they tell him that he was white? Did he wish to be white? Why should he
be white, or American, when the Pawnee were a great people who could
fight even the Padoucah――the Comanches or Ietans as they were called.
And if one were white instead of red, it would be better to be Spanish,
for the Spanish were rich and powerful, and their king owned the
country.
Yet――yet, Scar Head could not help but admit that these Americans
bore themselves like warriors; this Pike must be a bold young
chief, to come so far with so few men; and after all, perhaps the
Americans might prove strong in medicine. The Osages and the two
Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton spoke well of the nation.
The medicine-man approached him and suddenly laid fingers upon his
white patch, and pressed.
“Does that hurt?”
Scar Head tried not to wince, for hurt it did. He squirmed free.
“No.”
The medicine-man might be putting an evil spell upon him, to change
him to white; but the medicine-man only smiled, and left him.
Having eaten of meat and corn, Scar Head slept in the chief’s lodge,
with the chief himself and the medicine-man whose title was “doctor.”
When he awakened in the morning he was safe and sound still.
III
THE PAWNEES ARE OF TWO MINDS
“The Kansas are coming! They come in peace, but make ready for them.”
These were the words of the heralds shouting through the great town
of the Pawnee Republic. Scar Head heard. He had returned this morning
from the American camp with the interpreter (whose name was Baroney),
and felt rather important as the other boys curiously questioned him.
To Chief White Wolf he had only good to report of the Americans. They
had treated him well, aside from bothering him with talk about himself;
but he had told them little. The fact was, he did not know much that he
could tell!
Baroney had wished to trade for provisions and horses. Now it was
afternoon, and new excitement arose. The Kansas were coming! A peace
party of them had halted, out on the prairie, and had sent in one man
to announce them. They had come by order of the American father, to
smoke peace with the Osages.
The Osages and the Kansas had long been bitter enemies; the Pawnees,
too, had lost many scalps to the Kansas, although just at present there
was no war between them.
So Chief Charakterik directed that the Kansas be well received and
feasted. Baroney the American interpreter took word up to the Pike camp
that the Kansas were waiting.
The two American chiefs exchanged visits with Chiefs White Wolf and
Rich Man, and the Kansas chiefs. In a council held the next day the
Kansas principal chief, Wah-on-son-gay, and his sub-chiefs, and
the Osage principal chief, Shin-ga-wa-sa or Pretty Bird, and his
sub-chiefs, agreed upon paper that the nations of the Kansas and the
Osage should be friends, according to the wish of their American father.
Wolf, the Pawnee, laughed.
“It will last only until spring,” he said. “Nobody can trust the
Kansas; and as for those Osage, they are getting to be a nation of
squaws. One-half their face is red, the other half is white. We Pawnee
are all red. We are not afraid of the Kansas, and we shall not help
the Americans. They are a small people of small hearts, as the Spanish
chief said.”
This might appear to be the truth. Chief Charakterik was of the same
opinion. He and Second Chief Iskatappe and two sub-chiefs had been
invited to a feast by the American chiefs. When they returned they
were scornful, although White Wolf had been given a gun with two
barrels, an arm band, and other things, and the other chiefs also had
been rewarded.
Scar Head heard Rich Man tell about it.
“Charakterik wore his large medal given him by the young Spanish chief.
They did not ask him to take it off. They offered me a little American
medal. ‘What shall I do with that?’ I asked. ‘It is not a medal for a
chief. Those two young warriors who have been to Wash’ton were given
bigger medals than this. Let the American father send me a chief’s
medal, for I can get Spanish medals. I am not a boy.’ Yes,” continued
Iskatappe, “the American nation must be very mean and stingy. They
send a young man and a few soldiers, with little medals and a few poor
presents, to talk with the great Pawnee nation. But the Spanish asked
us to wait until next spring, when they will send us a principal chief
and many more soldiers, to live near us and treat with us in honorable
fashion.”
The council with the Americans had been set for the next day. The two
American chiefs, and Baroney the interpreter, and the “doctor,” and a
guard of soldiers, rode down. Chief Charakterik assembled four hundred
warriors. The council lodge was crowded, and a throng of women and
boys and girls pressed around, outside, to peer and listen. Scar Head
managed to squeeze inside, to a place where he might see and hear. The
Osages and the Kansas were inside, too.
