IN WHICH PLANS, PROSPECTS, LOVE, DANGERS, AND PERPLEXITIES ARE DEALT
WITH.
Three days after the conversation related in the last chapter, a party
on horseback, numbering five persons, left the Blackfoot camp, and,
entering one of the patches of forest with which the eastern slopes of
the mountains were clothed, trotted smartly away in the direction of the
rising sun.
The party consisted of Rushing River and his mother, Moonlight, Skipping
Rabbit, and Eaglenose.
The latter, although still afflicted with a nose the swelled condition
of which rendered it out of all proportion to his face, and interfered
somewhat with his vision, was sufficiently recovered to travel, and also
to indulge his bantering talk with the "skipping one," as he called his
little friend. The chief was likewise restored, excepting the stump of
the little finger, which was still bandaged. Umqua had been prevailed
on to accompany her son, and it is only just to the poor woman to add
that she believed herself to be riding to a martyr's doom. The chief
however, did not think so, else he would not have asked her to accompany
him.
Each of the party was mounted on a strong horse, except Skipping Rabbit,
who bestrode an active pony more suited to her size. We say bestrode,
because it must ever be borne in remembrance that Red India ladies ride
like gentlemen--very much, no doubt, to their own comfort.
Although Rushing River had resolved to place himself unarmed in the
power of his enemy, he had no intention of travelling in that helpless
condition in a country where he was liable to meet with foes, not only
among men but among beasts. Besides, as he carried but a small supply
of provisions, he was dependent on gun and bow for food. Himself,
therefore, carried the former weapon, Eaglenose the latter, and both
were fully armed with hatchet, tomahawk, and scalping-knife.
The path--if such it may be called--which they followed was one which
had been naturally formed by wild animals and wandering Indians taking
the direction that was least encumbered with obstructions. It was only
wide enough for one to pass at a time, but after the first belt of
woodland had been traversed, it diverged into a more open country, and
finally disappeared, the trees and shrubs admitting of free passage in
all directions.
While in the narrow track the chief had headed the little band. Then
came Moonlight, followed by Umqua and by Skipping Rabbit on her pony,
Eaglenose bringing up the rear.
On emerging, however, into the open ground, Rushing River drew rein
until Moonlight came up alongside of him. Eaglenose, who was quick to
profit by example--especially when he liked it--rode up alongside of the
skipping one, who welcomed him with a decidedly pale-face smile, which
showed that she had two rows of bright little teeth behind her laughing
lips.
"Is Moonlight glad," said the chief to the girl, after riding beside her
for some time in silence, "is Moonlight glad to return to the camp of
Bounding Bull?"
"Yes, I am glad," replied the girl, choosing rather to answer in the
matter-of-fact manner of the pale-faces than in the somewhat imaginative
style of the Indians. She could adopt either, according to inclination.
There was a long pause, during which no sound was heard save the regular
patter of the hoofs on the lawn-like turf as they swept easily out and
in among the trees, over the undulations, and down into the hollows, or
across the level plains.
"Why is Moonlight glad?" asked the chief.
"Because father and mother are there, and I love them both."
Again there was silence, for Moonlight had replied some what brusquely.
The truth is that, although rejoicing in the prospect of again seeing
her father and mother, the poor girl had a lurking suspicion that a
return to them meant final separation from Rushing River, and--although
she was too proud to admit, even to herself, that such a thought
affected her in any way--she felt very unhappy in the midst of her
rejoicing, and knew not what to make of it. This condition of mind, as
the reader knows, is apt to make any one lower than an angel somewhat
testy!
On coming to a rising ground, up which they had to advance at a walking
pace, the chief once more broke silence in a low, soft voice--
"Is not Moonlight sorry to quit the Blackfoot camp?"
The girl was taken by surprise, for she had never before heard an
Indian--much less a chief--address a squaw in such a tone, or condescend
to such a question. A feeling of self-reproach induced her to reply
with some warmth--
"Yes, Rushing River, Moonlight is sorry to quit the lodges of her
Blackfoot friends. The snow on the mountain-tops is warmed by the
sunshine until it melts and flows down to the flowering plains. The
heart of Moonlight was cold and hard when it entered the Blackfoot camp,
but the sunshine of kindness has melted it, and now that it flows
towards the grassy plains of home, Moonlight thinks with tenderness of
the past, and will _never_ forget."
Rushing River said no more. Perhaps he thought the reply, coupled with
the look and tone, was sufficiently satisfactory. At all events, he
continued thereafter to ride in profound silence, and, checking his
steed almost imperceptibly, allowed his mother to range up on the other
side of him.
Meanwhile Eaglenose and Skipping Rabbit, being influenced by no
considerations of delicacy or anything else, kept up a lively
conversation in rear. For Eaglenose, like his chief, had freed himself
from some of the trammels of savage etiquette.
It would take up too much valuable space to record all the nonsense that
these two talked to each other, but a few passages are worthy of notice.
"Skipping one," said the youth, after a brief pause, "what are your
thoughts doing?"
"Swelled-nosed one," replied the child, with a laugh at her own
inventive genius, "I was thinking what a big hole you must have made in
the ground when you got that fall."
"It was not shallow," returned the youth, with assumed gravity. "It was
big enough to have buried a rabbit in, even a skipping one."
"Would there have been room for a jumping-jack too?" asked the child,
with equal gravity; then, without waiting for an answer, she burst into
a merry laugh, and asked where they were travelling to.
"Has not Moonlight told you?"
"No, when I asked her about it yesterday she said she was not quite
sure, it would be better not to speak till she knew."
"Moonlight is very wise--almost as wise as a man."
"Yes, wiser even than some men with swelled noses."
