“It is lawful,” replied the maiden, “to recover our friends by force

or device, if they are detained by treachery; but remember, dear

Reginald, that vengeance belongs not to our erring and fallen race; if

the Upsaroka should sin as you expect, defeat, if you can, his evil

schemes, but leave his punishment to the Great Avenger, who can make

his latter days loathsome as those of Gehazi, or his death sudden and

fearful as that of Ananias and his guilty spouse.”

Reginald coloured deeply, for his conscience reminded him that on a

late occasion he had used, in a discussion with War–Eagle, the same

argument as that now applied with so much force to himself, and he felt

ashamed of having forgotten, in the excitement of his own passions, a

truth which he had laboured strongly to impress upon another.

“Thanks, dearest monitress,” he replied, “for recalling me to my better

self; would that you were always by my side to control my impatience

and reprove the hastiness of my temper. Nay, I trust ere long that you

will be always at my side; your father and instructor will return, and

will unite us in those holy bands not to be severed by man. You will

then leave the prairie and the tent, and come with me to a home where a

second father and a loving sister claim a share in your affection.”

“It shall be so,” replied Prairie–bird, in a low and earnest voice;

“read my answer in the language of one who, like myself, was humble and

friendless, but who, trusting in her God, found in a strange land a

husband and a home.”

“Nay, read it to me,” said Reginald, anticipating her selection;

“however beautiful the words may be, your voice will make them fall

more sweetly on my ear.”

Prairie–bird opened the book, but she looked not on the page, for

the words were treasured in her heart; and she repeated, in a voice

faltering from deep emotion, “Whither thou goest I will go, and where

thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God

my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the

Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”

As she concluded these words, she looked up to the face of her

betrothed with eyes beaming with truth and affection. The strong man

was overcome; he could only utter a deep Amen. The consciousness

that the trustful, guileless being now at his side had surrendered

to his keeping the ark of her earthly happiness, mingled an awful

responsibility with the more tender feelings that possessed his inmost

soul; he felt what has been so truly described by a poet out of fashion

and out of date,—that

“The treasures of the deep are not so precious

As are the concealed comforts of a man

Locked up in woman’s love.”

Then did he record a secret and solemn vow that he would guard his

precious treasure with a miser’s care; the stars began more brightly to

twinkle in the sky, the watch–fires emitted through the deepening gloom

a clearer ray; and as the head of Prairie–bird lightly rested upon her

lover’s shoulders, they gave themselves up to the delicious reveries

suggested by the hour, the scene, and hearts overcharged with bliss.

The happy pair were suddenly aroused from their waking dream by the

sharp crack of a rifle, the flash of which Reginald distinctly saw

through the bushes on the side of the hill below them; a bullet whizzed

close to his head, and a half–suppressed cry broke from Prairie–bird.

“Speak, love, speak!” he exclaimed, in frantic alarm; “speak but one

word to tell me you are not hurt!”

“I am not hurt,” she replied; “God be praised that you are also

unharmed! Nay, dearest, do not break from me.” Here the report of

fire–arms was again heard, mingled with the shouts and tumult of a

sudden fray. “Our friends are on their guard! you are still weak from

your late wound! Oh, Reginald, stay! I entreat—I implore!”

But he heard her not; the din of arms and the foul attempt at murder,

directed, as he believed, against the life of his betrothed, had

awakened the tempest within him; the wounded arm was released from its

sling, and with drawn cutlass in his right hand, he rushed down the

steep slope of the hill with the reckless speed of a madman. We will

now proceed to explain the cause of this sudden interruption of their

_tête–à–tête_.

It has been already mentioned that Besha had been charged with

explaining to Mahéga the arrangements and plans adopted at the Upsaroka

council. No sooner had he done so, than the Osage chief, finding that

the evacuation of the camp was to take place during the night, resolved

upon striking, before they withdrew from the neighbourhood, one blow at

the foes who had defeated and baffled him.

Too cunning to be deceived by the Crows, or to be misled by the

flattery of Besha, he knew that as he had now no more presents to

offer, his only chance of retaining any authority or influence with

them was by such deeds of daring as should compel them to look up

to him as a war–leader. This feeling, stimulated by his thirst for

revenge, led him without hesitation to attempt a feat which, if

successful, must render him the terror not less of his allies than of

his foes.

As soon as the horse–dealer had left him, he summoned his few remaining

followers, and informed them that they must prepare to march during

the ensuing night; he told them, also, that he was about to set forth

himself on the war–path alone, and all that he required of them was

to conceal themselves among the bushes fronting towards the enemy’s

camp, so as to cover his retreat in case of his being pursued from that

quarter, and that he intended to return, if possible, on a horse.

The men listened with silent attention to their leader’s orders, and

retired without making either comment or reply. Mahéga then stripped

himself of every ornament that could attract attention, and threw off

his hunting–shirt and leggins, thrusting a brace of small pistols and a

long knife into his waist–belt; and with no other covering than a light

pair of mocassins on his feet, he stole out of the camp at a point

which was not visible from the enemy’s quarters.

Availing himself of every ravine and undulation of ground, he made a

swift circuit in the distant prairie, and approached the Delaware camp

on the north–eastern side, where, as has been before mentioned, it was

protected by a precipitous cliff. He had observed a narrow valley in

this direction, not more than half a mile from the base of the rock, to

which the white men drove their horses for pasture; and as a view of it

was commanded from the height, they were only guarded by a single man,

who drove them back in the evening to the camp. The man who happened

to be on duty there was a hunter belonging to the band brought out by

Pierre, a brave and somewhat reckless fellow, who had been inured to

all the hardships and risks of a mountain trapper’s life.

The crafty Osage, having succeeded in obtaining the important advantage

of seeing his opponent before he could be himself perceived, directed

his movements accordingly. He might, perhaps, have succeeded in

creeping near enough to shoot him, and have gained the shelter of his

own camp before he could be overtaken; but such was not his purpose.

He had determined that the bullet now in his rifle should lodge in the

heart of Reginald or War–Eagle, and no other life could satisfy his

revenge.

Not more than a hundred paces from the spot where the unconscious

sentry sat, with his face towards the Upsaroka camp, the valley made

a bend, becoming at the same place narrower and steeper in its banks;

thither did Mahéga stealthily creep, and on reaching it found that he

was not within sight of his enemy.

After waiting some time, during which he carefully noted every brush

and hillock that might be made subservient to his projected plan, he

saw feeding towards him a steady old pack–horse, whose scarred back and

sides showed that he had carried many a weary burthen over mountain and

prairie. The Osage remarked, also, that the animal had a long laryette

of hide round its neck. As soon as he felt assured that it had passed

the bend, and could no longer be seen by the man on guard, he caught

the end of the laryette, and led his unresisting quadruped prisoner to

a spot further up the valley, where some thick bushes offered him the

means of concealing himself. Here he twisted the laryette firmly round

the fore–leg of the horse, and ensconcing himself behind the largest of

the bushes, patiently awaited the result.

As the shades of evening drew on, the hunter rose to collect and drive

his horses to the camp. Having gathered those in the lower part of the

valley, he afterwards came in search of those that had strayed beyond

the bend. When his eye fell upon the old pack–horse cropping the long

grass, and occasionally the younger shoots of the adjacent bushes, he

muttered to himself, “The old fool hasn’t sense to know summer from

winter: there he stands, gnawing the twigs off the bushes, when he

might be eating the best grass in the bottom.”

As soon as he reached the animal whom he thus apostrophised, he laid

down his rifle, in order to free the entangled leg from the laryette.

While stooping for this purpose, a slight rustling of leaves caught his

ear; and ere he could look round, the fierce Osage sprang upon him with

the bound of a tiger. The unfortunate man strove to catch up his rifle,

but the foot of the giant was upon it, a grasp of iron was upon his

throat, and ere he could utter a sound, or raise a hand, the knife of

the savage was buried in his heart.

Having thus far succeeded in his plan, Mahéga dressed himself from

head to foot in the clothes of his victim, taking possession at the

same time of his knife and pistols, having first deliberately scalped

him,—and placed the scalp in his own belt, below the ill–fated

hunter’s shirt. When thus accoutred and attired, the Osage grinned with

satisfaction, and proceeded to the next and more dangerous portion of

his enterprise.

His first step was to select and secure the best horse from those

pasturing in the valley, which he bridled with the laryette already

mentioned; and having slung the hunter’s rifle over his shoulder,

he mounted his newly–acquired steed, and began leisurely to drive

the others towards the Delaware camp. As soon as he emerged from the

valley he came in sight of the enemy’s sentries and outposts; but the

well–known wolf–skin cap and elk–skin shirt attracted no particular

attention, and he rode deliberately forward until he reached a huge

pine–tree, the shade of whose branches was rendered yet more dark by

the deepening gloom of evening. Here he fastened his horse; and leaving

the others to find their way as they best might, he struck boldly into

the thicket that fringed the base of the hill.

Conscious that he was now in the midst of enemies, and that his life

must depend upon his own skill and address, he crept forward up the

steep ascent, now stopping to listen for the sound of a footfall, now

straining his eyes through the dusky shade in search of some light or

object by which to direct his course. Knowing every inch of the ground,

he was, soon able to distinguish the angle of the stockade, and at no

great distance above it the white tent, partially lighted up by a fire,

round which were seated Monsieur Perrot, Pierre, and several others.

As night drew on, and the surrounding scenery became involved in deeper

gloom, the watch–fire emitted a stronger light, by which Mahéga caught,

at length, a view of Reginald seated by the side of Prairie–bird. All

the stormy passions in his breast, jealousy, hatred, and revenge, were

kindled at the sight; and as soon as he thought the muzzle of his

rifle truly aimed at his rival’s heart, he fired. Fortunate was it for

Reginald, that the light cast by the fire was flickering and uncertain,

or that hour had been his last.

The savage, without waiting to see the result of his shot, which had

alarmed the hunters and the Delawares patrolling near the spot, rushed

down the hill towards the tree where he had left his horse. Twice was

his path crossed by an enemy; the first he felled with a blow on the

head from the discharged rifle; and the second, which was no less a

person than honest Baptiste himself, he narrowly missed, in firing a

pistol in his face at so near a distance that, although unhurt by the

ball, his cheek was singed by the powder.

Completely taken by surprise, the guide fired into the bushes after

the retreating figure of his unknown foe, and then dashed forward in

pursuit; but the darkness favoured the escape of the Osage, who never

paused nor turned again until he reached the spot where he had fastened

the horse; then vaulting on its back, he shouted his insulting war–cry,

in a voice that might be heard above all the mingled sounds of pursuit,

struck his heel into the flank of the captured steed, and, unscathed by

any of the bullets that whistled after him, reached the Crow camp in

safety.

The Osage warriors looked with some surprise upon their chief in his

unusual attire, but he briefly returned their greeting, and proceeded

without delay to the lodge of the Upsaroka chief. A fire was burning

there, by the light of which he recognised the old man seated in the

midst, with his son White–Bull on his right, and Besha at some distance

on his left. Mahéga had by this time thrown off the garments of the

slain hunter, which were slung across the horse. Leading the latter

forward, until the light of the fire fell upon it and upon himself,

he stood a moment in an attitude of haughty and silent expectation.

White–Bull and his father raised their eyes in surprise at the sudden

appearance of their guest, and in involuntary admiration of his

herculean figure, the fine proportions of which were seen to advantage

by the ruddy glare of the blazing logs.

