THE MEDICINE WORKS WONDERS
Cyrus was a captive now. There was no mistake about that. The only
thing he could do was to lie down and wait as patiently as he could
until daylight came. The rope with which he was bound was very painful
to him, but Cyrus knew it would be worse than useless to ask his sentry
to loosen it. The savages knew too much for that. They had had some
bitter experience with the trappers of the mountains in granting them
the free use of their hands, and they did not mean to be caught that
way any more.
It must have been about two o'clock when Cyrus was captured, and he
thought he had never known the time to pass so slowly as did the hours
that intervened before the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in
the east; for they told him that something was to be done with him
very speedily. During those hours he was often compelled to change his
position on account of his bonds, but the savage never once changed
his. If he had been a marble man he could not have sat more motionless;
but all the time his eyes were fastened upon his captive as if he meant
that not a sign from him should escape his notice. Finally the flap of
the door was drawn further aside, and an Indian's face appeared. He
wanted to see whom they had captured, but he said not a word to Cyrus
or his watcher. Presently other faces appeared, until Cyrus thought
that the whole camp of the Sioux was astir.
Daylight came on apace, and then Cyrus began to take some note of the
things in the lodge in which he was confined, and found to his surprise
that he was in no danger of stepping on slumbering inmates. With the
exception of himself and the sentinel who was keeping watch over him,
the tepee was as empty as it was when it was put up. It was probably
intended as a sort of prison for anybody who might be captured by the
Sioux, but up to this time Cyrus had the satisfaction of knowing that
he was the only one who had seen the inside of it.
"And if I could have my way I am the last one who will see how it
looks," said Cyrus to himself. "No doubt they expected to capture a
good many more. Somehow I don't feel as safe by having Guy Preston's
letter about me as I did by having that scrap of sage brush that the
Indian gave me. Well, if it doesn't effect my release it surely would
not effect Guy's, if he were here in my place."
It must have been nine o'clock before anyone came near him again,
and all the while he was in agony through his bonds which seemed to
hurt him more the longer he was tied up with them. But they could not
make him forget his stomach, which was clamoring loudly for something
nourishing. He had not eaten anything since dinner the day before, and
even a hard-tack he thought would prove very acceptable. While he was
thinking about it, two Indians came to the door of the tepee, and they
came in a hurry as though they were after something. They exchanged a
few words with his sentry--they were spoken so low that Cyrus did not
fully comprehend them--and then one of them seized Cyrus by the collar
and dragged him to his feet. The first thing he did was to untie the
prisoner's bonds; and when Cyrus felt his arms at liberty he stretched
them out with an exclamation which testified to the delight he felt.
"If I just had you two here alone, how quick I would end you up," said
he, to himself. "I will bet you could not catch me in a fair race. They
are going to take my clothes also," he added, when one of the Indians
proceeded to take off his hunting shirt. "Does that mean that I am to
get ready for the stake?"
It certainly looked that way, but Cyrus never uttered a word out
loud. He submitted to the disrobing as quietly as he could, and even
assisted them when something about his clothes bothered them; and in
two minutes more he was stripped clean. But he noticed two things,
filled as he was with other matters, and standing in fear of the
torture which seemed to be not far distant: the savages, when they came
into possession of his various articles of wardrobe, were careful to
look into all the pockets. Not one escaped their vigilance. His pipe,
his knife, and tobacco, and various other trinkets, which men have
about them, were quickly taken by his captors, until finally a grunt
from one of them announced the finding of Winged Arrow's letter,--the
one he had received from his father. The grunt speedily brought his
sentry to his feet, and he leaned over the shoulders of the others and
stared hard at the drawings. Not a word was said to Cyrus as to how he
came by the papers, but they exchanged several incoherent expressions,
which no doubt were perfectly understood among themselves, but which
were Greek to the captive. At last they seemed to have come to an
agreement regarding something, for one of them started off at a keen
run, while the other went on examining his clothes. When he pulled off
one of the moccasins the bogus dispatch dropped out.
"Now you have something that will do your heart good," muttered Cyrus.
