I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.
—Shakespeare.
A second glance sufficed to convince the whole of the startled party,
that the young Pawnee, whom they had already encountered, again stood
before them. Surprise kept both sides mute, and more than a minute was
passed in surveying each other, with eyes of astonishment, if not of
distrust. The wonder of the young warrior was, however, much more
tempered and dignified than that of his Christian acquaintances. While
Middleton and Paul felt the tremor, which shook the persons of their
dependant companions, thrilling through their own quickened blood, the
glowing eye of the Indian rolled from one to another, as if it could
never quail before the rudest assaults. His gaze, after making the
circuit of every wondering countenance, finally settled in a steady
look on the equally immovable features of the trapper. The silence was
first broken by Dr. Battius, in the ejaculation of—“Order, primates;
genus, homo; species, prairie!”
“Ay—ay—the secret is out,” said the old trapper, shaking his head, like
one who congratulated himself on having mastered the mystery of some
knotty difficulty. “The lad has been in the grass for a cover; the fire
has come upon him in his sleep, and having lost his horse, he has been
driven to save himself under that fresh hide of a buffaloe. No bad
invention, when powder and flint were wanting to kindle a ring. I
warrant me, now, this is a clever youth, and one that it would be safe
to journey with! I will speak to him kindly, for anger can at least
serve no turn of ours. My brother is welcome again,” using the
language, which the other understood; “the Tetons have been smoking
him, as they would a racoon.”
The young Pawnee rolled his eye over the place, as if he were examining
the terrific danger from which he had just escaped, but he disdained to
betray the smallest emotion, at its imminency. His brow contracted, as
he answered to the remark of the trapper by saying—
“A Teton is a dog. When the Pawnee war-whoop is in their ears, the
whole nation howls.”
“It is true. The imps are on our trail, and I am glad to meet a
warrior, with the tomahawk in his hand, who does not love them. Will my
brother lead my children to his village? If the Siouxes follow on our
path, my young men shall help him to strike them.”
The young Pawnee turned his eyes from one to another of the strangers,
in a keen scrutiny, before he saw fit to answer so important an
interrogatory. His examination of the males was short, and apparently
satisfactory. But his gaze was fastened long and admiringly, as in
their former interview, on the surpassing and unwonted beauty of a
being so fair and so unknown as Inez. Though his glance wandered, for
moments, from her countenance to the more intelligible and yet
extraordinary charms of Ellen, it did not fail to return promptly to
the study of a creature who, in the view of his unpractised eye and
untutored imagination, was formed with all that perfection, with which
the youthful poet is apt to endow the glowing images of his brain.
Nothing so fair, so ideal, so every way worthy to reward the courage
and self-devotion of a warrior, had ever before been encountered on the
prairies, and the young brave appeared to be deeply and intuitively
sensible to the influence of so rare a model of the loveliness of the
sex. Perceiving, however, that his gaze gave uneasiness to the subject
of his admiration, he withdrew his eyes, and laying his hand
impressively on his chest, he, modestly, answered—
“My father shall be welcome. The young men of my nation shall hunt with
his sons; the chiefs shall smoke with the grey-head. The Pawnee girls
will sing in the ears of his daughters.”
“And if we meet the Tetons?” demanded the trapper, who wished to
understand, thoroughly, the more important conditions of this new
alliance.
“The enemy of the Big-knives shall feel the blow of the Pawnee.”
“It is well. Now let my brother and I meet in council, that we may not
go on a crooked path, but that our road to his village may be like the
flight of the pigeons.”
The young Pawnee made a significant gesture of assent and followed the
other a little apart, in order to be removed from all danger of
interruption from the reckless Paul, or the abstracted naturalist.
Their conference was short, but, as it was conducted in the sententious
manner of the natives, it served to make each of the parties acquainted
with all the necessary information of the other. When they rejoined
their associates, the old man saw fit to explain a portion of what had
passed between them, as follows—
“Ay, I was not mistaken,” he said; “this good-looking young warrior—for
good-looking and noble-looking he is, though a little horrified perhaps
with paint—this good-looking youth, then, tells me he is out on the
scout for these very Tetons. His party was not strong enough to strike
the devils, who are down from their towns in great numbers to hunt the
buffaloe, and runners have gone to the Pawnee villages for aid. It
would seem that this lad is a fearless boy, for he has been hanging on
their skirts alone, until, like ourselves, he was driven to the grass
for a cover. But he tells me more, my men, and what I am mainly sorry
to hear, which is, that the cunning Mahtoree instead of going to blows
with the squatter, has become his friend, and that both broods, red and
white, are on our heels, and outlying around this very burning plain to
circumvent us to our destruction.”