“Let Besha tell my brother he is welcome,” said the old chief,

cautiously; “and let him inquire whence he comes, and what he has to

say.”

“Mahéga is come,” replied the proud Osage, “from a visit to the

pale–faces and the Lenapé women. His hands are not empty; the shirt,

the leggins, the belt, the head–dress, and the horse of a white hunter

he has brought as a present to the Upsaroka chief. If White–Bull will

receive the _Medicine–weapon_[78], the heart of Mahéga will be glad.”

White–Bull and his father accepted the offered presents with every

demonstration of satisfaction. The latter, again addressing Besha,

desired him thus to speak:

“Mahéga forgets that all his goods are in the hands of his

enemies—does he keep nothing for himself?”

The Osage made no reply, but, drawing the recent scalp from his belt,

and pointing to it, the knife still red with human blood, he smiled

scornfully, and strode through the camp back to his own lodge. His

purpose was effected; he had succeeded in his daring exploit, and,

although uncertain of the result of the shot fired at Reginald, he

had regained some of his influence over the Upsaroka chief and his

intractable son. Mahéga pondered over these things in his lodge, as he

mechanically attached the scalp of his last–killed foe to a thong, on

which were already fastened many similar trophies of his former prowess.

His musings were soon disturbed by the voice of Besha, who entered the

lodge, bearing a sack of considerable dimensions, which he deposited

upon the ground. “Mahéga is a great warrior,” said he, greeting the

Osage with something of the reluctant courtesy which a terrier shows to

a mastiff: “his name will be heard far among the tribes of the Upsaroka

nation. The Great Chief wishes to make his Washashee brother a present:

three horses stand without the lodge to carry the followers of Mahéga

on the path of the bison, or of the Lenapé.”

The eye of the chief brightened with fierce pleasure at this

announcement, as two of his few remaining men were unhorsed; and he

satisfied himself, by going to the door of the lodge, that the horses

now presented to him were good and fit for service.

“That is not all,” continued the horse–dealer; “White–Bull knows that

the Medicine–weapon cannot live without food, he has sent me to offer

this bag to Mahéga.”

As he spoke, Besha opened the sack, and exposed to the view of the

Osage powder and lead sufficient for fifty or sixty shots, and

half–a–dozen pair of strong mocassins, such as are made by the Crow

women for their lords.

“The hand of the Upsaroka is open,” said Mahéga; “tell him that his

gifts shall not fall upon the ground; the lead shall be buried in the

hearts of his enemies.”

Besha, having given to the chief a few brief explanations of the hour

and the arrangements fixed for the night–march, withdrew, and left him

to communicate with his followers.

We must now return to Reginald Brandon, whom we left engaged in the

disagreeable and perilous task of pursuing an unseen enemy down the

slope of a steep hill in the dark. His was not, however, a foot or a

heart likely to fail him in such an emergency, and, reckless alike of

obstacles or of the difficulties in his path, he continued his rapid

descent, and soon found himself among the glades and bushes whence the

firing had aroused his attention. Advancing with his drawn cutlass

still in his hand, he stumbled over something which he found to be the

prostrate form of a man, and in whom he recognised by his dress one

of his own party. Finding that he could extract from him nothing but

broken and muttered sentences, about “the devil” and “the darkness,”

he hastened on until he reached a spot where he heard several voices

in earnest conversation; these he found to be War–Eagle, Wingenund,

and Baptiste; and he soon gathered from the latter all that he had to

tell, which was, that, having suddenly heard the crack of a rifle in

the camp, and then seen a man rushing through the bushes in descending

the hill, he had thrown himself in the way of the stranger, who, after

nearly blinding him by the discharge of a pistol in his face, had

darted past him into the thicket below. “I fired after him,” continued

the honest guide, “both pistol and rifle, but I scarcely think I hit

him, for on reaching the edge of the timber, I could just distinguish

a horseman crossing the prairie at full speed to the Crow camp; ’tis a

bad business, but I fear there is worse yet behind.”

“How mean you?” inquired Reginald.

“Why, I fear some foul play in our own camp; the fellow who shot the

pistol at me was one of our party.”

“Impossible!” said Reginald; “I will not believe it.”

“Neither would I, if I could help it,” replied the guide; “but, dark as

it was, I could plainly see the fur–cap and elk–shirt upon him; whoever

it was, he joined Mahéga on the prairie, for the Washashee shouted his

cursed war–whoop aloud to insult us.”

Wingenund here whispered a few words to War–Eagle, who replied, “Right,

my young brother, let us visit the posts and the fires, we shall soon

see who is missing.”

While the chief, with the aid of Pierre and Baptiste, undertook this

task, Reginald returned, accompanied by Wingenund, to the spot where

he had stumbled over the wounded man. They found him seated in the

same place, but his senses had returned, and with the exception of

the severe bruises on the head, they were glad to learn that he was

uninjured. He could give no account of what had passed further than

that already given by Baptiste. He had been prostrated and stunned by

a heavy blow from some one descending the hill with great rapidity; he

also stated his impression that he had distinguished the dress of a

white hunter.

The result of the investigation may of course be anticipated; the

unfortunate owner of the wolf–skin cap was suspected of having plotted

with Mahéga, and (after aiding him in an attempt to murder Reginald)

of having gone off with one of the best horses to the Crow camp. Such

was the conjecture of some, and if there were others who guessed more

nearly at the truth, their opinions were for the present reserved; it

being, however, impossible to make further inquiry until daylight, the

different parties retired to their respective quarters, and Reginald

again sought the tent to give to Prairie–bird an account of what had

passed, and to assure her of his safe return. At the first sound of

his voice she came forth, and listened with breathless attention to

his brief narration. The watch–fire had been fed with fresh fuel, and

its light falling upon her countenance, enabled her lover to see the

intense anxiety which it expressed; a handkerchief, hastily folded like

a turban, covered her head, and a dark Mexican mantle was thrown over

her shoulders; her hand trembled in his, and a slight shudder passed

through her frame as he mentioned the name of Mahéga.

“Nay, dearest,” said Reginald, “I shall grieve, indeed, if the name of

that hateful savage hath power so to move and disturb your peace. Fear

him not: believe me, we shall yet defeat all his attempts, whether of

hidden fraud or open force.”

“There is no room, dear Reginald, for thoughts of fear for the future

in my heart, ’tis already full, too full, of gratitude for the past;

you are again by my side, safe and unhurt. Yet, methinks, I am sadly

changed of late! A short time since, the report of the rifle, the

arrow’s hissing path, brought no terror to my ear, and now I tremble

when I hear them! Will you not regret having chosen a coward for your

bride?”

“Perhaps I may,” said Reginald, “when the thirsty summer–grass regrets

being moistened by the dew of heaven; when the watchful mother regrets

that she has borne the infant by whose cradle she is seated; when the

miser regrets having discovered an unsuspected treasure; and the weary

traveller regrets having found a fresh spring amid the burning sands of

the desert, then may I perhaps regret having chosen Prairie–bird to be

to my thirsting heart its summer–dew, its firstling, its treasure, its

fountain of exhaustless joy and love!”

Although it was not the first time that she had received the assurance

of his affection, her ear drank it in with delight: the repetitions of

love have for his votaries perpetual freshness and variety.

“How silver–sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night!”

So says one of the fairest creations of the great interpreter of human

passion; yet it is only to each other that these voices do so sweetly

sound; to others, less interested, their parlance is apt to seem dull

and monotonous. Neither would a dinner of honey, or guava jelly alone,

be more nauseous and disappointing to the appetite of a hungry man

than a volume filled with love–letters, or love–speeches, to one in

search of literary food. Duly impressed with this truth, we will spare

any further detail of the conversation that passed between Reginald

and his betrothed, and will content ourselves with relating that after

more than one “Good night!” such as only lovers know, Prairie–bird

retired into her tent, with her thoughts so absorbed in one object,

that she was scarcely conscious of the affectionate attentions of her

faithful Lita, or of the watchful care of young Wingenund, who took

his accustomed station at the entrance to the outer division of his

sister’s canvasss dwelling.

An hour before the dawn the wakeful youth arose and looked abroad. The

pale and expiring fires of the opposite camp were still distinctly

visible; but his practised ear missed the usual sounds of Indian

life—the hum of men, the cries of children, and the barking of curs.

Having learnt the use of Reginald’s spy–glass, he took it down from

the peg on which it was suspended, and examined the opposite hill. As

the light of day gradually advanced, and objects became more easily

distinguishable, his suspicions became confirmed, and he resolved no

longer to delay communicating them to War–Eagle. He found the chief

seated at the door of his lodge, in an attitude which he at first

mistook for slumber, but it proved to be one of deep meditation; for,

on the youth’s approach, he looked up, and said, in the gentle tone in

which he always addressed his beloved brother,

“Wingenund is a foot before the sun; have his ears or eyes been open

during the night?”

“They have,” said the youth gravely; “and the words that he brings to

his brother are not good.”

“The Wolf–cap hunter is gone to the Upsaroka camp; that is bad news: is

there any worse?”

“Wingenund knows nothing of the Wolf–cap hunter; but the Upsaroka camp

is like the village of the Lenapé, on the prairies of the east; there

remains in it neither man, nor woman, nor child!”

War–Eagle sprang upon his feet, and hastily desiring Wingenund to

summon Reginald, Baptiste, and Pierre to council, he descended the

hill to the spot where his horses were fastened, and throwing himself

upon the back of the swiftest, he galloped at full speed towards the

opposite camp. As he approached it, he began to suspect that its

apparent desertion might be only a manœuvre to draw his party into

an ambush, wherefore he wheeled his horse, and made a circuit round

the base of the hill, at such a distance as to be secure from the

arrow or ball of any marksman hidden among the bushes. As he gained

a spot whence the expanse of prairie was open to his view towards

the south–west, he saw a body of horsemen retreating rapidly in that

direction; they were already several miles from the camp, and he

rightly conjectured them to be the rear–guard of the retiring enemy.

The main body had marched early in the night, and only a score of

the best mounted had been left, to walk up and down by the fires, to

talk aloud, and thus to prevent any suspicion of their movements from

entering the Delaware camp.

Vexed and disappointed, the chief returned to his party, which he

found in confusion and dismay, from their having just discovered the

body of the unfortunate Wolf–cap hunter, one of his companions having

visited the valley before mentioned, in search of the missing horse and

laryette!

The mystery was now cleared up, and the truth flashed upon them that

Mahéga, dressed in the clothes of their slain comrade, had actually

come within their posts, and, after a deliberate attempt to shoot

Reginald, had singed the beard of Baptiste, knocked down another of

their party, stolen one of their best horses, and escaped in triumph to

his camp!

It may well be imagined how such a complication of injury and insult

aggravated the hatred which they already entertained towards the Osage.

Yet were there many among the rough and hardy men present, who could

not prevent feeling a secret admiration of his daring and successful

exploit.

CHAPTER VII.

WINGENUND DEVISES A PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SEEKS TO

OBTAIN BY MEANS EQUALLY UNUSUAL AND EFFECTIVE THE CO–OPERATION OF THE

ONE–EYED HORSE–DEALER.—A FURTHER MARCH INTO THE MOUNTAINS.—WINGENUND

PAYS A VISIT TO HIS FRIENDS, AND THE LATTER MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH A

STRANGE CHARACTER.

