"But I say, Whitewing, has it niver entered into your head to take to
yourself a wife? A man's always the better of havin' a female companion
to consult with an' talk over things, you know, as well as to make his
moccasins and leggin's."
"Does Little Tim act on his own opinions?" asked the Indian quickly.
"Ha! that's a fair slap in the face," said Tim, with a laugh, "but there
may be reasons for that, you see. Gals ain't always as willin' as they
should be; sometimes they don't know a good man when they see him.
Besides, I ain't too old yet, though p'raps some of 'em thinks me
raither short for a husband. Come now, don't keep yer old comrade in
the dark. Haven't ye got a notion o' some young woman in partikler?"
"Yes," replied the Indian gravely.
"Jist so; I thowt as much," returned the trapper, with a tone and look
of satisfaction. "What may her name be?"
"Lightheart."
"Ay? Lightheart. A good name--specially if she takes after it, as I've
no doubt she do. An' what tribe does--"
The trapper stopped abruptly, for at that moment the cavalcade swept out
of the thicket into the open valley, and the two friends suddenly beheld
the Indian camp, which they had so recently left, reduced to a smoking
ruin.
It is impossible to describe the consternation of the Indians, who had
ridden so far and so fast to join their friends. And how shall we speak
of the state of poor Whitewing's feelings? No sound escaped his
compressed lips, but a terrible light seemed to gleam from his dark
eyes, as, clasping his mother convulsively to his breast with his left
arm, he grasped his tomahawk, and urged his horse to its utmost speed.
Little Tim was at his side in a moment, with the long dagger flashing in
his right hand, while Bald Eagle and his dusky warriors pressed close
behind.
The women and children were necessarily left in the rear; but
Whitewing's sister, Brighteyes, being better mounted than these, kept up
with the men of war.
The scene that presented itself when they reached the camp was indeed
terrible. Many of the wigwams were burned, some of them still burning,
and those that had escaped the fire had been torn down and scattered
about, while the trodden ground and pools of blood told of the dreadful
massacre that had so recently taken place. It was evident that the camp
had been surprised, and probably all the men slain, while a very brief
examination sufficed to show that such of the women and children as were
spared had been carried off into slavery. In every direction outside
the camp were found the scalped bodies of the slain, left as they had
fallen in unavailing defence of home.
The examination of the camp was made in hot haste and profound silence,
because instant action had to be taken for the rescue of those who had
been carried away, and Indians are at all times careful to restrain and
hide their feelings. Only the compressed lip, the heaving bosom, the
expanding nostrils, and the scowling eyes told of the fires that raged
within.
In this emergency Bald Eagle, who was getting old and rather feeble,
tacitly gave up the command of the braves to Whitewing. It need
scarcely be said that the young chief acted with vigour. He with the
trapper having traced the trail of the Blackfoot war-party--evidently a
different band from that which had attacked Bald Eagle's camp--and
ascertained the direction they had taken, divided his force into two
bands, in command of which he placed two of the best chiefs of his
tribe. Bald Eagle himself agreed to remain with a small force to
protect the women and children. Having made his dispositions and given
his orders, Whitewing mounted his horse; and galloped a short distance
on the enemy's trail; followed by his faithful friend. Reining up
suddenly, he said--
"What does my brother counsel?"
"Well, Whitewing, since ye ask, I would advise you to follow yer own
devices. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and know what's
best."
"Manitou knows what is best," said the Indian solemnly. "He directs
all. But His ways are very dark. Whitewing cannot understand them."
"Still, we must act, you know," suggested the trapper.
"Yes, we must act; and I ask counsel of my brother, because it may be
that Manitou shall cause wisdom and light to flow from the lips of the
white man."
"Well, I don't know as to that, Whitewing, but my advice, whatever it's
worth, is, that we should try to fall on the reptiles in front and rear
at the same time, and that you and I should go out in advance to scout."
"Good," said the Indian; "my plan is so arranged."
Without another word he gave the rein to his impatient horse, and was
about to set off at full speed, when he was arrested by the trapper
exclaiming, "Hold on? here's some one coming after us."
