We must turn away now, for a short time, to another, though not far
distant, part of the Great Nor'-West.
It is a more open country than that immediately around Fort Wichikagan,
and lies to the south of it. Here and there long stretches of prairie
cut up the wilderness, giving to the landscape a soft and park-like
appearance. The scenery is further diversified by various lakelets
which swarm with water-fowl, for the season has changed, early spring
having already swept away the white mantle of winter, and spread the
green robes of Nature over the land. It is such a region as a
millionaire might select, in which to build a palace, but no millionaire
has yet beheld the lovely spot. With unlimited wealth at his command he
still confines himself to the smoke and dust of civilisation, leaving
the free air and the brilliant beauty of the wilderness to the wild-fowl
and the penniless hunter, and the wandering savage!
In the midst of one of the stretches of rolling prairie-land, great
herds of buffalo are scattered in groups, browsing with all the air of
security peculiar to domestic cattle. Happily their memories are short.
They seem prone to enjoy the present, forgetful of the past and
regardless of the future--happily, I say, for those humpy and hairy
creatures are not unacquainted with man's devices--the sudden surprise,
the twang of the red-man's bow and the crack of the hunter's rifle.
It was the forenoon of a splendid day, when this peaceful scene was
broken in upon by obstreperous, fighting, peace-destroying man. A
little cloud of dust on the horizon was the first indication of his
approach, and a very antique buffalo-bull was first among the thousands
of innocents to observe the cloud. It stirred the memory of other days,
no doubt within his capacious bosom, and probably sent a thrill through
his huge frame, which, terminating naturally in his tail, caused that
appendage to vibrate and curl slightly upwards. At the same time he
emitted softly a low rumble, which might have served for the bass of a
cathedral organ.
Most of the cows near the patriarch looked up in evident surprise, as
though to say, "What in all the world do you mean by _that_?" But the
patriarch took no notice of them. He kept his wicked little eyes fixed
intently on the cloud of dust, twitching his tail nervously, and
rumbling cathedral-organically. If I might venture to guess at the
mental operations of that patriarch, I should say that he was growling
to himself, "Is that you again, you galloping, spitfiring, two-legged,
yelling monsters?" or some such bovine expression.
By degrees the cloud came nearer and enlarged. Simultaneously the
groups of buffaloes drew together and began to gaze--perchance to
remember! The patriarch became excited, wriggled his tail, which was
ridiculously small for his body, pawed the ground, trotted hither and
thither, and commenced playing on all the deeper notes of his organ.
At last there could be no doubt. The two-legged monsters came on,
mounted on four-legged brutes, which began to trot as the distance
between them diminished. This was enough. The patriarch tossed his
haunches to the sky, all but wriggled off his tail, gave utterance to a
bursting bellow, and went scouring over the plains like a gigantic wild
pig. The entire buffalo host performing a similar toss and wriggle,
followed close on his heels.
At this the redskins put their steeds to the gallop, but did not at once
overtake their prey. Clumsy though their gait was, the buffaloes were
swift and strong, causing the whole plain to resound under their mighty
tread. Indian steeds, however, are wiry and enduring. By slow degrees
they lessened the distance between them--both pursued and pursuers
lengthening out their ranks as the "fittest" came to the front.
Thundering on, they approached one of the large clumps of woodland, with
which the plain was covered, as with islets. The patriarch led to the
left of it. The savages, sweeping aside, took to the right.
The sudden disappearance of the pursuers seemed to surprise the
patriarch, who slackened his pace a little, and, lifting his shaggy
head, looked right and left inquiringly. "Was it all a dream!" he
thought--no doubt.
If he thought it was, he received in a few minutes a rude awakening, for
the redskins came sweeping round the other end of the clump of trees,
yelling like fiends, brandishing their weapons and urging their steeds
to the uttermost.