It was about a week after the events related in the preceding chapter,

that, in a deep romantic glen, apparently locked in by impassable

mountains, there sat a hunter busily engaged in changing the flint

of his rifle, it having just missed fire, and thereby lost him a

fine chance of killing a bighorn, or mountain sheep; his countenance

expressed little of the disappointment which would have been felt by a

younger man on such an occasion, and its harsh, coarse features would

have led any observer to believe that their possessor was habituated to

occupations less generous and harmless than those of the chase.

As he fixed a fresh flint into the lock of his rifle, he hummed, or

rather grunted, in a low tone, a kind of chaunt, which was a mixture of

half a score different tunes, and as many various dialects, but from

the careless deliberation with which he went on with his work, it was

easy to perceive that his mind was otherwise occupied.

Whatever might have been his reflections, they were suddenly

interrupted by a hand laid upon his shoulder, which made him start

as if he had been stung by a serpent. Springing to his feet, and

instinctively dropping the muzzle of his rifle to the breast of his

unexpected visitor, he exclaimed, after a momentary pause, “Does

Wingenund come as a friend or an enemy?”

“Neither,” replied the youth, scornfully. “Wingenund has no friendship

for a forked tongue; and if he had come as an enemy, Besha would not

now have been alive to ask the question; ‘twas as easy to shoot him as

to touch his shoulder.”

“For what, then, is he come?” inquired the horse–dealer, who, although

somewhat abashed at this reproof, was not disposed to endure the tone

of superiority assumed towards him by the young Delaware.

“He is come to speak to Besha, and then to return; this is not a place

to throw away words and time.”

“Indeed it is not, for Wingenund knows that his enemies are within

hearing of a rifle–shot.”

“There may be other rifles nearer than Besha thinks,” replied the

youth, dryly. “Wingenund is not a bird; wherever he goes his friends

can follow him.”

The horse–dealer cast an uneasy glance around, and muttered half–aloud,

“If Wingenund is not a bird, I know not how be came to this place

unseen by the Upsaroka scouts, who are abroad in every quarter?”

To this Wingenund deigned no reply, but entered at once upon the

business upon which he had come. As he explained his proposal, the

single eye of his auditor seemed to dilate with unfeigned astonishment,

and at its conclusion he shook his head, saying, “It cannot be! the

mad–spirit has entered my young brother’s head. Besha would do much to

serve his friends, but this would hold a knife to the cord of his own

life!”

“The knife is there already,” said the youth sternly; “Besha has told

lies to Netis and to War–Eagle, and unless he makes good his first

words, their knife or bullet shall find him on the mountain or in the

wood, or in the midst of the Upsaroka camp.”

For an instant Besha was tempted to rush upon the bold speaker, and

trust the issue to his superior strength; but the quiet eye of the

young Delaware was fixed upon him with an expression so fearless and

resolved, that he involuntarily quailed before it; and as he was

endeavouring to frame some further excuse, the youth continued, in a

tone of voice less stern, “Let Besha’s ears be open, it is not yet too

late; if he chooses to be friends with Netis, Wingenund can tell him

some news that will be good for the person whom he loves best.”

“And who may that be?” said the horse–dealer, doubtless surprised at

the youth’s pretending to a knowledge of his affections.

“Himself,” was the brief reply.

The horse–dealer’s eye twinkled with a comic expression, and a broad

grin sat upon his countenance. “Supposing that my young brother’s words

are true, what is the good news that he has to tell?”

“If the white prisoners are given back unhurt to their friends, the

lodge of Besha shall be more full of gifts than any lodge on the banks

of the great southern river[79]; if not, the mountain wolves shall

gnaw his bones before the change of another moon: let him choose for

himself.”

“My brother’s words are big,” replied the horse–dealer, striving to

overcome the effect produced upon him by the threat of the Delaware

youth. “The tongues of women are very brave; if the Washashee tell

the truth, not many summers have passed since the Lenapé were a

woman–people.”

The blood of the young chief boiled within him at this insulting

allusion to an era in the history of his tribe which has already been

explained to the reader, and had he followed his first fierce impulse

he would have instantly avenged the affront in the blood of the

speaker; but he never lost sight of the object for which he had so long

sought an interview with the horse–dealer, wherefore he controlled his

rising passion, and replied, “Wingenund comes with this message from

those who not many days ago drove the Washashee and the Upsaroka from

their strong camp: Besha may judge whether they are women or warriors.”

The horse–dealer felt, if he did not own, the justice of the reproof;

he knew also that the greater portion of the coveted goods were in

the possession of War–Eagle’s party, and he was willing enough to

conciliate them, provided he could ensure a safe retreat from the anger

of the Crows, in the event of his intrigue being discovered by them.

Moved by these considerations, he said, in an undecided tone, “My

young brother must not forget that the edge of the knife is on the cord

of his life; if Besha agrees to his proposal, and the Crows discover

him, he will be torn in pieces like a wounded elk among wolves.”

“The life of Wingenund is like the breath of the mountain breeze,”

answered the youth; “it is in the hands of the Great Spirit, to move

and send it whither he pleases. Let Besha taste this black–water,” he

added, drawing from his belt a small bottle; “it is very wonderful.”

The horse–dealer took the phial, which contained a strong, and not

very palatable mixture, which had been borrowed by Wingenund from his

sister’s chest of medicine; but he declined tasting it, shaking his

head in a manner that gave the youth to understand that he suspected

something of a hurtful or poisonous nature.

“Let not Besha be afraid,” said the youth scornfully; “the tomahawk and

the rifle are the death–weapons of the Lenapé, they war not with bad

waters!” and as he spoke he drank a portion of the dark and distasteful

liquid.

It would not have been held, according to Indian custom, an act of

unpardonable cowardice in Besha had he any longer hesitated to taste

the pledge; and whatever doubts or scruples he might in secret have

entertained, he concealed them, and drank off the remaining contents of

the phial.

As soon as he had swallowed them, the youth, pointing up to the sky,

said, with much solemnity, “Now Wingenund and Besha are before the

Great Spirit, and they must beware what they do. This dark–water was

given into their hands by the Medicine of the white tent: it is made

up by Prairie–bird from a thousand unknown herbs; it is harmless to

the good, but it is poison to the forked tongue! Has Besha ever heard

of the sickness which makes the skin like a honeycomb; which spares

neither woman, warrior, nor child; and in the course of half a moon

turns a powerful tribe into a feeble and exhausted band?”

“He _has_ heard of it,” replied the horse–dealer, trembling from

head to foot at this allusion to that _fell disease_[80], which had

already begun its fearful ravages among the Indian nations, and has

since fulfilled to the very letter the description given of it by the

Delaware youth. Its origin and causes were unknown, its cure beyond

their skill; it is not therefore to be wondered at if they looked upon

it with a mysterious dread.

“Yes,” continued Wingenund, “if truth is on the lips and in the

heart of Besha, the medicine–water will be good for him and make him

strong. If he thinks of falsehood, and lies spring up in his heart,

but he overcomes the bad spirit within, and treads it under his foot,

then will the medicine–water give him pain for a short time, but he

will recover and be stronger than before; and if his lips and heart

continue full of deceit, diseases and sores shall come so thick upon

his skin that he shall die among these rocks, the hungry wolf and the

turkey–buzzard shall refuse to come near the polluted carcase.”

Such, or nearly such, was the warning threat which the youth held

forth in the bold and figurative language of his tribe; and although

Besha could not with justice be called a coward, and was superior to

many of the superstitions of the Indian nations, still he had heard

such well–authenticated accounts of the miraculous power of the Great

Medicine of the tent, that the words of Wingenund produced all, and

more than all, the effect he had anticipated.

“It shall be done,” said Besha, in a subdued tone; “let Wingenund tell

Olitipa that the lips and the heart of her friend will be true, and let

him desire her to speak to the Great Spirit, that the medicine–water

may not hurt him. Besha will be true; if the Crows discover and kill

Wingenund, the hands of Besha shall be clear of his blood.”

“Let the words of Wingenund remain in Besha’s ears; let his tongue and

his path be straight, and the hearts and hands of the Lenapé will be

open to him. At two hours after nightfall[81] Wingenund will be here

again.”

So saying, the youth turned; and, darting through some low bushes,

clambered up the steep and rocky bed of a mountain–torrent with the

activity of a mountain–cat.

Besha followed with his eyes the light form of the young Delaware,

until it disappeared behind a tall cliff that projected so far

across the narrow gorge as completely to hide its existence from

the observation of any one traversing the valley, while its rugged

and precipitous front might have deterred the boldest hunter from

attempting the passage. The horse–dealer then shouldered his rifle, and

returned slowly to the Crow camp, distant about a mile, revolving as he

went along various schemes for ensuring the gratitude of the Delawares,

without forfeiting the friendship of those with whom he was now allied.

Wingenund had rightly estimated the probable nature and quality of his

reflections, and sundry sharp twitches which he felt in his stomach

served to remind him of the dangerous liquid which it contained. Warned

by these sensations, he made up his mind to obey the Great Medicine of

the tent, and for the present, at least, to be faithful to the promise

made to Wingenund.

The Delaware youth pursued his way up the rough and craggy gorge until

he reached a cave that he had noticed on his descent as likely to

afford shelter and a secure retreat. Here he stopped; and ensconcing

himself in a dark recess, whence he could, without being himself

discovered, see any one passing before the aperture, he threw himself

on the ground, and drawing from his belt a few slices of dried

bison–meat, he made his frugal meal, and quenched his thirst from a

streamlet that trickled down the face of the rock behind him. While

resting himself, he indulged in hopes and reveries suited to his

enthusiastic nature; he was now engaged in an enterprise such as he had

often heard recorded in the songs of the Lenapé warriors; he was about

to trust himself alone in the midst of a hostile camp, and to risk his

life for the liberation of his early benefactor and the friend of his

adopted brother; he felt the spirit of his fathers stir within his

breast.

“If I escape,” said he to himself, “they shall escape with me; and if

I die, I will not die alone, and the name of Wingenund shall not be

forgotten among the warriors of his tribe.”

In these and similar meditations he beguiled the hours until darkness

overspread the earth, and the time of the appointed rendezvous drew

nigh; then, once more emerging from the cave, he picked his way

cautiously among the rocks, and at length found himself at the spot

where he had parted from Besha. Having purposely concealed his rifle

in the cave, he was now armed only with a knife and a small pistol,

which he carried in his belt.

The night was cold and boisterous; dark clouds hung around the

mountain–peaks, and chased each other in rapid succession over the disc

of the moon, while a fitful gust of wind swept down the rocky glens,

whistling as they passed among the branches of the scathed pines which

were thinly scattered in that wild and desolate region.

He had not waited long when he heard the sound of approaching

footsteps, and straining his keen sight to its utmost power, he

recognised Besha, who came not alone, but accompanied by another man.

Although this was an addition to the company that he did not expect,

the youth came fearlessly forward, his quick apprehension suggesting to

him that if treachery had been intended the horse–dealer’s companion

would have been concealed. After exchanging a sign of recognition,

Wingenund led the way to a deep recess which he had noted in a rock at

no great distance, where they collected and kindled a few sticks of

withered juniper and sage, which supplied them with warmth and light

without rendering the place of their colloquy visible from the valley

below.