A rider was seen galloping from the direction of the burned camp. It
turned out to be Brighteyes.
"What brings my sister?" demanded Whitewing.
The girl with downcast look modestly requested leave to accompany them.
Her brother sternly refused. "It is not woman's part to fight," he
said.
"True, but woman sometimes helps the fighter," replied the girl, not
venturing to raise her eyes.
"Go," returned Whitewing. "Time may not be foolishly wasted. The old
ones and the children need thy care."
Without a word Brighteyes turned her horse's head towards the camp, and
was about to ride humbly away when Little Tim interfered.
"Hold on, girl! I say, Whitewing, she's not so far wrong. Many a time
has woman rendered good service in warfare. She's well mounted, and
might ride back with a message or something o' that sort. You'd better
let her come."
"She may come," said Whitewing, and next moment he was bounding over the
prairie at the full speed of his fiery steed, closely followed by Little
Tim and Brighteyes.
That same night, at a late hour, a band of savage warriors entered a
thicket on the slopes of one of those hills on the western prairies
which form what are sometimes termed the spurs of the Rocky Mountains,
though there was little sign of the great mountain range itself, which
was still distant several days' march from the spot. A group of wearied
women and children, some riding, some on foot, accompanied the band. It
was that which had so recently destroyed the Indian village. They had
pushed on with their prisoners and booty as far and as fast as their
jaded horses could go, in order to avoid pursuit--though, having slain
all the fighting men, there was little chance of that, except in the
case of friends coming to the rescue, which they thought improbable.
Still, with the wisdom of savage warriors, they took every precaution to
guard against surprise. No fire was lighted in the camp, and sentries
were placed all round it to guard them during the few hours they meant
to devote to much-needed repose.
While these Blackfeet were eating their supper, Whitewing and Little Tim
came upon them. Fortunately the sharp and practised eyes and intellects
of our two friends were on the alert. So small a matter as a slight
wavering in the Blackfoot mind as to the best place for encamping
produced an effect on the trail sufficient to be instantly observed.
"H'm! they've took it into their heads here," said Little Tim, "that it
might be advisable to camp an' feed."
Whitewing did not speak at once, but his reining up at the moment his
friend broke silence showed that he too had observed the signs.
"It's always the way," remarked the trapper with a quiet chuckle as he
peered earnestly at the ground which the moon enabled him to see
distinctly, "if a band o' men only mention campin' when they're on the
march they're sure to waver a bit an' spoil the straight, go-ahead run
o' the trail."
"One turned aside to examine yonder bluff," said the Indian, pointing to
a trail which he saw clearly, although it was undistinguishable to
ordinary vision.
"Ay, an' the bluff didn't suit," returned Tim, "for here he rejoins his
friends, an' they go off agin at the run. No more waverin'. They'd
fixed their eyes a good bit ahead, an' made up their minds."
"They are in the thicket yonder," said the Indian, pointing to the place
referred to.
"Jist what I was goin' to remark," observed the trapper. "Now,
Whitewing, it behoves us to be cautious. Ay, I see your mind an' mine
always jumps togither."
This latter remark had reference to the fact that the Indian had leaped
off his horse and handed the reins to Brighteyes. Placing his horse
also in charge of the Indian girl, Tim said, as the two set off--
"We have to do the rest on fut, an' the last part on our knees."
By this the trapper meant that he and his friend would have to creep up
to the enemy's camp on hands and knees, but Whitewing, whose mind had
been recently so much exercised on religious matters, at once thought of
what he had been taught about the importance of prayer, and again the
words, "looking unto Jesus," rushed with greater power than ever upon
his memory, so that, despite his anxiety as to the fate of his affianced
bride and the perilous nature of the enterprise in hand, he kept
puzzling his inquiring brain with such difficulties as the absolute
dependence of man on the will and leading of God, coupled with the fact
of his being required to go into vigorous, decisive, and apparently
independent action, trusting entirely to his own resources.
"Mystery," thought the red man, as he and his friend walked swiftly
along, taking advantage of the shelter afforded by every glade, thicket,
or eminence; "all is mystery!"
