Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?
—Shakespeare.
The day dawned, the following morning, on a more, tranquil scene. The
work of blood had entirely ceased; and as the sun arose, its light was
shed on a broad expanse of quiet and solitude. The tents of Ishmael
were still standing, where they had been last seen, but not another
vestige of human existence could be traced in any other part of the
waste. Here and there little flocks of ravenous birds were sailing and
screaming above those spots where some heavy-footed Teton had met his
death, but every other sign of the recent combat had passed away. The
river was to be traced far through the endless meadows, by its
serpentine and smoking bed; and the little silvery clouds of vapour,
which hung above the pools and springs, were beginning to melt in air,
as they felt the quickening warmth, which, pouring from the glowing
sky, shed its bland and subtle influence on every object of the vast
and unshadowed region. The prairie was like the heavens after the
passage of the gust, soft, calm, and soothing.
It was in the midst of such a scene that the family of the squatter
assembled to make their final decision, concerning the several
individuals who had been thrown into their power, by the fluctuating
chances of the incidents related. Every being possessing life and
liberty had been afoot, since the first streak of grey had lighted the
east; and even the youngest of the erratic brood seemed conscious that
the moment had arrived, when circumstances were about to transpire that
might leave a lasting impression on the wild fortunes of their
semi-barbarous condition.
Ishmael moved through his little encampment, with the seriousness of
one who had been unexpectedly charged with matters of a gravity,
exceeding any of the ordinary occurrences of his irregular existence.
His sons however, who had so often found occasions to prove the
inexorable severity of their father’s character, saw, in his sullen
mien and cold eye, rather a determination to adhere to his resolutions,
which usually were as obstinately enforced as they were harshly
conceived, than any evidences of wavering or doubt. Even Esther was
sensibly affected by the important matters that pressed so heavily on
the interests of her family. While she neglected none of those domestic
offices, which would probably have proceeded under any conceivable
circumstances, just as the world turns round with earthquakes rending
its crust and volcanoes consuming its vitals, yet her voice was pitched
to a lower and more foreboding key than common, and the still frequent
chidings of her children were tempered by something like the milder
dignity of parental authority.
Abiram, as usual, seemed the one most given to solicitude and doubt.
There were certain misgivings, in the frequent glances that he turned
on the unyielding countenance of Ishmael, which might have betrayed how
little of their former confidence and good understanding existed
between them. His looks appeared to be vacillating between hope and
fear. At times, his countenance lighted with the gleamings of a sordid
joy, as he bent his look on the tent which contained his recovered
prisoner, and then, again, the impression seemed unaccountably chased
away by the shadows of intense apprehension. When under the influence
of the latter feeling, his eye never failed to seek the visage of his
dull and impenetrable kinsman. But there he rather found reason for
alarm than grounds of encouragement, for the whole character of the
squatter’s countenance expressed the fearful truth, that he had
redeemed his dull faculties from the influence of the kidnapper, and
that his thoughts were now brooding only on the achievement of his own
stubborn intentions.
It was in this state of things that the sons of Ishmael, in obedience
to an order from their father, conducted the several subjects of his
contemplated decisions, from their places of confinement into the open
air. No one was exempted from this arrangement. Middleton and Inez,
Paul and Ellen, Obed and the trapper, were all brought forth and placed
in situations that were deemed suitable to receive the sentence of
their arbitrary judge. The younger children gathered around the spot,
in momentary but engrossing curiosity, and even Esther quitted her
culinary labours, and drew nigh to listen.
Hard-Heart alone, of all his band, was present to witness the novel and
far from unimposing spectacle. He stood leaning, gravely, on his lance,
while the smoking steed, that grazed nigh, showed that he had ridden
far and hard to be a spectator, on the occasion.
Ishmael had received his new ally with a coldness that showed his
entire insensibility to that delicacy, which had induced the young
chief to come alone, in order that the presence of his warriors might
not create uneasiness, or distrust. He neither courted their
assistance, nor dreaded their enmity, and he now proceeded to the
business of the hour with as much composure, as if the species of
patriarchal power, he wielded, was universally recognised.
There is something elevating in the possession of authority, however it
may be abused. The mind is apt to make some efforts to prove the
fitness between its qualities and the condition of its owner, though it
may often fail, and render that ridiculous which was only hated before.
