At the edge of a small plain, or bit of prairie land, that shone like a
jewel in a setting of bush-clad hills, dwelt the tribe of natives who
owned Unaco as their chief.
It was a lovely spot, in one of the most secluded portions of the
Sawback range, far removed at that time from the evil presence of the
gold-diggers, though now and then an adventurous "prospector" would make
his way to these remote solitudes in quest of the precious metal. Up to
that time those prospectors had met with nothing to reward them for
their pains, save the gratification to be derived from fresh mountain
air and beautiful scenery.
It required three days of steady travelling to enable the chief and his
party to reach the wigwams of the tribe. The sun was just setting, on
the evening of the third day, when they passed out of a narrow defile
and came in sight of the Indian village.
"It seems to me, Paul," remarked Fred Westly, as they halted to take a
brief survey of the scene, "that these Indians have found an admirable
spot on which to lead a peaceful life, for the region is too high and
difficult of access to tempt many gold-hunters, and the approaches to it
could be easily defended by a handful of resolute men."
"That is true," replied Bevan, as they continued on their way.
"Nevertheless, it would not be very difficult for a few resolute men to
surprise and capture the place."
"Perchance Stalker and his villains may attempt to prove the truth of
what you say," suggested Fred.
"They will certainly attempt it" returned Paul, "but they are not what I
call resolute men. Scoundrels are seldom blessed wi' much resolution,
an' they're never heartily united."
"What makes you feel so sure that they will follow us up, Paul?"
"The fact that my enemy has followed me like a bloodhound for six
years," answered Bevan, with a frown.
"Is it touching too much on private matters to ask why he is your enemy,
and why so vindictive?"
"The reason Is simple enough. Buxley hates me, and would kill me if he
could. Indeed I'm half afraid that he will manage it at last, for I've
promised my little gal that I won't kill _him_ 'cept in self-defence,
an' of course if I don't kill him he's pretty sure to kill me."
"Does Betty know why this man persecutes you so?"
"No--she don't."
As it was evident, both from his replies and manner, that Bevan did not
mean to be communicative on the subject, Fred forbore to ask more
questions about it.
"So you think Unaco may be depended on?" he asked, by way of changing
the subject.
"Ay, surely. You may depend on it that the Almighty made all men pretty
much alike as regards their feelin's. The civilised people an' the
Redskins ain't so different as some folk seem to think. They can both
of 'em love an' hate pretty stiffly, an' they are both able to feel an'
show gratitude as well as the reverse--also, they're pretty equal in the
matter of revenge."
"But don't we find," said Fred, "that among Christians revenge is pretty
much held in check?"
"Among Christians--ay," replied Bevan; "but white men ain't always
Christians, any more than red men are always devils. Seems to me it's
six o' one an' half a dozen o' the other. Moreover, when the
missionaries git among the Redskins, some of 'em turns Christians an'
some hypocrites--just the same as white men. What Unaco is, in the
matter o' Christianity, is not for me to say, for I don't know; but from
what I do know, from hearsay, of his character, I'm sartin sure that
he's a good man and true, an' for that little bit of sarvice I did to
his poor boy, he'd give me his life if need be."
"Nevertheless, I can't help thinking that we might have returned to
Simpson's Gully, and taken the risk of meeting with Stalker," said Fred.
"Ha! that's because you don't know him," returned Bevan. "If he had met
with his blackguards soon after leaving us, he'd have overtook us by
this time. Anyway, he's sure to send scouts all round, and follow up
the trail as soon as he can."
"But think what a trial this rough journey has been to poor Tom
Brixton," said Fred.
"No doubt," returned Paul; "but haven't we got him on Tolly's pony
to-day? and isn't that a sign he's better? An' would you have me risk
Betty fallin' Into the hands o' Buxley?"
Paul looked at his companion as if this were an unanswerable argument
and Fred admitted that it was.
"Besides," he went on, "it will be a pleasant little visit this, to a
friendly tribe o' Injins, an' we may chance to fall in wi' gold, who
knows? An' when the ugly thieves do succeed in findin' us, we shall
have the help o' the Redskins, who are not bad fighters when their cause
is a good 'un an' their wigwams are in danger."
