Welcome, ancient Pistol.
—Shakespeare.
It was not long before the trapper pointed out the commanding person of
Mahtoree, as the leader of the Siouxes. This chief, who had been among
the last to obey the vociferous summons of Weucha, no sooner reached
the spot where his whole party was now gathered, than he threw himself
from his horse, and proceeded to examine the marks of the extraordinary
trail, with that degree of dignity and attention which became his high
and responsible station. The warriors, for it was but too evident that
they were to a man of that fearless and ruthless class, awaited the
result of his investigation with patient reserve; none but a few of the
principal braves, presuming even to speak, while their leader was thus
gravely occupied. It was several minutes before Mahtoree seemed
satisfied. He then directed his eyes along the ground to those several
places where Ishmael had found the same revolting evidences of the
passage of some bloody struggle, and motioned to his people to follow.
The whole band advanced in a body towards the thicket, until they came
to a halt, within a few yards of the precise spot, where Esther had
stimulated her sluggish sons to break into the cover. The reader will
readily imagine that the trapper and his companions were not
indifferent observers of so threatening a movement. The old man
summoned all who were capable of bearing arms to his side, and
demanded, in very unequivocal terms, though in a voice that was
suitably lowered, in order to escape the ears of their dangerous
neighbours, whether they were disposed to make battle for their
liberty, or whether they should try the milder expedient of
conciliation. As it was a subject in which all had an equal interest,
he put the question as to a council of war, and not without some slight
exhibition of the lingering vestiges of a nearly extinct military
pride. Paul and the Doctor were diametrically opposed to each other in
opinion; the former declaring for an immediate appeal to arms, and the
latter was warmly espousing the policy of pacific measures. Middleton,
who saw that there was great danger of a hot verbal dispute between two
men, who were governed by feelings so diametrically opposed, saw fit to
assume the office of arbiter; or rather to decide the question, his
situation making him a sort of umpire. He also leaned to the side of
peace, for he evidently saw that, in consequence of the vast
superiority of their enemies, violence would irretrievably lead to
their destruction.
The trapper listened to the reasons of the young soldier with great
attention; and, as they were given with the steadiness of one who did
not suffer apprehension to blind his judgment, they did not fail to
produce a suitable impression.
“It is rational,” rejoined the trapper, when the other had delivered
his reasons; “it is very rational, for what man cannot move with his
strength he must circumvent with his wits. It is reason that makes him
stronger than the buffaloe, and swifter than the moose. Now stay you
here, and keep yourselves close. My life and my traps are but of little
value, when the welfare of so many human souls are concerned; and,
moreover, I may say that I know the windings of Indian cunning.
Therefore will I go alone upon the prairie. It may so happen, that I
can yet draw the eyes of a Sioux from this spot and give you time and
room to fly.”
As if resolved to listen to no remonstrance, the old man quietly
shouldered his rifle, and moving leisurely through the thicket, he
issued on the plain, at a point whence he might first appear before the
eyes of the Siouxes, without exciting their suspicions that he came
from its cover.
The instant that the figure of a man dressed in the garb of a hunter,
and bearing the well known and much dreaded rifle, appeared before the
eyes of the Siouxes, there was a sensible, though a suppressed
sensation in the band. The artifice of the trapper had so far
succeeded, as to render it extremely doubtful whether he came from some
point on the open prairie, or from the thicket; though the Indians
still continued to cast frequent and suspicious glances at the cover.
They had made their halt at the distance of an arrow-flight from the
bushes; but when the stranger came sufficiently nigh to show that the
deep coating of red and brown, which time and exposure had given to his
features, was laid upon the original colour of a Pale-face, they slowly
receded from the spot, until they reached a distance that might defeat
the aim of fire-arms.
In the mean time the old man continued to advance, until he had got
nigh enough to make himself heard without difficulty. Here he stopped,
and dropping his rifle to the earth, he raised his hand with the palm
outward, in token of peace. After uttering a few words of reproach to
his hound, who watched the savage group with eyes that seemed to
recognise them, he spoke in the Sioux tongue—
“My brothers are welcome,” he said, cunningly constituting himself the
master of the region in which they had met, and assuming the offices of
hospitality. “They are far from their villages, and are hungry. Will
they follow to my lodge, to eat and sleep?”