After the pipe had been passed around among the chiefs, Mungo-Meri Pike
stood, to speak. He threw off his red-lined blue cloak, and stood slim
and straight――a handsome young man.
Baroney translated for him, in Pawnee and sign language.
“The great American father of us all, at Wash’ton, has sent me,” he
said. “He is now your father. You have no Spanish father. Not long
ago the Spanish gave up all this country, from the big river to the
mountains. The Americans have bought it. The Spanish have no rights
here, any more. Now your American father has sent me to visit among his
red children, to tell them that his heart is good toward them, and that
he wishes peace. I am to take back word of them, and of the country, so
that he may know. I am surprised to see that you are flying the Spanish
flag at the lodge door. I bring you the American flag, to take its
place. You cannot have two fathers and two flags. I have also brought
you gifts. They are here. I ask you to accept them, as a small token
from your American father. I should like your answer.” And he sat down.
[Illustration: “I BRING YOU THE AMERICAN FLAG”]
Chief Charakterik dropped his buffalo-robe from his shoulders, to stand
and speak.
“We hear your words,” he said. “We thank you for the presents. We wish
to ask where you are going from here?”
“We are going on, to explore the country and to smoke peace with the
Ietans,” replied Chief Pike.
“We knew that you were coming,” spoke White Wolf. “The Spanish chief
who was here said that you were coming. He said that the Americans were
a small nation but greedy, and that soon they would stretch out even
to the Pawnee, and claim the country. Now we see how truly the Spanish
chief saw ahead, for here you are. We do not wish you to go on. We
turned the Spanish back, until they should come again to live with us.
We will turn you back. It is impossible for you to go on. You are few
and you do not know the country. The Padoucah (Comanches) are many and
powerful. They are our enemies and the friends of the Spanish and will
kill you all. You must go back by the road that you came on.”
The young Chief Mungo-Meri Pike stood up straighter still, and answered
with ringing voice.
“I have been sent out by our great father to travel through his
country, to visit his red children, and talk peace. You have seen how
I have brought the Osages and the Kansas together. I wish my road to
be smooth, with a blue sky over my head. I have not seen any blood in
the trail. But the warriors of the American father are not women, to be
turned back by words. If the Pawnee wish to try to stop me, they may
try. We are men, well armed, and will take many lives in exchange for
our own. Then the great father will send other warriors, to gather our
bones and to avenge our deaths, and our spirits will hear war-songs
sung in praise of our deeds. We shall go on. I ask you for horses, and
somebody who speaks Comanche, to help us; and I ask you to take down
the Spanish flag and hoist the flag of your American father, instead.”
That was a defiant speech, and Scar Head thrilled. Surely, the American
chief was a man.
Iskatappe arose.
“We do not want peace with the Padoucah,” he said. “They have killed
six of our young men. We must have scalps in payment, so that the young
men’s relatives can wash the mourning paint from their faces and be
happy. It would be foolish for us to send anybody with you or to give
you horses. We have been satisfied with our Spanish father. We do not
wish so many fathers.”
He sat down.
“That is true,” Chief Pike retorted. “You do not wish many fathers.
Now you have only the one great father. He is your American father.
You have not answered me about the flag. I still see the Spanish flag
flying at your door. I think you ought to lower that flag and put up
this American flag, for I have told you that the Spanish do not rule
this land any more. You cannot be children of two fathers, and speak
with two tongues. I wish an answer.”
Nobody said anything for a long time. The American chiefs sat there,
gazing straight in front of them, and waiting. The blue eyes of
Mungo-Meri Pike seemed to search all hearts. Was it to be peace or war?
Then old Sleeping Bear, the head councillor of the Pawnee Republic, got
up, without a word, and went to the doorway, and took down the Spanish
flag from its staff, and brought it to Chief Pike. Chief Pike handed
him the American flag, of red and white stripes like the sunset and the
starry sky in one corner. Old Sleeping Bear carried it and fastened it
to the staff.
The Osages and the Kansas grunted “Good,” because they already had
accepted the American father; but the Pawnees hung their heads and
looked glum. When the Spanish came back and found their great king’s
flag gone, what would they say?
Chief Pike saw the downcast faces, and read the thoughts behind them.
His heart was big, after all, and he did not wish to shame the Pawnee
nation, for he uttered, quickly:
“You have shown me that you are of good mind toward your father in
Wash’ton. I do not seek to make trouble between you and the Spanish.
