IN THE ROCKIES.
There was wonderful virtue in the remedy used by the dwarf Indian. You
and I know that in many a mountaineer's cabin and barbarian's wigwam
are found curatives which surpass anything known to what we call
medical science. The proofs of this fact are too numerous to be
questioned.
As Deerfoot rode away with Whirlwind on a walk, he knew his hurt had
been greatly benefited. With his foot hanging, the flow of blood
downward tended to increase the pain, but there was not only less of it
than at any time since his mishap, but it was perceptibly decreasing.
The swelling was going down, for the stocking was becoming looser. He
timidly tapped the ribs of the stallion with his heel and was delighted
to find it caused less of a twinge than he expected.
At the first water he paused, but would not allow Whirlwind to kneel to
help him dismount. He let himself down rather gingerly and did not
suffer therefrom. At the side of the little stream he examined his
injury. The swelling was markedly less and he was able to press it
without wincing. He had brought away the surplus berries, but, instead
of using them, moistened the old binding and replaced it. It might be
that he would not be able to find more of the remedy, and it was
prudent to husband the supply. Observant as he was, he did not recall
ever having seen the shrub growing, and was certain it was not found in
Ohio or Kentucky.
One potent factor in the rapid recovery of the Shawanoe must not be
overlooked; that was his own superb health and condition. You need not
be reminded that when anything goes amiss with us physically, nature
sets to work at once to right it, and the most that medical skill can
do is to sit by and watch for contingencies and give assistance as
opportunity offers, which is less frequent than many think. A system
that has not been weakened by dissipation or the violation of the laws
of health will do wonders in the way of repairing disease or injury.
It was not yet noon when Deerfoot became so hopeful and curious that he
suddenly slipped from the back of his horse without checking his walk.
Whirlwind must have been startled, for he instantly stopped and turned
his head to learn what it meant.
"Don't worry," said his master with his familiar chuckle. "Deerfoot is
almost well and will soon be himself again."
He ventured to bear a part of his weight on the weak leg. It caused a
twinge, and he instantly shifted to the other foot, but with the
transference of weight the pain departed, which was one of the best of
signs.
The days of miracles passed long ago, and with all the virtues that may
linger in the Thomsonian system of medicine, no possibility existed of
the Shawanoe regaining the full use of his limb for several days to
come. None the less, his recovery was astonishingly rapid, for, as I
have said, his perfect vigor and healthfulness of body greatly aided in
such recovery. Added to this was the intelligence he used. While he
frequently tested and experimented with the injury, he did not venture
too far. Now and then he carefully shifted a part of his weight to his
left limb, then he hobbled a few steps, but stopped immediately at the
first warning twinge. It may be said he encouraged the ankle to do its
best to get well.
It was a little past meridian when he reached a place which showed a
considerable growth of grass, and letting himself down to the ground,
he told Whirlwind to attend to his own dinner. As for himself, he
preferred to wait until nightfall, or the next day. At present all his
attention was given to his hurt.
He decided, after inspecting the bandage, to replace it with a new one.
He therefore flung the old one aside and mashed the berries and applied
them as the dwarf had done. But the injured limb had so decreased in
size that the stocking failed to hold it in place. The motion of the
horse caused the bandage to slip over the foot. This was remedied by
taking some of the threads of fringe from the skirt of his hunting
shirt and tying them round the poultice. He expected the increased
pressure to hurt, but to his pleased surprise the opposite effect
resulted.
It had been in his mind to construct a crude crutch to aid in hobbling
around, but he decided not to do so. If his recovery continued without
relapse he could do well enough without such aid.
On the journey from the Ohio to the Pacific, as well as during their
intimacy in the new State, Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la had talked so much
about the home of the latter that the Shawanoe felt himself well
informed. A hundred years ago that tribe numbered several thousand, and
they lived in villages, some of which were long distances from one
another. The country over which they roamed covered thousands of square
miles of mountain, prairie and stream. Mul-tal-la described his own
village as consisting of more than a hundred lodges, located near the
middle of the Blackfoot territory. The tepees were strung along the
eastern bank of a stream of considerable size, and was the
dwelling-place of Taggarak, the most famous of the Blackfoot war chiefs
and the head of the other sachems, most of whom lived in different
villages. Deerfoot had formed so clear a picture in his own mind that
he believed he could identify the Indian town at first sight, though it
might be its resemblance to others would prevent such recognition.
