CHAPTER XIXHOW JOE CAME HOMEWhen Nina saw Joe fall and heard him slide down the bank and into the water she thought he was dead.When she could see nothing of him, and heard the Indians rushing through the trees and grass above her she fled like a startled rabbit through the undergrowth.She saw an Indian dash down the bank and look up and down the creek, then she heard his footsteps recede and words called out in a language she did not understand. Twice while she hid and cowered in the undergrowth she saw Indians come down to the creek and look along its banks, then she heard them ride away.Many times in her flight she stopped and listened. It was pitch-dark in the thicket, and the little girl, creeping forward through the underbrush, was half-crazed with fear. But she knew that her best protection from capture by the savages was in the tangled brush, and she fought her way gallantly through it, and just at dawn found herself at the edge of the thicket, with the broad, open prairies before her.Remembering Joe's directions she gave the whistle he had always used in calling Kit, and to her unbounded joy heard a low, smothered whinny in answer.In her terror and loneliness it sounded to the little Princess like the voice of an old friend. Guiding her direction by the sound she stole along in the shadow of the thicket and not long after came to where Kit, still tied as Joe had left her, turned her slender head and intelligent eyes toward her, pawing the ground with an impatient hoof.Nina had never ridden horseback, but she was too terrified, too weary now to remember that. Clasping her arms about Kit's neck she managed to scramble on her back and started off, not knowing which way to go, but eager to put distance in any direction between herself and the horrors with which she had been surrounded.She had to cling tight to Kit's mane to keep from falling off, and was afraid to let her go much faster than a walk, so that her progress was slow and difficult. Sunrise found her plodding on, a forlorn little figure on a big bay mare, tears running down her face, and muffled sobs shaking her.[image]SUNRISE FOUND HER PLODDING ON, A FORLORN LITTLE FIGURE ON A BIG BAY MARE.Shortly after sunrise she was overtaken by a band of Winnebago Indians laden with elk hides and buffalo skins, returning to their camp from a week's hunt in the Blackbird Hills.The surprise of the Indians may be imagined when seeing a solitary rider ambling slowly and apparently aimlessly over the prairies, they overtook it and saw that the rider was a beautiful little white girl, who cried bitterly when they spoke to her and would not tell who she was, where she had come from or where she was going.None of the band could speak English, and as Nina knew no Indian there was little chance of her being able to inform them. It was quite evident, however, that the child was wild with terror when they approached her, and when they took her and her horse in tow she shrieked and fought, utterly unaware that they were doing their utmost to assure her that they were "good Indians," that they never hurt children and would take her back to her home and family if she could make them understand where she lived.After much perplexed discussion among themselves the Winnebagoes decided to take her back with them to their encampment, where they would find some of their tribe who spoke English, and find out who the young stranger might be.They tried to be kind and gentle to her, and the squaws did their best to comfort her, but the child was in a perfect panic of terror, and at the approach of every new person shrank and shuddered, looking with great agonized violet eyes into the faces of the Indians, and shaking and trembling with fear. To her all Indians were alike, and momentarily she expected the hated Red Snake to come and claim her.As days passed, however, and Red Snake did not appear, when day followed day and no dreadful thing happened to her, and she saw the boys and men ride away leaving her behind with the squaws, old men and children, she began to be less afraid. Little by little the haunted look of terror left her eyes, and after a time she began to scrape acquaintance with the children that hung fascinated about her. The bright-eyed little papooses strapped to their rigid back-boards appealed to her wonderfully, and when she sat down before them and played with them, chucking them under their fat little chins and playing "peek-a-boo" with her apron, they squealed with laughter, and she too could begin to smile. After a while she began to play with the little Indian girls and boys, and little by little to learn their language and teach them hers.Twice the camp was moved, and Nina was moved with it, helping the squaws with the babies, and feeling tremendous interest in the bustle of preparation, when the teepees were taken down, folded and tied