THE BIG CHIEF
When on the return journey they arrived upon the plateau skirting the
Piegan Reserve the sun's rays were falling in shafts of slanting light
upon the rounded hilltops before them and touching with purple the great
peaks behind them. The valleys were full of shadows, deep and blue. The
broad plains that opened here and there between the rounded hills were
still bathed in the mellow light of the westering sun.
“We will keep out a bit from the Reserve,” said Cameron, taking a trail
that led off to the left. “These Piegans are none too friendly. I've had
to deal with them a few times about my straying steers in a way which
they are inclined to resent. This half-breed business is making them all
restless and a good deal too impertinent.”
“There's not any real danger, is there?” inquired his wife. “The Police
can handle them quite well, can't they?”
“If you were a silly hysterical girl, Mandy, I would say 'no danger' of
course. But the signs are ominous. I don't fear anything immediately,
but any moment a change may come and then we shall need to act quickly.”
“What then?”
“We shall ride to the Fort, I can tell you, without waiting to take our
stuff with us. I take no chances now.”
“Now? Meaning?”
“Meaning my wife, that's all. I never thought to fear an Indian, but, by
Jove! since I've got you, Mandy, they make me nervous.”
“But these Piegans are such--”
“The Piegans are Indians, plain Indians, deprived of the privilege of
war by our North West Mounted Police regulations and of the excitement
of the chase by our ever approaching civilization, and the younger
bloods would undoubtedly welcome a 'bit of a divarshun,' as your friend
Mike would say. At present the Indians are simply watching and waiting.”
“What for?”
“News. To see which way the cat jumps. Then--Steady, Ginger! What the
deuce! Whoa, I say! Hold hard, Mandy.”
“What's the matter with them?”
“There's something in the bushes yonder. Coyote, probably. Listen!”
There came from a thick clump of poplars a low, moaning cry.
“What's that?” cried Mandy. “It sounds like a man.”
“Stay where you are. I'll ride in.”
In a few moments she heard his voice calling.
“Come along! Hurry up!”
A young Indian lad of about seventeen, ghastly under his copper skin
and faint from loss of blood, lay with his ankle held in a powerful
wolf-trap, a bloody knife at his side. With a cry Mandy was off her
horse and beside him, the instincts of the trained nurse rousing her to
action.
“Good Heavens! What a mess!” cried Cameron, looking helplessly upon the
bloody and mangled leg.
“Get a pail of water and get a fire going, Allan,” she cried. “Quick!”
“Well, first this trap ought to be taken off, I should say.”
“Quite right,” she cried. “Hurry!”
Taking his ax from their camp outfit, he cut down a sapling, and, using
it as a lever, soon released the foot.
“How did all this mangling come?” said Mandy, gazing at the limb, the
flesh and skin of which were hanging in shreds about the ankle.
“Cutting it off, weren't you?” said Allan.
The Indian nodded.
Mandy lifted the foot up.
“Broken, I should say.”
The Indian uttered not a sound.
“Run,” she continued. “Bring a pail of water and get a fire going.”
Allan was soon back with the pail of water.
“Me--water,” moaned the Indian, pointing to the pail. Allan held it
to his lips and he drank long and deep. In a short time the fire was
blazing and the tea pail slung over it.
“If I only had my kit here!” said Mandy. “This torn flesh and skin ought
to be all cut away.”
“Oh, I say, Mandy, you can't do that. We'll get the Police doctor!” said
Allan in a tone of horrified disgust.
But Mandy was feeling the edge of the Indian's knife.
“Sharp enough,” she said to herself. “These ragged edges are just
reeking with poison. Can you stand it if I cut these bits off?” she said
to the Indian.
“Huh!” he replied with a grunt of contempt. “No hurt.”
“Mandy, you can't do this! It makes me sick to see you,” said her
husband.
The Indian glanced with scorn at him, caught the knife out of Mandy's
hand, took up a flap of lacerated flesh and cut it clean away.
“Huh! No-t'ing.”
Mandy took the knife from him, and, after boiling it for a few minutes,
proceeded to cut away the ragged, mangled flesh and skin. The Indian
never winced. He lay with eyes closed, and so pallid was his face and so
perfectly motionless his limbs that he might have been dead. With deft
hands she cleansed the wounds.
“Now, Allan, you must help me. We must have splints for this ankle.”
“How would birch-bark do?” he suggested.
“No, it's too flimsy.”
“The heavy inner rind is fairly stiff.” He ran to a tree and hacked off
a piece.
“Yes, that will do splendidly. Get some about so long.”
Half an hour's work, and the wounded limb lay cleansed, bandaged, packed
in soft moss and bound in splints.
“That's great, Mandy!” exclaimed her husband. “Even to my untutored eyes
that looks like an artistic bit of work. You're a wonder.”
“Huh!” grunted the Indian. “Good!” His piercing black eyes were lifted
suddenly to her face with such a look of gratitude as is seen in the
eyes of dumb brutes or of men deprived of speech.
“Good!” echoed Allan. “You're just right, my boy. I couldn't have done
it, I assure you.”
