"_Hablo Castellano_?" cries the savage chieftain in broken Spanish.
I am not surprised at being addressed in this language by a prairie
Indian. Many of them speak Spanish, or its North Mexican _patois_.
They have opportunities of learning it from the New Mexican traders, but
better--_from their captives_.
"_Si cavallero_! I speak Spanish. What wishes the warrior with the
red-hand upon his shield?"
"The pale-face is a stranger in this country, else he would not ask such
a question? What wishes the Red-Hand? Ha, ha, ha! The scalps of the
white men--their scalps and lives--that is the will of the Arapaho
chief!"
The speech is delivered in a tone of exultation, and accompanied by a
scornful laugh. The savage is proud of his barbarous and bloodthirsty
character: he glories in the terror of his name! With such a monster,
it seems idle to bold parley. In the end, it will be only to fight, and
if defeated, to die. But the drowning man cannot restrain himself from
catching even at a straw.
"Arapaho! We are not your enemies! Why should you desire to take our
lives? We are peaceful travellers passing through your country; and
have no wish to quarrel with our red brothers."
"Red brothers! ha, ha, ha! Tongue of a serpent, and heart of a hare!
The proud Arapaho is not your brother: he disclaims kindred with a
pale-face. Red-hand has no brothers among the whites: all are alike his
enemies! Behold their scalps upon his shield! Ugh! See the fresh
trophies upon his spear! Count them! There are six! There will be
ten. Before the sun goes down, the scalps of the four squaws skulking
on the mound will hang from the spears of the Arapahoes!"
I could not contradict the declaration: it was too fearfully probable.
I made no reply.
"Dogs!" fiercely vociferated the savage, "come down, and deliver up your
arms!"
"An' our scalps too, I s'pose," muttered the Yankee. "Neo, certingly
not, at your price: I don't sell my notions so dirt cheep as thet comes
to. 'Twouldn't pay nohow. Lookee yeer, old red gloves!" continued he
in a louder voice, and raising his head above the rampart--"this heer o'
mine air vallable, do ee see? It air a rare colour, an' a putty colour.
It 'ud look jest the thing on thet shield o' yourn; but 'tain't there
yet, not by a long chalk; an' I kalklate ef ye want the skin o' my head,
ye'll have to trot up an' take it."
"Ugh!" ejaculated the Indian with an impatient gesture. "The yellow
squaw is not worth the words of a chief. His scalp is not for the
shield of a warrior. It will be given to the dogs of our tribe. It
will be thrown to the jackals of the prairie."
"Ain't partickler abeout what 'ee do wi' 't--thet is, efter ye've got
it. Don't ye wish 'ee may get it? eh?"
"Wagh!" exclaimed the savage, with another impatient gesticulation.
"The Red-Hand is tired talking. One word more. Listen to it, chief of
the pale-faces! Come down, and deliver up your fire-weapons! The
Red-Hand will be merciful: he will spare your lives. If you resist, he
will torture you with fire. The knives of his warriors will hew the
living flesh from your bones. You shall die a hundred deaths; and the
Great Spirit of the Arapahoes will smile at the sacrifice!"
"And what if we do not resist?"
"Your lives shall be spared. The Red-Hand declares it on the faith of a
warrior."
"Faith o' a warrior!--faith o' a cut-throat! He only wants to come
round us, capting, an' git our scalps 'ithout fightin' for 'em--thet's
what the red verming wants to be at--sure as shootin'."
"Why should the Red-Hand spare our lives?" I enquired, taken by
surprise at any offer of life coming from such a quarter. "Has he not
just said, that all white men are his enemies?"
"True. But white men may become his friends. He wants white men for
his allies. He has a purpose."
"Will the Red-Hand declare his purpose?"
"Freely. His people have taken, many fire-weapons. See! they are
yonder in the hands of his braves, who know not how to use them. Our
enemies--the Utahs--have been taught by the white hunters; and the ranks
of the Arapaho warriors are thinned by their deadly bullets. If the
pale-faced chief and his three followers will consent to dwell with the
band of Red-Hand, and teach his warriors the great medicine of the
fire-weapon, their lives shall be spared. The Red-Hand will honour the
young soldier-chief, and the White Eagle of the forest."
"Soldier-chief. White Eagle of the forest! How can he have known--"
"If you resist," continued he, interrupting my reflections, "the
Red-Hand will keep his word. You have no chance of escape. You are but
four, and the Arapaho warriors are numerous as the trees of the Big
Timber. If one of them fall by your fire-weapons, he shall be revenged.
The Red-Hand repeats what he has said: the knives of his braves will
hew the living flesh from your bones. You shall die a hundred deaths,
and the Great Spirit of the Arapahoes will smile at the sacrifice!"
"Be Jaysis, cyaptin!" cried O'Tigg, who, not understanding Spanish, was
ignorant of what had been said, "that ugly owld Indyan wants a bit ov
cowld lid through him. In troth, I b'lave the musket moight raich him.
She belonged to Sargent Johnson, an' was considhered the longest raich
gun about the Fort. What iv I throy her carry on the ridskin? Say the
word, yer honour, an' here goes!"
So astounded was I at the last words of the Arapaho chief, that I paid
no heed to what the Irishman was saying. I had turned towards
Wingrove--not for an explanation: for the young hunter, also ignorant of
the language in which the Indian spoke, was unaware of the allusion that
had been made to him. I had commenced translating the speech; but,
before three words had escaped my lips, the loud bang of a musket
drowned every other sound; and the cloud of sulphureous smoke covering
the whole platform, hindered us from seeing one another! It needed no
explanation. The Irishman had taken my silence for consent: he had
fired! From the thick of the smoke came his exulting shout:
"Hooray! he's down--be my sowl! he's down! I knew the owld musket 'ud
raich him! Hooray!"
The report reverberated from the rocks--mingling its echoes with the
wild vengeful cries that came pealing up from the plain. In an instant,
the smoke was wafted aside; and the painted warriors were once more
visible. The Red-Hand was erect upon his feet, standing by the side of
his horse, and still holding his spear and his shield. The horse was
down--stretched along the turf, and struggling in the throes of death!
"Begorrah! cyaptin! wasn't it a splindid shat?"
"A shot that may cost us our scalps," said I: for I saw that there was
no longer any chance of a pacific arrangement--even upon the condition
of our making sharpshooters of every redskin in the tribe. "Ha, ha,
ha!" came the wild laugh of the Arapaho. "Vengeance on the pale-faced
traitors! vengeance!"
And shaking his clenched fist above his head, the savage chief retired
among his warriors.