with cords made of deer and buffalo hide, and fastened to the ponies, strong shaggy little beasts which dragged them after them in long traces, while the women carried the bundles, and the braves walked along smoking their pipes ahead of the procession, or nonchalantly rode their ponies, leaving the squaws and children to bear all the burdens and shoulder all the responsibilities of moving.At first Nina could not understand these moves, but gradually came to know that the Indians were engaged in their fall hunt, and that while the men scoured the plains for the animals that provided them with food, clothing, and shelter for the winter, the women and children moved slowly along behind them with the equipment, so that the camp to which the hunters belonged was never far away.The Indians were all kind to her, the women gentle and even motherly to the little paleface that had been thrust so unceremoniously among them, the men quiet and grave, but never cross nor severe.Gradually as the days passed by she became fond of her little playfellows, and though she was desperately unhappy, and longed with a sick, yearning heartache for her adopted home, she did not suffer as she might have suffered if she had fallen among less quiet and gentle people.One day when she had been romping over the prairie with the children and dogs they came back to find a great band of hunters just riding in, laden with the fruits of the chase. Some of them bore long poles on their shoulders from which were suspended the carcases of elk and deer, others carried great willow baskets, which the Indian women made, containing the meat of deer, antelope, and buffaloes which had been stripped from the bones to save carrying the huge bodies; others carried great baskets of grouse, prairie-chicken, and quail, and the whole camp was full of rejoicing.Among the hunters was one tall, powerful Indian, who stopped short as the group of children came running toward them, and stared at Nina with an expression of utter astonishment on his face.Pointing his finger at her he asked in the Winnebago dialect how she came to be there. A babel of tongues broke out among the children and squaws, each trying to tell her version of the story.Nina, seeing him staring at her, was filled with fear. Her face paled, her great violet eyes widened with terror, and her bosom began to heave. But the red man walked straight up to her and put out a big brown hand."How, Nee-ah-nah," he said, and smiled down upon her.Nina, with a trembling hand at her bosom, drew back.The big Indian smiled, and putting his hand in his bosom, brought forth a little chain of blue beads which he held up before her.The child looked, gasped, then looked again, then with a joyful cry ran to him."Neowage, Neowage!" she cried.The big Indian grinned down at her and held her hand."How come here?" he asked gently.Nina burst into tears. "I was captured by the Sioux," she cried. "They made an assault on the house—they got me—and Joe—Joe came after me to rescue me—and he was killed, Neowage, he waskilled! Red Snake shot him."Neowage threw up his hands. "Ai-ee, ai-ee! Keel?Shokeel? Ai-ee, that too bad. Tell."Between her heartbroken sobs Nina told of the assault upon the sod house, of her capture, and of Joe's attempted rescue and what followed. When she had finished she clung to Neowage's hand sobbing bitterly."Take me home, Neowage," she begged, "oh,take me home! They've been good and kind to me here, but oh, I want to go back to Mother Peniman, and Ruth and Sara and Lige and Sam and little Da-da! I want to go back to them and try to comfort them, for if it were not for me dear Joe would not now be gone."The big Indian stroked the golden hair with his great brown hands and patted and comforted her."Me take you home, Nee-ah-nah," he said, "me take you home."The next morning Nina bade farewell to the squaws and papooses, the boys and girls that had been so kind to her, and mounted upon Kit's back, rode away by the side of Neowage in the direction of the homestead on the Blue River.It was a soft golden day in early October, and the prairies were yellow with goldenrod and spangled gayly with sunflowers and St. Michaelmas daisies. As they rode the sun cast long shadows on the grass that looked like brown velvet in the distance, and the sky arched over them with a blue that is all Nebraska's own.They talked little on the way. Neowage seemed to have fallen into a fit of deep musing, and Nina's heart was too sore with grief to feel like attempting conversation.They rested that night at an Indian camp on the prairies, and started at daylight the next morning. It was almost evening when familiar landmarks began to come in sight, and quite dark when they rode up to the sod house.The lamps were lighted inside, and creeping up to the windows Nina looked in, with a heart that was like to burst with mingled