.
Such were the projects entertained by the Osage chief, and he brooded
over them so abstractedly, that he afforded to the ever–watchful
Prairie–bird an opportunity of dropping another of her small slips of
paper unperceived; she did not neglect it, although almost hopeless of
her friends ever discovering her path after the many precautions taken
by Mahéga, and the long distance down the course of the river, where no
trail nor trace of the passage of his party could be left.
On reaching the rendezvous he found his detachment with the horses and
luggage already arrived: they had come by a circuitous route, availing
themselves of several Indian trails by the way, on one of which Toweno
had, by direction of his chief, scattered some shreds of the kerchief
that he obtained from Prairie–bird; after which he had returned upon
the same trail, and diverged into a transverse one, which had enabled
him to reach the rendezvous by the time appointed.
Prairie–bird being again mounted upon her favourite palfrey, the whole
party set forward with increased speed, which they did not relax
until towards evening, when they saw in the distance numerous fires,
betokening the neighbourhood of a populous Indian village. Mahéga
then ordered a halt, and having sent forward Toweno to reconnoitre,
encamped in a sheltered valley for the night. When Prairie–bird found
herself once more, after the fatigues of the two preceding days, under
the cover of her own tent, she looked round its small circular limits,
and felt as if she were at home! Casting herself upon her couch of
furs, she offered up her grateful thanks to the Almighty Being who had
hitherto so mercifully protected her, and soon forgot her cares and
weariness in sound and refreshing slumbers.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
THIRD VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
WAR–EAGLE AND HIS PARTY REACH THE DESERTED CAMP OF THE OSAGES.—THE
LATTER FALL IN WITH A STRANGE BAND OF INDIANS, AND MAHÉGA APPEARS IN THE
CHARACTER OF A DIPLOMATIST.
A bright sun shone upon the little valley which, twenty–four hours
before, had been deserted by the Osages, when a tall form glided
cautiously to its entrance, half concealed by the bushes that fringed
its edge. Glancing hastily around, War–Eagle, for he it was, who was
guiding his party in pursuit, returned to announce to them his belief
that the enemy had decamped: nevertheless, the usual precautions were
adopted against a surprise. A small body of Delawares were thrown
forward to reconnoitre the neighbouring woods, under the command of
Attō, while the chief, accompanied by Reginald, Ethelston, and the rest
of the party, entered the deserted Osage encampment; every nook and
cranny among the adjacent woods and rocks were diligently explored, and
not till then were they convinced that their crafty foe had given them
the slip. While the rest of the party were busied in this search, the
eye of Reginald Brandon rested in absorbed attention upon the spot to
which his steps had been first led, as if by the power of instinct; it
was a small plot, completely sheltered by the rock which guarded the
front of the recess; a few holes made in the turf showed where pegs
had been driven in to secure a circular tent. “Here,” said Reginald to
Ethelston, “here is the spot trodden by her dear feet—here have her
weary limbs reposed during the long watches of the night—here have her
prayers been offered up at noon and eve for that rescue which we seem
doomed, alas! never to accomplish!”
“Say not a word, my son,” said Paul Müller, laying his hand kindly
on the excited Reginald’s shoulder; “say not a word, my son, which
would seem to limit the power or the mercy of that Being to whom those
prayers were addressed. Hope is the privilege, perseverance the duty of
man; let us faithfully use these bounties, and leave the issue to His
all–wise disposal.”
“I am indeed ashamed of my hasty expression, worthy father,” said
Reginald, frankly; “but I will draw encouragement from your suggestion,
and banish every desponding thought, while there remains a chance of
success, or even a glimmering of hope.”
Wingenund, who had approached unobserved to the side of his friend,
whispered to him in a low voice, “Netis is right: here it was that
Olitipa sat when Wingenund was a prisoner; she is not far, the Lenapé
warriors never lose a trail.”
While they were thus conversing, a messenger from War–Eagle summoned
them to a consultation on the plan of pursuit which should be adopted.
It may not be unnecessary to inform those who have never been upon
the prairies of the Far–west, that a trail is easily followed when
the party pursued is in full retreat, because any indication of
footsteps is a sure guide to its course; whereas, in a camping–place,
where a party has remained for a considerable time, numberless paths
are trodden in various directions during its stay, some for hunting
excursions, some for bringing water, others for leading horses to and
from their pasturage, so that the pursuer is at a loss to discover by
which of these paths those of whom he is in pursuit have retreated.
War–Eagle being well aware that Mahéga was not less skilled than
himself in all the stratagems and devices of Indian warfare, set about
this difficult task with a deliberation that did not suit the eager
temper of Reginald Brandon; nevertheless, he had so much confidence in
the sagacity of his Indian brother, that he restrained all expression
of his impatience, and agreed without objection to the method proposed
by him at the council. Agreeably to this plan, Paul Müller, Perrot,
and several of the hunters and Delawares, remained on guard at the
camp, while the main body, divided into small parties of two or three
in each, were to explore every trail that offered a probability of
success, and to return before nightfall to report the result of their
search. War–Eagle set out, accompanied by Attō; Reginald was joined by
Ethelston and Baptiste; the other parties took the respective quarters
assigned to them, and Wingenund, who remained some time after they had
started, left the camp alone.
The trail followed by Reginald and his friends led towards the upper
part of the valley, over broken and bushy ground, intersected here
and there by streamlets, and small springs, which just afforded water
enough to soften the herbage, in which they were soon lost. Had he been
less absorbed by the object of the expedition, Reginald could not have
failed to admire the tranquil beauty of this sheltered and secluded
spot; but the rich foliage of the forest trees, the merry chirrup of
the birds, the fragrance exhaled by the numberless shrubs and flowers,
the tempting clusters of wild raspberries, scattered around their
path,—all these were passed unheeded by men whose senses and faculties
were centered only on _the trail_. With equal modesty and good sense,
Reginald had desired Baptiste to take the lead, knowing that the sturdy
forester’s experience in such matters was far greater than his own.
After they had marched a considerable distance in silence, Reginald
inquired the opinion of his guide.
“Why, you see,” replied the latter, “the Osages have driven their
horses several times this way to feed, and their marks are plain
enough; but if a man may judge by the looks of the country forward,
this is not likely to be the right trail. It seems to get smaller the
further we go; and I’m inclined to think it’s only been a hunting–path
into the woods.”
After this unsatisfactory observation, Baptiste again went forward,
until he stopped at the skeleton of a deer; the same, it may be
remembered, as was mentioned in a former chapter. Here all traces of a
further trail ceased, and the disappointed Reginald exclaimed,—
“Baptiste, your suggestion was only too correct; we have lost our time;
let us return, and search in some other direction.”
“Not so fast, Master Reginald,” replied the cautious guide; “there’s
as many tricks in an Indian’s brain as there are holes in a honeycomb.
The animal has been dead some time, and unless this grass deceive me,
it has been trodden within these two days. Voyons vîte, as they say up
north. Stand quite still: and you, too, Master Ethelston, keep on that
side of the deer’s bones, while I have a bit of a hunt after the wood
fashion.”
So saying, the guide, resting the “Doctor” upon the skeleton, and
throwing himself upon his knees, began to turn over the leaves, and to
examine minutely every blade of grass and fallen twig, muttering, as he
pursued his task, “If War–Eagle, or one of his double–sighted Delawares
were here, he would pick out this trail in no time. My eyes are not so
good as they were some years back; but they will serve this purpose,
however! This is only bungling work, after all: one—two;—yes, I think
there’s been two of them. Capote! they’ve strewed sticks and leaves
over the back–trail!” And the rough woodsman as, creeping forward on
his knees, he discovered each succeeding step on the trail, hummed
snatches of an old Canadian song, the only words of which that the two
friends could distinguish, being, “Vogue, vogue, la bonne pirogue!”
“Has it not often been a matter of surprise to you,” said Ethelston
in a whisper to Reginald, “that the language, and even the dialect of
the guide so constantly varies? Sometimes he speaks very intelligible
English; at others, his phrases and exclamations are mostly French;
and, on other occasions, he mingles the two most strangely together.”
