AN OLD FRIEND.
Tranquil was too old and too crafty a wood ranger to let himself be
surprised. With his eyes obstinately fixed on the spot whence the sound
that had aroused him came, he tried to pierce the darkness, and
distinguish any movement in the chaparral which would permit him to
form probable conjectures as to the visitors who were arriving.
For a long period the noise he had heard was not repeated, and the
desert had fallen back into silence. But the Canadian did not deceive
himself. Up to all Indian tricks, and knowing the unbounded patience of
the Redskins, he continued to keep on his guard; still, as he suspected
that in the darkness searching glances were fixed on him and spying his
slightest movements, Tranquil yawned twice or thrice, as if overcome by
sleep, drew back the hand he had laid on his rifle barrel, and
pretending to be unable to resist sleep any longer, he let his head sink
on his chest with a natural movement.
Nothing stirred. An hour elapsed ere the slightest rumour disturbed the
silence of the forest. Still, Tranquil felt confident that he had not
deceived himself. The sky grew gradually brighter, the last star had
disappeared, the horizon was assuming those fiery red tints which
immediately precede the appearance of the sun: the Canadian, weary of
this long watching, and not knowing to what he should attribute this
inaction on the part of the Redskins, resolved at last to obtain the
solution of the enigma. He therefore started suddenly to his feet and
took up his rifle.
At the moment he prepared to go on the discovery, a noise of footsteps
near him, mingled with the rustling of leaves, and the breaking of dry
branches, smote his ear.
"Ah, ah!" the Canadian muttered, "It seems they have made up their mind
at last; let us see who these troublesome neighbours are."
At the same instant, a clear feminine voice rose harmoniously and
sonorously in the silence. Tranquil stopped with a start of surprise.
This voice was singing an Indian melody, of which this was the first
verse--
"I confide my heart to thee in the name of the Omnipotent.
I am unhappy, and no one takes pity on me;
Still God is great in my eyes."
"Oh!" the hunter muttered, with a nervous quivering, "I know that song,
it is that of the betrothed of the Snake-Pawnees. How is it that these
words strike my ear so far from their hunting grounds? Can a detachment
of Pawnees be wandering in the neighbourhood? Oh, no! That is
impossible. I will see who this singer is who has awaked with the sun."
Without further hesitation, the hunter walked hurriedly toward the
thicket, from the centre of which the melody had been audible. But at
the moment he was about to enter it, the shrubs were quickly parted, and
two Redskins entered the clearing, to the amazement of the Canadian.
On coming within ten paces of the hunter the Indians stopped, and
stretched their arms out in front of them, with fingers parted in sign
of peace; then, crossing their arms on their chest, they waited. At this
manifestation of the peaceful sentiments of the newcomers, the Canadian
rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, and examined the Indians
with rapid glance.
The first was a man of lofty stature, with intelligent features and open
countenance; as far as it was possible to judge the age of an Indian,
this man seemed to have passed the middle stage of life. He was dressed
in his full warpaint, and the condor plume, fastened above his right
ear, indicated that he held the rank of a Sachem in his tribe.
The other Redskin was not a man, but a woman, twenty years of age at the
most; she was slim, active, and elegant, and her dress was decorated in
accordance with the rules of Indian coquetry: still, her worn features,
on which only the fugitive traces of a prematurely vanished beauty were
visible, shewed that, like all Indian squaws, she had been pitilessly
compelled to do all those rude household tasks, the whole weight of
which the men lay on them, regarding it as beneath their dignity to
interfere.
At the sight of these two persons, the hunter involuntarily felt an
emotion, for which he could not account; the more he regarded the
warrior standing before him, the more he seemed to find again in this
martial countenance the distant memory of the features of a man he had
formerly known, though it was impossible for him to recall how or where
this intimacy had existed; but overcoming his feelings, and
comprehending that his lengthened silence must appear extraordinary to
the persons who had been waiting so long for him to address to them the
compliments of welcome, which Indian etiquette demands, he at length
decided on speaking.
"The Sachem can approach without fear and take his seat by the fire of a
friend," he said.
"The voice of the Pale hunter rejoices the heart of the Chief," the
warrior answered; "his invitation pleases him; he will smoke the calumet
of friendship with the Pale hunter."
The Canadian bowed politely; the Sachem gave his squaw a sign to follow
him, and he crouched on his heels in front of the fire, where Loyal
Heart and Lanzi were still asleep. Tranquil and the warrior then began
smoking silently, while the young Indian squaw was busily engaged with
the household duties and preparing the morning meal. The two men allowed
her to do so, not noticing apparently the trouble she took.
