THE WYANDOT CHIEF
Henry rose quickly from the noonday refreshment and, with a nod to his
comrades, entered the forest at the head of the little band of hunters.
Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross would have gone, too, but Adam Colfax wanted
them to keep watch about the camp, and they were too loyal to insist
upon having their own way when it was opposed to that of the leader.
Five men were with Henry, fairly good hunters on the whole, but more at
home in the far south than in the woods of the Ohio. One, a big fellow
named Larkin, had an undue pride in his skill, and another, a Frenchman,
Pierre Cazotte, was a brave fellow, but uncommonly reckless. The
remaining three were not of marked individuality.
Henry examined them all with swift glances, and decided at once that
Larkin and Cazotte, full of overweening confidence, would want their
way, but he said nothing, merely leading the band into the mass of dense
green foliage that rimmed the camp around. He looked back but once, and
saw his four faithful comrades sitting by the fire, it seemed to him, in
an attitude of dejection. Then he went forward swiftly, and in another
minute the forest shut out camp fire and comrades.
"What's your notion, Henry?" asked Larkin. "Have you seen signs of deer
or buffalo near?"
"Both," replied Henry. "There are good springs and little open places in
the woods not more than a couple of miles away. We're pretty sure to
find deer there."
"Why not buffalo?" exclaimed Larkin. "I've shot more deer than I could
ever count, but I've never killed a buffalo. It's the first time that
I've been in this part of the country."
"Nor have I," said Cazotte. "We have many people to feed, and ze buffalo
ees beeg. Ze deer ees too leetle for all ze mouths back there."
"Right you are, Frenchy," exclaimed Larkin jovially. "We'll pass the
deer by an' go for buffalo if we have to travel six or seven miles
further. What this gang wants is buffalo, an' buffalo it will have."
"I don't think we ought to go very far from the camp," said Henry.
"These woods from here to the lakes are the hunting grounds of the most
warlike tribes, and bands may be near us now."
Larkin laughed again his big jovial laugh.
"You're thinkin' a lot about Indians," he said, "You're brave--everybody
knows it--but a fellow can put his mind on 'em so hard that he can see
'em where they ain't."
Henry laughed, too. He knew no offense was intended, but he was
confirmed in his belief that Larkin meant to have his own way. He saw,
too, that Cazotte and the others were ready to back him up. But he would
not yield without a protest.
"It's true, I am thinking a lot about Indians," he said earnestly, "and
I think I have cause to do so. They're here in these woods now. I'm sure
of it, and they know of the presence of our fleet. We ought to be very
cautious."
Larkin laughed again, and his laugh contained the slightest touch of
irony.
"I'll wager there ain't an Indian within fifty miles," he exclaimed,
"an' if there was one he wouldn't keep us from our buffalo, would he,
Pierre, old fellow?"
He slapped the Frenchman on the back, and Cazotte returned the laugh.
"Not a hundred Indians could keep us from heem," he replied. "I taste
the steaks of that mighty buffalo now. Ah, they so good!"
Henry flushed through his tan. He did not like even that slight touch of
irony. He had held in mind a tiny prairie not more than two miles away
where they were almost absolutely sure to find deer feeding, but he
abandoned the idea and thought of another and larger prairie, of which
he and Shif'less Sol had caught a glimpse three or four miles further
on. It was quite likely that buffalo would be found grazing there.
"Very well," he said, "if you're bound to have it that way I'll lead
you. Come."
He led swiftly to the northeast, and Larkin, Cazotte, and the others,
already tasting their hunting triumph, followed. The undergrowth
thinned, but the trees grew larger, spreading away like a magnificent
park--maples, oak, beech, hickory and elm. Henry was glad to see the
bushes disappear, but for the second time that day the sound that made
the chill run down his spine came to his ear, the warning note of the
wind among the leaves. It soon passed, and he did not hear it again.
The open woods ceased, and the bushes began once more, thicker than
ever. They were compelled to go much more slowly, and Henry, risking
another laugh at himself, told them to make as little noise as possible.
"Anyway, if Indians are about they'll hear us shootin' our buffaloes,"
said Larkin. "So we needn't mind a little snappin' an' cracklin' of the
bushes."
"It's a good plan in the woods never to make any noise, when you can
help it," said Henry.