“I confess,” replied Reginald, “the same thought has often occurred
to me; yet it is not, perhaps, so strange as it would at first sight
appear, when we remember the vicissitudes of his early life, the number
of years that he spent in youth among the French boatmen and traders
of the northern lakes, his excursions with them into the country of
the Upper Sioux and the Chippewyan nations; while for the last fifteen
years he has been much employed by my father, and, from his honesty
and trustworthy qualities, has been thrown a great deal into constant
intercourse with persons of respectability and education.”
Meanwhile, Baptiste having ascertained the direction of the trail,
cast his eyes forward, and, like a shrewd reasoner, jumped to his
conclusion,—in this instance, more correctly than is usually the case
with the persons to whom he has been likened. Pushing aside the bushes
which grew at the base of a rock, he soon observed a large aperture,
closed by a stone of corresponding dimensions. This last was, with
the aid of Reginald, soon displaced, and the “câche” of the Osages,
together with the plundered treasure it contained, was exposed to view.
“So, so!” chuckled the guide, “we have found the thieving fox’s
hole;—an’ they do not cover their trail somewhat better from the eyes
of War–Eagle, we shall have their skins before three nights are over;
why, a town lawyer could have treed this coon!”
Reginald and Ethelston could not forbear laughing at the low estimation
in which the woodsman held the ferreting powers of a town lawyer,—an
estimation so contrary to that entertained by those who have any
experience in the capacity of a class so unjustly depreciated. They
resolved to carry with them to the camp the whole contents of the cave,
with a view to their being forthwith appropriated and disposed of by
War–Eagle, now the chief of the tribe.
Three large blankets were easily tied into the form of so many sacks,
of which each threw one over his shoulder, and they returned with their
recovered spoil to the encampment.
Great was the surprise of the Delawares when they saw the three white
men coming in, hot and weary with their load; greater still, when
the blankets were opened, and their contents laid out upon the turf,
among which were found lead, powder, cloth, knives, beads, paint,
medicine–bags, and a variety of small articles, plundered from the
lodge of the unfortunate Tamenund, and those adjoining. Among these
were a few books and instruments belonging to Prairie–bird and Paul
Müller, all of which were immediately delivered over to the latter.
War–Eagle’s party was already so well supplied with necessaries of
every kind, that only a small portion of the goods was required for
their use; and the chief, after permitting every man to claim anything
which might have belonged to himself or his relatives, ordered the
remainder to be packed in bales of convenient size, so that they might
be either carried with them, or concealed, as circumstances might
render advisable.
The council was opened by War–Eagle, who desired the several parties,
who had been out in different directions, to state the result of the
search. This was done with the brief simplicity usually observed by
Indians on such occasions. But nothing of importance was elicited;
for of the trails which they had examined, none seemed to be that
pursued by the Osages in their retreat. During the speech of one of the
Delaware warriors, Wingenund, who had not before made his appearance,
noiselessly entered the circle, and taking his place by the side of
Reginald, leaned in silence upon his rifle.
Baptiste, whose age and experience entitled him to speak and who
suspected that the chief had not been altogether unsuccessful in his
search, addressed him thus:—“Has War–Eagle no word for his warriors?
Grande–Hâche and Netis have found the stolen goods: has the path of the
thief been dark to the eyes of the chief?”
“The foot of War–Eagle has been on the Washashee trail,” was the calm
reply.
A murmur of satisfaction ran through the assembly, and Reginald could
scarcely restrain the open expression of his impatient joy.
“The trail is fresh,” continued the chief: “not more than two dews have
fallen on the prints of foot and hoof.”
“Did my brother see the foot–marks of Olitipa and the Comanche girl?”
inquired Reginald, hastily.
“He did not; but he saw the trail of Olitipa’s horse; iron is on two of
its feet.”[61]
During this conversation, Wingenund more than once looked up in the
face of his white brother, then cast his eyes again upon the ground
without speaking. The expression of the youth’s countenance did not
escape the observation of War–Eagle, who thus addressed him: “Has the
young warrior of the race of Tamenund seen nothing? He has been far
over the prairie; his step was the last to return to camp; his eyes are
not shut: there are words in his breast; why are his lips silent?”
The youth modestly replied, in a voice, the singularly musical tone of
which charmed and surprised Ethelston, who had seldom heard him speak
before, “Wingenund waited until warriors who have seen many summers,
and travelled the war–path often, should have spoken. Wingenund has
been on the Washashee trail.”
At this announcement an exclamation of surprise was uttered by several
of the bystanders, for all had seen that the direction whence the youth
had returned to the camp was quite different from that which had been
pursued by War–Eagle, and yet the latter had affirmed that he had been
on the trail of the enemy. The chief himself was, indeed, surprised,
but he knew the diffidence, as well as the acute sagacity of the young
speaker; and although confident that he was not mistaken in his own
judgment, he was not by any means disposed to overrule, without careful
inquiry, that of his brother. The conversation between them was thus
pursued:—
“Were there horses on the trail found by Wingenund?”
“There were not.”
“Were the men many in number?”
“Wingenund cannot surely say; the trail was old and beaten; buffalo had
passed on it; of fresh marks he could not see many; more than four, not
so many as ten.”
“Let my brother point with his finger to the line of the trail.”
The youth slowly turned, cast his eye upward at the sun, thence at
the rocks overhanging the valley to the northward, and then pointed
steadily in a north–easterly direction.
War–Eagle, well assured that his own observation had been correct,
and that he had followed a trail leading towards the north–west, thus
continued: “There are many nations and bands of Indians here; a false
light may have shone on the path. How does my young brother know that
the feet of the Washashee had trodden it?”
There was a natural dignity, without the slightest touch of vanity,
in the manner of the youth, as he replied: “The Great Spirit has
given eyes to Wingenund, and he has learnt from War–Eagle to know the
mocassin of a Washashee from that of a Dahcotah, a Pawnee, a Shawano,
or a Maha.”
After musing a moment, War–Eagle continued, “Did my brother find the
foot of Olitipa and the Comanche girl on the path?”
“He could not find the mark of their feet, yet he believes they are on
the path,” was the unhesitating reply.
Reginald and Ethelston looked at the speaker with undisguised
astonishment; and War–Eagle, although he could not believe but what the
latter was mistaken, continued thus to question him: “My brother’s
speech is dark; if he could find no trail of the women, why does he
think that they are on the path? Have the Washashee carried them?”
“Not so,” replied Wingenund. “Twice the trail crossed a soft bank of
sand, where water runs from the mountains in winter: there were the
marks of two who had passed lately, their feet large as those of the
warriors, the tread light as that of a woman or young boy.”
The chief was very reluctant to say or do aught that might give pain to
his young brother, whose future success as war–leader of the Lenapé had
ever been the object of his fondest hopes; but in the urgent business
in which they were now engaged, he felt that all other considerations
must be secondary to the recovery of Olitipa, and revenge on Mahéga for
the loss and disgrace inflicted on the Lenapé.
“My brother has eyes as sharp, and feet as light, as a panther,”
he said in a kindly tone, “but a trail in this strange country may
deceive a man who has been on the war–path for twenty summers. The
trail followed by War–Eagle goes through that small valley between the
hills,” pointing to the north–west. “Attō was with him; they knew the
iron hoof of Olitipa’s horse; they found this scrap, torn from her
dress by a bramble stretching across the path. Is my brother satisfied?”
As the chief spoke he held up before the council a shred of a silk
kerchief, such as none, certainly, except she whom they sought, was
likely to have worn in that region. Again a murmur of approbation ran
through the assembly; and Reginald, vexed that his young friend should
have been subjected to such a disappointment, looked towards him, in
order to see whether he bore it with equanimity.
The countenance of Wingenund underwent not any change, save that a
quiet smile lurked in the corner of his mouth, as he replied, “My
brother and Attō are both known on the war–path; their feet are swift,
and no lies are found on their lips; it must be true that they have
seen the hoof–print of Olitipa’s horse; it is true that the piece of
dress torn off by the bramble belonged to her. Very cunning are the
Washashee wolves; they have tried to blind the eyes of the Lenapé; they
have made two paths; let my brother follow that which he has found and
Wingenund the other; perhaps they joined beyond the mountain.”
“There is sense in what the lad proposes,” said Baptiste, who had
listened attentively hitherto, without speaking, and who remembered
the acuteness shown by Wingenund near the banks of the Ohio. “If he is
sure that he has been on the Washashee trail, ’tis like enough they
have divided, to throw us off the scent; they will come together again
further north.”
