When Wilder and his Blackfoot friend entered their lodge, the former
sat down without speaking. White Shield gazed at him for some time,
with a sort of admiring awe.
“My brother is very brave,” said the Indian. “He is almost too brave.
He has done a great thing to-day; but he came near losing his life. He
had better be careful what he does now; for Good Ax looked at him very
strangely, and the hearts of the warriors were hot.”
“White Shield is a true brother,” replied Wilder, as he grasped the
hand of his friend. “Silverspur will never forget how his brother stood
by him in danger. You tell me that I must be careful what I do; but
there is one thing that I must do. I must see the girl, the daughter of
the white-haired chief.”
The Indian shook his head, and was silent.
“I must see the girl,” repeated Wilder. “If you will help me, there
will be no trouble about it. When I say that I will do a thing, I mean
to do it.”
“I have told you that Good Ax means that she shall be his wife, and no
one can oppose the head chief. My brother had better be careful what he
does.”
“I tell you that I must see her, and I will see her. I only ask to see
her and speak with her. If my brother will not help me, I will help
myself.”
The Blackfoot sat in silence a few moments, looking strangely at his
friend.
“Wait for me,” he said, as he arose and left the lodge.
After the lapse of an hour, White Shield returned, and beckoned to
Wilder, who arose and followed him. They passed out of the village,
and came to a small stream, on each side of which was a fine growth of
timber. Entering the grove, White Shield pointed ahead of him.
“She is there,” he said. “I will wait for you, but will not hear you.”
As Wilder looked in the direction that was pointed out, he caught
sight of a woman’s dress, near the trunk of a large tree. He hastened
forward, and in a few moments was in the presence of Flora Robinette.
The young lady did not appear to be eager for the meeting. She did not
move from where she stood, and looked at him with wonder and something
of suspicion as he advanced and held out his hand.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A friend.”
“I wish I could believe it. I was told by the Indian who brought me
here that, if I would wait, I would soon see one of my own race; but
he said that you were no longer a white man; that you had joined the
Blackfeet. What is your name?”
“I am called Fred Wilder; but it matters not what my name is. I am a
white man and a friend. The Indian hardly told you the truth. He has
taken a fancy to me, has adopted me as his brother, and has introduced
me to his people; but I am far from considering myself one of them.
This morning I saved two white men from death by fire, and I hope to be
able to save you. It is certain that I shall use my best endeavors to
do so. Before this I would have seen you; but I did not know that you
were a captive, until I saw the Indians dancing around the scalps of
your father and another man.”
“My father’s scalp! Good God! this is horrible. Did they tell you whose
it was?”
“They told me that it was his, and then I learned the particulars of
the attack upon his train.”
“There was another scalp, you say--what did it look like?” asked Flora,
with an accent and an air of painful interest.
“It was the scalp of a white man, and the hair was black, short and
curling.”
“It was not his,” muttered Flora, with a sigh of relief.
“Of whom are you speaking?”
“Of no one in particular--one of our party. I thought that some of my
friends might have followed the trail of the Indians. Do you know who
those two white men were whom you saved from burning?”
“I do not know their names. One was an Irishman, with red hair, and he
seemed to be dumb.”
“That might have been Dennis Regan; but he was any thing but dumb.”
“The other was a tall and lean man, with keen eyes, a crooked nose, and
a very solemn face.”
“That was surely the man whom my father called Pap Byers. How did they
happen to be captured?”
“They were trying to take horses from the Blackfeet, and were
surprised. One was killed, and two were made prisoners.”
“Was there no other? Did you hear nothing more?”
“One man escaped, and he had a wonderful escape, if I understood the
account of the Indians.”
“Who was he?”
“Really, Miss Robinette, you question me very closely concerning a
person whom I have not seen. From what I have heard of him, it is my
opinion that he was George Benning, one of Mr. Robinette’s partisans.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Flora, as her emotions found vent in a flood of
tears.
“It is plain enough that this young lady loves George Benning,” thought
Wilder. “He is a fine fellow, and I can’t blame her. Here is no chance
for me to fall in love, if I wished to do so, and I don’t. She is very
pretty; in fact, she is beautiful; but it is evident that I must go
further before I find my fate.”
Flora advanced, and held out her hand.
“I hope you will pardon me,” she said, “if I have shown distrust of
you. My father always spoke so harshly of men who had joined the
Indians, that I have thought they must be very wicked men. I must trust
you. I have no one else to look to, and God knows that I am grateful
for your offers of assistance. Heaven has raised up a friend to me in
my time of trouble, and I am indeed thankful. Do you think that you can
deliver me from the hands of these savages?”
“I can try, and I hope you will not accuse me of boasting, when I say
that I generally succeed in what I undertake.”
“Would they kill me if I should fail to escape?”
“I think not; but they might do worse. I am told that the head chief
designs taking you into his family.”
“I have heard that white persons have sometimes been adopted by
Indians.”
“To speak plainly, he intends to adopt you as his wife.”
“May God preserve me from such a fate! What shall I do, Mr. Wilder?