We will attend to the Spanish. Should there be war between the white
people, the wish of your American father is that his red children stay
by their own fires and not take part. In case that the Spanish come
and demand their flag, here it is. I give it to you. I ask that you do
not put it up while I am with you, but that you keep the American flag
flying.”
“We thank you. We will do as you say,” White Wolf responded; and every
face had brightened. “In return, we beg you not to go on. You will
lose your way. It will soon be winter, and you have no winter clothes,
I see. The Spanish will capture you. If they do not capture you, the
Padoucah will kill you. It will be pitiful.”
Soon after this the council broke up. Chief Mungo-Meri Pike was still
determined; he had not been frightened by the words. His men tried to
buy horses, but Chief White Wolf had the orders spread that no horses
were to be supplied to the Americans. When some of the Pawnees went
to the American camp, to trade, Skidi and two other “dog soldiers” or
police followed them and drove them home with whips of buffalo-hide.
Iskatappe only waited for other orders, to muster the warriors and
capture the camp.
“It can be done,” he said. “We doubtless shall lose many men, for I
think the Americans are hard fighters. We might do better to attack
them on the march.”
Some of the older men were against fighting.
“We should not pull hot fat out of the fire with our fingers, for the
Spanish,” they said. “Let the Spanish stop the Americans, if they can.
We will stay at home and put up the flag of the stronger nation.”
Meanwhile the young warriors liked to gallop near the American camp and
shake their lances and guns at it. The American warriors laughed and
shouted.
For the next few days Boy Scar Head was all eyes and ears. The
Americans kept close in camp and were very watchful. Only Baroney the
interpreter rode back and forth, looking for horses. Chief Charakterik
seemed much troubled. He had not counted upon the Americans being
so stubborn. He sent the Kansas home. They had promised to guide the
Americans; but he gave Wah-on-son-ga a gun and two horses, and told him
that the Padoucahs would certainly kill everybody; so Wah-on-son-ga
took his men home.
Frank, the Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton, stole the wife of an
Osage and ran away with her. This made the Osages angry; and now the
Americans were getting angry, too.
They had found only three or four horses. Then――
“The Americans are going to march to-morrow!”
That was the word from the warriors who spied upon the camp. Chief Pike
rode down, unafraid, with Baroney, to White Wolf’s lodge. Scar Head hid
in a corner, to hear what was said. He liked the crisp voice and the
handsome face of this young Mungo-Meri Pike. Maybe he would never see
him again.
“Why have you told the Kansas to go home, and made them break their
promise to me?” demanded Chief Pike, of White Wolf.
“The hearts of the Kansas failed them. They decided they would only
be throwing their lives away, to go with such a small party into the
country of the Padoucah,” answered White Wolf.
“You frightened them with your stories,” Chief Pike accused. “That
was not right. I have come from your father, to make peace among his
red children. Why do you forbid your men to trade us horses? You have
plenty. Why do you not lend us a man who speaks the Ietan tongue, to
help us?”
“If, as you say, we all are children of the American father, then we do
not wish our brothers to give up their lives,” White Wolf said. “But we
do not know. The Spanish claim this country, too. They are coming back
next spring. We promised them not to let you march through. You can
come next spring and talk with them.”
“No!” thundered Chief Pike. “We are going to march on. We are Americans
and will go where we are ordered by the great father. The Osages have
given us five of their horses. They have shown a good heart. I will
speak well of them, to their father.”
“They gave you their poor horses, because they got better ones from
us,” replied White Wolf.
“If the Pawnee try to stop us, it will cost them at least one hundred
warriors,” Chief Pike asserted. “You will have to kill every one of
us, and we will die fighting. Then the American nation will send such
an army that the very name Pawnee will be forgotten.” He arose, and
his flashing blue eyes marked Boy Scar Head huddled upon a roll of
buffalo-robes. “Who is that boy?” he asked.
“He is my son,” Charakterik answered.
“He cannot be your son,” reproved Chief Pike. “He is white, you are
red. I think he is an American. Where did you get him?”
“He is my son. I have adopted him,” White Wolf insisted. “I got him
from the Utahs.”
“Where are his parents?”
“I am his parent. I do not know anything more.”
“You must give him up. He is not an Indian,” said Chief Pike.
“He is a Pawnee. Why should I give him up?” argued Charakterik.