No sooner was his voice heard, than the yell of pleasure, which burst
from a dozen mouths, convinced the sagacious trapper, that he also was
recognised. Feeling that it was too late to retreat, he profited by the
confusion which prevailed among them, while Weucha was explaining his
character, to advance, until he was again face to face with the
redoubtable Mahtoree. The second interview between these two men, each
of whom was extraordinary in his way, was marked by the usual caution
of the frontiers. They stood, for nearly a minute, examining each other
without speaking.
“Where are your young men?” sternly demanded the Teton chieftain, after
he found that the immovable features of the trapper refused to betray
any of their master’s secrets, under his intimidating look.
“The Long-knives do not come in bands to trap the beaver? I am alone.”
“Your head is white, but you have a forked tongue. Mahtoree has been in
your camp. He knows that you are not alone. Where is your young wife,
and the warrior that I found upon the prairie?”
“I have no wife. I have told my brother that the woman and her friend
were strangers. The words of a grey head should be heard, and not
forgotten. The Dahcotahs found travellers asleep, and they thought they
had no need of horses. The women and children of a Pale-face are not
used to go far on foot. Let them be sought where you left them.”
The eyes of the Teton flashed fire as he answered—
“They are gone: but Mahtoree is a wise chief, and his eyes can see a
great distance!”
“Does the partisan of the Tetons see men on these naked fields?”
retorted the trapper, with great steadiness of mien. “I am very old,
and my eyes grow dim. Where do they stand?” The chief remained silent a
moment, as if he disdained to contest any further the truth of a fact,
concerning which he was already satisfied. Then pointing to the traces
on the earth, he said, with a sudden transition to mildness, in his eye
and manner—
“My father has learnt wisdom, in many winters; can he tell me whose
moccasin has left this trail?”
“There have been wolves and buffaloes on the prairies; and there may
have been cougars too.”
Mahtoree glanced his eye at the thicket, as if he thought the latter
suggestion not impossible. Pointing to the place, he ordered his young
men to reconnoitre it more closely, cautioning them, at the same time,
with a stern look at the trapper, to beware of treachery from the
Big-knives. Three or four half-naked, eager-looking youths lashed their
horses at the word, and darted away to obey the mandate. The old man
trembled a little for the discretion of Paul, when he saw this
demonstration. The Tetons encircled the place two or three times,
approaching nigher and nigher at each circuit, and then galloped back
to their leader to report that the copse seemed empty. Notwithstanding
the trapper watched the eye of Mahtoree, to detect the inward movements
of his mind, and if possible to anticipate, in order to direct his
suspicions, the utmost sagacity of one so long accustomed to study the
cold habits of the Indian race, could however detect no symptom, or
expression, that denoted how far he credited or distrusted this
intelligence. Instead of replying to the information of his scouts, he
spoke kindly to his horse, and motioning to a youth to receive the
bridle, or rather halter, by which he governed the animal, he took the
trapper by the arm, and led him a little apart from the rest of the
band.
“Has my brother been a warrior?” said the wily Teton, in a tone that he
intended should be conciliating.
“Do the leaves cover the trees in the season of fruits? Go. The
Dahcotahs have not seen as many warriors living as I have looked on in
their blood! But what signifies idle remembrancing,” he added in
English, “when limbs grow stiff, and sight is failing!”
The chief regarded him a moment with a severe look, as if he would lay
bare the falsehood he had heard; but meeting in the calm eye and steady
mien of the trapper a confirmation of the truth of what he said, he
took the hand of the old man and laid it gently on his head, in token
of the respect that was due to the other’s years and experience.
“Why then do the Big-knives tell their red brethren to bury the
tomahawk,” he said, “when their own young men never forget that they
are braves, and meet each other so often with bloody hands?”
“My nation is more numerous than the buffaloes on the prairies, or the
pigeons in the air. Their quarrels are frequent; yet their warriors are
few. None go out on the war-path but they who are gifted with the
qualities of a brave, and therefore such see many battles.”
