TOM BECOMES AN INDIAN.
Scott did not immediately notice Tom's mishap. The boy had shown himself
so good a rider that such an accident had not occurred to him as likely
to happen. When he did look back there was already a considerable
distance between them. In fact, Tom lay midway between the Indians and
himself.
What was he to do?
If he returned there was no hope of rescuing Tom; and he would
infallibly fall into the hands of the Indian pursuers. In that case his
fate was sealed. He had killed an Indian warrior, and his life would pay
the forfeit. By going on he could head a rescuing party from the camp.
His heart ached for Tom. It was hard to leave him in the hands of the
savage foe; but Tom was a boy, and there was hope that he would be
spared; so he felt that it was better to continue his flight.
There was a shout of fierce joy when the Indians saw Tom's fall. They
would have preferred to capture Scott, for he it was who had killed
their comrade; but they were glad to have one prisoner. They reined up
their horses, and halted beside the still insensible boy. They held a
brief consultation, and decided not to continue the pursuit. They could
see the encampment, which Scott was sure to reach before he could be
overtaken. They could not tell the number of the party to which he
belonged; but, being few in numbers themselves, the risk would be a
hazardous one. They decided to retire with their prisoner. Tom was
lifted to a seat in front of one of the party, and they rode leisurely
back.
This was the position in which our hero found himself when he roused
from his stupor. One glance revealed to him the whole. His heart sank
within him. They might kill him. Remembering the ghastly sights he had
seen on his trip across the plains, he thought it likely that they
would. Life was sweet to Tom. To what boy of sixteen is it not? It
seemed hard to be cut off in the threshold of an active career, and by
savage hands. But there was an additional pang in the thought that now
he would be unable to help his father. The result of his plan would only
be to impose an additional burden upon the modest home which his father
found it so hard to keep up. Tom sighed; and, for the first time in his
life, he felt discouraged.
He looked about him, scanning the dark, grave faces, and read no hope or
encouragement in any. Finally the Indians came to a halt at their old
camping-ground, and Tom was lifted from the horse. He was placed upon
the ground, in the center of the group. Then followed a consultation.
From the glances directed toward him Tom understood that he was the
subject of deliberation. In fact, his fate was being decided.
It was certainly a trying ordeal for our young hero. He was not sure of
half an hour's life. An unfavorable decision might be followed by
immediate execution. Tom felt that his best course was to remain
perfectly passive. He could not understand what was said; but we are
able to acquaint the reader with the general purport of the conference.
Several of the Indians favored immediate death.
"Our brother's blood calls for vengeance," they said. "The white boy
must die."
"The boy did not kill him," said others. "It was the white warrior who
spilled our brother's blood. He must be pursued and slain."
"What, then, shall be done with the boy? Shall he go?"
"No; we will keep him. He has strong limbs. We will adopt him into our
tribe. He will make a brave warrior."
"He shall be my brother," said the chief. "I will take him in place of
my brother who is dead."
There was a low murmur of approval. Even those who had first recommended
the infliction of death seemed to have changed their minds. They looked
at the boy as he lay stretched out upon the ground. He was stout,
comely, and strongly made. He had proved that he was an admirable rider.
If he should join them he would grow up into a warrior who would do
credit to their tribe.
So the matter was settled. The only thing that remained was to acquaint
the prisoner with the decision.
The interpreter approached Tom, and said, "White boy, you are our
captive. Why should we not kill you?"
"You can if you wish," answered Tom; "but why should you kill me? I have
done you no harm."
"Our brother is killed. He lies dead upon the plain."
"I did not kill him," said Tom.
"The white boy speaks truth. He did not kill our brother, but his white
friend took his life."
"You ought not to kill me for that," said Tom, gathering courage, for he
inferred he was to live.
"The white boy speaks truth, and therefore he shall live, but he must
join us. He must live with us, hunt with us, and fight for us."
"You want me to become an Indian!" ejaculated Tom.
"We will take you in place of the warrior that is gone," said the
interpreter.
Tom looked thoughtful. He did not enjoy the prospect before him, but it
was, at all events, better than death. While there was life there was
hope of escape. He concluded to make one appeal for freedom, and, if
that was denied, to accept the proposal.
"I have a father and mother far away," he said; "I have brothers and a
sister, who will mourn for me. My father is poor; he needs my help. Let
me go back to them."
The interpreter communicated Tom's words to his companions, but it was
easy to see that they were not favorably received. The original
advocates of the death penalty looked at our hero with hostile eyes, and
he saw that he had made a mistake.
"The white boy must become one of us; he must take our brother's place,
or he must die," said the interpreter.
Tom very sensibly concluded that it would be better to live with the
Indians than to be killed, and signified his acceptance of the offer.
Upon this the Indians formed a circle about him, and broke into a
monotonous chant, accompanied with sundry movements of the limbs, which
appeared to be their way of welcoming him into their tribe.
It seemed like a dream to Tom. He found it very hard to realize his
position, so unexpectedly had he been placed in it. He could not help
wondering what the family at home would say when they should learn that
he had joined an Indian tribe far beyond the Mississippi.