But the effect on Ishmael Bush was not so disheartening. Grave in
exterior, saturnine by temperament, formidable by his physical means,
and dangerous from his lawless obstinacy, his self-constituted tribunal
excited a degree of awe, to which even the intelligent Middleton could
not bring himself to be entirely insensible. Little time, however, was
given to arrange his thoughts; for the squatter, though unaccustomed to
haste, having previously made up his mind, was not disposed to waste
the moments in delay. When he saw that all were in their places, he
cast a dull look over his prisoners, and addressed himself to the
Captain, as the principal man among the imaginary delinquents.
“I am called upon this day, to fill the office which in the settlements
you give unto judges, who are set apart to decide on matters that arise
between man and man. I have but little knowledge of the ways of the
courts, though there is a rule that is known unto all, and which
teaches, that an ‘eye must be returned for an eye,’ and a ‘tooth for a
tooth.’ I am no troubler of countyhouses, and least of all do I like
living on a plantation that the sheriff has surveyed; yet there is a
reason in such a law, that makes it a safe rule to journey by, and
therefore it ar’ a solemn fact that this day shall I abide by it, and
give unto all and each that which is his due and no more.”
When Ishmael had delivered his mind thus far, he paused and looked
about him, as if he would trace the effects in the countenances of his
hearers. When his eye met that of Middleton, he was answered by the
latter—
“If the evil-doer is to be punished, and he that has offended none to
be left to go at large, you must change situations with me, and become
a prisoner instead of a judge.”
“You mean to say that I have done you wrong, in taking the lady from
her father’s house, and leading her so far against her will into these
wild districts,” returned the unmoved squatter, who manifested as
little resentment as he betrayed compunction at the charge. “I shall
not put the lie on the back of an evil deed, and deny your words. Since
things have come to this pass between us, I have found time to think
the matter over at my leisure, and though none of your swift thinkers,
who can see, or who pretend to see, into the nature of all things, by a
turn of the eye, yet am I a man open to reason, and give me my time,
one who is not given to deny the truth. Therefore have I mainly
concluded, that it was a mistake to take a child from its parent, and
the lady shall be returned whence she has been brought, as tenderly and
as safely as man can do it.”
“Ay, ay,” added Esther, “the man is right. Poverty and labour bore hard
upon him, especially as county officers were getting troublesome, and
in a weak moment he did the wicked act; but he has listened to my
words, and his mind has got round again into its honest corner. An
awful and a dangerous thing it is to be bringing the daughters of other
people into a peaceable and well-governed family!”
“And who will thank you for the same, after what has been already
done?” muttered Abiram, with a grin of disappointed cupidity, in which
malignity and terror were disgustingly united; “when the devil has once
made out his account, you may look for your receipt in full only at his
hands.”
“Peace!” said Ishmael, stretching his heavy hand towards his kinsman,
in a manner that instantly silenced the speaker. “Your voice is like a
raven’s in my ears. If you had never spoken, I should have been spared
this shame.”
“Since then you are beginning to lose sight of your errors, and to see
the truth,” said Middleton, “do not things by halves, but, by the
generosity of your conduct, purchase friends who may be of use in
warding off any future danger from the law—”
“Young man,” interrupted the squatter, with a dark frown, “you, too,
have said enough. If fear of the law had come over me, you would not be
here to witness the manner in which Ishmael Bush deals out justice.”
“Smother not your good intentions; and remember, if you contemplate
violence to any among us, that the arm of that law you affect to
despise, reaches far, and that though its movements are sometimes slow,
they are not the less certain!”
“Yes, there is too much truth in his words, squatter,” said the
trapper, whose attentive ears rarely suffered a syllable to be utterly
unheeded in his presence. “A busy and a troublesome arm it often proves
to be here, in this land of America; where, as they say, man is left
greatly to the following of his own wishes, compared to other
countries; and happier, ay, and more manly and more honest, too, is he
for the privilege! Why do you know, my men, that there are regions
where the law is so busy as to say, In this fashion shall you live, in
that fashion shall you die, and in such another fashion shall you take
leave of the world, to be sent before the judgment-seat of the Lord! A
wicked and a troublesome meddling is that, with the business of One who
has not made His creatures to be herded, like oxen, and driven from
field to field, as their stupid and selfish keepers may judge of their
need and wants. A miserable land must that be, where they fetter the
mind as well as the body, and where the creatures of God, being born
children, are kept so by the wicked inventions of men who would take
upon themselves the office of the great Governor of all!”
During the delivery of this pertinent opinion, Ishmael was content to
be silent, though the look, with which he regarded the speaker,
manifested any other feeling than that of amity. When the old man was
done, he turned to Middleton, and continued the subject which the other
had interrupted.