There was a lengthened silence. The hunter was reflecting, while the
Indian was apparently completely absorbed by his pipe. At last he shook
the ash out of the calumet, thrust the stem through his belt, and turned
to his host--
"The Walkon and the Maukawis," he said, "always sing the same song; the
man who has heard them during the moons of spring recognizes them in the
moons of winter, it is not the same with man; he forgets quickly; his
heart does not bound at the recollection of a friend; and if he meet him
again after many moons, his eyes do not see him."
"What does the Chief mean?" the Canadian asked, astonished at these
words, which seemed to convey a reproach.
"The Wacondah is powerful," the Indian continued; "it is he who dictates
the words my breast breathes; the sturdy oak forgets that he has been a
frail sapling."
"Explain yourself, Chief," the hunter said, with great agitation; "the
sound of your voice causes me singular emotion; your features are not
unknown to me; speak, who are you?"
"Singing-bird," the Indian said, addressing the young woman, "you are
the _cihuatl_ of a Sachem; ask the great Pale hunter why he has
forgotten his friend--the man who, in happier times, was his brother?"
"I will obey," she answered, in a melodious voice; "but the Chief is
deceived; the great Pale hunter has not forgotten the Wah-rush-a-menec
of the Snake Pawnees."
"Oh!" Tranquil exclaimed, warmly, "Are you really Black-deer, my
brother? My heart warned me secretly of your presence, and though your
features had almost faded from my memory, I expected to find a friend
again."
"Wah! is the Paleface speaking the truth?" the Chief said, with an
emotion he could not quite conceal; "Has he really retained the memory
of his brother, Black-deer?"
"Ah, Chief," the hunter said, sadly; "to doubt any longer would be an
insult to me; how could I suppose I should ever meet you here, at so
considerable a distance from the wigwams of your nation?"
"That is true?" the Indian remarked, thoughtfully; "my brother will
forgive me."
"What!" Tranquil exclaimed, "Is that charming squaw I see there, the
Singing-bird, that frail child whom I so often tossed on my knee?"
"Singing-bird is the wife of a Chief," the Indian answered, flattered by
the compliment; "at the next fall of the leaves forty-five moons will
have passed since Black-deer bought her of her father for two mustangs
and a panther skin quiver."
Singing-bird smiled gracefully at the hunter, and went on with her
duties.
"Will the Chief permit me to ask him a question?" Tranquil went on.
"My brother can speak, the ears of a friend are open."
"How did the Sachem learn that he would find me here?"
"Black-deer was ignorant of it: he was not seeking the great Pale
hunter; the Wacondah has permitted him to find a friend again, and he is
grateful."
Tranquil looked at the warrior in surprise. He smiled.
"Black-deer has no secret from his brother," he said, softly; "the Pale
hunter will wait; soon he shall know all."
"My brother is free to speak or be silent; I will wait."
The conversation ceased here. The Sachem had wrapped himself in his
buffalo robe, and did not appear disposed, to give any further
explanation at present. Tranquil, restrained by the duties of
hospitality, which in the desert prohibit any interrogation of a guest;
imitated the Chiefs reserve; but the silence had lasted but a few
minutes, when the hunter felt a light hand laid on his shoulder, while a
soft and affectionate voice murmured in his ear:--"Good morning,
father."
And a kiss completed the silence.
"Good-morning, little one," the hunter replied, with a smile; "did you
sleep well?"
"Splendidly, father."
"And you have rested?"
"I no longer feel fatigued."
"Good; that is how I like to see you, my darling girl."
"Father," the inquisitive maiden said, as she looked around, "have
visitors arrived?"
"As you see."
"Strangers?"
"No, old friends, who, I hope, will soon be yours."
"Redskins?" she asked with an instinctive start of terror.
"All of them are not wicked," he answered with a smile: "these are
kind." Then, turning to the Indian woman, who had fixed her black velvet
looking eyes on Carmela with simple admiration, he called out,
"Singing-bird!"
The squaw bounded up like a young antelope. "What does my father want?"
she asked, bowing gently.
"Singing-bird," the hunter continued, "this girl is my daughter,
Carmela," and taking in his bony hand those of the two women, he clasped
them together, adding with emotion, "Love one another like sisters."
"Singing-bird will feel very happy to be loved by the White lily," the
Indian squaw replied; "for her heart has already flown towards me."
Carmela, charmed at the name which the squaw with her simple poesy had
given her, bent down affectionately to her and kissed her forehead.
"I love you already, sister," she said to her, and holding her by the
hand, they went off together twittering like two nightingales. Tranquil
looked after them with a tender glance. Black-deer had witnessed this
little scene with that Indian phlegm which nothing even disturbs: still,
when he found himself alone with the hunter, he bent over to him, and
said in a slightly shaking voice,--
"Wah! my brother has not changed: the moons of winter have scattered
snow over his scalp, but his heart has remained as good as when it was
young."
