THE INDIAN CHIEF.
The Count de Beaulieu was far from suspecting, as he carelessly
prepared to light a cigar, that the lucifer match he employed would at
once render him so important in the sight of the Indians. But, so soon
as he recognized the power of the weapon chance placed in his hands,
he resolved to employ it, and turn to his own profit the superstitious
ignorance of the Redskins. Enjoying, in his heart, the triumph he had
obtained, the Count frowned, and employing the language and emphatic
gestures of the Indians, when he saw they were sufficiently recovered
to listen to him, he addressed them with that commanding tone which
always imposes on the masses.
"Let my brothers open their ears; the words my lips utter must be
heard and understood by all. My brothers are simple men, prone to
error; truth must enter their hearts like an iron wedge. My goodness
is great, because I am powerful; instead of chastising them when
they dared to lay hands on me, I am satisfied with displaying my
power before their eyes. I am a great physician of the pale faces; I
possess all the secrets of the most famous medicines. If I pleased,
the birds of the air and the fish of the river would come to do me
homage, because the Master of Life is within me, and has given me his
medicine rod. Listen to this, Redskins, and remember it: when the first
man was born, he walked on the banks of the Mecha-Chebe; there he met
the Master of Life: the Master of Life saluted him, and said to him,
'Thou art my son.' 'No,' the first man made answer, 'thou art my son,
and I will prove it to thee, if thou dost not believe me; we will sit
down and plant in the earth the medicine rod we hold in our hands; the
one who rises first will be the younger, and the son of the other.'
They sat down then, and looked at each other for a long time, until at
length the Master of Life turned pale, and the flesh left his bones; on
which the first man exclaimed, joyfully, 'At length thou art assuredly
dead.' And they regarded each other thus during ten times ten moons,
and ten times more; and as at the end of that time the bones of the
Master of Life were completely bleached, the first man rose and said,
'Yes, now there is no more doubt; he is certainly dead.' He then took
the medicine stick of the Master of Life, and drew it from the earth.
But then the Master of Life rose, and taking the stick from him, said
to him, 'Stop! here I am; I am thy father, and thou art my son.' And
the first man recognized him as his father. But the Master of Life
then added, 'Thou art my son, first man; thou can'st not die; take my
medicine staff; when I have to communicate with my Redskin sons, I
will send thee.' This is the medicine staff. Are you ready to execute
my orders?"
These words were uttered with so profound an accent of truth, the
legend related by the Count was so true and so well known by all, that
the Indians, whom the miracle of the match had already disposed to
credulity, put complete faith in it, and answered respectfully--
"Let my father speak: what he wishes we wish. Are we not his children?"
"Hence," the Count continued, "I wish to speak with you, chief, alone."
Natah Otann had listened to the Count's discourse with the deepest
attention: at times, an observer might have noticed a flash of joy
cross his features, immediately followed, however, by a feeling of
pleasure, which lit up his intelligent eyes: he applauded, like his
warriors, perhaps more warmly than they, when the young man ceased
speaking; on hearing him say that he would speak with the sachem alone,
a smile played on his lips: he made the Indians a sign to retire, and
walked towards the Count with an ease and grace which the other could
not refrain from noticing. There was a native nobility in this young
chief, which pleased at the first glance, and attracted sympathy.
After bowing respectfully, the Blackfeet warriors went down the hill,
and collected about one hundred yards from the camping place.
There were two men whom the Count's eloquence had surprised quite as
much as the Indian warriors. These were Bright-eye and Ivon; neither
of them understood a syllable, and the young man's Indian science
completely threw them out; they awaited in the utmost anxiety the
denouement of this scene, whose meaning they could not decipher.
When left alone (for the hunter and Ivon soon also withdrew), the
Frenchman and the Indian examined each other with extreme attention.