“It is not so—my father is mistaken,” returned Mahtoree, indulging in a
smile of exulting penetration, at the very instant he corrected the
force of his denial, in deference to the years and services of one so
aged. “The Big-knives are very wise, and they are men; all of them
would be warriors. They would leave the Red-skins to dig roots and hoe
the corn. But a Dahcotah is not born to live like a woman; he must
strike the Pawnee and the Omahaw, or he will lose the name of his
fathers.”
“The Master of Life looks with an open eye on his children, who die in
a battle that is fought for the right; but he is blind, and his ears
are shut to the cries of an Indian, who is killed when plundering, or
doing evil to his neighbour.”
“My father is old,” said Mahtoree, looking at his aged companion, with
an expression of irony, that sufficiently denoted he was one of those
who overstep the trammels of education, and who are perhaps a little
given to abuse the mental liberty they thus obtain. “He is very old:
has he made a journey to the far country; and has he been at the
trouble to come back, to tell the young men what he has seen?”
“Teton,” returned the trapper, throwing the breach of his rifle to the
earth with startling vehemence, and regarding his companion with steady
serenity, “I have heard that there are men, among my people, who study
their great medicines until they believe themselves to be gods, and who
laugh at all faith except in their own vanities. It may be true. It is
true; for I have seen them. When man is shut up in towns and schools,
with his own follies, it may be easy to believe himself greater than
the Master of Life; but a warrior, who lives in a house with the clouds
for its roof, where he can at any moment look both at the heavens and
at the earth, and who daily sees the power of the Great Spirit, should
be more humble. A Dahcotah chieftain ought to be too wise to laugh at
justice.”
The crafty Mahtoree, who saw that his free-thinking was not likely to
produce a favourable impression on the old man, instantly changed his
ground, by alluding to the more immediate subject of their interview.
Laying his hand gently on the shoulder of the trapper, he led him
forward, until they both stood within fifty feet of the margin of the
thicket. Here he fastened his penetrating eyes on the other’s honest
countenance, and continued the discourse—
“If my father has hid his young men in the bush, let him tell them to
come forth. You see that a Dahcotah is not afraid. Mahtoree is a great
chief! A warrior, whose head is white, and who is about to go to the
Land of Spirits, cannot have a tongue with two ends, like a serpent.”
“Dahcotah, I have told no lie. Since the Great Spirit made me a man, I
have lived in the wilderness, or on these naked plains, without lodge
or family. I am a hunter and go on my path alone.”
“My father has a good carabine. Let him point it in the bush and fire.”
The old man hesitated a moment, and then slowly prepared himself to
give this delicate assurance of the truth of what he said, without
which he plainly perceived the suspicions of his crafty companion could
not be lulled. As he lowered his rifle, his eye, although greatly
dimmed and weakened by age, ran over the confused collection of
objects, that lay embedded amid the party-coloured foliage of the
thicket, until it succeeded in catching a glimpse of the brown covering
of the stem of a small tree. With this object in view, he raised the
piece to a level and fired. The bullet had no sooner glided from the
barrel than a tremor seized the hands of the trapper, which, had it
occurred a moment sooner, would have utterly disqualified him for so
hazardous an experiment. A frightful silence succeeded the report,
during which he expected to hear the shrieks of the females, and then,
as the smoke whirled away in the wind, he caught a view of the
fluttering bark, and felt assured that all his former skill was not
entirely departed from him. Dropping the piece to the earth, he turned
again to his companion with an air of the utmost composure, and
demanded—
“Is my brother satisfied?”
“Mahtoree is a chief of the Dahcotahs,” returned the cunning Teton,
laying his hand on his chest, in acknowledgment of the other’s
sincerity. “He knows that a warrior, who has smoked at so many
council-fires, until his head has grown white, would not be found in
wicked company. But did not my father once ride on a horse, like a rich
chief of the Pale-faces, instead of travelling on foot like a hungry
Konza?”
“Never! The Wahcondah has given me legs, and he has given me resolution
to use them. For sixty summers and winters did I journey in the woods
of America, and ten tiresome years have I dwelt on these open fields,
without finding need to call often upon the gifts of the other
creatur’s of the Lord to carry me from place to place.”
