THE CHIEF WHO DEMANDED THE TRUTH
Four days of intense excitement, without proper food or sleep,
subjected to peril of life, would test the hardiest person. Rodney
Allison felt like breaking down and weeping hysterically. To add to
his discomfort he believed the hut to be alive with vermin, not an
uncommon condition in any Indian's wigwam, and this one looked
filthy.
His unpleasant reflections were interrupted by the return of the
little boy, Louis, who cried, "Ahneota, he say you come right away."
"The redskin who threw me in here said he would kill me if I left."
"_Ce n'est rien_, Ahneota says come."
Under the circumstances Rodney decided to run the risk, for evidently
the little chap was the only friend he had found, so he said, "Well,
you don't want me killed, do you?"
"_Non._ I will have you to play with me. Ahneota is my friend. He will
give you to me."
They went to a wigwam at the farther end of the village and found
awaiting them an old chief. He was tall and gaunt. His face was long,
the nose sharply aquiline, and his eyes were as keen and bright as
those of a youth. The chief's manner was very, dignified, even stern.
Louis began his plea, but was ordered to call the Indian, Caughnega.
Then, turning to Rodney, the chief asked: "Why come to Indian country
and kill game? White man's game below big river."
Rodney hesitated. What could he say? He feared to confess that he
already had escaped from Indians, it would not be a helpful
introduction, to say the least; neither would he lie.
"I was lost and hungry. The bear was hungry, too. I had to shoot," he
finally said.
The searching look of the Indian embarrassed him.
"The pigeon dropped by the eagle spoke not truth but said he fell."
Rodney flushed under the fierce gaze of the bright eyes of the aged
chief. Then lifting his head he resolutely replied: "I have told you
the truth, but not all of it. I am here through no fault of my own and
am trying to get back to the big river and my people."
"The big river is many days' journey. There is blood on the pigeon,"
replied Ahneota, pointing to Rodney's wrists, which yet bore the marks
of the thongs with which he had been bound.
"That is the work of Indians. I was on my way down the Ohio to meet my
father near the Great Kanawha. The party I was with landed for supper
and was attacked by Indians, who killed some and made me a prisoner. I
escaped from them and am here. Neither I nor my father ever wronged an
Indian."
"The land north of the big river belongs to the Indian. The Great
Father gave it to the Indian and the palefaces smoked the pipe of
peace with the red man. Now they would come and kill our game and the
red man must die."
"Our party was not seeking land north of the river when the Indians
cruelly attacked us."
"The Wyandottes are at peace with the Shawnees and do not take away
their captives."
"You all are at peace with the whites and have no right to make me a
prisoner," was Rodney's reply, so boldly spoken he feared its effect
might be bad.
"Young braves will not always obey their chiefs," was the rather
evasive reply of the old man, and the boy instinctively felt he had
not displeased Ahneota by his bold speech.
"Ahneota has one brother. He left the palefaces and is an Indian."
The boy understood this to mean that he might, by forsaking his
people, find safety as a member of the tribe. Every tie of affection
bound him to his own people. He knew, moreover, that if an adopted
member of the tribe ever deserted it the offence was regarded as a
most serious one; that on the contrary he would be expected, if need
be, to fight against his own people. He made no reply.
"Will paleface be Ahneota's brother?"
Thought of home almost brought tears to the boy's eyes. He gulped down
his emotion, for he knew the Indians look with contempt on any display
of one's feelings.
"It would be deserting my people," he finally replied. "My father and
mother and sister are living. I thank you for the--the kindness. I
hope you will permit me to go to them. My people are at peace with
your people."
"The palefaces speak words of peace but their deeds are war."
There was silence for a few moments and then the old chief spoke with
Rodney's captor. They talked in the Indian tongue. Little Louis,
standing by, evidently knew what they were saying, for, as the Indian
who claimed Rodney spoke more loudly, he interrupted, claiming, as
afterward appeared, that the prisoner was his, that he had first seen
him and wanted him for a playmate.
The old Indian did not speak for a time, evidently being puzzled what
to do. Then, addressing Rodney, he said: "Young paleface will not be
the Indian's brother; he cannot find his way to the big river. He may
share the Indian's lodge and meat." Saying this he turned and entered
his lodge.
"Come."
It was Louis who spoke and, taking Rodney by the hand, he led him
away, while Caughnega, with a sullen look on his face, went his way.
Louis was a handsome little fellow, affectionate in his manner and
delighted with his success in obtaining a new playfellow. As they went
along they met one that at first Rodney thought to be an Indian but on
closer inspection decided was a white man; the fellow was, in fact,
none other than Conrad, whose capture has already been related.
"Ah, Conrad! _mon ami_. I have a new friend," exclaimed Louis.
"I suppose you are one of his old ones," remarked Rodney with a smile.
Conrad made no reply, but looked inquiringly while Louis rattled off
an account of the events of the morning.
The news did not appear to be agreeable to Conrad, who walked away
without comment; but the little fellow was too full of the novelty of
his experiences to heed Conrad's manner, and they went on to a lodge
on the edge of the village and Louis led his companion into where,
seated on a bear skin, was a woman weaving mats out of rushes. She
looked up quickly, and Rodney saw at a glance that she was superior to
any Indian women he had ever seen, evidently a half-breed. The blanket
she wore and her surroundings looked clean, and her face showed
intelligence much beyond the ordinary; but there was something in the
look she gave him that warned Rodney she would be his implacable
enemy.
The little fellow's tongue ran on in a mingled jargon of French,
Indian and English and Rodney comprehended, rather from the looks and
gestures of the woman and child than from the words, that Louis was
determined the newcomer should live with them, while she objected,
whereat Louis began to wail imperiously, and the glance of dislike she
gave Rodney was not reassuring.
