IN INDIAN ATTIRE.
Not many hours after Black Partridge turned his back upon
Muck-otey-pokee, all its fighting men, with their squaws and children,
also left it, as their chief had foreseen they would. They followed
the direction he had taken, though they did not proceed to the
garrison itself.
The camp to which they repaired was a little distance from the Fort,
and had been pitched beside the river, where was then a fringe of
cottonwoods and locusts affording a grateful shade. Here the squaws
cooked and gossiped, while their sons played the ancient games of
throwing the spear through the ring, casting the hatchet, and shooting
birds on the wing.
The braves tested their weapons and boasted of many valorous deeds; or
were else entirely silent, brooding upon mischief yet to come. Over
all was the thrill of excitement and anticipation, which the great
heat of the season seemed to deepen rather than dispel.
At the Fort, Black Partridge pleaded finally and in vain.
"We have been ordered to evacuate, and we will obey. All things are in
readiness. The stores are already in the wagons, and other wagons wait
for the sick, the women, and the children. Your people have promised
us a safe conveyance through their country, and as far as we shall
need it. They will be well paid. Part they have received, and the rest
of their reward will be promptly delivered at the end of the journey.
There is no more to be said"; and with this conclusion the weary
commandant sat down in his denuded home to take a bit of food and a
few moments' rest. He nodded hospitably toward an empty chair on the
farther side of the deal table, by way of invitation that the Indian
should join him, but this the honest chief declined to do.
"No, good father, that can no longer be. I have come to return you
this medal. I have worn it long and in peace. It was the gift of your
people, a pledge between us of friendship. My friendship remains
unbroken, but there also remains a tie which is stronger. I am the
chief of my tribe. My young men are brave, and they have been
deceived. They will punish the deceivers, and I have no power to
prevent this. Nor do I blame them, though I would hold them to their
compact if I could."
"Cannot the Truth-Teller compel his sons to his own habit?"
"Not when his white father sets them a bad example."
"Black Partridge, your words are bold."
"Your deed was bolder, father. It was the deed of a fool."
"Take care!"
As if he had not heard, the chief spoke steadily on:
"My tribesman, Winnemeg--the white man's friend--brought the order
that all goods stored here should be justly distributed among my
people, to every man his portion. Was it thus done?"
"Come, Black Partridge, you are not wanting in good sense nor in
honesty. You must admit that such a course would have been hazardous
in the extreme. The idea of putting liquor and ammunition into the
hands of the red men was one of utter madness. It was worse than
foolhardy. The broken firearms are safe in the well, and the more
dangerous whiskey has mingled itself harmlessly with the waters of the
river and the lake."
"There is something more foolish than folly," said the Indian,
gravely, "and that is a lie! The powder drowned in the well will kill
more pale-faces than it could have done in the hands of your red
children. The river-diluted whiskey will inflame more hot heads than
if it had been dispensed honorably and in its full strength. But now
the end. Though I will do what I can do, even the Truth-Teller cannot
fight treachery. Prepare for the worst. And so--farewell!"
Then the tall chief bowed his head in sadness and went away; but the
terrible truth of what he then uttered all the world now knows.
Meanwhile, in the almost empty village among the cottonwoods, the Sun
Maid played and laughed and chattered as she had always done in her
old home at the Fort. And all day, those wiser women like Wahneenah,
who had refrained from following their tribe to the distant camp,
watched and attended the child in admiring awe.
By nightfall the Sun Maid had been loaded with gifts. Lahnowenah, wife
of the avaricious Shut-Hand but herself surnamed the Giver, came
earliest of all, with a necklace of bears' claws and curious shells
which had come from the Pacific slope, none knew how many years
before.
The Sun Maid received the gift with delight and her usual exclamation
of "Nice!" but when the donor attempted to clasp the trinket about the
fair little throat she was met by a decided: "No, no, no!"
