THE WORD OF AN INDIAN CHIEF
"WHAT is he going to do, Bob?" demanded Sandy, who had opened his eyes,
after a minute or so had passed without the expected blow, and who
heard Pontiac's demand that the guns of the prisoners be handed to him
without understanding what the meaning of the order could be.
"Watch and see!" replied Bob, in a husky voice, and without taking his
eyes off the sachem a second. He himself, as yet, had only a vague
suspicion concerning any benefit that might spring from this action on
the part of Pontiac.
Almost as in a dream, then, Sandy saw first one musket thrust out
to the famous chieftain, and then the second. Pontiac examined them
eagerly, and, after handling the gun belonging to Bob, once more gave
it back into the possession of the keeper. But, as he raised that which
Sandy himself had owned, a look of intelligence flashed across the dark
face of the Indian.
He even raised the musket to his nose as though to smell the odor
of burnt powder that must have still clung to it after the recent
discharge. Then he turned upon the two young prisoners.
"Yours?" he demanded, his flashing eyes fastened on the astonished face
of Sandy, just as though he had been able to read the nature of both
lads in that single earnest look, and understood how impulse swayed one
more than the other.
Sandy might have wished to deny all ownership of the weapon; but
somehow he was unable to do so, with those impelling eyes fastened upon
him. So, still unable to use his tongue, he simply nodded his head.
"You shoot at French trader?" continued Pontiac.
Another nod in the affirmative answered him; and then Bob saw a change
begin to spread over the dark features of the chief. He looked at
Sandy; but his brother failed to grasp the wonderful meaning of the
miracle that had been wrought in their behalf. To his mind all this
talk only served as a forerunner to the dreadful fate that was surely
to be their portion.
"Why white boy shoot French trapper?" asked Pontiac.
Realizing that Sandy was unable to frame a coherent reply, Bob boldly
took it upon himself to make answer.
"You ask why, great Pontiac?" he said. "Because he could not lie there
and see a cowardly snake creep up behind a brave man to strike him in
the back. He sent his lead into the arm that held the warclub, and
saved the life of Pontiac!"
Then, Indian though he was, the great Pontiac smiled. Perhaps he
understood how these paleface boys must have known that, if the
traitorous Frenchman had been allowed to carry out his will, it would
have been much to the advantage of the border settlements; but that
Sandy, unable to control his impulse to rebuke such rank treachery as
Larue exhibited, had been unable to hold his fire.
Pontiac turned to the surging crowd of Indians. He held up his hand,
and every shout was stilled; even the murmuring ceased, such was his
magnetic influence over the wild spirits of hot-headed young warriors
whom their own chiefs could not restrain.
"Listen!" he said, in a voice that reached easily to the further
extremity of the gathered throng. "Pontiac sat on yonder log. Your
chief Kiashuta had left him to seek for something that was in his
lodge. In the mind of Pontiac many things dwell to give him cause for
thought. He heard not the coming of the snake in the grass who crawled
up behind, and swung aloft the club with which he expected to dash out
the brains of a chief.
"Listen. In the bushes and the grass lay two paleface boys. They had
guns. They had come many miles from their cabin on the running water to
the south. They had no reason to love Pontiac, who has ever been the
enemy of their race; but they had hate in their hearts for a snake that
could sting in the heel. So, quickly did this gun speak. The arm that
was raised fell helpless. And then Pontiac closed with the treacherous
Frenchman.
"Listen yet again, warriors. Had it not been for this paleface boy,
where now would be your leader? How could Pontiac strike the flint that
will make the whole border blaze with fires, if he lay here on this
ground, dead?"
He looked around him as though expecting an answer; but not a single
voice was raised. Slowly the truth was penetrating the brains of those
who heard. They understood that, no matter what his motive may have
been, the paleface boy had saved the famous chieftain to those who hung
upon his every look or word, as though he had charmed them with his
magic.
"Release them!" Pontiac continued, making an imperious gesture toward
the warriors who were clutching the two lads; and immediately they
hastened to obey his will. "They belong to Pontiac; let one of you from
this hour lay so much as a finger on them at his peril!"
When Sandy heard these words he seemed to regain his power of speech
once more, for he clutched Bob's arm convulsively as soon as he found
himself free, and exclaimed:
"Bob, do you hear that? He says we are his prisoners, and that we will
not be harmed! Oh! if only we could get him to give us Kate now, what a
blessed thing it would be! Perhaps after all, Bob, my hasty nature did
better for us than all the planning. Ask him if he will help us, won't
you, Bob? 'Strike while the iron is hot,' father always says. Speak to
him, now."
But Bob held back, for he saw that the chief had more to say, since
he was once again turning toward them. To the delight of the boys he
gravely held out his hand, white man fashion, for Pontiac had been
brought up among the French, and knew almost as much of the white men's
ways as though he had been born a paleface.
"We are friends," he said, as he pressed each hand firmly. "You have
saved the life of Pontiac. Ask what favor you will, and, if it is in
his power, so shall it be granted. First tell me what you seek, so far
away from your home?"
"In a cabin, where the swift water runs between the hills, lives our
mother," said Bob. "Our father has gone over the big hill to Richmond
to bring back with him some of the things a white woman needs. Besides
my brother and myself, there was one child, a sweet girl, about so
high," and he held his hand below his shoulder to indicate that his
sister was much shorter than himself.
Pontiac bowed his head gravely to indicate that he understood what the
boy was saying.
