THE RENEGADE.
With the peculiar cunning that belongs to such dastardly-minded men,
George Parsons watched for some sign of the beautiful Olive, but
without success. He could neither find a token or a trace. That she was
hidden somewhere in the neighborhood he did not doubt any more than
that she had been spirited away by some of the Indians who were jealous
of him. But, failing to ascertain any thing, he resolved upon blinding
the eyes of the Indians for a time; so proclaiming his wish to settle
among them and become a chief, he boldly began wooing a young squaw
for his bride, little thinking that the one whom he had so brutally
intended to destroy was keeping an eye upon his movements and silently
nursing her revenge.
Yet such was the case. The Burning Cloud had persistently avoided him,
or when forced to be seen by him, had been so effectually muffled
and disguised that he did not recognize her. In fact he had almost
forgotten the episode of their meeting amid the other excitements, and
not having seen her was led to believe that she did not belong to that
portion of the tribe, and soon gave the matter no further thought.
But she never failed to keep track of all his movements, and as soon as
she learned that he was endeavoring to gain the affections of one (who
chanced to be a friend and an intimate) of their number, she resolved
to ascertain what his intentions really were, for, with a woman's
penetration she saw that something was hidden.
First, however, she must take the girl whom he destined to make his
wife into her confidence, and obtain from her a pledge of secrecy,
as well as to put her upon her guard against a love that could only
prove disastrous. This was not difficult. Indian girls love mystery as
well as their fairer-skinned sisters, and it was so arranged that the
Burning Cloud became an unseen witness of many of their interviews.
The girl played her part well. It was subtle treachery against
treachery. She led him on by the arts well known to all women--by a
skillful management of sighs and voice and eyes, until he plainly told
her of his love, and urged her to consent to immediately become his
wife. Then she played the coquette--refused him even a kiss, but, after
long pleading, promised to meet him the next evening, when no one could
see or hear them, and give him an answer.
The delay chafed, but he was forced to be satisfied, and when the
appointed time came, he found the young squaw waiting for him at the
trysting, though the spot she had chosen was so dark that he knew not
of her presence until she called him by a name given by the tribe--and
a very appropriate one it was.
"The eyes of White Wolf are not sharp," she said, with a low laugh at
the manner in which he started, "and his heart beats not warm or it
would have told him who was near."
"Why, Little Raven," he replied, "it is so dark that I could not see
any thing--so dark that I was afraid you would not dare to come."
"What should she fear? Her heart is pure and her trail an open one.
She is willing the Great Spirit should see both--should know her every
thought."
"Why do you speak so low, and in a changed voice?"
"There is more than one of the braves jealous of White Wolf, and until
Little Raven becomes his wife and has found a home in his wigwam, she
would not have any one know of their meeting."
"That is well enough. But, come nearer to me. Let me put my arm around
you, and give me a kiss."
"Is it thus the white squaws treat their lovers?"
"Certainly."
"The red one keeps her favors for her husband," was the proud response.
"He would have the flower before the dew is brushed from it, or not at
all."
"That's prudish, Raven. But who is there to see?"
"The stars and the Manitou."
"Pshaw! Your coming to-night tells me that you will be my wife, and why
should there any longer be formality between us?"
"Does not the pale-face bring gifts to the wigwam of her he loves?"
"Yes, and you shall have them in plenty after we are married. Then I am
going back to my people for a little time, and when I come again you
shall have beads and ribbons and every thing you desire."
"Why does he go if he wishes to become a chieftain of the Sioux?"
"To get guns and powder."
"But what will he say when they ask him what has become of the pale
squaw who was in his company?" she asked, gently leading him on.
"I don't know; shall have to tell some kind of a story. What do you
think has become of her, Little Raven?" and the tone of his voice told
her sensitive ear that he was very far from having lost his interest in
her.
"The pale-face has hidden her, and will bring her back, when he wills,
to his wigwam."
"What, when you are to be my wife?"
"Are the chiefs of the pale-faces so poor that they can not have but
one wife? The red warrior has many."
"I hadn't thought of that, but the fact is I don't know where she is,
though I have searched far and near, and intend to continue to do so."
"Then you do love her?"
"No; I hate her, and would soon hand her over to the tribe for torture.
If you will find her, Raven, I will give you any thing you ask."
"If I should, I would drive a knife through her heart."
"What in the name of heaven would you do that for?" he asked,
earnestly, and with far more of feeling than he intended to display.
"So that she could not come between me and the love of White Wolf."
