Fred Wilder, after his involuntary leap, remained a long time
insensible. When he awoke, he thought that he might as well have
remained insensible. It was so dark that he could not see what sort of
a place he was in. If he had seen, he could have not explored it, as he
soon discovered that he was unable to move. He knew that his left leg
was broken, and he feared that his left arm was as badly injured. He
felt bruised and sore all over; but that was nothing; the wonder was
that he was alive.
As he could not get away, he tried to resign himself to his situation;
but the more he reflected upon it, the less resigned he became. The
Indians, believing that he had been killed by the fall, would surely
come to seek him as soon as it was light, and it would be impossible
for him to escape. All his peril and suffering would be for nothing, as
he would at last fall into their hands an unresisting victim.
Hours of darkness must have an end. Light will come, though suffering
does not cease. Daylight came to Fred Wilder; but he could not feel
that he ought to be thankful for it, as it would bring his enemies in
search of him. It enabled him to see the location into which his lot
and his body had fallen.
On one side was a precipice, so lofty that he shuddered as he thought
of his fearful fall from its brink. Just around him was a green and
grassy spot, upon the soft turf of which he had fallen. The grass
stretched toward the east, until it melted into the prairie. In all
other directions were ragged and rocky hills, beyond which towered
grand mountain ranges.
It was near the head of a ravine that the young man had fallen. A
crystal spring bubbled up near him, and its plentiful waters formed a
little stream, that ran laughing down the ravine. By the side of the
stream, a few steps from the wounded man, lay the body of the Indian
dog that had been the cause of his trouble. Wilder smiled grimly as he
looked at the dead animal.
“You are dead, then, you miserable little wretch,” he said. “There must
be what my old tutor used to call a providential dispensation in this.
I, who was the heaviest, have fallen upon a soft spot, and am alive.
You, who were the lightest, and the most likely to survive the fall,
struck your head upon a stone, and dashed out your wretched brains.
It follows, that you were in the wrong, and I was in the right. Your
death is a judgment upon you for having given me an overdose of bark.
Ah, well! I ought not to exult over you, as my fix will be worse than
yours.”
Having seen all that was within the range of his vision, Wilder had
nothing to do but to make himself as easy as possible, and to wait for
the coming of the Indians. This was unpleasant occupation, and he soon
fretted himself into such a weak and feverish state, that he fainted.
When he again opened his eyes, a rare vision greeted them. By his side
stood an Indian girl, who seemed to him, at that moment, the most
beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Her features were perfect, and her complexion was a delicate brunette,
very different from that of any forest maiden he had yet seen. She
had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the aboriginal race, and her
nose was decidedly of the Grecian order. Her hair, too, though black
as the raven’s wing, was wavy, with a strong inclination to curl. Her
lips were rosy and rich, and there was an evident dimple on her chin;
but her large brown eyes, as they were opened to their widest, with
an expression of amazement and compassion, were to Wilder her most
wonderful feature.
He ran over these particulars with an artistic eye; but he had only an
instant to observe them, as the girl uttered a little startled scream
when he looked up at her, and turned to fly.
He called to her, in the Dahcotah dialect, as loudly as his weak state
would permit him to call; but his voice was very feeble. She stopped,
and after a little hesitation, came to him.
“I am wounded,” he said. “I fell from the top of that cliff last night,
and am badly hurt. I can not move.”
This appeal was sufficient to excite the sympathy of the girl. Telling
Wilder that she would soon return, she hastened away.
Within half an hour--though it seemed much longer to Wilder, who was
anxious to see her again, and who feared that the Indians might arrive
before she returned--she came back, accompanied by two men. One of
these was a negro, and the other was an old Indian, whose hair was as
white as snow, and whose face and hands and garments were painted with
strange devices.
They brought with them a sort of litter, upon which the wounded man was
laid very carefully and tenderly. The negro carrying one end of the
litter, and the old man and the girl the other, they ascended a steep
hill, and, after winding in and out among the rocks, came to a lodge,
made of skins stretched upon poles, at the foot of the cliff. They
entered the lodge, and Wilder saw nothing more. His rough journey had
exhausted him, and he fainted.
When he again awoke, he found himself in a dark apartment, lying upon a
couch of furs. From what the darkness permitted him to see, he judged
that the apartment was a cavern, or a portion of a cavern; but he was
not able to form any opinion of its shape or size.
He heard voices near him, which he believed to be those of the old
Indian and the girl; but he could see no one, and he concluded that
they were in another room. They were talking in the Indian tongue, of
which he understood enough to enable him to follow their conversation.
“It shall be as you say, my child,” said the old man; “but if I do this
thing, you must promise me that you will not leave me while I live.”
“You know that I have no wish to leave you, my father; but I will
promise; only save the life of this white man. It must be him whom the
warriors were chasing last night, when there was such a noise in the
direction of the village. He was nearly killed by the fall from that
cliff.”
