THE MEDICINE MAN
During the march through the woods the Indians were not communicative.
Once or twice Arnold attempted to draw Swift Arrow into conversation,
but the old man merely listened in solemn silence. He refused even to
respond to direct questions.
Eventually a clearing was reached where a large number of teepees were
pitched. It was quite a wigwam village, and thence the two captives were
escorted to a tent that stood among many others. They were politely
requested to enter, and, on obeying, they found that the teepee was
otherwise empty. Several men were posted on guard at a little distance
from the entrance, while Swift Arrow departed with the rest of his
brethren.
"There's no doubt but that we are prisoners," remarked Arnold, as he sat
down upon a buffalo hide, preparing to make the best of things and take
his ease while he might.
"The whole affair is a puzzle," said his companion. "Why on earth they
should take us prisoners passes my comprehension. It can't be that they
regard us as enemies. They would not have been so polite and considerate
if that had been their thought."
"That's just it," laughed Arnold, who, like his son, had the gift for
worrying little until he knew exactly what to worry about. "That's just
what surprises me. We are treated as prisoners, and not as prisoners. My
impression is that we are regarded with more fear than anger."
The time allowed for speculation was soon curtailed by the sound of many
voices approaching the tent, though presently there was silence, and a
loud voice called to those within--
"The eyes of Mighty Hand would gladly rest on the sight of the White
Men."
"He means us," commented Arnold, rising from the couch of fur. "He's too
polite to enter the teepee uninvited."
"By all means let his eyes rest upon us," laughed Holden.
The two men then advanced, while one threw open the flap of the tent.
And the picture that met their eyes was one that struck the strangers
with admiration, for it seemed to throw the years back to the days when
the Indian ruled the prairie--the days that knew the youth of Ballantyne
and the prime of Fenimore Cooper.
Ranged in a semicircle before the tent was a crowd of braves and
warriors--all arrayed in the picturesque garb that was unspoilt by any
touch of Saxon attire, such as is commonly seen among redskins of the
present day. Except that the old-time bows and arrows were replaced by
more modern muzzle-loaders, there was nothing to suggest any association
with white men and white men's tastes.
But it was not so much the background of natives that impressed the
Englishmen. Their admiration was called to the central figure. He was an
Indian of enormous size--tall, squarely built, and equally proportioned.
His head was surmounted with a turban of black fox decorated with eagle
feathers that were continued like a wing right down his back and nearly
touched the ground. His black hair was threaded with many coloured
beads, some of which resembled (and actually were proved to be) nuggets
of pure gold. Necklaces of beads and animals' teeth hung in many
strands upon the breast of his deerskin shirt. Leggings and moccasins
were a mass of beads, feathers, and porcupines' quills woven in
intricately fantastic designs. And, over all, there hung in graceful
folds an ermine robe of spotless white.
This was the great chief of the Dacotahs. Mighty Hand was his name, and
that hand was famed for its deeds of valour as equally for its deeds of
kindness. He was sole monarch of a mighty branch-tribe of the Dacotahs
that had long been separated from its renegade brethren, preferring to
maintain the old life in the forest and on the prairie rather than a
workhouse existence in a Government Reserve. He led his people far from
the haunts of white men, and his life was only harmful to the game that
supplied his people's needs. Powder and other necessaries he obtained
from frontier trading-stations. But he was known as a man of peace and a
man of spotless honour. Hence his irregular life and failure to comply
with Government Reserve regulations had been hitherto winked at by the
officials.
When the Englishmen issued from the tent, this chief was standing
before them in a majestic attitude that at once proclaimed his royal
blood. He was unarmed. This was a courtesy to the strangers.
At the chief's right side stood Swift Arrow; at the left was a figure
that formed a weird contrast to the other two. This one was lean, bent,
and twisted like a gnarled tree that had been starved and warped in the
forest. His dress was alike native, but the grotesque ornaments of
animals' skulls, tails, dried monkeys' hands, and other gruesome relics
gave the wearer an appearance that was repulsive to Saxon eyes. This
freak of figure and dress was Thunder-maker, the great Medicine Man of
the tribe. Without his presence no state conclave was complete; without
his opinion no tribal law or ruling was ever decided.
It must not be thought that the time we have occupied in describing
these several features was similarly occupied by the Englishmen in
minute observation. Not at all. Arnold, immediately recognising the
bearing of the chief, promptly addressed him in English, which Mighty
Hand could understand--judging from his first salutation.
