AN INDIAN LOVER.—THE MAGIC MOCCASONS.
IF the dwarf wondered, at first, why the Indian maiden persuaded her
father to deliver him from the savage rabble, a week's tarrying in the
chief's wigwam did not solve the problem. The tawny miss was far from
being as amiable as her interposition might lead him to expect. She
certainly did not interfere to save him because of his personal beauty,
for now that he was sheltered by the same tent, from her invincible
stolidity of countenance, he would suppose she was totally unaware of
his presence, except when she ordered him to some menial service. Then
her broken English was short, harsh, and domineering.
"White boy, bring water!"
"Pale-face, get wood!"
It grated on the Hunchback's self-respect to be thus addressed by the
feminine Sioux, but "hard words break no bones" he remembered, while
tomahawks crushed the skull; and how speedily that blood-shedding
hatchet would cleave his cranium, should he rebel, he could easily
calculate. Over-sensitiveness to the remarks of others, leading to a
morbid irritability of temper, was the dwarf's "besetting sin." He
was taking lessons in self-control, now, with a Dakotah girl for his
teacher. But we all have to submit to the pruning-knife sooner or later.
"She wanted me for her slave," the meditative prisoner concluded;
"that's why she didn't let the savages kill me."
It puzzled him, however, that while she ordered him about insultingly,
his tasks were not more burdensome.
But one thing amused him. One afternoon, a young brave stalked into the
chief's tent, and casting down a freshly-shot deer, went grave-faced
away. His coming was so frequent and peculiar, that the observant
captive saw that an Indian courtship was in progress.
The tawny maiden, however, deigned not to notice her suitor. Evidently,
he was not in favor with her; but her unrelenting coldness only added
fuel to his ardor, and for hours he would lie on the grass chanting, in
minor key, his love-song, promising her abundance of game to eat—the
highest good of the hunter's life.
"Cling fast to me, and you'll ever have a plenty,
Cling fast to me, and you'll ever have a plenty,
Cling fast to me."
Heartless heathen! How often she heard this ditty, droned over and
over again, as if she heard not; even though accompanied by the
"cho'-tan-ka," or flute, made of sumac, in the best style of savage
art, decorated with ribbon streamers, yellow and red paint, the carved
likeness of a horse, and a brass thimble for a mouth-piece.
Some evenings after the dwarf's discovery of this affair, as the
undiscouraged redskin was pouring forth his unrequited passion, the
Hunchback was ordered to the spring. It struck him that the maiden had
a double purpose in despatching him among the bushes. So, concealed by
the shrubbery, he stopped to look back, and he saw the tawny beauty
glide from out the door, and chant a brief response to the pleading
lover who instantly stood at her side.
"Had she changed her mind, and was now confessing it!" thought the
dwarf.
A moment more, and fear superseded curiosity. She had been unusually
tyrannical through the day, and now her conversation seemed to be
concerning him, for she pointed in his direction. Was she devoting
him to the knife of the Warrior? But the latter disappeared in the
darkness, and the thankful dwarf returned to the wigwam.
Next day, the dwarf endured much from the tongue of the Indian girl.
All the epithets expressive of the hatred of her race towards the
pale-faces descended on his head. What a prospect, should his captor's
dislike continue to increase! Worn with sad forebodings, that night he
fell into a dreamful slumber, from which he was awakened by a gentle
touch. The chief's daughter, bending over him, made signs for him to be
silent, and led him to the forest. Then handing him a pair of moccasons
for his feet, she said,—
"Indian girl send pale-face home. Pale-face no lose
moccasons—'understand?' When he gets to his people, pale-face look in
moccason; no forget?" She spoke low and impressively, and before he
could utter a syllable, glided towards the chief's tent.
The round yellow moon hung above the trees. By its shimmering beams,
he saw a dusky form. It was the Indian beau who silently started off,
followed by the astonished dwarf. Travelling slowly, they came to a
small stream. Pushing a canoe from the bushes that lined the bank, the
savage motioned him to lie down in it, and then paddled swiftly away.
The succeeding fore-noon, after threading the woods on the opposite
shore, they struck an Indian trail. Pointing to it, his guide said,—
"Go in that; don't leave; find white cabin," and left him.
Freedom, how sweet to all! Home, however homely, how dear!