“As to ourselves, young Captain, there has been wrong on both sides. If
I have borne hard upon your feelings, in taking away your wife with an
honest intention of giving her back to you, when the plans of that
devil incarnate were answered, so have you broken into my encampment,
aiding and abetting, as they have called many an honester bargain, in
destroying my property.”
“But what I did was to liberate—”
“The matter is settled between us,” interrupted Ishmael, with the air
of one who, having made up his own opinion on the merits of the
question, cared very little for those of other people; “you and your
wife are free to go and come, when and how you please. Abner, set the
Captain at liberty; and now, if you will tarry until I am ready to draw
nigher to the settlements, you shall both have the benefit of carriage;
if not, never say that you did not get a friendly offer.”
“Now, may the strong oppress me, and my sins be visited harshly on my
own head, if I forget your honesty, however slow it has been in showing
itself,” cried Middleton, hastening to the side of the weeping Inez,
the instant he was released; “and, friend, I pledge you the honour of a
soldier, that your own part of this transaction shall be forgotten,
whatever I may deem fit to have done, when I reach a place where the
arm of government can make itself felt.”
The dull smile, with which the squatter answered to this assurance,
proved how little he valued the pledge that the youth, in the first
revulsion of his feelings, was so free to make.
“Neither fear nor favour, but what I call justice, has brought me to
this judgment,” he said, “do you that which may seem right in your
eyes, and believe that the world is wide enough to hold us both,
without our crossing each other’s path again! If you ar’ content, well;
if you ar’ not content, seek to ease your feelings in your own fashion.
I shall not ask to be let up, when you once put me fairly down. And
now, Doctor, have I come to your leaf in my accounts. It is time to
foot up the small reckoning, that has been running on, for some time,
atwixt us. With you, I entered into open and manly faith; in what
manner have you kept it?”
The singular felicity, with which Ishmael had contrived to shift the
responsibility of all that had passed, from his own shoulders to those
of his prisoners, backed as it was by circumstances that hardly
admitted of a very philosophical examination of any mooted point in
ethics, was sufficiently embarrassing to the several individuals, who
were so unexpectedly required to answer for a conduct which, in their
simplicity, they had deemed so meritorious. The life of Obed had been
so purely theoretic, that his amazement was not the least embarrassing
at a state of things which might not have proved so very remarkable had
he been a little more practised in the ways of the world. The worthy
naturalist was not the first by many, who found himself, at the precise
moment when he was expecting praise, suddenly arraigned, to answer for
the very conduct on which he rested all his claims to commendation.
Though not a little scandalised, at the unexpected turn of the
transaction, he was fain to make the best of circumstances, and to
bring forth such matter in justification, as first presented itself to
his disordered faculties.
“That there did exist a certain compactum, or agreement, between Obed
Batt, M.D., and Ishmael Bush, viator, or erratic husbandman,” he said,
endeavouring to avoid all offence in the use of terms, “I am not
disposed to deny. I will admit that it was therein conditioned, or
stipulated, that a certain journey should be performed conjointly, or
in company, until so many days had been numbered. But as the said time
has fully expired, I presume it fair to infer that the bargain may now
be said to be obsolete.”
“Ishmael!” interrupted the impatient Esther, “make no words with a man
who can break your bones as easily as set them, and let the poisoning
devil go! He’s a cheat, from box to phial. Give him half the prairie,
and take the other half yourself. He an acclimator! I will engage to
get the brats acclimated to a fever-and-ague bottom in a week, and not
a word shall be uttered harder to pronounce than the bark of a
cherry-tree, with perhaps a drop or two of western comfort. One thing
ar’ a fact, Ishmael; I like no fellow-travellers who can give a heavy
feel to an honest woman’s tongue, I—and that without caring whether her
household is in order, or out of order.”
The air of settled gloom, which had taken possession of the squatter’s
countenance, lighted for an instant with a look of dull drollery, as he
answered—
“Different people might judge differently, Esther, of the virtue of the
man’s art. But sin’ it is your wish to let him depart, I will not
plough the prairie to make the walking rough. Friend, you are at
liberty to go into the settlements, and there I would advise you to
tarry, as men like me who make but few contracts, do not relish the
custom of breaking them so easily.”
“And now, Ishmael,” resumed his conquering wife, “in order to keep a
quiet family and to smother all heart-burnings between us, show yonder
Red-skin and his daughter,” pointing to the aged Le Balafré and the
widowed Tachechana, “the way to their village, and let us say to
them—God bless you, and farewell, in the same breath!”