The others heeded him for a few moments, but soon relapsed into their
slovenly ways. It sounded to Henry's sensitive ear as if an army were
passing. But he would not speak again of the need of caution, knowing
how soon another warning would be disregarded. Meanwhile he kept a wary
watch in behalf of his careless comrades, searching the thickets with
eye and ear, and trying to guard them from their own neglect.
Another mile passed, the third since they had left the camp, and they
came to a little brook. As Henry crossed it he distinctly saw the
impression of a moccasined foot in the soft soil of the bank. It could
not be more than an hour old.
"Look there!" he said to Larkin and Cazotte. "See the proof of what I
have told you. An Indian has passed here this very afternoon."
Larkin glanced at the trace in the soft earth and shook his head
dubiously.
"Do you call that the footprint of a man?" he asked. "It may be, but I
can't make it out. It might have been put there by some animal."
Henry frowned. These men would not be convinced. But he said nothing
more and continued to lead the way. Before him lay a stretch of thick
wood with matted undergrowth, and beyond this, as he had discovered when
scouting with Shif'less Sol in the morning, was the prairie on which
they might find the buffalo.
This thicket opened and received them, the bushes closing up behind them
in such compact order that nothing could be seen ten yards away. But
Henry's eyes caught the glimpse of something to their right. It was the
feather of an eagle, the second that he had seen that day, but it was
thrust upright, and it adorned the head of a living warrior.
"Down! Down at once!" he cried, and, seizing the careless Larkin, he
fairly hurled him to the earth. At the same instant a dozen rifles
crackled among the bushes. The light-hearted Frenchman fell stone dead,
a bullet through his head, and two more men were wounded. A bullet had
grazed Larkin's shoulder, burning like the sting of a hornet, and, wild
with pain and anger, he sprang again to his feet.
Henry had felt all along that the party was in his care, and he was
resolved to save Larkin from his own folly. He also sprang up, seized
the big man and dragged him down a second time. But as he sank into the
concealment of the bushes he felt a blow upon the side of his head. It
was like the light tap of a hammer, and for a second or two he thought
nothing of it. Then his knees grew weak and his sight dim, and he knew
that he was hit badly.
"Run, run!" he cried to Larkin. "The way by which we came is yet open
and we may escape! It's the only chance!"
Larkin glanced back. He had been foolish, but he was no coward.
"You're hit and we won't leave you!" he exclaimed.
"Go on! go on!" cried Henry, summoning up his energy with a great effort
of the will. "I'll look out for myself! Run!"
His tone was so compelling that Larkin and the others sprang up and made
at top speed for the camp, the bullets whistling about them as they
went. Henry tried to follow, but that extraordinary weakness in his
knees increased, and it was growing quite dark. He had risen to his
feet, but he sank down despite every effort of the will, and he saw a
dim world whirling about him. A dozen dusky figures shot out of the
obscurity. One raised a tomahawk aloft, but another stopped the arm in
its descent.
He was conscious that the dusky figures stood about him in a ring,
looking at him intently. But he was fast growing dizzier, and his
eyelids were uncommonly heavy. He gave back their looks with defiance,
and then he sank to the ground, unconscious.
Henry revived in a half hour. Some one had thrown water on his face, and
he found himself sitting up, but with his hands tied securely behind his
back. His head ached terribly, and he felt that his hair was thick with
blood. But he knew at once that it was only a glancing wound, and that
the effects, caused by the impact of the bullet upon the skull, were
passing.
He was a prisoner, but all his alertness and powers were returning. He
was not one ever to give up hope, and a single glance was enough to tell
him the whole situation. A half dozen warriors stood about him, eight or
ten more were returning, evidently from a chase, and one bore a ghastly
trophy at his belt. Then three had escaped! It was perhaps more than he
had hoped. He knew that another hideous decoration was in the belt of
some warrior near him, but he closed his eyes to it, nor would he look
at the body of the fallen Frenchman.
"You come with us," said a warrior in fairly good English.
Henry looked at the speaker and recognized at once a chief, a young man
of uncommon appearance, great in stature and with a fierce and lofty
countenance, like that of the ancient Roman, sometimes found in the
North American Indian. He was a truly impressive figure, his head
clean-shaven except for the defiant scalp lock which stood aloft
intertwined with small eagle feathers, a gorgeous red blanket from some
Canadian trading post thrown carelessly about his shoulders after the
fashion of a toga, a fine long-barreled Kentucky rifle lying in the
hollow of his arm, and a tomahawk and knife at his belt.
