THE FIELD OF HONOR.
Deerfoot did not interrupt the Blackfoot while he was relating the
legend of the Spirit Circle. He listened attentively. He had heard many
such myths among his own people, and once they impressed him, but he
had come to look upon them as idle tales not worth a thought. Instead
of commenting upon the rude beauty of the story that had been told to
his friend many years before, he asked the practical question:
"What has the Spirit Circle to do with Deerfoot and Taggarak?"
"It is the law among the Blackfeet that when our war chief Taggarak
wills to punish some great criminal he sends him to the Spirit Circle,
where he must walk around it without food or drink till he drops down
and dies."
"Has anyone ever done that?" asked the Shawanoe.
"Yes; more than once. Not many moons ago a warrior killed his father,
mother and child in a fit of rage. The only punishment that fitted such
an awful crime was that of the Spirit Circle. Three warriors took the
man there and started him round the path; they took turns in watching,
and made sure that he had no food nor water, and was kept moving till
he could move no longer. He fell down, and they stood near until he
breathed his last; then they came back to Taggarak and told him what
had been done."
"My brother has not yet shown what his words have to do with Deerfoot
and Taggarak."
"Let my brother have patience and he shall know. Deerfoot remembers the
rock from whose top he first caught sight of Mul-tal-la, whose brother
was coming to this village, riding on Whirlwind?"
As he spoke the Blackfoot pointed to the east. Deerfoot nodded. The
meeting place was a half mile beyond the open space on which the
athletic contests had been held that day.
"It is the command of Taggarak that the Shawanoe shall meet him there
to-morrow, when the sun climbs the mountain tops. He must bring only
his hunting knife and come alone; the chief will do the same. When they
face each other, Taggarak will give the Shawanoe the choice of dying by
his hand or at the Spirit Circle."
"Did Taggarak say _that_ to my brother?"
"That is his command. He has heard that the Shawanoe is making squaws
of his warriors; he therefore gives him his choice of deaths."
Victor Shelton sprang to his feet.
"See here, Mul-tal-la," he said, excitedly; "do you tell us that the
chief Taggarak makes the condition that he and Deerfoot are each to use
only his knife as a weapon?"
The Blackfoot gravely nodded his head.
"And that neither is to have a friend with him?"
"So Taggarak wills."
"That isn't the way people fight duels. George and I must be on hand
when Deerfoot gets into a scrape like that."
"But it cannot be."
"My brothers will stay here till Deerfoot comes back to them," quietly
remarked the Shawanoe.
"But how are we to know that Taggarak won't play some trick on us? He
may have half a dozen of his warriors hiding among the bushes or rocks,
so as to help him kill Deerfoot."
For the first time in the interview Mul-tal-la smiled.
"Taggarak never breaks his word. He might do as my brothers say if he
thought there was need of it. He doesn't believe the Shawanoe will be
more than a child in his hands when the two stand in front of each
other."
"He might have thought that yesterday, or at any time before the games
to-day, but after he saw Deerfoot perform he must have some doubt."
"Deerfoot did not fight. Taggarak knows naught of his skill in doing
that, even though he has been told he killed a grizzly bear in a fair
struggle. He would feel ashamed if he asked for any help against the
Shawanoe."
Deerfoot calmly rose to his feet. Those who looked up at him noted a
peculiar flash of his dark eyes that was not often seen, and, when
seen, told of the hidden fires he was holding in subjection. He raised
his hand for silence.
"Let Deerfoot speak. He knows where the rock is that Taggarak says
shall be the meeting place between him and me. His command shall be
obeyed. Deerfoot will be there, with only his knife to defend himself.
He has said he does not fear the Blackfoot chieftain. Let my brothers
speak of something else."
The boys and even Mul-tal-la were so full of the theme that it was hard
for them to talk or think of anything beside. They would have
questioned the Shawanoe as to his plans and intentions, but he would
not permit. The hour was growing late, and the Blackfoot remained but a
short time, when he bade all good-night and passed out of the tepee.