The Blackfoot country lies to the east of the Rocky Mountains, while he
was on the west of the stupendous range. It was necessary, therefore,
to make his way through and over the backbone of the continent, in
order to rejoin his friends. Inasmuch as the land of the Assiniboines
was not only farther east, but many leagues to the northward, it will
be understood that the party that had tried to run off Whirlwind had
ventured on a most extensive raid, which brought them no reward except
that of having slain several of Chief Amokeat's Nez Perces.
A requirement for getting through the mountains was an avenue, since
the passage could be effected in no other way except by flying, and
Deerfoot was not yet ready to try that means.
Using all the woodcraft of which he was master, he spent the remainder
of the day in searching for such a pass. He scanned every part of his
field of vision, but the day was drawing to a close before anything
like success came to him. He had learned that the warriors to the east
and west of the Rockies made journeys now and then back and forth.
Sometimes these were raiding expeditions, at other times were merely
rambles or visits, when the red men proved themselves capable of
hospitality and friendship.
These people must be acquainted with the readiest means of travel, and
wherever they walked or rode they left inevitable signs to guide
others. The sun was still two hours above the horizon when Deerfoot
came upon a plainly marked trail, leading almost due east and west.
Without hesitation he turned into it. Instead of being a comparatively
narrow passage, however, like that traversed by Mul-tal-la and George
and Victor Shelton when they thought they were embroiled with the
Shoshones, it was two or three miles wide, and even wider in some
places. The ground was so depressed that it partook of the nature of a
valley, through the middle of which a considerable stream of water had
flowed, fed no doubt, as was the rule, by the melting snows and ice of
the mountains.
The surface of this pass varied greatly. There were portions where
boulders, rocks and ravines seemed to bar all progress, but these
obstructions, upon a closer approach, revealed passages which could be
easily traversed by horse or animal. Then came long stretches of fairly
level land, where grass, trees and shrubbery were abundant. The
mountains towered on the right and left, and now and then directly in
front, some of the peaks piercing the sky far above the snow line.
Deerfoot would not have dared to attempt this passage but for the
proofs that it had been traversed before by others. In fact, shortly
after he made the change of direction he came upon a spot where a large
party had encamped not long previous. It was too early in the day to
halt for the night, and he allowed the stallion to pass on.
An hour later, when casting about for a suitable camping site, he
descried an Indian party not far in advance, but a fourth of a mile to
the left. While they were using the same pass with himself, they were
traversing another portion and pursuing the same direction as he.
Not convinced that it was well to seek their company, the Shawanoe
brought his glass to bear and surveyed the motley group that were
straggling eastward. The sight was interesting even to him, for the
Indians were composed of warriors, squaws, children and pappooses,
evidently migrating to a new home. They had eight or ten scraggly
ponies, each walking between two poles that served as shafts and
extended so far to the rear that they dragged on the ground. Thus they
served as runners or crude sleds. Held in place by thongs and
crosspieces, the primitive wagon gave a resting place for tired squaws
and children, their lazy husbands, or the furs and luggage of the
party. The primitive contrivances left a peculiar trail.
The Indians numbered perhaps fifty or three score, and had nothing
attractive in their slouching, untidy appearance, which suggested so
many dusky tramps on their way to quarters that offered a better
opportunity for begging. Deerfoot had no wish to gain a closer
acquaintance and kept well to the south, so as to be sure of passing
without mingling with the company. As the ground was favorable he put
Whirlwind at a moderate gallop.
The dusky strangers showed their keenness of vision by observing the
stranger almost as soon as he descried them. He saw several of the
warriors who were on foot point toward him. They seemed to expect
Deerfoot to come forward, but, when he did not do so, showed no further
interest in him.
The wish to keep clear of the uninviting throng caused the youth to
ride on until the gathering gloom told him night was at hand. He then
saw he had come to another place that had served as a camp for those
who had traveled the way before him. There were the little stream of
icy water, the rank grass, the scattered undergrowth and the boulders
and rocks of every size and variety.
