After the failure of his horse-capturing expedition, the reflections of
George Benning were far from pleasant. He had not only met with poor
success is getting horses, but had lost his three companions. His own
escape had been wonderful, his life having been in the greatest peril,
and he was sure that a horrible death would be the fate of those who
had been taken. His only consolation was in the thought that he had
done all in his power to render the expedition a success, and that it
had not failed through any fault of his own. If he could blame himself
for any thing, it was only for having taken Dennis Regan as one of his
party.
He found himself alone, and further than ever from the object which
he had undertaken, the rescue of Flora Robinette. He still had his
strength and his weapons, and had a good horse under him; but what
could one man do against a tribe of Indians? He had no thought,
however, of giving up the search; but was determined to persevere, if
it should take a lifetime, until he could recover the lady of his love,
or learn her fate.
He rode on until he was satisfied that the Indians did not intend to
pursue him any further, when he halted by the side of a wooded stream.
Here he kindled a little fire, cooked and ate his supper, and, after
tethering his horse, wrapped himself in his blanket, and lay down to
sleep.
It was long before sleep visited his eyelids; but when it did come it
seemed that it would never leave him. He was awoke, at last, by some
strange sounds, which had formed part of his dreams. Starting up, he
perceived that it was broad daylight, and that he was surrounded by a
group of Indians. Many others could be seen in the timber and on the
plain, and a number of horses were feeding along the stream.
There was no chance to escape, if he had thought it advisable to make
the attempt. A brief glance showed him, however, that these Indians
were Crows, who were generally considered friendly to the white men,
although Pap Byers had been certain that they were Crows who had made
the attack upon Mr. Robinette’s encampment.
If he had any doubts, they were soon dispelled by one of the chiefs,
who approached him, and greeted him kindly, asking how he happened to
be there alone.
As it was possible that the opinion of Byers might have been correct,
Wilder thought it best to say nothing concerning the disaster to Mr.
Robinette’s expedition. He stated that he, with three companions, had
been endeavoring to recover some horses that had been taken from them
by the Blackfeet; that they were caught in the attempt, and his friends
had been killed or captured, while he had made a narrow escape from his
pursuers.
The chief informed him, in return, that they were a war-party, who had
set out for the purpose of taking some horses or scalps, and asked how
far it was to the Blackfoot village.
Wilder replied that it was distant not more than two hours’ ride, and
pointed out the direction in which he supposed it to lie. At the same
time he proffered his services to the Crows, if they should attack the
Blackfeet, hoping that his friends had been captured, and that he might
be able to rescue them.
Spies were sent to reconnoiter the village, and the Crows staid where
they were during the remainder of the day. Toward evening the spies
came in, and reported that the village consisted of about two hundred
lodges, but there did not seem to be many warriors in it.
The Crow chief waited for another band, that was expected the next
day. On their arrival, he divided his warriors into two parties, one
of which was to attack the village from the west, and the other from
the east. Shortly after dark they had reached their stations; but their
approach had been discovered, and the surprise was not as perfect as
they hoped to make it. They charged in, however, and, after a brief
struggle, drove their adversaries from the village.
Those of the Blackfeet warriors who survived this contest, together
with their women and children, took refuge in a dense thicket, where
they fortified themselves as well as they could, and defended the
position with the obstinacy of despair.
While the efforts of the Crows were devoted to dislodging their enemies
from this refuge, George Benning hastened through the village in search
of his late companions.
He soon found Pap Byers and Dennis Regan. They had been left in an open
lodge, guarded by two Indians. When their guards had been killed or
driven away, they came out, and found themselves at liberty.
Byers was very thankful for his deliverance and expressed gratitude
quite warmly; but the Irishman remained silent. Instead of replying to
the questions that Benning addressed to him, he only shook his head,
and pointed to his tongue.
“What is the matter with Denny?” asked the partisan, in surprise.
“The critter has gone dumb,” replied Byers. “When I told him that the
red-skins allowed to burn us, he swore that he wouldn’t speak a word
for six months, if he could git out of the scrape. I thought the durned
fool was jokin’; but it seems he was in ‘arnest, as he has helt out so
fur without speakin’.”
“If he had made that resolution earlier, it would have been better for
all of us. How did it happen that you were not burned?”
“The red-skins took us out to roast us. They tied us to stakes and
built a fire around us. It was all up with this child, I allowed, and
the fire was jest beginnin’ to scorch, when a white man stepped in and
scattered the fire, and swore that they shouldn’t burn us while he
lived.”
“I should think he would not have been likely to live long, after that.”
“I tell ye, cap’n, he skeered ’em. Some of them red-skins nearly turned
white. Thar was some talk, and then a lot of red-skins j’ined the white
man, and thar was a right smart chance fur a big row; but it quieted
down arter a bit, and then they turned us loose.”
“It is very strange. It is seldom that a white man gains such
influence among the Blackfeet. Do you know who he was?”
“They called him Silverspur. He was young, but a right smart chance of
a man.”
“Silverspur? I have heard of him; in fact, I have seen him. His name is
Wilder, if I remember rightly. He is a brave man, and fine-looking, but
of an unsettled disposition. It would not surprise me if he had joined
the Blackfeet. If he has, they will not keep him long. What has become
of Sam Glass?”
“He was killed in the scrimmage. The red-skins danced over his scalp
and Mr. Robinette’s the night they took us.”
“Mr. Robinette’s?”
“Yes, sir. I was mistooken about its bein’ the Crows who raised the old
man’s ha’r. They were Blackfeet who pounced onto us.”