Respecting the mood of Deerfoot, neither Victor nor George made any
further reference to the momentous morrow. They disrobed and stretched
out on their soft couches, while the Shawanoe, taking his Bible from
the bosom of his hunting shirt, reclined on one elbow--his favorite
attitude at such times--so that the light fell on the printed page. He
read in his low, musical voice until, suspecting the truth, he paused
and looked across at the brothers. Both were asleep. He smiled, read
awhile longer to himself and then joined them in the land of dreams,
sinking into slumber as quickly as they, and within the ten minutes
following his own prayer.
The morning dawned dull, chilly and clouded, with threats of snow in
the air. The Shawanoe was the first to awake, and busied himself in his
usual noiseless fashion with renewing the fire and preparing the
morning meal from the antelope meat, of which enough was on hand to
last for several meals. The salt and pepper brought by the boys from
home had been used up long before, and they had accustomed themselves
to get on without the condiments which seem so much of a necessity with
us.
The breakfast was eaten with the usual deliberation, none of the three
speaking of the event that was impending, though the brothers were full
of it. When Deerfoot arose, drew his knife from his girdle, carefully
inspected it and then shoved it back in place and glanced across the
room to where his rifle was leaning in one corner, Victor could keep
silence no longer.
"You know what faith we have in you, Deerfoot, but we are anxious, and
shall be in distress until we see you back again."
"Why are my brothers troubled?" calmly asked the Shawanoe.
"We can't help believing Taggarak will use treachery, for he must know
he isn't certain to win when he attacks you."
"Nothing can make him believe the truth till it comes to him. He will
take no warriors with him. Deerfoot is in no danger. Let my brothers
smile and be glad."
"I wish I could grin, but it's too hard work," was the doleful response
of Victor, the face of his brother showing that he felt the same.
Deerfoot warmly shook hands with each in turn, such being his usual
custom, stooped and drew the flap aside and passed from sight. Enough
of the Blackfeet were astir to notice him moving at a moderate pace
past the lodges toward the clearing at the rear of the village. He
greeted all in their own language, and did not show by anything in his
manner that he had any important matter in hand. He stealthily glanced
here and there, on the lookout for Taggarak, but saw nothing of him.
Perhaps the chief had already gone to the scene of the hostile meeting;
perhaps he had not yet set out, for the hour was early, or, what was
more likely, he had taken another route. Of one thing Deerfoot was
certain: the chief had told no one of what was coming, except
Mul-tal-la, who bore the message to the youth. When the two combatants
should meet, no human eye must witness the terrific combat.
The sagacious Shawanoe had decided to follow a certain line that may
impress you as singular for him to adopt. It seemed like undue
confidence when he declared that he had no fear of the man who was
certainly the most fearful fighter of the whole Blackfoot tribe. Modest
as he was by nature, Deerfoot was too intelligent not to understand his
decisive superiority, as compared with any of his own or of the white
race. That superiority had been proved too often to leave any doubt in
his mind. Moreover, with his youth and high health, he was aware that
these remarkable powers were not declining, but rather increasing, and
ought to increase for a dozen or more years to come.
The American Indian, as a rule, does not show excessive muscular
development. Arms and legs are wanting in those ridged bunches of sinew
which often bulge out all over our athletes. And yet more than one red
man has displayed prodigious strength. Deerfoot believed he was
stronger than Taggarak, despite his own light, graceful figure, which
made him a dusky Adonis.
He knew that possibly he was mistaken in this respect, but there could
be no doubt on another point: he was much quicker of movement than the
iron-limbed Taggarak. The open space would give full freedom to both,
and this quickness would not be hampered at all during the fight
between them. Moreover, Deerfoot was an unerring judge of distance, and
knew on the instant when to dodge and when to strike. Therefore he
feared not, but with that old Adamic strain in his nature, really
yearned for the battle.
It has long been the custom of Indians, when facing each other in
mortal strife, to resort to taunts and insults. If a foe can be driven
into anger, while his tormentor keeps cool, the latter has the victory
half won. Deerfoot could not stifle a feeling of resentment over the
contemptuous behavior of Taggarak toward him. Instead of contenting
himself with merely challenging the Shawanoe to mortal combat, he sent
him word that all that was left for him to do was to choose between two
methods of shuffling off the mortal coil. It was to be the Spirit
Circle or by the knife of the Blackfoot. This scornful treatment of the
youth angered him, and it was one of the reasons why he decided to
adopt a policy which in other circumstances he would have considered
beneath a true warrior.