PLANS AND PROSPECTS--DICK BECOMES HOME-SICK, AND HENRI METAPHYSICAL--THE
INDIANS ATTACK THE CAMP--A BLOW-UP.
On the following day the Indians gave themselves up to unlimited
feasting, in consequence of the arrival of a large body of hunters with
an immense supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of rejoicing.
Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed, and as the supply of
meat before their arrival had been ample, the camp was now overflowing
with plenty. Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine-men went
about the camp uttering loud cries, which were meant to express
gratitude to the Great Spirit for the bountiful supply of food. They
also carried a portion of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable to
hunt for themselves, and had no young men in their family circle to hunt
for them.
This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance, as it put the
Indians in great good-humour, and inclined them to hold friendly
intercourse with the trappers, who for some time continued to drive a
brisk trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs,
the Indians of course had more than they knew what to do with, and were
therefore glad to exchange those of the most beautiful and valuable kind
for a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside their traps for a
time and devoted themselves to traffic.
Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations for their return
journey.
"Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they sat beside the fire in
Pee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on a potful of grasshopper soup, which
the great chiefs squaw had just placed before them,--"ye see, my
calc'lations is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', we
three ha' made enough to sot us up, an it likes us, in the Mustang
Valley--"
"Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of his teeth
in order to exercise his tongue,--"ha! Joe, but it don't like _me_!
What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer? I should think not!"
"Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to the
grasshopper soup or the sentiment, we cannot tell.
"Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak with a
hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; but, as I
wos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o' odds and
ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an' powder and
lead to last us a twelve-month, besides five good horses to carry us an'
our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, I mean to make a
bee-line for the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure to meet with
Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peace between them
an' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for six weeks afore we
git to home, so we'll start to-morrow."
"Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez me
one petit morsel of steak."
"I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick, "you are leader. Just point
the way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we,
Crusoe?"
"We will," remarked the dog quietly.
"How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for our
tobacco?"
"They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all the
western Injuns do. They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumack and
the inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed together.
They call this stuff _Kinnekinnik_, but they like to mix about a fourth
o' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, an' he's a good judge;
the amount that red-skinned mortal smokes _is_ oncommon."
"What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing to a group of men
who had been feasting for some time past in front of a tent within sight
of our trio.
"Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe.
As he spoke, six young warriors were seen to work their bodies about in
a very remarkable way, and give utterance to still more remarkable
sounds, which gradually increased until the singers burst out into that
terrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have long been
famous. Its effect would save been appalling to unaccustomed ears.
Then they allowed their voices to die away in soft, plaintive tones,
while their action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious style was
revived, and the men wrought themselves into a condition little short of
madness, while their yells rung wildly through the camp. This was too
much for ordinary canine nature to withstand, so all the dogs in the
neighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus.
Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities of Indians and
their curs with dignified contempt. He paid no attention to this
serenade, but lay sleeping by the fire until Dick and his companions
rose to take leave of their host, and return to the camp of the
fur-traders. The remainder of that night was spent in making
preparations for setting forth on the morrow, and when, at grey dawn,
Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a few hours' repose, the yells and
howling in the Snake camp were going on as vigorously as ever.
The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping the summits of the
Rocky Mountains, causing the snowy peaks to glitter like flame, and the
deep ravines and gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast, when
Dick, and Joe, and Henri mounted their gallant steeds, and, with Crusoe
gambolling before, and the two pack-horses trotting by their side,
turned their faces eastward, and bade adieu to the Indian camp.
Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well aware that he and
his companions were on their way home, and testified his satisfaction by
bursts of scampering over the hills and valleys. Doubtless he thought
of Dick Varley's cottage, and of Dick's mild, kind-hearted mother.
Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother, Fan, and felt a glow of
filial affection as he did so. Of this we feel quite certain. He would
have been unworthy the title of hero if he hadn't. Perchance he thought
of Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure. We rather think, upon
the whole, that he did.
Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction of _home_. Sweet
word! Those who have never left it cannot, by any effort of
imagination, realise the full import of the word "home." Dick was a
bold hunter, but he was young, and this was his first long expedition.
Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing dreamily up through
the branches at the stars, had he thought of home, until his longing
heart began to yearn to return. He repelled such tender feelings,
however, when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly, and sought
to turn his mind to the excitements of the chase, but latterly his
efforts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, and, while
admitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from his
comrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. Poor Dick
Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knew it,
and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong with
his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was. But
Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted down
the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and minute
exactness of a physician; and, we doubt not, ultimately added the
knowledge of the symptoms of homesickness to his already well-filled
stores of erudition.