Again War–Eagle mused in silence for a few minutes; then abruptly
turning towards Reginald, he inquired, “What is the thought of Netis?”
“I think,” replied the latter, “that Wingenund would never have spoken
as he has spoken, were it not that he felt assured of all that he said.
I would venture my life, and what is now far dearer to me than my life,
on the truth of his words.”
The youth looked gratefully at the speaker, and a smile of gratified
pride stole over his eloquent countenance.
“It is enough,” said War–Eagle, with dignity, “let Wingenund go upon
his path; he shall not go alone. Which path does my brother Netis
choose? he has heard all that has been said?”
Reginald was sorely puzzled: on one side was the sagacious experience
of the chief, added to the strong evidence afforded by the shred of
silk; on the other, the confident assurance of a youth, of whose
diffidence and acuteness he had seen so many proofs. While he was
still hesitating, he saw the eyes of the latter fixed upon him with an
earnest, imploring expression, that decided him at once.
“I will go with my young brother,” he said firmly; “Grande–Hâche,
Ethelston, and six men shall go with us; War–Eagle, with the rest of
the party, shall go on the large Washashee trail that he has struck.
Let the chief say how we shall meet beyond the mountain, if either of
the trails prove false.”
“It is good,” said War–Eagle; “Attō shall lead the warriors who go with
my white brother, and before the third sun rises we will come together
again, and talk of what we have seen.”
Having thus spoken, the chief waved his hand to intimate that the
council was dissolved; and calling Wingenund and Attō aside, he gave
them clear and rapid instructions as to the course to be pursued in
case of the trails diverging to opposite quarters, and he established
at the same time various signals, to be used in case of necessity.
Pierre and M. Perrot asked and obtained leave to join Reginald’s
party; most of the horses, and all the spare baggage, followed that
of War–Eagle, who led them off through the defile in the mountains
before alluded to, while Wingenund led the way to the trail which he
had discovered, with the light springy step of an antelope, and an
expression of bright confidence on his countenance, which communicated
a similar feeling to those who might otherwise have been disinclined to
trust themselves to the guidance of a youth on his first war–path.
While these things were passing in the allied camp, the Osage named
Toweno, who had, it may be remembered, been sent forward by Mahéga to
reconnoitre, returned on the following morning to his chief, bringing
him intelligence that the fires seen at a distance were those of a
numerous band of Upsarokas: he had crept near enough to recognise
them as such by their dress, the trappings of their horses, and other
indications not to be mistaken. On receiving this information, Mahéga
revolved in his mind various plans for gaining the good will of his
dangerous neighbours, and of securing their alliance as a protection
against any further hostilities that might yet be attempted by those
in pursuit of his trail. As he had often before profited by the shrewd
advice of his follower, so did he invite him now to give his opinion
as to the best course to be adopted; and in order that the discussion
might not be overheard, he walked slowly with Toweno down a glade which
led towards the Crow camp.
They had not proceeded far, when they saw a fine bison–cow coming
directly towards them: from her languid and crippled movement, it was
evident that she was wounded; while from her struggles to get forward,
it was equally clear that she was pursued. The Osages lost not a moment
in crouching below the cover of a thick bush; and scarcely had they
done so, when a mounted Indian appeared, urging his tired horse up
the glade after the wounded cow. It happened that she fell, unable
to proceed further, not many yards from the spot where Mahéga was
concealed; and her pursuer slackening his pace, approached leisurely;
and having shot another arrow into her side, despatched her with the
long knife which hung at his belt.
He was a tall, fine–looking man, in the prime of life, with remarkably
high cheek bones, an aquiline nose, and a mass of long hair, gathered
or clubbed at the back of his head; his hunting–shirt and leggings
denoted by their ornaments a warrior of rank in his tribe, and his
whole appearance and bearing were indicative of habitual authority.
The little steed which had borne him, and which in truth would have
been termed among white men a pony, stood panting beside its master,
whose weight seemed entirely disproportioned to its size and strength;
and the Crow hunter now stooped over the bison–cow, examining her
condition and her fat with the attention of a practised Indian gourmand.
Meanwhile, half a minute sufficed for Mahéga to explain his intentions
in a whisper to his follower, and less than half a minute sufficed
to carry them into execution. Rushing together upon the Crow while
he was stooping with his back towards them, they seized and pinioned
him before he had time to catch up his knife or to offer the least
resistance. Never was there an attack more unexpected, nor a victory
more easily obtained; and the discomfited Crow looked upon his two
captors with an astonishment that he could not conceal. Their dress
and tribe were altogether strange to him; and the scouts around the
camp having brought in no report of any suspicious appearance or trail
having been discovered, it could not be wondered at if he imagined that
they must have pounced upon him from the clouds.
As soon as Mahéga had assured himself that the hands of the prisoner
were securely tied, he led him towards a spot more sheltered from
observation, Toweno following with the horse; and if the Crow felt
at first any uneasiness respecting their intentions towards him, it
must have been soon dispelled, as the Osage chief assured him, in the
language of signs, that no harm was intended to him, and that he would
soon be at liberty.
After a short consultation with Toweno, the chief determined to conduct
the prisoner to his camp, on reaching which his arms were unbound, and
he was courteously invited to take a seat by his captors. The Crow
obeyed without any apparent reluctance, having satisfied himself by
a hasty glance around that he was watched by several well–armed men,
and that any attempt at escape or resistance must be for the present
hopeless of success.
The pipe of peace having been smoked between the Osage and his
prisoner, some meat and cakes were placed before the latter, of which
he partook without hesitation; but he could not resist casting sundry
curious glances at the white tent, wondering what it might contain;
he observed also the numerous packs and bales scattered around, and
thought within himself that, whatever might be his own fate, many of
these would ere long fall into the hands of his tribe.
As soon as he had finished his meal, Mahéga resumed the conversation
in the language of signs, explained to him that he wished to become
friends with the Upsaroka; that he had come from very far with few
followers, having fought with the Pale–faces; that the tent was Great
Medicine, and contained that which brought wealth and good things to
friends, but terror and misfortunes to enemies.
It may be supposed that the Upsaroka did not, in his present
circumstances, regret these peaceful overtures; on the contrary, he
bound himself by the most solemn promises to do every thing in his
power towards establishing friendship between their respective tribes,
and he gave Mahéga to understand by his gestures that he was not
without authority among the Crows.[62]
Upon receiving this assurance the Osage chief suffered his prisoner to
depart, restoring to him his horse, and presenting him with several
trinkets in token of friendship.
The first use which the latter made of his recovered liberty was
to invite Mahéga to return with him to the Upsaroka village, an
invitation which, to the surprise of his followers, he accepted without
hesitation.
With a parting caution to Toweno to keep his men watchful and ready
against a surprise, he threw a battle–robe[63] over his broad
shoulders, and, armed with his rifle, tomahawk, and knife, accompanied
his new ally towards the Crow village.
On approaching it, he found that it consisted of more than a hundred
lodges, containing, probably, two hundred men, besides women and
children.
Great was their surprise when they saw the gigantic stranger advancing
with his conductor towards the lodge of the principal chief, to whom he
was nearly related.
The mien and bearing of the Osage, as he entered the lodge, were alone
sufficient to secure for him a courteous invitation to sit in the place
of honour; while the Crow who had been his prisoner briefly narrated to
the head chief the circumstances under which the stranger visited his
camp.
The pipe of friendship having been smoked in due form, the Crow
chief whispered a few words in the ear of a youth beside him, who
disappeared immediately, and the party sat in silence until he
returned, accompanied by an individual whose appearance was singular in
the extreme: his head was of an enormous size, and covered with black
shaggy hair; his features were coarse and forbidding, nor was their
expression improved by a patch of leather plastered over the cavity
which had once been occupied by his left eye; his shoulders were broad,
and his arms of unusual length; his stature was scarcely five feet, and
his legs were bandy, with clumsy knees, like those of a buffalo–bull:
this unsightly ogre rejoiced in the name of Besha–ro–Kata, signifying,
in the Crow language, “the little bison,” but he was commonly called
“Besha,” or the “Bison,” the diminutive termination being omitted.