“If my father has so long lived in the shade, why has he come upon the
prairies? The sun will scorch him.”
The old man looked sorrowfully about for a moment, and then turning
with a confidential air to the other, he replied—
“I passed the spring, summer, and autumn of life among the trees. The
winter of my days had come, and found me where I loved to be, in the
quiet—ay, and in the honesty of the woods! Teton, then I slept happily,
where my eyes could look up through the branches of the pines and the
beeches, to the very dwelling of the Good Spirit of my people. If I had
need to open my heart to him, while his fires were burning above my
head, the door was open and before my eyes. But the axes of the
choppers awoke me. For a long time my ears heard nothing but the uproar
of clearings. I bore it like a warrior and a man; there was a reason
that I should bear it: but when that reason was ended, I bethought me
to get beyond the accursed sounds. It was trying to the courage and to
the habits, but I had heard of these vast and naked fields, and I came
hither to escape the wasteful temper of my people. Tell me, Dahcotah,
have I not done well?”
The trapper laid his long lean finger on the naked shoulder of the
Indian as he ended, and seemed to demand his felicitations on his
ingenuity and success, with a ghastly smile, in which triumph was
singularly blended with regret. His companion listened intently, and
replied to the question by saying, in the sententious manner of his
race—
“The head of my father is very grey; he has always lived with men, and
he has seen everything. What he does is good; what he speaks is wise.
Now let him say, is he sure that he is a stranger to the Big-knives,
who are looking for their beasts on every side of the prairies and
cannot find them?”
“Dahcotah, what I have said is true. I live alone, and never do I
mingle with men whose skins are white, if—”
His mouth was suddenly closed by an interruption that was as mortifying
as it was unexpected. The words were still on his tongue, when the
bushes on the side of the thicket where they stood, opened, and the
whole of the party whom he had just left, and in whose behalf he was
endeavouring to reconcile his love of truth to the necessity of
prevaricating, came openly into view. A pause of mute astonishment
succeeded this unlooked-for spectacle. Then Mahtoree, who did not
suffer a muscle or a joint to betray the wonder and surprise he
actually experienced, motioned towards the advancing friends of the
trapper with an air of assumed civility, and a smile, that lighted his
fierce, dark, visage, as the glare of the setting sun reveals the
volume and load of the cloud, that is charged to bursting with the
electric fluid. He however disdained to speak, or to give any other
evidence of his intentions than by calling to his side the distant
band, who sprang forward at his beck, with the alacrity of willing
subordinates.
In the mean time the friends of the old man continued to advance.
Middleton himself was foremost, supporting the light and aerial looking
figure of Inez, on whose anxious countenance he cast such occasional
glances of tender interest as, in similar circumstances, a father would
have given to his child. Paul led Ellen, close in their rear. But while
the eye of the bee-hunter did not neglect his blooming companion, it
scowled angrily, resembling more the aspect of the sullen and
retreating bear than the soft intelligence of a favoured suitor. Obed
and Asinus came last, the former leading his companion with a degree of
fondness that could hardly be said to be exceeded by any other of the
party. The approach of the naturalist was far less rapid than that of
those who preceded him. His feet seemed equally reluctant to advance,
or to remain stationary; his position bearing a great analogy to that
of Mahomet’s coffin, with the exception that the quality of repulsion
rather than that of attraction held him in a state of rest. The
repulsive power in his rear however appeared to predominate, and by a
singular exception, as he would have said himself, to all philosophical
principles, it rather increased than diminished by distance. As the
eyes of the naturalist steadily maintained a position that was the
opposite of his route, they served to give a direction to those of the
observers of all these movements, and at once furnished a sufficient
clue by which to unravel the mystery of so sudden a debouchement from
the cover.
Another cluster of stout and armed men was seen at no great distance,
just rounding a point of the thicket, and moving directly though
cautiously towards the place where the band of the Siouxes was posted,
as a squadron of cruisers is often seen to steer across the waste of
waters, towards the rich but well-protected convoy. In short, the
family of the squatter, or at least such among them as were capable of
bearing arms, appeared in view, on the broad prairie, evidently bent on
revenging their wrongs.