Henry felt instinctively that he was in the presence of a great man, a
great chief of the woods. He recognized here a spirit akin to his own,
and for a full minute the two, boy and man, gazed intently at each
other. Then the chief turned away with a slight laugh. He made no sound,
but the prisoner knew from the motion of his lips that he laughed.
Henry looked again at the group of warriors, and now it was an examining
glance. They were not Shawnees or Miamis, but certain features of paint
and dress showed him that they were Wyandots, a small tribe, but the
bravest that white men ever faced on the North American Continent. It
became an axiom in the Ohio Valley that a Wyandot might be killed in
battle, but he could not be taken prisoner. Thirteen Wyandot chiefs were
in the allied Indian army that was beaten by Wayne at the Fallen
Timbers; the bodies of twelve were found on the field.
Henry fully understood the character of the Wyandots, their great
enterprise and desperate courage, and he knew that their presence here,
west of their own country, portended some great movement. His eyes came
back to the chief, who repeated his statement or rather command:
"You go with us!"
"I have no other choice," replied the youth with a tinge of irony. Then
he added, with some curiosity: "You are a chief, I see that. Will you
tell me your name?"
"I am called White Lightning in your tongue," replied the young man,
making at the same time a movement of his head, very slight, but full of
indescribable pride.
Henry's gaze showed an increase of interest. He had heard that name,
White Lightning. Before he went south to New Orleans it was beginning to
have ominous significance on the border. White Lightning had fought in
the great battle when the emigrant train was saved at the crossing of
the river, but it was only since then that he had become a head chief,
with the opportunity to display his terrible talents. An intensity of
purpose and action like the fire that burns white had caused men to give
to him the name, White Lightning, in English, but in his own Wyandot
tongue he was Timmendiquas, which means The Lightning.
Henry had risen to his feet, and as they stood eye to eye each felt that
the other was a worthy opponent. The chief marked the great proportions
and lofty bearing of the captive youth, and a glint of approval appeared
in his eyes.
"The Wyandots are happy to have taken such a prisoner," he said, "and
now we will go."
He made a gesture, and instantly the group fell into single file, as he
led the way through the forest. Henry was the fourth man in the file.
All his strength had come back, but he was far too wise to attempt
escape. His hands were bound behind him, and he would have no chance
with such woodsmen. He must bide his time, and he marched without
protest.
When they had gone about a mile all stopped at a signal from White
Lightning. The chief dropped back to a subordinate place in the line,
although his was still the air and actual manner of command, and his
place at the head of the file was taken by a heavy, middle-aged warrior
who carried at his belt one of the hideous trophies at which Henry would
not look. But he understood Indian custom well enough to know the cause
of this change. The middle-aged warrior had taken the first scalp in
battle, and therefore it was his honor to lead the party back in triumph
to their village or camp.
White Lightning remained but a moment or two in his place. Then he
stepped forth, while the others stood rigid, and drew a medicine bag
from beneath the folds of his blanket. He held the bag for a moment
poised in his hand, as if it were a sacred object, which, in fact, it
was to the Wyandots, while the warriors regarded it with reverential
eyes.
Then every warrior took his totem from some secure place next to his
body where it had been tied. The totems were small objects various in
kind, such as the skin of a snake, a piece of the tail of a buffalo, a
part of the horn of a buck, or a little packet of feathers. But every
totem was sacred, and it was handled with worshipful care. The chief put
them one by one into the medicine bag, which he handed to the temporary
leader, the first scalp-taker, who would bear it in triumph home.
Henry watched the proceeding with interested eyes. He knew the Indian
way. In his early captivity he had seen the entire rite, which was
practically sacred. He knew that before these Wyandots had started on
the war-path every man had put his totem in the bag, and then White
Lightning had carried it bound securely to his body. Whenever they
halted the bag was laid down in front, and no one might pass it. The
warriors, now on the war-path, were not allowed to talk of home, wife,
or sweetheart, lest it weaken their hearts and turn them to water. When
they camped at night the heart of whatever animal they had killed in the
course of the day was cut into small pieces and burned. During the
burning no man was allowed to step across the fire, but must walk around
it in the direction of the sun. When they laid the ambush, and the enemy
came into sight, the chief gave back his totem to every man, and he wore
it on his body in the conflict as a protection given by Manitou.