It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that Dick
Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautiful
prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over
the green sward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tell
Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.
"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed
after a sharp gallop, "d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some
time past."
"I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there was a
dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to express.
Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have bin.
I never felt so before."
"'Twas homesickness, boy," returned Joe.
"How d'ye know that?"
"The same way as how I know most things, by experience an' obsarvation.
I've bin home-sick myself once--but it was long, long agone."
Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzed
veteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened up
his heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among other
curious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking part
in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard to be
understood. Most conversations that were not connected with eating and
hunting were of this nature to Henri.
"Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! hah! dat is fat I
am always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."
"I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri's
remark,--"I always packs up an' sots off for home when I gits home-sick;
it's the best cure, an' when hunters are young like you, Dick, it's the
only cure. I've know'd fellers a'most die o' homesickness, an' I'm told
they _do_ go under altogether sometimes."
"Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I fust
try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be here
to-day."
Henri's idea of homesickness was so totally opposed to theirs, that his
comrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set him right.
"The fust time I was took bad with it wos in a country somethin' like
that," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie,
dotted with clusters of trees and wandering streamlets, that lay before
them; "I had bin out about two months, an wos makin' a good thing of it,
for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow more than usual o'
home. My mother wos alive then."
Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a few
minutes he rode on in silence.
"Well, it grew worse and worse, I dreamed o' home all night, an' thought
of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos gittin'
tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, `I give out, lads,
I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried to laugh me
out of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bid them good-day,
an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. The very first mile
o' the way back I began to mend, and before two days I wos all right
again."
Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of a solitary
horseman on the brow of an eminence not half a mile distant. The three
friends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump of trees, but
not in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who uttered a
loud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at full gallop.
"Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is one of _peace_."
The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri was
making preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Before
another word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of about
twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not a
war-party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed,
and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplary
patience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, the
council-fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long palaver.
We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on this
occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of any
importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific
overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made
thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual
expressions of good will.
Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally
friendly, and only one war-party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed it
in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some
trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of sight.
The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage,
and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers
escaped.
It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war-party of Blackfeet
were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the
prairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs large
enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into the
hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to elude
the savages, so he gave the word,--but at the same moment a shout from
the Indians told that they were discovered.
"Look sharp, lads, throw down the packs on the highest point of the
ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of
goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must keep
them at arm's length, boys--be alive. War-parties are not to be
trusted."
Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably, that in the course of two
minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a wall
in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketted close beside
them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with their rifles
cocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came sweeping down
towards them.
"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt, "but keep yer eye on
'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin'
chief. I'll throw up my left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit
human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't
draw till I git back to ye."
So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their little
fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a few
seconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was surrounded.
At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round the
solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to intimidate him;
but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed, and a grave
expression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and,
drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he was doing there.
Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to shout
vociferously, and evidently meant mischief.
"If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go back
to his braves," said Joe, passing suddenly between two of the warriors
and taking a few steps towards the camp.
Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter were
about to be pierced by a hundred arrows, when he turned round and
cried:--
"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first that moves his
_horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shall die."
To this the Blackfoot chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talks
with a big mouth. We do not believe his words. The Snakes are liars,
we will make no peace with them."
While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand; there was a loud
report, and the noble horse of the savage chief lay struggling in death
agony on the ground.
The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known at this
period among the Indians of the far west, and many had never heard the
dreaded report before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of its
fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore, quite paralysed
them for a few moments, and they had not recovered from their surprise
when a second report was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a second
horse fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion in the camp
of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped it, and from the midst of
this a loud shriek was heard, as Dick, Henri, and Crusoe bounded over
the packs with frantic gestures.
At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds round, the dismounted
horsemen sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole band
dashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.
Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of great anxiety,
for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must have been
accidentally blown up.
"No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming up.
"Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight over his face. "Oh! oui,
great damage--moche damage, me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes."
"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dick, who was very slightly
singed, and forgot his own hurts in anxiety about his comrade. "Let me
see?"
"My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin overspread his
countenance, "ye've not improved yer looks, Henri."
This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extent
that his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universal
frizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quite
uninjured, a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt, afforded
so much satisfaction to Henri, that he capered about shouting with
delight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him.
The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted to
replace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety for
Joe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreaties
to wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up.
Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was not
disposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies so
promptly to the right-about.
This band followed them for some nights, in the hope of being able to
steal their horses while they slept; but they were not brave enough to
venture a second time within range of the death-dealing rifle.