AMONG THE TEPEES
The scene is a horseshoe cove, or basin, half a mile or more in average
width, situated high up the mountain slopes. A rim of ragged rock hides
and walls it away from the banks of hills and the peaks about it. A
score of laughing streams, born of snow-fed springs, running generally
toward the lower northwest end, combine there to make a strong stream
which plunges into a craggy gorge and foams through it into the wider
canyon below.
This gorge, the only break in the wall of the basin, is at the same time
the only gateway into it. A risky way it offers to those who would enter
the mighty mountain horseshoe. Yet a trail there is leading into this
hole in the wall, fit only for the mountain sheep; and along this risky
way Old Copperhead had led his band, and within this cliff-barricaded
dell they had pitched their smoky-topped tepees.
For it was a dell, a glorious one too, with its patches of dark pines
climbing the hillside slopes and scaling the painted cliffs, its groves
of bright quaking aspens, its meadows of mountain grass, knee-deep, out
of whose tasseled green, fringed daisies, pink geraniums, bluebells,
waxy columbines, and a hundred other kinds of wild flowers shone in
starry profusion.
An artist’s heart would have leaped to see the picture that night when
the sun, slowly wheeling down the west, flooded the dell with light,
tinting with gold and pink and purple the cliffs and sleepy clouds that
lingered and smiled brightly out of the clear blue above.
The tawny-topped wigwams pitched carelessly about among the open groves,
the dusky savages variously grouped about the fires, the contented
vari-colored ponies feasting on the fragrant meadows--all together made
such a picture as might thrill the soul of a master.
But it was not the charms of the scene that had drawn Old Copperhead
into this delightful cove. The place just now offered another more vital
attraction for him and his band--safety from pursuit. It gave them a
surer base of operations in the new business that they, under the lead
of Bud Nixon, had begun. It was a perfect robber’s roost for the
cattle-thieving outlaws. From this vantage place, by climbing to a
certain point they could command a full view of the valley below.
Should they be pursued, the gorge offered a fine chance to ambush the
enemy and beat him back.
With luxuriant grass in plenty and the purest of water, with berries in
abundance, with trout enough to feed many multitudes, and with elk,
deer, and other big game all around them, there was no need for man or
beast to go hungry. There was little excuse, indeed, for the
cattle-stealing and other mischief they had begun.
This part of the program, however, fathered in the spirit of revenge by
Nixon, grew and thrived on the spirit of dare-deviltry in the Indians.
It was native sport for them to steal out into the valley and lift the
fat steer or heifer from right under the ranchers’ noses, drive the
beast into the brush and kill it, then slip back with the meat,
unobserved, much less caught. How they would chuckle over their exploits
at night around the wigwam fires as they told with much bragging about
their daring fun.
Nixon fattened on the success his thick-headed smartness was bringing
him. The Indians were growing to look upon Ankanamp as a “heap big
chief.” Old Copperhead had some cause to be a little jealous of the
white man’s waxing popularity; but he was too crafty to let such a
feeling show, if he had it. Bud was a good tool to work out the
Redskin’s revenge against the whites. If the tool got too sharp, it
would not be hard to do away with it some dark night.
Just now, however, the old chief nursed no such thoughts. Instead, he
was fostering a scheme to make his white ally a full-fledged member of
the tribe by making him a squaw man. This suggestion had come, no doubt,
to the watchful old chief from seeing Bud flirt with the young squaws.
These dusky damsels received his sallies at first very shyly; but by
degrees some of the bolder ones began to respond and chatter back in
“Injun talk” when he joked with them. Bud was a socially inclined
fellow. He mixed readily, and he was always girl-struck. It made little
difference what the color or looks, so long as it was a girl. That he
was white naturally made the young squaws more responsive to Ankanamp.
He had his choice among them, but his favors were soon turned to
Laughing Eyes, one of the brightest of the band, and a sister of Flying
Arrow.
Of course with Bud the Indian love business was but lightly thought of.
It was just a temptation thrown his way; and he didn’t resist
temptation. He yielded to everything that promised satisfaction for the
time being, caring no whit for the consequences. Never mind the morrow;
the night is here; and night is for sport--even among the Indians.
The wigwam fires were blazing merrily. Around them the squaws, young and
old, were bustling about, carrying wood, cutting meat, mixing dough, and
getting pots and pans ready to cook the feast for their hungry bucks,
who had just come whooping into camp with their spoils, and had thrown
themselves upon the blankets about the littered tepees to rest.
