THE THREE GIFTS.
"The Black Partridge has served his white friends faithfully. He
should now remember his own people, and rest his heart among them,"
said the White Pelican as he rode homeward beside his chief, not many
hours after the massacre of the sandhills.
The elder warrior lifted his bowed head, and regarded his nephew in
sadness. His eyes had that far-away, dreamy look which was unusual
among his race and had given him, at times, a strange power over his
fellows. Because, unfortunately, the dreams were, after all, very
practical, and the silent visions were of things that might have been
averted.
"The White Pelican, also, did well. He protected those whom he wished
to kill. He did it for my sake. It shall not be forgotten, though the
effort was useless. The end has begun."
The younger brave touched his fine horse impatiently, and the animal
sprang forward a few paces. As he did so, the rider caught a gleam of
something white skimming along the horizon line, and wondered what it
might be. But he had set out to attend his chief and, curbing his
mount by a strong pull, whirled about and rode back to the side of
Black Partridge.
"What is the end that has begun, Man-Who-Cannot-Lie?"
"The downfall of our nations. They have been as the trees of the
forest and the grasses of the prairie. The trees shall be felled and
the grasses shall be cut. The white man's hand shall accomplish both."
"For once, the Truth-Teller is mistaken. We will wrest our lands back
from the grasp of the pale-faces. We will learn their arts and conquer
them with their own weapons. We will destroy their villages--few they
are and widely scattered. Pouf! This morning's work is but a show of
what is yet to come. As we did then, so we will do in the future. I,
too, would go with my tribe to that other fort far beyond the Great
Lake. I would help again to wipe away these usurpers from our homes,
as I wipe--this, from my horse's flank. Only my promise to remain with
my chief and my kinsman prevents."
The youth had stooped and brushed a bit of grass bloom from the
animal's shining skin; and as he raised his head again he looked
inquiringly into the stern face of the other. Thus, indirectly, was
he begging permission to join the contemplated raid upon another
distant garrison.
Black Partridge understood but ignored the silent petition. He had
other, higher plans for the White Pelican. He would himself train the
courageous youth to be as wise and diplomatic as he was brave. When
the training was over, he should be sent to that distant land where
the Great Father of the white men dwelt, and should there make a plea
for the whole Indian race.
"Would not a man who saved all this"--sweeping his arm around toward
every point of the prairie--"to his people be better than one who
killed a half-dozen pale-faces yet lost his home?"
"Why--yes," said the other, regretfully. "But----"
"But it is the last chance. The time draws near when not an Indian
wigwam will dot this grand plain. Already, in the talk of the white
men, there is the plan forming to send us westward. Many a day's
journey will lie between us and this beloved spot. Our canoes will
soon vanish from the Great Lake, and we shall cease to glide over our
beautiful river. Hear me. It is fate. These people who have come to
oust us from our birthright have been sent by the Great Spirit. It is
His will. We have had our one day of life and of possession. They are
to have theirs. Who will come after them and destroy them? They----"
But the White Pelican could endure no more. The Black Partridge was
not often in such a mood as this, stern and sombre though he might
sometimes be, nor had his prophecies so far an outlook. That the
Indians should ever be driven entirely away by their white enemies
seemed a thing impossible to the stout-hearted young brave, and he
spoke his mind freely.
"My father has had sorrow this day, and his eyes are too dim to see
clearly. Or he has eaten of the white man's food and it has turned his
brain. Were it not for his dim eyesight, I would ask him to tell the
White Pelican what that creature might be that darts and wheels and
prances yonder"; and he pointed toward the western horizon.
Now there was a hidden taunt in the warrior's words. No man in the
whole Pottawatomie nation was reputed to have such clearness of
eyesight as the Black Partridge. The readiness with which he could
distinguish objects so distant as to be invisible to other men had
passed into a proverb among his neighbors, who believed that his
inward "visions" in some manner furthered this extraordinary outward
eyesight.
The chief flashed a scornful glance upon his attendant and, quite
naturally, toward the designated object. White Pelican saw his gaze
become intent and his indifference give way to amazement. Then, with a
cry of alarm, that was half incredulity, the Black Partridge wheeled
and struck out swiftly toward the west.
"Ugh! It looked unusual, even to me, but my father has recognized
something beyond my guessing. He rides like the wind, yet his horse
was well spent an hour ago."