"Girl-Child! All gifts are worthy, but this woman has given her best,"
corrected Wahneenah, with some sternness. This baby might be a spirit,
in truth, but it was the spirit of her own child and she must still
hold it under authority.
At sound of the altered tones, Kitty looked up swiftly and her lip
quivered. Then she replied with equal decision:
"Other Mother must not speak to me like that. Kitty is not bad. It is
a pretty, pretty thing, but it is dirty. It must have its faces
washed. Then I will wear it and love it all my life."
An Indian girl would have been punished for such frankness, but
Lahnowenah showed no resentment. Beneath her outward manner lay a
deeper meaning. To her the necklace was a talisman. From generations
long dead it had come down to her, and always as a life-saver. Whoever
wore it could never be harmed "by hatchet or arrow, nor by fire or
flood." Yet that very morning had her own brother, the Man-Who-Kills,
assured her that the child's life was a doomed one, and she had more
faith in his threats than had his neighbors in their village. She knew
that the one thing he respected was this heirloom, and that he would
not dare injure anybody who wore it. The Sun Maid was, undoubtedly,
under the guardianship of higher powers than a poor squaw's, yet it
could harm nobody to take all precautions.
So, with a grim smile, the donor carried her gift to the near-by brook
and held it for a few moments beneath the sluggish water; then she
returned to the wigwam and again proffered it to the foundling.
"Yes. That is nice now. Kitty will wear it all the time. Won't the
childrens be pleased when they see it! Maybe they may wear it, too, if
the dear blanket lady says they may. Can they, Other Mother?"
The squaws exchanged significant glances. They knew it was not
probable that the Fort orphan and her old playmates would ever meet
again; but Wahneenah answered evasively:
"They can wear it when they come to the Sun Maid's home."
Again Lahnowenah would have put the necklace in its place, and a
second time she was prevented; for at that moment the One-Who-Knows
came slowly down the path between the trees, and held up her crutch
warningly, as she called, in her feeble voice:
"Wait! This is a ceremony. Let all the women come."
Lahnowenah ran to summon them, and they gathered about the tepee in
expectant silence. When old Katasha exerted herself it behooved all
the daughters of her tribe to be in attendance.
Wahneenah hastened to spread her best mat for the visitor's use, and
helped to seat her upon it.
"Ugh! Old feet grow clumsy and old arms weak. Take this bundle, sister
of my chief, and do with its contents as seems right to thee."
The other squaws squatted around, eagerly curious, while Wahneenah
untied the threads of sinew which fastened the blanket-wrapped parcel.
This outer covering itself was different from anything she had ever
handled, being exquisitely soft in texture and gaudily bright in hue.
It was also of a small size, such as might fit a child's shoulders.
Within the blanket was a little tunic of creamy buckskin, gayly
bedecked with a fringe of beads around the neck and arms' eyes, while
the short skirt ended in a border of fur, also bead-trimmed in an odd
pattern. With it were tiny leggings that matched the tunic; and a
dainty pair of moccasins completed the costume.
As garment after garment was spread out before the astonished gaze of
the squaws their exclamations of surprise came loud and fast. A group
of white mothers over a fashionable outfit for a modern child could
not have been more enthusiastic or excited.
Yet through all this she who had brought it remained stolid and
silent; till at length her manner impressed the others, and they
remembered that she had said: "It is a ceremony." Then Wahneenah
motioned the squaws to be silent, and demanded quietly:
"What is this that the One-Who-Knows sees good to be done at the lodge
of her chief's daughter?"
"Take the papoose. Set her before me. Watch and see."
Wide-eyed and smiling, and quite unafraid, the little orphan from the
Fort stood, as she was directed, close beside the aged squaw while she
was silently disrobed. Her baby eyes had caught the glitter of beads
on the new garments, and there was never a girl-child born who did not
like new clothes. When she was quite undressed, and her white body
shone like a marble statue in contrast to their dusky forms, the
hushed voices of the Indians burst forth again in a torrent of
admiration.