His origin was involved in a mystery that neither he nor any one else
could satisfactorily explain, for he had been born in that wild region
watered by the Arkansas, and his mother, a Comanche woman, was said
to have divided her favours, previous to the birth of Besha, between
a half–bred trader to Santa Fé, and a runaway negro from one of the
southern slave–states; she died while he was yet an infant; and as he
had never been owned or claimed by either of his reputed fathers, it
was a miracle that he ever lived to manhood.
In his early years he hovered about the hunting parties of Osages,
Comanches, Pani–picas, and other tribes, who frequented the region
where he had been left to shift for himself, and at other seasons none
knew whether he lived upon roots, berries, and honey, or wandered to
tribes yet more remote from his birth–place. He was never known, either
in summer or winter, to wear any other dress than a bison–skin with
the hair outwards, in the centre of which he cut a hole, and passing
his head through the aperture, wore this uncouth skin like the Poncha
of the Mexicans. From these early rambling habits, he had picked up
a smattering of many Indian dialects, and of these the Osage was one
with which he was the most familiar; he enjoyed a high reputation among
the Crows, not only from his being often useful as an interpreter, but
because he was, without exception, the most skilful horse–stealer in
the whole region between the Arkansas and the mountains. He was also
deeply versed in the knowledge of all the properties of plants, roots,
and herbs, so much so, that, unless fame wronged him, more than one
of his enemies had died by the agency of subtle poison. Such was the
personage who, fixing his single cunning eye upon Mahéga, inquired,
on the part of the Crows, his object in paying them a visit. The
conversation, rendered into English, was in substance as follows:—
_Besha._ “Has the Washashee come to hunt and trap among the Stony
Mountains?”
_Mahéga._ “He has not; he has come towards the setting sun, because the
enemies on his path were too many for him—he wished for peace.”
_B._ “Has the Washashee a name in his tribe?”
_M._ “He has a name; when the war–post is struck, Mahéga is not
silent,” said the chief, haughtily.
_B._ “Mahéga!” repeated the horse–stealer, to whom the name was
evidently not unknown. “Mahéga, the Red–hand!—does he wander so far
from his village?”
_M._ “He wanders, but there is Great Medicine in his lodge; blood has
been on his path, and his enemies do not laugh.”
_B._ “Whom are the men with whom Mahéga has dug up the hatchet?”
_M._ “Pale–faces, and cowardly red–skins, who are their friends.”
When this reply was translated, a great sensation was visible among
the Crows, several of whom whispered together. After receiving a few
instructions from the chief, Besha proceeded with his inquiry.
_B._ “Are the Pale–faces on the trail of Mahéga?”
_M._ “They are.”
_B._ “How many?”
_M._ “Mahéga does not know.”
_B._ “Is there a pale–faced warrior with them,—young and tall, riding
a dark horse, very swift and strong?”
_M._ “There is,” said the Osage, astonished in his turn at hearing
Reginald thus accurately described by the interpreter.
Again there was a murmur, and consultation among the Crows, after which
Besha thus proceeded:
“What is the wish of Mahéga? the Upsaroka ears are open.”
M. “He wishes to make friends with them, to join his strength to
theirs, to drive these Pale–face thieves out of the Crow country.
Mahéga’s warriors are few, but they are not squaws; his hands are not
empty; he has presents for the chiefs, and he will not forget the
interpreter.” He added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “He has
many things, enough to make the tribe rich, hid in a cave far to the
south; if the Crow will be his brother, he shall find that Mahéga has
an open hand.”
The cunning chief was aware of the thieving propensities of the
Upsaroka, and he purposely threw out this last hint that they might
be induced to spare his baggage, in the hope of ultimately possessing
themselves of the more important treasure in his “câche.” Nor was his
stratagem without effect, for the discovery and possession of the
contents of that câche became forthwith the principal object of the
Crow chief; and the readiest mode of attaining it was to make friends
with the party who could alone guide him to it.
Fortune had in this instance been more propitious to Mahéga than he
deserved; for, as the reader has probably conjectured, he had fallen
in with that very Upsaroka band, a detachment of which had been so
roughly handled a few days before by Reginald Brandon and the Delawares
under his command.
The high contracting parties being thus united by the strong ties of
avarice, and revenge against a common enemy, an offensive and defensive
alliance was entered into immediately. Mahéga soon discovered the
motive which impelled his new friends so strongly to espouse his
cause, and was thereby satisfied that, for the present at least, he
might trust them. Before nightfall, the white tent of Prairie–bird was
pitched at the edge of the Upsaroka camp, and the Osages took up their
quarters around it, so that none could leave or enter it unperceived by
them.
Early on the following morning Mahéga received a visit from the Crow
chief, who, accompanied by Besha, came ostensibly to show him courtesy,
but in reality to inspect his packages, horses, men, and equipments;
and, if possible, to solve the mystery of the Great Medicine in the
white tent. The Osage warriors, strong, weather–beaten men, every one
provided with a rifle in addition to the usual arms of an Indian, had
no reason to fear the scrutinising eye of the Crow; indeed, the latter
began already to calculate how he might best avail himself of their aid
in an expedition which he meditated against his hereditary enemies the
Black Feet.
After the pipe had been smoked, and food set before his guests, Mahéga
desired one of the smaller packages to be opened, from which he
selected a blanket, and spreading upon it various beads and trinkets,
presented the whole, in token of friendship, to the Upsaroka chief, who
seemed highly delighted with the gift.
His expressions of gratitude, conveyed through Besha, were unbounded.
He did not, however, think it requisite to express, at the same
time, his vehement desire to become the possessor of all the goods
and chattels belonging to the Osage; neither did the latter forget
to propitiate the interpreter, whom he presented with a knife and
ornamented sheath, both of which were graciously accepted.
The Crow was resolved not to leave the spot until he had solved the
enigma of the mysterious tent; and finding that his guest still kept
silence on the subject, he directed Besha to use his best exertions
towards the gratification of his curiosity. An opportunity being
afforded by the appearance of Lita, who went out to draw some water
from the stream, the interpreter inquired whether that woman was the
“Great Medicine” of which he had spoken.
Mahéga, who was desirous of impressing the Crows with a due respect for
Prairie–bird, shook his head, replying, “That is the slave of the Great
Medicine.”
_Besha._ “Is the Great Medicine a chief—a wise man?”
_Mahéga._ “No: it is in the form of a woman; but its power is very
great. It talks with the Great Spirit, and the Wahconda[64] listens to
its speech!”
_Besha._ “Many are the medicine–men who talk with the Great Spirit;
they see dreams, and give counsel to the warriors and chiefs; there is
no new Medicine here.”
“My brother speaks truth,” said Osage, smiling scornfully. “But if the
medicine–men of the Upsaroka call to the sun, will he come out of his
path, or hide his face at their words?”
Having thus spoken, Mahéga lowered his voice, as if afraid of being
overheard by the mysterious tenant of the tent, and related to the
wondering Besha the circumstances attending the late eclipse.
The interpreter having given the explanation to his chief, they looked
at each other in speechless astonishment; for not only was there an air
of truth in the statement of Mahéga, but the Crows having themselves
observed the mystery of the darkened sun, were thereby led to listen
with believing awe to the wonderful disclosure made by the Osage.
Perceiving his advantage, the latter again relapsed into silence, which
was broken, after a few minutes, by the interpreter, who inquired, on
the part of his chief, whether the Great Medicine of the tent would
receive a present from him. To this the cautious Osage replied, that
the daughter of the Unknown cared not for the things belonging to other
women; but that her smile and her good words would bring prosperity
to those with whom she dwelt, while her curse would ensure their
destruction; on which account it would not do any harm if the Upsaroka
were to offer a present to her Medicine.
The latter now finding that, during this visit at least, his curiosity
would not be gratified by a sight of the mysterious dweller in the
tent, arose, and took a courteous leave of the Osage chief, who
remained for some time ruminating abstractedly over his future plans,
and the probability of their ultimate success.
Scarcely half an hour had elapsed ere Besha returned, accompanied by
two young Indians, one of whom led a wild horse, which he presented
on the part of his chief to Mahéga; and the other was the bearer of
a large package of beaver–skins of the finest quality, which he laid
down at the door of the tent, and retired, casting back uneasy glances,
apparently relieved at having safely executed a commission fraught with
danger.
