THE ANTELOPE BOY;
OR,
SMOHOLLER, THE MEDICINE-MAN
A TALE OF INDIAN ADVENTURE AND MYSTERY.
BY GEORGE L. AIKEN.
NEW YORK.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
I The Surveyors’ Camp 9
II The Arrow Message 14
III Smoholler’s Fiend 19
IV Smoholler’s Angel 24
V The Scouting Party 28
VI Finding the Trail 32
VII A Desperate Encounter 35
VIII The Prophet-Chief 39
IX Conjuration 42
X Oneotah 46
XI A Silvan Repast 50
XII The Tree-Ladder 54
XIII Multuomah 59
XIV The Chief’s Bride 63
XV The Old Hunter’s Idea 67
XVI Holding a Council 70
XVII The Boy Embassadors 75
XVIII The White Lily 80
XIX On the Way 84
XX Oneotah’s Memories 88
XXI The Mystic Cavern 91
XXII The Search is Ended 95
THE ANTELOPE BOY;
OR,
SMOHOLLER, THE MEDICINE-MAN.
CHAPTER I.
THE SURVEYORS’ CAMP.
The surveying party were camped upon the banks of the Columbia River, a
short distance from the mouth of its confluent, the Yakima.
This party consisted of the two surveyors—Owen Blaikie, a bluff,
middle-aged Scotchman, long since “naturalized” to this country, and
Cyrus Robbins, a shrewd young Yankee, twelve United States soldiers
under command of Lieutenant Charles Gardiner, detailed expressly from
the nearest fort to protect the surveying party from predatory bands of
Indians, an old hunter, generally known under the name of “Gummery
Glyndon,”—his prefix of Montgomery having suffered this abbreviation at
the hands of his associates—whose duty it was to act as guide, and keep
the surveyors supplied with fresh meat; and two boys, the chain-bearers
of the expedition.
These boys merit more than a passing notice here, as they are destined
to play conspicuous parts in the events which were to follow the advance
of the surveying party into the country of the Yakimas.
There was this peculiarity about them, that they were first cousins, and
were both called Percy—Percy Vere and Percy Cute.
But despite their relationship and the similarity of their surnames,
there was very little resemblance between the two.
Percy Vere was a slender youth, graceful and active, with a frank,
honest face, and regular features, his hair being a dark chestnut, thick
and curly, and his eyes a clear hazel, giving evidence of courage and
decision of character in their glances. He looked quite picturesque in
his coarse suit, with the trowsers tucked into high-topped boots, and
his crispy curls straggling from beneath his broad-leafed felt hat.
Percy Cute was full a head shorter, and his figure was decidedly
dumpish. He had a fat, good-natured face, light flaxen hair, and a
laughing blue eye. Indeed, a grin appeared to be the prevailing
expression of his features. He was sluggish-looking, and appeared like
one who would not put forth exertion unless compelled to do so. He was
dressed after the fashion of his cousin and comrade, with heavy boots,
coarse trowsers, a striped shirt, with a broad collar, and a kind of
roundabout, which was short for a coat, and too long for a jacket; and
like him, he wore a revolver in a belt buckled around his waist, the
pistol resting convenient to hand, upon his right hip, while on the left
side the handle of a bowie knife made itself conspicuous.
All in this party carried arms, for the service was one of danger, and
at any moment the emergency for their use might arise.
The boys were quite favorites in the party, the first by his frank,
manly bearing, and accommodating spirit, and the other by his unvarying
good nature, and the drollery in which he was so fond of indulging. His
humor appeared to be inexhaustible, and his quaint manner of giving vent
to it was irresistible.
In fact, Percy Cute had, at a very early age, been forcibly impressed by
the antics of a clown in a circus, and his great delight had been to
play clown from that eventful moment.
The culinary department of the expedition was attended to by a colored
individual who combined the two functions of cook and barber for the
party. He was a jolly little darky, but terribly afraid of the Indians.
The fear of his life was that he might have his “wool lifted”—as the old
hunter phrased it—before he got out of the wilderness. But he had one
consolation even in this apprehension: he had, like a great many other
barbers, invented a HAIR RESTORATIVE, which he considered infallible.
“Never you mind, boys,” he would tell the soldiers, “if de Injines does
gobble us, an’ lift our ha’r, as Gummery says, I can make it grow
ag’in—hi yah-yah! I jist kin!”
Whereupon he would exhibit a small bottle in a mysterious manner,
adding, “Dar’s de stuff dat can do it—you bet!” And then he would
consign it to his pocket again.
This assurance afforded much amusement to the “high privates” of the
party, who made a standing joke of the Professor’s Hair Restorative—for
Isaac Yardell had prefixed the word “Professor” to his name when he was
a tonsorial artist in Chicago, before the spirit of adventure had seized
upon him and led him after gold among the mountains of Montana.
