AT THE TORTURE STAKE.
When some gathered around the fallen man, and jeered and taunted him
with his defeat, others busied themselves in making preparations for
their next scene in the tragic entertainment.
The pyre was soon in process of construction around the trunk of a
tree, and as there were many willing hands to gather the dry fagots and
green boughs of which it was composed, it did not take long to complete
it.
Space was left between the fuel and the tree for the prisoner to stand,
and there was also an opening through the pile wide enough to admit of
his passage and to allow access to him for any preliminary torments.
Still, no haste was made in leading the condemned man to execution. The
pleasure of anticipation was something, and, perhaps, it was deemed
best not to have the popular show terminate too soon.
It was yet only about eight o’clock in the morning, and while some
of the women and children surrounded the captive--who had again been
bound--and amused themselves by inflicting small annoyances upon him,
the warriors gathered in squads and entered into an animated discussion
of the sport in which they had just been engaged.
Some justified their blunders; some extolled their skill, which had
only been defeated by the most extraordinary ill luck; but all agreed
in awarding the honors of the day to valiant Bulboo--whatever that
might mean--whose club had brought the exhausted man down.
Now, as Bulboo was a half brother to Strong Arm, this result was
generally satisfactory, and was probably considered a proof of approval
of the ordeal on the part of those unseen powers which guide the
destinies of men.
However this may have been, the victor had certainly gained caste
and influence by his success, and the thought at once occurred to
Buffalo Bill that if anything more could be attempted in behalf of the
prisoner in the short time which remained for action, this was the most
promising field for effort.
Running Water could do nothing, and the proud Black Panther could not
even be approached directly by the white men, to whom he had evidently
conceived a hatred; but Bulboo, satisfied with his exploits, might,
perhaps, listen to the voice of mercy, for a “consideration,” and be
made the medium of a new communication with, and further overtures to,
the imperious Black Panther.
Buffalo Bill, in younger days, had been an amateur artist, and he was
still a ready, if not very correct, draftsman with the pencil.
Seated under a tree, with his knee for an easel, he drew on the blank
leaf of a letter a picture of a prancing horse saddled and bridled,
with a tolerable likeness of Bulboo at his side, holding him by the
reins.
Then he sketched two other horses, similarly caparisoned, eight or ten
guns, two kegs, and made a rather bungling attempt to represent a box
of clay pipes and a pile of blankets.
Having completed this picture writing, he watched his opportunity when
Black Panther was at a distance, and then he dispatched Congo to ask
the chief if he would come and see his white brother once more for a
few minutes, and would bring the great warrior Bulboo with him.
Running Water was seated on the grass, smoking his reed pipe and
watching the proceedings of those around him, and when he saw the negro
approaching he motioned to him to go back, and pointed to the place
where the boats were moored, as an intimation that the strangers ought
now to depart.
But these inhospitable gestures were evidently made more in sorrow than
in anger, and as Joe insisted on coming forward, and began to speak,
the chief, by a quick motion of the hand, signified to him to sit down
on the ground, with his back to the crowd, of whom but few, if any,
were near enough to hear what might be said.
Congo obeyed, and then delivered his message as intelligibly as he
could.
“My brother is not wise,” replied Running Water. “He is free now. By
and by he may be tied to a tree.”
“Guess notty,” replied Congo. “Come--be goody, Mr. Running Water. You
great chiefy.”
The Indian smiled, and replied with a brief eulogy upon his own
greatness, of which Joe could understand but little except the drift,
but he nodded gravely at the end of each sentence, and repeated:
“Great chiefy.”
But the potent leader did not deport himself like one at liberty to do
all that he pleased.
He looked carefully on either side of him, and particularly in the
direction in which Black Panther had vanished, and then informed Congo
that he would meet his brother in one of the remote wigwams, which he
pointed out to him.
“Him go; I come,” he said.
“An’ bring Cap’n Bully Boy?” asked the negro.
“Yes, me bring um.”
Joe returned with this message, being careful to keep his eye on the
lodge which had been named as the rendezvous, and Buffalo Bill, with
hopes slightly revived, was soon on his way thither, accompanied by the
negro, and regardless of the renewed entreaties of Captain Meinhold to
embark, and of the threats of some of the party that they would seize
the boats and go without him.
