THE PRICE OF BLOOD
How many shapeless terrors can spring from the mind of man I never knew
till Eric and the priest left me alone in the Mandane village. Ever, on
closing my eyes, there rolled and rolled past, endlessly, without going
one pace beyond my sight, something too horrible to be contemplated.
When I looked about to assure myself the thing was not there--could not
possibly be there--memory flashed back the whole dreadful scene. Up
started glazed eyes from the hearth, the floor, and every dim nook in
the lodge. Thereupon I would rush into the village road, where the
shamefaced greetings of guilty Indians recalled another horror.
If I ventured into Le Grand Diable's power a fate worse than La Robe
Noire's awaited me. That there would be a hostile demonstration over the
Sioux messenger's death I was certain. Nothing that I offered could
induce any of the Indians to act as scouts or to reconnoiter the enemy's
encampment. I had, of my own will, chosen to remain, and now I found
myself with tied hands, fuming and gnashing against fate, conjuring up
all sorts of projects for the rescue of Miriam, and butting my head
against the impossible at every turn. Thus three weary days dragged
past.
Having reflected on the consequences of their outrage, the Mandanes
exhibited repentance of a characteristically human form--resentment
against the cause of their trouble. Unfortunately, I was the cause. From
the black looks of the young men I half suspected, if the Sioux chief
would accept me in lieu of material gifts, I might be presented as a
peace-offering. This would certainly not forward my quest, and prudence,
or cowardice--two things easily confused when one is in peril--counseled
discretion, and discretion seemed to counsel flight.
"Discretion! Discretion to perdition!" I cried, springing up from a
midnight reverie in my hut. Every selfish argument for my own safety had
passed in review before my mind, and something so akin to judicious
caution, which we trappers in plain language called "cowardice," was
insidiously assailing my better self, I cast logic's sophistries to the
winds, and dared death or torture to drive me from my post. Whence comes
this sublime, reasonless _abandon_ of imperiled human beings, which
casts off fear and caution and prudence and forethought and all that
goes to make success in the common walks of life, and at one blind leap
mounts the Sinai of duty? To me, the impulse upwards is as mysterious as
the impulse downwards, and I do not wonder that pagans ascribe one to
Ormuzd, the other to Ahriman. 'Tis ours to yield or resist, and I
yielded with the vehemence of a passionate nature, vowing in the
darkness of the hut--"Here, before God, I stay!"
Swift came test of my oath. While the words were yet on my lips,
stealthy steps suddenly glided round the lodge. A shuffling stopped at
the door, while a chilling fear took possession of me lest the mutilated
form of my other Indian should next be hurled through the window. I had
not time to shoot the door-bolt to its catch before a sharp click told
of lifted latch. The hinge creaked, and there, distinct in the
starlight, that smote through the open, stood Little Fellow, himself,
haggard and almost naked.
"Little Fellow! Good boy!" I shouted, pulling him in. "Where did you
come from? How did you get away? Is it you or your ghost?"
Down he squatted with a grunt on one of the robes, answering never a
word. The gaunt look of the man declared his needs, so I prepared to
feed him back to speech. This task kept me busy till daybreak, for the
filling capacity of a famishing Indian may not be likened to any other
hungry thing on earth without doing the red man grave injustice.
"Hoohoo! Hoohoo! But I be sick man to-morrow!" and he rubbed himself
down with a satisfied air of distension, declining to have his plate
reloaded for the tenth time. I noticed the poor wretch's skin was cut to
the bone round wrists and ankles. Chafed bandage marks encircled the
flesh of his neck.
"What did this, Little Fellow?" and I pointed to the scars.
A grim look of Indian gratitude for my interest came into the stolid
face.
"Bad Indians," was the terse response.
"Did they torture you?"
He grunted a ferocious negative.
"You got away too quick for them?"
An affirmative grunt.
"Le Grand Diable--did you see him?"
At that name, his white teeth snapped shut, and from the depths of the
Indian's throat came the vicious snarl of an enraged wolf.
"Come," I coaxed, "tell me. How long since you left the Sioux?"
"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep," and rising, he enacted a hobbling
gait across the cabin in unison with the rhythmic utterance of his
words.
"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one."
"Traveled at night!" I interrupted. "Two nights! You couldn't do it in
two nights!"
"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep," he repeated.
"Three nights!"
Four times he hobbled across the floor, which meant he had come afoot
the whole distance, traveling only at night.
Sitting down, he began in a low monotone relating how he had returned to
La Robe Noire with the additional ransom demanded by Le Grand Diable.
The "pig Sioux, more gluttonous than the wolverine, more treacherous
than the mountain cat," had come out to receive them with hootings. The
plunder was taken, "as a dead enemy is picked by carrion buzzards." He,
himself, was dragged from his horse and bound like a slave squaw. La
Robe Noire had been stripped naked, and young men began piercing his
chest with lances, shouting, "Take that, man who would scalp the
Iroquois! Take that, enemy to the Sioux! Take that, dog that's friend to
the white man!" Then had La Robe Noire, whose hands were bound, sprung
upon his torturers and as the trapped badger snaps the hand of the
hunter so had he buried his teeth in the face of a boasting Sioux.