The air was so chilly that Deerfoot began gathering wood for a fire,
though he had nothing in the nature of food for an evening meal. I have
shown, however, that that was a matter of small account to him. There
was more than enough for Whirlwind, who, leaving his master to himself,
began edging up the pass, cropping the choicest grass on the way. The
Shawanoe had to grope in many places before he collected enough fuel.
He heaped a part against the cold bare face of the rock, several paces
from the winding brook, whose waters were not only clear, but of the
temperature of ice itself.
With his usual deftness, Deerfoot soon had the fire blazing. He had not
seen living man or animal since his sight of the migrating Indians, and
he did not think it likely he would meet any before morning. The past
day and night had been so stirring that the present rest was grateful.
He assumed an easy posture, half reclining on his blanket, and,
supporting the upper part of his body on one elbow, he drew out his
Bible and held it so that the firelight fell on the printed page.
He read for a full hour. Many of the passages were familiar to him, and
he could repeat them--as he often did when riding or walking
alone--without glancing within the volume. He read some of the chapters
a second and third time, dwelling on certain verses, as if to make sure
he lost nothing of their wonderful significance and beauty. Finally, he
closed the book and placed it back in its usual resting place.
The fire was sinking and he flung more wood on the blaze. Then moving
beyond the circle of light, he gathered his blanket about his
shoulders, and, finding his ankle free from pain, leaned back against
the face of the rock and gave himself over to meditation upon the
fascinating and yet awesome mysteries of the Word and of the Author of
them all.
Everything favored the sweet, solemn reverie. He was utterly alone, so
far as any of his kind was concerned. He could hear the soft impact of
Whirlwind's hoof now and then as he shifted his position and continued
nibbling the grass. The night wind sighed around the massive rock,
fanning the blaze, and sometimes rising to a moan as it careered upward
and swirled about the stupendous peaks towering near at hand. Far aloft
he caught the faint honk of the wild geese hurrying southward from the
Arctic winter that would soon lock the world in its rigid fetters. The
dismal howl of a mountain wolf sounded far off in the solitude and
seemed to linger tremblingly in the air. The silence was all the more
impressive because of these disturbances which belonged to the time and
place.
Leaning back against the rugged rock, in which a slight warmth was
perceptible from the contact farther away with the blaze, Deerfoot's
thoughts drifted to other places, scenes and persons. He recalled his
rambles with Ned Preston, Jo Springer, Jim Turner and the quaint negro
youth known as "Blossom," when all passed through many stirring
experiences, as you learned long since in the "Boy Pioneer Series;" and
of Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub in the "Log Cabin" stories. Fred
Linden and Terry Clark were to come later.
Deerfoot had known many men who later gained a place in history. You
will recall the high esteem in which he was held by General W. H.
Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory, and afterward President of the
United States. It was he who declared, when a Senator in Washington,
that he looked upon the young Shawanoe as the greatest Indian in many
respects that ever lived, with natural abilities superior to those of
the renowned Tecumseh, who, nevertheless, holds the most exalted
position in the estimate of those that came after him.
Daniel Boone, the renowned pioneer, regarded the youth highly, while
Simon Kenton, himself one of the best judges of men, was as unstinted
in his praise as Governor Harrison. The acceptance of Christianity by
this remarkable youth shut out forever the political fame and power
that he would have assuredly won had he refused the true faith and been
an Indian in his traits, tastes and ambitions. But the sweet,
soul-satisfying happiness that was always his he would not have
exchanged for the highest honors the world can give.
[Illustration: Deerfoot Lost in Reverie by the Camp Fire.]
The musings of Deerfoot took a daintier, softer, tenderer tint. His
thoughts flew across the thousands of miles of forest, river, mountain
and prairie to one whose image was never absent from his heart, and
whom he hoped to see again and all in good time call _wife_. He talked
to none of her, for the theme was too sacred to be shared with another,
but next to his religion it was the sweetest, dearest consolation of
his life.
"In the rainbow-tinted forest,
Where the sleepy waters flow,--
Roamed I with a dark-haired maiden,
In an autumn long ago;
And her dimpled hand was resting
Timidly within mine own,
And her voice to mine replying,
In a whispered undertone."