Mahéga presented each of the youths with a handsome knife, and Besha
with a mirror, wherein he contemplated his cyclopean countenance
with undisguised satisfaction; so long, indeed, did he continue this
admiring self–inspection, that the two young Crows left him engaged in
it, and returned to their quarters.
They had not been long gone before the interpreter commenced a
confidential conversation with the Osage chief, during which each
endeavoured, with little success on either side, to overreach
the other: at the same time, the conference was not without its
satisfactory issue to both parties; for Mahéga ascertained that the
Crows viewed the mixed band of Whites and Delawares with feelings as
hostile as his own, and that they were as deeply impressed as he could
desire with awe for the mysterious powers of Prairie–bird. On the other
hand, Besha satisfied himself that his own services would be almost
indispensable to the Osage, and that the latter was neither unwilling
nor unable to reward them liberally; so that after a complimentary
conversation of some length, these two rogues parted, with many
expressions of mutual regard and esteem.
Scarcely was the interpreter out of sight, when Mahéga sprung from the
ground to examine more closely the steed presented to him by the Crow
chief. It was a strong, high–mettled bay colt, untamed, and almost
untameable; if the truth must be told, the latter had given it to his
guest because neither he nor any of his warriors could subdue its
violent and vicious spirit, although the Crows are renowned among the
Indian nations as bold and expert horsemen.
On whatever side Mahéga endeavoured to approach to mount it, the horse
struck fiercely at him, using both hind and fore feet with equal
rapidity; but the Osage, penetrating at once the motives of the Crow’s
liberality, smiled in disdain of the shallow trick, and, seizing his
opportunity, threw himself upon the wild, unsaddled animal, despite of
whose furious plunging and resistance, he sat unmoved like a centaur;
and plying his whip and heel with unmitigated severity, compelled it to
gallop at full speed over the prairie, until he thought fit to bring it
back to the camp, wearied, breathless, and subdued. Then throwing the
halter to one of his men, he quietly resumed his pipe, leaving the Crow
chief and his people to draw their own conclusions from what they had
seen.
CHAPTER II.
CONTAINING VARIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED TO THE PARTY FOLLOWING THE
TRAIL.—PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS, AND A DISCUSSION UPON ORATORY, WHICH IS
VERY MUCH OUT OF PLACE, AND, FORTUNATELY FOR THE READER, IS NOT VERY
LONG.
There is scarcely any position or occasion in life more gratifying to
a young and generous spirit, than when it finds itself, for the first
time, entrusted with a high responsibility. The elastic mind, far from
succumbing under the unwonted burden, springs upward with increased
vigour to resist its pressure; and the trials and difficulties which
threaten to overwhelm it, only serve to call forth and multiply its
energies. Such was the case with Wingenund, who now found himself,
although not yet seventeen years of age, leading a gallant band on a
trail—a task which is at all times the greatest trial of an Indian
warrior’s skill; and, if successful, lays the foundation of his fame.
The issue at stake was, in this instance, heightened by the importance
of the object to be attained, and by the remarkable circumstance that
he had ventured to differ from, and overrule, the opinion of his elder
brother, the most sagacious warrior of the tribe.
Fully impressed with the serious responsibility that he had incurred,
the youth set forth upon the trail with a gravity of demeanour which
contrasted strongly with his almost boyish years. Yet while his keen
eye darted from point to point, suffering not a blade of grass to
escape its scrutiny, his countenance wore a beaming look of confidence,
that imparted its cheering influence to the whole party.
For some hours he marched rapidly forward, with the assured step of
a man who was treading a familiar path. Attō followed at no great
distance, next to whom, on the trail, came Reginald, with Ethelston,
Baptiste, and the other Whites, the line being closed by the Delawares,
who brought up the rear. It may easily be imagined that Reginald bent
his eyes anxiously on the path; but although frequent traces were
discernible of the passage of men, as well as of various animals, he
could not discover the slightest indication of the marks for which he
looked; neither did the observation of the more experienced Baptiste
meet with any better success.
When Wingenund reached the streamlet, on the sandy edge of which he
had before noticed the light tread of a foot, which in spite of its
dimension, he believed to be that of Prairie–bird or her attendant,
he halted the party, and summoned Attō to a close examination of the
trail. Stooping over it, the Indian looked long and earnestly, after
which he shook his head, as if dissatisfied, and muttered a few words,
the meaning of which Baptiste was not near enough to catch. Wingenund
made no reply, and crossing the brook resumed the trail on its opposite
bank.
“Does Attō find the mark of women’s feet on the sand?” inquired
Baptiste.
“He is not sure; bison have passed over the marks, and trodden them,”
was the evasive reply, and the party proceeded on the track.
Nothing of any importance occurred for some time to enliven the tedium
of the march. The sanguine hopes of Reginald had been checked by what
had fallen from Attō, of whose acuteness he justly entertained a high
opinion. Ethelston seemed buried in deep reflection; and even the comic
sallies of Monsieur Perrot failed to excite any mirth in those to whom
they were addressed.
“Ethelston, I fear that I acted imprudently,” said his friend in a
low voice “when I preferred the counsel of this youth to the more
experienced opinion of War–Eagle; yet there was something in his manner
that I could not resist.”
“Doubtless,” replied Ethelston, “the counsel of the elder warrior was
entitled to the greater weight; and yet I do not think that he would
himself have placed this detachment under the guidance of Wingenund,
unless he felt sure that the latter had strong grounds for the tenacity
with which he clung to his opinion.”
“I would willingly peril my life on his truth and fidelity,” said
Reginald. “The question is, whether on this occasion he may not have
been led into some error by the very eagerness of his wishes, and the
ardour of his temperament.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words, when Wingenund stooped to pick
up a small object which his quick eye had caught beside the trail; in
another minute he placed it in the hand of Reginald, while a triumphant
smile lit up his animated features. The object referred to was a slip
of folded paper, damp with the dew which had fallen upon it. Reginald
opened its folds, then gazed upon it in silence, with a fixed look,
like one in a trance, while his powerful frame trembled from head to
foot. The paroxysm of excitement lasted but for a moment, then putting
the slip of paper into the hand of Ethelston, he threw himself into the
arms of Wingenund; and if a tear escaped him, it fell unseen upon the
bosom which he pressed with grateful affection to his heart.
Meanwhile Ethelston made himself master of the secret which had
produced an effect so sudden as to cause the greatest astonishment in
the whole party, now gathered round to ascertain what had happened.
He had read on the slip the magical word “Follow,” written in a
distinct legible hand, and every doubt as to the Prairie–bird having
passed along the trail vanished in an instant. This was no sooner made
known to the hunters, and by Baptiste to the Delawares, than a shout
of triumph from the whole party roused Reginald from the momentary
weakness into which he had been betrayed.
“Follow thee!” he exclaimed aloud, holding the paper in his left hand,
and grasping a rifle in his right; “Follow thee, dearest one! yes, over
prairie and mountain, through valley and river, in cold or in heat, in
hunger or thirst, there are those here who will never cease to follow
thee, until thou art set free, and the injuries done to thyself and
thy kindred dearly avenged!”
Again a shout of sympathetic enthusiasm broke from the party, as they
caught the words of their leader, and read on his glowing countenance
the intense ardour of feelings, too strong to be repressed.
What must have been, in the meantime, the sensations of the Delaware
youth? The affectionate yearnings of his heart towards his adopted
brother, his deep anxiety for his sister’s fate, his future fame
as the rising war–chief of his tribe, all these combined together
to swell the triumph of the hour; yet there was not visible in his
features the slightest appearance of gratified pride or vanity; and if
his dark eye beamed with a brighter lustre, it was not so much with
self–congratulation at what he had done, as with high aspirations for
the glorious task before him.
Ethelston, who had watched him closely, was surprised at his calm,
unmoved demeanour, and whispered to Baptiste, “Wingenund evinces little
anxiety or emotion on this occasion; and yet this undoubted token which
he has found on the trail must be a great triumph to him, after the
doubts expressed by so many warriors of greater experience.”
“It’s partly the natur’, and partly the trainin’ of the boy,” replied
the guide, leaning on his long rifle; “the stronger his feelings the
less will he show ‘em to another man. I reckon this has been one of
the proudest moments in his life, yet, as you say, he looks almost as
if he’d nothin’ to do with the matter; and he’d look the same if the
Osages were pinchin’ his flesh with hot tongs. Wingenund is three years
older now than he was last month!”