“I will dress his wounds, and we will take care of him.”
“But the warriors will seek for him this morning. They will go to the
spot where we found him, to see his body and to take his scalp. Not
finding him there, they will follow our trail, and will come here.”
“It is true. He must be hid.”
“But where can he be hid? He is too weak to be moved.”
“He shall remain where he is, in the sacred room, which the warriors
never enter. I will tell them that the white man was killed by his
fall, and that I buried him. I found a scalp upon him, which I will
give to the warriors, and I will tell them that it is his scalp.”
The old man drew from the breast of his robe the scalp of Paul
Robinette, and showed it to the girl, who shuddered as she looked at it.
“But that is a gray scalp,” she said, “and this is a young man.”
“The warriors had not seen him, José tells me, and they do not know
whether he is young or old.”
“But this is not a fresh scalp. It is old, and the warriors will know
that they are imposed upon.”
“I will tell them that I have dried it, and they will believe me.”
“They always believe you. I now believe that the young man will be
safe. Do you think that he took that scalp--that he killed the man to
whom it belonged?”
“Why not?”
“He looks too good to take scalps.”
“I am afraid that it is because of his looks that Dove-eye wishes to
save his life.”
“Listen, my father! The warriors are coming!”
When the question of the gray scalp was brought up, Wilder felt a very
lively interest in the conversation. The possession of that article
seemed to him, at the moment, of more importance than the preservation
of his life. He was about to speak to his red friends and to demand the
restoration of the trophy, when the announcement that the warriors were
coming compelled him to hold his peace.
The announcement was immediately followed by the arrival of a large
party of Indians, whom he could easily hear as they entered the lodge,
talking volubly in their own tongue. A curtain of skins was let fall
over the opening of the apartment in which he lay, and he was left in
total darkness.
Darkness was favorable to meditation, and he soon convinced himself
that it was for the best to let the scalp go. If the hair of Paul
Robinette could save his own, that was probably the best use it could
be put to. Besides, if the Indians should discover him, they would
take his own scalp and that of the old trader, and he would be none the
better off for having kept it.
A great jabbering was kept up in the outer room for a while; but the
warriors seemed to be satisfied, as they soon left, and the man and the
girl came to his couch.
After a little conversation, in which Wilder informed his friends that
he had overheard their plan for saving his life, and thanked them for
their successful efforts, the old Indian sent away the girl, and called
in the negro. An examination of Wilder’s wounds was then made, and the
old man, to his great astonishment, set the broken limb in very good
style. His leg was properly bandaged, his bruises were attended to, and
he soon felt quite comfortable. His situation was so much better than
it had been at night, when he was lying on the ground alone, in pain,
and in expectation of death at the hands of merciless savages, that
he felt that he could desire nothing more, except the company of the
beautiful Indian girl.
She soon came, and another came with her. The room was so dark that
Wilder could not see her face or that of her companion; but he was sure
that the latter was a woman.
“Perhaps he is sleeping, and we had better not disturb him,” said
Dove-eye, as she came in.
“Oh no! I must see him and speak to him.”
Surely Wilder knew that voice. There was no mistaking its low, but
clear and melodious tones.
“Flora! Miss Robinette!” he exclaimed. “Can it be you?”
“And who are you, sir? Is it Mr. Wilder?”
“It is what is left of him.”
“You are badly wounded. Perhaps it was in trying to assist me that you
were injured. Let me have some light, Dove-eye. I must see him.”
“My sister knows him,” said the Indian girl. “Perhaps she loves him.”
“He has been very good to me, Dove-eye; but he is no lover of mine.”
The curtain was removed from the opening, and Wilder was able to
distinguish the faces of his friends, who seated themselves at his
side. Flora Robinette expressed the deepest sympathy when he related
the manner in which he had been injured, and was hardly less anxious
concerning White Shield. In response to his questions, she gave an
account of her adventures since she had parted from him the mountains.
The Arapahoes had brought her to their village, where she had been seen
by Dove-eye, who had taken such a fancy to her, that she had begged the
old medicine-man to bring her to his lodge. As he was easily persuaded
by her, and as his influence was great in the tribe, the request was
granted, and Flora had since been the constant companion of Dove-eye.
A warm affection had sprung up between the two, and Flora, although a
captive, had become somewhat reconciled to her captivity, as she was
happy in the friendship of the Indian girl.
Wilder, whose thoughts and eyes had been wandering to Dove-eye while
Flora was speaking, thanked her for her kindness, and could not avoid
calling to Flora’s remembrance an expression which he had used in
conversation with her.
“Do you remember that I said to you, that if you happened to have a
sister, and she happened to be as beautiful as yourself, and a little
older, and not quite so highly civilized, I might fancy her? If
Dove-eye was your sister, my words would now be verified.”
“But we are sisters; are we not, Dove-eye?” said Flora, taking the hand
of her companion.
“We are sisters,” replied the Indian girl, looking down and blushing.