As Wormley suspected, the departure of Silverspur and his companions
had been sudden and hasty. Old Blaze, on his arrival, related the
adventure of the trader with Jose, and the negro said that he had
caught the trader spying about the vicinity of the lodge.
As it was evident that he could be there for no good purpose, that he
was bent on discovering Dove-eye’s secret and making it known to the
Indians, the party concluded that they had better set out that night,
instead of waiting until morning.
Few preparations were needed, and they set out at midnight, mounted on
four good horses, with two led animals, that were taken in charge by
Old Blaze and Jose. The night was very dark; but Dove-eye knew every
foot of the country in that vicinity, and led them down the mountain by
the nearest practicable route. When they were fairly out of the hills,
Old Blaze took the lead, and the party rode at a good rate of speed
toward the north.
They rode steadily during the night and all through the next day,
stopping only at sunrise and at noon for rest and refreshment, more for
the benefit of their horses than themselves. When night came, they were
in sight of the Black Hills, having traveled more than eighty miles,
according to the calculation of Old Blaze, and Silverspur proposed that
they should encamp for the night upon an elevation near the creek whose
course they had been following.
“Better not,” said the hunter. “The ’Rapahoes are on our trail, no
doubt, long afore this, and they will make better time than we do,
’cause they will all hev led hosses, and kin change from tired to fresh
when they want to.”
“We have such a start, it seems to me that they will hardly try to
follow us, even if they miss us.”
“Don’t ye bet too high on that, boy. Ye’re fooled ef ye think they
wouldn’t miss ye, and that right soon. I tell ye, that tradin’ chap
is mad, and he’s bound to make mischief. He’s a coward, no doubt; but
I reckon the mad in him is bigger’n the coward, by this time. Ye did
a wrong thing when ye told the Injuns to turn him loose, and I did a
wrong thing when I didn’t shoot him down arter drawin’ a bead onto him.”
“We may have made a mistake. If we did, it was on the side of mercy,
and that is the best side.”
“Yaas. I don’t know nothin’ about marcy when I butt up agin’ Injuns and
snakes; but it’s a pity that that snake wasn’t killed. The red-skins
will be madder than any hornets when they find out the truth of the
matter, and the start we’ve got won’t amount to much. I reckon we’d
better keep on travelin’.”
“But Dove-eye must be tired. Such a long ride without rest is enough to
exhaust any one.”
“It ain’t too much fur a warrior. I’m keen to bet that the gal has
traveled a longer stretch than this, when she was fightin’ the Crows.”
“Dove-eye is not tired,” replied the maiden, with a blush at the
allusion.
“I’m tired myself, then,” rejoined Silverspur, “and I mean to camp.”
“Just as ye please. Any thin’ ’ll suit this ole hoss. I was only
speakin’ for yer own good.”
They encamped, accordingly, on the elevation that Silverspur had
pointed out, and the night was passed in rest and tranquility. Early in
the morning they resumed their journey; but it was not long before they
came to a halt, on descrying a large body of horsemen approaching them
from the north.
“Who are those, old friend?” asked Silverspur. “They can hardly be
your Arapahoes, as they would not be likely to come upon us from that
direction.”
“Not ’Rapahoes, but Injuns fur all that,” replied the hunter.
“They are too many for us, then. Hadn’t we better turn toward the hills
and get out of their way?”
“They are friends.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your young eyes ort to be better than my old ’uns. Cain’t ye see that
thar’s white men among ’em?”
“I believe I do, since you have mentioned it.”
“Sogers, too, and those Injuns are Crows.”
The hunter was right, as was revealed by the closer approach of the
party. It was composed of some fifty warriors, finely mounted, and
arrayed in all their barbaric splendor, accompanied by twenty dragoons
of the United States service and two or three officers. They had halted
when they descried Silverspur and his friends, but had continued their
course on perceiving that there were white men in the party.
“The devil is to pay now!” exclaimed Silverspur, as he reined in his
horse, and came to a sudden stop.
“What’s the matter?” asked Old Blaze, noticing his young friend’s look
of vexation.
“There’s the governor.”
“Governor who? What governor?”
“My father--Colonel Wilder--that officer on the gray horse.”
“Thunderation! Is Colonel Wilder your father? I should think you’d be
glad to see the old gen’leman.”
“But I’m not--just now.”
“Why’s that? We needn’t be afeard of the ’Rapahoes now. Thar’s Crows
and sogers enough to take keer of us.”
“I had rather meet the Arapahoes. We might get away from them. The
governor may be too inquisitive,” concluded Silverspur, with a
significant glance at Dove-eye.
“Thar’s suthin’ in that, shore enough. Colonel Wilder don’t look like
a man who would fancy an Indian wife for his son. Do ye raaly mean to
marry the gal?”
“I hope to. It is certain that I will never marry any other.”
“That is talkin’ like a man. Wal, my boy, what will be will be, and
thar’s no use in frettin’. Hyar they are, and we’ve got to meet ’em.”
Colonel Wilder came riding forward in advance of his party accompanied
by Bad Eye, the head chief of the Crows. The colonel was an old
gentleman of fine appearance, who looked as if he had been born to
fill the position of an officer. In fact, he had been a hard fighting
and hard working soldier, who had fought and worked his way up to the
grade which he then held and well deserved. He was dressed in his full
uniform--an unusual thing with an officer on duty in the wilderness,
and his appearance produced a feeling of respectful awe even in Old
Blaze, who was not accustomed to such feelings.