By the light of the fire Wingenund observed with surprise that the

horse–dealer’s companion, a lad of nearly his own size and stature,

had only one eye, the cavity of the other being covered with a patch

of cloth; his complexion was of a hue so swarthy, that it evidently

contained an admixture of the negro race: and his hair, though not

woolly, was coarse, long, and matted, differing entirely in its texture

from that of the tribes of purely Indian blood. He was wrapped in a

tattered blanket, and stood apart like one conscious of his inferiority

of station. To account for his appearance without entering at length

into the explanations given by the horse–dealer to Wingenund, it will

be sufficient to state that the latter had proposed to enter the Crow

camp in a female dress, and to find an opportunity, as an inmate of his

lodge, for communicating with Paul Müller and Ethelston.

As soon as Besha once made up his mind to forward the scheme, he

resolved to do so with as little risk of discovery as possible.

Happening to have in his lodge a slave, a captive taken in a horse

stealing skirmish among the Comanches, who was nearly the same age as

Wingenund, he thought that the youth might personate him more easily

than he could imitate the gait and appearance of a woman.

Many were the jokes among the Crows about the one–eyed Besha, and his

one–eyed slave. The latter had lost his eye by the point of an arrow,

in the same skirmish which threw him into Besha’s power, and being

a cunning and dexterous lad, he soon grew into favour with his new

master, who frequently employed him as a spy, and found him extremely

useful in stealing, marking, and disguising horses for him.

Wingenund saw at once the drift of Besha’s project, and they lost

no time in carrying it into effect. The exchange of dress was made

in a few seconds, and the horse–dealer then drew from his pouch a

small bladder, containing ointment, with which he stained the youth’s

hands and face, fastening at the same time a patch over his left eye.

Wingenund then desired Besha to walk up and down, and speak with the

lad, that he might carefully note his movements, and the intonation

of his voice. This observation he continued for some time, until he

thought himself tolerably perfect in his lesson. There remained,

however, one point on which he still felt himself very insecure against

detection. On his explaining this to Besha, the latter grinned, and

drawing from under his vest a head–dress of false hair, ragged and

matted as that of his slave, he placed it on the head of Wingenund.

The youth felt his disguise was now complete; and retaining his own

knife and small pistol in his belt, threw the tattered blanket over his

shoulder, and prepared to accompany Besha to his lodge.

The latter having instructed the slave to keep himself concealed among

the rocks for a few days, and having provided him with a small bag of

provisions, returned slowly towards the Crow camp, giving to his young

companion by the way such hints as he deemed necessary for his safety.

Fortunately for Wingenund, the lad whom he personated was known by the

Crows to be ignorant of their language, so there was no great risk of

his being betrayed by his speech.

As they picked their way slowly along the base of the rugged hills

which frowned over the valley, they came to a spot where a few stunted

pines threw a darker shadow across their path. To one of these was

attached a horse, which Wingenund unfastened by desire of Besha, and

led it after him by the halter.

As they reached the outposts of the camp, Besha was addressed by

several of the sentries, to whom he explained his night expedition, by

informing them that he had been with his slave to recover a horse that

had strayed. They were perfectly satisfied with this explanation, it

being of very frequent occurrence that both master and man returned

by day and by night with horses that they had “recovered;” the latter

word being in the Crow dialect almost, if not quite, synonymous with

“stolen.”

The lodge of Besha was pitched next to that of White–bull, in which

Ethelston and Paul Müller were confined. His entrance caused no

disturbance amongst its slumbering inmates; and Wingenund, fore–armed

with the requisite local information, tied up the horse beside its

fellow; and nestling himself into his allotted corner, laid himself

down to rest as composedly as if he had been in his usual quarters in

the outer division of his sister’s tent.

While Wingenund was thus carrying his project into effect his friends

fulfilled the intention they had formed of marching further into the

mountains.

“Dear Prairie–bird!” said Reginald, as they walked together in front of

her tent, “I fear you must be much fatigued by this last march. I never

could have believed that a horse, bearing a female rider, could have

crossed that rocky pass by which we entered this valley.”

“The horse deserves more praise than the rider, Reginald; and Nekimi

seemed quite aware that his master attached a higher price to his

burthen than it was worth, for he put his feet so safely and gently

down, that I need not have feared his slipping, even had he not been

led by one yet more gentle and careful than himself.”

“It was, however, a severe trial, Prairie–bird,” replied her lover;

“for you remember that Lita’s mule stumbled, and nearly fell with her

over that fearful precipice! but Nekimi is unmatched for speed and

sureness of foot, and is of so generous and affectionate a nature that

I love him more than I ever thought I could have loved a quadruped.

When we return to Mooshanne, he shall be repaid for all his faithful

service; warm shall be his stable, soft his litter, and his beloved

mistress shall sometimes give him corn with her own fair hand, in

remembrance of these days of hardships!”

At the mention of his home, the cheek of Prairie–bird coloured with an

emotion which that subject never failed to excite. Reginald observed

it, and said to her, in a half–jesting tone, “Confess now, dearest,

have you not a longing desire to see that home of which I have so often

spoken to you?”

“It appears to me so like a dream, that I scarcely dare let my thoughts

dwell upon it! But your sister, of whom Wingenund told me so much, I

hope she will love me?”

Reginald bent his dark eyes upon her countenance with an expression

that said, as plainly as words could speak it, “How could any one

see thee, and fail to love thee?” Then turning the conversation to

Wingenund, he replied, “Two days have now elapsed since your young

brother went upon his dangerous expedition; I begin to feel most

anxious for his safety.”

“With grief I saw him go; for even if he succeeds in seeing and

speaking with the Black Father, I cannot tell what advantage will come

from it.”

“They may perhaps devise some scheme for escape, and will at all

events be comforted by the assurance that their friends are near and

watchful. Three several times on the march hither had we made our plans

for attacking the camp, and rescuing them, but the hateful Mahéga was

always on his guard, and had posted himself in such a manner that we

could not approach without incurring severe loss. War–Eagle has himself

owned that the Osage has conducted this retreat with wonderful skill.

What a pity that so great a villain should possess such high qualities!”

“If he were not in the camp of the Crows,” said Prairie–bird, “my

beloved father and your friend would have been set free long ago;

cruelty and revenge are his pleasures, and his hand is ever ready to

shed blood.”

“He will doubtless do all in his power to prevent their liberation; and

if his malignant eye should detect the presence of Wingenund, he would

represent the brave youth as a spy, and urge the Crows to destroy him.”

“I trust much to Wingenund’s skill, but more, oh! how much more to the

protection of Him, at whose word the strongest bars and bolts are

broken, and the fetters of iron fall from the limbs of the captive!”

“What a strength and support must it be to you, dearest Prairie–bird,

thus habitually to look up to Heaven amid all the trials and troubles

of earth!”

“How would it be possible to do otherwise?” she replied, looking up in

his face with an expression of innocent surprise; “Can any one look

upon the flowers of the prairie, the beauty of the swift antelope, the

shade of the valleys, the hills and snow–clad mountains, the sun, the

moon, and the thousand thousand worlds above, and yet not worship Him

who framed them?”

“I grant you, dearest,” he replied, “that no reasonable being could

consider those things without experiencing the emotions that you

describe, yet many, very many, will not consider them; still fewer are

there who refer the thoughts, actions, and events of daily life to an

ever–present, over–ruling Providence.”

“Surely they can never have read this book,” she said, pointing to

the volume which was her constant companion; “or they must feel ever

grateful for past mercies, present benefits, and the blessed promises

of the future revealed in it!”

For a moment Reginald cast his eyes upon the ground, conscience

reminding him of many occasions on which he had been led by temptation

and carelessness to wander from those ordinances and precepts of

religion which he respected and approved; at length he replied, “True,

my beloved, but the human heart is a treacherous guide, and often

betrays into errors which reason and revelation would alike condemn.”

“It may be so among the cities and crowded haunts of men, of which I

know nothing beyond what I have read and what the Black Father has

taught me; yet I cannot understand how a loving heart can be, in such

cases, a treacherous guide. Is it not sweet to serve one whom we love

on earth, to think of him, to bless him, to follow where he points the

way, to afford him pleasure, to fulfil his wishes, even before they

are expressed? If such feelings be sweet and natural towards one frail

and imperfect as ourselves, why should the heart refuse to entertain

them towards the one perfect Being, our ever–present Benefactor, the

Fountain of Love?”

Again Reginald was silent; the impassioned eloquence of her eyes told

him how her heart overflowed with feelings but faintly shadowed in

her simple language; and he desired rather to share than to shake her

creed. Why should he tell her, that in spite of all the incentives of

hope and gratitude, in spite of all the arguments of reason and the

truths of revelation, the great majority of the so–called Christian

world pursued their daily course of business or amusement as if the

present were the substance of life, and eternity a dream? Reginald felt

his own heart softened, purified, and exalted by communion with the

gentle being at his side; the cares and troubles of life might perhaps

disturb at some future time the current of her lot, but her faith was

built upon a Rock that would not be shaken, and his spirit, already

sympathising with hers, experienced a new and delightful sensation of

happiness.

He might have indulged longer in this blissful reverie, had not his ear

caught the sound of an approaching footstep: he turned quickly, and

recognising the light form of Wingenund, exclaimed, “See, Prairie–bird,

our dear young brother safely returned! May all your other hopeful

anticipations be as happily realised! Speak, Wingenund; let us hear how

you have sped in your difficult and dangerous mission?”

Instead of giving the youth’s narrative in his own words, we will

resume the thread of his story where we left it, being thus enabled to

relate various particulars which his modesty induced him to omit.

At the first dawn of day he looked round the horse–dealer’s lodge, and

made a survey of its inmates. In the centre lay Besha himself, and by

his side a squaw from one of the southern tribes, who had been the

companion of his rambles and expeditions for many years. Beyond them

there slept, or seemed to sleep, a youth, whose appearance indicated

that he also belonged to a southern clime, and that some Mexican blood

ran in his veins; his features were finely formed, his complexion

darker than that of a northern Indian, and a short moustachio began to

shade his upper lip; his eye was small, but piercing, and black as jet,

and scarcely was the light sufficient to render distinguishable the

objects in the lodge ere his quick gaze fell upon Wingenund, with an

expression that convinced the latter that the plot had been confided to

him. These were the only inmates of the lodge, which was filled with

various indications of its owner’s success in trade, packages and bales

being piled therein to a considerable height.

Agreeably to the plan preconcerted by Besha, his wife invited

Bending–willow to come to her in the course of the morning; and, on her

arrival, set before her some cakes of maize, sweetened with sugar,—a

luxury equally new and agreeable to the Upsaroka bride. Further

civilities beyond those interchangeable by signs were precluded between

them, by the circumstance of their being each entirely ignorant of the

other’s language; but the offering of a string of blue beads after the

cakes completed the triumph of the hostess in the good graces of her

guest.

Besha did not lose this favourable opportunity for calling the

attention of the latter to the subject of the prisoners, in whose

behalf he expressed a hope that she would use her best exertions.

Bending–willow smiled, and said that she was a woman, and had no power

in the council of the tribe.

The crafty horse–dealer saw at a glance how the assertion was belied by

the smile, and replied,—

“When White–bull speaks, the braves listen: when Bending–willow speaks,

does not White–bull listen too?”

The Upsaroka beauty looked down and counted the beads upon her new

bracelet, with an expression of countenance which encouraged Besha to

proceed. “These white men are of no use in the Upsaroka camp; they eat

and drink, and kill no game. If they are sent back to their own people,

the lodge of White–bull will be full of presents, and the women will

say, ‘Look at Bending–willow; she is dressed like the wife of a great

chief!’”

