THE PIPE OF PEACE.
Old Tumult felt none the better of his ferry-boat adventure. In fact,
he felt quite sore, but the consciousness of having defeated the
enemy, proved a radical mental relief, and repaid him, in one sense
of the word, for the bruises he had received.
Hunger was the next enemy with which they had to contend, for the
want of fire. Game was around them in abundance, but they had no
way of cooking it. Continuing on, however, they were so fortunate
as to come across the remnants of a deserted camp-fire. This was at
once replenished with fuel, and soon a savory slice of venison was
roasting before it.
After a hearty meal, they continued on toward the Indian village.
They proceeded quite leisurely, for their late adventures had nearly
exhausted them; besides there was no need of haste, as they had
plenty of time to reach the Devil’s Staircase before night.
As they moved along, Town. became silent and thoughtful, and Old
Tumult wary and cautious. The latter finally noted a curious
expression upon his companion’s face, and asked:
“What is it, Town.?”
“What is _what_?’ queried Town., apparently perplexed.
“That makes yer face twitch so.”
Town. laughed, as the color came to his face. The fact of it was, he
was thinking of the pretty Madge Taft, but to evade a direct answer,
he said:
“Well, I was just thinking--thinking whether I had better reveal the
suspicion that has arisen in my mind lately.”
“Certainly; tell it, by all means,” exclaimed Tumult.
Town. stepped nearer the scout and said:
“I solemnly believe that Rollo is a traitor--that he knew of the
savages being concealed in the ferry-boat.”
The old scout at once grew restless; he looked at Town.--shifted his
rifle to the other shoulder, and said:
“What makes ye think so, Town.?”
“His actions during the fight on the boat--he never lifted a hand to
help us, but directly I caught him assisting on board the boat, the
savage that you knocked overboard.”
“Didn’t he ’pologize when ye ketched him?”
“He plead excitement.”
“Ugh--humph!” ejaculated Old Tumult; “wal, Town., as to that lad
bein’ a traitor, we think alike; and thar’s sumthin’ else that I’ve
diskivered ’bout him, and what s’prises me is that you haven’t see’d
it yerself.”
“What is it?” asked Town.; “all questions are fair.”
“You’d shoot me, Town., if I’d tell you.”
Town. was surprised by this blunt remark.
“I will give my word as security for your life,” he said.
“Then I’ll tell it. Rollo, the Ranger--” he began, but broke abruptly
off in consequence of the angry crack of a rifle, and the “whizz” of
a bullet in close proximity to his head.
“’Tarnal furies!” he exclaimed, as his keen eyes swept the
surrounding forest for the enemy that had fired the shot; “what a bad
shot that war. Come, lad, tramp quick--tramp lively!”
The old scout quickened his steps and lengthened his strides, until
Town. was scarcely able to keep pace with him.
The young settler wondered why he beat so hasty a retreat in the face
of a single foe as the shot proved. To him it looked as though the
indomitable courage of the old scout was deserting him. However, Old
Tumult seemed to have read his thoughts, and said:
“_I_ don’t fight Ingins like every ole hunter generally does, Town.--”
“No, I see you run from them sometimes.”
“Thar’s logic in it, too, lad; now you see if we’d ’a’ stopped and
went to huntin’ fur the red that fired the shot, he’d ’a’ shot us
down. By runnin’ he’ll think we’re scart, and out he’ll dive from his
nest and take arter us. _Then_ ’s the time to turn and let him have
it; I think the ijee ’s not to be sneezed at.”
And so thought Town., as the scout whirled suddenly around, threw his
rifle to his face, and fired. Simultaneous with the crack of the gun,
a savage death-cry rung out through the forest aisles--thus proving
how effectual was the old scout’s plan of drawing an enemy from
ambush.
The two now continued their course without further molestation.
Cautiously skirting the Indian village, they reached the Devil’s
Staircase two miles beyond, where they had agreed to meet the ranger.
The Devil’s Staircase was an almost perpendicular declivity, leading
down a narrow defile into a low plain or valley. The forest around it
was of dense growth, and in broad daylight its shadows lay thick as
the gloom of summer twilight.
When this point was reached, it lacked two hours of night, and as
the scout and Town. could do nothing until then, they concluded to
conceal themselves, and await its cover before making any further
move.
A retreat, flanked upon three sides by jutting rocks, was selected by
the two men, who at once threw themselves in an attitude of repose.
As an enemy could approach them only in front, it required no extra
vigilance to guard their position, and they made themselves quite at
ease.
After discussing the incidental topics of their situation and future
prospects, Town. said:
“Then you believe the Boy Ranger is in league with the Indians, eh,
Tumult?”
“Ya-as, with the Arapahoes. They’re mean enuff to league with Satan.
I tell ye, lad, arter all there ’s more honor in the Sioux tribe,
than enny other on this terrestial ball.”
“None of them are to be trusted far,” said Town.
“That depends upon circumstances. The Sioux won’t consort with every
_white_ cut-throat that seeks their protection from the laws of the
States.”