Save me, and I will pray for you as long as I live! Tell me what can be
done.”
“You can do nothing, at present, but return to the village. You must
leave the rest to me, and I do not know what I shall do; but you may be
certain that I will do all that a man can do. Here comes the Indian to
take you back.”
White Shield approached, and signified to Flora that the interview
had lasted long enough, and that she must return to the village. She
accompanied him, and Wilder, by the direction of his friend, went to
his lodge, where he passed a sleepless night in trying to devise a plan
to release her from her captivity.
When the day broke, he had hit upon nothing that seemed to promise
success, and he walked out, in the hope that the morning air would give
him inspiration. In the course of his walk, he came to the conclusion
that, if he was to accomplish any thing, it must be with the assistance
of White Shield, and he resolved to throw himself upon the mercy of the
Indian.
When White Shield entered the lodge that morning, he found Wilder
seated on the ground, with his head buried in his hands, his attitude
and countenance denoting the deepest dejection.
“I am in great trouble,” he said, in answer to a question from the
Indian. “My heart is very sore.”
“Let my brother tell me his trouble. Perhaps I can help him.”
“No one can help me but you. If you do not help me, I can live no
longer. My brother, the daughter of the white-haired chief must not go
into the lodge of Good Ax. I must take her away from him. I must take
her away from the Blackfeet, and restore her to her people.”
“The Great Spirit has surely deprived my brother of his senses. He
speaks of something that can not be done.”
“It can be done, and it must be done. It can easily be done with your
help. Will you not help me?”
White Shield shook his head mournfully.
“Then I must die. I have pledged my word to the white maiden. I have
never yet broken my word, and, if I fail to keep it now, I can live no
longer.”
“Let my brother follow me,” said White Shield, as he arose, with
troubled looks, and walked out of the lodge.
Wilder followed him through the village, and out into the hills that
lay to the westward. The young warrior went on swiftly and in silence,
until he came to the brink of a precipice, that reached down, full
three hundred feet in a perpendicular line, to the plain below. Here he
stopped, and turned to his companion, with outstretched hand pointing
downward.
“Let my brother ask me to throw myself from this rock,” said he, “and I
will do it. I am ready to die for my brother, when he bids me go to the
spirit-land; but he asks more than death. If I should do what he asks
me to do, I must betray my people, and must leave them forever; for I
should be cast out from among them, and even my father and my brothers
would seek to kill me.”
Wilder exhausted his arguments upon his friend, telling him that,
if such a step were necessary, he would be no loser by severing his
connection with the tribe, as he would be taken to the village of the
white men, where he would be shown wonders without end, such as he
could never have believed to be possible. The warrior sadly shook his
head, and begged his brother to order him to throw himself from the
cliff.
“It is enough,” said Wilder, at last. “I can say no more. Here, White
Shield, is my rifle that shoots twice. I give it to you, and I know
that you will use it well. The pipe-holder, too, is yours. None like it
was ever seen among the Blackfeet. Take my powder-horn also, and keep
them all in remembrance of your brother.”
“What does my brother mean? Why has he given me these things?”
“I have no more use for them. I am going to the spirit-land. Keep them,
to remind you of Silverspur, whom you forced to die. I must break my
word, and I can live no longer. Farewell!”
Wilder stepped forward to the edge of the cliff, and threw up his hands.
With a sharp cry the Indian darted toward him, threw his arms around
him, lifted him up bodily, and carried him back to a distance from the
dangerous spot, where he laid him on the ground.
“Let my brother live!” said the warrior, as he kneeled by the side of
the white man. “I will do what he asks me to do, though he asks more
than my life. I will leave my people forever, and will follow him where
he chooses to lead me. Is my brother satisfied?”
Wilder could not help pitying the Indian, whose genuine emotion had
nearly overcome him; but he had gained his point, and he was satisfied.
The two returned to the village, where they shut themselves up in their
lodge, and made their arrangements for carrying away Flora Robinette.
During the day they selected five fleet horses--two for each of
themselves, and one for the young lady, and concealed them in the grove
where Wilder had his interview with Flora. They also secured sufficient
ammunition, and a good supply of provisions, which they concealed in
the same place.
After nightfall, when the village was quiet, White Shield set out
alone, directing his friend to go to the grove and wait for him.
As Wilder passed through the village, he saw a pole in front of the
medicine-lodge, from which were hanging the dried scalps of Mr.
Robinette and Sam Glass. Some strange impulse caused him to take the
gray scalp from the pole, and to thrust it into the bosom of his
hunting-shirt, the general receptacle of trappers for all odds and
ends. He then went to where the horses were concealed and waited for
the companions of his journey.
In a few moments they appeared, and Flora held out her hand to Wilder,
expressing regret for having distrusted him. He told her that they had
no time for words, that it was useless for her to thank him before he
had accomplished any thing, and that their present duty was to get away
from the Blackfeet as fast as possible.
They mounted, therefore, and rode swiftly toward the southwest until
they struck the main stream of the Missouri, which they followed in the
direction of the mountains.