THE ERRAND OF ONE-EYE
The wagons came slowly on down the pass, but it was only a few moments
before everybody but the two drivers had dismounted and stood gazing at
Sile's remarkable "find." There were old "placer miners" among them, and
they all declared that it was just the place in which they would have
expected a "bonanza." Then they all added that without water to wash the
sand and gravel with, there would be little use in doing anything more
than to hunt for "pockets." There might be "pay dirt" in all directions,
but a man might scratch and sift until he starved and not get more than
enough to buy him a new hat. They had been through all that sort of
experience, and their heads were not to be turned by it. Still, it was
decided to try that level again some day, and the whole canon, at a time
of the year when water was to be had. All that could now be done was to
carefully search for and gather up the odds and ends of Sile's "luck."
Even the necessity of grass for the horses compelled the train to move
onward.
When they came to the rocky ledge, with the precipice on one side and
the mountain wall on the other, Judge Parks turned to Yellow Pine with a
face full of doubt.
"Don't you be skeered, jedge. I took a measure of it at the narrerest
p'int, and it'll let the wheels go by and two feet to spare."
That was close work, when they came to it, and Sile shuddered all over
as he saw how near the wheels came to the edge of destruction. A restive
mule, a scared horse, a little backing and plunging, and disaster was
ready to come. Not an animal shied, however, though some of them
trembled and sheered in towards the rock. It was hardest when they had
to hold back going down and around some of the sharper curves. Sile had
several tremendous shudders at such places and drew long breaths of
relief afterwards, as the wagons rolled on in safety. Then, on the next
level below, there was more axe and crow-bar work to be done, and it was
late in the day when the train once more reached a deserted
camping-ground of the band of Indians they seemed to be pursuing.
"We'd better take a rest here, jedge. It's been a hard day on the men
and the hosses, and we've struck gold a'ready."
Sile had been strangely aware of that fact for some hours, and it had
dazed him a little. He had walked on without asking a question of
anybody. He had a dim idea that the metal he had found was worth a
great deal of money, but he hardly cared to know how much. It was a new
and wonderful sensation. His father told him there was enough of it to
buy him a farm and stock it, and when Yellow Pine had finished his other
duties, at going into camp, and had noted all the signs the Nez Perces
left behind, he said to Sile,
"Now, my boy, gather up all the charcoal you can rake from those dead
fires and I'll show you something. Slugs are safer to carry than dust
and nuggets. I allers used to slug my finds, first thing."
That was Greek to Sile, but Yellow Pine rummaged one of the wagons and
brought out a long-nosed bellows and a crucible and a sort of mould that
opened with two handles. He put the crucible in among the coals, filled
it from Sile's yellow heap, covered it, and began to work the bellows.
Sile was astonished to find how speedily what Pine called "bullion"
would melt, and how easy it was to run it into little bars. There did
not seem to be so much of it, but there was less danger that any of the
smaller chunks and scales and particles could get away.
"There, Sile. There's your farm, cows, hosses, hogs and all, and it only
cost you a gitten' thirsty."
"They're wonderful," was all Sile could make out to say, and his father
put them in a bag and locked them up in an iron-bound box in one of the
wagons.
"You needn't scratch into all the sand you come to after this," said
Yellow Pine. "That's what takes the tuck out of placer miners. One good
pocket'll most ginerally spile the eyes of a green hand."
He assured the judge that one more push would bring them to good grass,
and he added,
"What's more, we ain't in any hurry to ketch up with no redskins till we
know what they are. It's peace with most on 'em, but this 'ere isn't a
strong band, and I kinder want to feel my way."
There was sense in that, especially as he knew that Indians without
horses are also Indians on the lookout for some. What he did not know
was the state of mind that band of Nez Perces was in at that hour.
They had set out very early that morning, and were plodding on steadily
down the winding slopes of the canon, when there came to them an
unexpected sensation. It was a dog.
Right up the trail trotted One-eye, all alone, and with an air of
business anxiety. He neither paused nor turned until he came to Long
Bear himself, and in front of the chief he sat down, threw up his head,
and let out the most mournful howl he knew--and he knew a great many.