An air of unusual jollity accompanied the meal getting. They were to
celebrate with a dance that night. The squaws chattered like magpies as
they hurried up the meal. The papooses, catching the spirit, made
themselves more numerous and mischievous than ever, for which privilege
they frequently were sharply slapped. Even the dogs caught a whiff of
the fun. One ragged cur, infected with the impish spirit, dared to
snatch a choice bit of beef--an unpardonable crime for a dog, for which
he was fetched a savage thump by an old squaw. The yelp of pain he gave
woke the echoes; the dog dropped meat and tail and struck off for the
woods, followed by a bunch of howling papooses, who pelted him with
sticks and stones.
Then the feast was spread Indian fashion, about the various lodges,
served to the bucks first, who speared into the kettle with their
hunting knives for pieces of meat. “Flapjacks” and coffee well sugared
made up the rest of the feast. This was the common fare. Old Copperhead
and the White Chief were given a somewhat choicer diet. They sat apart
near their tepees. The best cuts of meat were served to them; and they
had mountain trout. A dish of wild raspberries, too, was brought to
Ankanamp by Laughing Eyes. He winked at her and smiled.
This was enough--a rich reward for her struggle through the thorny brush
and up the shelving rocks to get the dainty fruit. Her heart laughed to
feel that her White Chief was pleased.
This had been her reward, too, when a few days before she had laid
before him a beautifully beaded pair of moccasins and a fringed and
beaded buckskin shirt which she and his foster mother, Old Towano’s
squaw, had made. Bud was really proud of that gift.
After the feast came the dance. Decked in their gaudiest feathers and
fringes, the young bucks and squaws came from their tepees to the chosen
spot, a level, grassy plat near the middle of the camp. At a signal,
they formed in a circle and began their jigging, rhythmic movements to
the tune of the tom-tom. Pyrotechnic yells occasionally broke the
monotony of the music. Bud did not join in the fun till some of the
bolder young squaws grabbed and hustled him into the laughing group of
dancers. Once started, he set the pace for the natives, much to their
howling delight.
The fun waxed warmer. The dancers began to leap and scream like
dervishes. It became a midnight revel of the Redskins. Bounding and
yelling and flourishing their arms, the savages looked like dancing
demons--a wild, weird picture in the light of the August moon. The fun
was flying fast and furious when a sharp warning signal from Old
Copperhead checked every lip and limb dead still. Another signal and
they broke from the circle to scatter into their wigwams. A few moments
more and every human sound was hushed. Only the sighing of the pine
trees and the gurgling music of the streams blended to break the solemn
stillness of the night.
But when all was quiet, two forms slipped out from beneath two different
tepees and stole through the silent camp to meet each other in the
shadow of the pines. It was Laughing Eyes and Ankanamp. A whispered word
during the dance had brought them together at this trysting place.
The Indian girl approached her burly lover shyly, half fearfully, and
when he grabbed her hands, she shrank at their touch, drawing back with
sudden impulse to turn and flee. But Bud pulled her close to him, and
her love-filled heart held her there, instinctively resenting his rough
caresses, yet yielding, slipping toward him as he poured his love
flattery into her eager ears.
“You say you want me?” she echoed him.
“Sure!”
“What you want me for?”
“I heap like you.”
“You no love me”; she jerked from him and turned to run away, but he
grabbed her.
“Oh, hold on, little one, don’t be so pertickler; sure I love you.”
“You want-a make me your squaw?”
“Yes, squaw, anything you like. I’ll fix it all right. Come on; you heap
perty.” He threw his arm about her and kissed her glowing face upturned
to his in the moonlight.
“Me love you, me heap love White Chief,” she responded.
A cloud glided over the face of the moon, making the gloom of the pines
deeper. Some time later the moon shone out again, lighting the way of
the lovers, stealing back to their tepees. They had almost reached their
respective lodges and Bud was chuckling to himself over the success of
his scheme, when he caught sight of a tall brave standing by a wigwam
watching them. Flying Arrow had risen to make sure that all was well in
camp. Bud gave him a sneaking look as he passed, and caught the angry
flash in the young chief’s eyes. Not a word was said, but Ankanamp felt
that the Indian instinctively knew what had happened, and a withering
fear struck his heart. He threw it aside, however, and rolled himself up
in his blanket to drop into a heavy sleep.
With the trustful Indian maiden, however, there was neither sleep nor
peace. The maddening joy of requited love was battling in her soul with
anxiety and fear all through the long still night. When morning broke it
brought with it a strange new world for her.