A FOE’S GRATITUDE.
When the chief of the Sioux band entered the hills, and came to the
spot where Buffalo Bill still lay insensible, he glanced into the
upturned face and then at the long hair, and said, quickly, in his
native tongue:
“It is Pa-e-has-ka, the white brave; my warriors have done well not to
touch his scalp or kill him, for he served me long moons ago.”
Bending over the scout, who showed signs of returning consciousness,
he quickly stripped the sleeve from his arm and skillfully checked the
bleeding of the wound. Then he dashed water in the scout’s face, and
the eyes of Buffalo Bill, opening, met the savage countenance above
him. But he showed no sign of fear, and simply said in the Sioux tongue:
“Rain-in-the-face, is it you?”
“It is the Sioux chief, whose son’s life you once saved near Fort
Laramie; the chief has not forgotten Long Hair.”
“Do you intend to kill me?” asked the scout.
“Is the heart of Rain-in-the-face so bad that he would kill one who
saved his son from death?”
“The chief has a good heart to remember; but I am sick and weak, for I
cannot rise.”
“My warriors shall aid you.”
“They ought to, for I see they have stolen everything I had,” muttered
the scout, and he glanced at the dignified thieves as they stood
looking at him, evidently regretting that they had not killed him.
The chief saw his look. Recognizing that a raid had been made upon the
scout’s personal effects, he ordered every article to be restored at
once, which order was only partially obeyed.
“The very things I can get along without they give back; what I want
they keep, chief,” said Buffalo Bill boldly.
Rain-in-the-face turned boldly upon the offending braves. One put down
the knife of the scout, another a revolver. At an angry motion from
their chief, the other weapons were produced, while one young buck
brought forward a dilapidated army saddle, and still another a United
States cavalry bridle the worse for wear.
“Do my warriors wish my heart to fill with anger against them?” sternly
asked the old chief.
The delinquents then brought forward the bridle, saddle, and trappings,
while another came innocently to the front leading a horse that was a
fair picture of what Midnight might become after a month’s starving and
hard riding.
“That is not my horse, chief.”
“Yes,” said the red pretender; “this Pa-e-has-ka horse.”
“You are a red liar. If Midnight looked like that the buzzards would
follow him, and his backbone would cut through the saddle and split me
up the back,” said Buffalo Bill.
Seeing that he could not fool the scout, ill as he was, the buck
answered:
“It gooder horse than your horse.”
“You are a howling liar. Chief, I want my horse, not that skeleton.”
Afraid of his chief, the buck now brought Midnight.
Rain-in-the-face saddled and bridled him for the scout, and placed him
in the saddle, at the same time motioning to a young, light brave to
mount behind him, and hold him on, for Buffalo Bill was too weak from
loss of blood to keep his seat unaided.
Then up into the hills the party went, and, after a ride of thirty
miles, with frequent stops on account of the scout, the Indians arrived
in their camp.
There the chief carried his paleface friend to his own tepee, and
ordered his squaw to do all she could for his comfort, while he went to
bring the medicine man of the tribe.
The wound, the loss of blood, and the long ride to the Indian camp,
brought on fever and delirium, and for weeks Buffalo Bill lay at the
point of death.
All this time he was nursed tenderly by the Indians, in whose hearts,
as soon as they knew how he had befriended their chief’s son in the
past, arose pity for him, while they had already felt admiration for
his courage.
The strong constitution of the scout carried him safely through, and
he arose from his bed of skins in an Indian tepee, restored to health
once more, and with his wound almost well, under the treatment of the
medicine chief, who was certainly skilled in the healing of injuries
from firearms and knives.
As soon as he was able to ride, Buffalo Bill thanked the chief for
his kindness to him, and presented him with one of his revolvers
and a watch, and let him into the secret of winding it up--it was a
stem-winder--and taught him how to tell time, adding:
“There’ll be no excuse for you now to be behind time in going into a
fight, if you’ll only keep her wound up.”
Throwing his red silk handkerchief to Mrs. Rain-in-the-face, who
had nursed him, Buffalo Bill mounted Midnight, and, with a shout of
farewell to the redskins, struck off at a lively gait.
His faithful horse had had a long rest, and was better than ever
before, as he evinced by his determination to cast the miles behind him
and reach the settlements.
“That’s right, Midnight; go ahead lively.”