CHIQUITA WOOED BY ANTELOPE.
Dozens of tepee fires flickered against the dark night pall as Chiquita
made her way toward the Ute village. The tongues of dozens of Indian
dogs snarled their yippi-yappy language at each other, at imaginary
evils and at the resounding clatter of hoofs as her pony loped along
through the sage-covered mesa which skirted the river bank. Old bucks,
warriors with necklaces of cruel-looking claws and beaded breast plates
decorated with strands of human hair woven into pendants, stood in the
shadow of the tepee fires. Shrill cries of hungry papooses rent the air;
guttural jargon of young bucks in animated conversation rasped ominously
against the sensitive ear with words which only an Indian can pronounce,
made up as they are from Mexican, Spanish and Indian dialect.
Old squaws tottered into camp, loaded with bundles of fagots gathered
from the fallen timber, and as these old witches with thrice-wrinkled
faces peered into the gloom and discerned Chiquita astride "Bonito" they
spitefully threw an armful of new wood into the fire, raising a cloud of
tiny sparks, and mutterings, half welcome and half imprecation, greeted
her; all cringed before that dauntless maiden, yet all would have been
glad to see her the victim of some tragedy. Her word was law, and that
law a restraining influence which had thus far protected the settlers,
the hunters, the trappers and the white men and women who composed the
agent's family on the reservation, so far from the habitation of white
men and so far from the protecting arm of the United States military.
Old Hutch-a-ma-Chuck was bedecked with a grotesque war bonnet of eagles'
feathers, from the tips of which hung Arapahoe scalp locks; a necklace
of grizzly claws surrounded his wrinkled neck, and in his arms he
carried a worn-out army carbine, which had not been loaded in ten years.
Uncas, wrapped in a military coat made from a United States blanket,
stood with a big frontier six-shooter hanging listlessly from his arm,
but his eyes snapped viciously as he smiled a welcome to Chiquita, the
smile retreating into an ambuscade of wrinkles which seemed to say,
"Wait until I get a good chance." Broken Nose, with head encircled half
a dozen times with the skins of rattlesnakes, needed no placard to warn
the stranger against encroaching on this Indian's domain. Bowlegs, the
dandy of the camp, was regal in a red-lined vest which he wore lining
outside, and an old plug hat picked up at the Agency or at some frontier
town, ornamented with shipping tags and express labels, was jauntily
tipped on one side of his head, while a gaudy plaid shirt flapped
literally in the breezes, for an Indian knows not of decrees of fashion
regarding shirtology and could not be induced to confine the biggest
part of that splendid garment from view.
Nearly every Indian had some cast-off garment which had served its
mission for a white man. Hunters, freighters, army men, etc.,
contributed old socks, trousers, coats, gloves, hats, caps, and even
women helped bedeck these children of the forest in the glory clothes,
but the "medicine" each and every one possessed was of the same general
character--otter, beaver and mountain lion skins woven into the hair,
constituting a charm to scare away evil spirits.
Yamanatz was by the camp fire of his tepee as Chiquita threw herself
from the back of "Bonito." There were no impulsive greetings, merely a
question or two, and Chiquita disappeared in the gloom of the night to
her lodge, to dream of other scenes and to allow her imagination to
carry her to the abode of the white man's medicine houses, where nurses
comforted the maimed and sick.
In a couple of weeks the absent Utes returned, bringing provisions to
last for some time, but these did not abate the surly looks or conduct
of the older ones, who chafed at the escape of Jack, nor assuage the
enmity which the younger bucks bore him when they learned that Chiquita
piloted him safely over the divide. They dared not openly deride her as
they gathered in council to plan the breaking up of reforms which the
government anticipated at the hands of the agent at White River.
They rebelled against cultivating the ground. They ridiculed the
proposition of a Ute warrior at the plow, and muttered imprecations on
the heads of the Indian Department.