He did not recognize his son until he was quite close to him, and
it was evident--although he controlled himself, and returned Fred’s
greeting very cordially--that he was surprised to see him at that place
and in such company.
“Why, Fred!” he exclaimed, “you are the last man I would have expected
to meet here. I thought that you had quit this wild life, and that you
had settled down to business in St. Louis.”
“I thought so, too, sir, for a while, and I believe I tried to settle
down; but every thing was so strange to me in the city, and I felt an
unconquerable desire to return to the free life of the plains.”
“An unconquerable desire! I must confess my ignorance of the meaning of
that phrase. I am afraid that you have grown to be a perfect savage.
Who are your friends, and where are you going?”
“This is Old Blaze, father. Don’t you know him?” replied Fred, turning
to the hunter.
“Yes. I have seen him once, and have often heard of him. But who are
the others? Is that his squaw?”
“I believe not,” evasively replied Fred. “But where are you going,
sir?” he asked, anxious to change the subject of conversation. “I
should judge from your uniform, that you were on your way to pay a
visit of ceremony.”
“You have guessed it. The Crows and the Arapahoes have been fighting
for a long time, and have made it dangerous for travelers to cross the
plains. It is my duty to try to patch up a peace between them. I have
brought some of the principal men of the Crows, and we mean to pay a
visit to the Arapahoes and have a big talk. You know the effect, in
such proceedings, of an officer’s full dress uniform.”
Silverspur and Old Blaze looked at each other. If they could not get
away from Colonel Wilder and his party, they must meet the enraged
Arapahoes, who, as they could not doubt, were hot on their trail. It
was an awkward dilemma for Fred Wilder, and it soon became still more
awkward.
One of the Crow chiefs took Colonel Wilder aside, and conversed with
him in a low tone. Dove-eye was the subject of their conversation, as
they both glanced at her frequently, and the officer looked surprised
and interested.
“Is there no mistake about this?” he asked, turning to Bad Eye. “I am
told that that girl is an Arapaho, and that she has been fighting the
Crows as a warrior.”
“It is true. She has been a warrior,” replied the chief, who was gazing
intently at Dove-eye.
“It is very strange. What is she doing, my son, in _your_ company?”
“The truth is,” desperately replied Fred, “that I am trying to save
her from the Arapahoes. They would kill her, if they should get her in
their power.”
“This is still more strange. She has unsexed herself by fighting in
their ranks, and now they wish to kill her. What has she done?”
“It is a long story, sir--so long that I have no time to tell it now.
Let us pass on. Our doing so will save her life, and will not interfere
with your mission.”
“I shall not allow it. There is more in this, Fred, than you are
willing to tell me, and I mean to get at the truth. She is a
fine-looking girl, the handsomest squaw I ever saw. In fact, she does
not look like an Indian. Have you taken her from her people against her
will?”
“No sir.”
“You have taken her, then, against _their_ will.”
“I suppose I must admit that.”
“The truth is coming out, I see. Fred Wilder, reckless scapegrace as
you are, I always believed you to be a gentleman, a man of honor. I
never supposed that you could stoop so low as to take a mean advantage
of any woman, even of a poor Indian girl.”
“Have you seen any thing to cause you to change your opinion?” proudly
replied the young man.
“I ask you again, what is this Indian girl doing in your company? You
have taken her from her people, and you are afraid that they will
pursue you and take her back. What do you want to do with her?”
“I mean to make her my wife.”
Astonishment is no word for the emotion that showed itself in Colonel
Wilder’s countenance, in his whole frame. He was stupefied; he was
thunderstruck. He fairly staggered under the blow and turned pale and
red by turns.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he exclaimed. “Do you mean what
you say--or have you become so entirely an Indian, that you have no
regard for the truth?”
“I never lie, sir,” coolly replied Fred. The murder was out, now, and
he had nerved himself to hear the worst.
“Do you suppose that I will consent to such a thing? Can you suppose,
for a moment, that I will consent to become the grandfather of a tribe
of half-breeds?”
Fred’s eyes twinkled; but he said nothing.
“And you, a Wilder!--my son! How can you think of so disgracing
yourself?”
“You have often told me, sir, that you wished me to marry and settle
down.”
“Did I ever wish you to marry a squaw, and to settle in a wigwam? Let
me hear nothing more of this nonsense. You will remain with me, until
we meet the Arapahoes.”
“I can not do it, sir. They will kill Dove-eye.”
“Is that her name? Dove-eye! How very romantic! Her husband, from whom
you took her, may correct her in the Indian fashion; but I will warrant
you there will be no killing done. Will you do as I request you to do?”
“I can not promise, sir.”
“I must order you, then. You will please to remember that I, within the
limits of my command, am ‘monarch of all I survey.’ Unless you agree
to obey me, I will order my dragoons to arrest you and keep you under
restraint.”
“The United States service may lose a dragoon or two, before that is
done.”
“Indeed! We will see, sir.”
Fred Wilder looked rebellious, and the dispute might have terminated
disastrously to somebody, if it had not been interrupted by some
strange conduct on the part of the Crow chief and Dove-eye.