THE RECEPTION.
Like all the centres of Indian population near the American clearings,
the Kenha village was more like a fort than an open town. As we said
before, the Kenhas had only a short time previously established
themselves there, by the advice of Natah Otann. The spot was
magnificently selected, and owing to the precautions taken, the hill
was completely protected from a sudden attack. The wigwams were built
without any order, on both sides a stream, and the fortifications
consisted of a sort of intrenchment formed of dead trees. These
fortifications formed an inclosure, having several angles, and the
gorge or open part rested on the spot where the stream fell into the
Missouri. A parapet of tree stems and piled up branches, built up
on the edge of a deep ditch, completed a very respectable defensive
system, which few would have expected to find in the heart of the
prairies.
In the centre of the village, a wide, vacant spot served as the meeting
place for the chiefs. In the centre there was a wigwam of wood, in the
shape of a sugar loaf. On either side of the building, maize, wheat,
and other cereals kept for winter consumption were drying. A little in
advance of the village were two block houses, formed of arrow-shaped
intrenchments, covered with wickerwork, provided with loopholes, and
surrounded by an enclosure of palisades. They were intended for the
defence of the village, with which they communicated by a covered
way, and to command the river and the plain. To leeward of these
block houses, and about a mile to the east, might be seen a number of
_Machotlé_, or scaffoldings, on which the Blood Indians lay their dead.
At regular distances on the road leading to the village, long poles
were planted in the ground, from which hung skins, scalps, and other
objects offered by the Indians to the Master of Life and the first man.
The Indians made their entrance into the village amid the cheers of the
women and children, the barking of dogs, and the deafening clamour of
drums, shells, chichikouès, and war whistles. On reaching the square,
at a signal from Natah Otann, the band halted, and the noise ceased. An
immense fire had been prepared, before which stood an aged chief, still
robust and upright. A shade of melancholy was spread over his face. He
was in mourning, as was easily to be seen by the ragged clothes that
covered him, and his hair cut short and mingled with clay. He held in
his hand a Dacotah pipe, the stem of which was long and adorned with
yellow glistening beads. This man was Cloven Foot, the first and most
renowned sachem of the Kenhas. So soon as the band had halted, he
advanced two paces, and with a majestic gesture invited the chiefs to
dismount.
"My sons are at home," he said, "let them take their seats on the
buffalo robes around the council fire."
Each obeyed silently, and sat down, after bowing respectfully to the
sachem. Cloven Foot then allowed each to take a few puffs from his
pipe, still holding it in his hand. When it was returned to him, he
emptied the burning ash into the fire, and turning with a kind of smile
to the strangers, said:--
"The Palefaces are our guests. There are fire and water here."
After these words, which ended the ceremony, all rose and retired
without uttering a word, according to the Indian custom. Natah Otann
then went up to the Count.
"Let my brother follow me," he said.
"Where to?" the young man asked.
"To the cabin I have had prepared for him."
"And my companions?"
"Other wigwams await them."
Bright-eye made a sign, immediately checked by the Count.
"Pardon, chief," he said, "but with your permission my comrades will
live with me."
The hunter smiled, as a shade of dissatisfaction crossed the Indian's
face.
"The young Pale chief will be uncomfortable, for he is accustomed to
the immense huts of the whites."
"That is possible; but I shall be more uncomfortable if my comrades do
not remain with me, in order to keep me company."
"The hospitality of the Kenhas is great. They are rich, and could give
each a private cabin, even if their guests were more numerous."
"I am convinced of it, and thank them for their attention, by which,
however, I decline to profit. Solitude frightens me. I should be
worried to death had I not with me someone to talk with."
"Be it then as the young Pale chief desires. Guests have a right to
command. Their requests are orders."
"I thank you for your condescension, and am ready to follow you."
"Come."
With that rapidity of resolution which the Indians possess in so
eminent a degree, Natah Otann shut up his vexation in his heart, and
not a trace of emotion again appeared on his stoical countenance. The
three men followed him, after exchanging a meaning glance. A handsome,
lofty cabin had been built in the square itself, near the hut of the
first man, a species of cylinder formed in the earth, and surrounded
with creeping plants. To this cabin the chief now led his guests. A
woman was standing silently in the doorway, fixing on the newcomers a
glance in which admiration and astonishment were blended. But was it a
woman? this angelic creature, with her vague outline, whose delicious
face, blushing with modesty and simple curiosity, turned towards the
Count with anxious timidity. The young man asked himself this very
question on contemplating this charming apparition, which resembled one
of those divine virgins in the mythology of the ancient Sclavons. On
seeing her, Natah Otann paused.
"What is my sister doing here?" he asked her, roughly.
The girl, startled from her silent contemplation by this brusque
address, shuddered, and let her eyes fall.
"Prairie-Flower wishes to welcome her adopted father," she replied
gently, in a sweet melodious voice.
"Prairie-Flower's place is not here, I will speak with her presently:
let her go and rejoin her companions, the young maidens of the tribe."