"I will build a lodge, you can show me how to do it, and then you can
have one more home to go to," said Rodney, trying to soothe the
troubled feelings. This idea pleased Louis, who dried his eyes and was
for beginning on it right away, but "Maman," as he called the
half-breed woman, did not appear to like this plan any better than the
first, and her beady eyes snapped ominously; but she said nothing.
Rodney wished he might lie down on one of the clean mats before him
and sleep, for he was so tired he scarcely could keep awake even while
walking. He shrank from asking the woman for a place to sleep, but
finally did so, and she grunted assent.
While Rodney slept the sleep of exhaustion, Louis went in search of
Conrad, and asked him to build his new friend a wigwam.
Conrad scowled and replied that the new boy wouldn't live long enough
to need it, and Louis cried, "They can't kill him, Ahneota won't let
them."
"Vat for you vant him, yet? Conrad your friend is."
"I want him, too; he's white like Jules. Papa said: 'Jules is a good
boy and you may play with him all day.' You don't play with me all the
time, but go away hunting and will not let me go, too."
"He need will have to eat, und to hunt, I tink, alretty."
Louis was so insistent that Conrad finally assisted him in cutting
poles for the proposed wigwam and setting them in place. By this time
Rodney, who had been waked by the woman, joined them and worked as
hard as his sore muscles would permit. By night he had a shelter of
bark and boughs. Louis brought a mat and there the weary captive lay
down for the night, hungry and sore. Later, the little fellow brought
him some dried venison and showed him the spring that supplied the
village with drinking water.
The following morning Rodney chanced to see the half-breed, "Maman,"
as Louis called her, though Rodney felt sure she was not his mother,
talking very earnestly with Caughnega and their talk ceased when he
approached, which aroused his suspicion. He made inquiries of Louis
and learned that Caughnega was the "medicine man" of the village and
possessed influence. Ahneota was the more influential and the boy
shrewdly guessed that Caughnega was jealous.
A chief of a tribe maintained his influence through no laws, for the
Indians had none. The position might be strengthened by the chief
having influential relatives, but this did not appear to be true of
Ahneota. Generally speaking, a chief retained his place because the
tribe trusted and respected him, as it was evident they did Ahneota.
Not only members of his tribe, but other Indians, came and held
counsel with him. At first Rodney hesitated about calling on the chief
but gradually became a daily visitor at his lodge.
One of the accomplishments which Rodney had learned from Thello was
fishing. When leaving home he had taken a good linen line and several
iron hooks. Indians speared or netted most of the fish they took, but
occasionally angled for them with bone hooks and lines made of twisted
fibre. The boy obtained permission to fish and in this way often
contributed to the food supply of the village.
Food was held in common. Any one having it was expected to share
equally with the others. When luck smiled on the boy he was careful to
have a nicely broiled fish to take to Ahneota. He also attempted to
make friends with Conrad but always met with a surly reception.
Louis was so friendly as to be almost a nuisance, especially as Rodney
believed the little fellow's fondness for him was a cause for the
dislike of Conrad and "Maman." The little boy, whenever he could
escape the watchfulness of "Maman" would pay a visit to Rodney's
wigwam, which had been made quite substantial, being covered with
strips of elm bark. Louis was always clamouring for stories about
white people and one evening, Rodney replied: "I have told you all my
stories. Now you must tell me some; tell me of the place where you
lived before you came here. Is 'Maman' your real mother and is your
father living?"
A startled look came into the lad's big brown eyes. He peered about in
the growing dusk, then he said: "You will not tell? Maman says she
will kill me if I tell. Maman is not my mother. She had eyes like
flowers and papa, he was _gentilhomme_, would carry her in his arms
when she was sick. He was tall like Ahneota, only his eyes were not so
black. Mamma called him her soldier."
"Where is he now?" asked Rodney, thoroughly interested.
"He went away after mamma died and I went to live with _grandmere_
above Lachine. Marie, that's Maman, she says I must call her that, she
was a servant for _grandmere_, who died last harvest. She was not sick
a long time like mamma, but only a few days. Marie said it was
small-pox, and we must go away and find papa, but we have not found
him. I want to see my papa," and Louis threw himself sobbing on the
ground.
Rodney stroked his long yellow hair and called him "Yellow Locks," but
the little chap peevishly exclaimed, "I like Louis better. I don't
want to be called 'Yellow Locks.'"
A faint noise behind caused Rodney to turn quickly. There stood Marie,
the half-breed!
How much had she heard? the boy asked himself; but he was learning to
control his feelings, and he said pleasantly enough, "Good evening,
Maman. Louis is tired and I reckon wants to be in bed."
"I want to sleep here," exclaimed the child.
"Not to-night," replied Rodney. "You are too tired and the bed in
Maman's lodge is softer."
She took the little chap up in her arms and carried him away. It was
evident she was fond of him, which might account for her having stolen
him, as it appeared she had; also for her jealousy. What would be the
end of the muddle? Rodney asked himself. He thought of the stake and
the frenzied villagers dancing around the fire with blood-curdling
yells. Would he be able to endure the torture? He hoped so, for the
boy was proud of his race. But why borrow trouble? All around him were
signs of peace and savage contentment. The little camp-fires twinkled
in the gathering dusk. Some of the squaws sang bits of a wild lullaby
to their children and he could hear, in droning refrain:
"Wau, wau, tee, say.
Wau, wau, tee, say,"
sung as a lullaby by one of the squaws, who had slung the wicker-work
frame, into which the papoose was strapped, across the limb of a tree
and swung it back and forth while she sang, as one would rock a
cradle.
"Poor little mummy," thought Rodney. "No wonder Indians can endure
pain. Tied into that framework straight as an arrow and unable to
brush away a mosquito or help themselves, they ought to learn to
endure anything."