At this moment the sleeper awoke.
"Hilloh!" Loyal Heart said gaily, as he looked up at the sun, "I have
had a long sleep."
"To tell you the truth," Lanzi observed, "I am not an early bird either:
but nonsense! I will make up for it. The poor beasts of horses must be
thirsty, so I will give them water."
"Very good!" said Tranquil; "By the time you have done that, breakfast
will be ready."
Lanzi rose, leaped on his horse, and seizing the lasso of the others,
went off in the direction of the stream without asking questions
relative to the strangers. On the prairie it is so: a priest is an envoy
of God, whose presence must arouse no curiosity. In the meanwhile Loyal
Heart had also risen: suddenly his glance fell on the Indian Chief,
whose cold eye was fixed on him: the young man suddenly turned pale as a
corpse, and hurriedly approached the Chief.
"My mother!" he exclaimed in a voice quivering with emotion, "my
mother--"
He could say no more. The Pawnee bowed peacefully to him.
"My brother's mother is still the cherished child of the Wacondah," he
answered in a gentle voice; "her heart only suffers from the absence of
her son."
"Thanks, Chief," the young man said with a sigh of relief; "forgive this
start of terror which I could not overcome, but on perceiving you I
feared lest some misfortune bad happened."
"A son must love his mother: my brother's feeling is natural; it comes
from the Wacondah. When I left the Village of Flowers, the old greyhead,
the companion of my brother's mother, wished to start with me."
"Poor ño Eusabio," the young man muttered, "he is so devoted to us."
"The Sachems would not consent; greyhead is necessary to my brother's
mother."
"They were right, Chief; I thank them for retaining him. Have you
followed my trail from the village?"
"I did."
"Why did you not awake me on your arrival?"
"Loyal Heart was asleep. Black-deer did not wish to trouble his sleep:
he waited."
"Good! my brother is a Chief; he acted as he thought advisable."
"Black-deer is intrusted with a message from the Sachems to Loyal Heart.
He wishes to smoke the calumet in council with him."
"Are the reasons that have brought my brother here urgent?"
"They are."
"Good! my brother can speak, I am listening."
Tranquil rose, and threw his rifle over his shoulder.
"Where is the hunter going?" the Indian asked.
"While you tell Loyal Heart the message I will take a stroll in the
forest."
"The white hunter will remain; the heart of Black-deer has nothing
hidden from him. The wisdom of my brother is great; he was brought up by
the Redskins; his place is marked out at the council fire."
"But perhaps you have things to tell Loyal Heart which only concern
yourselves."
"I have nothing to say which my brother should not hear; my brother will
disoblige me by withdrawing."
"I will remain, then, Chief, since such is the case."
While saying these words, the hunter resumed his seat, and said: "Speak,
Chief, I am listening."
The methodical Indian drew out his calumet, and, to display the
importance of the commission with which he was entrusted, instead of
filling it with ordinary tobacco, he placed in it _morhichee_, or sacred
tobacco, which he produced from a little parchment bag he took from the
pouch all Indians wear when travelling, and which contains their
medicine bag, and the few articles indispensable for a long journey.
When the calumet was filled, he lit it from a coal he moved from the
fire by the aid of a medicine rod, decorated with feathers and bills.
These extraordinary preparations led the hunters to suppose that
Black-deer was really the bearer of important news, and they prepared to
listen to him with all proper gravity. The Sachem inhaled two or three
whiffs of smoke, then passed the calumet to Tranquil, who, after
performing the same operation, handed it to Loyal Heart. The calumet
went the round thus, until all the tobacco was consumed.
During this ceremony, which is indispensable at every Indian council,
the three men remained silent. When the pipe was out, the Chief emptied
the ash into the fire, while muttering a few unintelligible words,
which, however, were probably an invocation to the Great Spirit; he then
thrust the pipe in his girdle, and after reflecting for some moments,
rose and began speaking.
"Loyal Heart," he said, "you left the Village of Flowers to follow the
hunting path at daybreak of the third sun of the moon of the falling
leaves; thirty suns have passed since that period, and we are hardly at
the beginning of the moon of the passing game. Well, during so short a
period many things have occurred, which demand your immediate presence,
in the tribe of which you are one of the adopted sons. The war hatchet,
so deeply buried for ten moons between the prairie Comanches and the
Buffalo Apaches, has suddenly been dug up in full council, and the
Apaches are preparing to follow the war trail, under the orders of the
wisest and most experienced Chiefs of the nation. Shall I tell you the
new insults the Apaches have dared to offer your Comanche fathers? What
good would it be? Your heart is strong, you will obey the orders of your
fathers, and fight for them."