“They are the captives of the Pawnee, according to the rules of Indian
warfare, and I cannot meddle with his rights.”
“Beware the devil, my man! He’s a cheat and a tempter, and none can say
they ar’ safe with his awful delusions before their eyes! Take the
advice of one who has the honour of your name at heart, and send the
tawny Jezebel away.”
The squatter laid his broad hand on her shoulder, and looking her
steadily in the eye, he answered, in tones that were both stern and
solemn—
“Woman, we have that before us which calls our thoughts to other
matters than the follies you mean. Remember what is to come, and put
your silly jealousy to sleep.”
“It is true, it is true,” murmured his wife, moving back among her
daughters; “God forgive me, that I should forget it!”
“And now, young man; you, who have so often come into my clearing,
under the pretence of lining the bee into his hole,” resumed Ishmael,
after a momentary pause, as if to recover the equilibrium of his mind,
“with you there is a heavier account to settle. Not satisfied with
rummaging my camp, you have stolen a girl who is akin to my wife, and
who I had calculated to make one day a daughter of my own.”
A stronger sensation was produced by this, than by any of the preceding
interrogations. All the young men bent their curious eyes on Paul and
Ellen, the former of whom seemed in no small mental confusion, while
the latter bent her face on her bosom in shame.
“Harkee, friend Ishmael Bush,” returned the bee-hunter, who found that
he was expected to answer to the charge of burglary, as well as to that
of abduction; “that I did not give the most civil treatment to your
pots and pails, I am not going to gainsay. If you will name the price
you put upon the articles, it is possible the damage may be quietly
settled between us, and all hard feelings forgotten. I was not in a
church-going humour when we got upon your rock, and it is more than
probable there was quite as much kicking as preaching among your wares;
but a hole in the best man’s coat can be mended by money. As to the
matter of Ellen Wade, here, it may not be got over so easily. Different
people have different opinions on the subject of matrimony. Some think
it is enough to say yes and no, to the questions of the magistrate, or
of the parson, if one happens to be handy, in order to make a quiet
house; but I think that where a young woman’s mind is fairly bent on
going in a certain direction, it will be quite as prudent to let her
body follow. Not that I mean to say Ellen was not altogether forced to
what she did, and therefore she is just as innocent, in this matter, as
yonder jackass, who was made to carry her, and greatly against his
will, too, as I am ready to swear he would say himself, if he could
speak as loud as he can bray.”
“Nelly,” resumed the squatter, who paid very little attention to what
Paul considered a highly creditable and ingenious vindication, “Nelly,
this is a wide and a wicked world, on which you have been in such a
hurry to cast yourself. You have fed and you have slept in my camp for
a year, and I did hope that you had found the free air of the borders,
enough to your mind to wish to remain among us.”
“Let the girl have her will,” muttered Esther, from the rear; “he, who
might have persuaded her to stay, is sleeping in the cold and naked
prairie, and little hope is left of changing her humour; besides, a
woman’s mind is a wilful thing, and not easily turned from its
waywardness, as you know yourself, my man, or I should not be here the
mother of your sons and daughters.”
The squatter seemed reluctant to abandon his views of the abashed girl,
so easily; and before he answered to the suggestion of his wife, he
turned his usual dull look along the line of the curious countenances
of his boys, as if to see whether there was not one among them fit to
fill the place of the deceased. Paul was not slow to observe the
expression, and hitting nigher than usual on the secret thoughts of the
other, he believed he had fallen on an expedient which might remove
every difficulty.
“It is quite plain, friend Bush,” he said, “that there are two opinions
in this matter; yours for your sons, and mine for myself. I see but one
amicable way of settling this dispute, which is as follows:—do you make
a choice among your boys of any you will, and let us walk off together
for the matter of a few miles into the prairies; the one who stays
behind, can never trouble any man’s house or his fixen, and the one who
comes back may make the best of his way he can, in the good wishes of
the young woman.”
“Paul!” exclaimed the reproachful, but smothered voice of Ellen.
“Never fear, Nelly,” whispered the literal bee-hunter, whose
straight-going mind suggested no other motive of uneasiness, on the
part of his mistress, than concern for himself; “I have taken the
measure of them all, and you may trust an eye that has seen to line
many a bee into his hole!”
“I am not about to set myself up as a ruler of inclinations,” observed
the squatter. “If the heart of the child is truly in the settlements,
let her declare it; she shall have no let or hinderance from me. Speak,
Nelly, and let what you say come from your wishes, without fear or
favour. Would you leave us to go with this young man into the settled
countries, or will you tarry and share the little we have to give, but
which to you we give so freely?”