“You are right,” Baptiste, replied Ethelston: “it is not days, nor
weeks, nor months, but rough trials, brave deeds, and deep feelings
that make up the calendar of human life.”
So saying, he sighed, and musingly resumed his place in the line of
march, remembering in how short a space of time Nina’s unrequited love
had, while she was still younger than the lad of whom he was speaking,
consigned her, wasted and heart–broken, to the grave.
Again Wingenund moved swiftly forward on the trail, and the whole
party followed, their hopes excited, and their spirits raised by the
occurrence above related. Reginald walked silently on, still clasping
in his hand the magic token which had conjured up hopes and thoughts
too deep for utterance. From time to time his lips unconsciously
murmured “Follow!” and then the idea shot like fire through his brain,
that all his power to obey the dear behest hung upon the sagacity of
the youth who was now tracing the steps of an enemy, skilled in all
the wiles of Indian warfare, and whose object it clearly was to baffle
pursuit.
Before the close of day the watchful perseverance of Wingenund was
again rewarded by finding another of the slips of paper dropped by
Prairie–bird, which he brought, as before, to Reginald. The magic
“Follow” again met his longing eyes; and as he announced it to the rest
of the party, a joyful anticipation of success pervaded every breast.
After a brief consultation with Attō, Wingenund now resolved to halt
for the night, as the increasing darkness rendered it impossible any
longer to distinguish the trail with accuracy; so the horses were
picketed, the succession of sentries arranged, and the party bivouacked
under the shelter of two enormous pines, where the preparations for a
substantial supper were soon completed, Monsieur Perrot taking charge
of that destined for Reginald and Ethelston, while Bearskin and the
other hunters prepared a meal for themselves and the Delawares apart.
Wingenund was about to join the latter party; but at the earnest
request of the two friends, he placed himself beside them, Baptiste
being invited to sit down with them also.
It may be imagined that the conversation turned chiefly upon the
all–engrossing subject of the pursuit in which they were engaged; and
Ethelston was struck by the change which he observed in the demeanour
of Wingenund; for the latter had now put off the gravity and somewhat
haughty bearing of the aspiring warrior, and had resumed the playful
and touching simplicity of manner that was natural to his years, and
accorded equally well with the almost feminine delicacy of his features
and the soft melody of his voice. He took no pains to conceal the
pleasure with which he received the warm and sincere encomium that
Reginald passed upon the patience and sagacity that he had displayed in
his arduous task.
“Netis owes me no thanks,” he said, smiling. “Love for my sister, and
revenge on the Washashes, who like cowards and false friends slew my
kindred,—these lead me on the trail.”
“It is not your eagerness, nor the strength of your motives that I
call in question, dear Wingenund; but I am surprised that you are able
to follow so slight a trail without being deceived by the tricks and
devices of the Osage.”
“The Black Father has often told me that among the southern men there
are dogs who can follow the foot of a man by day or night, and will
never leave the scent till they seize him. If an antelope is wounded,
the wolf will hunt the track of her blood on the prairie till he finds
her; if a bison is killed, turkey buzzards, many in number, fly from
far to to the carcass, though there is no trail in the air for them to
follow. Is it wonderful that the Great Spirit should bestow on the son
of his ancient people a gift enjoyed by these beasts and fowls?”
“What you say is true,” replied Reginald, “yet certainly we who live in
settlements have not these faculties; at least we have them in a very
inferior degree.”
“The wise men of our nation have always said that the eyes and ears of
white men are not good; but the Black Father says that their speech is
not true, for that the Great Spirit has made the ears and eyes of red
and white men alike, only the Pale–faces do not improve them, as we do,
by use.”
“Your Black Father may say what he likes,” interposed Baptiste, “but
I maintain that the ears of a white man are no more like the ears
of a real Ingian than the paws of a bear are like the legs of an
antelope. I remember, though it’s now some twenty years ago, I was
out on a hunt in the North with a Delaware comrade; he was called in
the tribe, ‘The–man–who–hears–from–far;’—to say truth, I thought he
often pretended to hear things that never happened, only just to keep
up his name. We had walked all the morning, and having killed an elk,
sat down to cook it on the prairie. All at once he held up his finger
for me to keep silence; and turning his head to listen, his countenance
changed, and his ear pricked up like that of a scared doe. Nay, Master
Reginald, you need not smile, for it’s as true as a gun–barrel; and
said I, ‘What’s the matter now?’ He made no answer, but went a little
way off; and lying down, put the side of his head to the ground. He
soon returned, and told me that ‘a big canoe was coming over the
lake.’—‘What,’ said I, ‘over that lake we passed this morning beyond
those high woods?’—‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘the same; I hear the paddles
dip in the water.’ I laughed in his face, and told him he was dreaming;
for the lake was, may be, two miles off; but he declared that he had
heard the paddles as plain as he now heard my voice. I tried to listen,
but could not hear a sound; however, I knew that if he was right,
the canoe would be full of enemies, seein’ that we had no particular
friends then in the Dahcotah country, and I thought it better to
believe him for once: so we put more sticks on the fire, to make as
great a smoke as we could, and then ran off to the top of a hill, where
a big pine–tree grew; and as it was about half–way between the fire and
the lake, we clomb in among its branches, where we could have a good
look–out on both. We remained some time without hearing or seeing any
thing; and I began to conceive that my comrade had made a fool of me,
as well as of himself, when we saw five or six Sioux devils peep out of
the brush at the edge of the prairie, where they pointed to the smoke
that rose from our fire, and began to creep cautiously towards it.”
At this point the narrative of the guide was unexpectedly interrupted
by a sharp cry uttered by Monsieur Perrot, who jumped up from his seat,
and capered like a harlequin, making at the same time the most doleful
grimaces and ejaculations. Wingenund was the first to perceive and to
explain to Reginald the cause of the unfortunate valet’s distress, in
doing which he laughed with such hearty inexpressible mirth, that the
tears started from his eyes.
It appears that Monsieur Perrot, in his anxiety to hear Baptiste’s
adventure, had unconsciously edged himself nearer and nearer to the
fire, by the side of which was a small pile of dry burrs and prickly
adhesive twigs; while sitting upon these, and listening intently to
the narrative, they had become accidentally ignited, and not only
burnt him as he sat, but adhered to his nether garments when he jumped
up, where they continued to crackle and smoke in spite of the efforts
which he made to disengage himself from them. To add to his terror, he
remembered at this critical juncture that there was a powder–flask in
the hinder pocket of his jacket; a circumstance which he communicated
to his master with renewed exclamations, and unavailing attempts to rid
himself of the dangerous magazine. On hearing this, Ethelston emptied
a vessel full of water over a blanket that lay beside him, in which he
immediately enveloped the alarmed valet, and by this ready application
of one element freed him from the more serious danger to be apprehended
from the other.
As soon as the gravity of the party was in some degree restored,
Reginald requested the guide to conclude the narrative which had been
so unexpectedly interrupted, expressing at the same time his curiosity
to learn how Baptiste and his comrade had extricated themselves from
their unpleasant position among the branches of the pine–tree.
“Why, you see, Master Reginald, as soon as they were fairly busied in
making their way to the fire which we had left burning, we slipped
down the tree, and struck into the wood, where we had no difficulty in
finding their back–trail to the lake, and creeping cautiously towards
the shore, we found that the hot–headed fools had left no one to watch
their canoe, which we spied under the boughs of an alder that hung
over the lake; so we just stuck a piece of stick in the ground, with a
Delaware mark on it to vex ‘em on their return, when we paddled away
to the other side; and having bored two holes in the canoe, and broken
the paddles, we went on our way; and since that time I’ve always held
my own opinion about an Indian’s ears, and I’m not likely to change it
now.”
Whether the guide’s story was tedious, or that the fatigues of the day
had produced their effects upon his hearers, certain it is, that soon
after its conclusion both the ears and eyes of the greater portion were
closed in sleep; and nothing having occurred during the night to alarm
those who had watched, the whole party set forward as soon as daylight
broke on the following morning.