grief and joy.The children had gone to bed, and on either side of the table sat Joshua and Hannah Peniman. The Bible was open on the table between them, and Joshua Peniman's head was bent forward on his hands while Hannah sat with hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the fire, with an expression of heartbreak in their depths that made Nina sob aloud.Somewhere in that land of broken dreams in which her thoughts were wandering Hannah Peniman heard the sound. She started, looked up, saw the face at the window, and with a sharp, gasping breath sprang to her feet, her hand pressed against her breast.Nina dashed to the door, threw it open, and sprang into her arms."Mother Peniman, Mother Peniman!" she sobbed over and over, unable to speak any other word."Nina! Nina! My lamb! My child! Where did you come from?"Joshua Peniman had sprung to his feet and stood staring like a man in a dream.Before he could speak Mrs. Peniman had loosed Nina's arms from her neck and peered into her face."Nina"—she gasped, "Joe—where is he?"Nina buried her head in Mrs. Peniman's bosom. "Oh, Mother Peniman, Mother Peniman," she wailed over and over as if she could not speak the words that must be spoken.Joshua Peniman came to her, raised her head, and with his haggard eyes gazed into her face."What is it, Nina?" he said, with the gentle tone of authority she knew so well in his shaking voice. "Tell us. Anything is better than suspense."It was some minutes before she could control herself enough to speak. Then, as gently as she could, she told her story. When it was finished there was no sound in the room. Joshua Peniman stood as if turned to stone, while Hannah Peniman's face turned from white to livid grey and looked as if stricken with death.The sound of the talking had wakened the children, and they now came rushing out into the room; there was a wild shout of joy, which was changed to bitter tears as they heard the news she had brought them.Suddenly Joshua Peniman raised his head."I have not thought to ask how you got here, Nina?" he said, in a voice she would scarcely have recognized. "Surely you did not come alone?""No, Neowage brought me.""Neowage? Where is he?"They found him squatted in the grass outside, with too much delicacy of feeling to obtrude himself upon the family in their grief.Joshua Peniman grasped his hand in silence, unable to speak. In silence the Indian returned the pressure.When he had greeted the family with his impassive "How," and had eaten the meal which the weeping Ruth provided for him, he lay down before the fire and gazed thoughtfully into its depths. Hannah Peniman had gone away into the night alone, Ruth had taken Nina away to bed, and Joshua Peniman sat with his arms on the table and his head bowed upon them, a prey to the agony and despair of losing an eldest and best-beloved son.Suddenly Neowage looked up."Nee-ah-nah noseehim die!"Mr. Peniman raised his head, and his gentle face was seamed and seared as if a dozen years had gone over it."No, but I fear it is as she said. Joe would have been home before this if he was alive.""Sho no dead!"Again Neowage relapsed into silence, smoking his pipe and gazing steadily into the fire. Presently he rose, gathered his blanket about him, and shaking his host's hand solemnly strode forth into the night.For three days the Peniman family mourned Joe as dead.Mr. Peniman said little, but his hair turned white, almost in a night, and into Hannah Peniman's eyes had come a look of silent, patient suffering that none of the family could look upon without tears.To Lige and Sam the blow had come with a shock that left them stunned for a while, then overcome with uncontrollable grief. Ruth and Nina clung to one another in a sorrow too sharp and keen for words, and the little ones wept without ceasing for the brother who did not come home.On the morning of the fourth day the Chapter had been read, the silent prayer was over, and the family set mournfully about the work that had to be done, no matter how heavy the heart.Going down to the spring for water Lige passed the dugout, and hearing the step outside Kit put her head out and whinnied.The sound fairly unmanned him.Kit had always known Joe's step, and had greeted him with that glad little whinny every morning."He can't come to you this morning, Kit," he whispered huskily, going to her and putting his arms about her neck, "he can't come to you—or to us—ever again." And leaning against the smooth brown neck he burst into a passion of tears.To none of the family perhaps, except his mother, had Joe's absence brought more poignant grief. Always together, from their very babyhood, and dependent largely upon one another for companionship, there had grown up between the lads a comradeship so close, an affection so sweet and strong, that life seemed scarcely to be endured apart from one another.Lige