Ever dreaming of the thunderbolt that was about to be launched,
Whitewing, Little Tim, Bounding Bull, and the rest of the party arrived
at the little fortress in the gorge.
They found Big Tim on the _qui vive_, and Brighteyes with Whitewing's
mother was soon introduced to the wounded preacher.
The meeting of the three was impressive, for not only had they been much
attached at the time of the preacher's former visit, but the women were
deeply affected by the sad circumstances in which they found their old
friend.
"Not much changed, I see, Brighteyes," he said, as the two women sat
down on the floor beside his couch. "Only a little stouter; just what
might have been expected. God has been kind to you--but, indeed, God is
kind to all, only some do not see or believe in the kindness. It is
equally kindness in Him whether He sends joy or sorrow, adversity or
prosperity. If we only saw the end from the beginning, none of us would
quarrel with the way. Love has induced Him to lay me low at present.
You have another child, I am told, besides Big Tim?"
"Yes, a daughter--Moonlight we call her," said Brighteyes, with a
pleased look.
"Is she here with you?"
"No; we left her in the camp."
"And my good old friend," he said, turning on his couch, and grasping
the withered hand of Whitewing's mother, "how has she prospered in all
these years?"
The "old one," who was, as we have said, as deaf as a post, wrinkled her
visage up into the most indescribable expression of world-embracing
benignity, expanded her old lips, displayed her toothless gums, and
chuckled.
"The dear old one," said her son, "bears the snows of many winters on
her head. Her brain could not now be touched by the thunders of
Niagara. But the eyes are still bright inlets to her soul."
"Bright indeed!" exclaimed the preacher, as he gazed with deep interest
at the old face; "wonderful, considering her great age. I trust that
these portals may remain unclosed to her latest day on earth."
He was still talking to Whitewing about her when a peculiar whistle was
heard outside, as of some water-bird.
Instantly dead silence fell upon all present, and from the fixed gaze
and motionless attitude of each it was evident that they anxiously
expected a repetition of the sound. It was not repeated, but a moment
later voices were heard outside, then a hurried step, and next instant
Big Tim sprang into the room.
"A messenger from the camp!" he cried. "Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit
have been carried off by Blackfeet."
It could easily be seen at that moment how Bounding Bull had acquired
his name. From a sitting posture he sprang to his feet at one bound,
darted through the doorway of the hut, cleared the low parapet like a
deer, and went down the zigzag path in a succession of leaps that might
have shamed a kangaroo. Little Tim followed suit almost as vigorously,
accompanying his action with a leonine roar. Big Tim was close on his
heels.
"Guard the fort, my son," gasped Little Tim, as he cut the thong that
secured his horse at the bottom of the track; "your mother's life is
precious, and Softswan's. If you can quit safely, follow up."
Leaping into the saddle, he was next instant on the track of the Indian
chief, who had already disappeared.
Hurrying back to the hut, Big Tim proceeded to make hasty preparation
for the defence of the place, so that he might be able to join his
father. He found the prairie chief standing with closed eyes beside the
couch of the preacher, who with folded hands and feeble voice was
praying to God for help.
"Is Whitewing indifferent to the misfortunes of his friends," he said
somewhat sharply, "that he stands idly by while the Blackfoot robbers
carry off our little ones?"
"My son, be not hasty," returned the chief. "Prayer is quite as needful
as action. Besides, I know all the land round here--the direction which
this youth tells me the enemy have taken, and a short cut over the
hills, which will enable you and me to cross the path your father must
take, and join him, so that we have plenty of time to make arrangements
and talk before we go on the war-path."
The cool, calm way in which the chief spoke, and especially the decided
manner in which he referred to a short cut and going on the war-path,
tended to quiet Big Tim.
"But what am I to do?" he said, with a look of perplexity. "There are
men enough here, no doubt, to hold the place agin a legion o' Blackfeet,
but they have no dependable leader."
"Here is a leader on whom you can depend; I know him well," said
Whitewing, pointing to the warrior who had brought the news from the
camp. "He is a stranger to you, but has been long in my band, and was
left by me in the camp to help to guard it in our absence. With him
there, I should have thought the stealing of two girls impossible, but
he has explained that mystery by telling me that Moonlight crept out of
the camp like a serpent, unknown to all, for they found her trail. With
Wolf in command and the preacher to give counsel and pray, the women
have no cause for fear."