Prairie-Flower blushed still deeper, her rosy lips pouted, and after
shaking her head petulantly twice, she flew away like a bird, casting
at the Count, as she fled, a parting glance, which caused him an
incomprehensible emotion.
The young man laid his hand on his heart, to suppress its beating, and
followed the girl with his eyes till she disappeared behind a cabin.
"Oh!" the chief muttered aside, "can she have suddenly recognized a
being of that accursed race to which she belongs?"
Then turning to the white men, whose eyes he felt instinctively were
fixed on him,--
"Enter," he said, raising the buffalo skin, which served as a door to
the cabin.
They went in. By Natah Otann's care the cabin had been cleaned,
and every comfort it was possible to find placed in it, that is to
say--piles of furs to serve as a bed, a rickety table, some wooden
clumsy benches, and a species of reed easy chair, with a large back.
"The Paleface will excuse the poor Indians if they have not done more
to welcome him as he deserves," the chief said, with a mixture of irony
and humility.
"It is all famous," the young man answered with a smile; "I certainly
did not expect so much; besides, I have been on the prairie long enough
to satisfy myself with what is strictly necessary."
"Now I ask the Pale chiefs permission to retire."
"Yes, go, my worthy host; do so: do not put yourself out of the way.
Attend to your business. For my part I intend taking that rest I need
so sadly."
Natah Otann bowed in reply, and withdrew. So soon as he was gone,
Bright-eye made his comrades a sign to remain motionless, and began
inspecting the place, peering into every corner. When he had ended
this inspection, which produced no farther result than proving to him
they were really alone, and that no spy was on the watch, he returned
to the centre of the hut, and calling the Count and Ivon toward him,
said in a low voice:--
"Listen: we are now in the wolfs throat by our own fault, and we must
be prudent; in the prairies the leaves have eyes and the trees ears.
Natah Otann is a demon, who is planning some treachery, of which he
intends to make us the victims."
"Bah!" the Count said, lightly. "How do you know it, Bright-eye?"
"I do not know it, yet I feel sure of it; my instinct never deceives
me, Mr. Edward. I have known the Kenhas a long time; we must get out of
this as adroitly as we can."
"Eh! what use are such suspicions, my friend? The poor devils, I am
convinced, only think of treating us properly; all this appears to me
admirable."
The Canadian shook his head.
"I should like to know the cause of the strange respect the Indians pay
you; that conceals something, I repeat."
"Bah! they are afraid of me; that's all."
"Hum! Natah Otann does not fear much in this world."
"Why, Bright-eye, I never saw you in this state before. Did I not know
you so thoroughly, I should say you were afraid."
"Hang me! if I'll try to conceal it," the hunter replied, quickly. "I
am afraid, and terribly so."
"You?"
"Yes; but not for myself; you know that during the time I have
journeyed on the prairies, if the Redskins could have killed me, they
would have done so. Hence, I am perfectly calm on my own account, and
were there only myself--"
"Well?"
"I should not be at all embarrassed."
"Whom are you afraid for, then?"
"For you."
"Me!" the Count exclaimed, as he reclined carelessly in the easy chair.
"You do these scamps a deal of honour. With my whip I would put all
these hideous people to flight."
The hunter shook his head.
"You will not, Mr. Edward, persuade yourself thoroughly of one thing."
"What?"
"That the Indians are different men from the Europeans with whom you
have hitherto had dealings."
"Nonsense, were a man to listen to you wood rangers, he would be, at
every two steps, in danger of death, and it would be impossible to
move, except by crawling on all fours, like the wild beasts; that is
all trash, my good fellow. I fancy I have already twenty times proved
to you that such precautions are useless, and that a man, who boldly
meets danger, will always get the best of the most warlike Redskins."
"It is exactly the reason that makes them act toward you in that way, I
wish to discover."
"You would do better to try and discover something else."
"What is it?"
"Who that charming girl is, of whom I only had a glance, and whom the
chief sent away so brutally."
"Good! then I suppose you have fallen in love now; that's the last
thing wanting."
"Why not? She is a charming girl."
"Yes; she is charming, sir; but, believe me, do not trouble yourself
about her."
"And why so, if you please?"
"Because she is not what she seems to be."
"Why, it's a perfect romance of the Anne Radcliffe school; we have been
advancing from mystery to mystery during the last few days."
"Yes, and the further we go, the more gloomy matters will become around
us."
"Bah, bah! I do not believe a word. Ivon, take off my boots."
The man-servant obeyed. Since his entry into the village, the worthy
Breton had been in one continued trance, and trembled in all his
limbs. All he saw seemed to him so extraordinary and horrible, that he
expected every moment to be massacred.
"Well," the Count asked him, "what do you think of it all, Ivon?"
"Your lordship knows that I am a great coward," the Breton stammered.
"Yes, yes, that is agreed; go on."
"I am terribly afraid."
"Naturally."
"And if your lordship will allow me, I will carry my furs over there,
and sleep across the doorway."
"Why so?"
"Because, as I am very frightened, I shall not sleep soundly; and if
anyone comes in the night, with ill intentions, he will be obliged to
step over me; I shall hear him, and, in that way, be able to warn you,
which will give you time to defend yourself."