But whatever efforts the white man made to read the sentiments of the
man he had before him, he was obliged to allow that he had to deal
with one of those superior natives, on whose faces it is impossible to
read anything, and who, under all circumstances, are ever masters of
their impressions; furthermore, the fixity and metallic lustre of the
Indian's eye caused him to feel a secret uneasiness, which he hastened
to remove by speaking, as if that would break the charm.
"Chief," he said, "now that your warriors have retired--"
Natah Otann interrupted him by a sign, and bowed courteously.
"Pardon me, Monsieur le Comte," he said, with an accent which a native
of the banks of the Seine would have envied: "I think the slight
practice you have had in speaking our language is wearisome to you; if
you would please to express yourself in French, I fancy I understand
that language well enough to follow you."
"Eh?" the Count exclaimed, with a start of surprise, "what is that you
say?"
Had a thunderbolt fallen at the Count's feet he would not have been
more surprised and terrified than on hearing this savage, who wore the
complete costume of the Blackfeet, and whose face was painted of four
different colours, express himself so purely in French. Natah Otann did
not seem to notice his companion's agitation, but continued coldly--
"Deign to pardon me, Monsieur le Comte, for employing terms which must
certainly have offended you by their triviality; but the few occasions
I have for speaking French in this desert must serve as an excuse."
M. de Beaulieu was a prey to one of those surprises which grow
gradually greater. He no longer knew were he awake, or suffering
from a nightmare; what he heard seemed to him so incredible and
incomprehensible, that he could not find words to express his feelings.
"Who on earth are you?" he exclaimed, when sufficiently master of
himself to speak.
"I!" Natah Otann remarked carelessly; "why, you see I am a poor Indian,
and nothing more."
"'Tis impossible," the young man said.
"I assure you, sir, that I have told you the exact truth. Hang it,"
he added with charming frankness, "if you find me a little less--what
shall I say?--coarse, you must not consider it a crime; that results
from considerations entirely independent of my will, which I will tell
you some day, if you wish to hear them."
The Count, as we think we have said, was a man of great courage, whom
but few things could disturb; the first impression passed, he bravely
took his part; perfectly master of himself henceforth, he frankly
accepted the position which accident had so singularly made for him.
"By Jove!" he said, with a laugh, "the meeting is a strange one, and
may reasonably surprise me; you will therefore pardon, my dear sir,
that astonishment--in extreme bad taste, I grant--which I at first
evidenced on hearing you address me as you did. I was so far from
expecting to meet, six hundred leagues from civilised countries, a man
so well bred as yourself, that I confess I at first hardly knew what
Saint to invoke."
"You flatter me, sir; believe me that I feel highly grateful for the
good opinion you are good enough to have of me; now, if you permit, we
will go back to our business."
"On my faith, I am so staggered by all that has happened, that I really
do not know what I am about."
"Nonsense, that is nothing; I will lead you back to the right track;
after the charming address you made us, you seem to desire speech with
me alone."
"Hum!" the Count said, with a smile, "I am afraid that I must have
appeared to you supremely ridiculous with my legend, especially my
remarks, but then I could not suspect that I had an auditor of your
stamp."
Natah Otann shook his head sadly; a melancholy expression for a moment
darkened his face.
"No," he said, "you acted as you were bound to do; but while you were
speaking, I was thinking of those poor Indians sunk so deeply in error,
and asking myself whether there was any hope of their regeneration
before the white men succeed in utterly destroying them."
The chief uttered these words with such a marked accent of grief and
hatred, that the Count was moved by the thought how this man, with a
soul of fire, must suffer at the brutalization of his race.
"Courage!" he said, holding out his hand to him.
"Courage!" the Indian repeated, bitterly, though clasping the proffered
hand; "after each defeat I experienced in the struggle I have
undertaken, the man who has served as my father, and unfortunately made
me what I am, never ceases to say that to me."