Somewhat reassured, though he still felt uneasy at the thought of
leaving Softswan behind him, Big Tim went about his preparations for the
defence of the fortress and the rescue of his sister. Such preparations
never take much time in the backwoods. In half an hour Wolf and his
braves were ready for any amount of odds, and Big Tim was following the
prairie chief through the intricacies of the mountains.
These two made such good use of their time that they were successful in
intercepting and joining the war-party, which Bounding Bull, with his
friend and ally Little Tim, were leading by forced marches on the trail
of the Blackfeet.
Rushing River was well aware, however, that such a party would soon be
following him. He therefore had advanced likewise by forced marches,
because his object was not so much to meet his enemy as to secure his
bride. Only let him place her in the safe keeping of his mother with
the main body of his tribe, and he would then return on his steps with
pleasure, and give battle to his foe.
In this object he was successful. After several days' march he handed
over Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit to the care of an old woman, whose
countenance was suggestive of wrinkled leather, and whose expression was
not compatible with sweetness. It was evident to the captives that
Rushing River owed his manly bearing and his comparatively gentle
manners not to his mother but to the father, whose scalp, alas! hung
drying in the smoke of a foeman's wigwam.
During the forced march the Blackfoot chief had not once opened his lips
to the girl he loved. He simply rode by her side, partly perhaps to
prevent any sudden attempt at flight, and certainly to offer assistance
when difficulties presented themselves on their pathless journey through
the great wilderness. And on all such occasions he offered his aid with
such grave and dignified gentleness that poor Moonlight became more and
more impressed, though, to do her justice, she fought bravely against
her tendency to fall in love with her tribal foe.
On reaching home Rushing River, instead of leading his captive to his
own wigwam, conducted her, as we have said, to that of his mother.
Then, for the first time since the day of the capture, he addressed her
with a look of tenderness, which she had never before received except
from Little Tim, and, in a minor degree, from her brother.
"Moonlight," he said, "till my return you will be well cared for here by
my mother--the mother of Rushing River."
Having said this, he lifted the leathern door of the lodge and went out
instantly.
Moonlight had received a terrible shock. Turning quickly to the old
woman, she said--
"Was that Rushing River?"
"That," replied the old woman, with a look of magnificent pride, "is my
son, Rushing River--the brave whose name is known far and wide in the
mountains and on the plains; whose enemies tremble and grow pale when
they hear of him, and who when they see him become dead--or run away!"
Here, then, was a discovery that was almost too much for the unfortunate
captive, for this man was the deadly foe of her father and of her
brother's father-in-law, Bounding Bull. He was also the sworn enemy of
her tribe, and it now became her stern duty, as a true child of the
western wilderness, to hate with all her soul the man whom she loved!
Under the impulse of her powerful feelings she sat down, covered her
face with her little hands, and--no, she did not burst into tears! Had
she been a civilised beauty perhaps she might have done so, but she
struggled for a considerable time with Spartan-like resolution to crush
down the true feelings of her heart. Old Umqua was quite pleased with
the effect of her information, ascribing it as she did to a wrong cause,
and felt disposed to be friendly with the captive in consequence.
"My son has carried you off from the camp of some enemy, I doubt not?"
she said, in kindly tones.
Moonlight, who had by that time recovered her composure, replied that he
had--from the camp of Bounding Bull, whose little daughter he had
captured at the same time, and added that she herself was a daughter of
Little Tim.
It was now Umqua's turn to be surprised.
"What is that you tell me?" she exclaimed. "Are you the child of the
little pale-face whose name extends from the regions of snow to the
lands of the hot sun?"
"I am," replied Moonlight, with a look of pride quite equal to and
rather more lovely than that of the old woman.
"Ha!" exclaimed Umqua, "you are a lucky girl. I see by my son's look
and manner that he intends to take you for his wife. I suppose he has
gone away just now, for I saw he was in haste, to scalp your father, and
your brother, and Bounding Bull, and all his tribe. After that he will
come home and take you to his wigwam. Rushing River is very brave and
very kind to women. The men laugh at him behind his back--they dare not
laugh before his face--and say he is too kind to them; but we women
don't agree with that. We know better, and we are fondest of the kind
men, for we see that they are not less brave than the others. Yes, you
are a lucky girl."