“I will frankly admit that there is more honor and manhood in a
Sioux Indian than a white renegade like Dick Sherwood. But I can not
imagine why one so young, handsome and intellectual as Rollo is,
should be a traitor to his own people--and such a secret traitor,
too.”
“Ay, lad,” cried the scout, “thar’s many a deep, dark mystery that
the world ’ll never know enny thing ’bout.”
“Then, hereafter we can keep an eye upon Rollo’s movements, and see
if our suspicions of him are correct.”
“That’s true, boy; but unless he comes afore night it’ll be too late,
or I’m no judge.”
“What do you mean, Tumult?”
“This: if the ranger comes here arter dark, it will be with a troop
o’ Arapahoes at his heels, to capture us.”
“I can not understand your reason for thinking so.”
“I’ll tell ye, lad, thar’s some devilish plot coming to a crisis, and
Dick Sherwood and Rollo are at the bottom of it all.”
“Well, where’s your proof?”
“That fust attempt to kidnap Miss Bryant; the meetin’ affair at
Wildwood lake; the kapter of the two gals; the affair at Two Islands,
and the ferry-boat surprise, are all the proof that I want,” said Old
Tumult; “and, furthermore, our carcasses is mixed up in it some way
’r other; and now mind, unless we look sharp, that ’ere boy ’ll play
the deuce with us to-night.”
“You really surprise me, Tumult.”
“And I could surprise ye more if I’d tell o’ the diskivery that I’ve
made.”
“Why not tell it?”
The scout was silent. Town. repeated the question.
“You’d feel more like shootin’ me than thankin’ me fur the
infurmation,” returned Old Tumult.
Town. laughed, though his mind was perplexed.
“Howsumever,” continued the old scout, “I might as well tell it, fur
you’re bound to know it sooner or later. The fact is, this mornin’ I
diskivered that Rollo, the ranger, and--”
Here he broke abruptly off, for a shadow fell across his vision. He
seized his rifle and sprung to his feet, and found himself confronted
by a tall, powerful Sioux Indian, whom he at once recognized as
Mahaska, chief of the Sioux tribe!
Tumult at once placed himself in an attitude of defense, but a sign
from the chief put at rest all fears of an encounter. He showed that
his presence there was fraught with peace and friendship, although
Old Tumult had always known him as an enemy.
Our friends recognized the chief’s token of friendship by dropping
their rifles and folding their arms over their breasts.
“Good!” ejaculated the chief; “the great Tumult and his friend know
that Mahaska comes with friendship in his breast.”
“You bet, chief,” returned the scout, extending his large, bony hand;
“it’s hard to mistake that jolly twinkle in yer eye--it means, no
skulps wanted.”
“The great Tumult is wise. His tongue is straight. His arm is strong.
His eyes are keen. His aim is deadly, but Mahaska knows he will not
strike a friend.”
“You’re right there, great chief,” returned the scout, determined
to pay an equal amount of compliments; “I know yer a brave chief, a
splendid feller, a brillunt scholar, a good jedge of whisky, and a
brick o’ a boy in general.”
The chief reared himself proudly. Although he did not fully
understand the English of the scout’s complimentary remarks, he took
it all as something very fine.
“The great Tumult and Mahaska,” the chief began, “are friends now.
Mahaska was concealed in the brush there, when the white men come
here to talk. He heard them speak well of the Sioux, and bad of the
Arapaho and his white ally. The words of the great scout were words
of wisdom and truth, and they have sunk deep into the breast of
Mahaska. He will never forget them, and here offers to smoke the pipe
of peace with the great Tumult and his friend.”
“That’s business, chief,” replied Tumult, with a sly wink at Town.;
“bring on your pipe o’ peace, and a ‘bottle o’ friendship,’ if ye’ve
got it. I promise that my people will never harm the Sioux, if the
Sioux will keep on his side o’ the creek, and furever bury the
hatchet o’ discord and enmity.”
“Mahaska pledges the friendship of his people.”
“Then my people will not harm the Sioux. They seek the good will o’
all. But they are brave and will give blow fur blow. When the Sioux
attacks, the white will defend.”
As the scout concluded, Mahaska gave utterance to a low, peculiar
chirrup, when there was heard a dull fluttering like many wings, and
the next instant fully three score Indian warriors burst from the
forest shadows and gathered around our friends and their chief.
A chill of distrust passed over our friends at sight of the painted
and plumed warriors, but they allowed no look to betray their inward
emotion to the red-skins.
Mahaska made a brief speech to his warriors and informed them that
they were about to smoke the pipe of peace with the whites.
This bit of news was received with a savage yell that jarred very
discordantly upon the tympanum of our friends.
Old Tumult nudged Town. and grinned “broadly.”
A circle was now formed. Mahaska drew from a greasy tobacco-pouch
a large, dirty calumet which he loaded and lit. He then took a few
whiffs, and handed it to Old Tumult, who, in a turn, “drew” very
lightly on the obnoxious “seal of peace.”