"It may be so, Paul. However, right or wrong, here we are, and a most
charming spot it is, the nearer we draw towards it."
As Fred spoke, Betty Bevan, who rode in advance, reined in her horse,--
which, by the way, had become much more docile in her hands,--and waited
till her father overtook her.
"Is it not like paradise, father?"
"Not havin' been to paradise, dear, I can't exactly say," returned her
matter-of-fact sire.
"Oh, I say, ain't it splendatious!" said Tolly Trevor, coming up at the
moment, and expressing Betty's idea in somewhat different phraseology;
"just look at the lake--like a lookin'-glass, with every wigwam pictur'd
upside down, so clear that a feller can't well say which is which. An'
the canoes in the same way, bottom to bottom, Redskins above and
Redskins below. Hallo! I say, what's that?"
The excited lad pointed, as he spoke, to the bushes, where a violent
motion and crashing sound told of some animal disturbed in its lair.
Next moment a beautiful little antelope bounded into an open space, and
stopped to cast a bewildered gaze for one moment on the intruders. That
pause proved fatal. A concealed hunter seized his opportunity; a sharp
crack was heard, and the animal fell dead where it stood, shot through
the head.
"Poor, poor creature!" exclaimed the tender-hearted Betty.
"Not a bad supper for somebody," remarked her practical father.
As he spoke the bushes parted at the other side of the open space, and
the man who had fired the shot appeared.
He was a tall and spare, but evidently powerful fellow. As he advanced
towards our travellers they could see that he was not a son of the soil,
but a white man--at least as regards blood, though his face, hands,
neck, and bared bosom had been tanned by exposure to as red a brown as
that of any Indian.
"He's a trapper," exclaimed Tolly, as the man drew nearer, enabling them
to perceive that he was middle-aged and of rather slow and deliberate
temperament with a sedate expression on his rugged countenance.
"Ay, he looks like one o' these wanderin' chaps," said Bevan, "that seem
to be fond of a life o' solitude in the wilderness. I've knowed a few
of 'em. Queer customers some, that stick at nothin' when their blood's
up; though I have met wi' one or two that desarved an easier life, an'
more o' this world's goods. But most of 'em prefer to hunt for their
daily victuals, an' on'y come down to the settlements when they run out
o' powder an' lead, or want to sell their furs. Hallo! Why, Tolly,
boy, it is--yes! I do believe it's Mahoghany Drake himself!"
Tolly did not reply, for he had run eagerly forward to meet the trapper,
having already recognised him.
"His name is a strange one," remarked Fred Westly, gazing steadily at
the man as he approached.
"Drake is his right name," explained Bevan, "an' Mahoghany is a handle
some fellers gave him 'cause he's so much tanned wi' the sun. He's one
o' the right sort, let me tell ye. None o' your boastin', bustin'
critters, like Gashford, but a quiet, thinkin' man, as is ready to
tackle any subject a'most in the univarse, but can let his tongue lie
till it's time to speak. He can hold his own, too wi' man or beast.
Ain't he friendly wi' little Tolly Trevor? He'll shake his arm out o'
the socket if he don't take care. I'll have to go to the rescue."
In a few seconds Paul Bevan was having his own arm almost dislocated by
the friendly shake of the trapper's hand, for, although fond of
solitude, Mahoghany Drake was also fond of human beings, and especially
of old friends.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen," he said, in a low, soft voice, when
introduced by Paul to the travellers. At the same time he gave a
friendly little nod to Unaco, thus indicating that with the Indian chief
he was already acquainted.
"Well, Drake," said Bevan, after the first greetings were over, "all
right at the camp down there?"
"All well," he replied, "and the Leaping Buck quite recovered."
He cast a quiet glance at the Indian chief as he spoke, for the Leaping
Buck was Unaco's little son, who had been ailing when his father left
his village a few weeks before.
"No sign o' gold-seekers yet?" asked Paul.
"None--'cept one lot that ranged about the hills for a few days, but
they seemed to know nothin'. Sartinly they found nothin', an' went away
disgusted."
The trapper indulged in a quiet chuckle as he said this.
"What are ye larfin' at?" asked Paul.
"At the gold-seekers," replied Drake.
