It was a joyful procession that left the Arapaho village to visit
the old medicine-man. It was a twelvemonth since he had shown his
face to the tribe, and their anxiety to see him was most intense. The
mysterious and the supernatural profoundly affect the nature of the
savage, as well as of the civilized man. The Arapahoes, convinced that
their prophet possessed supernatural powers of a high order, were sure
that he had come laden with news from the spirit-land, all of which
they were eager to hear and prepared implicitly to believe.
Dove-eye, accompanied by Black Horse, led the procession. Next came the
old chiefs, the counselors of the tribe, looking as wise and solemn as
the occasion demanded, and after them a large concourse of warriors,
the women and children not being allowed to take part in the sacred
mission.
When they reached the lodge at the foot of the cliff, Dove-eye
requested the chief to remain there a few minutes, until she could go
in and ascertain whether the Big Medicine was strong enough to receive
them; in other words, until she could make sure that Silverspur was
prepared to play his part in the performance.
All was ready, and she led the procession into the hut that formed the
entrance to the cavern. The rear apartment was not lighted, and the
Indians could see nothing until their eyes became accustomed to the
darkness. Then they perceived a man, seated on a bench in the cavern,
with his face toward them. This man had the death-like complexion of
the old medicine-man, as well as his long gray hair and flowing white
beard, and was wrapped in the deerskin robe, covered with strange
devices, which their prophet had always worn. If there was any thing
lacking in the resemblance, their excited imaginations easily supplied
the lack.
They recognized him immediately, and were about to step forward and
greet him, when he motioned them back by a wave of his hand, and
Dove-eye interposed herself at the entrance of the cavern.
“I am very weak, my children,” he said, in feeble and broken tones
that could not fail to convince his auditors that he spoke truly. “I
have long been absent from my people, and during all that time I have
not tasted earthly food. In the happy hunting-grounds I was young and
strong; but since I have returned, I am older and more feeble than
ever. I must eat a great deal of earthly food before I will be strong
enough to stand without assistance. I will send Jose to the village,
therefore, and you must give him a great load of dried meat and
pemmican and meal of the maize, that I may eat and be refreshed.”
“It shall be done,” replied Black Horse. “Is the Big Medicine satisfied
with his children?”
“I would be very well satisfied, if your conduct lately had not given
me great pain. You almost refused to believe the message that I sent to
you by my child, and you believed the words of a lying trader, when he
accused her of having deceived you in my name. Had Dove-eye ever lied
to you?”
“Dove-eye had never lied to us. We are sorry that we listened to the
talk of the trader, and he shall be burned.”
“Let him not be killed. He is a fool, and he has hurt himself more than
he has injured Dove-eye. Those who are under the protection of the
Great Spirit can not be harmed by any man. The people are owing the
Snake for powder and lead and blankets and other articles. Let them
release him; but let them give him to understand that they will not pay
him any thing, that he has canceled the debt by his lying reports.”
A general grunt of assent followed this sage advice, which so easily
reconciled the Arapahoes desire of repudiation with their loose ideas
of honor.
“Our father gives good advice,” said the chief, “and it will surely
be heeded. But he seems to have nearly forgotten the language of his
people. It is hard to understand all that he says.”
“All Indians are at peace in the spirit-land,” replied the pseudo
prophet, “and all languages are mingled into one, I have been so long
speaking the language of the spirit-land, that it is natural to me
to use it; but I will soon become accustomed to the speech of my own
people.”
Silverspur, having been duly tutored by Dove-eve, then mentioned the
names of several distinguished warriors who had fallen in battle, and
told of their pursuits and progress in the spirit-land, together with
the messages which they had sent to their friends--all of which was
highly satisfactory to his credulous auditors. He concluded as follows:
“My children have done well to make war upon the Crows, to punish them
for their cruel and unprovoked attack, in which so many of our warriors
were slain. They have done enough. They have taken a great revenge.
The Great Spirit is satisfied, and our warriors in the spirit-land are
satisfied. Let them now make peace with the Crows.”
“What our father tells us is hard to do,” replied Black Horse. “If we
should now send to the Crows to ask for peace, they would kill the
messengers.”
“You have a white captive, whom you call Burnt Face. He is a friend of
the Crows, and has great influence among them. Release him, and send
him to the Crows, and he will make peace for you.”
“The Big Medicine knows every thing. It shall be as he says. Does our
father wish to say any thing more to his children?”
“Nothing; except that you must not visit me again until six suns have
passed. Then I will be strong and well, and I can take my children by
the hand and talk to them.”
The Indians silently left the lodge, and the procession wended its way
down the mountain. Dove-eye watched them until they were out of sight,
and then hastened back to Silverspur, who had thrown aside his disguise.
“Was it well done?” he asked, as he greeted her joyfully “Do you think
they can suspect any thing wrong?”
“It was very well done. Silverspur is a wonderful man. Why did you
tell them that they must not come here again until after six suns?”
