The sun was already past the meridian when the young Cheyenne chief,
coming out from under the wagon tilt, once more showed himself to his
captives. Since last seen by them there was a change in his costume.
It was no more the scant breech-cloth worn in war; but a gala dress,
such as is used by savages on the occasion of their grand ceremonies.
His coat was the usual tunic-like shirt of the hunter, with fringed cape
and skirt; but, instead of brown buckskin, it was made of scarlet cloth,
and elaborately adorned by bead embroidery. Underneath were fringed
leggings, ending in moccasins, worked with the porcupine quill. A
Mexican scarf of crimson China crape was around his waist, with its
tasselled ends hanging behind. On his head was a checkered Madras
kerchief, tied turban fashion, its corners jauntily knotted on one side;
while above the other rose a "panache" of bluish plumes, taken from the
wings of the "gruya," or New Mexican crane, their tips dyed scarlet.
Stuck behind his sash was a glittering bowie-knife, that might once have
been the property of a Kansas regulator; and there were also pistols
upon his person, concealed under the white wolf-skin robe that still
hung toga-like from his shoulders. But for the emblematical painting on
his face, freshly touched up, he might have appeared handsome. With
this he was still picturesque, though terrible to look upon. His size--
he was full six feet--gave him a commanding appearance; and his
movements, easy and without agitation, told of a commanding mind. His
followers seemed to acknowledge it; as, on the moment of emerging from
the tent, even the most roysterous of them became quiet over their cups.
For some minutes he remained by the open end of the tent, without
speaking to any one, or even showing sign that he saw any one around
him. He seemed occupied with some mental plan, or problem; the solution
of which he had stepped forth to seek.
It was in some way connected with the tiny waterfall, that fell like a
spout from the cliff; for his eyes were upon it.
After gazing at it for some time, they turned suddenly up to the sun;
and as if seeing in it something to stimulate him, his attitude became
changed. All at once he appeared to arouse himself from a lethargy,
like one who has discovered the necessity for speedily entering upon
action.
"Waboga!" he called, addressing himself to the Choctaw.
The traitor was not one of the intoxicated, and soon stood before him.
"Take some of the young men. Cut down a tree--one of the pinons yonder.
Lop off the branches, and bring it here."
Waboga went about the work, without saying a word; and a couple of
tomahawks were soon hacking at the tree.
It was but a slender one, of soft pine wood; and shortly fell. Then,
lopped and topped, its trunk was dragged up to the spot where the chief
stood, and where he had remained standing ever since issuing the order.
"It will do," he said, looking at the felled pinon, as if satisfied of
its being suitable for his purpose. "Now take it to the fall there, and
set it up; behind the jet of the water, so that it just clears it. Sink
a deep hole, and see you stake it firmly."
The hole was sunk; the tree set upright in it; and then firmly wedged
around with stones. The tiny stream, coming down from the cliff, fell
vertically in front, according to the directions given, just clearing
its top.
By further instructions from the chief, a stout piece of timber, taken
from one of the limbs, was lashed transversely to it, forming a cross,
about five feet above the ground.
During all these preparations no one knew for what they were intended.
Even the Indians employed could not tell, and Waboga was himself
ignorant.
The captives were equally at a loss to make out what was meant; though
they surmised it to be the preliminary to some mode of punishment
intended for themselves.
When they saw the erection taking the form of a crucifix, this of itself
was suggestive of torture; but observing also the strange spot in which
it was being set up, there began to glimmer on their minds a shadowy
thought of its kind. Snively and one or two others--Blount Blackadder
among them--in the upright post and its cross-piece, with the water-jet
falling in front, were reminded of a mode of punishment they had
themselves too often inflicted.
"I wonder what they can be after wantin' with that," said one of the
planters to his fellow-captives.
None of them made reply. The same thought was in the minds of all, and
it was terrifying them beyond the power of speech.
The interrogatory was answered in a different way. About a dozen of the
Indians, who had been called up around the chief, appeared to receive
some directions from him. They were given in the Cheyenne tongue, and
the captives could not make out what was said; though they could tell by
the attitude and gestures of the chief Indians it related to themselves.