There was a moment of silence; each was busied with his own thoughts;
at length Natah Otann proceeded:--
"Listen, Monsieur le Comte; between men of a certain stamp there is a
species of undefinable feeling, which attaches them to each other in
spite of themselves; for the six months your have been traversing the
desert in every direction, I have never once lost sight of you; you
would have been dead long ere this, but I spread a secret ægis over
you. Oh, do not thank me," he said, quickly, as the young man made a
sign, "I have acted rather in my own interest than yours. What I say
surprises you, I daresay, but it is so. Allow me to tell you, that I
have views with reference to yourself, whose secrets I will unfold to
you in a few days, when we know each other better; as for the present,
I will obey you in whatever you wish; in the eyes of my countrymen, I
will keep up that miraculous halo which surrounds your brow. You wish
these American emigrants to be left at peace, very good; for your sake
I pardon this race of vipers; but I ask you one favour in return."
"Speak!"
"When you are certain the people you wish to save are in security,
accompany me to my village,--that is all I desire. That will not cost
you much, especially as my tribe is encamped not more than a day's
march from the spot where you now are."
"I accept your proposition, chief. I will accompany you wherever you
please, though not till I am certain that my _protégés_ no longer
require my aid."
"That is agreed. Stay, one word more."
"Say it."
"It is well understood that I am only an Indian like the rest, even to
the two white men who accompany you!"
"You demand it?"
"For our common welfare: a word spoken thoughtlessly, any indiscretion,
how trifling soever, would destroy us both. Ah! you do not know the
Redskins yet," he added, with that melancholy smile which had already
given the Count so much subject for thought.
"Very good," he answered; "you may be easy; I am warned."
"Now, if you think proper, I will recall my warriors; a longer
conference between us might arouse their jealousy."
"Do so; I trust entirely to you."
"You will have no reason to repent it," Natah Otann replied, graciously.
While the chief went to join his companions, the Count walked up to the
two white men.
"Well?" Bright-eye asked him, "have you obtained what you wanted from
that man?"
"Perfectly," he answered; "I only wished to say a few words to him."
The hunter looked at him cunningly.
"I did not think him so easy," he said.
"Why so, my friend?"
"His reputation is great in the desert; I have known him for a very
long period."
"Ah!" the young man said, not at all sorry to obtain some information
about the man who perplexed him so greatly; "what reputation has he
then?"
Bright-eye seemed to hesitate for a moment.
"Are you afraid to explain yourself clearly on that head?" the Count
asked.
"I have no reason for that; on the contrary, with the exception of that
day on which he wished to flay me alive--a slight mistake, which I
pardon with my whole heart,--our relations have always been excellent."
"The more so," the Count said, with a laugh, "because you never met
again, to my knowledge, till this day."
"That is what I meant to say. Look you--Natah Otann, between ourselves,
is one of those Indians whom it is far more advantageous not to see: he
is like the owl--his presence always forebodes evil."
"The deuce! You trouble me greatly by speaking so, Bright-eye."
"Suppose I had said nothing, then," he answered, quickly; "for my part,
I should prefer to be silent."
"That is possible; but the little you have allowed to escape has, I
confess, so awakened my curiosity, that I should not be sorry to learn
more."
"Unfortunately, I know nothing."
"Still you spoke of his reputation--is that bad?"
"I did not say so," Bright-eye answered, with reserve. "You know, Mr.
Edward, that Indian manners are very different from ours: what is bad
to us is regarded very differently by Indians; and so--"
"So, I suppose," the Count interrupted, "Natah Otann has an execrable
reputation."
"No, I assure you; that depends upon the way in which you look at
matters."
"Good; and what is your personal opinion?"
"Oh, I, as you are aware, am only a poor fellow; still it seems to me
as if this demon of an Indian is more crafty than his whole tribe;
between ourselves, he is regarded as a sorcerer by his countrymen, who
are frightfully afraid of him."
"Is that all?"
"Nearly."
"After that," the Count said, lightly, "as he has asked me to accompany
him to his village, the few days we spend with him will enable us to
study him at our ease."
The hunter gave a start of surprise.
"You will not do so, I trust, Sir?"