Thus called upon to decide, Ellen could no longer hesitate. The glance
of her eye was at first timid and furtive. But as the colour flushed
her features, and her breathing became quick and excited, it was
apparent that the native spirit of the girl was gaining the ascendency
over the bashfulness of sex.
“You took me a fatherless, impoverished, and friendless orphan,” she
said, struggling to command her voice, “when others, who live in what
may be called affluence compared to your state, chose to forget me; and
may Heaven in its goodness bless you for it! The little I have done,
will never pay you for that one act of kindness. I like not your manner
of life; it is different from the ways of my childhood, and it is
different from my wishes; still, had you not led this sweet and
unoffending lady from her friends, I should never have quitted you,
until you yourself had said, Go, and the blessing of God go with you!”
“The act was not wise, but it is repented of; and so far as it can be
done, in safety, it shall be repaired. Now, speak freely, will you
tarry, or will you go?”
“I have promised the lady,” said Ellen, dropping her eyes again to the
earth, “not to leave her; and after she has received so much wrong from
our hands, she may have a right to claim that I keep my word.”
“Take the cords from the young man,” said Ishmael. When the order was
obeyed, he motioned for all his sons to advance, and he placed them in
a row before the eyes of Ellen. “Now let there be no trifling, but open
your heart. Here ar’ all I have to offer, besides a hearty welcome.”
The distressed girl turned her abashed look from the countenance of one
of the young men to that of another, until her eye met the troubled and
working features of Paul. Then nature got the better of forms. She
threw herself into the arms of the bee-hunter, and sufficiently
proclaimed her choice by sobbing aloud. Ishmael signed to his sons to
fall back, and evidently mortified, though perhaps not disappointed by
the result, he no longer hesitated.
“Take her,” he said, “and deal honestly and kindly by her. The girl has
that in her which should make her welcome, in any man’s house, and I
should be loth to hear she ever came to harm. And now I have settled
with you all, on terms that I hope you will not find hard, but, on the
contrary, just and manly. I have only another question to ask, and that
is of the Captain; do you choose to profit by my teams in going into
the settlements, or not?”
“I hear, that some soldiers of my party are looking for me near the
villages of the Pawnees,” said Middleton, “and I intend to accompany
this chief, in order to join my men.”
“Then the sooner we part the better. Horses are plenty on the bottom.
Go; make your choice, and leave us in peace.”
“That is impossible, while the old man, who has been a friend of my
family near half a century, is left a prisoner. What has he done, that
he too is not released?
“Ask no questions that may lead to deceitful answers,” sullenly
returned the squatter; “I have dealings of my own with that trapper,
that it may not befit an officer of the States to meddle with. Go,
while your road is open.”
“The man may be giving you honest counsel, and that which it concerns
you all to hearken to,” observed the old captive, who seemed in no
uneasiness at the extraordinary condition in which he found himself.
“The Siouxes are a numberless and bloody-minded race, and no one can
say how long it may be, afore they will be out again on the scent of
revenge. Therefore I say to you, go, also; and take especial heed, in
crossing the bottoms, that you get not entangled again in the fires,
for the honest hunters often burn the grass at this season, in order
that the buffaloes may find a sweeter and a greener pasturage in the
spring.”
“I should forget not only my gratitude, but my duty to the laws, were I
to leave this prisoner in your hands, even by his own consent, without
knowing the nature of his crime, in which we may have all been his
innocent accessaries.”
“Will it satisfy you to know, that he merits all he will receive?”
“It will at least change my opinion of his character.”
“Look then at this,” said Ishmael, placing before the eyes of the
Captain the bullet that had been found about the person of the dead
Asa; “with this morsel of lead did he lay low as fine a boy as ever
gave joy to a parent’s eyes!”
“I cannot believe that he has done this deed, unless in self-defence,
or on some justifiable provocation. That he knew of the death of your
son, I confess, for he pointed out the brake in which the body lay, but
that he has wrongfully taken his life, nothing but his own
acknowledgment shall persuade me to believe.”
“I have lived long,” commenced the trapper, who found, by the general
pause, that he was expected to vindicate himself from the heavy
imputation, “and much evil have I seen in my day. Many are the prowling
bears and leaping panthers that I have met, fighting for the morsel
which has been thrown in their way; and many are the reasoning men,
that I have looked on striving against each other unto death, in order
that human madness might also have its hour. For myself, I hope, there
is no boasting in saying, that though my hand has been needed in
putting down wickedness and oppression, it has never struck a blow of
which its owner will be ashamed to hear, at a reckoning that shall be
far mightier than this.”