“By that time, I hope, we will be far from here. I wished to keep them
from molesting us when we leave.”
“I had guessed that. Why did you ask the chief for a big load of dried
meat and pemmican and maize meal?”
“So that we can have plenty to eat on our journey, and need not stop to
hunt.”
“I can understand that, too. But why did you tell them to let the Snake
go?”
“He has not really done any harm, although he wished to do harm. If he
loses his money, that will be a sufficient punishment for him. You must
go to the village, Dove-eye, and see if all is going on well there, and
if they released Burnt Face. If they do release him, send him or bring
him here; but he ought not to be seen coming here.”
Old Blaze had been released from captivity before Dove-eye reached the
village, and was in the council-lodge with the old men, who were giving
him instructions concerning his mission to the Crows. He had been
greatly astonished at the turn his affairs had taken, but had prudently
kept his astonishment to himself. He was sure that Silverspur and
Dove-eye had had something to do with his release, and he resolved not
to do or say any thing that might interfere with their plans.
When the chief told him that he had been informed that the Burnt Face
was a friend of the Crows, and that he would be willing to undertake
a mission of peace to them from the Arapahoes, he guessed who the
informant was, and readily assented to both propositions. He only asked
that his rifle should be returned to him, and expressed his willingness
to set forth at any moment. Having received his instructions as
ambassador, he was dismissed from the council-lodge, and soon met
Dove-eye in the village. She said only a word to him, and left him,
but joined him after a little while, in a ravine a short distance from
the village. She then led him to the lodge at the foot of the cliff,
giving him, by the way, a brief outline of the doings of Silverspur and
herself.
The hunter thanked his friend for his rescue, and complimented him upon
his tact and adroitness.
“It was nothing,” replied Silverspur “It was only fun to me, and I was
really quite selfish about it. It was necessary to get Dove-eye out of
the scrape, and you know that I could not get along without you.”
“It’s a heap to me, boy, and I’m obleeged to ye all the same. Here I
am, a-livin’, and I’ve got old Jule back, too, when I didn’t hev the
least idee that I’d ever set eyes onto the old critter ag’in.”
He caressed his rifle affectionately, and accepted an invitation to
smoke.
“Ye’ve done wrong,” he continued, “’cordin’ to my notion, in lettin’
that tradin’ crittur go. Ef the red-skins wanted to kill him, I don’t
believe this child would hev hindered ’em.”
“Would you wish them to murder a fellow-creature--a man of our own
race?”
“I don’t call it murder to kill snakes. I don’t consider that chap a
feller-crittur, and he ain’t a man of my race, sartin. He lacks a heap
of bein’ a white man, and he’s wuss’n a red-skin. Even a Digger Injun
would try to help another Digger out of trouble; but that tradin’ chap
wouldn’t lift a finger to save yer skulp, onless he was well paid
fur it. I know what he’s made of, and it’s the kind o’ timber, to my
notion, that ort to burn. Ef he had had his way, Dove-eye would hev
been chopped into little pieces by this time.”
“But she is safe, and he can do no more harm. We will soon be far from
here.”
“I’d like to give the crittur a talkin’ to afore I go. When do ye allow
to leave?”
“To-morrow. We can hardly get ready to start to-night. Jose must go to
the village and bring us a load of provisions. Your horse and mine are
safe where we left them. You must make the Indians give you at least
two horses to carry you to the Crows. Jose will get one for himself,
and that will be enough to carry ourselves and our plunder.”
“Are ye goin’ to take that thar niggur?”
“Yes. He wishes to follow his mistress, and she wishes it, too. We will
start in the morning, if you see no objection to that move. We will
have a clear field for a start, and it will be several days, I think,
before the Arapahoes find out that we are gone.”
“I don’t see nothin’ to hinder. It’s all right, as fur as I kin
calkilate; but I wish ye’d let the Injuns take keer of that trader. I
don’t like his looks, and he reminds me, somehow, of a chap I once met,
many year ago, who did me a heap of harm.”
“What was that, old friend?”
“I don’t like to talk about it; but I married and settled down once,
when beaver was high, and I had made a good pile by trappin’. My wife
was a Delewar’ woman, and what ye mought call handsome. People didn’t
call me Old Blaze then; but I was known as Ben Farrar--_Mister_ Ben
Farrar. Thar come along a tradin’ chap named Bob Riley, and he run off
with my squaw afore I’d well got to know who he was. I mought hev got
along well enough without the woman; but she kerried off my boy with
her, and he was a powerful pert little chap. It went hard with me to
lose him, and I follered up thar trail right sharp; but they went into
the settlements, and I had to give it up. That busted up my settlin’,
and I’ve been a tol’abul wild crittur ever sence.”
“Do you say that the trader reminds you of that man?”
“Kinder. The more I think of it, the more I see the favor. Ef he don’t
keep out of my way, his looks may kill him yit. Wal, I must be gittin’
down to the village.”