Henry noticed the rapt, worshipful air with which every man regarded his
totem before it was replaced in the medicine bag. He was a child of the
forest and the wilderness himself, and, while he knew that this was
superstition, he could not find it in his heart to criticize it. It was
their simple belief, the best that they knew, and here was the proof of
its power. They had suffered no loss in the ambush, while they had slain
two and taken one.
The elderly warrior who now bore the medicine bag and who was to lead
them back home preserved a stoical face while the brief ceremonies were
going on, but Henry knew that his heart was swollen with pride. He had
achieved one of the greatest triumphs of an Indian's life, and the
memory of it would remain with his tribe as long as he lived.
"You are now our leader, O Anue (Bear)," said the young chief in Wyandot
to the successful warrior.
"I take the trust, O Timmendiquas (Lightning)," replied Anue as he
stepped back to the head of the line.
But the spirit and authority of Timmendiquas were still omnipotent,
despite the formal leadership of Anue, and he turned to the prisoner,
regarding him a moment or two with his piercing glance.
"You have come with the great white force up Yandawezue?" he said
interrogatively.
"Yandawezue?" repeated Henry, who was not familiar with the Wyandot
tongue.
"The great river," repeated Timmendiquas, waving his hand toward the
southwest.
"Ah, I understand," said Henry. "You mean the Mississippi. Yes, we have
come up it all the way from New Orleans, and we have a strong force,
many men with many rifles and with cannon. We had a great battle far
down the river, and we defeated all the Indians and white men, their
renegade allies."
Timmendiquas, the White Lightning of the whites, the great young chief
of the Wyandots, drew himself up in all the majesty of a perfectly
proportioned six feet three, and the fierce, Roman-like features
contracted into a scornful smile.
"No Wyandots were there," he said. "But they are here, and with them
their allies, the Miamis, the Shawnees, the Ottawas, the Delawares, and
the Illinois. You may be many, you may have cannon, and you may be
brave, and you have come up Yandawezue, but you will find
Ohezuhyeandawa" (the Ohio--in the Wyandot tongue, "something great")
"closed to you."
"Ohezu--do you mean the Ohio?" asked Henry.
"In your language, the Ohio," replied the young chief with dignity, "but
the Wyandots had given it its right name, Ohezuhyeandawa, long before
the white people came."
"I suppose you're right in that," said Henry reflectively, "but your
name for it is too long. Ohio is better. As for our fleet, I think, in
spite of what you say, that it will make its way up the Ohio to
Pittsburgh, although I do admit that the dangers are great."
White Lightning merely shook his head. His dignity would not permit him
to argue further with a prisoner. Henry regarded him with secret
admiration. He did not believe that the chief could be over twenty-five
or twenty-six years of age, but his great qualities were so obvious that
it seemed natural for him to lead and command.
The chief stepped back into the line, Anue gave the signal, and the band
resumed its rapid march toward the northeast. So swift, indeed, was the
pace of the warriors that none but the forest-bred could have maintained
it. They never stopped for a moment, striding on over the ground with a
long, easy step that was like the trot of a horse, and almost as fast.
Nor did they make any sound. It was like the passing of so many ghostly
forms, phantoms flitting through the wilderness.
Henry noticed bye and bye that the pace increased. The legs of the
warrior in front of him worked with the speed and regularity of
machinery. But no perspiration appeared upon the bare brown neck, there
was no evidence of fatigue, and Henry was sure that all the others were
moving with the same ease and vigor. He wondered at first at this new
speed, and then he divined the cause. It was to test him, and he was
sure that some sort of signal had passed between Timmendiquas and Anue.
This was a picked band of warriors, there was not a man in it under six
feet in height, and all were lean, but muscled powerfully and with great
shoulders and chests. They had an intense pride in physical strength and
prowess, such necessary qualities to them, and they would show the white
prisoner, large as he was and strong as he looked, how much inferior he
was to the chosen warriors of the Wyandots.
Henry accepted the challenge. They did not know his natural powers and
the perfection of his training. He answered them, stride for stride. He
filled his lungs with the fresh air of the woods, but he kept his
breathing steady and regular. No gasp, no quick breath should ever show
that he was not a match for them, one and all. His own pace increased.
He almost trod upon the man in front of him, a warrior whom he had heard
Timmendiquas address as Hainteroh (The Raccoon).