Mahtoree and his party slowly retired from the thicket, the moment they
caught a view of the strangers, until they halted on a swell that
commanded a wide and unobstructed view of the naked fields on which
they stood. Here the Dahcotah appeared disposed to make his stand, and
to bring matters to an issue. Notwithstanding this retreat, in which he
compelled the trapper to accompany him, Middleton still advanced, until
he too halted on the same elevation, and within speaking distance of
the warlike Siouxes. The borderers in their turn took a favourable
position, though at a much greater distance. The three groups now
resembled so many fleets at sea, lying with their topsails to the
masts, with the commendable precaution of reconnoitring, before each
could ascertain who among the strangers might be considered as friends,
and who as foes.
During this moment of suspense, the dark, threatening, eye of Mahtoree
rolled from one of the strange parties to the other, in keen and hasty
examination, and then it turned its withering look on the old man, as
the chief said, in a tone of high and bitter scorn—
“The Big-knives are fools! It is easier to catch the cougar asleep,
than to find a blind Dahcotah. Did the white head think to ride on the
horse of a Sioux?”
The trapper, who had found time to collect his perplexed faculties, saw
at once that Middleton, having perceived Ishmael on the trail by which
they had fled, preferred trusting to the hospitality of the savages,
than to the treatment he would be likely to receive from the hands of
the squatter. He therefore disposed himself to clear the way for the
favourable reception of his friends, since he found that the unnatural
coalition became necessary to secure the liberty, if not the lives, of
the party.
“Did my brother ever go on a war-path to strike my people?” he calmly
demanded of the indignant chief, who still awaited his reply.
The lowering aspect of the Teton warrior so far lost its severity, as
to suffer a gleam of pleasure and triumph to lighten its ferocity, as
sweeping his arm in an entire circle around his person he answered—
“What tribe or nation has not felt the blows of the Dahcotahs? Mahtoree
is their partisan.”
“And has he found the Big-knives women, or has he found them men?”
A multitude of fierce passions were struggling in the tawny countenance
of the Indian. For a moment inextinguishable hatred seemed to hold the
mastery, and then a nobler expression, and one that better became the
character of a brave, got possession of his features, and maintained
itself until, first throwing aside his light robe of pictured
deer-skin, and pointing to the scar of a bayonet in his breast, he
replied—
“It was given, as it was taken, face to face.”
“It is enough. My brother is a brave chief, and he should be wise. Let
him look: is that a warrior of the Pale-faces? Was it one such as that
who gave the great Dahcotah his hurt?”
The eyes of Mahtoree followed the direction of the old man’s extended
arm, until they rested on the drooping form of Inez. The look of the
Teton was long, riveted, and admiring. Like that of the young Pawnee,
it resembled more the gaze of a mortal on some heavenly image, than the
admiration with which man is wont to contemplate even the loveliness of
woman. Starting, as if suddenly self-convicted of forgetfulness, the
chief next turned his eyes on Ellen, where they lingered an instant
with a much more intelligible expression of admiration, and then
pursued their course until they had taken another glance at each
individual of the party.
“My brother sees that my tongue is not forked,” continued the trapper,
watching the emotions the other betrayed, with a readiness of
comprehension little inferior to that of the Teton himself. “The
Big-knives do not send their women to war. I know that the Dahcotahs
will smoke with the strangers.”
“Mahtoree is a great chief! The Big-knives are welcome,” said the
Teton, laying his hand on his breast, with an air of lofty politeness
that would have done credit to any state of society. “The arrows of my
young men are in their quivers.”
The trapper motioned to Middleton to approach, and in a few moments the
two parties were blended in one, each of the males having exchanged
friendly greetings, after the fashions of the prairie warriors. But,
even while engaged in this hospitable manner, the Dahcotah did not fail
to keep a strict watch on the more distant party of white men, as if he
still distrusted an artifice, or sought further explanation. The old
man, in his turn, perceived the necessity of being more explicit, and
of securing the slight and equivocal advantage he had already obtained.