Wingenund had no difficulty in making out the trail until he reached
the banks of the river, in crossing which Mahéga had taken so much
pains to mislead his pursuers. Here the youth halted, and informed
Reginald that he might look for game during the remainder of the day,
as it would be necessary for him and Attō to search for War–Eagle’s
party, and with them to find the right trail on the opposite bank.
The two Delawares started at a rapid pace to the westward, bestowing
as they went careful attention on various tracks of bison and other
animals which had crossed at the different fords that they passed.
After a toilsome march of some hours, they fell in with War–Eagle’s
party, whom they found occupied in a like investigation. The chief
learnt his young brother’s success with undisguised pleasure; his
nature was too noble to entertain a thought of jealousy; and one of the
first wishes of his heart was to see Wingenund take his place among
the first warriors of the tribe. He had ascertained beyond a doubt,
that although the horses of the Osages had crossed the river opposite
to the trail which he had been following, they had not travelled far
in that direction, but had returned to the bed of the river for the
obvious purpose of baffling pursuit; and the Delawares now crossed to
the northern bank, and after minute examination of every path and track
which led from it, they arrived in the evening at the point from whence
Wingenund started, confident that the right trail must, if the Osages
had crossed at all, be at some spot lower down the stream.
The whole party, now again reunited, encamped for the night, and
related, over their evening meal, the indications and tracks which
they had remarked on their respective lines of march. At the earliest
dawn War–Eagle was again afoot, and after an hour’s patient search, he
struck a trail, which he pronounced, without hesitation, to be that of
the Osages. As it led through a wooded and hilly region along the base
of the Great Mountains, abounding in narrow and dangerous passes, every
precaution was used against ambush or surprise; War–Eagle, Wingenund,
and Attō leading the advance, with several of the most swift and
skilful of their warriors, and the white men, who brought up the rear,
being cautioned against straggling or falling behind the main body.
Another slip of paper found upon the trail, bearing Prairie–bird’s
inspiring watchword “Follow,” raised the spirits of the party to the
highest pitch. They halted at midday to refresh themselves and their
horses for an hour under the shade of some spreading cedars, above
which rose a high conical peak, on the sides of which were scattered a
few dwarf oaks, and other timber of stunted growth. Obeying a signal
from War–Eagle, Reginald climbed with him to the summit of this hill,
whence they could command an extensive view of the sand–hills and
undulating ocean of prairie to the eastward, while above them to the
westward towered the lofty and still distant mountain–tops, clad in
their bright mantle of eternal snow.
But it was not to enjoy the splendour of this magnificent prospect that
the Delaware had toiled up this steep ascent, or that he now cast his
restless and searching eye towards the north and east horizon: he had
another object in view. Neither did he seem to have altogether failed
in its attainment, for after gazing long and intently upon a spot to
the northward, his countenance brightened, and he desired Reginald,
who was unable to distinguish so distant a speck with the naked eye,
to examine it carefully with his telescope, for that he would see
something there that would make his heart beat.
Reginald did so, and having succeeded in catching the indicated object
with his glass, he exclaimed, “War–Eagle, my brother, you are right, I
can see them plainly, one—two—three—aye, twenty Indian lodges, and
_the white tent_ among them. Heaven be praised for all its mercies, we
shall save her yet!”
For a few moments the chief was silent; then he said, “Let my brother
use the glass again, and say how many lodges he can count.”
“There seem to be very many,” said Reginald, after a careful survey,
“more than fifty, but I cannot count them, for the tent is on a small
hill, and some may be hid behind it.”
“Mahéga smokes the pipe with a powerful tribe,” said the Delaware,
musing; and the two friends descended the hill, each contemplating,
according to the bent of their respective characters, the difficulties
yet to be encountered, and the means by which those difficulties might
be overcome.
Meanwhile it must not be supposed that Mahéga remained in idle security
a resident in the Crow encampment; he appreciated too justly the skill
and perseverance of War–Eagle to suppose that the latter would not
strike and follow his trail, he therefore turned his attention to the
strengthening of his alliance with his new friends by every means in
his power. In this endeavour his own sagacity was admirably, though
perhaps unconsciously, seconded by the winning manners and character
of Prairie–bird; for the Crows, who had been prepared to look upon her
with a feeling akin to dread, were agreeably surprised by her extreme
beauty, and the gentleness of her demeanour.
The cunning Osage, knowing that she could only be drawn from the strict
seclusion in which she lived by her never–failing willingness to
alleviate suffering, had caused several children, and others afflicted
with illness, to be brought to her, and she never declined giving them
such remedies from her remaining stock of medicine as she thought most
likely to afford relief. The general success of her simple pharmacy
fully answered the expectations of Mahéga, in the increasing anxiety
daily evinced by the Crows to guard and protect the “Great Medicine” of
the tent; and thus, while obeying the dictates of her own gentle and
humane feeling, the maiden little knew that she was strengthening the
cords of her captivity.
Neither did Mahéga neglect to take every precaution against an attack
or surprise on the part of War–Eagle and his party. Although ignorant
of their precise force, he knew that they would in all probability be
well armed, and was far from satisfied with the position of the present
encampment occupied by the Crows.
After conversing once or twice with Besha, and the judicious admixture
of a few presents to that _dis_interested personage, he learnt that
there was at a distance of half a day’s march to the northward a
favourite stronghold of the Crows, to which they frequently resorted
when attacked by an enemy too numerous to be resisted in the open
plain, and it was represented to be in a neighbourhood affording
abundance of game, and a plentiful supply of pasture for the horses.
Mahéga found it not a very difficult task to persuade the Crow chief
to withdraw to this post, representing to him the formidable equipment
of the Delawares aided by their white allies, and he urged him also to
send a few of his best runners to hang about the trail by which he had
himself arrived, so that timely notice of the enemy’s approach might be
received.
The Crow acquiesced in both suggestions, and the united band moved
off accordingly to the post above referred to, which they reached in
the afternoon of the same day; it was a conical hill, covered on one
side with low juniper bushes, and rising suddenly out of the prairie
at a distance of several miles from the higher range of mountains to
the west; a few hundred yards further to the east was another height
of similar elevation, but of less circumference, and between these
two lay a valley of extreme fertility, watered by a stream so cool and
clear, that it bespoke at once the mountain source whence it flowed;
the eastern side of this second hill was almost perpendicular, so as
to be secure against any attack from that quarter; while an enemy
approaching from the valley would be exposed to missiles shot from
either height.
Mahéga saw at a glance the strength of the position, and proposed to
the chief that he, with his Osages, should garrison the smaller height,
leaving the larger hill and the intermediate valley to be occupied by
the Crows.
This arrangement being agreed upon, the tent of Prairie–bird was
pitched near the summit, on a spot where the ground gently sloped to
the westward, and a few scattered oaks, cedars, and pines afforded
not only a partial shelter from the rays of the sun, but a sufficient
supply of fuel for cooking the venison and bison–meat, which the
hunters had brought in abundantly. Some twenty lodges of the Crows were
placed upon the opposite and larger height; these consisted chiefly
of the principal braves and warriors; the intermediate valley being
occupied by the remainder of the band; and an ample space was left for
picketing the horses at night between the two hills.
On arriving at her new quarters, Prairie–bird could not avoid being
struck by the singularity as well as by the beauty of the scenery.
It was evident that the face of the sandstone rock, above which her
tent was pitched, had been eaten away by the action of water and
the elements; and she imagined that ere many years should pass, the
precipitous cliff on its eastern front would partially fall in, and
leave in its place a broken and turreted ruin, such as she had before
noted and admired on the western borders of the great prairie. It was a
great relief to her that she was so much by herself; for the lodge of
Mahéga and his followers was pitched somewhat lower down the hill than
her own tent, and she was yet further removed from the dirt and other
annoyances of the Crow lodges. This was, indeed, a great luxury, as the
quantity of bison–meat brought into the camp on the first day’s hunt
was so great, that the Upsaroka women were spreading and drying it in
every direction; and as these ladies are not usually very particular in
removing the offal, the odour thence arising in the valley below was
not the sweetest that could be imagined.
