SHOSHONE CALLERS.
THE torrent loosed by the cloudburst steadily grew less and less, and at
the end of two hours the stream had shrunk almost to its former
insignificant proportions. The boys might have returned to the site of
the camp and remained in safety until morning, but they had no
inclination to do so. Indeed, it would have been hard to identify the
spot, for the grass everywhere lay as flat as if a mountainous roller
had pressed it down. Here and there could be dimly seen the trees, some
shorn of their limbs, so that they were like so many logs, twisted and
pronged stumps and, strange as it may seem, boulders weighing in some
instances several tons, lay where they had been flung by the raging
waters.
When no doubt remained that the danger was over, the bridles, saddles
and packs were again placed on the ground and the horses set free. It
was impossible to start another fire, since no fuel was obtainable, and
the brothers sat on the ground, wrapped in their blankets and near
enough to feel their mutual warmth. The shock through which they had
passed drove away all inclination to sleep, and they talked and
speculated until the gray light of morning glowed in the east.
Naturally they looked for the return of the Blackfoot, who had left them
the night before. The valley, strewn with the debris of the flood,
stretched out before them, and they gazed up and down its winding extent
and across to the corresponding slope, but without seeing man or animal.
Not the least striking feature of the scene was the carcasses of several
elks and antelopes, while in the distance was recognized the brown,
bulky body of an immense bison or buffalo. These various animals,
doubtless with others that were not visible, had paid the penalty of
being caught in the irrestrainable rush of the torrent.
That Mul-tal-la had met with any mishap was impossible, for it was he
who discovered the nature of the peril before the brothers knew of it.
The same recourse was at his command, for all he had to do was to make
for the higher land, where he would be beyond reach of the wrathful
waters.
But the sun climbed the sky and the longing, wandering and impatient
boys saw nothing of their friend. Almost directly opposite and a fourth
of a mile away was a mass of boulders, some of which had apparently been
brought down by the torrent.
“It seems to me,” said Victor, “that something is moving near those
rocks. Try your spyglass on them, George.”
A minute’s scrutiny was enough to show that Victor was right.
“There are several Indians,” said George, still holding the glass in
place. “They seem to be looking at us.”
“Mul-tal-la must be with them. I suppose he is telling about his two
companions.”
“I don’t make him out, for the rocks interfere. You try it.”
He passed the glass to Victor, and, as the brothers stood side by side,
the second leveled the instrument at the group. At the same moment the
red men came from behind the boulders and moved down the slope in the
direction of the boys, as if they meant to call on them. All were afoot,
and two were of shorter stature than the others.
With the help of the glass Victor Shelton gained a clear view of the
faces of the whole party, who were dressed much the same as the
Blackfoot.
“Mul-tal-la isn’t there,” said the surprised lad. “I don’t understand
that.”
“He can’t be far off. He’s likely to show up pretty soon. Shall we wait
for those Indians, for they mean to visit us—that’s certain?”
“I don’t see how we can help ourselves. If we start to leave it will
look as if we are afraid of them, and, though they are on foot, they can
overhaul us without trouble. No; let’s stand our ground. I don’t believe
they mean any harm, but I should feel a good deal easier in mind if
Mul-tal-la was on hand. It is odd that he and Deerfoot should be away at
the time we are most likely to need them.”
The strangers came straight forward, and were soon so near that every
face was clearly seen without the aid of the glass. The brothers learned
that what they suspected was true: two of the Indians were boys, perhaps
a little older than our young friends, and one of them was certainly
taller. All were armed with bows and arrows, their dress being similar,
as has been already said, to that worn by the Blackfoot.
George and Victor felt anything but comfortable. Previous experience
warranted the hope that the Indians meant no harm, but for the time the
youths could not be certain on that point. While the strangers probably
would have acted friendly had either the Shawanoe or Blackfoot been with
the lads, it was doubtful how it would be when they found the two alone.
Place a party of lawless persons, no matter what their race, in a
tempting situation, where they have no fear of any consequences of
wrong-doing, and they may be depended upon to do wrong.
Had the boys been certain that mischief impended they would have warned
the party off, but doubting and puzzled as to what was best to do, they
waved their hands in token of good-will and awaited their coming as if
nothing in the world could please them more.
The nearer the Indians approached the less the boys liked their looks.
Their dress was shabby and their faces ugly. The taller of the dusky
youths had daubed his face with paint at some remote period in the past,
and enough remained to add to his repulsive looks, which were not
diminished when his broad mouth expanded into a grin. His companion was
not quite so tall, and was of broader and huskier frame.
The least repellent of the three warriors displayed some superiority in
dress to the others. The hunting shirt had more fringes at the bottom;
the dilapidated moccasins showed a few more beads, and he had three
stained eagle feathers pointing upward from his crown, while neither of
the others sported more than two. From these facts and a certain
deference shown by the couple, George and Victor believed this fellow
was a chief among his people. Furthermore, our friends were convinced
that this particular redskin was the father of the boys, and I may add
that in both suppositions the brothers were right.
“Howdy?” grinned the leader, who was a pace or two in advance of the
others. As he spoke he extended his right hand to George, his long bow
being in the left hand.
“Howdy?” replied George, taking the palm of the other. “I am glad to see
my brothers,” he hypocritically added.
It was quickly apparent that none of the Indians could speak English.