By these, and similar arguments, the Crow bride was easily induced to

connive at the plot laid for the liberation of the prisoners. Being a

good–natured creature, and feeling that the kindness of Prairie–bird to

her had been ill requited, she was the more willing to favour the white

people, and only held Besha to the promise that, in contriving their

escape, no injury should be done to the person or property of any of

her tribe.

With the assistance of Bending–willow, Wingenund found several

opportunities of conversing with Ethelston and the Black Father; but

the camp was so strictly guarded that they could not devise any plan

that seemed to promise success, while a failure was sure to bring

upon them more rigid confinement, if not a severer and more summary

punishment. Wingenund was authorised by Besha to comfort them with the

assurance that they had a true friend in White–bull’s bride, and that

they were quite safe from the malignant designs of Mahéga. On the other

hand, the horse–dealer positively refused, under present circumstances,

to incur the risk of aiding their escape while the position of the camp

was so unfavourable for it, and the Crow sentries were kept so much on

the alert by the immediate vicinity of War–Eagle’s party.

Under these circumstances, the youth had slipped away by night to

consult with his friends whether the liberation of the prisoners should

be attempted by force, or whether it might not be more advisable to

throw the Crows off their guard by discontinuing the pursuit, and

leaving it to the ingenuity of Wingenund to devise a plan for their

escape.

These two alternatives having been duly discussed in council, it was

almost unanimously agreed to adopt the latter; and Wingenund prepared

again to return to his perilous post, having received from War–Eagle,

Reginald, and Prairie–bird the praises which his skill and enterprise

had so well deserved.

He did not forget to take with him a small supply of beads and

trinkets, which he concealed in his belt, and which were destined to

secure the continued favour of Bending–willow.

As soon as he was gone, War–Eagle proposed that the party should

quit their present station in search of one where they might be more

likely to fall in with deer and bison, as meat was becoming very

scarce in the camp; and a scout, sent out on the preceding day, had

returned with a report that he had found, at the distance of half a

day’s march, a large and fertile valley, watered by a fine stream, and

abounding in materials for fuel. This last consideration was of itself

highly important, for the Crows had gathered every dry bush and stick

from the barren glen in which they were now encamped; and the utmost

exertions of the indefatigable Perrot scarcely enabled him to provide

a sufficiency for cooking the necessary provisions; while the coldness

of the atmosphere, especially at night, rendered the absence of fire a

privation more than ordinarily severe.

The counsel of War–Eagle was therefore adopted without delay, it

having been agreed that two of the most experienced men, the one a

Delaware, and the other a white hunter, should hover around the Crow

camp, and communicate to the main body, from time to time, their

movements and proceedings.

Having been supplied with an extra blanket, and a few pounds of dried

meat and parched corn, these two hardy fellows saw their comrades

depart without the least apparent concern, and soon afterwards withdrew

to a sheltered and more elevated spot, whence they could, without being

perceived, command a distant view of the Crow camp.

Following the steps of the scouts, War–Eagle led his party to a part

of the valley where a huge rent or fissure in the side of the mountain

rendered the ascent practicable for the horses. It was, however, a wild

and rugged scene, and a fitting entrance to the vast pile of mountains

that showed their towering peaks far to the westward.

Prairie–bird was mounted upon Nekimi, and Reginald walked by her side,

his hand ever ready to aid and guide him amongst the huge stones, which

in some places obstructed the path.

Never had velvet lawn, or flower–embroidered vale, seemed to our hero

half so smooth and pleasant as did that rocky pass. At every turn

some new feature of grandeur arrested the attention of Prairie–bird,

who expressed her admiration in language which was a strange mixture

of natural eloquence and poetry, and which sounded to his ears more

musical than “Apollo’s lute.”

What struck him as most remarkable was, that, whether in speaking of

the magnificent scenery around, or of the more minute objects which

fell under her observation, her spirit was so imbued with Scripture,

that she constantly clothed her ideas in its phraseology, without being

conscious of so doing.

Thus, when in crossing the valley they passed by some anthills, and,

in ascending the opposite height, saw here and there a mountain–rabbit

nibbling the short moss that overspread the bed of rock, Reginald

directed her attention to them, saying, “See, Prairie–bird, even in

this desolate wilderness these insect–millions have built them a city,

and the rabbit skips and feasts as merrily as in more fertile regions.”

“True, dear Reginald,” she replied, “therefore did the wise man say in

days of old, ‘The ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their

meat in the summer: the conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they

their houses in the rocks.’”

A little further onward, the pass was overhung by an enormous cliff,

from the top of which a bighorn looked down upon the party below, the

long beard of the mountain–goat streaming in the wind. One of the

hunters fired at it, but the harmless bullet glanced from the face

of the cliff, while amid the echoes repeated and prolonged by the

surrounding heights, the bighorn sprang from rock to rock across the

yawning chasms by which they were divided, as lightly as the forest

squirrel leaps from a branch of the spreading oak to that of the

neighbouring elm.

Reginald watched the animal’s progress, and called the attention of

Prairie–bird to the surprising swiftness and activity with which it

held on its perilous course.

When at length it disappeared behind the angle of an abrupt precipice,

she said, “Does it not call to your mind the description given of

the wild–ass of the East, in the Book of Job, ‘Who has sent out the

wild–ass free? or who hath loosened the band of the wild–ass? whose

house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwelling? He

scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of

the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth

after every green thing.’ Tell me, Reginald,” continued the maiden,

after a momentary pause, “can the creature here described be the same

dull patient animal that I have often seen bearing the packs of the

Mexican traders?”

“The same, I believe, dearest, in its origin, and its place in natural

history, but widely different in its habits and powers, if we may

credit the narratives of travellers, whether modern or ancient. I

remember reading a most spirited description of this same animal in

the account given by the eminent historian[82] of the expedition of

the younger Cyrus, who relates that the herds of them found near the

banks of the Euphrates surpassed the swiftest horses in speed, and were

neither to be tamed nor approached without the greatest difficulty; and

in later times they have been described as abounding in the wildest

regions of Persia and Tartary, where their flesh is considered one of

the greatest delicacies at the table of the hunter, and even at that of

the prince. In order to distinguish this animal from its humble and

degraded kindred in the West, it has been dignified by the name of the

Onager.”

The conversation was here interrupted by a sudden halt in the line

of march, and Reginald heard the sound of numerous voices towards

the front as of men speaking under surprise and excitement. When he

advanced, with Prairie–bird at his side, they made way for him to

pass until he reached the front, where he found War–Eagle holding by

a leathern thong the most singular–looking creature that he had ever

beheld. It bore in some respects the semblance of a human being, but

the extreme lowness of its stature, the matted hair by which it was

covered, the length of the finger nails, and the smallness of the

deep–set eyes, made it almost a matter of doubt whether it did not

rather belong to the monkey tribe.

This was, however, soon dispelled by Pierre, who recognised in

the diminutive and terrified creature one of the race known to

mountain–hunters under the name of Root–diggers. They are the most

abject and wretched of all the Indian tribes, living in caves and

holes, and supporting their miserable existence upon such animals as

they can catch, in toils of the simplest kind, and by grubbing and

digging for roots such as no other human being could eat or digest.

The one now taken by the Delawares had been engaged in the latter

occupation when he first saw them approach, and he fled immediately

towards the rocks. Had he been followed by an eye less sure, and a

foot less fleet than that of War–Eagle, he might have escaped, for

despite his uncouth appearance, he was nimble as a mountain–cat, but

the Delaware chief overtook and secured him; and in spite of all the

endeavours made to reassure him, the unfortunate Root–digger now

looked about him as if he expected every moment to be his last. Beads,

trinkets, and shreds of bright–coloured cloth were all held up to him

in turn, but were left unnoticed, and his deep twinkling eyes roved

incessantly from one to another of the bystanders with an expression of

the most intense alarm.

“Are they always thus fearful and intractable?” inquired Reginald of

the Canadian hunter.

“Not always,” replied Pierre; “but the Crows and Black–feet, and white

men too, generally treat them worse than dogs whenever they find them:

that is not often, for they always hide among rocks and stones, and

seldom come down so low in the valleys. I never saw one in this region

before.”

“Prairie–bird,” said Reginald in a whisper to the maiden, “speak to the

poor creature a few words of comfort. Were he shy, suspicious, and wild

as a wolf, that voice would subdue and dispel his apprehensions.”

“The sweetness of the voice lies in the hearer’s partial ear,” replied

Prairie–bird, blushing deeply; “but I will do your bidding to the best

of my power; and if I mistake not the poor creature’s symptoms, I think

I can find the means to relieve them.”

So saying, and leaping lightly from her horse, the maiden took from

one of the packs a piece of baked maize–cake, and a slice of dried

bison–meat. Carrying these in her hand, she approached the Root–digger,

and motioning to the bystanders to retire to some distance, she

deliberately untied the thong by which he had been fastened, and

placing the food before him, made signs that he should eat. At first

the uncouth being gazed upon her as if he could or would not understand

her meaning; but she spoke to him in the soft Delaware tongue, and

eating a morsel of the cake, repeated the signal that he should eat

with her. Whether overcome by the gentleness of her manner, or by the

cravings of hunger, the savage no longer resisted, but devoured with

ravenous haste the food which she had set before him. Prairie–bird

smiled at the success of her attempt, which so far encouraged her, that

she again offered the several presents which he had before rejected,

and which he now accepted, turning them over and over in his hand, and

inspecting them with childish curiosity.

Reginald looked on with gratified pride, saying within himself, “I knew

that nothing could resist the winning tones of that voice!

‘Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the

time doth change his nature;’

And where is there music like the voice of Prairie–bird?”

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ROOT–DIGGER MAKES FRIENDS WITH THE PARTY.—AN ADVENTURE WITH A

GRISLY BEAR.—THE CONDUCT OF WAR–EAGLE.

No sooner had Prairie–bird gained the confidence of the Root–digger,

than War–Eagle, Reginald, and the other chief hunters approached him

with signs of amity and friendship: nevertheless, he continued shy and

suspicious, still refusing to receive either food or present from any

hand excepting that of the maiden. They were obliged, therefore, to

make her their interpreter, and to endeavour, through her, to acquire

the information of which they were in want respecting the scarcity or

abundance of deer and bison in the neighbourhood.

In the discharge of this office, Prairie–bird discovered so much

natural quickness, and at the same time so complete a knowledge of the

Indian language of signs, that Reginald looked on with the most intense

interest, while the maiden, whose beauty was so strongly contrasted

with the hideous face and figure of the mountain dwarf, maintained with

him a conversation of some length, in the course of which she learnt

that there were few, if any, bison in the neighbourhood, but that

the argali, or mountain sheep, and deer of several kinds, were to be

found at no great distance. She succeeded also, at length, in so far

disarming his suspicions, that he agreed to act as guide to Baptiste

and Reginald in pursuit of game, and to return with them to reap the

reward of his trouble in further presents from the hand of Prairie–bird.

The sturdy backwoodsman did not seem to place much confidence in the

fidelity of his new acquaintance, and bluntly observed to Pierre, “For

sure, I never saw an uglier crittur, and his eyes rolled from side to

side with an underlook that I don’t half like: perhaps he’ll lead us

into some ambush of Upsarokas, or other mountain Ingians, rather than

to a herd of deer.”