About a month after Jack had left his camp at Rock Creek, Susan arrived
at the village accompanied by her father, big chief Red Plume and a
dozen young bucks, all eager to drive the whites over the range and out
of Middle Park. But of these, half of them were desirous of annihilating
the pale faces, simply to gain Susan's favor. The other half were
striving to win Chiquita, and Susan was jealous of Chiquita to a marked
degree, while Chiquita cared naught for Susan nor any of Susan's
admirers. Susan, of course, had learned of the perilous trip of
Chiquita, and every Indian youth had a deep admiration for Chiquita that
Susan never received.
Red Plume had left the Agency to personally visit Colorow's village, and
endeavor to obtain that surly old monster's consent to move the village
back to White River, as agent Meeker had requested. Upon one pretext and
another Colorow delayed the matter day after day. In the meantime Susan
was taunting Chiquita and Chiquita's admirers, while spurring her own
suitors to acts of violence. This was not done openly, as Indian maidens
do not take part in matters of love or war, in person, unless the
circumstances are very pronounced. Susan felt that it was equal to the
crime of elopement for Chiquita to escort the white man over the divide,
and could she have had her way Chiquita would have been burned at the
stake the morning following her return to the village, for this is the
penalty inflicted when the maiden eloping is the daughter of a chief.
Susan was particularly partial to Antelope and never tired of singing
his praises, but Antelope had no eyes or ears for any one except
Chiquita. Many a haunch of venison had this handsome young savage laid
at the lodge door of Chiquita's mother, and handsome lion skins, eagle
plumes and strings of elk teeth had he presented to Yamanatz in his
effort to win Chiquita.
As the moon rode high in the heavens, throwing long shafts of silvery
light through the pine boughs, and casting deep shadows across the
rushing waters of Toponas creek, Chiquita was wont to wend her way along
the needle carpeted bank, her red lips firmly compressed, while her eyes
appealed to the heavens above for the return of spring and Jack. As she
wandered here Antelope watched her from the sheltering shadow of some
great rock, and chanted love songs in hopes of obtaining the least
little recognition from her, for the Indian must win his bride by feats
of strength, conquest or purchase, and not by personal servitude, as
does his white brother, and his wooing must be indirect unless the
maiden vouchsafes him the pleasure of a meeting in some glen or dell,
where a few words may be spoken; but she reserves the right of making
first advances or indicating by some sign that her suitor may address
her, and if especially desired by her she will leave a token in the
shape of a flower, spruce branch, or rabbit's foot where the lover may
see it and heed the invitation.
Chiquita knew that the young warriors would eventually precipitate a
clash, which might occur when Jack was coming or going from the
reservation. She grew sick at heart when she reviewed the actions of
Colorow, and how certain it was that Jack's life had been in peril, and
always would be whenever he visited the Ute camps. She determined to
stop the agitation which Susan was fomenting, or at least get assurance
in some way that no overt act would be committed until after she and
Yamanatz should be far away towards the "Blazing-Eye-by-the-Big-Water."
The new grass was beginning to show itself along the creek. Mountain
crocuses bloomed in the edge of the fast melting snow, as the white
blanket gradually receded towards the tops of the high peaks under the
heat of the early spring sun. Chiquita watched the beaver dams as the
inhabitants industriously fashioned new homes for the next winter,
cutting down the big trees and laying in a supply of willows for food
and comfort. She looked toward the sun as he peered down into the deep
canons and besought the sun god to hurry Jack upon his way.
It was near midday, and Chiquita sat in a little grove of pinons,
watching the splashing waters and gleaming flash of a trout darting
hither and thither for a morsel as it swept along in the vicious,
turbulent stream. She had hung a branch of spruce buds, entwined with a
vine of Kilikinnick, upon a convenient tree, and she knew that it would
bring Antelope to her. She knew the symbol by him would be interpreted,
"hope in peace," but she intended that his hope must result in peace. As
she listened she heard a voice close beside her. She had felt for some
time the forest intuition that some one was approaching, but so silently
had those footsteps glided along that no sound gave any warning.