Regardless of his own recent eagerness to be at Muck-otey-pokee, and
relating the day's doings to an admiring circle of stay-at-homes, the
young brave followed his leader. In a brief time they came up with a
wild, high-spirited white horse, which rushed frantically from point
to point in the vain hope of shaking from its back a burden to which
it was not used.
"Souls of my ancestors! It is--the Snowbird!"
"It is the Sun Maid!" returned Black Partridge.
But for all his straining vision, White Pelican could not make out
that it was indeed that wonderful child who was wrapped and bundled in
the long blanket and lashed to the Snowbird's back by many thongs of
leather. Not until, by one dexterous swoop of his horsehair rope, the
chief collared the terrified mare and brought her to her knees.
"Cut the straps. Set the child free."
The brave promptly obeyed; while the chief, holding the struggling
mare with one hand, carefully drew the Sun Maid from her swathing
blanket and laid her across his shoulder. Her little figure hung limp
and relaxed where it was placed, and he saw that she had fainted.
[Illustration: SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID. _Page 68._]
"Take her to that row of alder bushes yonder. There should be water
there. I'll finish what has been begun, and prove whether this is a
beast bewitched, or only a vicious mare that needs a master."
The White Pelican would have preferred the horse-breaking to acting as
child's nurse to this uncanny small maiden who had ridden a creature
none other in his tribe would have attempted. But he did as he was
bidden and laid the little one down in the cooling shade of the
alders. Then he put the water on her face and forced a few drops
between her parted lips. After that he fixed all his attention on the
efforts of Black Partridge to bring into subjection the unbroken mare.
However, the efforts were neither very severe nor long continued. Like
many another, the Snowbird had received a worse name than she
deserved, and she had already been well wearied by her wild gallop on
the prairie. She had done her best to throw and kill the child which
Osceolo had bound upon her back, but she had only succeeded in
tightening the bands and exhausting both herself and her unconscious
rider. More than that, Black Partridge had a will stronger than hers
and it conquered.
"Well, I did ride a long, long way, didn't I? Feather-man, did you put
Kitty on the nice cool grass? Will you give Kitty another drink of
water? I guess I'm pretty tired, ain't I?"
These words recalled the White Pelican's attention to his charge.
"Ugh! It's a wonder you're alive."
"Is it? I rode till I got so sleepy I couldn't see. The sky kept
whirling and whirling, and the sun did come right down into my face.
And I got so twisted up I couldn't breathe. I guess--I guess I don't
much love that Osceolo. He said it would be fun, and it was--a while.
But he didn't come, too, and--I'm glad I'm here now. Who's that
walking? Oh! my own Black Partridge, the nicest Feather-man there is!"
The Sun Maid sat up and lifted her arms to be taken, while she
bestowed upon the chief one of her sweetest smiles. But he received it
gravely, and regarded the child in her new Indian dress with critical
scrutiny. Who had thus clothed her he could not surmise, for too short
a time had elapsed since he had taken her to his village for his
sister to prepare these well-fitting garments. Finally, superstition
began to influence him also, as it had influenced the weaker-minded
people at Muck-otey-pokee, as he spoke to the White Pelican, rather
than to the child.
"Place her upon the Snowbird. They belong to each other, though I know
not how they found one another."
"Osceolo," answered the younger brave, tersely.
"Humph! Then there's more of black spirits than white in this affair.
However, I have spoken. Place the Sun Maid on the Snowbird's back."
Kitty would have objected and strongly; but there was something so
unusually stern in the elder warrior's face and so full of hatred in
that of the younger that she was bewildered and wisely kept silence.
Having made a comfortable saddle out of the long blanket, they seated
her again upon the white mare's back, and each on either side, they
led her slowly toward Muck-otey-pokee. But the little one had again
fallen asleep long before they reached it, and now there could have
been no gentler mount for so helpless a rider than this suddenly tamed
White Snowbird.
At the entrance to the village Wahneenah met them. She had again put
on her mourning garb, and her hair was unplaited, while the lines of
her face had deepened perceptibly. She had lamented to Katasha:
"The Great Spirit sent me back my lost ones in the form of the Sun
Maid, and because of my own carelessness and sternness He has recalled
her. Now is our separation complete, and not even in the Unknown Land
shall I find them again."
But the One-Who-Knows had answered, impatiently:
"Leave be. Whatever is must happen. The child is safe. Nothing can
harm her. Has she not the three gifts? The White Necklace from the
shore of the Sea-without-end?[1] The White Bow from the eternal north?
and the White Snowbird, into which entered the white soul of a
blameless virgin? Have I not clothed her with the garb of our people?
