A CHANGE OF PLAN.
THE summer was well advanced when Mul-tal-la, Deerfoot and the Shelton
boys drew rein in the Rocky Mountains, south of the stream known as
Medicine River, and far to the northward of the headwaters of the
Yellowstone.
They had had a hard time in reaching this point on their long journey.
Numerous streams had been crossed, deep and dangerous defiles threaded,
treacherous paths followed, and several accidents encountered. Once in
following a narrow, winding path leading around a vast mountain wall,
Zigzag lost his footing and rolled over several times in his descent to
the bottom, fully fifty feet below. Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la hurriedly
scrambled after him in order to recover the goods and to put the animal
out of his misery. When they reached Zigzag they found him standing on
his feet, with his pack somewhat askew, but seemingly suffering from
only a few trifling bruises. He was extricated with much labor from his
position, and resumed his plodding task. One fact was evident; he knew
more than he did before, and nothing in the nature of a similar mishap
occurred again.
The mosquitoes still pestered our friends at times, but not to the
degree that they suffered on the shore of the Great Horn. Once or twice
they were pinched with hunger, but to no serious extent. They were now
comparatively close to the Blackfoot country, and, if all went well,
ought to reach it within a week. In fact, as Mul-tal-la declared, they
were liable to meet some of the hunting parties of his people at any
time.
On the night succeeding this statement two mounted Blackfeet, from the
principal village, rode into camp and greeted the travelers. The couple
were old acquaintances of Mul-tal-la, and, as may be supposed, the
meeting was pleasant indeed. Deerfoot’s friend had an absorbing story to
tell of his experiences during the year that he had been as far removed
from his own people as if out of the world. They listened like a couple
of children enthralled by a marvelous fairy tale, and would have sat in
delighted attention the night through had their old comrade been willing
to keep up the thread of his narrative, whose charm could never pall for
them.
They were astonished to find the young Shawanoe able to speak their own
tongue like one of themselves, and when Mul-tal-la dwelt upon the
prowess, wisdom, chivalry and daring of the youth, they stared at him as
if he belonged to another order of beings. Mul-tal-la would have told
much more of his friend had not the youth checked him with a sternness
that the Blackfoot dared not disregard.
The visitors were very friendly and George and Victor Shelton were much
pleased with them. They got on quite well through the language of signs,
and the warriors were again amazed when they heard their countryman
speak to the lads in their own language. It must have been a marvelous
country and people that sent the youths forth, and which had been
visited by Mul-tal-la. It was plain that the couple, when they sighed
and looked into each other’s face, longed for the same experience that
had befallen their countryman.
But with all this Mul-tal-la had also a sad story to tell. He had left
home with a companion, but returned without him. It was a strange
accident that overtook that comrade after he had surmounted so many
perils, but his body rested many hundreds of miles away in a wondrous
country, and his friends must wait to see him until he and they met in
the happy hunting grounds that are the final home of all true and brave
red men.
This visit caused an important change in the plans of Deerfoot and
Mul-tal-la. As you know, the party had been steadily following a general
northwest course, with the Blackfoot country as their chief destination.
The intention was to remain there for a few days or weeks, and then
press westward to the Pacific. When in the Blackfoot region a fourth of
their journey would still be before them, and it led through a section
the most difficult of all to travel. The understanding was that
Mul-tal-la would accompany Deerfoot and the boys until all were given to
look upon the mightiest body of water on the globe. By the time they
reached the Blackfoot country again winter would be so near (if not
already upon them) that our friends purposed to remain among that tribe
until the opening of spring, when they would set out on the return to
their own home.
But Mul-tal-la, after a long conversation with his countrymen, told
Deerfoot that when he joined his people he would not be allowed to leave
them again. An unprecedented favor had been granted him and his
companion. The one who had received such an indulgence could not receive
it a second time. Moreover, the death of the comrade increased the
difficulty, if that were possible, for the head chief of the Blackfeet,
who was an autocrat among his tribe, would be offended with Mul-tal-la
when he learned all that had taken place. Many Indian tribes follow the
custom of the Chinese and punish an unfortunate leader, no matter how
blameless he may have been for his misfortune.
Had Mul-tal-la returned with his former companion it is not unlikely
that the chieftain would have permitted him to accompany Deerfoot and
the boys to the Pacific, but, coming back without the other, such
permission was impossible.
Long after the brothers had stretched out by the fire the Shawanoe and
the Blackfeet talked together. Convinced that the life of Mul-tal-la was
in danger from the chieftain, Deerfoot was determined that his friend
should not run the risk that awaited him if he went back with the couple
or followed them after a brief interval.
He proposed, therefore, that the party with Mul-tal-la should turn off
from the route they were following, force their way through the Rocky
Mountains to the headwaters of the Columbia, and pass down that to the
Pacific, after which the four would visit the Blackfeet and stay with
them till spring.
Meanwhile the two Blackfeet would return to their countrymen and report
what they had seen and learned. An outburst against Mul-tal-la was
certain, but it would be given time in which to spend its force. The
visitors would do all they could to placate and show their chieftain
that Mul-tal-la would have been glad to hasten home had he not been
under pledge to guide the Shawanoe and his friends to the Pacific. The
Shawanoe would give his life at any time rather than break his promise,
and he had taught the same high principles to Mul-tal-la.