He went saunteringly, so as not to attract attention, and when he was
sure that he was unwatched, unless by Running Water, he entered the
deserted cabin, and from its one open window looked anxiously forth for
the approach of the two men to whom this his last appeal was to be made.
The fact that this was his last hope, and that if it failed his young
friend and companion would in a few minutes be in the hands of his
tormentors and executioners made him exceedingly nervous.
At one moment he thought that he was foolishly persistent and that, so
far from there being any prospect of success, he was only risking his
own life and that of his other comrades and the safety of the women by
his importunities. But at the next there seemed a little ground for
hope, and he could not bear to abandon it.
Running Water and Bulboo soon came, the latter evidently wondering and
looking by no means mild and benignant. Yet if his war paint had been
washed off, perhaps all his fierceness of expression would have gone
with it.
He was a young man, scarcely past thirty years, tall and slim, and clad
in a kirtle of deerskin, which extended to his knees, and which, with
his leggings and moccasins, constituted his only apparel.
Two dried claws of the grizzly bear, fastened by a leathern string
around his neck, rested like epaulets upon his shoulders, and were
the badge of his rank as a brave, he having killed the monster whose
trophies he thus wore.
Buffalo Bill opened the conference by frankly informing Running Water
of his designs, and, by way of making his meaning clear, he exhibited
the pictures he had drawn, which at once enlisted the curiosity and
excited the admiration of the savages.
Bulboo at once recognized the portraits of himself, for the figure and
dress were sufficient to individualize it, and he seemed much pleased
with it as a work of art before he comprehended the object for which it
had been drawn.
Buffalo Bill, before making any offer of presents which were so likely
to delight a savage, reminded the chief that he did not propose to pay
for the blood of Strong Arm; but if his people were inclined to be just
and merciful he wished to show them what they would gain by it.
The prisoner, he said, was rich. He would give three horses, like
those in the sketch, all saddled and bridled, to Running Water, Black
Panther, and Bulboo, so that they might each ride to the chase or the
battlefield as became their rank.
He would also give a dozen good rifles, a dozen broadcloth blankets,
five kegs of fire water, five pounds of powder, two hundred pipes, a
barrel of tobacco, a big box full of colored glass beads, and enough
earrings and finger rings of the best brass to supply the whole tribe.
“An’ de rigimintals, Massa Cody,” said the watchful Congo, when
the other had ended this enumeration of tempting gifts; “put in de
rigimintals, for de Injuns t’ink an orful sight of dem.”
Yes, it was well thought of. Two military suits, with epaulets, were
added to the list--these also being sketched by Buffalo Bill’s facile
pencil--one of them being for the great chief and the other for the
great brave, Black Panther.
“An’ one for Bully Boy,” whispered Congo.
No. Buffalo Bill did not wish to make these coveted articles too
common, and, but for the fear of offending the chief, he would have
offered only one, making it a special prize for Black Panther, whose
extensive influence he was especially anxious to secure.
The savages listened with an amazed and puzzled look to this catalogue
of treasures, but, much to the disappointment of Buffalo Bill, who
watched their countenance closely, they showed no sign of being
particularly pleased.
After conversing gruffly, and with seeming anger, in their own
language, the chief took up the pictured paper, and said:
“My brother is not wise. These things are not for men--they are for
children.”
“No good! No shoot!” added Bulboo.
“Why, Massa Cody,” added Joe, “I’m blamed if dey don’t t’ink it’s de
paper horses an’ guns you’se offerin’ dem. Ha! ha! What a pair of
ninnyhammers!”
“Keep still, Joe,” replied the other, smiling, and then proceeding to
correct the mistake by assuring the red men, in the best mixed English
and Indian that he could command, that he offered them real, living
horses, of any color that they chose, and real rifles and blankets, and
everything else which he had enumerated, real and substantial, and of
the best kind.
“Me no see um,” replied the chief, affecting to look around through
the door and window. “Does my brother keep his horses in the clouds or
under the great lake?”