“How knows he all this to be true?” demanded Middleton.
“Anan?”
“In what manner does he know, that these things are so?”
“In what manner! Do you think newspapers and town criers are needed to
tell a scout what is doing on the prairies, as they are in the bosom of
the States? No gossiping woman, who hurries from house to house to
spread evil of her neighbour, can carry tidings with her tongue, so
fast as these people will spread their meaning, by signs and warnings,
that they alone understand. ’Tis their l’arning, and what is better, it
is got in the open air, and not within the walls of a school. I tell
you, captain, that what he says is true.”
“For that matter,” said Paul, “I’m ready to swear to it. It is
reasonable, and therefore it must be true.”
“And well you might, lad; well you might. He furthermore declares, that
my old eyes for once were true to me, and that the river lies,
hereaway, at about the distance of half a league. You see the fire has
done most of its work in that quarter, and our path is clouded in
smoke. He also agrees that it is needful to wash our trail in water.
Yes, we must put that river atween us and the Sioux eyes, and then, by
the favour of the Lord, not forgetting our own industry, we may gain
the village of the Loups.”
“Words will not forward us a foot,” said Middleton; “let us move.”
The old man assented, and the party once more prepared to renew its
route. The Pawnee threw the skin of the buffaloe over his shoulder and
led the advance, casting many a stolen glance behind him as he
proceeded, in order to fix his gaze on the extraordinary and, to him,
unaccountable loveliness of the unconscious Inez.
An hour sufficed to bring the fugitives to the bank of the stream,
which was one of the hundred rivers that serve to conduct, through the
mighty arteries of the Missouri and Mississippi, the waters of that
vast and still uninhabited region to the Ocean. The river was not deep,
but its current was troubled and rapid. The flames had scorched the
earth to its very margin, and as the warm streams of the fluid mingled,
in the cooler air of the morning, with the smoke of the raging
conflagration, most of its surface was wrapped in a mantle of moving
vapour. The trapper pointed out the circumstance with pleasure, saying,
as he assisted Inez to dismount on the margin of the watercourse—
“The knaves have outwitted themselves! I am far from certain that I
should not have fired the prairie, to have got the benefit of this very
smoke to hide our movements, had not the heartless imps saved us the
trouble. I’ve known such things done in my day, and done with success.
Come, lady, put your tender foot upon the ground—for a fearful time has
it been to one of your breeding and skeary qualities. Ah’s me! what
have I not known the young, and the delicate, and the virtuous, and the
modest, to undergo, in my time, among the horrifications and
circumventions of Indian warfare! Come, it is a short quarter of a mile
to the other bank, and then our trail, at least, will be broken.”
Paul had by this time assisted Ellen to dismount, and he now stood
looking, with rueful eyes, at the naked banks of the river. Neither
tree nor shrub grew along its borders, with the exception of here and
there a solitary thicket of low bushes, from among which it would not
have been an easy matter to have found a dozen stems of a size
sufficient to make an ordinary walking-stick.
“Harkee, old trapper,” the moody-looking bee-hunter exclaimed; “it is
very well to talk of the other side of this ripple of a river, or
brook, or whatever you may call it, but in my judgment it would be a
smart rifle that would throw its lead across it—that is, to any
detriment to Indian, or deer.”
“That it would—that it would; though I carry a piece, here, that has
done its work in time of need, at as great a distance.”
“And do you mean to shoot Ellen and the captain’s lady across; or do
you intend them to go, trout fashion, with their mouths under water?”
“Is this river too deep to be forded?” asked Middleton, who, like Paul,
began to consider the impossibility of transporting her, whose safety
he valued more than his own, to the opposite shore.