But Kitty was too young to understand this, and deemed it some new
game in which she played the principal part.
The prophetess held up her hand and the women ceased chattering. Then
she pointed toward the brook and, herself comprehending what was meant
by this gesture, the Sun Maid ran lightly to the bank and leaped in.
With a scream of fear, that was very human and mother-like, Wahneenah
followed swiftly. For the instant she had forgotten that the merry
little one was a "spirit," and could not drown.
Fortunately, the stream was not deep, and was delightfully sun-warmed.
Besides, the Fort children had all been as much at home in the water
as on the land and a daily plunge had been a matter of course. So
Kitty laughed and clapped her hands as she ducked again and again into
the deepest of the shallow pools, splashing and gurgling in glee, till
another signal from the aged crone bade the foster-mother bring the
bather back.
"No, no! Kitty likes the water. Kitty did make the Feather-lady wash
the necklace. Now the old Feather-lady makes Kitty wash Kitty. No, I
do not want to go. I want to stay right here in the brook."
"But--the beautiful tunic! What about that, papoose?"
It was not at all a "spiritual" argument, yet it sufficed; and with a
spring the little one was out of the water and clinging to Wahneenah's
breast.
As she was set down, dewy and glistening, she pranced and tossed her
dripping hair about till the drops it scattered touched some faces
that had not known the feel of water in many a day. With an "Ugh!" of
disgust the squaws withdrew to a safe distance from this unsolicited
bath, though remaining keenly watchful of what the One-Who-Knows might
do. This was, first, the anointing of the child's body with some
unctuous substance that the old woman had brought, wrapped in a pawpaw
leaf.
Since towels were a luxury unknown in the wilderness, as soon as this
anointing was finished Katasha clothed the child in her new costume
and laid her hand upon the sunny head, while she muttered a charm to
"preserve it from all evil and all enemies." Then, apparently
exhausted by her own efforts, the prophetess directed Lahnowenah, the
Giver, to put on the antique White Necklace.
This was so long that it went twice about the Sun Maid's throat and
would have been promptly pulled off by her own fingers, as an
adornment quite too warm for the season had not the fastening been one
she could not undo and the string, which held the ornaments, of strong
sinew.
Then Wahneenah took the prophetess into her wigwam, and prepared a
meal of dried venison meat, hulled corn, and the juice of wild berries
pressed out and sweetened. Katasha's visits were of rare occurrence,
and it had been long since the Woman-Who-Mourns had played the
hostess, save in this late matter of her foster-child; so for a time
she forgot all save the necessity of doing honor to her guest. When
she did remember the Sun Maid and went in anxious haste to the
doorway, the child had vanished.
"She is gone! The Great Spirit has recalled her!" cried Wahneenah, in
distress.
"Fear not, the White Papoose is safe. She will live long and her hands
will be full. As they fill they will overflow. She is a river that
enriches yet suffers no loss. Patience. Patience. You have taken joy
into your home, but you have also taken sorrow. Accept both, and wait
what will come."
Even Wahneenah, to whom many deferred, felt that she herself must pay
deference to this venerable prophetess, and so remained quiet in her
wigwam as long as her guest chose to rest there. This was until the
sun was near its setting and till the foster-mother's heart had grown
sick with anxiety. So, no sooner had Katasha's figure disappeared
among the trees than Wahneenah set out at frantic speed to find the
little one.
"Have you seen the Sun Maid?" she demanded of the few she met; and at
last one set her on the right track.
"Yes. She chased a gray squirrel that had been wounded. It was still
so swift it could just outstrip her, and she followed beyond the
village, away along the bank. Osceolo passed near, and saw the
squirrel seek refuge in the lodge of Spotted Adder. The Sun Maid also
entered."
"The lodge of Spotted Adder!" repeated Wahneenah, slowly. "Then only
the Great Spirit can preserve her!"