“Because the great father wishes all captives to be given up. The
Potawatomi had many captives from the Osage. They have been given up.
There cannot be good feeling between people when they hold captives
from each other. I ask you to send this boy down river. Two French
traders are in your town now. You can send the boy with them.”
“I will think upon what you say,” White Wolf replied.
So Chief Pike left.
“Why did you come in here to listen?” scolded White Wolf, of Scar Head.
“You are making me trouble. Do you want to be sent away with those
traders?”
“No,” Scar Head admitted. For the two French traders were dark, dirty
little men, not at all like the Americans. He preferred the Pawnees to
those traders. But if he were an American, himself――――? An American the
same as the Pike Americans! That sounded good.
He could see that White Wolf was troubled; and the rest of the day he
kept out of sight. Early in the morning the two French traders went
away, but he had not been sent for. Chief Charakterik probably had
matters of more importance to think about.
The Americans were breaking camp. The Pawnee young men, urged by
Iskatappe and Skidi, were painting for battle, while the women filled
the quivers and sharpened the lance points, and cleaned the guns afresh.
The sun mounted higher. A close watch was kept upon the American camp,
plain in view up the Republican River. Shortly after noon the cry
welled:
“They are coming! Shall we let them pass?”
“No! Kill them!”
“See where they are going, first.”
“Wait till they are in the village.”
Nobody knew exactly what to do. The Americans were marching down, their
horses together, their ranks formed, their guns ready; and they looked
small beside the four hundred and more warriors of the Pawnees. It was
a brave act.
“They are not striking the village. They are going around,” Rich Man
shouted. “We shall have to fight them in the open. That is bad.”
The young warriors like Skidi ran to and fro, handling their bows and
lances and guns. They waited for orders from White Wolf; but White Wolf
only stood at the door of his lodge, with his arms folded, and said
nothing as he watched the American column.
Mungo-Meri Pike was smart. He acted like a war chief. He was marching
around, far enough out so that if he were attacked the Pawnees could
not hide behind their mud houses. Now to charge on those well-armed
Americans, in the open, would cost many lives; and no Pawnee wished to
be the first to fall.
The Americans had come opposite, and no gun had yet been fired, when
on a sudden Chief Pike left them. With Baroney and one soldier he
galloped across, for the village. That was a bold deed, but he did
not seem to fear. He paid no attention to the warriors who scowled at
him. He made way through them straight to Chief Charakterik. He spoke
loudly, so that all about might hear.
“I have come to say good-by. I hope that when we come again we will
find the great father’s flag still flying.”
“You had better go quickly,” White Wolf replied. “The Spanish will be
angry with us, and my young men are hard to hold.”
“We are going,” Chief Pike assured. “We are going, as we said we would.
If your young men mean to stop us, let them try. Two of our horses were
stolen from us this morning. They were Pawnee horses. One was returned
to us by your men. The other is missing. I am sure that the Pawnee do
not sell us horses at a high price, so as to steal them. That is not
honest. If you are a chief you will get the horse back for us, or the
Pawnee will have a bad name for crooked tongues. So I will leave one of
my men, who will receive the horse and bring it on. He will wait till
the sun is overhead, to-morrow.”
“I will see what I can do,” White Wolf answered. “The horse may have
only strayed. A present might find him again.”
“The horse is ours,” reproved Chief Pike. “I shall not buy it twice.
If the Pawnees are honest and wish to be friends with their American
brothers, they will return the horse to me. I shall expect it,
to-morrow. Adios.”
“Adios,” grunted White Wolf, wrapping his robe about him.
Chief Pike and Baroney the interpreter galloped for the column. They
left the soldier. Now he was one American among all the Pawnees, but he
did not act afraid, either.
He sat his horse and gazed about him with a smile. He was a stout,
chunky man, in stained blue clothes. His face was partly covered with
red hair, and the hair on his head, under his slouched black hat, was
red, too. He carried a long-barreled heavy gun in the hollow of one arm.
“Get down,” signed White Wolf. “Come into my lodge.” And he waved the
crowding warriors back.
The red-haired soldier got down and entered the lodge. Here he was
safe. Everything of his was safe as long as he was a guest of a lodge.
Scar Head slipped in after him, but White Wolf stayed outside.
“The American chief has lost a horse,” he announced. “The horse must be
brought back, or we shall have a bad name with our American father.”
