A MIDNIGHT MARCH
When Two Arrows parted from Sile he was well aware that the errand of
the Red-head had more real peril in it than his own, and he would not
have had him armed with only a bow and arrows; but oh how he did long
for a repeating-rifle for his own use! He had been hungry enough for one
before; but now that there was a promise of war it seemed to him that
the only thing in the world worth the having, except a horse, was one of
the white man's terrible weapons. With such as he now had he had killed
wild animals and won for himself a name and fame, but in spite of that
he almost despised them. What could he do now, for instance, against an
Apache well armed, as all that warlike tribe were said to be?
He also had a prejudiced idea that if Sile were to meet one of them he
would be in a manner helpless--a mere ignorant, green, untaught,
unready, white boy, not the son of a Nez Perce chief, nor skilled in the
wiles and ways of Western warfare. As for himself, he felt quite
confident that all he needed wherewith to meet and overcome anything or
anybody was just such a perfect "repeater" as Sile carried. He somehow
overlooked the fact that he had never practised much with one, while
Sile belonged to the race that made them. He had been used to a bow and
arrows from the time he had learned to ride, and almost from the time he
had learned to walk; so that, after all, they might be his safest
weapon.
He rode on steadily for a few miles, and then he crossed the stream and
proceeded under cover of the trees. It was time to travel more slowly,
for his pony had no gallop left in him. The approach to the camp even
was made with some caution, but there was no need of any.
The sun was going down, and the fires were blazing brightly. The hunters
had done well that day, and there were preparations for much eating. Two
Arrows knew at a glance that all things were working prosperously, and
that his people had no suspicion of any danger near them. The vast
importance of his errand filled him very full, and he halted under the
shadow of the trees.
Warriors were stalking around here and there, or were lazily stretched
upon the ground. Squaws were busily dressing skins, or cooking or
chattering with one another, and children were hungrily watching the
cookery and wishing that their turns to be fed might come pretty soon.
Old One-eye was at work upon a well-covered bone before going out for
his usual night-watch and patrol, but he was suddenly called upon to
drop it and to raise his head for a howl.
Out of the growing darkness in the edge of the woods there came a quick
series of sharp, threatening, warning whoops, uttered in a shrill and
youthful voice that the dog knew perfectly. So did others, for Long Bear
sprang to his feet, exclaiming,
"Ugh! Two Arrows!" and answered him with a whoop of such volume and
meaning that every brave and boy who heard it understood it as a
command, and ran for his weapons first, and then to the corral to see
about his pony.
Two Arrows dismounted and led his over-ridden pony into camp. Long Bear
stood silently and dignifiedly in front of his lodge waiting for him,
and the older warriors were gathering fast to hear the news. They knew
very well that no Indian boy would have dared to give such a signal as
that without good reason, and their faces were clouding seriously.
"Two Arrows speak quick," said his father. "All hear him."
The young scout felt deeply the pride of his position. He pointed
towards the lower valley with all the dignity he could muster, and
uttered only the words,
"'Pache! War-path!"
There was a dismal chorus of "Ugh!" from all who heard him, but there
was not one war-whoop. He was at once called upon for a minute and
careful account of the whole affair, including the locality and
condition of Judge Parks and his party of miners. He made his report
with a fullness and keenness of observation that stirred up the old
chief's family pride amazingly.
"Young chief," he remarked. "Do something more every time."
It looked very much like it, and his return as an intelligent and
successful scout added largely to all his other claims to distinction.
Not another boy in the band had ever announced anything so very bad and
so important.
That was no time for anybody to spend a thought upon the fame of Two
Arrows, however. All the old men said, one after another, that they
wished they knew just how many Apaches there were in that war-party. Had
they known how very strong it was, they might have been even worse
puzzled, but Long Bear was really a clear-headed leader, and he decided
the whole matter promptly and finally. He told his gathering braves that
the place where they were was a bad one to fight in, while their
pale-face friends had selected a peculiarly good one. They themselves
had but twenty-three warriors armed with rifles, and nearly as many more
young men and well-grown boys armed with bows and arrows. That was no
force with which to meet Apaches, nobody knew how many, and all sure to
be riflemen. To go back through the pass was to die of sure starvation,
even if they were not followed and slaughtered among the rocks. The
Apaches were plainly making for that very pass, he said; and he was only
a keen-eyed chief and not at all a prophet when he read the matter
correctly and said,
"'Pache run away from blue-coats. All in a hurry. Not stop. Nez Perce
hide and let them go by. Not fight. Keep pony. Keep hair. Good. Ugh!"