"What was the matter wi' 'em," asked Tolly.
"Not much, lad, only they was blind, and also ill of a strong appetite."
"Ye was always fond o' speakin' in riddles," said Paul. "What d'ye
mean, Mahoghany!"
"I mean that though there ain't much gold in these hills, maybe, what
little there is the seekers couldn't see, though they was walkin' over
it, an' they was so blind they couldn't hit what they fired at, so their
appetites was stronger than was comfortable. I do believe they'd have
starved if I hadn't killed a buck for them."
During this conversation Paddy Flinders had been listening attentively
and in silence. He now sidled up to Tom Brixton, who, although
bestriding Tolly's pony, seemed ill able to travel.
"D'ye hear what the trapper says, Muster Brixton?"
"Yes, Paddy, what then?"
"Och! I only thought to cheer you up a bit by p'intin' out that he says
there's goold hereabouts."
"I'm glad for your sake and Fred's," returned Tom, with a faint smile,
"but it matters little to me; I feel that my days are numbered."
"Ah then, sor, don't spake like that," returned Flinders, with a
woebegone expression on his countenance. "Sure, it's in the dumps ye
are, an' no occasion for that same. Isn't Miss--"
The Irishman paused. He had it in his heart to say, "Isn't Miss Betty
smilin' on ye like one o'clock?" but, never yet having ventured even a
hint on that subject to Tom, an innate feeling of delicacy restrained
him. As the chief who led the party gave the signal to move on at that
moment it was unnecessary for him to finish the sentence.
The Indian village, which was merely a cluster of tents made of
deerskins stretched on poles, was now plainly visible from the
commanding ridge along which the party travelled. It occupied a piece
of green level land on the margin of the lake before referred to, and,
with its background of crag and woodland and its distance of jagged
purple hills, formed as lovely a prospect as the eye of man could dwell
upon.
The distance of the party from it rendered every sound that floated
towards them soft and musical. Even the barking of the dogs and the
shouting of the little Redskins at play came up to them in a mellow,
almost peaceful, tone. To the right of the village lay a swamp, from
out of which arose the sweet and plaintive cries of innumerable gulls,
plovers, and other wild-fowl, mingled with the trumpeting of geese and
the quacking of ducks, many of which were flying to and fro over the
glassy lake, while others were indulging in aquatic gambols among the
reeds and sedges.
After they had descended the hill-side by a zigzag path, and reached the
plain below, they obtained a nearer view of the eminently joyful scene,
the sound of the wild-fowl became more shrill, and the laughter of the
children more boisterous. A number of the latter who had observed the
approaching party were seen hurrying towards them with eager haste, led
by a little lad, who bounded and leaped as if wild with excitement.
This was Unaco's little son, Leaping Buck, who had recognised the
well-known figure of his sire a long way off, and ran to meet him.
On reaching him the boy sprang like an antelope into his father's arms
and seized him round the neck, while others crowded round the gaunt
trapper and grasped his hands and legs affectionately. A few of the
older boys and girls stood still somewhat shyly, and gazed in silence at
the strangers, especially at Betty, whom they evidently regarded as a
superior order of being--perhaps an angel--in which opinion they were
undoubtedly backed by Tom Buxton.
After embracing his father, Leaping Buck recognised Paul Bevan as the
man who had been so kind to him and his brother Oswego at the time when
the latter got his death-fall over the precipice. With a shout of
joyful surprise he ran to him, and, we need scarcely add, was warmly
received by the kindly backwoodsman.
"I cannot help thinking," remarked Betty to Tom, as they gazed on the
pleasant meeting, "that God must have some way of revealing the Spirit
of Jesus to these Indians that we Christians know not of."
"It is strange," replied Tom, "that the same thought has occurred to me
more than once of late, when observing the character and listening to
the sentiments of Unaco. And I have also been puzzled with this
thought--if God has some method of revealing Christ to the heathen that
we know not of, why are Christians so anxious to send the Gospel to the
heathen?"
"That thought has never occurred to me," replied Betty, "because our
reason for going forth to preach the Gospel to the heathen is the simple
one that God commands us to do so. Yet it seems to me quite consistent
with that command that God may have other ways and methods of making His
truth known to men, but this being a mere speculation does not free us
from our simple duty."