Hainteroh said nothing and did not look back, but he felt the strong
step that narrowly missed his heels, the step of a white youth, a
prisoner, and he moved faster--a great Wyandot warrior could not suffer
such an indignity as to be crowded by a captive, one whom he had
regarded as a physical inferior. Those in front moved faster, also, and
now the second increase in speed had been caused by the prisoner
himself.
Henry had become for the time as primitive, as much a child of the
wilderness as they. An ironical spirit laid hold of him. They would test
him! Well, he would test them! The inside of his chest bubbled with
malicious laughter. Once more Hainteroh, great warrior of the Wyandots,
mighty hunter, taker of scalps, fearless among men, felt the planting of
that vigorous step at his very heels, almost upon him. It would not be
pleasant to have so much weight come down upon them, and it would be a
disgrace in the tribe to have been trodden upon by a white prisoner.
A third time the line increased its speed, and a second time it was the
captive youth who caused it. They fairly fled through the forest now,
but the breathing of every man was yet steady and regular.
They came to a wide brook, almost a creek. Anue never paused for an
instant, but took it with a light leap, nor pausing an instant on the
other side, sped on. The second man took it in the same way, then
Hainteroh, and Henry, so close behind that the moccasins of the Wyandot
were scarcely twinkling in the air before the feet of Henry were resting
where his had been.
Henry heard the light sound of the others behind him as one by one they
leaped into his place, but he never looked back. He was still pushing
the Raccoon hard, and a terrible fear was slowly eating its way to the
heart of the redoubtable Hainteroh, chosen warrior of the Wyandots, the
bravest of all races. Sooner or later this demon white youth would tread
upon his heels. He could feel already the scrape of his moccasins, the
ineffable disgrace. He shuddered from head to foot. Such a thing could
not be endured. He fairly leaped through the air, and once more a new
impulse was communicated to the line.
The way now became rougher, leading over stony hills, but there was no
slackening of speed, the line remaining as even and regular as the links
of a chain, Timmendiquas from his position in seventh place looking now
and then with admiration over the heads of the men in front of him at
the captive.
They crossed the hills, entered the deep and tangled woods again, and
sped on as few war parties had ever traveled. The miles fell swiftly
behind them, no one spoke, they heard nothing but the regular breathing
of one another, and Henry did not yet see the drops of perspiration on
the bare brown back in front of him. The sun passed far down the western
arch. Shadowy twilight was already creeping up, the distant waves of the
forest were clothed in darkening mists, but they did not stop. Anue gave
no word, and Timmendiquas, for the time, would wait upon the formal
leader.
Henry, always keenly sensitive to everything about him, noticed that the
air was changing. It was growing heavier, and it had in it a touch of
damp, but so slight that an ordinary person would not have observed it.
There was, too, a faint circle of mist about the sun, and he believed
that the beautiful weather was passing.
His mind returned to the broad bare back in front of him. The figure of
Hainteroh was still working like a perfect machine, but the keen eyes of
the youth saw the sight for which he had long been looking. Squarely in
the middle of that brown surface a silver bead was forming. The yellow
light of the low sun struck upon it, revealing clearly its nature and
growth. Nor did it remain long alone. Brothers and sisters and cousins,
near and then distant, gathered around it, and the great brown back of
Hainteroh was wide enough for them all.
Henry enjoyed the sight. It appealed to the powerful, primitive
instincts in his nature, and again the inside of his chest bubbled with
silent laughter. His wicked delight increased when a slight wheezing
sound came to his ears. Hainteroh's breath was growing short. Now the
wheeze at intervals became something dangerously resembling a gasp, and
there could be no doubt that Hainteroh, mass of muscle and mighty
warrior of the Wyandots, was growing tired, while the prisoner, the
white youth just behind him, seemed still fresh and strong, and would
step in Hainteroh's tracks before the latter was fairly clear of them.
Henry heard the same slight wheezing sound behind him, and took one
quick glance over his shoulder. The face of the warrior next to him was
bedewed, but that of Timmendiquas was as cool and calm as his own. It
seemed to him that just the touch of a smile appeared in the eyes of the
chief, as if he understood and appreciated, and the fleeting look of
Henry was not too brief to give back the smile. A singular bond of
mutual respect was established in quick time between White Lightning and
himself.
On sped the dusky line. The sun sank in a cloud of mist and vapors.
Thick night crept up, broken only when heat lightning flared on the far
horizon, but Anue, bearer of the medicine bag, taker of the first scalp,
honored among warriors, still led.