PARTING COMPANY.
IN fact, Mul-tal-la had made inquiries for his friend, and was told that
he was absent on a hunt, and there was no saying when he would return.
He was Amokeat, or the Man-who-never-Sleeps, and one of the leading
chiefs of the Nez Perces.
Two years before, when a party of the latter were hunting on the
Missouri, they were attacked by their enemies from the west, and all
would have been cut off had not some Blackfeet hunters arrived at the
critical moment. The tables were speedily turned and the assailants
routed. During the fight Mul-tal-la saved the life of Amokeat, when he
was hurled to the ground and a savage warrior was bending over to
deliver the final stroke. Not only that, but Mul-tal-la scalped the
enemy with his own hand and presented the trophy to the Nez Perce
leader. No greater honor could be done by one warrior to another, and
the gratitude of Amokeat was deep.
You will understand; therefore, how cordially this chief and the
Blackfoot greeted each other. Mul-tal-la slipped off his horse and, as
the grinning Victor said, seemed about to eat up the other, while
Deerfoot looked on and was pleased with the effusive meeting.
Mul-tal-la and his people often mingled with the Nez Perces, and he
understood their tongue well enough to make his meaning clear. He told
Amokeat of the question he and the Shawanoe (to whom the Nez Perce was
introduced) had been debating, and that they had about decided to make
the rest of the journey on horseback. Amokeat instantly volunteered to
take care of the animals until the owners returned. Mul-tal-la frankly
told him that Deerfoot could not feel certain of finding Whirlwind when
he came back. Amokeat reminded Mul-tal-la that he was a chief, and
pledged his life to hand over the black stallion and the rest of the
horses to the right parties.
“And he will do it,” added the Blackfoot, when he made known the pledge
of the Nez Perce leader. “He is true and honest and loves Mul-tal-la too
well to harm a friend of his.”
“Deerfoot does not doubt what his brother tells him; he does not doubt
that Amokeat speaks with a single tongue, but” added the Shawanoe
significantly, “there are other Indians who are not as true as Amokeat.”
“My brother is wise; he is always so; he must not forget that Amokeat is
a chief and not a common warrior. He will do as he says.”
Deerfoot allowed himself to be persuaded, though no means convinced that
he was doing a wise thing in leaving Whirlwind behind. He assented to
the proposal, but his friends saw that he did so with misgiving.
The decision having been made, there was no unnecessary delay in
carrying it out. From the scant supply of trinkets a number were
presented to Amokeat, with the promise of more upon the return of the
explorers, provided they found the horses awaiting them. The pleased
chief secured a large canoe, capable of carrying the four persons and
the indispensable portions of their luggage. The transfer was soon made,
and the horses turned over to the care of the Nez Perce leader.
Mul-tal-la and the boys felt a little sentiment in parting for a time
from their animals. There was something saddening in the thought that
the quadrupeds, who had been their companions through so many hardships,
trials and dangers, might never be met again. No person can fail to feel
an attachment for the dumb creature that has served him faithfully. The
brothers patted the necks of their beasts and expressed the hope of
having them again as comrades on their journey back across the
continent.
Deerfoot could be stoical if he chose, but he made little attempt to
hide his feelings when the moment came for him to say good-bye to
Whirlwind. He explained to him as well as he could the necessity of
their parting company for awhile, and there is no saying to what extent
he succeeded in conveying the truth to the noble creature.
“Whirlwind,” he said, as he gently stroked the silken nose and looked
into the dark luminous eyes, “Deerfoot must leave you for a time, but he
hopes soon to come back, and then you and he shall be comrades for the
rest of their lives. If when Deerfoot asks for Whirlwind he sees him
not, and they tell him he is gone, then Deerfoot will not go to his home
beyond the Mississippi till he meets Whirlwind. He will hunt everywhere
for him; he will find him if he is alive. If any harm has come to
Whirlwind he who has harmed him _shall give an account to Deerfoot_!”
Victor was standing beside his brother and now spoke in a low voice:
“Those words mean a good deal, George. Deerfoot doesn’t feel easy over
leaving Whirlwind behind. I believe trouble will come from it. I pity
the Indian that tries to steal the stallion.”
“I believe he will be stolen. I don’t know why I believe it, but
Deerfoot thinks the same, and I don’t understand why he consents.”
“Do you suspect Amokeat?”
“No; but even if he is chief he can’t help some of his people getting
the best of him. Can you blame anyone for trying to steal such a horse?”
“I blame him, of course; but I don’t wonder at it. Look at Deerfoot and
Whirlwind.”
Almost a hundred Nez Perce warriors, women and children were grouped
about watching the departure of the visitors. Some whispered among
themselves, but the majority silently looked upon the little group that
was leaving them. The river lay a few rods away, and the goods had been
placed in the large canoe, which was to bear the owners on their voyage
to the ocean, still many miles to the westward.
When the young Shawanoe finished the words quoted Whirlwind laid his
nose over his shoulder. Deerfoot placed his arms about the satin neck,
fondled the forelock, patted the nose, kissed it, and then turned
abruptly to his friends:
“Let us wait no longer. The sun is high in the sky and we have many
miles before us.”
He led the way to the side of the rapid current, where the canoe with
the luggage awaited them. George and Victor Shelton carefully seated
themselves in the stern. Deerfoot, first laying his rifle in the bottom
of the boat, stepped after it and caught up the long paddle, placing
himself well to the front. Mul-tal-la sat just far enough back of him to
allow the arms of both free play. Deerfoot rested the end of his paddle
against the bank, gave a vigorous shove, the boat swung into the
current, and the long, arduous voyage began.