"The white brothers of the redmen are gladdened by this visit of the
great chief," he said. "The white brothers have been in great danger
from rushing waters--danger from which the great chief's braves snatched
them. They are grateful that their lives have been saved, and they are
glad to meet the chief and thank him for what was done."
The Indian listened in silence, and, at the pause that followed, he
returned in deep tones, as if he were repeating a lesson that he had
learnt by heart--
"_Out from the silver waters, when the moon is round, they shall come.
They shall be pale-face, and they shall look like men._"
This was certainly a puzzling rejoinder! To neither of the captives did
it convey any knowledge. Arnold, however, deemed that the best course
would be to assume no impression that he and his friend were regarded as
prisoners.
"The chief speaks well," he returned. "But his tongue deceives him when
he says that we _look_ like men. Pale-faces we are. But we are friends
to the redman. We would smoke the peace-pipe with him. But we are far
from our camp. At our tents are our young sons, who are awaiting our
return with anxious hearts. Perhaps the great chief has also a son! He
will know, then, how heavy would be the heart of his papoose if the
chief were long absent from his teepee. We therefore beg that the chief
will hasten the peace-pipe. Afterwards he will lend a brave to guide the
white brothers back to their camp-ground."
While Arnold spoke there was silence among the Indians, and it was
obvious, from the chief's face, that his mind was disturbed with
indecision.
"Mighty Hand has listened to the words of the pale-face," the chief
said. "The white man's words flow as music, but--'_out from the silver
waters, when the moon is round_---- '"
The speaker's voice faded into thoughtfulness, and Holden whispered to
his companion--
"What is the fellow driving at? What does he mean by 'out from the
silver waters'? Of course we came out from waters, but what has that to
do with the moon, I wonder?"
"I can't think, unless--yes, I believe I've got it! It's full moon about
this time, Holden. There's some Indian superstition, I imagine, about
full moon and people being rescued from the water----"
"It sounds like that from the way he speaks. You remember Swift Arrow
said much the same thing."
"Then depend upon it we've hit the mark. In some way we've got mixed up
with a legend or superstition."
Mighty Hand had been consulting with Swift Arrow while the Englishmen
had been quietly summing up the situation, but now he again faced the
captives.
"Mighty Hand has lived long and seen many wonders and much great
medicine. But to-day there is a cloud in his mind. He understands but
darkly. It would be a shame that Mighty Hand should bring water to the
eyes of his white brother's papoose, but who can say if the Fiery Totem
be not calling this day? Behold!"
As he spoke the chief tore open his deerskin shirt, and when the
Englishmen bent forward in curiosity they saw--upon the naked
breast--the figure of a serpent tattooed in gold and red so cunningly
that it seemed as though a living reptile were there resting--a reptile
moulded from burning flames, with head raised in the attitude of
striking.
The men gave a gasp of wonder and surprise, and at the same instant the
Medicine Man jumped forward, pointed a finger towards the sign, and
turned with an evil grin towards the strangers.
"The totem of the Serpent Dacotahs!" he hissed through his teeth. "Can
the pale-face look upon it without fear? Can they not feel the
poison-tooth break the covering of their flesh?"
At this strange attack Arnold laughed aloud, and Holden smiled as he
said--
"The white men are not cowards! They do not shrink before a figure of
paint!"
The Medicine Man threw up his arms in a transport of rage.
"They laugh! The white men smile at the sacred totem!" he cried in a
wild appeal to the sympathies of the people, who began to respond with
disapproving murmurs. "Shall it be that the fiery serpent hear laughing
tongues while the hands of the Dacotahs are idle? _Who_ are they that
dare to revile our sacred sign with mocking eyes and tongues?"
Matters were beginning to assume a serious aspect towards the strangers,
for evidently the Medicine Man was one whose lead was followed by his
people, and who knew well how to play upon their weaknesses. So Arnold
hastened to try and pacify the anger that he had inadvertently roused.
"My red brother mistakes," he said, addressing Thunder-maker. "The white
man's laughter was at the suggestion of fear. We are brave men who fear
nothing. But we did no insult to the totem of the Dacotahs----"
"Dogs!" exclaimed the furious Indian. "Dogs! The fiery totem has been
defiled. Revenge, my brothers! Revenge! lest the names Dacotah and
Mighty Hand become things for jeers and laughter in the women's tents!"