"Where Two Arrows?" asked the chief, as if the dog had been human, and
he was answered first by another howl and then by an eager look and a
tug at his deer-skin leggings. Then One-eye trotted off a little
distance along the trail and looked back and barked, and the dullest man
in the world could have understood him. It all plainly meant,
"Come on. There's a fellow down this way that's in need of help. Follow
me and help him."
"Ugh!" exclaimed Long Bear, and he added the names of half a dozen of
the leading braves. "Two Arrows send dog after warrior. Come."
That was somewhat more than the truth, seeing that all the credit
belonged to One-eye, but in a minute or so the old chief was leading his
men rapidly down the pass. There was nothing whatever to be said, and
One-eye kept well ahead of them, every now and then trying to express an
idea he had that no time was to be wasted.
"Ugh!" was all the remark made by any brave when the valley came in
sight, and hardly more was remarked upon the ruins of the ancient
village, but every grunt meant a great deal.
"Not here. Dog go right on," said Long Bear. "Follow. Find Two Arrows
somewhere."
They had not far to go now before they halted as if with one accord.
From the summit of a granite bowlder, a hundred yards in advance of
them, came a shrill whoop, and there stood the object of their search,
firmly erect and seemingly unharmed.
"Boy all right," said Big Tongue. "Better come down."
"Two Arrows no fool," said Long Bear. "Go slow. Watch dog."
One-eye still trotted on, but more slowly, until he turned the corner of
the rock. He reappeared in a second, with a sharp, warning yelp,
followed by the fierce growling charge of an uncommonly large grisly
bear.
"Ugh!" said Long Bear. "Stand still. Boy been treed."
He had not been "treed," he had been bowldered, and the grisly had been
arrowed and lanced thoroughly. His angry charge had been made with his
last energies, and before he advanced half-way he reeled and fell.
There was no boy upon the rock now. Two Arrows darted down from his
perch, slipping, sliding the instant the bear followed One-eye. He had
waited up there for hour after hour, looking down at his half disabled
enemy, and he was tired of it. He had seen that the strength of the bear
was failing and that he bled freely, and was not far behind him when he
fell.
"Whoop! whoop! whoop! I have killed a grisly. My bear!" he shouted, and
it was all in vain that the Big Tongue ran faster than even the Long
Bear himself, for Two Arrows had the advantage of them. His lance was
the first to be plunged into the dying monster, and the great brute tore
up the sod around him for only half a minute before he stretched himself
out and all was over. With the help of several hours of quiet bleeding,
which cannot always be provided for in such cases, Two Arrows had fought
and killed a grisly single-handed, and again Long Bear was the proudest
man in the whole Nez Perce nation. The steepness of the rock had helped
a good deal, and the bear had hardly had a fair chance, but after all he
had been whipped by a boy of fifteen. It was a disgrace to the grisly
but it was a great honor to the young hero, for by all Indian law he was
thenceforth entitled to wear the claws of that bear on state occasions.
Adding all things together, bisons and big-horn and cougar and grisly,
Two Arrows was rapidly getting to be a middle-aged warrior, and the
other boys had no hope of catching up with him. He might also fairly be
said to have led his band into that valley, and now the pity of it was
that they had no ponies to eat such excellent grass.
The remainder of the band came down the pass remarkably, with Na-tee-kah
well in advance of everybody else.
"Could anything terrible have happened to Two Arrows?"
Her heart beat hard with exertion and anxiety, and when she reached the
level she hurried right along upon the trail of the braves. It was not
many minutes before she could see them, and a sort of mist came before
her eyes. They were all sitting upon the grass around something, and she
could hear her father's voice chanting. It was a curious kind of song of
triumph, belonging especially to a case of large grisly bear slaying,
but Na-tee-kah could not hear it clearly at first, and it might have
been a funeral song for all the music there was in it. All out of breath
she toiled on, as near as an Indian girl might come to a party of
warriors, and then she understood it like a flash. Red or white, she was
only a girl, and she sat down on the grass and began to cry. The Big
Tongue had risen as she came near, and he was polite enough to say to
her,
"Squaw not cry. Boy all right. We have killed a bear. Ugh!"