Mahéga was in high good humour in consequence of the successful
result of his arrangements; for he now occupied a post not only well
protected against the attack of an enemy, but where his baggage could
not be purloined by the light–fingered youths, who are so proverbially
abundant among the Crows. But however secure he might feel, he did
not relax his usual vigilance, in which he was zealously seconded
by Toweno; and whenever the one was absent from the garrison, even
for a short time, the other always remained at home on the watch. He
renewed, also, a rude breastwork of unhewn logs, which had been thrown
up by the Crows on some former occasion, and which afforded a shelter,
from behind which he and his men could fire upon an approaching enemy
without being themselves exposed.
They had not long been settled in their new quarters before the
detachment which had been sent to reconnoitre returned to report that
they had seen the united band of white men and Delawares, about thirty
in number, advancing cautiously along the base of the hills towards the
Upsaroka camp. The scouts had recognised Reginald as the person who had
killed one of their principal warriors; and the announcement of his
approach was received with a yell that showed how determinately the
Crows were bent on revenge.
A war–council was immediately held, which Mahéga was summoned to
attend; and although the wary Osage kept himself in the background, and
showed no disposition to offer his advice until twice pressed by Besha
to do so, it was soon evident that his spirit would rule the meeting,
and that on him would devolve the conduct of the struggle in which they
must soon expect to be engaged: such was the impression already made
upon his new allies by his gigantic stature, and the air of command
that accompanied his every word and gesture.
Unless the advantage of numbers was to be very great on his side,
Mahéga did not augur favourably of the result of an open conflict
between the Crows and the small but well–appointed force opposed to
them. He formed a just estimate of the skill and sagacity of War–Eagle,
and of the impetuous courage of Reginald Brandon. He hated both,
especially the latter, with all the bitter intensity of which his
nature was capable; and resolved that no stratagem should be left
untried to heap upon them every species of suffering and disgrace.
With this view, he conferred long, through the medium of Besha, with
the leading warriors of the Crows as to the nature of the ground in
the neighbourhood of the enemy’s line of march; being determined, if
possible, to lead them into an ambush; or at least to attack them in
some defile or pass, where the bow and arrow would be a better match
for the rifle than in the open plain. Not being altogether satisfied
with the replies which he received, he declined giving his opinion
until he should have reconnoitred the district in person, and set forth
without delay, accompanied by the dwarfish interpreter and two Crow
warriors, all being mounted on swift horses.
Having reached the base of the first range of hills, the Crow who acted
as guide struck into a narrow winding ravine; after following the
course of which for some distance, the party emerged upon an elevated
table land, which they crossed at full speed, and found themselves at
the base of a second range of hills, more broken and abrupt than the
first. Here the guide and Mahéga dismounted, and having concealed the
horses, and left them behind the projection of a rock in charge of the
other two, they climbed with some difficulty to the brow of a sandstone
cliff, whence they could command an extensive view of the region to the
southward.
Creeping cautiously to the edge of the height, and screening themselves
behind the junipers and scanty bushes growing there, they could easily
distinguish the camp of the Delawares and white men in the valley
below. The band had come to a halt, and were evidently engaged in
refreshing themselves and their horses with their midday meal.
The Osage chief glared upon them like a tiger on his anticipated prey.
He examined the ground in front and rear and flank of their position;
he noted the breadth of the pass where the valley opened out upon the
plain beyond, and questioned his guide closely as to the route which
they would probably take in advancing towards the Crow encampment.
We will leave him for a time to pursue these investigations, while we
return to Reginald and War–Eagle, whom we left deliberating as to the
most advisable course to be pursued for the rescue of Prairie–bird.
[Illustration: MAHÉGA SPYING THE CAMP OF THE DELAWARES P. 398]
The Delaware chief having been soon informed by his scouts of the
enemy’s retreat to another and stronger position, lost no time in
pushing forward his party to the point in the valley where it had
(as above mentioned) been descried by Mahéga and his guide. Reginald
and the other white men were at a loss to imagine why War–Eagle had
selected for his halt a spot where a dense thicket on the side of
each hill seemed to offer to an enemy, familiar with the country, a
favourable opportunity for attacking him unawares; and even Baptiste,
when questioned upon the subject, shook his head, saying: “Wait till
to–morrow; we shall know by that time what hole the coon is making for.”
As for the Delawares, they ate their bison–meat and smoked their pipe
with as much indifference as if they were in the heart of their own
hunting–ground, being confident in the skill of their leader, from
the experience of many a foray and fight. The latter, having thrown
forward two or three of his men as outposts, to guard against surprise,
summoned Wingenund, to whom he gave, in an earnest voice, some minute
directions, which did not reach the ears of others in the party; and
the youth, as soon as he had received them, went up to Reginald, and
said to him, “Will Netis lend Nekimi to Wingenund? He will be back
before the moon is up,—and if he meets the Upsarokas, he must leave
them behind.”
Reginald testified his willing assent to the youth’s request, and in
a few minutes Nekimi was bounding over the prairie beneath his light
burthen with a speed that soon brought him to a point whence he could
command a view of the two heights, upon and between which the Crows
were encamped.
The sand–hills in that region project in many places from the base
of the Great Mountains into the open plain, like the promontories
of an indented shore into the ocean, and it was by skirting one of
these until he reached its extremity that he contrived to watch the
encampment of the Crows without being observed by their scouts; for
several hours he stood motionless by the side of Nekimi, under the
shade of a pine, with that untiring patience which renders an Indian
unequalled as a spy, when he saw four horsemen emerge from the camp,
and gallop off towards the base of the mountains. As soon as they
entered a valley where they were screened from his view, he put Nekimi
to his speed, and by a shorter cut reached the head of the same valley
before them; then leaving his horse behind a thicket of junipers, he
crept forward, and hiding himself in some brushwood, waited for the
passing of the horsemen.
As the roughness of the ground had compelled them to slacken their
speed, he had no difficulty in recognising Mahéga, but the features
of the misshapen interpreter and the Crow warriors were, of course,
strange to him. He watched the Osage chief and his companion as they
climbed the hill, from the top of which they made their observations
of the Delaware camp; and as they returned and remounted their horses,
they passed so near to his hiding–place that the youth distinctly heard
two or three words which Mahéga spoke to Besha in the Osage tongue. As
soon as they were out of sight he hastened to the spot where he had
left Nekimi, and returned at full speed to make his report to War–Eagle.
The chief had evidently been awaiting with some impatience the return
of his messenger, and when he received the intelligence which the
latter brought back, he said, “It is well, let Netis and the chiefs be
called to council—there is no time to lose.”
A few minutes sufficed to assemble the leaders, who were expected to
take a part in the deliberations about to be entered upon, all of them
being well aware of their vicinity to the enemy of whom they had so
long been in pursuit; but when called upon to express their opinion as
to the course to be adopted, a manifest reluctance prevailed, arising
probably from the wild and rugged nature of the region, and from their
ignorance of the strength of the band with which Mahéga had allied
himself. After a brief pause, Baptiste, who was thoroughly versed in
the character of the Delawares, arose and said, “Are the tongues of
the warriors tied? the sun will not stay in his path, neither will the
grass grow beneath the feet of the Washashee and Upsaroka; the white
men and the Lenapé wait to hear the voice of the Great Chief—let
War–Eagle speak.”
Thus called upon, the Delaware leader came forward to address the
council. He painted the wrongs that his tribe had suffered at the
hands of the Osages, the treachery and cruelties practised on their
wives and children; then he dwelt on the spoiling of their lodges, the
abduction of Prairie–bird, and the attempted murder of Wingenund.
Having thus roused the passions of his Delaware hearers, he gradually
brought them back to a calmer state of reflection, by representing to
them the dangers and difficulties of their present position, owing to
the alliance formed by their implacable enemy with the Upsaroka, who
knew every pass and dangerous defile of the country through which they
were marching, and he impressed upon them the necessity of their having
recourse to stratagem in order to make up for their deficiency in
numbers and in local knowledge. He then proceeded to unfold his plan of
operations, which (as afterwards explained by Baptiste to Reginald and
his friend) was nearly in the following words:—
“Mahéga and the Upsaroka will attack our camp to–night—the wolf
shall fall into a trap—they will come to take scalps, let them look
after their own—but we must divide our party—Wingenund has seen the
Washashee camp, he shall guide ten warriors to it in the dark, and
while Mahéga is leading his blind followers here, the tomahawk and the
fire shall be in his lodge!”