The salutation of the leader was the only word he knew. He made a
response to George’s greeting, but it was unintelligible to the boys. He
said something more, and, releasing his hand, reached out and took
George’s rifle from his grasp.
It was done so deftly that the weapon was gone before the owner knew it.
“Why did you let him have that?” asked the resentful Victor.
“He took it before I had any idea of what he was after. Maybe he only
wants to look over it.”
The chief held up the gun, inspected the hammer and trigger, squinted
one eye down the barrel (and Victor Shelton never wished more fervently
that the rifle would go off), pretended to aim at some target in the
distance, and then, instead of returning the weapon to the owner, passed
it to one of his warriors.
He next looked at Victor, and took two or three steps toward him. The
boy retreated, shaking his head and griping his weapon with both hands.
“There’ll be a fight before you get this, you old scamp!” replied the
lad, compressing his lips and showing his anger so plainly that no one
could mistake.
The dusky countenance of the chief took on a dangerous glint and his
black eyes twinkled threateningly.
“Better let him have it,” said his brother. “There’s no help for it.”
“He doesn’t get it without a fight. I won’t stand like a lamb and let
him rob me.”
The consequences must have been serious had not Mul-tal-la, the
Blackfoot, put in an appearance at this critical moment. He came over
the ridge from behind the boys, proving that he had crossed the
devastated valley some time before.
All the strangers turned their faces toward the new arrival, and it was
apparent from the expression on the face of the chief that he recognized
Mul-tal-la. They had met when the Blackfoot passed through this region
the year before, though none of the other four knew him.
The chief seemed really glad to meet the wanderer. They greeted each
other and talked for several minutes, as if they had not the slightest
knowledge of the presence of the others.
“They act as if they belonged to the same tribe,” said George, who, like
his brother, was closely watching the couple. “I wonder if these folks
are Blackfeet.”
“I don’t think so. They are not dressed quite the same. They look
different, and the home of the Blackfeet is a good many miles to the
north.”
Victor was in a combative mood. He could not get over his anger because
of the robbery they had suffered, not to mention the second one that
impended. He scowled at the chief and then glared at the youths standing
by themselves. The shorter looked back and grinned threateningly.
“I’d like to have a set-to with that imp,” said Victor to his brother.
“Did you ever see a meaner-looking thing?”
And to show his contempt Victor deliberately doubled his fist and shook
it at the fellow, who grinned and placed his hand threateningly on the
haft of his knife at his girdle. When matters looked ominous it was the
lot of Mul-tal-la to interfere again in the interests of peace. Turning
abruptly, he said to the boys:
“This Indian is Black Elk, chief of the Shoshones. Their warriors
sometimes visit the Blackfeet, and he and I talk each other’s tongue.
Those are his boys, Young Elk and Antelope.”
“What does he mean by taking George’s gun from him? He was about to rob
me of mine when you came up, but he won’t get it without a row.”
“Let not my brother be hasty,” said the Blackfoot soothingly. “Black Elk
has thousands of warriors and can do as he wills with us, but he is a
friend of the Blackfeet; I stayed for several days and nights with him
when on my way through here a year ago. Because he is a friend, he will
not do what he meant to do. He says you shall make contest with his two
sons, and the two that beat shall own the guns. Are you willing?”
“Nothing will suit me better, if the fight is to be a fair one,” was the
prompt reply of Victor.
“I am ready,” added George; “but can you trust these people?”
“Mul-tal-la does not know about the others, but what Black Elk says he
will do, that he will do.”
“Well, what is his plan?”
The Blackfoot now turned and talked for some minutes with Black Elk, one
of the chiefs of the Shoshones. Then the chief called his sons to him,
and there was more talk. The dusky youths looked at the boys and grinned
in a way that showed they were pleased over the prospect and counted
upon making short work of the pale-faced intruders.
“I’m aching to get at that chunky chap,” said Victor, who for some
reason had taken an intense dislike of the ill-favored youth.
“Maybe you will ache more after you are through with him. You must keep
cool, Victor, or it will go hard with you.”
Mul-tal-la now addressed himself to the boys.
“Black Elk has made these rules: My brother,” indicating George, “shall
wrestle with Antelope—he is the tall one—and, if he throws Antelope,
then the gun shall be given back to my brother; but if Antelope throws
him, then he shall keep the gun of my brother.”
Mul-tal-la was slyer than his friends had supposed. He had been in the
company of the youths long enough to learn that George Shelton was the
superior of his brother in wrestling, and indeed possessed no little
skill in that respect. The Blackfoot was sanguine that the white youth
could overturn Antelope. And yet he was by no means certain, for the
Indian was taller and showed that he was strong and agile. Many red men
pride themselves on their skill in wrestling, and have good grounds for
doing so. Mul-tal-la warned George of this and impressed upon him not to
throw away the slightest advantage he could gain from the very outset.
To prove that Black Elk meant to be fair, he compelled his son to lay
his knife on the ground beside his bow. The youth carried no tomahawk or
other weapon, and to reciprocate, George handed his knife to Mul-tal-la.
“I suppose I am to wrestle that other monkey,” muttered Victor, scowling
at the youth.
“No!” replied the Blackfoot, with a grin; “you and he are to fight.”
“Good! that suits me to a dot!” exclaimed the pleased Victor.
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