“When the mountains above feed it with their torrents, it is, as you
see, a swift and powerful stream. Yet have I crossed its sandy bed, in
my time, without wetting a knee. But we have the Sioux horses; I
warrant me, that the kicking imps will swim like so many deer.”
“Old trapper,” said Paul, thrusting his fingers into his mop of a head,
as was usual with him, when any difficulty confounded his philosophy,
“I have swam like a fish in my day, and I can do it again, when there
is need; nor do I much regard the weather; but I question if you get
Nelly to sit a horse, with this water whirling like a mill-race before
her eyes; besides, it is manifest the thing is not to be done dry
shod.”
“Ah, the lad is right. We must to our inventions, therefore, or the
river cannot be crossed.” Then, cutting the discourse short, he turned
to the Pawnee, and explained to him the difficulty which existed in
relation to the women. The young warrior listened gravely, and throwing
the buffaloe-skin from his shoulder he immediately commenced, assisted
by the occasional aid of the understanding old man, the preparations
necessary to effect this desirable object.
The hide was soon drawn into the shape of an umbrella top, or an
inverted parachute, by thongs of deer-skin, with which both the
labourers were well provided. A few light sticks served to keep the
parts from collapsing, or falling in. When this simple and natural
expedient was arranged, it was placed on the water, the Indian making a
sign that it was ready to receive its freight. Both Inez and Ellen
hesitated to trust themselves in a bark of so frail a construction, nor
would Middleton or Paul consent that they should do so, until each had
assured himself, by actual experiment, that the vessel was capable of
sustaining a load much heavier than it was destined to receive. Then,
indeed, their scruples were reluctantly overcome, and the skin was made
to receive its precious burden.
“Now leave the Pawnee to be the pilot,” said the trapper; “my hand is
not so steady as it used to be; but he has limbs like toughened
hickory. Leave all to the wisdom of the Pawnee.”
The husband and lover could not well do otherwise, and they were fain
to become deeply interested, it is true, but passive spectators of this
primitive species of ferrying. The Pawnee selected the beast of
Mahtoree, from among the three horses, with a readiness that proved he
was far from being ignorant of the properties of that noble animal, and
throwing himself upon its back, he rode into the margin of the river.
Thrusting an end of his lance into the hide, he bore the light vessel
up against the stream, and giving his steed the rein, they pushed
boldly into the current. Middleton and Paul followed, pressing as nigh
the bark as prudence would at all warrant. In this manner the young
warrior bore his precious cargo to the opposite bank in perfect safety,
without the slightest inconvenience to the passengers, and with a
steadiness and celerity which proved that both horse and rider were not
unused to the operation. When the shore was gained, the young Indian
undid his work, threw the skin over his shoulder, placed the sticks
under his arm, and returned, without speaking, to transfer the
remainder of the party, in a similar manner, to what was very justly
considered the safer side of the river.
“Now, friend Doctor,” said the old man, when he saw the Indian plunging
into the river a second time, “do I know there is faith in yonder
Red-skin. He is a good-looking, ay, and an honest-looking youth, but
the winds of Heaven are not more deceitful than these savages, when the
devil has fairly beset them. Had the Pawnee been a Teton, or one of
them heartless Mingoes, that used to be prowling through the woods of
York, a time back, that is, some sixty years agone, we should have seen
his back and not his face turned towards us. My heart had its
misgivings when I saw the lad choose the better horse, for it would be
as easy to leave us with that beast, as it would for a nimble pigeon to
part company from a flock of noisy and heavy winged crows. But you see
that truth is in the boy, and make a Red-skin once your friend, he is
yours so long as you deal honestly by him.”
“What may be the distance to the sources of this stream?” demanded
Doctor Battius, whose eyes were rolling over the whirling eddies of the
current, with a very portentous expression of doubt. “At what distance
may its secret springs be found?”
“That may be as the weather proves. I warrant me your legs would be
a-weary before you had followed its bed into the Rocky Mountains; but
then there are seasons when it might be done without wetting a foot.”
“And in what particular divisions of the year do these periodical
seasons occur?”
“He that passes this spot a few months from this time, will find that
foaming water-course a desert of drifting sand.”