To snort, bellow, turn off at a tangent, and scurry along faster than
ever, was the work of a moment, but it was too late! The savages were
in the midst of the snorting host. Bows were bent and guns were
levelled. The latter were smooth-bores, cheap, and more or less
inaccurate, but that mattered not.
Where the range was only two or three yards, guns and bows were true
enough for the end in view. At such work even bad shots met their
reward. Arrows sank to the feathers; bullets penetrated to the heart or
shattered the bones. Ere long numerous black lumps on the prairie told
of death to the quadrupeds and success to the bipeds.
But I do not drag the reader here merely to tell of savage sport and
butchery. The Indian was only following his vocation--working for his
food.
That same evening two of the Indians stood on a hillock, a little apart
from their camp where smoking fires and roasting meat and marrow-bones,
and ravenously-feeding men and women, and gorging little boys and girls,
formed a scene that was interesting though not refined. One of the
Indians referred to was Big Otter. The other was Muskrat, the old chief
of his tribe.
"Does my father not know?" said Big Otter, deferentially, "that Attick
plans mischief against the pale-faces of Wichikagan?"
"No, Big Otter," returned the old chief with a scowl; "Muskrat does not
know that, but he hears, and if it is true he will have Attick flayed
alive, and his skin dressed to make moccasins for our young squaws."
"It is true," rejoined Big Otter, sternly. "His plan is to attack the
fort by night, kill the pale-faces, and carry off the goods."
"Attick is a fool!" said Muskrat, contemptuously. "Does he not know
that no more goods would evermore be sent into our lands if we did that,
and also that the pale-faces always hunt murderers to death? No; if
that had been possible, or wise, Muskrat would have done it himself long
ago."
After this candid statement he stared solemnly at his companion, as
though to say, "What think ye of that, my brave?"
Apparently my brave did not think much of it one way or other, for he
only looked indifferent and said, "Waugh!"
"Big Otter's ears are sharp," continued Muskrat. "How did he come to
hear of Attick's intentions?"
The younger Indian paused thoughtfully before replying.
"Waboose told me," he said.
"Does the daughter of Weeum the Good hold communion with evil spirits?"
asked the old chief, with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.
"Not willingly, but evil spirits force themselves upon the daughter of
Weeum the Good. My father knows that Attick is presumptuous. He wishes
to mate Waboose."
"Yes, I knew he was presumptuous, but I did not know he was so great a
fool," replied the old chief scornfully.
"My father knows," continued Big Otter, "that when the pale-face chief
went and brought Waboose back to Fort Wichikagan, Attick was staying
there in his wigwam by the lake. The big chief of the pale-faces, who
fears nothing, had forgiven him. Attick went to Waboose, and offered to
take her to his wigwam; but the daughter of Weeum the Good turned away
from him. Attick is proud, and he is fierce. He told Waboose that he
would kill all the pale-faces. Although a fool, he does not boast.
Waboose knew that he was in earnest. She went to the pale-face Muxbee
(by which name Big Otter styled my humble self), and told him all, for
she has set her heart on Muxbee."
"Did she tell you so?" asked Muskrat, sharply.
"No; but the blue eyes of Waboose tell tales. They are like a kettle
with holes in the bottom--they cannot hold secrets. They spoke to
Attick as well as to me, and he became jealous. He swore he would take
the scalp of Muxbee. One day, soon after the lake opened, Muxbee asked
Waboose to go with him in a canoe to the valley at the head of lake
Wichikagan. Attick followed in another canoe, but kept far behind.
They did not know it was Attick. Waboose found it out afterwards.