“Did they carry away Miss Flora, or was she killed? Have you heard any
thing about her?”
“She was here; but she’s gone now; and that’s why you had sech an easy
time whippin’ this village of Blackfeet. Ef it hadn’t been fur her, the
job would hev been a leetle tougher, I reckon.”
“How so? What do you mean?”
“I heerd the red-skins torkin’ about it. That white man, Silverspur,
kerried her off last night, and one of the red-skins went with him.
Leastways, she was missin’, and so war those two men. Thar was a big
hullabaloo raised this mornin’, as the head chief had sot his eye on
her fur a wife, and they war mad, too, about the red-skin goin’ off
with Silverspur. A right smart chance of warriors mounted and rode off
arter ’em, and that’s how thar warn’t many in the village when you
came.”
“Was she willing to go with that--with Silverspur?”
“How do I know? I reckon she was, as she mought easy enough hev staid
here, whar a thousand red-skins wanted to keep her.”
“Of course. I ought not to have asked such a question. When did the
warriors start?”
“The sun was nigh an hour high when they got off.”
“Shouldn’t wonder if the cap’n has gone crazy,” muttered Byers, as
George Benning hastened away, in search of the chief who commanded the
war-party of the Crows.
He had met him returning from the thicket in which the remaining
Blackfeet had taken refuge. In their efforts to dislodge their enemies
from that position, the Crows had sustained serious loss, and had
concluded that the game was not worth the candle. They had abandoned
the siege, therefore, and were about to collect the horses of the
Blackfeet, preparatory to returning home.
It was Benning’s belief that the Blackfeet warriors who had gone in
pursuit of Silverspur and his companions would be likely to overtake
the fugitives, in which event they would at once return to their
village. He hoped to be able to induce the Crows to follow their trail,
and meet them as they came back. They would thus easily gain another
victory, which ought to be, as he supposed, a sufficient inducement for
them to do as he wished them to.
But the Crow, when Benning presented this view of the case to him,
steadily refused to do any thing of the kind. His party had come but
for a special purpose, he said. That purpose had been accomplished, and
it was their duty to return. Besides, several warriors had been lost in
the attack upon the Blackfeet in the thicket, and it was their custom,
when such a misfortune had befallen a war-party, to return immediately
to their village, and to mourn for the fallen before attempting any
other achievement.
All the arguments that Benning could use were ineffectual to change the
determination of the chief, and he declared his intention of following
the trail alone, in the hope that chance might in some way give him an
opportunity of aiding Flora Robinette.
From this he was dissuaded by Pap Byers and the chief. The former
represented to him that he would be unable to do any thing alone, and
the latter advised him to accompany the warriors to the Crow village.
He might there represent the case, the chief said, to Bad Eye, the
chief of the village, who would be sure to sympathize with him, and
would probably place a body of warriors under his control, for an
expedition against the Blackfeet.
These arguments were so strongly advanced, and appeared so reasonable,
that Benning reluctantly consented to accompany the Crow warriors, and
set out with a heavy heart.
It must be said, although George Benning would not have liked to make
the admission, that he felt very ill at ease concerning the company in
which Flora Robinette had left the Blackfeet. He had hoped to rescue
her himself; but another had been before him, and that other was a
handsome, brave, and impulsive fellow, who might be as energetic and
victorious in love as Benning knew him to be in war. What could be more
likely than that he should fall in love with fair Flora Robinette, and
what better opportunity could a man have for pressing his suit, than
just when he had rescued the lady of his love from captivity among
savages?
The more Benning thought of this, the more it troubled him. From what
he had seen and heard of Fred Wilder, he had formed a high opinion of
him; but he now began to torture himself with doubts and suspicions,
which were not flattering to the character of Silverspur. If that
person should succeed in getting Flora safely out of the clutches of
the Blackfeet, there was no knowing what mean advantage he might take
of her position and his achievement. Benning had never declared his
love to Flora. He had thought that she had perceived it, and he had
seen indications that led him to hope that his love was returned; but
that was all. It would be only natural, if Wilder should address her,
that she should feel herself bound in honor to listen favorably to
the man who had saved her from a fate that might have been worse than
death. It was highly probable, indeed, that she would consent to marry
him, if she found that no objection could be urged against him.
These thoughts troubled the young partisan so much, that he had little
rest during his journey with the Crows, and he was glad indeed when
they reached their village.
When the ceremony of reception was over, and while the whole village
was lamenting for the fallen braves, he sought the head chief, Bad Eye,
to whom he told his story, declaring that he believed Flora Robinette
to be still in the possession of the Blackfeet, and beseeching aid to
deliver her from their hands.
Bad Eye was a fine-looking Indian, considerably past middle age,
differing somewhat in features from the rest of the Crows, if not
in color. His left eye was sightless, from which peculiarity he had
received his cognomen; but the remaining eye was unusually bright and
keen.
He listened to Benning’s tale very attentively, and the partisan,
knowing the usually stolid nature of the Indian character, was
surprised at the emotion which he manifested.
“The white-haired chief, then, is dead,” he said. “Some worse men
have died, and many better men. He was hard in his dealings with the
red-men, but did not treat them as badly as some traders have done.
The Blackfeet must not keep his scalp, to dry in their lodges, if
Bad Eye can take it from them. But his daughter is safe, I think. I
know something of Silverspur, and I know that he always does what he
undertakes to do. I must think of this matter. I can do nothing without
consulting the counselors. When I know what to do, I will tell you.”
Benning was obliged to be satisfied with this answer, and he waited
impatiently to learn the intentions of the chief.