A RAID INTO THE CROW VILLAGE.
Three days had passed since the “Crow-Killer” had arrived at the Indian
village. On the afternoon of the second he was joined by Dave, who had
ridden night as well as day from Fort Benton.
The two scouts had taken up a position in a thicket, on one of the
hills overlooking the Crow village, and distant from it about a half a
mile. From their post they could see all that passed in the Indian town.
From the strict watch kept around one of the lodges apart from the
rest in the northern section of the village, and from the fact that
the “White Vulture” seemed to be the only chief that visited it, the
“Crow-Killer” came to the conclusion that Leona was there confined.
The Indians had celebrated their capture of the fur-wagons in their
usual manner, and it was evident that with the furs they had also
captured some “fire-water,” for half the braves were crazy drunk, and
several murderous affrays already had taken place between the drunken
savages. It had required all the efforts of the “White Vulture” and the
older chiefs to prevent a general fight taking place.
“Well, Abe,” said Dave, as the evening of the third day drew on, “have
you devised any plan yet, so that we can penetrate into the village and
at least make an attempt to rescue my poor Leona?”
“Go easy, Dave,” said the “Crow-Killer,” in his usual calm way; “I
ain’t a-goin’ only to attempt to rescue the little gal, but I’m a-goin’
to do it--that is if Heaven is willin’, an’ I don’t know why it
shouldn’t be, when the object is so good. If you’ve noticed, the ‘White
Vulture,’ jist ’bout dusk, generally walks along past the lodge--where
I think the little gal is--an’ goes into the woods beyond it. I s’pose
he likes to get away from the rest of the drunken crowd. Now, my idea
is, we’ll leave this ambush, steal down an’ hide in the thicket jist
beyond the lone lodge; when the ‘White Vulture’ comes into the thicket,
we’ll jump upon, gag and bind him, taking care not to let him cry
out; then we’ll strip him of his toggery, an’ you put it on. You look
so much like him, now that he’s got the war-paint off, that with a
little red daubed on your face--an’ we’ll be apt to find that in his
pouch--none of the red devils will detect you. Then I’ll put on his
blanket, which will hide me, fix my face up a leetle, and we’ll walk
bold as can be, right into the camp. You shall walk right into the hut;
I’ll foller you; the braves at the door will take you for the ‘White
Vulture’ an’ they won’t say nary word. When he goes within the lodge,
I notice the guards always go away, and so we’ll have the coast clear.
We’ll not wait, but take the gal and break for our horses. The Crows
won’t be apt to discover that thar’s any thing wrong, for an hour or
two, an’ by that time we’ll be in the saddle, goin’ down the Missouri
like lightning, how’s that?”
“Excellent!” cried Dave. “It can not fail!”
“Don’t be too sure. I’ve seen the best laid plans fail; thar’s a good
deal in luck, arter all,” said the “Crow-Killer,” sagely.
Cautiously the two left their ambush, and by a circuitous route, gained
the timber on the north of the village.
A little path from the open glade, wherein the huts were located,
into the thicket, went some thirty or forty feet and there stopped,
as though the person or persons that made it had been in the habit of
going so far and no further.
“You see,” said the “Crow-Killer,” pointing to the little path, “hyar’s
where he comes. All these big chiefs go away from the rest at times;
the other Injuns think that they go into the woods to talk with the
Great Spirit, but, that’s all humbug. Now, we’ll put ourselves jist
inside the thicket, an’ when he comes, we’ll jump for him. Now for a
gag.” Then the old hunter took a small piece of wood, tore a piece of
flannel from his shirt, and wound it round the wood, thus forming a
ball; then, with his knife he cut a long strip from the tail of his
hunting-shirt. “That will do to bind it in his mouth. Now for our
ambush.”
Then the two men hid themselves carefully in the thicket--one on each
side of the little path.
Just as the shades of night were descending over the Indian village,
the two guides in ambush heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
A second more and the tall form of the “White Vulture” entered the
little thicket.