In a few minutes the pipe had “swung around the circle,” and was
lodged in its greasy receptacle, and peace between the whites and
Sioux was declared.
However, Old Tumult knew the Indian’s nature too well to put implicit
confidence in him, and he would not have been surprised had they
broken their promise of peace ere the obnoxious taste of the “pipe of
peace,” was out of his mouth.
The warriors now gathered around Old Tumult and gazed upon him with
no little curiosity, for in days past, he had been a constant terror
to them, and had ornamented his girdle with the scalps of many of
their friends.
After having discussed various topics incidental to the treaty,
Mahaska asked:
“Mahaska”--he always spoke of himself in the third person--“heard
the great Tumult say that the young white ranger was in league with
the Arapaho. He spoke the truth. The ranger is the friend of the
Arapaho--the enemy of the Sioux and the pale-face.”
“How does Mahaska know?” questioned the scout.
“His scouts have been in the heart of the Arapaho village. They saw
the ranger there, and heard him talking with the white prophet. When
the Boy Ranger comes here to meet the great Tumult and his friend,
when the sun goes down, let them beware, for he will bring many
warriors with him whose hearts burn for their blood.”
His own ideas of Rollo’s treachery at once convinced Tumult that
there was more truth than fiction in the chief’s warning.
“We’ll be on the watch for the young rascal,” said the scout, “when
he comes to-night.”
“Can the great scout be on the watch for the many warriors that will
follow him like shadows?”
“Not if more’n six comes at a time,” replied Tumult.
“Then Mahaska and his warriors will hide in the forest, and if the
Arapahoes come with the ranger, the Sioux will slay them, for many
of my young warriors have promised to go back to their village with
Arapaho scalps.”
The old scout saw at once what the chief was driving at, and he could
do no better than to accept his proffered aid, or protection against
the treachery of Rollo.
The Sioux seemed highly elated by his acceptance of their proffered
friendship, and as night drew on, they began to secrete themselves in
the woods surrounding the point of rendezvous.
Old Tumult and Town., for the first time, had the opportunity of
seeing a party of savages ambushing themselves for an unsuspecting
enemy.
Half crouching, they glided here and there like so many shadows,
their eyes flashing with an evil, cunning light. They burrowed
themselves beneath the old leaves and grass like moles; they pressed
themselves into holes and crevices where it seemed a serpent could
not hide. In five minutes’ time, Old Tumult and Town. stood alone in
the solitude of the great forest. It seemed almost impossible that
they stood within a circle of three score blood-thirsty savages.
Night came on apace. There was a moon, but it would not be up till
two hours after dark.
Our friends seated themselves in the path leading to the head of the
Devil’s Staircase. They started when the sound of horse’s hoofs told
them that some one was approaching from the east.
It was the ranger beyond a doubt.
Suddenly the tramp of the hoofs ceased, and a voice called out:
“Hallo, Tumult!”
“Ay, Rollo; so you’ve come,” responded the old scout.
They arose from their seat and approached the ranger, of whom they
could catch a faint outline in the darkness.
The clear, frank voice of the ranger at once produced in the minds
of the friends conflicting ideas. It seemed utterly impossible for
one so young, and apparently kind-hearted, to be a traitor to his own
race. He had done many kind acts for the settlers in warning them
of coming danger of late. Yet, despite all this, Tumult and Town.
had seen sufficient of his actions in the ferry-boat affair to raise
grave doubts, at least; however, they tried to believe that it all
came of the impulse and indiscretion of youth.
“Any news from the captives, Rollo?” asked Town., as he neared the
ranger.
“Nothing,” the ranger responded; “of course they are in the Indian
village, and the question is, how are we to get at them.”
“The only course I see is to fight our way in and release them, then
fight our way out again, if we kin git ’em no other way,” said Old
Tumult.
“Ten to one we would all be killed,” said Town.
“Well, we can try it,” said Rollo; “faint heart ne’er won fair lady,
Town.”
Town. was a little touched by this remark, which was slightly tainted
with sarcasm; however, he forced back the retort that came to his
lips, and made no reply.
There was a momentary silence, during which the ranger toyed with the
coiled horn at the pommel of his saddle.
Suddenly they were aroused by the sharp bark of a wolf that echoed
through the valley below them.
“How human-like is that cry,” said Rollo, “and how it echoes through
the valley.”
“Yes, I’m thinking there is more human than wolf about the cry,” said
Town.
At this juncture, the jingle of the ranger’s horn drew our friends’
attention toward him. There was just light enough to see him place
the instrument to his lips.
“Don’t you,” cried Old Tumult, but the sound of his voice was drowned
in the blast of the horn.
“Ho, you young, traitorous villain!” roared the old scout, and he
leaped toward the ranger, but the latter whirled his horse’s head and
dashed away.
Then there was hurrying of many feet, the flitting of many dark
forms--followed by the blood-chilling war-whoop of two score and ten
Arapaho warriors, as they closed in upon our friends.
Where was Mahaska and his warriors, now? Ah! where indeed?