THE BETROTHAL.
Although the whites were the common enemy of the Sioux and Arapaho
Indians at the time of which I write, a deadly feud existed between
the two tribes, growing out of a dispute as to the rightful ownership
of a section of territory--abounding with game--since named the
Neutral Grounds. The Sioux hunted the Arapaho and the Arapaho hunted
the Sioux with the same deadly intent that each hunted the white man.
Being equal in point of number, neither tribe would yield its claim,
and it is thus that the opening of our story finds them arrayed
against each other.
It is on the morning following the night of storm that we would lead
the reader into a temporary encampment of the Arapaho Indians.
The encampment was well located upon a hillside, and surrounded on
all sides by the forest. The lodges were arranged in rows or streets
facing a small square. In the center of the square stood the council
lodge, and that of the prophet. On each side of the prophet’s lodge
stood a small one which bore evidence of having been lately placed
there.
The storm had cleared away and there were few traces of it remaining
in the Indian encampment. The sun was shining brightly, and a cool,
pleasant breeze was drifting through the forest.
The Indians were astir quite early. Something of unusual occurrence
prevailed in the encampment. The two small tents by the prophet’s
lodge seemed to be the point of attraction.
Presently the door of the prophet’s lodge was thrust aside, and the
great prophet made his appearance. He was a _white man_, and no other
than Dick Sherwood, the handsome, villainous renegade.
From his lodge the prophet turned to the one at the right, which he
entered without ceremony.
The interior of the little lodge was furnished with all the comfort
and taste of savage wealth and ingenuity. The floor was covered
with soft skins, the walls were hung with tapestry of ornamented
buck-skin, while strands of wampum, strands of beads and shells,
and curious figures carved from bone and wood adorned the walls and
ceiling.
At one side, on a couch of furs, sat a beautiful white woman, from
all appearances a captive, though her face wore no look of sadness
nor grief. This woman was Madge, the daughter of Talbott Taft, the
Indian trader.
“My pretty captive looks none the worse of her night’s exposure in
the storm,” said Sherwood, as he entered her tent, with an air of
mock politeness.
Madge looked up at the renegade and smiled scornfully.
“I am feeling quite well, and none the worse of my exposure,” she
replied, in a defiant tone.
“I am glad to hear it, Miss Taft,” the villain replied; “perhaps we
can come to some definite terms, as to the future. I think I will
have no trouble in bringing that modest little violet, Clara Bryant,
to a _pleasant_ reconciliation.”
“Just so,” mockingly returned Madge.
The villain continued:
“However, Miss Taft, it is likely that you have great influence with
Miss Bryant, and if you will go to her, and induce her--make her
_believe_ that her only salvation lies in her becoming my lawful
wife, you will be set at liberty. If she will consent to marry me
to-morrow, I will send for the missionary, Father Jules, and have him
perform the ceremony. Then, with his certificate of our marriage in
my pocket, my mission will be ended, and I will bid farewell to this
heathen country and return to the East, the heir to a vast fortune.
What say you?”
Madge smiled scornfully, yet strangely, as she replied:
“I will do any thing to get rid of your odious presence. I will lay
your proposition before Clara, and then she can do as she sees fit.
But were it me, I’d see you burning before I would submit to wed you.”
The renegade laughed long and loudly, then said:
“Remember, _Miss_ Taft,”--laying a marked emphasis upon the
“Miss”--“as I told you last night, as soon as Clara is my wife, and
I have Father Jules’ certificate of our marriage in my pocket, she
shall be set at liberty. As her husband, I will press no further
claims upon her. All I want is something to show my right to--well,
you know what--the Golden Horn estate.”
Madge arose to leave the lodge.
“I will go at once and see Clara,” she said.
“Then I will wait your return,” said Sherwood.
Madge went out into the little tent where Clara Bryant was a
prisoner. She found the maiden weeping, with face pale and sorrowful.
“Oh, Clara!” cried Madge, “I have come to you with what I hope will
be good news.”