had striven nobly to fill Joe's place, hoping daily, almost hourly, to see him come riding home. But as the days and weeks passed that hope had grown gradually fainter and fainter, until the news that he had just heard was merely a confirmation of the fear that was in his heart.So deeply was he plunged in grief that when he chanced to glance out and see two riders dashing across the prairies he took no interest in them. He glanced at them idly, then turned away as the blur of hot, bitter tears dimmed his eyes.Brushing them hastily aside he took up his pail and went on to the spring.Thus it was that Sam was the first to herald the approach of the strangers."Father," he said, in a sad, subdued voice, utterly unlike Sam's usual cheerful bellow, "here come two men on horseback. One of 'em looks like an Indian."Mr. Peniman rose quickly and went to the door. He had no hope, yet something in the words of Neowage the night before had clung in his memory and said themselves over and over in his brain all night."Nee-ah-nah noseehim die."No one had seen him die! Perhaps—perhaps God in His infinite mercy——As he stood in the doorway with his hand shading his eyes, his silvery hair glistening in the morning light, there was a strange tumult in his breast.He shaded his eyes and gazed intently. Presently when the riders had come nearer he saw one of them lean forward and wave his hat about his head."Hannah!" he called in a queer, choked voice, "Hannah!"Something in his tone brought her hurrying to the door.The riders were now galloping madly. One of them, far in advance of the other, leaned forward on his horse's neck, and waved and waved, riding as if the horse could not carry him fast enough.With a gasping breath Hannah Peniman clutched her husband's hand. Neither spoke. Both ashen pale, silent, tense, they strained forward, their eyes set on the riders galloping toward them.Suddenly from Hannah Peniman's lips came a hoarse, "Merciful God!"At the same moment Sam leaped through the door and began racing toward the riders with Paul at his heels, shouting frantically, "Joe, Joe,Joe!"The riders were close now, and the foremost, with tears streaming down his pale cheeks, was lashing the little Indian pony with one hand, while with the other he waved and waved his hat about his head, shouting, "Home, home, home!"None of them ever knew who reached him first, how or when or where he got off his horse, or how they all got back to the sod house, laughing and crying and clinging to one another, and saying over and over again as if they would never tire, "Joe's home, Joe's alive,Joe's home again!"Down at the spring Lige had heard nothing of the excitement. He had splashed water over his face and eyes to remove the traces of tears, and close by the running water had sat down to get control of himself before he should go back to his mother and the house. As he came slowly up the incline carrying the pail he saw a crowd about the door. For an instant he stood motionless, then dropped his pail and ran swiftly toward the house.Was it—-could it be—news of—ofJoe?When he was nearly to the house one of the children leaping and capering about stepped aside, and he saw a tall, slender boyish figure clasped in his mother's arms. Lige, tall young pioneer that he was, almost fainted. When the world righted itself he gave a hoarse, hysterical shout and dashing forward precipitated himself into Joe's arms.Perhaps it was his shout of "Joe, Joe, Joe!" perhaps the general hubbub, that awoke Nina, who, exhausted by the trials through which she had passed, had been charged to remain in bed.Startled by the noise she woke in a panic, leaped out of bed and ran to the window. What she saw outside held her there paralyzed, believing that she had lost her senses.Joe glancing up saw here there, her eyes wide and fixed, her face white as a snowdrop, her head framed in a nimbus of golden hair.Never while life lasted did he forget the picture."Nina!" he shouted, joy, amazement, incredulity in his voice.The girl meanwhile was staring at him as if he were a ghost."J—J—Jo-oe!" her lips framed the word rather than spoke it. Then again, as if she could not believe the evidence of her senses—"Joe!"Ruth ran to her and caught her in her arms. "Yes, Nina, yes, darling, don't look so scared. It isn't his ghost, it's justhimself, our own darling, blessed, precious Joesy home again, alive and well, and not dead at all!"Joe broke from his mother's arms."Nina, Nina," he cried stretching his arms toward the window, "oh, Nina, how did you get here? How did you escape? Oh, I've worried and worried and worried about you! Oh, thank God, you got home! I thought that the Sioux or Red Snake had got you again!"Nina leaned from the window gasping and panting."But you, Joe—you—I thought you were dead! I saw you fall—I saw you slide into the water—and when I went