The naturalist pondered deeply. Like most others, who are not endowed
with a superfluity of physical fortitude, the worthy man had found the
danger of passing the river, in so simple a manner, magnifying itself
in his eyes so rapidly, as the moment of adventure approached, that he
actually contemplated the desperate effort of going round the river, in
order to escape the hazard of crossing it. It may not be necessary to
dwell on the incredible ingenuity, with which terror will at any time
prop a tottering argument. The worthy Obed had gone over the whole
subject, with commendable diligence, and had just arrived at the
consoling conclusion, that there was nearly as much glory in discerning
the hidden sources of so considerable a stream, as in adding a plant,
or an insect, to the lists of the learned, when the Pawnee reached the
shore for the second time. The old man took his seat, with the utmost
deliberation, in the vessel of skin (so soon as it had been duly
arranged for his reception), and having carefully disposed of Hector
between his legs, he beckoned to his companion to occupy the third
place.
The naturalist placed a foot in the frail vessel, as an elephant will
try a bridge, or a horse is often seen to make a similar experiment,
before he will trust the whole of his corporeal treasure on the dreaded
flat, and then withdrew, just as the old man believed he was about to
seat himself.
“Venerable venator,” he said, mournfully, “this is a most unscientific
bark. There is an inward monitor which bids me distrust its security!”
“Anan?” said the old man, who was pinching the ears of the hound, as a
father would play with the same member in a favourite child.
“I incline not to this irregular mode of experimenting on fluids. The
vessel has neither form, nor proportions.”
“It is not as handsomely turned as I have seen a canoe in birchen bark,
but comfort may be taken in a wigwam as well as in a palace.”
“It is impossible that any vessel constructed on principles so
repugnant to science can be safe. This tub, venerable hunter, will
never reach the opposite shore in safety.”
“You are a witness of what it has done.”
“Ay; but it was an anomaly in prosperity. If exceptions were to be
taken as rules, in the government of things, the human race would
speedily be plunged in the abysses of ignorance. Venerable trapper,
this expedient, in which you would repose your safety, is, in the
annals of regular inventions, what a lusus naturae may be termed in the
lists of natural history—a monster!”
How much longer Doctor Battius might have felt disposed to prolong the
discourse, it is difficult to say, for in addition to the powerful
personal considerations, which induced him to procrastinate an
experiment which was certainly not without its dangers, the pride of
reason was beginning to sustain him in the discussion. But, fortunately
for the credit of the old man’s forbearance, when the naturalist
reached the word, with which he terminated his last speech, a sound
arose in the air that seemed a sort of supernatural echo to the idea
itself. The young Pawnee, who had awaited the termination of the
incomprehensible discussion, with grave and characteristic patience,
raised his head, and listened to the unknown cry, like a stag, whose
mysterious faculties had detected the footsteps of the distant hounds
in the gale. The trapper and the Doctor were not, however, entirely so
uninstructed as to the nature of the extraordinary sounds. The latter
recognised in them the well-known voice of his own beast, and he was
about to rush up the little bank, which confined the current, with all
the longings of strong affection, when Asinus himself galloped into
view, at no great distance, urged to the unnatural gait by the
impatient and brutal Weucha, who bestrode him.
The eyes of the Teton, and those of the fugitives met. The former
raised a long, loud, and piercing yell, in which the notes of
exultation were fearfully blended with those of warning. The signal
served for a finishing blow to the discussion on the merits of the
bark, the Doctor stepping as promptly to the side of the old man, as if
a mental mist had been miraculously removed from his eyes. In another
instant the steed of the young Pawnee was struggling with the torrent.
The utmost strength of the horse was needed to urge the fugitives,
beyond the flight of arrows that came sailing through the air, at the
next moment. The cry of Weucha had brought fifty of his comrades to the
shore, but fortunately among them all, there was not one of a rank
sufficient to entitle him to the privilege of bearing a fusee. One half
the stream, however, was not passed, before the form of Mahtoree
himself was seen on its bank, and an ineffectual discharge of firearms
announced the rage and disappointment of the chief. More than once the
trapper had raised his rifle, as if about to try its power on his
enemies, but he as often lowered it, without firing. The eyes of the
Pawnee warrior glared like those of the cougar, at the sight of so many
of the hostile tribe, and he answered the impotent effort of their
chief, by tossing a hand into the air in contempt, and raising the
war-cry of his nation. The challenge was too taunting to be endured.