"Why don't you run off with that? They have left my clothes here on the
ground--"
But Cyrus was a little too hasty in coming to this conclusion. The
finding of the bogus dispatch, of course, created another series
of grunts, which ended a good deal as the first one did. The other
captor seized the paper and disappeared with it, but before he went he
gathered up the clothes and carried them away also. That was too much
for Cyrus, and he sat down on the ground and thought about it, while
the sentry returned to his seat by the door.
Half an hour passed, during which Cyrus's mind was in a state of
confusion. This treatment was very different from any he had received
while a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and he had been one four
times when nothing but the stake seemed to be waiting for him. Twice
was he rescued by soldiers; a third time he was saved by an old squaw
who somehow got it into her head that Cyrus resembled her son who had
been killed by the whites; and the fourth time that bunch of sage brush
brought about his release. Now it was that letter of Winged Arrow; and
he confessed that his chances were slim indeed. It is true that he
was very young in years to be the hero of all these adventures, but
those among the mountain men with whom he was best acquainted declared
that he had been in skirmishes enough to fill out three or four books.
Like the Medicine Man among the different tribes, who runs all sorts
of risks to make his followers believe that he has found the proper
"thing" at last which will turn all the white man's bullets away from
him, Cyrus took every risk in time of war that anybody could take and
live. He was foremost in all the Indian fights and was one of Colonel
Carrington's favorite scouts. When everyone else failed he called upon
Cyrus, and Cyrus had never been found wanting. All men who live among
the Indians soon fall into their ways, and every one of them believed
that Cyrus had discovered some "medicine" that brought him safely out
of any danger he might get into.
At the end of half an hour, another faint step was heard outside the
tepee, the flap was thrown further open and this time Winged Arrow
appeared. Cyrus recognized him on the instant from the description that
Guy Preston had given him, and the first thought that passed through
his mind was that he had never seen a finer-looking Indian. His face
wore a scowl which did not in any way add to his appearance, and he did
not pay any attention to his keeper at all. In his hands he carried
all of Cyrus's clothing which he threw toward the prisoner with the
muttered exclamation:--
"I suppose these things belong to you. Put them on."
Cyrus was fully as surprised as Guy Preston to hear himself addressed
in perfect English by an Indian in his war clothing, but he lost no
time in obeying instructions. When he came to his hunting shirt he
carelessly grasped it under the right arm, and a thrill shot through
him when he felt the dispatch there as he had left it. The bogus
dispatch, the one that was intended for the Indians to read, was gone.
"Now you look more like yourself," said Winged Arrow, as he turned
about and beckoned to some one behind him, "I guess something to eat
would not do you any harm, would it?"
An Indian girl came into the tepee and laid Cyrus's breakfast before
him on the ground, and quickly went out again. Winged Arrow calmly
seated himself on the ground. Cyrus did the same, and while he was busy
with the viands which Winged Arrow had provided for him, he kept one
eye fixed upon the young Indian as if he hoped to see something in his
face which would give him a faint glimpse of what the future had in
store for him; but Winged Arrow's features were as unmoved as if he
had no secret to communicate. The provisions did not trouble him much,
for it was not as hearty a breakfast as some he had eaten at the Fort,
although the grub there was getting scarce since the Sioux had shut
them in from all the world--a joint of beef which had once been warmed,
but was now cold, a chunk of Indian bread which had doubtless been cut
out of some "parfleche" repository and a cup of cold water formed the
substance of his breakfast. But it was better than nothing, and finally
it had all disappeared except the bones.
"Now I am ready for anything you have to propose," said Cyrus. "What do
you fellows intend to do with me?"
"You belong to me and so I am going to set you free," said Winged
Arrow, as if he were talking of something that did not interest Cyrus
in the least. "It was the worst thing I ever heard of, getting you
free, for our people have all something against you."
"I don't see how they make that out," replied Cyrus, feeling in his
pockets for his pipe. "You can't point to a single thing that ever I
did that injured you in the least. I have let more than one chance go
by that I have had of sending your people to the Happy Hunting Grounds,
and have let them get off scot-free when I might have had a scalp to
take with me as well as not."
"But something is always happening to take you away from us," said
Winged Arrow, "and what do you suppose it was that saved your life this
time?"
"Was it that letter that you gave to Guy Preston?"