"I do not see what can prevent me."
"Yourself, Sir; who, I hope, will not walk, with your eyes open, into
the lion's jaws."
"Will you explain--yes, or no?" the Count exclaimed with rising
impatience.
"Oh, what is the use of explaining?--will what I say stop you? No, I
am persuaded of that. You see, therefore, it is useless for me to say
more; besides, it is too late--the chief is returning."
The Count made a movement of ill-humour, at once suppressed; but this
movement did not escape Natah Otann, who at this moment appeared on the
plateau. The young man walked toward him.
"Well?" he asked eagerly.
"My young men consent to do what our Paleface father desires; if he
will mount his horse and follow us, he can convince himself that our
intentions are loyal."
"I follow you, chief," the Count replied, making Ivon a sign to bring
up his horse.
The Blackfeet welcomed the three hunters with unequivocal signs of joy.
"Forward!" the young man said.
Natah Otann raised his arm. At this signal the warriors drove in their
knees, and the horses started like a hurricane. No one, who has not
witnessed it, can form an idea of an Indian chase: nothing stops
the Redskins--no obstacle is powerful enough to make them deviate
from their course; they go in a straight line, rolling like a human
whirlwind across the prairie crossing gulleys, ravines, and rocks, with
dizzy rapidity. Natah Otann, the Count, and his two companions, were
at the head of the cavalcade, closely followed by the warriors. All at
once the chief checked his horse, shouting at the top of his voice--
"Halt!"
All obeyed, as if by enchantment: the horses stopped dead, and remained
motionless, as if their feet were planted in the ground.
"Why stop?" the Count asked; "we had better push on."
"It is useless," the chief said, calmly; "let my Pale brother look
before him."
The Count bent on his horse's neck.
"I can see nothing," he said.
"That is true," the Indian said; "I forgot that my brother has the eyes
of the Palefaces; in a few minutes he will see."
The Blackfeet anxiously collected round their chief, whom they
questioned with their glances. The latter, apparently impassive, looked
straight ahead, distinguishing in the darkness objects invisible to
all but himself. The Indians, however, had not long to wait, for some
horsemen soon came up at full speed. When they arrived near Natah
Otann's party, they stopped.
"What has happened?" the chief asked, sternly; "why are my sons running
away thus? They are not warriors I see, but timid women."
The Indians bowed their heads with humility at this reproach, but
made no answer. The chief continued--"Will no one inform us of
what has happened--why my chosen warriors are flying like scattered
antelopes--where is Long Horn?"
A warrior emerged from the ranks.
"Long Horn is dead," he said, sorrowfully.
"He was a wise and renowned warrior; he has gone to the happy hunting
grounds to hunt with the upright warriors. As he is dead, why did not
the Blackbird take the totem in his hand in his place?"
"Because the Blackbird is dead," the warrior answered, in the same tone.
Natah Otann frowned, and his brow was contracted by the effort he made
to suppress his passion.
"Oh!" he said, bitterly, "the greathearts of the east have fought
well; their rifles carry truly. The two best chiefs of the nation have
fallen, but the Red Wolf still remained--why did he not avenge his
brothers?"
"Because he has also fallen," the warrior said, in a mournful voice.
A shudder of anger ran through the ranks.
"Wah!" Natah Otann exclaimed, with grief, "what is he also dead?"
"No; but he is dangerously wounded."
After these words there was a silence. The chief looked around him, and
then said--
"So; four Palefaces have held at bay two hundred Blackfeet warriors;
killed and wounded their bravest chiefs, and those warriors have not
taken their revenge. Ah! ah! what will the White Buffalo say when he
hears that? He will give petticoats to my sons, and make them prepare
food for the more courageous warriors, instead of sending them on the
warpath."
"The camp of the Long Knives was in our power," the Indian replied,
who had hitherto spoken for his comrades, "we already had them down
with our knees on their chests, a portion of their cattle was carried
off, and the scalps of the Palefaces were about to be attached to our
girdles, when the Evil Genius suddenly appeared in their midst, and, by
her mere appearance, changed the face of the combat."