The Tetons dashed into the stream in a body, and the river became
dotted with the dark forms of beasts and riders.
There was now a fearful struggle for the friendly bank. As the
Dahcotahs advanced with beasts, which had not, like that of the Pawnee,
expended their strength in former efforts, and as they moved
unincumbered by any thing but their riders, the speed of the pursuers
greatly outstripped that of the fugitives. The trapper, who clearly
comprehended the whole danger of their situation, calmly turned his
eyes from the Tetons to his young Indian associate, in order to examine
whether the resolution of the latter began to falter, as the former
lessened the distance between them. Instead of betraying fear, however,
or any of that concern which might so readily have been excited by the
peculiarity of his risk, the brow of the young warrior contracted to a
look which indicated high and deadly hostility.
“Do you greatly value life, friend Doctor?” demanded the old man, with
a sort of philosophical calmness, which made the question doubly
appalling to his companion.
“Not for itself,” returned the naturalist, sipping some of the water of
the river from the hollow of his hand, in order to clear his husky
throat. “Not for itself, but exceedingly, inasmuch as natural history
has so deep a stake in my existence. Therefore—”
“Ay!” resumed the other, who mused too deeply to dissect the ideas of
the Doctor with his usual sagacity, “’tis in truth the history of
natur’, and a base and craven feeling it is! Now is life as precious to
this young Pawnee, as to any governor in the States, and he might save
it, or at least stand some chance of saving it, by letting us go down
the stream; and yet you see he keeps his faith manfully, and like an
Indian warrior. For myself, I am old, and willing to take the fortune
that the Lord may see fit to give, nor do I conceit that you are of
much benefit to mankind; and it is a crying shame, if not a sin, that
so fine a youth as this should lose his scalp for two beings so
worthless as ourselves. I am therefore disposed, provided that it shall
prove agreeable to you, to tell the lad to make the best of his way,
and to leave us to the mercy of the Tetons.”
“I repel the proposition, as repugnant to nature, and as treason to
science!” exclaimed the alarmed naturalist. “Our progress is
miraculous; and as this admirable invention moves with so wonderful a
facility, a few more minutes will serve to bring us to land.”
The old man regarded him intently for an instant, and shaking his head
he said—
“Lord, what a thing is fear! it transforms the creatur’s of the world
and the craft of man, making that which is ugly, seemly in our eyes,
and that which is beautiful, unsightly! Lord, Lord, what a thing is
fear!”
A termination was, however, put to the discussion, by the increasing
interest of the chase. The horses of the Dahcotahs had, by this time,
gained the middle of the current, and their riders were already filling
the air with yells of triumph. At this moment Middleton and Paul who
had led the females to a little thicket, appeared again on the margin
of the stream, menacing their enemies with the rifle.
“Mount, mount,” shouted the trapper, the instant he beheld them; “mount
and fly, if you value those who lean on you for help. Mount, and leave
us in the hands of the Lord.”
“Stoop your head, old trapper,” returned the voice of Paul, “down with
ye both into your nest. The Teton devil is in your line; down with your
heads and make way for a Kentucky bullet.”
The old man turned his head, and saw that the eager Mahtoree, who
preceded his party some distance, had brought himself nearly in a line
with the bark and the bee-hunter, who stood perfectly ready to execute
his hostile threat. Bending his body low, the rifle was discharged, and
the swift lead whizzed harmlessly past him, on its more distant errand.
But the eye of the Teton chief was not less quick and certain than that
of his enemy. He threw himself from his horse the moment preceding the
report, and sunk into the water. The beast snorted with terror and
anguish, throwing half his form out of the river in a desperate plunge.
Then he was seen drifting away in the torrent, and dyeing the turbid
waters with his blood.
The Teton chief soon re-appeared on the surface, and understanding the
nature of his loss, he swam with vigorous strokes to the nearest of the
young men, who relinquished his steed, as a matter of course, to so
renowned a warrior. The incident, however, created a confusion in the
whole of the Dahcotah band, who appeared to await the intention of
their leader, before they renewed their efforts to reach the shore. In
the mean time the vessel of skin had reached the land, and the
fugitives were once more united on the margin of the river.