to look for you you were gone. Oh, Joe, where did you go? I thought you were dead——"She burst into a fit of hysterical weeping, and Ruth drew her back into the bedroom. A few minutes later, dressed, and a bit more calm, she burst from the door and ran into Joe's waiting arms.It took a vast amount of talking, of telling and explaining and exclaiming, and tears and chills and thrills, before the whole story was complete, its two parts pieced together and all the events that had caused so much suffering and anxiety made plain.It was a long time before Joe, with his hand clasped in his father's, his mother's arm about his neck, Ruth and Sara on either knee, Nina at his feet, and Lige and Sam and Paul and David crowded close up to him, had time to remember Pashepaho.When he did remember him he ran to the door and called him. The handsome young chief was standing outside, his face wreathed in smiles.Joe called to him joyously."Come on in here, Pashepaho," he shouted, "I want you to come in and join in the jamboree, and see all these blessed people I've been talking to you so much about." Then clasping Pashepaho's hand, "Listen, folks, I wouldn't be here now having you all make such a fuss over me if it wasn't for this fellow. If Pashepaho hadn't nursed me and tended me and doctored me like a brother I'd have been a dead one long ago."You may be sure that Pashepaho received a warm and cordial welcome from the family. When Mr. and Mrs. Peniman shook his hand and thanked him with deep emotion for all he had done for their son tears sprang to his eyes. But when the children gathered about him and pulled the feathers on his dress and tugged at the beads and laid timid fingers upon his tomahawk he smiled, gave Sam his war-bonnet to look at, took little David upon his knee, and was soon happy and at home amongst them.CHAPTER XXEAGLE EYE REMEMBERSWhen Eagle Eye left the Peniman family, striding away across the plains without a word of gratitude or farewell, Mrs. Peniman and the girls felt grieved and disappointed.It would have comforted them perhaps if they could have seen his face; if they could have detected the surreptitious glances he threw backward, or if they could have beheld the moisture that blurred his eyes, which he hurriedly wiped away as if ashamed of his weakness.He was not yet strong, and could not make rapid progress, and as he sat down in the grass now and then to rest his eyes turned ever backward to the homestead, while he turned over and over in his mind the story Joshua Peniman had told him.Of that story he knew more than the white man suspected.He was a Sioux, and had seen Red Snake among his people.When, after many days' travel, he at last reached the Sioux village on the Missouri River, near the mouth of the Niobrara, he went at once to the head chief of the tribe."Where Red Snake?" he asked in his own language."I know not," answered the chief in the same language, "I have not seen him for many sleeps.""Red Snake bad man," continued Eagle Eye, and proceeded to tell the chief the story that Joshua Peniman had told him, adding to it much that he had learned about the family while being nursed back to health among them.When he had finished the tale the old chief looked thoughtful."Red Snake has a bad heart to the white brother," he said after a long pause. "He has done much harm to my people. He leads my young men into much trouble. He has brought fire-water among us, he has taught our young men to drink. And when my young men are drunk he takes them on raids on the white people. He make me much trouble with the white man's government. I wish he would come to my teepees no more."Eagle Eye fervently echoed the wish."Where is the boy—the young maiden—he captured?" he continued.Eagle Eye shook his head. "Gone!" he said laconically.Both Indians puffed their pipes solemnly for a while. Then Eagle Eye asked the question he had been making ready to ask from the beginning."Does the Great Chief know what is Red Snake's name?"The old chief shook his head slowly."I know nothing. One time when the big fire burn the grass of the prairies Black Bear brought a white man to our camps. He was drunk and had been caught in the great fire. He was heap sick, sleep two, three, many days. He gave Black Bear much presents, gun, knife, beads, many things. He gave other young men of my camp presents. At last he gave them firewater, and my young men were pleased. They gave the paleface a place in the lodge of my people. They called him 'Red Snake' because he moved so still and the Great Spirit had given him red hair. After a while he married Wahahnesha. He has been with my people ever since.""And you never heard the true name of the white man?""No. He never told his name."For some minutes they smoked in silence. Then rising slowly the old chief went to the back of the lodge and returned with a pouch made of