Muxbee did not talk to Waboose of love. The ways of the pale-faces are
strange. Once I thought that Muxbee liked Waboose, and that, perhaps,
he might wed with her, and stay with us as the Good Weeum did, but I
doubt it now. He only asked her to take him to the stunted pine where
her father was so fond of going with her. When there he went looking
here and there about the rocks, and found a splendid thing--I know not
what--but Waboose told me it shone and sparkled like the stars. Beside
it was a bag of the yellow round things that the pale-faces love so
much. He told her he had expected to find these things, but she must
not ask him questions just then--he would tell her afterwards. I
suppose he is a great medicine-man, and holds intercourse with the
spirit-world." Big Otter paused thoughtfully a few seconds, and then
continued:--
"When he was putting these things in his breast, Waboose caught sight of
Attick among the bushes, and pointed him out. Muxbee sprang up and
levelled his gun with the two pipes at him, but did not fire. Attick
fled and they saw him no more."
"Did Waboose tell Big Otter all this?" asked the old chief.
"Yes. Waboose has no secrets from her mother's brother."
"And why has Big Otter left the pale-faces, and brought Waboose away
from them?" asked Muskrat.
"Because he fears for the pale-faces, that Attick will kill them and
carry off Waboose. By bringing Waboose here with us we draw Attick
along with us away from the pale-faces, and as long as Waboose is in our
camp she is safe. Attick dare not harm her."
A gleam of intelligence lit up the swarthy features of the old chief as
he said "Waugh!" with much satisfaction.
But both he and Big Otter were wrong in their calculations. So far,
indeed, the latter was right. The presence of Waboose in the camp
effectually drew Attick after them, and thus removed danger from the
inhabitants of Fort Wichikagan, but they were wrong when they thought
their camp a place of safety for the poor girl.
"Did Muxbee not care when Big Otter carried Waboose away?" asked the old
man.
"He did not know she was going, and I did not tell her she was not to
return. I took her away with her mother when Muxbee was out hunting. I
told the big pale-face chief that I must go with my tribe to hunt the
buffalo in the south, and that they must go with me. He was very
unwilling to let them go at first but I was resolved, and Waboose is a
good obedient girl."
That night two events occurred in the redskin camp which caused a good
deal of surprise and commotion.
The first was the sudden disappearance of Waboose and her mother. They
had been gone some time, of course, before any one thought of suspecting
flight. The moment that suspicion was aroused, however, Big Otter went
straight to the wigwam of Attick. It was deserted! He knew well the
bad and weak men of the tribe who were led or swayed by Attick.
Hurrying to their tents he found that these also had fled. This was
enough.
"Masqua," he said to the first Indian he chanced to meet at the moment
of quitting the last wigwam, "Attick has carried off Waboose. Assemble
some of the young men. Choose only the strong, and those whose horses
are swift. Go yourself with your son Mozwa--gallop round the camp till
you find in which direction they have gone--then return to me at the
council tent and wait."
Masqua understood the value of prompt obedience. Without a word of
reply he turned and bounded away.
Big Otter hurried to the council tent, where old Muskrat was already
surrounded by his chiefs. There was less than usual of the grave
deliberation of North American Indians in that meeting, for the case was
urgent. Nevertheless, there was no bustle, for each bronzed warrior
knew that the young men would require a little time to hunt up the trail
of the fugitives, mingled as it must be with the innumerable footprints
of man and beast in the neighbourhood of a camp; and, until that trail
was found, they might as well deliberate calmly--especially as all the
men met at the council armed, and ready to vault on the steeds which
were already pawing the earth outside. These horses were restrained by
youths who longed for the time when they too might be styled braves, and
meet in council.
"Is all prepared?" asked the old chief, as Big Otter entered the tent.
"The young men are out," was the curt reply.
"Good. The night is dark, but my warriors have sharp eyes, and the moon
will rise soon. No effort must be spared. The daughter of Weeum the
Good must be brought back. It is not necessary to bring back Attick or
his men. Their scalps will do as well."
"Waugh!" pronounced with much emphasis showed that the old man's words
were not only understood, but thoroughly appreciated.
At this moment occurred the second event which I have said was the cause
of surprise in the camp that night, if not of commotion. While the old
chief was yet speaking, his words were checked by the sound of horses'
hoofs beating heavily on the prairie.