Clara looked quickly up, a light of hope in her tearful eyes.
“Has he decided to set us free--to allow us to return home?” she
asked.
“On certain conditions, dear Clara.”
“What are they?”
“That you, sweet Clara, become his wife.”
“Sherwood’s wife!” gasped Clara.
“Yes.”
“Never, _never_, Madge!” and there was a momentary flash of defiance
in her eyes, but it soon died away.
“Listen, Clara,” said Madge, “the moment that you are wed to
Sherwood, we will both be set at liberty. He has promised to force no
claims upon you as your husband.”
“Then why does he wish to marry me?”
“Out of pure revenge. You know he is a desperate character, Clara.”
“Revenge upon me?”
“No; but upon Town. Farnesworth, whom he hates above all else upon
earth, and whom he believes loves you.”
Madge looked closely into the face of her companion as she spoke, and
saw a crimson flush mount to her cheeks.
“But, _you_ know, Madge, that Town. does not love me.”
“Why should I know, Clara.”
“Because Town. loves _you_.”
“You surprise me, Clara; however, Sherwood believes that Town. loves
you, and he has set his wicked heart on marrying you for revenge.”
“Oh, Madge! I wish I was as brave and fearless as you are, then I
would know how to decide. You must advise me, Madge. Your judgment
will dictate the proper course for me to pursue.”
Madge’s eyes shone brightly.
“Clara,” she said, softly, “although Dick Sherwood is a desperate
character, I believe there is some honor about him; and I further
believe that if you marry him, he will set us free. Of course, when
we are free, we will declare your marriage a forced one, and that
will make it null and void, though the wretch does not know it; so he
will have no claim upon you after all, and it will be such a clever
joke on him.”
Clara smiled sadly, and her lips quivered as, half in doubt, she
asked:
“Then you advise me to marry him?”
“It is our only hope, Clara.”
“Then I must consent.”
“Then I will see him and tell him. If you agreed to his propositions,
he said he would have the wedding take place to-morrow.”
Madge left the tent and returned to her own, where Sherwood was
awaiting her.
“Well,” said the renegade, as she entered.
“It is all right,” returned Madge, and the shadow of a wicked smile
hovered around her mouth.
Sherwood laughed one of his cold, devilish laughs.
Then he clapped his hands and cried:
“Vengeance! vengeance! my sweet Cecil, and a long life at the Golden
Horn!”
And strange though it was, Madge clapped her hands and laughed too.
In a moment Sherwood continued:
“Yes, sweet Annette, my mission--my secret mission in the west will
now be ended, and then for the Golden Horn! But, I must have one
man’s life before I go, the life of Old Tumult, the hunter. I could
never rest easy--not even in the grave--without revenge upon that
giant. I know he is shut up on one of the Two Islands, if he and his
young friend, Farnesworth, have not been washed away by the flood.
Ha! ha! ha! that escape from the island last night with the two
maidens was nicely made, fair Annette!”
The villain went on with his talk, like one speaking to himself,
or an imaginary person. He seemed totally unconscious of Madge’s
presence.
“You are surely out of your wits, great prophet of the Arapahoes,”
said the trader’s daughter, sneeringly.
“No, no; only indulging in a bit of self-communion, Miss Taft,” he
replied; “but, by the gods, I will have the life of Old Tumult!
To-morrow Clara shall be my wife, and then for the Golden Horn and
long life, my sweet Cecil!”
As the handsome villain concluded his wild soliloquy, he turned and
went out of the lodge.
When she found herself alone, Madge threw herself upon the couch of
skins, and burst into a fit of hysterical laughter which ended in an
outburst of tears.
Dick Sherwood, burning with a desire for revenge upon Old Tumult, and
conscious of his inability to cope with him in physical strength,
selected five of the best warriors in the tribe and set off for Two
Islands, determined to capture the old scout at all hazards, dead or
alive. Besides, the warriors that accompanied him were stimulated by
a handsome reward, offered by their chief, for the scalp of their
most terrible enemy, Old Tumult, the hunter and scout.