The chief's face became still severer at this news, which his warriors
received with unequivocal marks of terror.
"The 'Evil Genius!'" he said; "of whom is my brother speaking?"
"Of whom else can I speak to my father, save the _Lying She-wolf of the
Prairies?_?" the Indian said, in a low voice.
"Oh! oh!" Natah Otann answered, "did my brother see the She-wolf?"
"Yes; we assure our father," the Blackfeet shouted altogether, happy to
clear themselves from the accusation of cowardice that weighed on them.
Natah Otann seemed to reflect for a moment.
"At what place are the cattle my brothers carried off from the Long
Knives?" he asked.
"We have brought them with us," a warrior answered, "they are here."
"Good," Natah Otann continued, "let my brothers open their ears to
hear the words the Great Spirit breathes unto me:--the Long Knives are
protected by the She-wolf: our efforts would be useless, and my sons
would not succeed in conquering them; I will make a great medicine to
break the charm of the She-wolf when we return to our village, but till
then we must be very cunning to deceive the She-wolf, and prevent her
being on her guard. Will my sons follow the advice of an experienced
chief?"
"Let my father utter his thoughts," a warrior answered, in the name of
all, "he is very wise: we will do what he wishes: he will deceive the
She-wolf better than we can."
"Good; my sons have spoken well. This is what we will do:--We will
return to the camp of the Palefaces, and will restore them their
beasts; the Palefaces, deceived by this friendly conduct, will no
longer suspect us; when we have made the great medicine, we will then
seize their camp and all it contains, and the Lying She-wolf will be
unable to defend them. I have spoken; what do my sons think?"
"My father is very crafty," the warrior replied; "what he has said is
very good, his sons will perform it."
Natah Otann cast a glance of triumph at the Count de Beaulieu, who
admired the skill with which the chief, while appearing to reprimand
the Indians for the ill success of their enterprise, and evincing the
greatest wrath against the Americans, had succeeded in a few minutes in
inducing them to carry out his secret wishes.
"Oh! oh!" the Count murmured, aside, "this Indian is no common man, he
deserves studying."
Still, a moment of tumult had followed the chief's words. The
Blackfeet, recovered from the panic and terror which had made them fly
with the feet of gazelles, to escape speedily from the ruined camp,
where they had experienced so rude a defeat, had got off their horses,
and were engaged, some in laying on their wounds chewed leaves of the
oregano, others in collecting the cattle and horses which they had
stolen from the Palefaces, and which were scattered about.
"Who is this Lying She-wolf of the Prairies, who inspires such horror
in these men?" the Count asked Bright-eye.
"No one knows her," the hunter answered, in a low voice, "she is a
woman whose mysterious life has hitherto foiled the most careful
attempts at investigation: she does no harm to any but the Indians,
whose implacable foe she appears to be: the Redskins affirm that she is
invulnerable, that bullets and arrows rebound from her without doing
her any injury. I have often seen her, though I have had no opportunity
of speaking with her. I believe her to be mad, for I have seen her
perform some of the wildest freaks at some moments, though at others
she appears in full possession of her senses: in a word, she is an
incomprehensible being, who leads an extraordinary life in the heart of
the prairies."
"Is she alone?"
"Always."
"You excite my curiosity to the highest degree," the Count said; "no
one, I suppose, could give me any information about this woman?"
"One person could do so, if he cared to speak."
"Who's that?"
"Natah Otann," the hunter said, in a low voice.
"That is strange," the Count muttered; "what can there be in common
between him and this woman?"
Bright-eye only answered by a significant glance.
The conversation was broken off, and at the chief's order the Blackfeet
remounted their horses.
"Forwards!" Natah Otann said, taking the head of the column again with
the Count and his companions.
The whole troop set out at a gallop in the direction of the American
camp, taking the cattle in their midst.