Moonlight was not as deeply impressed with her "luck" as the old lady
expected, and was on the point of bursting out, after the manner of
savages, into a torrent of abuse of the Blackfoot race in general, and
of Rushing River in particular, when the thought that she was a captive
and at the mercy of the Blackfeet fortunately restrained her. Instead
of answering, she cast her eyes on the ground and remained stolidly
silent, by which conduct she got credit for undeserved modesty.
"Where is the little one of that serpent Bounding Bull?" asked Umqua,
after a brief silence.
"I know not" replied Moonlight, with a look of anxiety. "When we
arrived here Skipping Rabbit was separated from me. She journeyed under
the care of a youth. They called him, I think, Eaglenose."
"Is Skipping Rabbit the child's name?"
"Then Skipping Rabbit will skip more than ever, for Eaglenose is a funny
man when not on the war-path, and his mother is a good woman. She does
not talk behind your back like other women. You have nothing to fear
for Skipping Rabbit. Come with me, we will visit the mother of
Eaglenose."
As the two moved through the Indian camp, Moonlight noticed that the men
were collecting and bridling their horses, cleaning and sharpening their
weapons, and making preparations generally for an expedition on a large
scale. For a moment a feeling of fear filled her heart as she recalled
Umqua's remarks about scalping her kindred; but when she reflected how
well able her sturdy little father and big brother and Bounding Bull
were to take care of themselves, she smiled internally, and dismissed
her fears.
Long before they reached Eaglenose's mother's wigwam, Moonlight was
surprised to hear the well known voice of Skipping Rabbit shouting in
unrestrained peals of merry laughter. On entering, the cause thereof
was at once apparent, for there sat Eaglenose beside his mother (whose
nose, by the way, was similar to his own) amusing the child with a
home-made jumping-jack. Having seen a toy of this kind during one of
his visits to the settlements of the pale-faces, the Blackfoot youth had
made mental notes of it, and on his return home had constructed a
jumping-jack, which rendered him more popular in his tribe--especially
with the youngsters--than if he had been a powerful medicine-man or a
noted warrior.
When Moonlight entered, Skipping Rabbit was standing in front of
Eaglenose with clasped hands and glittering eyes, shrieking with delight
as the absurd creature of wood threw up its legs and arms, kicked its
own head, and all but dislocated its own limbs. Catching sight of her
friend, however, she gave vent to another shriek with deeper delight in
it, and, bounding towards her, sprang into her arms.
Regarding this open display of affection with some surprise, and rightly
ascribing it to the influence of white blood in Bounding Bull's camp,
Umqua asked Eaglenose's mother if the men were getting ready to go on
the war-path.
"I know not. Perhaps my son knows."
Thus directly referred to, Eaglenose, who was but a young warrior just
emancipated from boyhood, and who had yet to win his spurs, rose, and,
becoming so grave and owlish that his naturally prominent feature seemed
to increase in size, said sententiously--
"It is not for squaws to inquire into the plans of _men_, but as there
is no secret in what we are going to do, I may tell you, mother, that
women and children have not yet learned to live on grass or air. We go
just now to procure fresh meat."
So saying, the stripling pitched the jumping-jack into the lap of
Skipping Rabbit, and strode out of the lodge with the pomposity of seven
chiefs!
That night, when the captives were lying side by side in Umqua's wigwam,
gazing at the stars through the hole which was left in the top for the
egress of the smoke, Moonlight said to her little friend--
"Does the skipping one know that it is Rushing River who has caught us
and carried us away?"
The skipping one said that she had not known, but, now that she did
know, she hated him with all her heart.
"So do I," said Moonlight firmly. But Moonlight was wrong, for she
hated the man with only a very small portion of her heart, and loved him
with all the rest. It was probably some faint recognition of this fact
that induced her to add with the intense energy of one who is resolved
to walk in the path of duty--"I hate _all_ the Blackfeet!"
"So do I," returned the child, and then pausing, slowly added,
"except"--and paused again.
"Well, who does the skipping one except?"
"Eaglenose," replied the skipper promptly. "I can't hate _him_, he is
such a very funny brave."