Did you ever trace an Indian trail, worn by the feet of the Indian
pony? The narrow path, clear cut, goes straight to its destination—you
cannot well miss it. Observed you what choice spots it led to, just
where a tent should be pitched, or a cabin stand? And thus it comes
about that the white man, pluming himself on his superior judgment in
selecting so eligible a site for his wilderness home, finds, after
all, that he has chosen second-hand; the uncultivated child of nature
kindled his wigwam fire just there.
No danger that on this journey the little Hunchback would go astray,
for he trod a well-defined path, conducting him by the sweetest springs
to the lands of the settlers.
That night, he slept in the rude shanty of a pioneer, and by twelve the
day succeeding,—still retaining the trail,—reached a cultivated field
in the alluvial river-bottom. Climbing the rail-fence, and crossing the
enclosed lot, he struck the trail again.
It ran parallel with a lessening creek tributary to a river, near
which he saw a log house, and higher up on the bank, a neat cottage in
process of erection. The cabin door was open. At the opposite extremity
of the room stood a woman before a small looking-glass, arranging her
toilet, her wealth of glossy-black hair hanging to her waist.
"Madam," said he, entering, in his eagerness, without knocking, "can
you tell me—"
Not waiting to hear his question, she dashed past him, screaming,—
"Husband! Husband! The Hunchback's here!"
At which, an athletic, pleasant-faced man rushed in, and seeing the
dwarf, vociferated,—
"Why, where did you rain from? Where 've you been? The whole country
has been scoured to find you. There's a gathering to-day at the
missionary's, to decide what else to do about it. I must carry you
right there."
And putting his head out of the door, he shouted,—
"William! The Hunchback's come. Clap the horse into the buggy quick as
you can. I'll help you."
And hurrying out, the two hustled the horse into harness, and the dwarf
was whirling towards the minister's.
"How far is it?" inquired the Hunchback.
"Only a short piece—you must have crossed the parson's ten-acre lot in
getting to my cabin."
"What are they doing at the missionary's?"
"Why, Tom Jones—we call him Tom, 'cause he was brought up about here,
as you may say—is there. The settlers had about given over the hunt
for you. But Tom has brought with him an Indian,—a great friend to
the Joneses,—and they set this afternoon to state where each one had
searched, and then the Indian—he's a hound on a scent—is to try. But
here's the house."
And hitching his horse among the trees, out of sight of the cabin,
saying, with a humorous twinkle in his honest dark eye, "We must be
careful not to scare the folks—you just wait outside a minute," he
entered the dwelling without ceremony, and in an unnecessarily loud
voice said,—
"Tom, there's a gentleman at the door that wants to speak to you."
The surprise of Tom when he saw who was there, and the joy of the
company, cannot be described. They made the air resound with their
lusty cheers, and the firing of their guns gave notice to the settlers
around of the gladsome event, bringing even the women and children
to see and hear for themselves. And the dwarf, overwhelmed with
gratulations, learned that even a dwarf need not be despised.
The Indian, however, retained, amid the universal rejoicing, the
immobility of feature characteristic of his race. But for his bright,
gleaming eye, you would pronounce him immovably indifferent. When the
excitement had measurably died away, pointing to the Hunchback's feet,
he said to Tom, in low, earnest tones,—
"What for white boy wear moccason?"
Tom saw that Long Hair detected something significant in his discovery,
and he quietly beckoned the dwarf and the Indian into the missionary's
attic study.
"Long Hair thinks it strange that you wear moccasons," remarked Tom,
when they were by themselves; "how does it happen?"
"The Indian girl gave them to me!"
"No; Indian pappoose no give pale-face moccason," contradicted Long
Hair.
"He means," interpreted Tom, "that it would be unlike an Indian to do
so."
"But she did," warmly asserted the Hunchback.
"Long Hair want see moccason," said the Indian.
"He wishes you to take them off, that he may examine them," explained
Tom.
The dwarf complied, passing each in turn to the Indian.
"What dat?" he asked, secretly calling Tom's attention to an object
smoothly secured within one of them.
The inspection sent the blood with magical suddenness into Tom's face,
and moved him so deeply that the dwarf was alarmed.
"What is the matter?" he inquired, anxiously.
Tom did not reply, but after whispering aside to Long Hair, asked,—
"How long were you in the canoe?"
"All night," answered the Hunchback.
"Did you go up or down stream?"
"Down."
"And kept the trail all the way?"
"Yes."
"Good," grunted the Indian. "Long Hair know!"