The young savage took the letter out of his bosom and gave it to Cyrus,
who took it and stowed it away in one of his pockets.
"Now that letter can answer one more purpose," said Winged Arrow. "Any
man who is captured after that will lose his life."
"How do you make that out?"
"I promised my father," began Winged Arrow.
"By the way, who is your father?" said Cyrus. "He must be a man of
considerable standing in the tribe or else you would not be permitted
to meet a man between the lines, or to hold a chat with me now."
"He is a Medicine Man," replied the young Indian. "If there is a fight
here you will see him in the foremost ranks. He has a medicine which he
believes will render him impervious to the white man's bullets. You do
not believe in such things, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Cyrus, earnestly. "One of your people gave me such
medicine, which afterward saved my life."
"What was it?" asked Winged Arrow, becoming interested.
"A handful of sage brush wrapped up in a piece of buckskin. I don't see
why you fellows can't have some medicine of that kind as well as some
others. What did you promise your father?"
"That I would join him and help fight for the lands which the whites
are trying to cheat us out of, provided he would give me the choice of
saving two white men who might chance to fall into our hands. I had an
eye on that black horse which that Lieutenant rides--What did you say
his name was?"
"Guy Preston; and he is just the best white fellow that ever lived."
"I am not saying anything about that. I had an eye on him ever since
you left Fort Robinson, and yesterday I chanced to meet him outside the
lines. I told him that the letter would save his life, but now he has
gone and given it up to you. I kept my promise, although I had a hard
time of it. If that letter comes into our camp on another man, it will
save his life too; but that is all."
"Don't you think you are in big business to help the Indians to clean
out the whites?" said Cyrus, who did not know what else to say.
"You must have seen Guy Preston down there at the Fort, and he told you
all I had to say on that point," replied Winged Arrow with a scowl.
"Of course I shall help the Indians clean out the whites. This is our
country; no one else has any claim upon it, and we are bound to wipe
them out or die with weapons in our hands. Say," said the Indian,
almost in a whisper, "I read your bogus dispatch, but the other is safe
where it belongs."
"What other?" asked Cyrus, startled in spite of himself.
"The one you have got in your hunting shirt. I put my hand on it, but
did not dare take it out. If I had, and had read it to Red Cloud, that
letter would not have saved you."
"What did that bogus dispatch do?" inquired Cyrus, drawing a long
breath of relief. The savages had had the genuine dispatch in their
hands and it had been saved to him through Winged Arrow, who had so
much at stake. He had never heard anything like it before, and his
admiration for the young Indian was almost unbounded. He believed now
more firmly than he had before that there were some traits in the
savage character with which the white men were entirely unacquainted.
"It did not do much," replied Winged Arrow. "Red Cloud sent off a band
of scouts to see if the dispatch told the truth, but he did not believe
that any living man could have gotten through our cloud of warriors
with news to the Fort. I repeat that I did not dare take out that other
dispatch, for that told the truth; and you would have been tied out to
the stake now."
"Well, I am glad it is no worse," said Cyrus. "You may fall into the
hands of some of our people some day----"
"Well, when I do it will be when I am dead," returned Winged Arrow
emphatically. "You can't help me then. But here come the braves to
take you back to the Fort. Give Guy my kindest regards and tell him to
keep that letter about his own person. It will save one more and that
is all."
A party of warriors rode up at this moment, one of them carrying
Cyrus's Winchester which he gave into his hands. He stopped for a
moment to shake hands with Winged Arrow, but the latter stood with
his hands behind him, which Cyrus took as a sign that no hand shaking
was to be allowed; so he touched his hat to the young savage, and,
following the motions of one of the Indians, started off toward
the Fort. Not a thing was said to him during their long walk until
they arrived at the top of the swell, from which they could see the
palisades. One glance was enough to show him that the vigilant soldiers
were on the watch. He saw a commotion in the Fort, occasioned by the
men hurrying to their quarters, which was a gentle hint to the savages
that they had come close enough.
"There are your friends," said one who had evidently talked English to
him the night before, "Go home."
Cyrus renewed his efforts at hand shaking, but the Indians turned their
horses and retreated behind the hill.