"That would never do. She must not be injured, even in a hair of her
head."
She had found out all she desired to know of the state of his
heart--knew just as plainly as if he had told her that he still coveted
the lovely white girl, and changing the subject, asked:
"Will the pale-face take the Raven, after he has made her his wife,
with him when he goes to visit his people?"
"That I couldn't do."
"And he will soon come back?"
"Very soon. I may not be gone over a week."
"Will he tell the warriors of his plans?"
"No, why should he?"
"They are to be his brothers."
"Does each tell the other when he starts upon a hunting-trail or for
scalps?"
"When there is any great purpose, yes."
"Well, I don't choose to do so. But, Raven, I want you to keep a sharp
look-out for the white girl while I am gone. Will you do so?"
"The eyes and ears of the Little Raven will be open."
"And you need not say what I have gone for to any one. I shall give out
that it is to hunt; that will be enough."
"When will White Wolf start?"
"I don't know. When will you marry me?"
"When you come back, ask me."
"Why not answer it now?"
"Because he might never return, and then the girls of the tribe would
point their fingers at her and cry out shame!"
"I am certain to come back," and had he finished the sentence as it
was in his thoughts it would have been with, "for vengeance upon your
cursed race who have robbed me of Olive."
"If so soon, he can wait until then for the Little Raven to fill his
wigwam, and he can bring presents to make her gay for her bridal."
That he did not wish the bride to know of his intentions was proof
positive to her mind of treachery, and though the conversation drifted
into love matters and he protested it in the most ardent fashion, yet
she kept him at a distance and would not permit him to enjoy caresses
in the slightest degree. But she managed to convince him (though
without pledging herself) that she adored him more than all the
world--would keep his secrets and be true to him in all respects, and
when they separated he believed her heart to be all his own.
There would, however, have been a great revulsion in his feelings if he
could have seen how she doubled like a hare upon her trail as soon as
his back was turned, and entered the village by another path--how she
flung aside her blanket and the face that was revealed was stamped with
any thing but tender emotions--was that of the Burning Cloud!
But he met the Little Raven soon afterward, and they had a long and
familiar conversation (though without referring to what had already
transpired that night), and she managed to deepen still more the
impression he had received, and he felt that he was playing the part of
a scoundrel. But, the heart of woman was nothing more than a straw, and
he cared as little about breaking it.
With all his arrangements perfected, he took his rifle upon the
following morning and started out as if for a brief hunt, passing the
Little Raven, pausing and bidding her a kind farewell. But he also
passed another who knew far more, and whom he did not see.
Burning Cloud was peeping at him through the curtains of her wigwam,
and as soon as he had disappeared turned to her brother--a young
warrior of very noble face and figure, and whispered:
"Follow him as the wolf follows the wounded buffalo, as the eagle does
the dove--the panther the young doe. Be ever near him and yet never
in sight. Hear every word that issues from his lips but let yours be
dumb as death. Be secret as the mole and crafty as the spider. Let
your footsteps be as light as the falling snowflake, and your ear as
sharp as the stag. Let nothing escape you. More than you dream of
hangs upon what you may learn--perhaps even the fate of the whole
tribe. If he turns back, bring me the news before he can get half the
way. Let nothing stop you, fire or tempest, heat or cold, sunshine or
rain, hunger, thirst, sleep, rest, thunder or lightning. But should
he not come back," and her eyes flashed still more vividly and her
frame trembled with wild excitement, "should he attempt to fly like a
loon-hearted coward, this!" and she handed him a long knife that had
been ground to razor-like sharpness, "and bring back his scalp or come
not at all."
"My ears are like the soft earth in the springtime to receive, and
like it when frozen in the winter to retain," he said, and slowly
disappeared from the village, as active, crafty and well-prepared a spy
as ever followed trail for knowledge or for blood!
For two days and two nights he tracked the white man. Then the trail of
the emigrants was reached, and he easily divined that the object of the
renegade was to intercept some passing train, and fortune favored him.
He saw one toiling along in the distance, knew where it would camp,
reached the spot ahead of them, and when Parsons came up was hidden so
as to watch all that happened--watch and listen.
Free tongue was given to the conversation, and the spy heard it all.
Then, and without waiting for the light, he turned homeward, and
scarcely a deer could have traveled more swiftly--traveled without the
slightest pause for rest--burst, travel-stained, into the wigwam of his
sister even while she was sleeping, and the single word he uttered was
the condensation of all he had to tell. It was:
"Naudoway--see!"