The boys, who were watching their dusky friend, saw that he studiously
avoided looking back, but kept his attention upon the management of the
boat. He did this until they reached a bend in the stream, when
apparently he could stand it no longer. Resting his paddle across the
gunwales, while Mul-tal-la attended to the craft, Deerfoot turned his
head and cast a long, lingering look behind him. George and Victor did
the same.
The group of Nez Perces were still there, gazing after the canoe and its
occupants. Amokeat could be recognized at the front, but in advance of
him stood Whirlwind, with head high in air, his perfect outlines stamped
as if with ink against the gaudy background of color, the slight wind
blowing his luxuriant mane and tail aside, while he watched his master
rapidly fading from view.
When he saw the face of Deerfoot he whinnied in recognition. The
Shawanoe waved his hand, and those who looked at him observed the tears
in his eyes. The next minute the bend in the river shut horse and master
from sight of each other.
Facing down stream Deerfoot plied his paddle with a power that sent the
boat swiftly with the current. He had taken less than a dozen strokes
when he abruptly ceased and sat as motionless as a statue.
“Do you know what that means?” whispered Victor.
“I suppose it is because he feels bad.”
“No; he felt worse when he was paddling so hard. He is asking himself
whether he ought not to turn back and bring Whirlwind with him. It won’t
take much to make him change his mind.”
Victor was right. That was the question the Shawanoe was debating with
himself, and more than once he was on the point of acting upon the
impulse to undo what had just been done. Mul-tal-la suspected the truth.
He believed the return would take place. So he also stopped paddling and
waited for the word.
The cessation turned the question the other way. Deerfoot did not look
around again, but dipped the paddle deep in the roiled current, making
his sweeping strokes on one side and leaving to the Blackfoot to
preserve the poise by doing the same on the other side of the boat.
It was fortunate, perhaps, that Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la were compelled
to give attention to the management of the craft, for the river abounded
with rapids, most of which were dangerous. Often a single false stroke
would have sent the boat against the rocks which reared their heads in
every part of the stream. Some protruded several feet above the surface,
some only a few inches, while others were located by the peculiar
eddying of the current as it whirled over and past them. These were the
most to be feared, for they would rip out the bottom of the canoe like
the sweep of a broadaxe. But you know the consummate skill of the young
Shawanoe in handling a canoe. His quick eye, his unerring stroke, his
great power, his instant decision and faultless judgment had been
trained from early boyhood on the streams of the East, and, though he
was now passing down a river he had never seen before, he read all its
“signs” as you would read a printed page.
And the Blackfoot was hardly inferior, for he had passed through long
and severe training, and he handled his paddle like an expert. Where
both were so skilful they worked smoothly together. Sometimes the
Blackfoot called out a warning to Deerfoot, but soon found it was
unnecessary, for the youth was as quick, if not quicker than he, to
detect the snags, rocks, eddies, bars and all manner of obstructions.
The shores were wooded and rocky at times, and now and then the
explorers saw one or more Indians, who paused on the banks and surveyed
them as they sped past. Generally one or both of the red men in the
canoe saluted the others, and the same friendly spirit was shown by the
strangers. George and Victor commented upon the experience which
impressed them as singular, since it was so different from what they
were accustomed to at home.
The explanation was the old one. These Indians knew too little about
white civilization to fear the palefaces; that fear would come with
greater knowledge. At intervals piles of planks were observed, these
being the timber from which houses were built by the natives who came
thither during the fishing season to catch salmon for the winter and for
trading purposes.
Fuel was so scarce that it was often hard for our friends to find enough
for a fire when they went ashore to camp for the night. Victor and
George proposed to supply themselves from the piles that had been left
by the fishermen, with the understanding that the owners should be
repaid if they could be found; but Deerfoot would not permit it. He said
they had no reason to believe they would ever meet the owners, and it
was wrong to use their property without permission. So all had to shiver
in their blankets and go to bed hungry.
Watchfulness generally prevented much suffering on account of this
deprivation. Bits of driftwood were picked up at several points, so that
at dusk the party had enough for cooking purposes, but on the fifth
evening they found themselves without a stick of fuel, though encamped
within a few rods of a pile of lumber. Deerfoot was inexorable, and all
had settled themselves for the night when three Indians came down the
bank for a social call. They had seen the canoe put into shore, but were
timid at first, though they recognized two of the occupants as belonging
to their race. One of the visitors had never seen a white man before.
Their wondering scrutiny of the brothers made the latter laugh. Victor
rolled up his sleeve to show the whiteness of the skin. The three
grunted and seemed filled with amazement. He who met a Caucasian for the
first time kept up a series of grunts, passed his hand gently over the
faces of the lad, looked into his eyes, and then made Deerfoot,
Mul-tal-la and George laugh by his attempts to pluck out the tiny,
feathery hairs that were beginning to show on the boy’s upper lip, and
which, if left to themselves, would in due time grow into an attractive
mustache.
“A-o-uah! what are you trying to do?” called Victor, recoiling, the
involuntary tears coming into his eyes because of the smarts made by the
nails of the Indian’s thumb and forefinger.
“He never saw anything like that before,” said George. “I don’t wonder
he is puzzled.”
“He wishes to shave my brother,” gravely explained Deerfoot. “When the
hairs come on his own face he plucks them out. He would do the same with
my brother.”
“I’ll do my own shaving when the time comes; let him understand _that_,”
said Victor, showing his displeasure so plainly that the visitor gravely
desisted.
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