"One day there came some Senecas to the settlement," Bob went on,
eagerly. "They, held up their hands in the peace sign, and we met them
as friends. They told us they had been on a long journey into Kentucky,
to visit another tribe. They were without tobacco, and their stock of
maize had dwindled low. We gave them of each, enough to last until they
could reach their lodges on the Great Lakes.
"But one young Seneca, who bore the feather of a chief in his hair,
looked long on the sweet face of the white girl. He remembered that in
his lodge, far away, no longer the voice of his own sister was heard;
and that the old squaw, his mother, mourned each day for the one who
was not.
"So he made up his mind to steal the paleface girl, and bear her away
to the village of the Senecas on the big water to the north. When my
brother and myself were in the forest hunting for meat he stole our
sister away. We have followed him from the rushing Ohio to the Great
Lakes. Our sister is here. Will the great Pontiac keep his word by
giving her back to our charge, and letting us depart for the cabin
where a mother mourns?"
Bob knew how to put the case before the one who must be their judge, so
that, as an Indian, Pontiac could grasp it readily; and he saw from the
face of the other that he had succeeded in his effort. When an Indian
gives his word it is ever afterward sacred.
"Listen!" said the chief, impressively. "Look around you. There are
many Senecas here, braves and chiefs. Does the paleface boy see the one
who took tobacco and maize from the white man's hand, and then stole
his daughter?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Sandy, finding his voice. "I saw him just then, among
those Indians yonder. There, he is trying to steal away; for he fears
the frown of the great and just Pontiac. It is Black Beaver!"
The young chief, seeing that escape was useless, returned, and,
standing before Pontiac, folded his arms across his naked chest. Words
in the Indian tongue passed quickly between them. Black Beaver seemed
defiant at first; but presently he came under the persuasive eloquence
of the marvellous orator. He let his chin fall on his breast, and
finally, when Pontiac dismissed him with an imperious gesture, the
subdued young chief stalked away, heading straight for his wigwam.
"When he comes back he will bring the white girl," said Pontiac. "She
shall go with the brave young boys who have sought her so far; and not
a warrior will lift a hand to do them harm. More than this, because of
what you have done this night, you and your family are forever the
friends of Pontiac. Danger and death will never come near your cabin
while he lives. There will be a dead line drawn about it, and woe to
the Indian who molests the friends of the chief. I have spoken!"
Loudly did his voice ring out as he said these thrilling words that
would never be forgotten by either of the two lads as long as they
lived. And far and wide would the command be sent that the little brood
of David Armstrong was to be immune from all the perils of an Indian
war, even though flame and destruction swooped down upon their nearest
neighbor.
"Look! he is coming back, and our sister is with him!" cried Sandy,
unable to restrain his delight at sight of the one they loved so dearly.
Black Beaver did not show any emotion as he drew near. He realized
that, when Pontiac spoke, it was for him to obey. And as a true Indian,
he was ready to accept the fortunes of war, no matter how it hurt.
The Indians made a passage-way to allow them to approach. Pontiac
himself took the trembling hand of the frightened girl, and led her to
where her two gallant brothers stood with outstretched arms.
"Weep no more, paleface girl. You are going home to the white squaw who
mourns in the cabin on the bank of the swift water," said Pontiac, as
he released her in front of the boys.
Another instant and Kate, with a cry of joy, had flung her arms about
the neck of first one brother and then the other, while Pontiac stood
and watched the happy reunion without his face expressing the feelings
that must have been struggling in his heart; for so has an Indian been
trained never to betray emotion.
How like magic had the scene been changed! Only a few minutes before
and poor Sandy was deeply dejected, in the belief that his hasty and
ill-advised act had forever ruined their only chance for a rescue. And
now they stood there, not only free, and with their dear sister given
into their charge, but safe in the pledged friendship of the most
powerful of all Indians, Pontiac himself.
"It seems like a dream, Bob!" cried Kate. "I can hardly believe it to
be true. How did you manage it, you and dear Sandy? Oh! how happy I
am to think that soon I shall see my own mother again! Not that Black
Beaver has been cruel to me. He tried to be a brother after his way. I
am sorry for him; but there is no one can take the place of father,
mother, Bob and Sandy."
"In good time you will hear it all, Kate," said Bob. "It is a strange
story. But I wonder whether Pontiac will extend his favor to our good
friends who have come with us to try and influence Black Beaver to
give us back our sister. The whites and the Senecas are at peace, for
the hatchet has not yet been dug up between them, so we hoped to win
Kiashuta to our side; to have him say that Black Beaver had done wrong
when he smote the hand that fed him."
Pontiac heard what he said, for he immediately gave the assurance Bob
requested.
"If others have come with you to bring the white girl back, they, too,
shall not be harmed until they have reached the swift water. Because
they are your friends, Pontiac has said this. So let them appear. They
shall walk among us in safety, for the word of the chief is given."
But, though Bob raised his voice and called, none of the other four
cared to accept the invitation to come into the village and meet the
sachem of the Sacs.
Perhaps it was just as well. Both Simon Kenton and Pat O'Mara were
well-known Indian fighters, and belonged to a class of men who
threatened to be thorns in the side of Pontiac in his ambitious designs
to head a new confederation of tribes.
Doubtless they would be quickly recognized by some of the Indians
present from other tribes; and even the word of Pontiac might not keep
these warriors from seeking to avenge their kin who had fallen in times
past before the rifles of Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton and their fellow
borderers.