Here, Little Fellow's teeth clenched shut in savage imitation. Then was
Le Grand Diable's knife unsheathed. More, my messenger could not see;
for a Sioux bandaged his eyes. Another tied a rope round his neck. Thus,
like a dead stag, was he pulled over the ground to a wigwam. Here he lay
for many "sleeps," knowing not when the great sun rose and when he sank.
Once, the lodges became very still, like many waters, when the wind
slumbers and only the little waves lap. Then came one with the soft,
small fingers of a white woman and gently, scarcely touching him, as the
spirits rustle through the forest of a dark night, had these hands cut
the rope around his neck, and unbound him. A whisper in the English
tongue, "Go--run--for your life! Hide by day! Run at night!"
The skin of the tent wall was lifted by the same hands. He rolled out.
He tore the blind from his eyes. It was dark. The spirits had quenched
their star torches. No souls of dead warriors danced on the fire plain
of the northern sky! The father of winds let loose a blast to drown all
sound and help good Indian against the pig Sioux! He ran like a hare. He
leaped like a deer. He came as the arrows from the bow of the great
hunter. Thus had he escaped from the Sioux!
Little Fellow ceased speaking, wrapped himself in robes and fell asleep.
I could not doubt whose were the liberator's hands, and I marveled that
she had not come with him. Had she known of our efforts at all? It
seemed unlikely. Else, with the liberty she had, to come to Little
Fellow, surely she would have tried to escape. On the other hand, her
immunity from torture might depend on never attempting to regain
freedom.
Now I knew what to expect if I were captured by the Sioux. Yet, given
another stormy night, if Little Fellow and I were near the Sioux with
fleet horses, could not Miriam be rescued in the same way he had
escaped? Until Little Fellow had eaten and slept back to his normal
condition of courage, it would be useless to propose such a hazardous
plan. Indeed, I decided to send him to some point on the northern trail,
where I could join him and go alone to the Sioux camp. This would be
better than sitting still to be given as a hostage to the Sioux. If the
worst happened and I were captured, had I the courage to endure Indian
tortures? A man endures what he must endure, whether he will, or not;
and I certainly had not courage to leave the country without one blow
for Miriam's freedom.
With these thoughts, I gathered my belongings in preparation for secret
departure from the Mandanes that night. Then I prepared breakfast, saw
Little Fellow lie back in a dead sleep, and strolled out among the
lodges.
Four days had passed without the coming of the avengers. The villagers
were disposed to forget their guilt and treat me less sulkily. As I
sauntered towards the north hill, pleasant words greeted me from the
lodges.
"Be not afraid, my son," exhorted Chief Black Cat. "Lend a deaf ear to
bad talk! No harm shall befall the white man! Be not afraid!"
"Afraid!" I flouted back. "Who's afraid, Black Cat? Only white-livered
cowards fear the Sioux! Surely no Mandane brave fears the Sioux--ugh!
The cowardly Sioux!"
My vaunting pleased the old chief mightily; for the Indian is nothing if
not a boaster. At once Black Cat would have broken out in loud tirade on
his friendship for me and contempt for the Sioux, but I cut him short
and moved towards the hill, that overlooked the enemy's territory. A
great cloud of dust whirled up from the northern horizon.
"A tornado the next thing!" I exclaimed with disgust. "The fates are
against me! A fig for my plans!"
I stooped. With ear to the ground I could hear a rumbling clatter as of
a buffalo stampede.
"What is it, my son?" asked the voice of the chief, and I saw that Black
Cat had followed me to the hill.
"Are those buffalo, Black Cat?" and I pointed to the north.
As he peered forward, distinguishing clearly what my civilized eyes
could not see, his face darkened.
"The Sioux!" he muttered with a black look at me. Turning, he would have
hurried away without further protests of friendship, but I kept pace
with him.
"Pooh!" said I, with a lofty contempt, which I was far from feeling.
"Pooh! Black Cat! Who's afraid of the Sioux? Let the women run from the
Sioux!"
He gave me a sidelong glance to penetrate my sincerity and slackened his
flight to the proud gait of a fearless Indian. All the same, alarm was
spread among the lodges, and every woman and child of the Mandanes were
hidden behind barricaded doors. The men mounted quickly and rode out to
gain the vantage ground of the north hill before the enemy's arrival.
Another cross current to my purposes! Fool that I was, to have
dilly-dallied three whole days away like a helpless old squaw wringing
her hands, when I should have dared everything and ridden to Miriam's
rescue! Now, if I had been near the Sioux encampment, when all the
warriors were away, how easily could I have liberated Miriam and her
child!
* * * * *
Always, it is the course we have not followed, which would have led on
to the success we have failed to grasp in our chosen path. So we salve
wounded mistrust of self and still, in spite of manifest proof to the
contrary, retain a magnificent conceit.
I cursed my blunders with a vehemence usually reserved for other men's
errors, and at once decided to make the best of the present, letting
past and future each take care of itself, a course which will save a man
gray hairs over to-morrow and give him a well-provisioned to-day.