"You are right. Perhaps I am too fond of reasoning and speculating,"
answered Tom.
"Nay, that you are not" rejoined the girl, quickly; "it seems to me that
to reason and speculate is an important part of the duty of man, and
cannot but be right, so long as it does not lead to disobedience. `Let
every man be fully persuaded in his own mind,' is our title from God to
_think_ fully and freely; but `Go ye into all the world and preach the
Gospel to every creature,' is a command so plain and peremptory that it
does not admit of speculative objection."
"Why, Betty, I had no idea you were such a reasoner!" said Tom, with a
look of surprise. "Surely it is not your father who has taught you to
think thus?"
"I have had no teacher, at least of late years, but the Bible," replied
the girl, blushing deeply at having been led to speak so freely on a
subject about which she was usually reticent. "But see," she added
hastily, giving a shake to the reins of her horse, "we have been left
behind. The chief has already reached his village. Let us push on."
The obstinate horse went off at an accommodating amble under the sweet
sway of gentleness, while the obedient pony followed at a brisk trot
which nearly shook all the little strength that Tom Brixton possessed
out of his wasted frame.
The manner in which Unaco was received by the people of his tribe, young
and old, showed clearly that he was well beloved by them; and the
hospitality with which the visitors were welcomed was intensified when
it was made known that Paul Bevan was the man who had shown kindness to
their chief's son Oswego in his last hours. Indeed, the influence which
an Indian chief can have on the manners and habits of his people was
well exemplified by this small and isolated tribe, for there was among
them a pervading tone of contentment and goodwill, which was one of
Unaco's most obvious characteristics. Truthfulness, also, and justice
were more or less manifested by them. Even the children seemed to be
free from disputation; for, although there were of course differences of
opinion during games, these differences were usually settled without
quarrelling, and the noise, of which there was abundance, was the result
of gleeful shouts or merry laughter. They seemed, in short, to be a
happy community, the various members of which had leaned--to a large
extent from their chief--"how good a thing it is for brethren to dwell
together in unity."
A tent was provided for Bevan, Flinders, and Tolly Trevor near to the
wigwam of Unaco, with a separate little one for the special use of the
Rose of Oregon. Not far from these another tent was erected for Fred
and his invalid friend Tom Brixton. As for Mahoghany Drake, that lanky,
lantern-jawed individual encamped under a neighbouring pine-tree in
quiet contempt of any more luxurious covering.
But, although the solitary wanderer of the western wilderness thus
elected to encamp by himself, he was by no means permitted to enjoy
privacy, for during the whole evening and greater part of that night his
campfire was surrounded by an admiring crowd of boys, and not a few
girls, who listened in open-eyed-and-mouthed attention to his thrilling
tales of adventure, giving vent now and then to a "waugh!" or a "ho!" of
surprise at some telling point in the narrative, or letting fly sudden
volleys of laughter at some humorous incident, to the amazement, no
doubt of the neighbouring bucks and bears and wild-fowl.
"Tom," said Fred that night, as he sat by the couch of his friend, "we
shall have to stay here some weeks, I suspect until you get strong
enough to travel, and, to say truth, the prospect is a pleasant as well
as an unexpected one, for we have fallen amongst amiable natives."
"True, Fred. Nevertheless I shall leave the moment my strength
permits--that is, if health be restored to me--and I shall go off by
myself."
"Why, Tom, what do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say. Dear Fred," answered the sick man, feebly
grasping his friend's hand, "I feel that it is my duty to get away from
all who have ever known me, and begin a new career of honesty, God
permitting. I will not remain with the character of a thief stamped
upon me, to be a drag round your neck, and I have made up my mind no
longer to persecute dear Betty Bevan with the offer of a dishonest and
dishonoured hand. In my insolent folly I had once thought her somewhat
below me in station. I now know that she is far, far above me in every
way, and also beyond me."
"Tom, my dear boy," returned Fred, earnestly, "you are getting weak. It
is evident that they have delayed supper too long. Try to sleep now,
and I'll go and see why Tolly has not brought it."
So saying, Fred Westly left the tent and went off in quest of his little
friend.