The savages were now swimming about in indecision, as a flock of
pigeons is often seen to hover in confusion after receiving a heavy
discharge into its leading column, apparently hesitating on the risk of
storming a bank so formidably defended. The well-known precaution of
Indian warfare prevailed, and Mahtoree, admonished by his recent
adventure, led his warriors back to the shore from which they had come,
in order to relieve their beasts, which were already becoming unruly.
“Now mount you, with the tender ones, and ride for yonder hillock,”
said the trapper; “beyond it, you will find another stream, into which
you must enter, and turning to the sun, follow its bed for a mile,
until you reach a high and sandy plain; there will I meet you. Go;
mount; this Pawnee youth and I, and my stout friend the physician, who
is a desperate warrior, are men enough to keep the bank, seeing that
show and not use is all that is needed.”
Middleton and Paul saw no use in wasting their breath in remonstrances
against this proposal. Glad to know that their rear was to be covered,
even in this imperfect manner, they hastily got their horses in motion,
and soon disappeared on the required route. Some twenty or thirty
minutes succeeded this movement before the Tetons on the opposite shore
seemed inclined to enter on any new enterprise. Mahtoree was distinctly
visible, in the midst of his warriors, issuing his mandates and
betraying his desire for vengeance, by occasionally shaking an arm in
the direction of the fugitives; but no step was taken, which appeared
to threaten any further act of immediate hostility. At length a yell
arose among the savages, which announced the occurrence of some fresh
event. Then Ishmael and his sluggish sons were seen in the distance,
and soon the whole of the united force moved down to the very limits of
the stream. The squatter proceeded to examine the position of his
enemies, with his usual coolness, and, as if to try the power of his
rifle, he sent a bullet among them, with a force sufficient to do
execution, even at the distance at which he stood.
“Now let us depart!” exclaimed Obed, endeavouring to catch a furtive
glimpse of the lead, which he fancied was whizzing at his very ear; “we
have maintained the bank in a gallant manner, for a sufficient length
of time; quite as much military skill is to be displayed in a retreat,
as in an advance.”
The old man cast a look behind him, and seeing that the equestrians had
reached the cover of the hill, he made no objections to the proposal.
The remaining horse was given to the Doctor, with instructions to
pursue the course just taken by Middleton and Paul. When the naturalist
was mounted and in full retreat, the trapper and the young Pawnee stole
from the spot in such a manner as to leave their enemies some time in
doubt as to their movements. Instead, however, of proceeding across the
plain towards the hill, a route on which they must have been in open
view, they took a shorter path, covered by the formation of the ground,
and intersected the little water-course at the point where Middleton
had been directed to leave it, and just in season to join his party.
The Doctor had used so much diligence in the retreat, as to have
already overtaken his friends, and of course all the fugitives were
again assembled.
The trapper now looked about him for some convenient spot, where the
whole party might halt, as he expressed it, for some five or six hours.
“Halt!” exclaimed the Doctor, when the alarming proposal reached his
ears; “venerable hunter, it would seem, that on the contrary, many days
should be passed in industrious flight.”
Middleton and Paul were both of this opinion, and each in his
particular manner expressed as much.
The old man heard them with patience, but shook his head like one who
was unconvinced, and then answered all their arguments, in one general
and positive reply.
“Why should we fly?” he asked. “Can the legs of mortal men outstrip the
speed of horses? Do you think the Tetons will lie down and sleep; or
will they cross the water and nose for our trail? Thanks be to the
Lord, we have washed it well in this stream, and if we leave the place
with discretion and wisdom, we may yet throw them off its track. But a
prairie is not a wood. There a man may journey long, caring for nothing
but the prints his moccasin leaves, whereas in these open plains a
runner, placed on yonder hill, for instance, could see far on every
side of him, like a hovering hawk looking down on his prey. No, no;
night must come, and darkness be upon us, afore we leave this spot. But
listen to the words of the Pawnee; he is a lad of spirit, and I warrant
me many is the hard race that he has run with the Sioux bands. Does my
brother think our trail is long enough?” he demanded in the Indian
tongue.
“Is a Teton a fish, that he can see it in the river?”
“But my young men think we should stretch it, until it reaches across
the prairie.”
