THE MANITOU MUST BE OBEYED.
The circus-rider was not yet done. He wished to show what his horse
could do in the way of tricks, and for half an hour he kept up the
performance. The white steed was a celebrated trick horse, and could
waltz in a manner truly surprising.
All who have been to the circus know the many tricks performed by a
horse. All of these Barry showed off before the Comanches, and the
Indians enjoyed it all very much.
At length he thought it was time to stop, and going over to where the
prisoners were still standing, he cut the bonds of the two whom he had
saved by his beating the Comanche selected to ride with him. The
medicine-man did not like this, and he stepped forward to put a stop to
it.
Before he could open his mouth, a voice, coming as all the Indians
thought from above them, cried out the words:
“Let Muchanaigo beware. He has dark thoughts in his brain. Let him not
attempt to carry them out. His hand will be useless if he attempts to
lift it above the head of one of the prisoners. He gave his word, let
him break it if he dares. It is the Great Manitou that speaks. He _must_
be obeyed.”
Instantly the Indian stopped still in his tracks.
There was no disobeying this order.
He said not a word, but turning, he sought his lodge, and did not make
his appearance during the rest of the day.
He had found his match in the pale-face.
But for the superstition of the Indians, Barry could never have played
this trick upon them.
The Indians lost no time in giving back to the prisoners every thing
that had been taken from them.
The little Frenchman danced for joy when he once more got his hands upon
his case and umbrella.
He examined the former carefully to see that none of the vials were
missing, but found to his great joy that it had only sustained a little
injury while in the hands of the Indians.
All the time Monsieur Tierney kept up a rattling volley of words which
were a mingled crowd of thanks for the aid of Barry, denunciations on
the heads of the Indians, and exclamations of delight when he found some
valuable specimen uninjured.
Indeed, the Indians had only got at the vials, and the fellow that had
got at these would never do so again.
The Indians grinned to see the curious little fellow marching up and
down with the umbrella fastened to his back and his case in his hand. He
had a revolver in his belt, about five inches long, which might make a
man sick _if discharged down his throat_.
The trapper had his revolvers, rifle, knife and every thing that
belonged to him. One of the Comanches tried to keep his tobacco-pouch,
but Ralph missed it, and Red Buffalo, fearing to bring down the
vengeance of the Manitou upon the village, made the warrior give it up,
much to his disgust, and to the great delight of the trapper, who
immediately went to business and took a “chaw.” Then the two mounted
their horses and rode off, carrying with them all of their possessions.
The trapper had a piece of paper in his hand which had been slyly given
him by Barry before they left the village.
The trapper did not intend to go far. He would not leave the son of his
old friend to his fate.
He intended hiding somewhere until dark, and then seeing what could be
done for Chauncy. Suddenly he remembered the paper he held in his hand.
He tried to read the few lines that were written on it, but being no
scholar and knowing only the capitals, he found it impossible.
_What_ should he do?
Maybe the naturalist could read it; at any rate it would do no harm to
ask him. No sooner thought of than acted upon. To the great delight of
the guide the Frenchman declared that he could read it, and took it from
the former’s hand.
It read as follows, being written in lead pencil:
“Ride to the bank of the river, about six miles from here, and hide
until dark. Then I will join you with the young fellow. I will give
the hoot of an owl and you answer with the cry of the loon.
Barry Le Clare.”
The Frenchman read this to the trapper, and then the latter could not
help expressing his joy.
“Snakes an’ catamounts,” ejaculated he, “thet’s good az far az it goes.
That feller’s sharp an’ he’ll get Cha’ncy away if anybody could. Didn’t
his hoss knock spots out o’ the gray ’un?”
“Oui, monsieur, he be very fine man. He make good hunter. He von
magnificent rider, von elegant jumper, von splendid racer, von superb
ventriloquist, von excellent—” exclaimed the naturalist.
“That’ll do, mounsheer. We’ll make tracks for the river now. It’s past
noon, and I want ter git ter the river so that we can hev some dinner.
What d’ye say ter that?” said the trapper, breaking in upon the
Frenchmen, who, after the manner of his nation, was getting excited and
was about to launch forth into a vivid and startling string of praise.
“Begar, I do feel hungry, monsieur. I could eat von dozen frog-legs now,
vid relish. Oh, dey are superb,” cried the naturalist.
“Bah, ye think o’ nothin’ but frogs. I wish I had a dozen ter give ye.
For my part I want a good hunk o’ buffler or venison.”
“Le ’Mericans have no taste. Dey know not vat is good. Mon Dieu! in la
belle France de frog is de best esteemed meat. Here de boys throw stones
at them, an’, sacré, kill them just for fun. Diable! vat I come out here
for?” exclaimed the little man.
“Ter find somethin’ az would make yer fortune. So ye’ve told me many a
time,” said the guide.
“Just so. You are right, monsieur. Ven I find dat, den I be happy. Every
von vill talk about Monsieur Tierney, de great naturalist. Oh, den I
vill have my reward for all dis trouble and expense. But vat have we got
to eat?”
“Nothin’ az I knows on. The pesky reds didn’t offer to give us a bite,
but then we’ve got our firearms an’ an ol’ hunter like me, what’s got
his shootin’-iron, desarves to starve if he can’t knock over somethin’
on the plains. If we war on the desert now it would be a different
matter. We’ll git somethin’ when we reach the river.”
The two owned very good horses. The guide owned his while the
Frenchman’s had been borrowed from a friend in Austin.
The Comanches had come upon them the night before, and had captured
them, though not without a vigorous resistance on the part of both of
them. The hunter had killed three of the reds before he was captured,
and the Frenchman managed to give his enemies several sound cracks with
his huge strong umbrella before he was pulled down. He entirely forgot
the revolver that he had thrust in his belt to make himself look fierce.
The little man was a curious body, but he had pluck, as the reader will
see before this story comes to a close.
The river was at length reached and the two camped.
While the naturalist was building a fire out of some light dry wood, the
guide went off to see if he could shoot something.
The river was pretty wide at this point, but it was shallow, and both
sides were covered with trees and bushes.
The guide was not long in sighting a deer, and soon the crack of his
revolver sounded its death-knell.
The two men were soon busy cooking venison-steaks over the fire. They
ate their dinner and then cooked the remainder of the deer over the
fire. The guide knew that if Chauncy was rescued the whites would have
to make tracks pretty lively, for the Indians would be terribly mad.
They intended to torture the young man in every conceivable manner for
he had got the young Donna away from them. They did not know about the
panther, and thought that had it not been for the young man the Donna
would never have got away the second time.
Darkness at length came upon the scene. At length the moon arose and
lighted up the earth with her beautiful light.
Several hours passed away and then the tramping of horses came from the
plain. Then the loud, mournful hoot of the owl echoed through the trees.
“It is them,” cried the guide, and immediately the cry of the loon
startled the Frenchman. It was the guide returning the signal.