“If the American chief has lost a horse, let him promise a present and
maybe it will be found,” answered Skidi.
“That is no way to talk,” Charakterik rebuked. “I want the horse
brought to me; then we will see about the present.”
“The present is here already,” laughed Skidi. “It is in your lodge. The
American chief would have done better to lose all his horses and say
nothing, for a red scalp is big medicine.”
And all the warriors laughed.
Inside the lodge the American soldier grinned at Scar Head. Scar Head
grinned back.
“Hello,” said the soldier.
Scar Head had heard that word several times. Now he blurted it, himself.
“H’lo.”
This was the end of the conversation, but Scar Head did a lot of
thinking. He well knew where the horse was. Skidi had stolen it and
hidden it out, and boasted of his feat. Now Skidi was talking of
keeping the red-hair. That did not seem right. The Americans were
brave. If somebody――a boy――should go out and bring the horse in, then
Skidi might not dare to claim it, and White Wolf would send it and the
red-hair on to Pike, and there would be no more trouble. Yes, being an
American, himself (as they had said), Scar Head decided that he ought
to help the other Americans.
He would get the horse.
IV
ON THE TRAIL OF THE SPANIARDS
Early in the morning, before yet even the squaws were stirring, Scar
Head slipped out to get the horse. He found it picketed near the river,
just where Skidi had cleverly concealed it. He led it in and tied it
short, before the lodge door. Then he crept back to bed again. It would
be safe, for nobody would dare remove it from the limits of the chiefs
lodge.
The squaws were up first, of course, to start the fires and prepare the
breakfasts. Charakterik’s two wives, an old one and a young one, arose
and went outside. Lying quiet Scar Head heard them talking.
“Someone has brought a horse,” said the young squaw. “It is a Pawnee
horse.”
“That is queer,” said the old squaw. “Who is making White Wolf such a
present? This must be the horse that was stolen from the Americans. The
thief has changed his heart, and grown afraid.”
“Or else it is a marriage gift,” giggled the young squaw. “Someone is
looking for a wife in our lodge.”
“Who is there, to be married?” the old squaw demanded.
“We are the only women, so it must be that someone is in love with me,”
the young squaw giggled again.
“You!” scoffed the old squaw. “Who would look at you? You are not worth
a horse. No; the horse offering is made for me.”
And they both laughed. They knew better than to rouse Charakterik and
tell him. Their business was to get the breakfast, and let him discover
the horse, himself.
White Wolf and the American soldier were still snoozing upon their
buffalo-robe couches. Pretty soon Scar Head could wait no longer.
He went outside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and pretended to be
surprised by the horse.
“Whose horse is that?” he queried.
“Ask it, and maybe you will know more than we do.”
“Who brought it?”
“That is none of our affair; nor of yours, either. It was here when we
came out.”
“It had not been here very long,” added the young squaw, to the elder.
“See? The ground is only little trampled.”
“If you want to know where it came from,” continued the old squaw,
to Scar Head, “you should trail it back, instead of asking silly
questions.”
“Yes, and get into trouble. A gift is a gift, and not to be doubted,”
the young squaw added.
At this, Scar Head ran off, to the river, for his morning swim. When he
returned, Chief Charakterik and the American soldier were up and out,
too, and surveying the horse.
“Do you know where this horse came from?” White Wolf questioned, of his
wives.
“No. It was here. That is all.”
“The man who stole the horse from the Americans has returned it,”
declared White Wolf. “Good. Is this the horse you are waiting for?” he
asked, of the soldier.
The soldier did not understand the words, but he understood the
gesture. Now he smiled and replied in his own language――which nobody
else understood. But he nodded and pointed to the horse and in the
direction of the Americans; and they all understood that.
“After you have eaten, you may take the horse and go your way,” White
Wolf bade, well satisfied.
So the matter seemed to be settled; but somehow, Scar Head did not
feel quite happy. The matter was settled too easily. In a few minutes
the soldier would go; then all the Americans would be gone, and he
himself would have lost them. In fact, he didn’t seem to be getting
much out of his scheme, except that he may have saved the soldier’s
scalp. Skidi would be angry, too, when he found out that the horse and
soldier both had gone. Somebody would suffer――and Scar Head rather
foresaw who that somebody might be! Skidi could make things very
uncomfortable.
But before they were done eating, here came Skidi and several others,
of the men, all furious.