“Mahtoree has eyes; he will see it.”
“What does my brother counsel?”
The young warrior studied the heavens a moment, and appeared to
hesitate. He mused some time with himself, and then he replied, like
one whose opinion was fixed—
“The Dahcotahs are not asleep,” he said; “we must lie in the grass.”
“Ah! the lad is of my mind,” said the old man, briefly explaining the
opinion of his companion to his white friends. Middleton was obliged to
acquiesce, and, as it was confessedly dangerous to remain upon their
feet, each one set about assisting in the means to be adopted for their
security. Inez and Ellen were quickly bestowed beneath the warm and not
uncomfortable shelter of the buffaloe skins, which formed a thick
covering, and tall grass was drawn over the place, in such a manner as
to evade any examination from a common eye. Paul and the Pawnee
fettered the beasts and cast them to the earth, where, after supplying
them with food, they were also left concealed in the fog of the
prairie. No time was lost when these several arrangements were
completed, before each of the others sought a place of rest and
concealment, and then the plain appeared again deserted to its
solitude.
The old man had advised his companions of the absolute necessity of
their continuing for hours in this concealment. All their hopes of
escape depended on the success of the artifice. If they might elude the
cunning of their pursuers, by this simple and therefore less suspected
expedient, they could renew their flight as the evening approached,
and, by changing their course, the chance of final success would be
greatly increased. Influenced by these momentous considerations the
whole party lay, musing on their situation, until thoughts grew weary,
and sleep finally settled on them all, one after another.
The deepest silence had prevailed for hours, when the quick ears of the
trapper and the Pawnee were startled by a faint cry of surprise from
Inez. Springing to their feet, like men, who were about to struggle for
their lives, they found the vast plain, the rolling swells, the little
hillock, and the scattered thickets, covered alike in one, white,
dazzling sheet of snow.
“The Lord have mercy on ye all!” exclaimed the old man, regarding the
prospect with a rueful eye; “now, Pawnee, do I know the reason why you
studied the clouds so closely; but it is too late; it is too late! A
squirrel would leave his trail on this light coating of the ’arth. Ha!
there come the imps to a certainty. Down with ye all, down with ye;
your chance is but small, and yet it must not be wilfully cast away.”
The whole party was instantly concealed again, though many an anxious
and stolen glance was directed through the tops of the grass, on the
movements of their enemies. At the distance of half a mile, the Teton
band was seen riding in a circuit, which was gradually contracting
itself, and evidently closing upon the very spot where the fugitives
lay. There was but little difficulty in solving the mystery of this
movement. The snow had fallen in time to assure them that those they
sought were in their rear, and they were now employed, with the
unwearied perseverance and patience of Indian warriors, in circling the
certain boundaries of their place of concealment.
Each minute added to the jeopardy of the fugitives. Paul and Middleton
deliberately prepared their rifles, and as the occupied Mahtoree came,
at length, within fifty feet of them, keeping his eyes riveted on the
grass through which he rode, they levelled them together and pulled the
triggers. The effort was answered by the mere snapping of the locks.
“Enough,” said the old man, rising with dignity; “I have cast away the
priming; for certain death would follow your rashness. Now let us meet
our fates like men. Cringing and complaining find no favour in Indian
eyes.”
His appearance was greeted by a yell, that spread far and wide over the
plain, and in a moment a hundred savages were seen riding madly to the
spot. Mahtoree received his prisoners with great self-restraint, though
a single gleam of fierce joy broke through his clouded brow, and the
heart of Middleton grew cold as he caught the expression of that eye,
which the chief turned on the nearly insensible but still lovely Inez.
The exultation of receiving the white captives was so great, as for a
time to throw the dark and immovable form of their young Indian
companion entirely out of view. He stood apart, disdaining to turn an
eye on his enemies, as motionless as if he were frozen in that attitude
of dignity and composure. But when a little time had passed, even this
secondary object attracted the attention of the Tetons. Then it was
that the trapper first learned, by the shout of triumph and the long
drawn yell of delight, which burst at once from a hundred throats, as
well as by the terrible name, which filled the air, that his youthful
friend was no other than that redoubtable and hitherto invincible
warrior, Hard-Heart.