You are a fool, Wahneenah. Go hide in your wigwam, and keep silence."
[Footnote 1: Pacific Ocean.]
This was good advice, but Wahneenah couldn't take it. She was too
human, too motherly, and under all her superstition, too sure of the
Sun Maid's real flesh-and-blood existence to be easily comforted. So
she went, instead, to the outskirts of the settlement to watch for
what might be coming of good or ill. And so she came all the sooner to
find her lost darling, and she vowed within herself that never again,
so long as her own life should last, would she lose sight of that
precious golden head.
"My Girl-Child! My White Papoose, Beloved! Found again! But how could
you?"
"I did get runned away with myself this time, nice Other Mother. Don't
look at Kitty that way. Kitty is very hungry. Nice Black Partridge
Feather-man did find me, riding and riding and riding. The pretty
Snowbird had lots of wings, I guess, for she flew and flew and flew.
But I didn't see Osceolo. He couldn't have come, could he? I thought
he was coming, too, when he clapped his hands and shooed me off so
fast. Where is he?"
That was what several were desirous to learn. The affair had turned
out much better than might have been expected, but there would be a
day of reckoning for the village torment when he and its chief should
chance to meet.
Knowing this, Osceolo remained in hiding for some time. Until, indeed,
his curiosity got the better of his discretion. This happened when the
Man-Who-Kills came stealing to his retreat and begged his assistance.
"I want you to take my white boy-captive and lead him to the tepee of
the Woman-Who-Mourns. My wife Sorah will not have him in her wigwam.
She says that from the moment that other white child, the Sun Maid,
came to the lodge of Wahneenah, there has been trouble without end,
even though all the three charms against evil have been bestowed upon
her. There are no charms for this dark boy, but there's always trouble
enough (where Sorah is). He's so worn and unhappy, he'll make no
objection, but will follow like a dog. He neither speaks nor sleeps
nor eats. I have no use for a fool, I. You do it, Osceolo, and you'll
see what I will give you in reward! Also, if the Woman-Who-Mourns has
lost the Sun Maid, maybe this Dark-Eye will be a better stayer."
"But what will you give me, Man-Who-Kills? I--I think I'd rather not
meddle any more with the family of my chief."
"Ugh! Are a coward, eh? Never mind. There are other lads at
Muck-otey-pokee, and plenty of plunder in my wigwam."
"All right. Come along, Dark-Eye. Might as well be Dark-Brow, too, for
he looks like a night without stars. What will you do with his horse,
Man-Who-Kills?"
"Let you ride it for me, sometimes."
"I can do it"; and without further delay, leading the utterly passive
and disheartened Gaspar, the Indian lad set off for Wahneenah's home.
The captive had no expectation of anything but the most dreadful fate,
and his tired brain reeled at the remembrance of what he might yet
undergo. Yet, what use to resist?
Meanwhile, Osceolo, confident that all the braves whom he need fear
were still absent from the village, started his charge along the trail
at a rapid pace, and reached the wigwam of the Woman-Who-Mourns at
the very moment when Black Partridge, White Pelican, and the Sun Maid
came riding to it from the prairie.
She was alive, then! She was, in truth, a "spirit"! His
mischievousness had had no power to harm her, she was exempt from any
ill that might befall another, she had come back to--How could such an
innocent-appearing creature punish one who had so misled her?
He had no time to guess. For the child had caught sight of the stupid
lad he was leading, and with a cry of ecstacy had sprung from the
Snowbird and landed plump upon the prisoner's shoulders.
"Gaspar! My Gaspar, my Gaspar! Mine, mine, mine!"
It was a transformation scene. The white boy had staggered under
the unexpected assault of his old playmate, but he had instantly
recognized her. With a cry as full of joy as her own, he clasped
her close, and showered his kisses on her upturned face.
"Kitty! why, Kitty! You aren't dead, then? You are not hurt? And we
thought--oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"
Clinging to each other, they slipped to the ground, too absorbed in
themselves to notice anything else; while Osceolo watched them in
almost equal absorption.
But he was roused sooner than they. A hand fell on his shoulder. A
hand whose touch could be as gentle as a woman's, but was now like a
steel band crushing the very bones.
"Osceolo!"
"Yes, Black Partridge," quavered the terrified lad.
"You will come to my tepee. Alone!"