"The young men," said Muskrat; "they have been swift to find the trail."
"Young men in haste bringing news do not trot," said Big Otter.
"Waugh!" assented the council.
"There are but two riders," murmured the chief, listening intently to
the pattering sounds, which rapidly grew louder.
He was right, for, a few seconds later, two horsemen were seen to trot
into the camp, and make straight for the council fire. Some of the
Indians had turned out with arms ready as they approached, but on
hearing a word or two from one of the riders, they quietly let them
pass.
Pulling up sharply, one of the strangers leaped to the ground, flung his
reins to the other, and entered the council tent where he was received
with looks of surprise, and with the ejaculation from Big Otter of the
single word "Muxbee!"
Yes, good reader, that stranger was none other than myself, and my
companion was Salamander. To account for our sudden appearance I must
explain.
On returning to Fort Wichikagan four days after Big Otter had left, and
hearing what had occurred, I told Lumley I would follow in pursuit and
fetch Waboose back. He remonstrated, of course, but in vain.
"You know that a sacred trust has been imposed upon me," said I,
earnestly, "and I have resolved to fulfil it. The manner in which I
should set about it has perplexed me sorely, I confess, but this sudden
departure relieves me, at all events, from uncertainty as to my present
course of duty. If Waboose goes off with the tribe to no one knows
where, she may never be found again. You are aware that she is still
ignorant of the contents of the packet, and the value of the found
treasure. I have kept her so, temporarily, by your advice. If I had
told her and her kindred, she would not probably have gone away, but it
is too late to regret that, now. By going off at once I may overtake
the tribe. Three days' journey on foot will bring me to Indians who are
rich in horses. Once well mounted I can push on, and will easily
overtake them if you will lend me Salamander to aid in following up the
trail."
"But what of the service?" asked Lumley, with a sad smile, for he saw I
was resolved. "You are not yet free."
"True, but you know that Spooner is already on his way here to replace
me, my resignation having been accepted. In a week, or two at farthest,
he will arrive, when I shall be absolutely free to go where I please.
Meanwhile, to prevent even a shadow of impropriety, I ask your majesty
for a fortnight's leave of absence to go a-hunting. Surely you won't
refuse so small a favour? I will be sure to find Waboose, and bring her
back by that time."
"Well, Max, my boy, I won't refuse. Go, and God go with you. I shall
expect to see you again in two weeks, if not sooner."
"Unless, of course, circumstances render my return so soon impossible."
"Of course, of course," said Lumley.
Thus we parted, and thus it was that Salamander and I found ourselves at
last in the Indian camp. The pursuit, however, had been much longer
than I had expected. More than the stipulated fortnight had already
passed.
But to return from this digression. After we had looked at each other
silently for a few seconds in the council tent, as already described, I
advanced to Big Otter and held out my hand. I then shook hands with the
old chief, sat down beside him, and expressed a hope that I did not
intrude.
"We palaver about the disappearance of Waboose," said the old chief.
"Disappearance! Waboose!" I exclaimed, turning abruptly to Big Otter.
"Attick has fled," said the Indian, sternly, "carrying Waboose and her
mother along with him."
"And you sit here idly talking," I exclaimed, almost fiercely, as I
sprang up.
Before I could take action of any kind, the young Indian, Mozwa, entered
the tent abruptly, and said a few words to Muskrat. At the same moment
the councillors rose.
"We go in pursuit," whispered Big Otter in my ear. "Mount, and join
us."
Almost bewildered, but feeling perfect confidence in my Indian friend, I
ran out, and vaulted into the saddle. Eager and quick though I was, the
redskins were mounted as soon as myself. No one seemed to give orders,
but with one accord they put their horses to the gallop, and swept out
of the camp. The last words of the old chief as we darted off, were--
"Bring her back, my braves, and don't forget the scalps of Attick and
his men!"