"The daughter of Yamanatz is fair as the morning dove, and it pleases
Antelope to do her bidding, for is not Antelope a suitor for the hand of
Chiquita, and has not Antelope done many things that make him worthy of
the great chiefs daughter?"
"The son of Big Buffalo stands erect. He speaks with the tongue of one
who is a master, one day to be chief. Antelope is brave and his prowess
great enough to entitle him to the daughter of any chief."
"The daughter of Yamanatz is as good as she is fair in that she speaks
of Antelope in this wise, and it is a pleasure that the eyes of Antelope
go thirsty and his heart hungry for the return of the love which
Chiquita can give. It would be for Chiquita that Antelope would build
the signal fires, that the Utes may put on their war paint and sharpen
their hatchets to take the land where were the great buffalo before the
paleface drove them into the deep sea where the sun goes down, and when
the paleface has been driven away, then Antelope will claim Chiquita
that she may sing him songs of love by his camp fire. And when Antelope
is big chief then Chiquita will be the mother of many tribes, and our
people will again hunt the buffalo which shall be as the needles in the
pine forest, and no more shall the white man drive the noble Ute away
from the paradise the Great Spirit has made for them. Hear me, daughter
whose breath is as the perfume of the trailing arbutus and whose voice
is like the voice of the lark. It is Antelope who speaks."
"The son of Big Buffalo is as brave as the wild horse who leads his herd
to drink of the waters of the deep cavern, but know this, that in the
sky Chiquita reads of deeds done by her white sisters who teach the
little paleface to say 'Our Father,' and she hears the song of spirits
from another land, as they sing 'peace on earth, good will to man.' The
great Antelope is not a hen to cackle and run away at the sight of
danger. He is brave but sees not that Chiquita thinks not of deeds of
battle, nor the mighty buffalo, which the great Antelope says will
return. It grieves Chiquita that the hand of the white man on the
throttle of the great iron horse is driving our people back, back into
the deep sea where have plunged the buffalo, and in their trail are the
cities where the white children are taught that the red faced Ute is a
dog, a coyote that snarls and bites and like the owl that goes hoo!
oo-oo-oo-hoo! The paleface has widened the trail from the great ocean by
the rising sun to the mountain, to the big water where the sun again
quenches his thirst. The paleface has spread out as the wings of an
eagle until the lands are gone. The smoke rises from the tall stacks and
long ago have we been forgotten by the old Ute warriors who have passed
into the great Happy Hunting Ground, there to live on pots of savory
flesh while we slave in the sage brush or eat army rations and wear army
blankets, which are brought to us on the cars. This is civilization and
it is so that Chiquita is to learn what her white sister does in
civilization, and Antelope is asked to be patient and wait for Chiquita
while she may see the fair sister unto the end. Then if Chiquita cares
not for the civilized life, she will sit by the camp fire and sing to
Antelope and Antelope may caress Chiquita and she will be his wife."
[Illustration: ANTELOPE, THE WARRIOR, 1877.]
"Chiquita has spoken, Antelope will wait, but the heart of Antelope is
sad, for it will be many snows ere Chiquita will make glad the lodge of
Antelope and he will then be an old man," replied the Indian buck.
"It may not be so Long. Antelope must not make war upon the white man.
Antelope must stay the hands of the warlike Utes who seek the lives of
Chiquita's friend and his brothers. The warriors of the Utes must not
molest these people and it is Antelope who must obey Chiquita in this.
Hear not what Susan says and all will be well."
"Antelope hears the words of Chiquita. Antelope will see that no harm
comes to the friends of Chiquita, nor to the white man's brethren.
Antelope cares not for Susan. Antelope hears not her words, which are
cunning, but hears only Chiquita, the flower of the Utes."