Deerfoot was unwilling to admit that any credit in the matter was due to
his teachings, but he was forced to hold his peace when his friend
unhesitatingly told him that among his people the violation of a pledge
was not regarded as wrong when the interests of the one making the
pledge called for such a course. “And,” added the grinning Mul-tal-la,
“I am a Blackfoot.”
Deerfoot with all his sagacity failed to note one phase of the situation
that was apparent to Mul-tal-la. The latter, despite the protest of the
Shawanoe, managed secretly to tell his countrymen a good deal about the
remarkable youth who had proved so unselfish a friend to him when such a
friend was needed. He gave the story of his conquest of the wild
stallion, of Deerfoot’s incredible fleetness of foot, of his skill with
the bow and rifle, of his courage and readiness of resource, which
surpassed that of any of his race, and of his admirable character, which
Mul-tal-la had never seen equaled by any white or red man.
There was one subject upon which the four red men talked freely, for it
was always a welcome one to Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Unto the visitors had
come vague, shadowy rumors of a religion different from that which they
had been taught, and which had been followed by their people from time
immemorial. In some cases these reports were definite enough to awaken
curiosity and inquiry. Stories were told of self-sacrificing
missionaries who had spent years in teaching the new faith, and who had
given their lives for its sake. It was a strange doctrine, indeed, which
taught the sin of revenge, of deceit, of cruelty, of wrong-doing, and
replaced them with love, forgiveness, mercy and the Golden Rule, and the
assurance that a reward of eternal life awaited those who lived
according to the will of the one and true God.
Immortality is not capable of scientific proof, but one of the strongest
evidences of its truth is that yearning which is implanted, to a greater
or less degree, in every human heart, and in every race, no matter how
low or degraded its order in the rank of civilization. All religions,
whether true or false, are based on the idea of a life beyond the grave.
It accords with reason and with the self-evident fact that no man can
feel that his life’s work is rounded out and completed on earth, and
that consequently there must be another existence in which that work
shall be carried on.
That these longings, these yearnings, this instinctive reaching out for
the things beyond mortal grasp, are an inherent part of our being show
that they have been divinely planted there by One who is capable of
satisfying them all, and who, in his own good time, will satisfy them.
So reasonable and so well founded is this belief that the burden of
proof is thrown upon those who dispute it. Let them demonstrate, if they
can, that that which we call death ends all. But it is beyond their
power, and from the nature of things always will be beyond their power,
to do this impossible thing.
At the opening of this century we stand on the threshold of the most
marvelous discoveries and achievements made since the world began. Some
of these discoveries fill us with awe, and clearly presage the greater
that are close at hand. Among them may be the scientific proof of a
future existence, though such proof is not necessary with the most
exalted intellects, any more than it is with the simpler and more
child-like minds.
We must not wander, however, from the thread of our narrative, though
the subject is the most momentous that can engage our mental powers.
When Mul-tal-la put into more definite form the dim glimpses that his
countrymen had caught of the true light, he appealed to Deerfoot, who in
his modest, convincing manner told the story of his conversion and of
the sweet communion he held every day with the Father of All Good. It
was a faith which no trial, no suffering, no torture could change or
modify, and he impressed upon his absorbed listeners the ineffable
beauties of the religion which made a man a new being and fitted him for
the life to come.
Deerfoot had that rare tact of not pressing an important question too
far. He knew he had said enough, and when his hearers ceased to question
him he ceased to exhort. He, like all true Christians before and since,
had to meet that most troublesome of questions: the evil-doing of those
who profess the white man’s religion. The Blackfeet had met Caucasians
who prayed and bellowed their faith, yet whose lives belied every word
of their profession. They wronged and cheated the Indians; they broke
their promises; they maltreated them, and in short did everything that
was evil. If the Christian religion made such men, the pagans might well
declare they wanted none of it, for they were unquestionably better than
those hypocrites.
Deerfoot ranked such men far below those who were called heathens. He
despised them utterly, and was sure their punishment would be greater
than that meted out to those who live in open sin. He strove to impress
upon his listeners—and it is fair to believe he succeeded—the
distinction between true and false Christians, and assured the Blackfeet
that they were justified at all times in rating a person, not by what he
professed, but by his daily life, for it is thus that at the last day
the great Arbiter will judge us all.
And so, without fully realizing it, the young Shawanoe sowed the good
seed as the soil presented itself. It was he who had brought George and
Victor Shelton to see the truth; under whom Mul-tal-la had become a
believer; hundreds of miles away he had planted the germ in the ground
offered by the trapper Jack Halloway, of whom he was to hear further;
and now he had given the first glimmerings of light to these benighted
Blackfeet, and it was a light that was not to be extinguished, but would
grow and become luminous to a degree that only the Judgment Day would
make clear.
Thus it is with all of us. We have only to use the opportunities as they
present themselves; to do the kind deed; to utter the encouraging word;
to help the fallen; to relieve the suffering; to purify our own actions,
words and thoughts, and, all in good time, the harvest shall appear.
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