That both the Indians were altogether incredulous, and were now
inclined to depart in disgust, was quite apparent, and it was with no
little difficulty that Buffalo Bill succeeded in making them understand
the remaining part of his proposition.
They should retain their prisoner, he said, until the time came, which
should be at the farthest by the next new moon--about twenty days
ahead--and if they failed to receive all that had been promised they
might then carry out their sentence against him.
As a pledge of his sincerity and of his expectations to redeem his
promises, he offered the chief his watch to keep until he came back,
bringing all the gifts; and Joe added to this offer that of his magic
corkscrew, on the special condition that it should be kept safe and
should be returned to him “w’en de hosses and guns come.”
The Indians, though still looking amazed, now seemed much pleased, and
said they would both talk to Black Panther and to their people, and try
to turn their hearts if it was not too late; but that the prisoner was
already being led to the tree, as his friends could see, and that his
tortures had probably begun.
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, make haste!” exclaimed Cody, who remembered
the pistol in Hare’s possession; “and you, Congo, run! run! Get as near
to him as you can, and tell him what we are doing.”
“Yes, sah; I’ll try,” said Joe. “But Black Panther, he’ll drive me off,
I know, and I ’fraid he tommyhawk me.
“Run! run! I’ll follow as fast as I can. If you can’t get near enough
to speak to him, make signs that we are coming.”
The four men all started for the scene of torture, but at very
different rates of speed, for the two Indians walked with stately
gravity, conversing as they went.
Buffalo Bill and Congo ran as fast as they could.
The negro, being the swifter of the two, was soon hovering on the
outskirts of the crowd of men, women, and children who were gathered
around the execution tree.
Finding it impossible to get through the throng, he imitated the
example of many of the Indian boys and girls, and climbed a tree, from
the lowest branches of which he could overlook the crowd and get a view
of all that was going on.
The condemned man was bound to a small maple by a rope of bark, which
was passed several times around his waist, but his limbs and head were
left free, probably for the additional amusement to be derived from
seeing him attempt to dodge or ward off the various missiles aimed at
him by his persecutors.
This sport had already begun, as was apparent from some arrows and
knives sticking in the tree near his head, and a shout of laughter
which rang through the crowd just as Congo attained his elevated seat
applauded the successful feat of pinning one ear of the captive to the
tree by a shaft from a bow.
Pale as a ghost and frantic with terror, poor Hare now put up his hands
to ward off the flying weapons, and now tried to extricate the arrow
from his ear, groaning meanwhile and begging for mercy in language, of
course, which would have been unintelligible to most of his tormentors
if heard, but which was drowned by their own shouts and cries.
He had been left clad in the garments in which he had run his race,
with the exception of his hat, which was off, and Congo could plainly
see the stock of his pistol slightly protruding from his pocket, as if
he had partly drawn it out, but feared to use it.
His hand wandered irresolutely toward it now and then, and as it seemed
that his sufferings and dread must nerve him to a speedy use of this
effectual means of escaping the malice of his enemies, Joe hastily
tried to attract his attention without drawing upon himself the
observation of the savage crowd.
He drew from his pocket a yellow cotton kerchief, and waved it toward
him; but, failing to accomplish his object in this way, and seeing that
his hand again sought his pistol and rested with firm grasp upon the
protruding stock, he shouted desperately to him, heedless of the danger
which he was drawing upon himself.
“Massa Hare, Massa Hare!” he cried. “Hold on, dar! Don’t shoot
yourself! Dey’se comin’ to save you yit!”
Probably little or nothing of this was understood by the prisoner, but
he heard the negro’s voice, and, following the eyes of the crowd who
turned like one man to look at the intruder, saw him still waving his
yellow flag.
Great confusion ensued, many of the savages believing that the black
“medicine man” was performing some incantation to save the life of his
friend, and others, less superstitious, aiming guns and arrows at him,
seemingly by direction of the irate Black Panther, whose shouted orders
sounded over the field.
The vigilant Joe, seeing his danger, leaped to the ground and ran to
meet Buffalo Bill, who was now close at hand, followed at a little
distance by the chief and Bulboo, who had also quickened their speed
and were fast coming up.