“Huh!” grunted the Indian in eloquent contempt. “No good,” pointing
to the man. “Good,” pointing to the woman. “Me--no--forget.” He lifted
himself upon his elbow, and, pointing to the sun like a red eye glaring
in upon them through a vista of woods and hills, said, “Look--He
see--me no forget.”
There was something truly Hebraic in the exultant solemnity of his tone
and gesture.
“By Jove! He won't either, I truly believe,” said Allan. “You've made a
friend for life, Mandy. Now, what's next? We can't carry this chap. It's
three miles to their camp. We can't leave him here. There are wolves all
around and the brutes always attack anything wounded.”
The Indian solved the problem.
“Huh!” he grunted contemptuously. He took up his long hunting-knife.
“Wolf--this!” He drove the knife to the hilt into the ground.
“You go--my fadder come. T'ree Indian,” holding up three fingers. “All
right! Good!” He sank back upon the ground exhausted.
“Come on then, Mandy, we shall have to hurry.”
“No, you go. I'll wait.”
“I won't have that. It will be dark soon and I can't leave you here
alone with--”
“Nonsense! This poor boy is faint with hunger and pain. I'll feed him
while you're gone. Get me afresh pail of water and I can do for myself.”
“Well,” replied her husband dubiously, “I'll get you some wood and--”
“Come, now,” replied Mandy impatiently, “who taught you to cut wood? I
can get my own wood. The main thing is to get away and get back. This
boy needs shelter. How long have you been here?” she inquired of the
Indian.
The boy opened his eyes and swung his arm twice from east to west,
indicating the whole sweep of the sky.
“Two days?”
He nodded.
“You must be starving. Want to eat?”
“Good!”
“Hurry, then, Allan, with the water. By the time this lad has been fed
you will be back.”
It was not long before Allan was back with the water.
“Now, then,” he said to the Indian, “where's your camp?”
The Indian with his knife drew a line upon the ground. “River,” he said.
Another line parallel, “Trail.” Then, tracing a branching line from
the latter, turning sharply to the right, “Big Hill,” he indicated.
“Down--down.” Then, running the line a little farther, “Here camp.”
“I know the spot,” cried Allan. “Well, I'm off. Are you quite sure,
Mandy, you don't mind?”
“Run off with you and get back soon. Go--good-by! Oh! Stop, you foolish
boy! Aren't you ashamed of yourself before--?”
Cameron laughed in happy derision.
“Ashamed? No, nor before his whole tribe.” He swung himself on his pony
and was off down the trail at a gallop.
“You' man?” inquired the Indian lad.
“Yes,” she said, “my man,” pride ringing in her voice.
“Huh! Him Big Chief?”
“Oh, no! Yes.” She corrected herself hastily. “Big Chief. Ranch, you
know--Big Horn Ranch.”
“Huh!” He closed his eyes and sank back again upon the ground.
“You're faint with hunger, poor boy,” said Mandy. She hastily cut a
large slice of bread, buttered it, laid upon it some bacon and handed it
to him.
“Here, take this in the meantime,” she said. “I'll have your tea in a
jiffy.”
The boy took the bread, and, faint though he was with hunger, sternly
repressing all sign of haste, he ate it with grave deliberation.
In a few minutes more the tea was ready and Mandy brought him a cup.
“Good!” he said, drinking it slowly.
“Another?” she smiled.
“Good!” he replied, drinking the second cup more rapidly.
“Now, we'll have some fish,” cried Mandy cheerily, “and then you'll be
fit for your journey home.”
In twenty minutes more she brought him a frying pan in which two large
beautiful trout lay, browned in butter. Mandy caught the wolf-like look
in his eyes as they fell upon the food. She cut several thick slices of
bread, laid them in the pan with the fish and turned her back upon him.
The Indian seized the bread, and, noting that he was unobserved, tore
it apart like a dog and ate ravenously, the fish likewise, ripping the
flesh off the bones and devouring it like some wild beast.
“There, now,” she said, when he had finished, “you've had enough to keep
you going. Indeed, you have had all that's good for you. We don't want
any fever, so that will do.”
Her gestures, if not her words, he understood, and again as he watched
her there gleamed in his eyes that dumb animal look of gratitude.
“Huh!” he grunted, slapping himself on the chest and arms. “Good! Me
strong! Me sleep.” He lay back upon the ground and in half a dozen
breaths was dead asleep, leaving Mandy to her lonely watch in the
gathering gloom of the falling night.
The silence of the woods deepened into a stillness so profound that a
dead leaf, fluttering from its twig and rustling to the ground, made her
start in quick apprehension.
“What a fool I am!” she muttered angrily. She rose to pile wood upon the
fire. At her first movement the Indian was broad awake and half on his
knees with his knife gleaming in his hand. As his eyes fell upon the
girl at the fire, with a grunt, half of pain and half of contempt, he
sank back again upon the ground and was fast asleep before the fire was
mended, leaving Mandy once more to her lonely watch.
“I wish he would come,” she muttered, peering into the darkening woods
about her. A long and distant howl seemed to reply to her remark.
It was answered by a series of short, sharp yelps nearer at hand.
“Coyote,” she said disdainfully, for she had learned to despise the
cowardly prairie wolf.