Loyal Heart bowed his head in assent.
"No one doubted you," the Chief continued; "still, for a war against the
Apaches, the Sachems would not have claimed your help; the Apaches are
chattering old women, whom Comanche children can drive off with their
dog-whips; but the situation has all at once become complicated, and it
is more your presence at the council of the nation than the aid of your
arm, though you are a terrible warrior, which your fathers desire. The
Long knives of the East and the Yoris have also dug up the hatchet, and
both have offered to treat with the Comanches. An alliance with the
Palefaces is not very agreeable to Redskins; still, their anxiety is
great, as they do not know which side to take, or which party to
protect."
Black-deer was silent.
"The situation is, indeed, grave," Loyal Heart answered; "it is even
critical."
"The Chiefs, divided in opinion, and not knowing which is the better,"
Black-deer continued, "sent me off in all haste to find my brother,
whose wisdom they are aware of, and promise to follow his advice."
"I am very young," Loyal Heart answered, "to venture to give my advice
in such a matter, and settle so arduous a question. The Comanche nation
is the queen of the prairies; its Chiefs are all experienced warriors;
they will know better than I how to form a decision which will at once
protect the interests and honour of the nation."
"My brother is young, but wisdom speaks by his mouth. The Wacondah
breathes in his heart the words his lips utter; all the Chiefs feel for
him the respect he deserves."
The young man shook his head, as if protesting against such a mark of
deference. "Since you insist," he said, "I will speak; but I will not
give my opinion till I have heard that of this hunter, who is better
acquainted with the desert than I am."
"Wah!" said Black-deer, "the Pale hunter is wise; his advice must be
good; a Chief is listening to him."
Thus compelled to explain his views, Tranquil had involuntarily to take
part in the discussion; but he did not feel at all inclined to take on
himself the responsibility of the heavy burden which Loyal Heart tried
to throw off his own shoulders. Still, he was too thoroughly a man of
the desert to refuse giving his opinion in council, especially upon so
important a question. After reflecting for some moments, he therefore at
length decided on speaking.
"The Comanches are the most terrible warriors of the prairie," he said,
"no one must try to invade their hunting grounds; if they make war with
the Apaches, who are vagabond and cowardly thieves, they are in the
right to do so; but for what good object would they interfere in the
quarrels of the Palefaces? Whether Yoris or Long knives, the Whites have
ever been, at all times, and under all circumstances, the obstinate
enemies of the Redskins, killing them wherever they may find them,
under the most futile pretexts, and for the most time simply because
they are Indians. When the coyotes are tearing each other asunder on the
prairie, do the Indians try to separate them? No. They say, let them
fight it out--the more that fall, the fewer thieves and plunderers will
there be in the desert. To the Redskins the Palefaces are coyotes
thirsting for blood. The Comanches should leave them to devour each
other; whichever party triumph, those who have been killed will be so
many enemies the fewer for the Indians. This war between the Palefaces
has been going on for two years, implacably and obstinately. Up to the
present the Comanches have remained neutral; why should they interfere
now? However great the advantages offered them may be, they will not be
equivalent to a neutrality, which will render them stronger and more
dangerous in the sight of the Whites. I have spoken."
"Yes," Loyal Heart said, "you have spoken well, Tranquil. The opinion
you have offered is the only one the Comanches ought to follow, an
interference on their part would be an act of deplorable folly, which
the Sachems would soon regret having committed."
Black-deer had carefully listened to the Canadian's speech, and it
appeared to have produced a certain impression on him; he listened in
the same way to Loyal Heart, and when the latter had ceased speaking,
the Chief remained thoughtful for a while, and then replied--
"I am pleased with the words of my brothers, for they prove to me that I
regarded the situation correctly. I gave the council of the Chiefs the
same advice my brothers just offered. My brothers have spoken like wise
men, I thank them."
"I am ready to support in council," Loyal Heart remarked, "the opinions
the white hunter has offered, for they are the only ones which should
prevail."
"I think so too. Loyal Heart will accompany the Chief to the callis of
the nation?"
"It is my intention to start on my return tomorrow; if my brother can
wait till then, we will start together."
"I will wait."
"Good; tomorrow at daybreak we will follow the return trail in company."
The council was over, yet Tranquil tried vainly to explain to himself
how it was that Black-deer, whom he had left among the Snake Pawnees,
could now be an influential Chief of the Comanche nation; and the
connection between Loyal Heart and the Chief perplexed him not a bit
less. All these ideas troubled the hunter's head, and he promised
himself on the first opportunity to ask Black-deer for the history of
his life since their separation.
As soon as Lanzi returned with the horses, the hunters and Carmela sat
down to breakfast, waited on by Singing-bird, who performed her duties
with extreme grace.