“You need not be afraid, Baptiste,” replied his brother hunter,

laughing; “these poor Root–diggers are harmless and honest in their

own miserable way. They are said to belong to the Shoshonies, or

Snake–tribe, and are the best of all the Ingians hereabouts; not such

fighting devils as the Black–feet, nor such thieves as the Crows, but

friendly to the Whites. This poor crittur has been digging for roots

many a long day with that sharpened flint, which you see in his hand.

After you have started on your hunting trip, make him a present of a

good knife. I have watched his eyes roving from belt to belt; he would

give his ears for one, and yet is too frightened to ask for it.”

“Thanks for the hint, Pierre,” said his companion, looking carefully to

the priming of his rifle; “thanks for the hint. I will carry a spare

one with me on purpose; and in case we should fall in with a fat herd,

do you, friend War–Eagle, give us the company of one of your stoutest

men, that he may assist in bringing in enough meat for the party.”

On hearing these words, Prairie–bird inquired of the Root–digger, by

signs, whether one of the mules could not go over the hunting–ground.

The savage looked first at the animal, then at the fair speaker, and

then, with a grin, gave a most decided indication of a negative.

The preparations for the hunt were soon made. Prairie–bird urged

Reginald in a low voice, not to remain too long absent, a command which

he faithfully promised to obey; and just as he was about to set forth,

he led her up to the chief, and said, “War–Eagle will take care of his

sister?”

The Indian’s proud heart was gratified by this simple proof of his

friend’s unbounded confidence; he saw that no jealousy, no doubt of his

victory over self, lurked in the breast of Reginald, and he replied,

“While War–Eagle has life to protect her, Olitipa shall be safe as in

the lodge of Tamenund.”

Reginald turned and followed Baptiste and the Root–digger, who had

already taken their way up the valley, accompanied by the Delaware

selected to aid in carrying home the anticipated booty.

Leaving them to toil up one rocky steep after another, wondering at the

enduring agility of the Shoshonie dwarf, who seemed almost as active

and sure–footed as one of the mountain–goats of which they were in

search, we will return to the valley where War–Eagle’s camp was posted,

which formed, as we have before noticed, a pleasing contrast to the

savage scenery around. The stream that flowed through its centre, fresh

from the snowy bosom of the mountain was cool and clear as crystal,

and the shade of the trees which grew along its banks was delightfully

refreshing after the fatigues of a summer march, even in a region,

the elevation of which rendered the atmosphere extremely cold before

the rising and after the setting of the sun. Prairie–bird felt an

irresistible desire to stroll by the banks of this stream,—a desire

that was no sooner mentioned by Lita to War–Eagle than he at once

assented, assuring her that she might do so in safety, as his scouts

were on the look–out both above and below in the valley, so that no

enemy could approach unperceived. At the same time he gave instructions

in the camp that none of the men should wander to that quarter, in

order that it might be left altogether undisturbed.

Shortly afterwards Prairie–bird set forth, taking in her hand a

mocassin, which she was ornamenting with stained quills for the foot of

Reginald, and accompanied by her faithful Lita, who bore upon her hand

a bundle containing various articles belonging to her mistress and to

herself, on which she was about to exercise her talents as a laundress.

They had pursued their respective avocations for several hours without

interruption, when on a sudden they heard the report of a rifle and the

voice of a man shouting, as if engaged in the pursuit of game. This was

an occurrence to which both were so much accustomed, that they paid at

first little attention to it; but they felt some alarm when they saw

one of their party, a white hunter, coming towards them as if running

for his life. Before reaching the spot where they were seated, he

threw his rifle upon the ground and climbed into a tree; immediately

afterwards a young male, not full–grown, of the species called the

grisly or rocky mountain bear, came up, limping as if wounded by the

rifle so lately discharged, and missing the object that he had been

following, looked around him, howling with mingled rage and pain. At

length he caught sight of Prairie–bird and her companion; and setting

up a more loud and angry howl, trotted towards them. Unfortunately, the

spot to which they had retired was a narrow strip of wooded ground,

projecting into a curve of the stream above mentioned, and they could

not retreat towards the camp without approaching yet nearer to the

wounded bear. There was no time for reflection; and in the sudden

emergency, Prairie–bird hesitated whether she should not adopt the

desperate alternative of throwing herself into the water, in hopes

that the stream might carry her out of the reach of danger.

At this crisis the crack of a rifle was heard, and the young bear

fell, but again rose and struggled forward, as if determined not to

be disappointed of its prey. Seeing the imminent danger of the woman,

the hunter who had climbed the tree dropped lightly to the ground, and

catching up his rifle, attacked the half–exhausted animal, which still

retained sufficient strength to render too near an approach extremely

dangerous. War–Eagle—for he it was who had fired the last opportune

shot—now sprang forward from the bushes, reloading his rifle as he

came, in order to decide the issue of the conflict, when a loud shriek

from Lita reached his ear; and on turning round he beheld the dam of

the wounded cub, a she–bear of enormous bulk, trotting rapidly forward

to the scene of action; the hunter was so much engaged in dealing blow

after blow with the butt of his rifle, that he had noticed neither

her approach nor the warning shout of War–Eagle, when one stroke from

her terrible paw struck him bleeding and senseless to the ground. For

an instant she smelt and moaned over her dying offspring; then, as if

attracted by the female dress, pursued her way with redoubled speed and

fury towards the spot where Lita clung, with speechless terror, to the

arm of her mistress. The latter, although fully alive to the imminency

of the peril, lost not her composure at this trying moment. Breathing a

short prayer to Heaven for support and protection, she fixed her eyes

upon War–Eagle, as if conscious that the only human possibility of

safety now lay in his courage and devotion.

Then it was that the Indian chief evinced the high and heroic

properties of his character; for although every second brought the

infuriated brute near and more near to her who had been from youth his

heart’s dearest treasure, he continued, as he advanced, to load the

rifle with a hand as steady as if he had been about to practise at a

target; and just as the ball was rammed home, and the priming carefully

placed in the pan, he threw himself directly in front of the bear,

so that it was only by first destroying him that she could possibly

approach the objects of his care. It was a moment, and but a moment, of

dreadful suspense, for the bear swerved neither to the right nor to the

left from her onward path; and it was not until the muzzle of the rifle

was within three yards of her forehead that he fired, taking his aim

between her eyes; shaking her head as if more angered than hurt, she

raised her huge form on her hind legs, and advanced to seize him, when

he drew his pistol and discharged it into her chest, springing at the

same time lightly back, almost to the spot to which Prairie–bird and

her trembling companion seemed rooted as if by a spell. Although both

shots had struck where they were aimed, the second appeared to have

taken no more effect than the first, and the bear was again advancing

to the attack, when War–Eagle, catching up from the ground a blanket

which Lita had brought down to the brook, held it extended before him

until the monster sprung against it, and with her claws rent it into

shreds; not, however, before it had served for an instant the purpose

of a veil; profiting by that opportunity, the heroic Delaware dashed

in between her fore–paws and plunged his long knife into her breast.

Short, though terrible, was the struggle that ensued; the bear was

every moment growing weaker from the effect of the shot–wounds, and

from loss of blood, and although she lacerated him dreadfully with her

claws and teeth, she was not able to make him relax the determined

grasp with which he clung to her, plunging the fatal knife again and

again into her body, until at length she fell exhausted and expiring

into a pool of her own blood, while the triumphant war–cry of the

Delaware rung aloud through wood and vale.[83]

[Illustration: WAR–EAGLE AND THE GRIZZLY BEAR P. 482]

Alarmed by the shots, the yells of the dying bear, and the shouts of

the chief, several of the party now hastened towards the scene of

action; but before they could reach it Reginald Brandon, who was just

returning into the camp with the results of a successful chase, caught

the mingled sounds, and outstripping all his companions, arrived,

panting and breathless, on the spot. For a moment he gazed on the

strange and fearful spectacle that met his view. The Delaware chief,

supporting his head upon his hand, still reclined against the body of

his grim antagonist, his countenance calm in its expression, but both

his face and his whole form covered with recent blood; at his feet

lay Lita, perfectly unconscious, and sprinkled with the same crimson

stream; while at his side knelt Prairie–bird breathing over her heroic

preserver the fervent outpourings of a grateful heart! Another moment,

and Reginald was beside her; he understood instinctively all that had

passed, and no sooner had ascertained that his betrothed was safe

and unhurt, than he turned with affectionate and anxious solicitude

to inquire into the condition of his friend. “Olitipa is safe and

War–Eagle is happy,” replied the chief.

By this time the Delawares were all gathered round their beloved

leader, and in obedience to an order which he gave in a low voice,

one of them threw a blanket over his torn and blood–stained dress,

while another brought from the stream a bowl of fresh water, which

Prairie–bird took from the messenger, and held to his parched lips;

then, wetting a cloth, she washed the blood from his face, cooled his

hot brow, and inquired in a tone of sisterly affection, whether he

found himself recruited and refreshed.

“The hand of Olitipa is medicine against pain, and her voice brings

comfort!” replied the chief gently. “War–Eagle is quite happy.”

Not so were those around him. His stern warriors stood in sad, unbroken

silence; the features of the hardy guide worked with an emotion that he

strove in vain to conceal, for he knew that the Delaware would not have

retained his sitting posture by the carcase of the bear had not his

wounds been grievous and disabling; Reginald Brandon held the hand of

his friend, unable to speak, save a few broken words of affection and

gratitude: while Prairie–bird found at length relief for her oppressed

heart in a flood of tears. So much engrossed were they all by their own

feelings, that none seemed to notice the anguish of Lita, who still lay

in a pool of blood at the feet of him whom she had long and secretly

loved, giving no further signs of life than a succession of smothered

wailings and groans that escaped from her unconscious lips.

The only countenance among those present that retained its unmoved

composure was that of the chief himself; and a bright ray shot from his

dark eye when one of the bravest of his warriors laid down before him

the claws of the huge bear and her cub, which he had cut off according

to custom, and now presented as a trophy of victory.

Baptiste and Pierre having conferred together for a few minutes, the

former whispered to Reginald Brandon that Prairie–bird and Lita should

be withdrawn for a short time, while War–Eagle’s wounds were examined,

and his real condition ascertained. Agreeably to this suggestion,

Reginald led his betrothed weeping from the spot. Some of the Delawares

and hunters removed Lita; but not without difficulty, as she still

clung with frantic energy to the torn garments of the chief; and, as

they bore her away, they now for the first time observed that she had

received some severe scratches in her fruitless endeavour to rescue him

from the struggles of the dying bear.

When all had retired to some distance, and there remained only by the

Delaware the oldest of his warriors, Pierre and Baptiste, the latter

gently lifted the blanket from the shoulders of the wounded man,

saying, “Let my brother allow his friends to see the hurts which he has

received, that they may endeavour to relieve or heal them.”

The chief nodded his assent, and no sign, save the dew that stood

upon his brow, betrayed the agony and the sense of exhaustion that he

endured. When the tattered remnants of his hunting dress were removed,

a spectacle so terrible was presented to the eyes of the guide, that

even his iron nerves could not endure it, and, covering his face

with his hands, he groaned aloud, while the exclamation, “Dieu de la

miséricorde!” broke from his lips in the language that they had first

been taught to speak.