But again that long distant howl. In spite of herself she shuddered.
That was no coyote, but a gray timber wolf.
“I wish Allan would come,” she said again, thinking of wakening the
Indian. But her nurse's instincts forbade her breaking his heavy sleep.
“Poor boy, he needs the rest! I'll wait a while longer.”
She took her ax and went bravely at some dead wood lying near, cutting
it for the fire. The Indian never made a sound. He lay dead in sleep.
She piled the wood on the fire till the flames leaped high, shining
ruddily upon the golden and yellow leaves of the surrounding trees.
But again that long-drawn howl, and quite near, pierced the silence
like the thrust of a spear. Before she was aware Mandy was on her feet,
determined to waken the sleeping Indian, but she had no more than taken
a single step toward him when he was awake and listening keenly. A soft
padding upon the dead leaves could be heard like the gentle falling
of raindrops. The Indian rolled over on his side, swept away some dead
leaves and moss, and drew toward him a fine Winchester rifle.
“Huh! Wolf,” he said, with quiet unconcern. “Here,” he continued,
pointing to a rock beside him. Mandy took the place indicated. As she
seated herself he put up his hand with a sharp hiss. Again the pattering
feet could be heard. Suddenly the Indian leaned forward, gazing intently
into the gloom beyond the rim of the firelight, then with a swift
gliding movement he threw his rifle up and fired. There was a sharp
yelp, followed by a gurgling snarl. His shot was answered by a loud
shout.
“Huh!” said the lad with quiet satisfaction, holding up one finger, “One
wolf. Big Chief come.”
At the shout Mandy had sprung to her feet, answering with a loud glad
halloo. Immediately, as if in response to her call, an Indian swung
his pony into the firelight, slipped off and stood looking about him.
Straight, tall and sinewy, he stood, with something noble in his face
and bearing.
“He looks like a gentleman,” was the thought that leaped into Mandy's
mind. A swift glance he swept round the circle of the light. Mandy
thought she had never seen so piercing an eye.
The Indian lad uttered a low moaning sound. With a single leap the man
was at his side, holding him in his arms and kissing him on both cheeks,
with eager guttural speech. A few words from the lad and the Indian was
on his feet again, his eyes gleaming, but his face immobile as a death
mask.
“My boy,” he said, pointing to the lad. “My boy--my papoose.” His voice
grew soft and tender.
Before Mandy could reply there was another shout and Allan, followed by
four Indians, burst into the light. With a glad cry Mandy rushed into
his arms and clung to him.
“Hello! What's up? Everything all right?” cried Allan. “I was a deuce of
a time, I know. Took the wrong trail. You weren't frightened, eh? What?
What's happened?” His voice grew anxious, then stern. “Anything wrong?
Did he--? Did anyone--?”
“No, no, Allan!” cried his wife, still clinging to him. “It was only a
wolf and I was a little frightened.”
“A wolf!” echoed her husband aghast.
The Indian lad spoke a few words and pointed to the dark. The Indians
glided into the woods and in a few minutes one of them returned,
dragging by the leg a big, gray timber wolf. The lad's bullet had gone
home.
“And did this brute attack you?” cried Allan in alarm.
“No, no. I heard him howling a long way off, and then--then--he came
nearer, and--then--I could hear his feet pattering.” Cameron drew
her close to him. “And then he saw him right in the dark. Wasn't it
wonderful?”
“In the dark?” said Allan, turning to the lad. “How did you do it?”
“Huh!” grunted the lad in a tone of indifference. “See him eyes.”
Already the Indians were preparing a stretcher out of blankets and two
saplings. Here Mandy came to their help, directing their efforts so that
with the least hurt to the boy he was lifted to his stretcher.
As they were departing the father came close to Mandy, and, holding out
his hand, said in fairly good English:
“You--good to my boy. You save him--to-day. All alone maybe he die. You
give him food--drink. Sometime--perhaps soon--me pay you.”
“Oh,” cried Mandy, “I want no pay.”
“No money--no!” cried the Indian, with scorn in his voice. “Me save
you perhaps--sometime. Save you--save you, man. Me Big Chief.” He drew
himself up his full height. “Much Indian follow me.” He shook hands with
Mandy again, then with her husband.
“Big Piegan Chief?” inquired her husband.
“Piegan!” said the Indian with hearty contempt. “Me no Piegan--me
Big Chief. Me--” He paused abruptly, turned on his heel and, flinging
himself on to his pony, disappeared in the shadows.
“He's jolly well pleased with himself, isn't he?” said Cameron.
“He's splendid,” cried Mandy enthusiastically. “Why, he's just like
one of Cooper's Indians. He's certainly like none of the rest I've seen
about here.”
“That's true enough,” replied her husband. “He's no Piegan. Who is he, I
wonder? I don't remember seeing him. He thinks no end of himself, at any
rate.”
“And looks as if he had a right to.”
“Right you are! Well, let's away. You must be dog tired and used up.”
“Never a bit,” cried Mandy. “I'm fresh as a daisy. What a wonderful
ending to a wonderful day!”
They extinguished the fire carefully and made their way out to the
trail.
But the end of this wonderful day had not yet come.