“Stop, Massa Cody! Stop! An’ let’s git behind de chief an’ Cap’n Bully
Boy!” exclaimed the frightened Joe. “Or dey’ll shoot us bofe, just as
sure as a gun.”
Cody complied with this prudent request, for many of the Indians were
rushing toward them.
Running Water waved them back with an authoritative gesture of his
hand, and, placing himself in front of the imperiled men, bade them
sit down on the grass and keep quite still.
“Is he alive?” asked Cody, in a whisper, as he complied with this
order, for his solicitude for Hare still outweighed his sense of
personal danger.
“Yes, massa, but he got de pistol in his hand, and I expect to hear it
go off every minute.”
“No--you’ve effected a diversion, for the present, I guess.”
“I don’t t’ink it’s very diverting, massa,” replied the trembling
negro. “See how mad dey is.”
“They won’t come any nearer. See, the chief is speaking to them, and
Bulboo stands close at his side to show that he agrees with him.”
“What does he say?”
“He is only telling them to be quiet, I believe, and to send Black
Panther to him. At least, I judge so by his gestures, and his frequent
mention of the orator’s name.”
“Yes--yes--dare comes Black Panther lookin’ as fierce as a turkey
gobbler; and a lot of others jest like him. It’s all up with us now,
Massa Cody. I never was so scairt before. I tell you dey’ll burn us
all.”
“Well, well, keep still. There’s nothing else that we can do now; for
to speak would incense them still further, and to run would probably be
fatal.”
But little of the dialogue which now ensued between the chief and his
warriors was understood by Cody, but, judging from its tones, it was
not over-courteous on either side.
If it was not an angry altercation, it was something very near it, and
if Running Water had not been supported by Bulboo--the victor in the
lists, and a near relative of Strong Arm--he would scarcely have gained
a hearing in asking, as he now did, for an hour’s suspension of the
proceedings against the prisoner until a new talk could be had and a
new proposition considered.
Shouts of indignant refusal met this request at first, but when Bulboo
had gone over to Black Panther and whispered a few words to him,
doubtless about the presents, that dignitary consented to a respite and
a new council, but scouted the idea of its terminating differently from
the preceding ones.
That no time might be lost, the braves were at once separated from the
crowd and were seated upon the ground under the shade of a large tree,
while the prisoner, still bound, was left exposed to such annoyances as
the squaws and small children saw fit to inflict. But they did not use
any weapons upon him, for they had received orders not to do so.
They pulled his hair, they pinched his flesh, they made mocking faces
at him, they pelted him with tufts of sod and dirt, and loaded him with
opprobrious epithets. These last, however, were lost upon him, as he
did not understand them.
But his friends, Cody and Congo, although not allowed to approach him,
were now within his view, and as long as he was not abandoned he would
not quite despair, nor resort to suicide, as he had been momentarily
tempted to do in order to escape the indignities and tortures which
were being heaped upon him.
As to hope of escape or release, he could scarcely be said to indulge
it, for he knew nothing of the reason why his severer tortures were
suspended, and he supposed it was only for the purpose of giving the
women and children their share of the sport.
Buffalo Bill and his sable friend did not know whether they were in
custody or not. Several armed savages remained near them, and Joe, who
had evidently given serious offense, was disposed to take a somber
view of affairs.
“If Black Panther has his way, it’s all up with us, sah,” he said. “He
won’t believe in all these promises. ’Cause why? You’ve offered dem too
much, sah. He’ll say you’se only goin’ hum after soldiers to rescue
Massa Hare. You’ll see. Why for they no send for you to de council if
dey friendly?”
Sure enough, Cody was far from easy in his mind; and almost at this
moment a new cause for alarm was discovered, and was announced to them
by one of the red men. He came near, and then, with some unintelligible
ejaculation, pointed to the lake, where Captain Meinhold’s boat was
seen rapidly departing, and already many rods from the shore.
The chase after Congo had added the climax to the fears of the officer
and his companions. They were alarmed for the safety of the women.
Meinhold was as brave as a lion personally, and he would have stayed
behind with Cody gladly; but he and the rest had felt that they dared
not risk the lives or safety of the helpless women in their care.