The Indian was quite frantic with passion, and as he flung his wild
appeal to his people the murmurs suddenly burst into a flood of angry
roars--knives were snatched from their sheaths, a hundred arms were
lifted, and the circle quickly closed upon the helpless men. But just at
that moment of peril and almost inevitable death, the great figure of
Mighty Hand was seen to start. He stepped forward with one stride,
turned his back upon the captives, and then raised his arms, from which
his robe hung like great protecting wings that shielded the strangers
beneath their folds. And his voice rang out above the angry clamour
like the voice of a wind roaring through the pine forests.
"Back, Dacotahs! Back to your tents ere the strength of Mighty Hand is
lifted and you sink to the dust! Is this how the redman treats the
stranger who would smoke the peace-pipe by our fire? Is this the welcome
that my braves give to those whom Mighty Hand has received with a
smile--with no arms in his hand, no tomahawk at his belt? Back, dogs!
and hide your coward faces like frightened papooses in the skirts of the
women!"
The clamour ceased instantly. The men hung back, and their heads bent
with shame, that is, all heads but that of Thunder-maker. His face
betokened no shame. Nay, greater fury than ever was depicted, though he
was silenced before the anger of his chief. But it was only for a little
while that he was thus disconcerted, for soon he resumed--though now he
spoke with humble fawning--
"It is death in the heart of Thunder-maker when the eyes of Mighty Hand
shoot their looks of fire. But--_Thunder-maker speak true_. Has he not
made great medicine these many suns? Did he not bring the thunder to
prove his great medicine? Has he not many times driven the fever from
the camp, till it fled over the prairie like a coyote driven with sticks
and dogs? Huh! many wonders has he done, and--more will he do. He will
do great medicine this day. He will show if the fiery totem has called
in vain for vengeance."
Thus speaking, Thunder-maker dived a hand into the bosom of his shirt
and drew out a bundle of dirty linen. The chief had lowered his arms, so
that the Englishmen could now see the Indian as he laughed and held up
the bundle triumphantly above his head.
"Great medicine!" he exclaimed, fixing his eyes upon the white men.
"Great medicine! Look! See! Listen!"
They looked, and as they looked they saw the linen move, as if something
inside were struggling to be free, and at the same time they heard a
sound like the sudden springing of an old-time policeman's rattle.
"Rattlesnakes!" exclaimed Arnold under his breath.
Thunder-maker laughed when he saw that the sound had been recognised.
"Come! Come, my children!" he cried, as he turned his face upwards.
"Come, my little son--come, my little daughter!"
Then he shook the knot of the bundle, and out from the aperture crept
two grey-green bodies--a pair of twisting, writhing somethings that
caused the onlookers to shudder and the Medicine Man to laugh, as he
repeated carelessly--
"Come, my little papooses! You will speak great medicine in the ears of
Thunder-maker!"
Slowly the serpents came from their covering. One remained coiled on the
raised wrists, the other--still sounding the ominous rattle--moved
slowly downwards till it rested on the man's shoulder. Then
Thunder-maker inclined his head, as if listening to a whisper.
Afterwards his face lit up with understanding.
"Huh!" he exclaimed. "Did not the spirit of Thunder-maker speak true?
Come, my little papoose! You shall show for whom the fiery totem
called."
Turning his head so as to look along his shoulder, the Indian suddenly
grabbed the writhing reptile with his teeth, after which (holding the
other serpent with his right hand) he commenced dancing until he had
cleared an open circular space, of which the Indians and the white men
formed the border.
Suddenly he sprang to the middle and tossed the snake to the ground,
while he uttered a wild shriek.
Once on the earth, the snake glided swiftly in several directions, while
all watched the creature with tense excitement. Then for a second it
seemed to pause with its head in the direction of the Englishmen. At the
same moment the Indian gave a cry of triumph, tucked the one snake into
a fold of his robe and bent down, making passes with his hands above the
serpent on the ground. And as his hands moved so the rattlesnake
gradually straightened out its body till it lay stiff and straight as a
piece of wood.
Thunder-maker paused. Then he rose up slowly and looked with triumph
straight into the chief's face.
"My children say that the time has come to take the cloud from the
Dacotah. My papooses show _who_ answer call of fiery totem!"