Gummery Glyndon had brought in an antelope. Some of the soldiers had
captured a few fish from the river, a fire had been built in the center
of the camp, and preparations were going on briskly for the evening
meal.
In this Isaac had four assistants, he having contrived to transfer the
drudgery of his office, with true Ethiopian cunning, to others. A
colored servitor will always shirk all the work he can. Thus two of the
soldiers, a German named Jacob Spatz—Dutch Jake, was his camp name—and
one Irishman, Cornelius Donohoe—Corney for short—were always available
for services at meal-time, and the two boys—the Percys—collected the
wood for the firing. By this arrangement Isaac had little to do but the
cooking, which he performed to the entire satisfaction of the party.
Even the rough old hunter—Glyndon—a gaunt, grizzly man of fifty years of
age, bestowed his meed of praise upon him.
“It don’t matter what I bring in,” he told Lieutenant Gardiner, “game,
fish or fowl—antelope, mountain sheep, or b’ar meat, that Ike can just
make it toothsome. These darkies take to cooking, ’pears to me, just as
naturally as ducks do to water.”
Ike had only one grievance in the camp, Percy Cute was continually
playing jokes upon him. Such little pranks as putting powder in his
pipe, nipping at the calves of his legs and imitating a dog’s growl, and
grasping his wool at night, and shouting a war-whoop in his ear, had a
damaging effect upon Ike’s temper, and he vowed deadly vengeance. But
his vengeance never extended beyond a chase after Percy Cute with a
ladle, with the laudable intention of administering a severe spanking;
but in these onslaughts the redoubtable Isaac always came to grief; for,
just as he would overtake the flying youth, Cute, with a nimbleness that
his sluggish look and dumpy figure never led any one to expect, would
suddenly fall upon his hands and knees, and pitch his pursuer over him.
But as Isaac invariably alighted upon his head, he received no injury
from these involuntary dives. A shout of laughter would herald his
defeat, and he would pick himself up, and return to his camp-kettle, in
a crest-fallen manner, swearing to himself until every thing got blue
around him, and vowing that he would “fix him de next time, suah!”
These little episodes enlivened the camp, and nobody enjoyed them better
than Gummery Glyndon. The old hunter had, generally, a morose look upon
his seamed and weather-beaten countenance, and his hatred of every thing
in shape of an Indian was well known.
Nor was the cause of that hatred a secret. He had been the victim of one
of those forest tragedies so frequently enacted upon the frontier. It
was the old story which has been told so often, and will be repeated
until the extermination of the red-man—which has been going on slowly
but surely for years—is completed.
While absent upon a hunting and trapping expedition, his cabin had been
surprised, his wife and only child, a little girl some three years of
age, cruelly murdered, and their mutilated remains consumed in the fire
that destroyed his home.
A blackened ruin was all that was left of the spot that was so dear to
him, and he found himself alone in the world, with only one thought in
the future—vengeance upon the murderers.
In the drear solitude of that heart-sickening scene, and beside the
ashes of all that he had treasured in the world, he breathed that vow of
vengeance, which the lips of so many bereaved settlers in the Far West
have sent up to heaven—death to the destroyers.
That was fifteen years before the time in which I introduce him here. In
all those years he had pursued the Indians with a deadly malignity. He
had taken part in every Indian war that had broken out, and the number
of his victims had been many.
As the years passed away this feeling of vengeance grew fainter, and
though he never spared an Indian who came against him with hostile
intent, yet he did not go out of his way to seek for them, as he had
done. The Yakimas were supposed to be the destroyers of his home and
family, and against that nation he cherished an undying enmity. Yet
circumstances had led him away from their country, to the
hunting-grounds of the Apaches, with whom he had many encounters.
He had gladly accepted the service that would take him back to the land
of the Yakimas. In all these years he had gained experience as a guide,
in wood-craft, and as an Indian-fighter. No hunter of the plains bore a
better reputation for skill, prudence, and knowledge of the Indians than
Gummery Glyndon.
His face bore a somewhat morose expression, as I have said, but he was
far from being a morose man. Indeed, there was quite a fund of dry humor
in his disposition, which was an agreeable surprise to those who judged
the man by his saturnine countenance.
Percy Cute was a particular favorite of his, and none in the party
enjoyed the boy’s drolleries more than he did. Indeed, both the boys
were prime favorites with him, and often accompanied him upon his hunts.
He looked upon them in the light of _proteges_, as he had got them their
places in the expedition.
He had met them at Fort Benton, where they had come from Omaha up the
Missouri river, on one of the steamboats that ply on that stream, and
was rather surprised to hear what had brought them there.
Though partly led by a spirit of adventure, they had a mission, and one
of some importance.