The young man threw himself back, and burst into a Homeric laugh, in
which Bright-eye joined, in spite of his thoughtfulness.
"By Jove!" the Count exclaimed, looking at his servant, who was in
amazement at this gaiety, which seemed to him unsuitable at so grave
a moment--"I must confess, Ivon, that you are the most extraordinary
poltroon I ever saw."
"Ah, sir," he answered with contrition, "it is not my fault; for I do
all I can to gain courage, but it is impossible."
"Good, good!" the young man went on, still laughing. "I am not angry
with you, my poor fellow; as it is stronger than yourself, you must put
up with it."
"Alas!" the Breton said, uttering an enormous sigh.
"Well, you can sleep how and where you like, Ivon; I leave it entirely
to you."
The Breton, without further reply, began transferring the furs to the
place he had selected, while the Count went on talking with the hunter.
"As for you, Bright-eye," he said, "I leave you at liberty to watch
over our safety as you may think proper, promising not to disarrange
your plans in any way, and even to promote them, if necessary--but on
one condition."
"What?"
"That you will arrange so that I may meet again that charming creature,
of whom I have already spoken to you."
"Take care, Mr. Edward!"
"I want to see her again, I tell you, even if I am obliged to go and
look for her myself."
"You will not do so, Mr. Edward."
"I will do so, on my soul! and at once, if you continue in that tone."
"You will reflect."
"I now reflect, and find it the best plan."
"But do you know who that girl is?"
"By Jove! you have just said it; she is a girl, and a charming one in
the bargain."
"Granted; but I repeat, she is loved by Natah Otann."
"What do I care?"
"Take care!"
"I will not: I must see her again."
"At any risk?"
"At all."
"Well, listen to me, then."
"I will, but be brief."
"I will tell you this girl's history."
"You know her then?"
"I do."
"Go on; I am all attention."
Bright-eye drew up a bench, eat down with an air of dissatisfaction,
and, after a moment's reflection, began.
"Just fifteen years ago, Natah Otann, who was hardly twenty years of
age, but already a renowned warrior, left his tribe, at the head of
some fifty picked warriors, to attempt a _coup de main_ on the Whites.
At that period, the Kenhas did not live where they now are; the Fur
Company had not advanced so far on the Missouri, and Fort Mackenzie did
not exist. The Blood Indians hunted freely on the vast territories from
which the Americans have since expelled them. Up to that moment, Natah
Otann had never been the commander in chief of an expedition; like all
young men of his age and circumstances, his brow shone with pride; he
burned to distinguish himself, and prove to the sachems of his nation
that he was worthy to command brave warriors. So soon as he entered
on the war trail, he scattered his spies in every direction, and even
forbade his men smoking, lest the light of their pipes might betray his
presence. In short, he took, with extreme wisdom, all the precautions
employed in similar cases. His expedition was brilliant; he surprised
several caravans, and plundered and burned the clearings; his men
returned laden with booty, and the bits of their horses garnished with
scalps. Natah Otann only brought back, as his share, a weak creature
of two or three years of age at the most, whom he bore tenderly in his
arms, or laid on the front of his saddle. That child was the tall and
lovely girl you saw today."
"Ah! Is she white or red, American or Spanish?"
"No one knows; no one will ever know. You are aware that many Indians
are born white, thus colour is of no avail in finding her relations
again. In short, the chief adopted her; but, strange to say, as she
grew up, she gained such an ascendency over Natah Otann's mind,
that the chief of the tribe grew alarmed; besides, the life led by
Prairie-Flower--that is her name--"
"I knew it," the Count interrupted him.
"Good," the hunter continued, "I say, then, that this girl's life is
extraordinary; instead of being sportive and laughing, like girls of
her age, she is gloomy, dreamy, and wild, wandering ever alone on the
prairie, flying over the dew-laden grass like a gazelle; or else, at
night, dreaming in the moonlight, and muttering words no one hears. At
times, from a distance (for no one ventures to approach her), another
shadow may be traced by the side of her's, and moving for hours at her
side: then she returns alone to the village; if questioned, only shakes
her head, and begins crying."
"That is really strange."
"Is it not? so much so, that the chiefs assembled in council, and
agreed that Prairie-Flower had cast a charm over her adopted father."
"The asses!" the Count muttered.
"Perhaps so," the hunter went on, turning his head; "at any rate, they
agreed that she should be left alone to perish in the desert."
"Poor child! Well, what happened then?"
"Natah Otann and White Buffalo, who were not summoned to the council,
went there on learning this decision, and succeeded by their deceitful
words in so thoroughly altering the chiefs' sentiments, that they not
only gave up all idea of deserting her, but she has since been regarded
as the tutelary genius of the tribe."
"And Natah Otann?"
"His condition is still the same."
"Is that all?"
"It is."
"Well, then, Bright-eye, within two days I shall know whether that
girl is the enchantress you fancy her, and what I am to think on the
subject."
The hunter only answered by an unintelligible grunt, and, saying no
more, lay down on his furs.