The left arm of the chief was bitten through and through, and so

dreadfully mangled that no skill of surgery could restore it; the

shoulders and chest had been lacerated by the fore–paws, some of the

wounds being wide and gaping, as if made by a saw or hatchet; these,

however, might possibly yield to time and careful treatment; but

the injuries that he had received in the lower part of the body were

such as to leave no hope of recovery, for the bear, in her last dying

struggles, had used the terrible claws of her hind feet with such fatal

effect, that the lacerated entrails of the sufferer protruded through

the wound.

Baptiste saw at a glance that all was over, and that any attempt at

closing the wounds would only cause additional and needless pain.

War–Eagle watched his countenance, and reading there a verdict that

confirmed his own sensations, gave him his hand and smiled. The rough

woodsman wrung it with ill–dissembled emotion, and turned away his head

that his Indian friend might not see the moisture that gathered in his

eye.

A brief consultation now ensued, during which it was arranged that

the carcases of the bears should be carried away, and the wounded

chief gently moved to a soft grassy spot a few yards distant, where

his wounds might be so far dressed and bandaged as to prevent further

effusion of blood. It was also agreed that the tent and the lodges

should be brought to the spot, so that he might receive all the care

and attention that his desperate case admitted.

These arrangements having been made, Baptiste walked slowly towards the

place where the rest of the party awaited in deep anxiety the result

of his report. As he drew near with heavy, lingering steps, and his

weather–beaten countenance overspread with gloom, they saw too well the

purport of his message, and none had courage enough to be the first to

bid him speak. Prairie–bird clung to the arm of Reginald for support;

the Delawares leaned upon their rifles in silence; and even the rough

hunters of the prairie wore an aspect of sadness that contrasted

strongly with their habitual bold and reckless bearing.

Recovering his composure by a powerful effort, the guide looked gravely

around him as soon as he reached the centre of the semicircle in which

they stood, and addressing himself first to Reginald and the white men,

said, “There is no cure for the wounds of the Delaware; were the Black

Father himself among us, his skill and his medicine would be in vain.”

Then turning to the Delawares, he added in their own tongue, “The sun

of the Lenapé Chief is setting. The Great Spirit has sent for him,

and he must obey: let his warriors gather round him to smooth his path

through the dark valley.”

Having thus spoken, the guide hastened to carry into effect the

arrangements above mentioned, and in a short time the little camp was

moved to the spot where the Delaware reclined against the stump of

a withered alder, over which his followers had already thrown some

blankets and buffalo–robes to soften his couch. Hither was brought the

tent of Prairie–bird, which was so pitched that the outer compartment

might shelter the wounded chief, and might afford to Reginald and

Prairie–bird the means of watching him constantly, and administering

such relief in his extremity as was within their power.

Lita’s energies, both of mind and body, seemed entirely paralysed, she

neither wept nor sobbed, but sate in a corner of the tent, whence she

gazed intently, yet with a vacant expression, upon the sufferer.

He alone of the whole party maintained throughout a dignified and

unmoved composure; nor could either the pangs he endured, nor the

certain prospect of a lingering death, draw from him a word of

complaint. He smiled gratefully as Prairie–bird from time to time

raised the refreshing cup of water to his lips, or wiped away the drops

which weakness and agony wrung from his forehead. Once, and once only,

did a look of gloom and discontent pass over his countenance.

Reginald observing it, took his hand and inquired, “Is there a dark

thought in my brother’s heart, let him speak it?”

“There is,” replied the chief, with stern energy, “Mahéga, the

bloody–hand—the Washashee wolf—the slayer of my tribe, he lives, and

War–Eagle must go to the hunting–fields of the brave, and when his

fathers say to him, ‘where is the scalp of Mahéga?’ his tongue will be

silent, and his hands will be empty.”

“His hands will not be empty,” replied Reginald, breathing his own

impassioned feelings in the figurative language of his friend. “His

hands will not be empty; he can show the scalps of many enemies; he may

tell the ancient people that he was the war–chief of their race, that

neither Washashee nor Dahcotah ever saw his back; and that, to save his

sister’s life, he gave his own. Where is the warrior who would not

envy the fame of War–Eagle, and who would not rejoice in the glory of

such a death?”

These words, and the tone of earnest feeling in which they were spoken,

touched the right chord in the heart of the chief; he pressed the hand

of his friend, and a smile of triumph shot across his features like a

sunbeam breaking through the thick darkness of a thunder cloud.

CHAPTER IX.

MAHÉGA IS FOUND IN STRANGE COMPANY, AND WINGENUND DEFERS, ON ACCOUNT OF

MORE IMPORTANT CONCERNS, HIS PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS.—A

COUNCIL, A COMBAT, AND A SKIRMISH, IN WHICH LAST THE CROWS RECEIVE

ASSISTANCE FROM A QUARTER WHENCE THEY LEAST EXPECTED IT.

We left Wingenund on his way to the Crow camp, revolving as he went

various schemes for the deliverance of his friends. However slight

was the faith which he was disposed to place in the honesty of

Besha, he confidently believed that the horse–dealer’s self–interest

would keep him true, at least for the time, to the party whence the

greater rewards and presents might be expected. He knew also that

Bending–willow was kindly disposed towards the prisoners, and would do

all that was in her power towards engaging her impatient and hot–headed

husband to favour their release. Nevertheless, the game to be played

was a difficult one, especially as the consequence of any unsuccessful

attempt might prove fatal to them as well as to himself.

So intent was the youth upon these meditations that he forgot the

distance and the difficulties of his circuitous route, his light

elastic step bearing him over hill and vale with a speed of which he

was scarcely conscious, and long before the sun went down he found

himself at the further extremity of the mountain pass, which has been

before mentioned as leading into the valley where the Crows were

encamped, from a quarter exactly opposite to that where his own friends

were stationed.

As he was about to step across a small rivulet that trickled from

the rocks above, lending a greener freshness to the narrow strip of

grass through which it flowed, his attention was arrested by a recent

footmark upon its margin. Starting with surprise, he stooped to examine

it more carefully, it was plain and distinct, so that a less sagacious

eye than his might have traced its form and dimensions. A single look

satisfied him, and as he rose from his scrutiny, the name of Mahéga

escaped from his lips.

Without a moment’s hesitation he resolved to follow the trail of the

Osage, and observe his movements, conjecturing that these probably

boded no good to the Delaware party, although he felt at some loss to

imagine what object could lead him to a quarter almost immediately

opposite to that where they were encamped.

The task which Wingenund had now undertaken was not an easy one, for

the ground was hard and barren, and the short grass partly dried by the

mountain winds and partly burnt by the summer sun, scarcely received

any impression from the pressure of a foot, and the youth was compelled

to pause so frequently in order to examine the scarcely perceptible

marks of the trail, that his progress was far from being so rapid as he

could have wished. Nevertheless he toiled perseveringly forward, his

hopes being every now and then refreshed by finding on the descent of

the steep hill–side an indication of the Osage’s tread that he could

not mistake.

Wingenund had followed the trail for several hours, when he caught a

distant view of a slight column of smoke rising from a dell, the bottom

of which was concealed by intervening heights. One of these, more

rugged and lofty than the rest, lay at his right hand, and he climbed

with some difficulty to the top of it, in hopes of being able thence

to descry the spot whence the smoke arose. Neither was he disappointed

in this expectation, for on reaching the height, he could see into the

deep bosom of the mountain glen, where he clearly discerned a large

body of men and horses, assembled round a fire; carefully noting the

nature of the intervening ground, he redescended the hill, and again

threw himself upon the trail of the Osage, which continued, as he

expected, to lead him in the direction of the unknown band.

As he advanced he felt the necessity of using the greatest caution lest

he should inadvertently come within sight of any scouts or stragglers

from the valley below; but fortune and his own skill so far favoured

his approach, that he reached unperceived a point whence he could more

clearly see the circle assembled round the fire, and could distinguish

the horses and the men sufficiently to ascertain that they belonged

to some mountain tribe bent on a war excursion, as they had with them

neither their women nor their lodges. With awakened curiosity and

interest, the youth now crept to a spot at a little distance, where a

confused pile of huge stones, here and there overgrown with stunted

shrubs, offered a sheltered retreat, whence, without being himself

seen, he could observe all that passed below. In making his way to the

place he was somewhat surprised to find what might almost be called a

beaten path, upon which the recent tracks of men and horses, as well as

of bison, were clearly discernible.

He had scarcely time to conceal himself, when he perceived two men

coming directly towards his hiding–place, in one of whom he recognised

the Osage chief, while the other belonged apparently to some tribe

of Indians that he had never seen before. They came slowly up the

path before–mentioned, stopping almost at every step, and conversing

in the language of signs, by which means their expressions of mutual

friendship were as intelligible to the quick–witted youth as they were

to each other. The stranger was a fine–looking Indian, and though lower

in stature than his gigantic companion, had the appearance of great

muscular strength, and his dress betokened, according to Indian notions

of magnificence, a chief of high degree. His black hair was clubbed

behind his head, and fastened with several painted feathers bound with

fillets of ermine; his hunting–shirt was of the skin of the mountain

goat, and both it and his deer–skin leggins were ornamented with

porcupine–quills, and fringed with the scalp–locks of enemies slain

in battle; he carried in his hand a long lance, also decorated with

scalp–locks, and at his back hung a quiver made from the skin of the

panther, in which bristled a score of arrows beautifully tipped with

sharp flint, and attached to it by a leather thong was a bow so short

that it looked more like the plaything of a boy than the deadly weapon

of a warrior.

Wingenund wondered to what tribe the stranger might belong; and as the

two Indians seated themselves upon a fragment of rock only a few yards

from the recess in which he was ensconced, he trusted that some signal

would pass by which his curiosity might be afterwards satisfied; at all

events, it seemed clear that they were already upon the best terms with

each other, for they smiled and grinned, each placing a hand upon the

heart of the other, after which Mahéga extended his arms like a flying

bird, and then passed his right hand with a rapid movement round his

own scalp; from which sign the youth instantly knew that their plot was

to attack and kill the Upsarokas.

“Double–tongued, cowardly snake!” said Wingenund to himself, “he made

a league with the Dahcotahs to destroy his Lenapé friends, and now he

makes one with a stranger tribe to destroy those with whom he eats and

smokes.”

That the youth rightly conjectured the object of the interview he

could no longer doubt, when Mahéga, pointing directly to the valley

where the Crows were encamped, repeated again the signals for attack

and slaughter. Not a word passed during this time, excepting when

the stranger drew from under his hunting–shirt a small whistle, made

apparently either from a bone or a reed, and quaintly ornamented with

stained quills and the down from the breast of some mountain bird;

having applied this to his lips, he drew from it a peculiar sound,

not remarkable for its shrillness, but different from any tone that

Wingenund remembered to have heard before.

After two or three attempts Mahéga succeeded in sounding it correctly;

and nodding intelligently to the stranger, concealed it carefully in

his belt; they then exchanged the names or war–cry, by which they

were to recognise each other, Mahéga teaching his new friend to say

“_Washashee_,” and learning in return to pronounce “_Ka–in–na_,” which

he repeated three or four times so distinctly that Wingenund caught

and remembered it. These preparatory civilities having passed, they

proceeded to the interchange of presents, by which their alliance was

to be cemented.