While affecting to examine the group, which still lingered at the spot
where it had first halted, as if to discover the characters of those
who composed it, he plainly saw that Ishmael contemplated immediate
hostilities. The result of a conflict on the open prairie, between a
dozen resolute border men, and the half-armed natives, even though
seconded by their white allies, was in his experienced judgment a point
of great uncertainty, and though far from reluctant to engage in the
struggle on account of himself, the aged trapper thought it far more
worthy of his years, and his character, to avoid than to court the
contest. His feelings were, for obvious reasons, in accordance with
those of Paul and Middleton, who had lives still more precious than
their own to watch over and protect. In this dilemma the three
consulted on the means of escaping the frightful consequences which
might immediately follow a single act of hostility on the part of the
borderers; the old man taking care that their communication should, in
the eyes of those who noted the expression of their countenances with
jealous watchfulness, bear the appearance of explanations as to the
reason why such a party of travellers was met so far in the deserts.
“I know that the Dahcotahs are a wise and great people,” at length the
trapper commenced, again addressing himself to the chief; “but does not
their partisan know a single brother who is base?”
The eye of Mahtoree wandered proudly around his band, but rested a
moment reluctantly on Weucha, as he answered—
“The Master of Life has made chiefs, and warriors, and women;”
conceiving that he thus embraced all the gradations of human excellence
from the highest to the lowest.
“And he has also made Pale-faces, who are wicked. Such are they whom my
brother sees yonder.”
“Do they go on foot to do wrong?” demanded the Teton, with a wild gleam
from his eyes, that sufficiently betrayed how well he knew the reason
why they were reduced to so humble an expedient.
“Their beasts are gone. But their powder, and their lead, and their
blankets remain.”
“Do they carry their riches in their hands, like miserable Konzas? or
are they brave, and leave them with the women, as men should do, who
know where to find what they lose?”
“My brother sees the spot of blue across the prairie; look, the sun has
touched it for the last time to-day.”
“Mahtoree is not a mole.”
“It is a rock; on it are the goods of the Big-knives.”
An expression of savage joy shot into the dark countenance of the Teton
as he listened; turning to the old man he seemed to read his soul, as
if to assure himself he was not deceived. Then he bent his look on the
party of Ishmael, and counted its number.
“One warrior is wanting,” he said.
“Does my brother see the buzzards? there is his grave. Did he find
blood on the prairie? It was his.”
“Enough! Mahtoree is a wise chief. Put your women on the horses of the
Dahcotahs: we shall see, for our eyes are open very wide.”
The trapper wasted no unnecessary words in explanation. Familiar with
the brevity and promptitude of the natives, he immediately communicated
the result to his companions. Paul was mounted in an instant, with
Ellen at his back. A few more moments were necessary to assure
Middleton of the security and ease of Inez. While he was thus engaged,
Mahtoree advanced to the side of the beast he had allotted to this
service, which was his own, and manifested an intention to occupy his
customary place on its back. The young soldier seized the reins of the
animal, and glances of sudden anger and lofty pride were exchanged
between them.
“No man takes this seat but myself,” said Middleton, sternly, in
English.
“Mahtoree is a great chief!” retorted the savage; neither comprehending
the meaning of the other’s words.
“The Dahcotah will be too late,” whispered the old man at his elbow;
“see; the Big-knives are afraid, and they will soon run.”
The Teton chief instantly abandoned his claim, and threw himself on
another horse, directing one of his young men to furnish a similar
accommodation for the trapper. The warriors who were dismounted, got up
behind as many of their companions. Doctor Battius bestrode Asinus;
and, notwithstanding the brief interruption, in half the time we have
taken to relate it, the whole party was prepared to move.
When he saw that all were ready, Mahtoree gave the signal to advance. A
few of the best mounted of the warriors, the chief himself included,
moved a little in front, and made a threatening demonstration, as if
they intended to attack the strangers. The squatter, who was in truth
slowly retiring, instantly halted his party, and showed a willing
front. Instead, however, of coming within reach of the dangerous aim of
the western rifle, the subtle savages kept wheeling about the
strangers, until they had made a half circuit, keeping the latter in
constant expectation of an assault. Then, perfectly secure of their
object, the Tetons raised a loud shout, and darted across the prairie
in a line for the distant rock, with the directness and nearly with the
velocity of the arrow, that has just been shot from its bow.