“If my father has taken life from one of his tribe,” said the young
Pawnee, whose quick eye had read the meaning of what was passing, in
the bullet and in the countenances of the others, “let him give himself
up to the friends of the dead, like a warrior. He is too just to need
thongs to lead him to judgment.”
“Boy, I hope you do me justice. If I had done the foul deed, with which
they charge me, I should have manhood enough to come and offer my head
to the blow of punishment, as all good and honest Red-men do the same.”
Then giving his anxious Indian friend a look, to re-assure him of his
innocence, he turned to the rest of his attentive and interested
listeners, as he continued in English, “I have a short story to tell,
and he that believes it will believe the truth, and he that disbelieves
it will only lead himself astray, and perhaps his neighbour too. We
were all out-lying about your camp, friend squatter, as by this time
you may begin to suspect, when we found that it contained a wronged and
imprisoned lady, with intentions neither more honest nor dishonest than
to set her free, as in nature and justice she had a right to be. Seeing
that I was more skilled in scouting than the others, while they lay
back in the cover, I was sent upon the plain, on the business of the
reconnoitrings. You little thought that one was so nigh, who saw into
all the circumventions of your hunt; but there was I, sometimes flat
behind a bush or a tuft of grass, sometimes rolling down a hill into a
bottom, and little did you dream that your motions were watched, as the
panther watches the drinking deer. Lord, squatter, when I was a man in
the pride and strength of my days, I have looked in at the tent door of
the enemy, and they sleeping, ay, and dreaming too, of being at home
and in peace! I wish there was time to give you the partic—”
“Proceed with your explanation,” interrupted Middleton.
“Ah! and a bloody and wicked sight it was. There I lay in a low bed of
grass, as two of the hunters came nigh each other. Their meeting was
not cordial, nor such as men, who meet in a desert, should give each
other; but I thought they would have parted in peace, until I saw one
put his rifle to the other’s back, and do what I call a treacherous and
sinful murder. It was a noble and a manly youth, that boy—Though the
powder burnt his coat, he stood the shock for more than a minute,
before he fell. Then was he brought to his knees, and a desperate and
manful fight he made to the brake, like a wounded bear seeking a
cover!”
“And why, in the name of heavenly justice, did you conceal this?” cried
Middleton.
“What! think you, Captain, that a man, who has spent more than
threescore years in the wilderness, has not learned the virtue of
discretion. What red warrior runs to tell the sights he has seen, until
a fitting time? I took the Doctor to the place, in order to see whether
his skill might not come in use; and our friend, the bee-hunter, being
in company, was knowing to the fact that the bushes held the body.”
“Ay; it ar’ true,” said Paul; “but not knowing what private reasons
might make the old trapper wish to hush the matter up, I said as little
about the thing as possible, which was just nothing at all.”
“And who was the perpetrator of this deed?” demanded Middleton.
“If by perpetrator you mean him who did the act, yonder stands the man;
and a shame, and a disgrace is it to our race, that he is of the blood
and family of the dead.”
“He lies! he lies!” shrieked Abiram. “I did no murder; I gave but blow
for blow.”
The voice of Ishmael was deep, and even awful, as he answered—
“It is enough. Let the old man go. Boys, put the brother of your mother
in his place.”
“Touch me not!” cried Abiram. “I’ll call on God to curse you if you
touch me!”
The wild and disordered gleam of his eye, at first induced the young
men to arrest their steps; but when Abner, older and more resolute than
the rest, advanced full upon him, with a countenance that bespoke the
hostile state of his mind, the affrighted criminal turned, and, making
an abortive effort to fly, fell with his face to the earth, to all
appearance perfectly dead. Amid the low exclamations of horror which
succeeded, Ishmael made a gesture which commanded his sons to bear the
body into the tent.
“Now,” he said, turning to those who were strangers in his camp,
“nothing is left to be done, but for each to go his own road. I wish
you all well; and to you, Ellen, though you may not prize the gift, I
say, God bless you!”
Middleton, awe-struck by what he believed a manifest judgment of
Heaven, made no further resistance, but prepared to depart. The
arrangements were brief, and soon completed. When they were all ready,
they took a short and silent leave of the squatter and his family; and
then the whole of the singularly constituted party were seen slowly and
silently following the victorious Pawnee towards his distant villages.