Mahéga drew from his girdle a pistol, which he gave, together with a

small leather pouch containing lead and powder, to the stranger chief,

who received it with an air so puzzled and mysterious, that Mahéga

could scarcely refrain from smiling. He turned the pistol over and

over, looking down the barrel, and examining the lock with a curiosity

that he cared not to conceal; he pointed it, however, towards a

mark in an adjoining rock, and made a sound with his lips, which was

intended to imitate its report, repeating at the same time the word

“sachsi–nama,” as if to show that the name and use of the weapon were

not strange to him, although he might never have seen one before.

Mahéga then proceeded to show him how to use it, making signs that with

it he might kill all his enemies; and upon the stranger expressing a

wish to see an instance of its power, he placed a thin flat stone at

the distance of a few yards, and split it in two at the first shot;

after which he reloaded it, showing at the same time the use of the

priming–pan and trigger.

It was not without a look of gratified pride that he placed the pistol

in his belt, repeating again and again, “sachsi–nama,” “nahtovi–nama.”

He then unslung the short bow that hung at his back, and presented

it, with the panther–skin quiver full of arrows, to the Osage chief,

who received the gift with every appearance of satisfaction, and they

parted, the former returning towards the encampment of his tribe, after

he had told Mahéga that the name of the bow was “nutsi–nâma.”[84]

For some time after the departure of his new ally, the Osage remained

upon his seat examining the bow, which at first sight he had considered

a mere toy, but which he found, to his astonishment, required all his

force to draw it to its full power. Being formed of bone, strengthened

throughout with sinew, it was stiff and elastic to an extraordinary

degree; and although not more than three feet in length, would drive an

arrow as far as an ordinary six–feet bow.

When he had sufficiently examined his new acquisition, it occurred to

the chief that he could not, without risk of detection, carry it into

the Crow camp. He resolved, therefore, to hide it in a dry cleft of

the rock, and take it out again after the issue of his plot should be

decided.

This resolution threatened to bring about an unexpected catastrophe,

as it happened that he approached the very recess in which Wingenund

was stationed. Drawing the knife from his belt, the youth stood in

the inmost corner of the cavern, ready, as soon as discovery became

inevitable, to spring upon his powerful enemy; but fate had otherwise

decreed, and the Osage passed on to a higher and narrower cleft, where

he deposited the quiver and the bow, carefully closing the aperture

with moss and lichen.

It was not until he had gone some distance on his homeward way, that

Wingenund emerged from his hiding–place, and having possessed himself

of the quiver and bow, returned slowly upon the Osage’s trail towards

the Upsaroka camp, proving as he went the surprising strength of the

weapon, and admiring the straightness and beauty of the war–arrows with

which the quiver was supplied.[85]

Following unperceived, and at some distance, the steps of the Osage,

he found that the latter took a shorter, though a somewhat steeper and

more rugged way than that by which he had come, so that very little

more than two hours of brisk walking brought him within sight of the

watch–fires of the Upsaroka camp, just as day closed, and their light

began to shine more brightly through the valley. Availing himself of

the shelter of a stunted pine, the youth lay down for some time, and

did not re–enter the camp until late at night, when he made his way

without interruption to Besha’s tent, giving to the outposts by whom he

was challenged, the countersign taught him by the horse–dealer.

On the following morning before sunrise, Besha was aroused by

Wingenund, who told him that he had news of great importance to

communicate to the Crow chiefs, and that no time should be lost before

they were summoned to council. The horse–dealer rubbed his eyes as

he wakened by degrees and listened to this intelligence, which he

suspected at first to be some trick on the part of the youth for the

liberation of his friends; but there was an earnest simplicity in his

manner that carried conviction with it; and Besha endeavoured, as he

threw on his hunting–shirt, and fastened his belt, to learn from the

youth the nature and purport of his intelligence. The latter seemed,

however, to be in no very communicative mood; he merely replied;

“Wingenund speaks not the Upsaroka tongue; let Besha repeat to the

council word after word what he hears, that will be enough; he will

serve both the Crows and the Delawares, and will obtain thanks and

presents from both. Let Mahéga, too, be called to attend the council.”

The horse–dealer having departed upon his errand, Wingenund found

an opportunity to detail briefly to Paul Müller and Ethelston the

discovery that he had made on the preceding evening; but it may well be

imagined that he could obtain from neither any information respecting

the mountain tribe with whom the Osage was carrying on his treacherous

intrigue.

“Let my son boldly speak the truth,” said the missionary, “and leave

the result to God.”

“Wingenund never told a lie,” replied the young Delaware; and the

bright, fearless expression of his countenance warranted the proud

assertion.

“How many are there in our crowded cities and churches,” said the

missionary, looking after the youth as he re–entered the horse–dealer’s

lodge, “who dare echo that speech? yet methinks, as far as memory and

conscience serve him, he has said no more than the truth. I have known

him from his childhood, and believe him to be as much a stranger to

falsehood as to fear.”

“They are cousins–german, my worthy friend,” said Ethelston, “and

generally dwell together! I wonder not at the affection which Reginald

bears to that youth; nature has stamped upon his countenance all the

high and generous qualities that endear man to his brother. Let us

endeavour to be present at the council which is now assembling; we have

been such quiet prisoners that perhaps our guards will allow us to be

spectators on this occasion.”

Besha happening to pass at this moment, obtained for them the desired

permission, which was the more readily granted that the Crow sentries

themselves were desirous of seeing what was going forward, and knew

that no danger could be apprehended from the two unarmed captives.

The spectacle that met their view when they issued from the lodge was

striking and picturesque; runners had been sent throughout the camp,

and all the principal chiefs, braves, and medicine–men were already

assembled in a semicircle, the concave centre of which was formed by

the lodge of White–Bull and his father, the latter of whom had put on

for the occasion a magnificent head–dress of painted eagle–feathers

which betokened his rank as head–chief of the band. The horse–dealer

stood in front of his own lodge to the left, and frequent were the

glances directed to him from all quarters, it having been generally

understood that the council was summoned to consider matters brought

forward by him. Behind him stood Wingenund, wrapped in a loose blanket,

which partially concealed his features and covered entirely the rest of

his person; on the opposite wing of the circle, and at a distance of

twenty–five or thirty yards, stood Mahéga, his gigantic stature shown

off to the best advantage by the warlike dress which he had put on

complete for the solemn occasion, his neck and arms being covered with

beads of various colours, and his fingers playing unconsciously with

the weighty iron–pointed mace or war–club which had slain so many of

those whose scalp–locks now fringed his leathern shirt and hose. The

warriors and other Indians of inferior degree stood in the background,

and some, anxious to get a better view of what was going forward, had

perched themselves upon the adjoining rocks and cliffs, where their

dusky forms, dimly seen through the mists which were now vanishing

before the beams of the rising sun, gave a wild and picturesque effect

to the scene.

Nearly half an hour was consumed by the soothsayers or medicine–men

in going through their formal mummeries to ascertain whether the hour

and the occasion were favourable for the proposed business, and it

was not until the medicine–pipe had been passed round, and the chief

functionary had turned gravely to the north, south, east, and west,

blowing to each quarter successively a whiff of medicine–smoke, that he

gave his permission for the council to proceed with its deliberations.

During all this time a profound silence reigned throughout the

camp, the women suspending their scolding, chattering, and domestic

avocations, and even the children peeping, half frightened, from

behind their mothers, or stealing away to some spot where they might

laugh and play without fear of being whipped for disturbing the

solemnities.

The venerable father of White–Bull now returned the great pipe to

the medicine–men, saying, in a voice distinctly audible throughout

the circle: “Besha has called the chiefs and braves of the Upsaroka

together; they are come—their ears are open—let the one–eyed man who

brings horses from the far prairies, speak with a single tongue.”

Thus called upon, the horse–dealer stepped forward, saying: “Besha is

neither wise in council, nor a chief among warriors; he has travelled

far among the eastern tribes, and he knows their tongues; he stands

here to give out of his mouth what goes in at his ear. Let the Upsaroka

warriors listen; they are not fools, they will soon know if lies are

told to them. Let them look at this youth; his blanket is that of

Besha’s slave; he is not what he seems; he is a son of the Lenapé, a

friend of the Whites; yet he is come alone into the camp to show to the

Upsaroka that a snake is crawling among their lodges.”

A murmur ran through the assembly as Besha pronounced these words, and

pointed to Wingenund, who, throwing the blanket into the hollow of his

left arm, advanced to the front, and with a slight inclination to the

old chief, awaited his permission to proceed.

The youth, the graceful form, the open countenance, and the dignified

bearing of Wingenund, as he stood forward in the assembled circle,

prepossessed the Crows strongly in his favour, and they awaited with

excited curiosity the intelligence that he had to communicate; but

their chief did not appear disposed to gratify their impatience, for

after whispering a few words to a messenger who stood beside him, he

relapsed into silence, scanning with a fixed gaze the countenance of

the young Delaware. The latter bore the scrutiny with modest, yet

undisturbed composure, and not a voice was raised in the council until

the return of the messenger, conducting a Crow doctor or conjuror,

somewhat advanced in years, who took his station by the chief, and gave

a silent assent to the whispered orders that he received.

It may well be imagined with what mingled feelings of surprise and

indignation the haughty Osage beheld the young Delaware thus standing

forward in the midst of the council–circle; that his presence boded

no good to himself he well knew; but how and wherefore he came, and

why he, belonging as he did to a hostile band, was thus permitted to

appear before the assembly of Crow warriors, he was quite at a loss

to understand. His suspense, however, was not destined to be of long

duration, for as soon as Besha, in obedience to a signal from the

chief, had desired Wingenund to speak what he had to say, the youth

came another step forward, and said in a clear voice—

“There is a snake among the lodges of the Upsaroka; a hidden snake,

that will bite before its rattle is heard.”

The Crows looked from one to the other as Besha translated this

sentence, and the old conjuror gave a slight nod to the chief,

indicating that the youth’s meaning was rightly given. It may be as

well to inform the reader that the said conjuror had in early life

been taken prisoner by the Pawnees, with a party of whom he had

been conveyed to a great council held with the Indian agents at St.

Charles’s, in Missouri, respecting the cession and appropriation of

territory. Several of the western Delawares had been present at this

meeting, which was protracted for many weeks, and the Crow prisoner had

picked up a smattering of their tongue, which, however slight it might

be, had occasioned him to be sent for on this occasion to check any

propensity for untruth that might be entertained by the horse–dealer.

Whether the latter was influenced by these, or by other motives, he

rendered faithfully the conversation that ensued, and therefore it is

not necessary to notice further the part played by the interpreter.

“Who is it that speaks?” demanded the old chief, with dignity: “the

Crows open not their ears to the idle words of strangers.”

“Then let them shut their ears,” replied the youth, boldly. “Before

another sun has set they will wish they had listened to the words of

Wingenund!”

“Who is Wingenund? Is he not an enemy? have not his people shed

Upsaroka blood? why, then, should they believe his words?”

“Wingenund is the son of a Lenapé chief. For a thousand summers his

fathers have hunted over forest and plain beyond the Great River.

Wingenund has heard of their deeds, and he will not stain his lips

with a lie. The Lenapé have taken Crow scalps in defence of their

own, Wingenund will not deny it; but he came here to serve his white

friends, not to hurt the Upsaroka.”

On hearing this bold reply, White–bull bent his brow fiercely upon the

speaker; but the youth met his eye with a look of bright untroubled

confidence, while he quietly awaited the chief’s further interrogation.

“Let the son of the Lenapé speak, but let him beware,—if his tongue is

forked, the Upsaroka knives will cut it out from his head.”