Three steps he made within the wood; then, with the lightning dash of
the panther, the “Crow-Killer” sprung upon and bore him over backward
upon the earth, his broad hand clutching him by the throat and checking
his utterance; but the “White Vulture,” though taken by surprise and
unarmed, showed no disposition to cry for help. A moment he struggled
with his foe, but the iron weight of the “Crow-Killer” was upon him,
and then, after this brief effort, as if satisfied that resistance was
useless, he lay motionless and silent, while the two guides stripped
off his hunting-shirt--which was curiously trimmed with the fur of the
grizzly bear--and his leggins from him; the gag had been placed in
his mouth and firmly secured there; then they bound his arms and legs
together tightly with their belts.
The warrior bore the treatment without resistance.
The “Crow-Killer” wrapped himself in the blanket of the chief. Dave
put on the hunting-shirt and leggins. In the Indian’s pouch, as the
guide had anticipated, they found red paint, with which they stained
their faces, each acting as artist to decorate the other.
Casting a final glance at the prostrate warrior, the two whites left
the little thicket and stalked toward the village. Dave had placed
the head-dress of the “White Vulture” upon his head, when he became a
perfect likeness of the Crow chief.
On went Dave with a slow and stately step, followed by the
“Crow-Killer.” They reached the little isolated lodge. The braves,
mistaking Dave for the “White Vulture,” took but little notice of
him, and left their post as soon as he entered the little lodge. The
“Crow-Killer” quickly followed, as if by order of the chief.
By the dim light of the fire that blazed fitfully in a corner of the
lodge, Dave discerned a female figure reclining on a low couch of
bear-skins; the face was hidden by the hands, but the red-gold locks,
that hung down over her shoulders, told who the female was.
She raised her head, hearing his approach; and beholding, as she
thought, the hated painted face of the “White Vulture,” she shrunk from
him.
“Leona, do not scream!” said Dave, in a voice tremulous with emotion.
She did not scream, but murmured, “Saved--saved!”
“Yes, if human aid can save you,” said Dave, earnestly, pressing her to
his breast.
“Come,” commanded the “Crow-Killer”; “no time to lose.”
No time indeed! for an Indian whoop rung out on the still air. Dave
started, and Leona clung tighter to the breast of her lover.
Then there was a rush of footsteps by the lodge.
“Shall we venture?” said Dave.
“We mought as well,” replied Abe.
Then again came another prolonged whoop, this time answered by a dozen
others, seemingly in rage.
“By ginger!” and the “Crow-Killer” started in astonishment, “the ‘White
Vulture’!”
“Impossible!” cried Dave; “he could not have got the gag out of his
mouth. Let us make the attempt to escape at once.”
“All right,” replied Abe; “come on.” As he lifted the skin, another
series of war-whoops, coming from the north, from the direction of the
little thicket where they had left the “White Vulture,” caused him to
pause.
“What is the matter?” asked Dave, in alarm.
“Matter enough!” said the “Crow-Killer,” earnestly. “The path between
us an’ the thicket is filled with the red-skins.”
“Do you think they have discovered the ‘White Vulture’?” cried Dave.
“I don’t know,” replied Abe, despondingly, “but I’m afeard they have.”
“Oh, Dave!” cried Leona, clinging to her lover, “will they separate us?
Oh, I would rather die than lose you!”
“Hope for the best, Leona,” said Dave, softly, yet in a voice tremulous
with emotion.
“Do you think we can escape?” she asked, looking up into the guide’s
face with those large blue eyes, so beautiful, so full of love and
trust.
“I don’t know,” said Dave, sadly, “Heaven alone knows. We’ll do the
best we can; but, if the red-skins have discovered us, I’m afraid that
nothing on earth can save us.”
The “Crow-Killer” had been listening anxiously at the door of the
lodge. The war-whoops had ceased, and a dead silence reigned in the
Indian camp.
“Well, Abe?” questioned Dave.
“I don’t hear any thing more,” said Abe. “After all, maybe it was only
some of the Injuns in one of their drunken sprees; but what they were
doing up hyar, beyond the lodge, puzzles me. At present they’re right
between us an’ the wood; so we can’t stir without running into their
clutches.”