It was now the youth's turn to laugh, which he did quite heartily, for
an Indian, though with a strong effort to restrain himself.
"We are going, I believe," he said, after a few moments' thought, "to
visit your father, Bounding Bull. At least the speech of Rushing River
led Eaglenose to think so, but our chief does not say all that is in his
mind. He is not a squaw--at least, not a skipping one."
Instead of retorting, the child looked with sudden anxiety into the
countenance of her companion.
"Does Rushing River," she asked, with earnest simplicity, "want to have
his tongue slit, his eyes poked in, his liver pulled out, and his scalp
cut off?"
"I think not," replied Eaglenose, with equal simplicity, for although
such a speech from such innocent lips may call forth surprise in a
civilised reader, it referred, in those regions and times, to
possibilities which were only too probable.
After a few minutes' thought the child said, with an earnest look in her
large and lustrous eyes, "Skipping Rabbit will be glad--very glad--to
see her father, but she will be sorry--very sorry--to lose her friends."
Having now made it plain that the feelings of both captives had been
touched by the kindness of their captors, we will transport them and the
reader at once to the neighbourhood of Bounding Bull's camp.
Under the same tree on the outskirts which had been the scene of the
girls' capture, Rushing River and Eaglenose stood once more with their
companions, conversing in whispers. The horses had been concealed a
long way in rear, to prevent restiveness or an incidental neigh
betraying them.
The night was intensely dark and still. The former condition favoured
their enterprise, but the latter was unfavourable, as it rendered the
risk of detection from any accidental sound much greater.
After a few minutes' talk with his male companion, the chief approached
the tree where the females stood silently wondering what their captors
meant to do, and earnestly hoping that no evil might befall any one.
"The time has come," he said, "when Moonlight may help to make peace
between those who are at war. She knows well how to creep like the
serpent in the grass, and how to speak with her tongue in such a way
that the heart of the listener will be softened while his ear is
charmed. Let Moonlight creep into the camp, and tell Bounding Bull that
his enemy is subdued; that the daughter of Leetil Tim has conquered him;
that he wishes for friendship, and is ready to visit his wigwam, and
smoke the pipe of peace. But tell not that Rushing River is so near.
Say only that Moonlight has been set free; that Manitou of the
pale-faces has been whispering in the heart of Rushing River, and he no
longer delights in revenge or wishes for the scalp of Bounding Bull. Go
secretly, for I would not have the warriors know of your return till you
have found out the thoughts of the chief. If the ear of the chief is
open and his answer is favourable, let Moonlight sound the chirping of a
bird, and Rushing River will enter the camp without weapons, and trust
himself to the man who was once his foe. If the answer is unfavourable,
let her hoot like the owl three times, and Rushing River will go back to
the home of his fathers, and see the pleasant face of Moonlight no
more."
To say that Moonlight was touched by this speech would give but a feeble
description of her feelings. The unusual delicacy of it for an Indian,
the straightforward declaration implied in it and the pathetic
conclusion, would have greatly flattered her self-esteem, even if it had
not touched her heart. Yet no sign did she betray of emotion, save the
somewhat rapid heaving of her bosom as she stood with bowed head,
awaiting further orders.
"Moonlight will find Skipping Rabbit waiting for her here beside this
tree. Whether Bounding Bull is for peace or war, Rushing River returns
to him his little one. Go, and may the hand of Manitou guide thee."
He turned at once and rejoined Eaglenose, who was standing on guard like
a statue at no great distance.
Moonlight went immediately and softly into the bushes, without pausing
to utter a single word to her female companions, and disappeared.
Thereupon the chief and his young brave lay down, and, resting there in
profound silence, awaited the result with deep but unexpressed anxiety.
Well did our heroine know every bush and rock of the country around her.
With easy, soundless motion she glided along like a flitting shadow
until she gained the line of sentries who guarded the camp. Here, as on
a former occasion, she sank into the grass, and advanced with extreme
caution. If she had not possessed more than the average capacity of
savages for stalking, it would have been quite impossible for her to
have eluded the vigilance of the young warriors. As it was, she
narrowly escaped discovery, for, just as she was crossing what may he
termed the guarded line, one of the sentinels took it into his head to
move in her direction. Of course she stopped and lay perfectly flat and
still, but so near did the warrior come in passing that his foot
absolutely grazed her head. But for the intense darkness of the night
she would have inevitably been caught.
Creeping swiftly out of the sentinel's way before he returned, she
gained the centre of the camp, and in a few minutes was close to her
father's wigwam. Finding a little hole in the buffalo-skins of which it
was chiefly composed, she peeped in.
To her great disappointment, Little Tim was not there, but Brighteyes
was, and a youth whom she knew well as one who was about to join the
ranks of the men, and go out on his first war-path on the first occasion
that offered.
Although trained to observe the gravity and reticence of the Indian,
this youth was gifted by nature with powers of loquacity which he found
it difficult to suppress. Knowing this, Moonlight felt that she dared
not trust him with her secret, and was much perplexed how to attract her
mother's attention without disturbing him. At last she crept round to
the side of the tent where her mother was seated, opposite to the youth.
Putting her lips to another small hole which she found there, she
whispered "Mother," so softly that Brighteyes did not hear, but went
calmly on with her needlework, while the aspirant for Indian honours
sent clouds of tobacco from his mouth and nose, and dreamed of awful
deeds of daring, which were probably destined to end also in smoke.
"Mother!" whispered Moonlight again.
The whisper, though very slightly increased, was evidently heard, for
the woman became suddenly motionless, and turned slightly pale, while
her lustrous eyes gazed at the spot whence the sound had come.
"What does Brighteyes see?" asked the Indian youth, expelling a cloud
from his lips and also gazing.
"I thought I heard--my Moonlight--whisper."