But Whitewing was wrong, as many men in all ages have been on first
bending their minds to the consideration of spiritual things. All is
_not_ mystery. In the dealings of God with man, much, very much, is
mysterious, and by us in this life apparently insoluble; but many
things--especially those things that are of vital importance to the
soul--are as clear as the sun at noonday. However, our red man was at
this time only beginning to run the spiritual race, and, like many
others, he was puzzled.
But no sign did he show of what was going on within, as he glided along,
bending his keen eyes intently on the Blackfoot trail.
At last they came to the immediate neighbourhood of the spot where it
was rightly conjectured the enemy lay concealed. Here, as Tim had
foretold, they went upon their knees, and advanced with the utmost
caution. Coming to a grassy eminence they lay flat down and worked
their way slowly and painfully to the top.
Well was it for them that a few clouds shrouded the moon at that time,
for one of the Blackfoot sentinels had been stationed on that grassy
eminence, and if Whitewing and the trapper had been less expert in the
arts of savage war, they must certainly have been discovered. As it
was, they were able to draw off in time and reach another part of the
mound where a thick bush effectually concealed them from view.
From this point, when the clouds cleared away, the camp could be clearly
seen in the vale below. Even the forms of the women and children were
distinguishable, but not their faces.
"It won't be easy to get at them by surprise," whispered the trapper.
"Their position is strong, and they keep a bright lookout; besides, the
moon won't be down for some hours yet--not much before daybreak."
"Whitewing will take the prey from under their very noses," returned the
Indian.
"That won't be easy, but I've no doubt you'll try, an' sure, Little
Tim's the man to back ye, anyhow."
At that moment a slight rustling noise was heard. Looking through the
bush, they saw the Blackfoot sentinel approaching. Instantly they sank
down into the grass, where they lay so flat and still that it seemed as
if they had vanished entirely from the scene.
When the sentinel was almost abreast of them, a sound arose from the
camp which caused him to stop and listen. It was the sound of song.
The missionary--the only _man_ the Blackfoot Indians had not slain--
having finished supper, had gathered some of the women and children
round him, and, after an earnest prayer, had begun a hymn of praise. At
first the Blackfoot chief was on the point of ordering them to cease,
but as the sweet notes arose he seemed to be spell-bound, and remained a
silent and motionless listener. The sentinel on the mound also became
like a dark statue. He had never heard such tones before.
After listening a few minutes in wonder, he walked slowly to the end of
the mound nearest to the singers.
"Now's our chance, Whitewing," said the trapper, rising from his lair.
The Indian made no reply, but descended the slope as carefully as he had
ascended it, followed by his friend. In a short time they were back at
the spot where the horses had been left in charge of Brighteyes.
Whitewing took his sister aside, and for a few minutes they conversed in
low tones.
"I have arranged it all with Brighteyes," said the Indian, returning to
the trapper.
"Didn't I tell 'ee," said Tim, with a low laugh, "that women was good at
helpin' men in time o' war? Depend upon it that the sex must have a
finger in every pie; and, moreover, the pie's not worth much that they
haven't got a finger in."
To these remarks the young chief vouchsafed no answer, but gravely went
about making preparations to carry out his plans.
While tying the three horses to three separate trees, so as to be ready
for instant flight, he favoured his friend with a few explanations.
"It is not possible," he said, "to take more than three just now, for
the horses cannot carry more. But these three Brighteyes will rescue
from the camp, and we will carry them off. Then we will return with our
braves and have all the rest--if Manitou allows."
The trapper looked at his friend in surprise. He had never before heard
him make use of such an expression as the last. Nevertheless, he made
no remark, but while the three were gliding silently over the prairie
again towards the Blackfoot camp he kept murmuring to himself: "You're a
great puzzle, Whitewing, an' I can't make ye out nohow. Yet I make no
doubt yer right. Whativer ye do comes right somehow; but yer a great
puzzle--about the greatest puzzle that's comed across my tracks since I
was a squallin' little babby-boy!"