Just then another chorus of yells rung out on the air; the Indians were
apparently approaching the lodge, as the yells were getting nearer and
nearer every moment.
“Dave!” cried the “Crow-Killer,” “I’m afeard we’re gone up; the Injuns
are coming nearer every moment.”
“Can we not fight our way through them?” cried the young guide, in
desperation.
“Nary chance for that,” and the “Crow-Killer” shook his head sagely.
“If we are discovered, better not make any resistance; we shall only
enrage ’em without doing us any good. If we fight ’em, we’re sure
to be overpowered, ’cos they’re a hundred to one; they’ll only kill
us outright; while, if we submit, they’ll shut us up as prisoners,
till they get ready to torture us, and we then stand some chance of
escaping. Just think, Dave, you an’ I dead, what will become of the
little gal?”
Then came on the night-air the sound of hurried footsteps, approaching
closer and closer.
“They’re coming!” cried the “Crow-Killer.” “I’m afeard, Dave, that it’s
all up with us; the devils seem to be heading right for the lodge.”
“Can we not cut a hole and escape through the back of the lodge?” said
Dave, eagerly.
“That’s jist what I were a thinking ’bout; but the cussed red-skins
seem to be all around us. I guess we mought as well keep quiet awhile,
’cos they may not be after us, arter all--thar’s no tellin’. Maybe it’s
only some of the drunken Injuns.”
But, as if to give the lie to the hunter’s words, the Indian war-whoop
rung around the lodge, showing it to be completely surrounded by the
Crow warriors; then came the sound of many footsteps approaching the
door of the wigwam. The “Crow-Killer” stepped back a few paces, folded
his arms and waited for the entrance of the foe.
Dave was in despair; he had dared every thing to save the girl he
loved, and now, at the very moment of success, after penetrating to
the Indian village--after gaining access to the prison of the captive
girl--to be baffled by the red-skins was terrible. Oh, how he wished
for a giant’s strength to crush the yelling red demons that surrounded
him! But, no avenue of escape was open; resistance was useless; fate
was against and had crushed him.
A few minutes the scouts waited in breathless suspense; they could hear
the footsteps of the Indians as they moved around the lodge, but as yet
they had not attempted to enter.
“The red sarpints are mighty afeard, I should think, if they have
discovered us, not to come an’ go for us,” said Abe, listening to the
sounds without.
“Pray Heaven!” exclaimed Dave, “that they do not suspect that we are
here.”
“Wal, if they don’t know that we are hyar, I would like to know what in
thunder they’re cavorting round hyar for.”
Another torrent of yells broke forth upon the air.
Leona clung tighter to her lover’s breast.
“Oh, they will kill you,” cried the poor girl, more eager for her
lover’s safety than for her own.
“We must all die some time, Leona,” said Dave, sadly, imprinting a
farewell kiss upon her lips, now colorless with dread.
Again the yells echoed around the lodge and footsteps approached the
door.
“They’re comin’, sart’in,” said the “Crow-Killer,” coolly.
Then the skin that served as a door was torn away, and the tall form of
the “White Vulture” stalked into the lodge, followed by the Crow braves.
As the hunter had thought, the “White Vulture” had contrived to slip
the gag from his mouth, and it was his war-whoop summoning the Crows to
his assistance that had first startled the guides.
The “White Vulture” surveyed the scene before him for a few moments in
silence.
The guides, on their part, spoke not. The “Crow-Killer” stood, with
folded arms, and looked upon his foes, while Dave supported the slight
form of Leona.
“The ‘Crow-Killer’ is a great warrior, to dare to come into the lodges
of his foes,” said the “White Vulture.” “The Great Spirit has given him
into the hands of the Crow nation, and he shall die like a chief.”
Then, at a motion from the “White Vulture,” the Indians proceeded
to bind Dave and the “Crow-Killer,” who submitted without
resistance--which would, indeed, have been hopeless. Leona, almost
fainting, was taken from Dave’s side, and then the two whites were
removed to another lodge, near the center of the village, and placed
under a strong guard.