The party which had been sent back after the lodges and things was a
serious anxiety, and a light-footed youngster was started off at once to
warn them. He would be sure to meet them on their way, returning, and
could tell them to be on their guard, and very little more could be done
for them.
Long Bear finished his speech of explanation, and then, without a
moment's pause, he gave the order to break up camp and prepare to march,
carrying with them every pound of provisions. Not one moment was to be
lost in gaining such protection as might be had from the good position
of the miners, and from the fact that they were pale-faces of some
importance, and from the other great fact that they were all good
riflemen. There was hardly anybody in the band, old enough to understand
what an Apache was, who did not fully appreciate the force of the
chief's argument, and every squaw did her best to hasten the departure.
Lodges came down, ponies were packed, children were gathered, warriors
and braves and boys completed their preparations for fighting; the Big
Tongue declared his readiness to kill a large number of Apaches, and
One-eye was compelled to abandon forever all the bones he had buried
since the people he barked for had settled upon the bank of that river.
There was a good deal of quiet and sober efficiency in spite of the
excitement. Two Arrows had further questions to answer from quite a
number of his elders. He was furnished with one of the best ponies in
the drove in acknowledgment of his services. He was now, also, to figure
as a kind of guide, and he did not once think of or mention the fatigue
of his long, hard ride. He very willingly ate, however, the whole of a
buffalo steak, broiled for him by one of the squaws, and felt a good
deal better afterwards. He almost felt that he had earned a rifle, or at
least a pistol, but well knew that it was all in vain to ask for one,
when the supply was insufficient to arm all the braves who were a full
head taller than himself.
Still, it was a magnificent thing, at last, to ride out at the head of
the cavalcade, by the side of a tall warrior, as the one boy of all that
band who was on first-rate terms with the pale-faces and knew perfectly
the trail leading to them. As for that, any red man of them all could
have followed the tracks of the wagon-wheels, even at night, but Two
Arrows had no idea of surrendering that part of his growing importance.
It would have done Na-tee-kah's proud heart good to have seen him in
particular, and it would have been well worth the while of almost
anybody else to have had a good look at the whole affair, as the motley
array poured out into the moonlight from under the shadowy cover of the
primeval forest.
There were no sleepy ones except the pappooses, and they could sleep
under the tightly-drawn blankets upon the backs of their mothers as well
as anywhere else. All the rest were more or less hardened to the quick
changes and migrations of the kind of life into which they had been
born. They were not likely to be injured by being kept up pretty late
for one night, and there was no need that anybody should walk, now that
their four-footed wealth had returned.
Two Arrows thought of that, and he could hardly help reminding some of
his friends of his share in so good a thing. He received a reply from
one gray-headed warrior which sounded very much like a snub:
"Ugh! Two Arrows. Red-head. Boys find pony first. Pony there. Brave find
next day. Boy talk too much. Kill 'Pache like warrior. Then talk a heap.
Show scalp. Whoop. Ugh!"
As for war and that sort of thing, there was no need for anybody to
stir the ambition of Two Arrows up to a greater heat. He was ready
enough now to do the wildest and rashest things he could think of. He
felt as if he were out upon his first war-path, and that there must be
somewhere a great heap of glory preparing for him.
The Nez Perce camp had been broken up with great celerity, and no time
had been lost, but after all the summons to move had come upon them most
unexpectedly. There had been a great deal to do and but a dim light to
do it by, and so it was pretty late before the picturesque caravan was
in motion. It took a line of march towards the mountains until its head
struck the well-marked tracks of the loaded wagons, and from that point
forward its course required little guiding. By a stern command from Long
Bear the utmost silence was maintained, and, after the moon went down,
the movement might fairly be said to have been performed in secret.
There was no danger that any small squad of Apache scouts would assail
so strong a party. Even the squaws and children felt pretty safe, but it
was very hard upon the Big Tongue, for that great brave soon found
himself in an advanced party, commanded by Long Bear himself, and after
that he was under an absolute necessity of not saying anything.
[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT MARCH OF NEZ PERCES]