Arming myself, I resolved to be among the bargain-makers of the Mandanes
rather than be bargained by the Sioux. Wakening Little Fellow, I told
him my plan and ordered him to slip away north while the two tribes were
parleying and to await me a day's march from the Sioux camp. He told me
of a wooded valley, where he could rest with his horses concealed, and
after seeing him off, I rode straight for the band of assembled Mandanes
and surprised them beyond all measure by taking a place in the forefront
of Black Cat's special guard. The Sioux warriors swept towards us in a
tornado. Ascending the slope at a gallop, whooping and beating their
drums, they charged past us, and down at full speed through the village,
displaying a thousand dexterities of horsemanship and prowess to strike
terror to the Mandanes. Then they dashed back and reined up on the
hillside beneath our forces. The men were naked to the waist and their
faces were blackened. Porcupine quills, beavers' claws, hooked bones,
and bears' claws stained red hung round their necks in ringlets, or
adorned gorgeous belts. Feathered crests and broad-shielded mats of
willow switches, on the left arm, completed their war dress. The leaders
had their buckskin leggings strung from hip to ankle with small bells,
and carried firearms, as well as arrows and stone lances; but the
majority had only Indian weapons. In that respect--though we were not
one third their number--we had the advantage. All the Mandanes carried
firearms; but I do not believe there was enough ammunition to average
five rounds a man. Luckily, this was unknown to the Sioux. I scanned
every face. Diable was not there.
Scarcely were the ranks in position, when both Sioux and Mandane chiefs
rode forward, and there opened such a harangue as I have never heard
since, and hope I never may.
"Our young man has been killed," lamented the Sioux. "He was a good
warrior. His friends sorrow. Our hearts are no longer glad. Till now our
hands have been white, and our hearts clean. But the young man has been
slain and we are grieved. Of the scalps of the enemy, he brought many.
We hang our heads. The pipe of peace has not been in our council. The
whites are our enemies. Now, the young man is dead. Tell us if we are
to be friends or enemies. We have no fear. We are many and strong. Our
bows are good. Our arrows are pointed with flint and our lances with
stone. Our shot-pouches are not light. But we love peace. Tell us, what
doth the Mandane offer for the blood of the young man? Is it to be peace
or war? Shall we be friends or enemies? Do you raise the tomahawk, or
pipe of peace? Say, great chief of the Mandanes, what is thy answer?"
This and more did the Sioux chief vauntingly declaim, brandishing his
war club and addressing the four points of the compass, also the sun, as
he shouted out his defiance. To which Black Cat, in louder voice, made
reply.
"Say, great chief of the Sioux, our dead was brought into the camp. The
body was yet warm. It was thrown at our feet. Never before did it enter
the heart of a Missouri to seek the blood of a Sioux! Our messengers
went to your camp smoking the sacred calumet of peace. They were sons of
the Mandanes. They were friends of the white men. The white man is like
magic. He comes from afar. He knows much. He has given guns to our
warriors. His shot bags are full and his guns many. But his men, ye
slew. We are for peace, but if ye are for war, we warn you to leave our
camp before the warriors hidden where ye see them not, break forth. We
cannot answer for the white man's magic," and I heard my power over
darkness and light, life and death, magnified in a way to terrify my own
dreams; but Black Cat cunningly wound up his bold declamation by asking
what the Sioux chief would have of the white man for the death of the
messenger.
A clamor of voices arose from the warriors, each claiming some
relationship and attributing extravagant virtues to the dead Sioux.
"I am the afflicted father of the youth ye killed," called an old
warrior, putting in prior claim for any forthcoming compensation and
enhancing its value by adding, "and he had many feathers in his cap."
"He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew," shouted another, "and an
ivory wand he carried in his hand."
"He who was killed was my brother," cried a third, "and he had a new gun
and much powder."
"He was braver than the buffalo," declared another.
"He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came the
voices of others.
"Many bells and beads were on his leggings!"
"He had garnished moccasins!"
"He slew a bear with his own hands!"
"His knife had a handle of ivory!"
"His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!"
If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man a
god. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly what
gift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior.
After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part,
beating down their exorbitant request for two hundred guns with beads
and bells enough to outfit the whole Sioux tribe, we came to terms.
Indeed, the grasping rascals well-nigh cleared out all that was left of
my trading stock; but when I saw they had no intention of fighting, I
held back at the last and demanded the surrender of Le Grand Diable,
Miriam and the child in compensation for La Robe Noire.
Then, they swore by everything, from the sun and the moon to the cow in
the meadow, that they were not responsible for the doings of Le Grand
Diable, who was an Iroquois. Moreover, they vowed he had hurriedly taken
his departure for the north four days before, carrying with him the
Sioux wife, the strange woman and the white child. As I had no object in
arousing their resentment, I heard their words without voicing my own
suspicions and giving over the booty, whiffed pipes with them. But I had
no intention of being tricked by the rascally Sioux, and while they and
the Mandanes celebrated the peace treaty, I saddled my horse and spurred
off for their encampment, glad to see the last of a region where I had
suffered much and gained nothing.