They were not long before discovering its object. Five or six of the
young braves, after listening to the commands of their leader, turned
their backs upon him, and came bounding on to the spot where the
prisoners lay. They appeared in high glee, as if some sport was
expected; while the hostile glance from their fierce eyes proclaimed it
to be of a malignant kind--some ceremony of torture. And so was it.
It could scarce have been by accident that Blount Blackadder was the
first victim selected. He was behind the others, and half crouching in
concealment, when he was seized by two of the painted savages; who,
jerking him suddenly to his feet, undid the fastenings around his
ankles.
It was not to set him free; only to save them the trouble of carrying
him to the spot where he was to afford them a spectacle. And it was of
the kind at which he had himself often assisted--though only as a
spectator.
His fellow-prisoners had no longer a doubt as to the torture intended
for him, and in store for themselves. If they had, it was soon settled
by their seeing him conducted forward to the spot where fell the tiny
cataract, and forced under it--with his back towards the tree-trunk.
In a few seconds, his ankles were bound around its base. Then his arms,
set free, were pulled out to their full stretch, and fast lashed to the
transverse bar, so that his attitude resembled that of one suffering
crucifixion!
Something still remained to be done. A raw-hide rope was passed around
his throat and the tree-trunk behind, to which it was firmly attached.
His head was still untouched by the water-jet, that fell down directly
in front of his face.
But he was not to remain thus. As soon as his position seemed
satisfactory to the Indian chief, who stood examining it with a critical
eye, and, so far as could be judged through the paint, with a pleased
expression upon his face, he called some words of direction to a young
warrior who was near. It was obeyed by the Indian, who, picking up an
oblong block of stone, stood holding it above the head of him who was
bound to the cross.
"So, Blount Blackadder!" cried the Cheyenne chief, no longer speaking in
the Indian tongue, but in plain understandable English. "It's your turn
now. _Give him a double dose_!"
As he spoke, the Indian, who held the stone, sogged it down between the
back of Blackadder's neck and the trunk of the tree. Wedged there, it
brought his head into such a position, that the stream of water fell
vertically upon his crown!
The words pronounced by the Cheyenne chief produced a startling effect.
Not so much upon him, who was transfixed under the jet; though he heard
them through the plashing water, that fell sheeted over his ears.
For he well knew the purpose for which he had been so disposed, as well
as the pain to be endured; and he was already in a state of mind past
the possibility of being further terrified.
It was not he, but others, who heard them with increased fear; others
who knew them to be words of dread import.
Snively started as they fell upon his ear; and so to Clara Blackadder.
She looked up with a strange puzzled expression upon her countenance.
_Give him a double dose_!
What could it mean? Snively had heard the order before--remembered a
day on which he was commanded to execute it!
And the words, too, came from the mouth of an Indian chief--a painted
savage--more than a thousand miles from the scene that recalled them.
Even among the blacks, huddled up in the rocky embayment, there were
faces that expressed surprise, some the ashy pallor of fear, as if from
a stricken conscience.
"Give him a double dose! Gollamity!" exclaimed one. "What do de Indyin
mean? Dat's jess wha' Massa Blount say five year ago, when dey wa'
gwine to pump on de head ob Blue Dick!"
More than one of the negroes remembered the cruel command, and some also
recalled how cruelly they had sneered at him on whom the punishment was
inflicted. A speech, so strangely recurring, could not help giving them
a presentiment that something was nigh at hand to make them repent of
their heartlessness.
They, too, as well as Snively, looked towards the chief for an
explanation, and anxiously listened for what he might next say.
For a time there was no other word to make the matter clearer! With his
wolf-skin robe hanging from his shoulders, the chief stood contemplating
the punishment he had decreed to his captive; a smile of exultation
overspreading his face, as he thought of the pain his white victim was
enduring.
It ended in a loud laugh, as he ordered the sufferer to be unloosed from
his lashings; and dragged clear of the cross.
And the laugh broke forth again, as Blount Blackadder, half drowned,
half dead from the aching pain in his skull, lay prostrate on the grass
at his feet.
Then came from his lips an additional speech, the young planter might
not have heard, but that smote upon the ears of the overseer with a
meaning strangely intelligible.
"_It'll do for the present. Next time he offends in like manner, he
shall be pumped upon till his thick skull splits like a cedar rail_!"