deerskin in his hand. From it he drew a small red morocco-covered book, which he held out to Eagle Eye."He lose. Me find. Me keep."Eagle Eye took the book and turned it over and over in his hands. As he turned its pages he could make out a lot of queer-looking marks and signs, which meant nothing to him. After scrutinizing it carefully but uselessly for a while he handed it back to the chief. The chief waved his hand."You keep," he said laconically, "give white man some day."After another silence he burst forth: "He no red snake, heblacksnake. Heap bad man. Some day he make heap trouble for Sioux. Bring white soldier—shoot my young men. Wish he killed—wish he come back to my people no more."Eagle Eye sat smoking silently for a time, then rose and left the lodge.He heard the sound of voices, and following it came to a great camp-fire, about which a number of young men of the tribe were sitting cross-legged on the ground. He greeted, then joined them, listening idly to the talk that went on among them.He learned after a time that they were talking about a great hunt that was to take place the next day, and that Red Snake, who had been suffering from a wound in the knee and had gone to Bellevue to see a white man's doctor, had returned the day before and was to accompany them. There was much joking about the presents he had brought them and the fire-water that was to be taken with them on the hunt, and which was to enliven their night camps."And where is the hunt to be?" asked Eagle Eye, a quick alarming thought running through his head."To the Minne-to-wauk-pala. He say heap much antelope, elk, buffalo out that way."The eyes which had given the young Indian his name blazed hotly. In an instant he saw the plan. He knew as well as if he had heard the details that the drunken degenerate white man was planning to take these young men on a hunting expedition, and when they were crazed with fire-water lead them on a raid on the Peniman homestead, for which, if trouble arose, they would be blamed, and he would escape free, and yet would be enabled to work out his fiendish designs upon the family.Without a moment's hesitation he resolved to join the hunt.Long before the sun rose the next morning the young Indians were on their way. Red Snake, attired in his usual fashion, with his face stained red and great warlike emblems of red and blue and yellow painted on his face and breast, led the way.He was not intoxicated this day, Eagle Eye observed with some interest, and the fire-water was kept carefully secreted until they made their night camp, when a demijohn was passed around and around among them until the Indians were all wild or stupid. He drank nothing. Eagle Eye, while making a great pretense of roisterous drinking, took little, but pretending to be stupefied lay down beside the fire with his blanket over his head and watched and listened until all was still.The camp had sunk to silence, the whoops and yelps of the drunken Indians had gradually sunk to grunts and snores, when Eagle Eye saw Red Snake creep from his blanket and signal to Black Bear, a wild young buck who had already been in considerable trouble, and draw him away from the camp.Eagle Eye lay still for a few moments, then rolling over and grunting, as if in a bad dream, edged himself away from the firelight until he reached the shadows beyond, then on hands and knees crept noiselessly through the grass until he was within earshot of Red Snake and Black Bear. They were talking in low, guttural tones, fortunately in the Sioux dialect.After a jumble of talk, of which he could make nothing, he heard at last the thing for which he had been waiting; Red Snake and Black Bear were planning a raid upon the Peniman homestead, and to Black Bear was confided the details of leading the raid, while Red Snake himself would be free to carry out whatever nefarious designs on the persons or property of the settlers he might have in mind without danger of detection.Eagle Eye's blood boiled hotly. Not only was his indignation aroused against the renegade by the feeling of gratitude for the white family who had nursed and tended him, but because of his loyalty and devotion to his own people.He had been one of those who had been betrayed into making the assault upon the Peniman place before, and his life had nearly paid the penalty of his folly. Then, as now, the young Indians had known nothing of his plans, but maddened with fire-water, incited by wild tales of loot and treasure, they had followed him, ignorant of the fact that they were being made the cat's-paw to cover his crimes, and that should detection and punishment follow it was the Sioux who would be blamed and punished by the white man's law, while the white man who was responsible for it would escape, his villainy covered by the blanket and war-paint of an Indian.All the next day the party hunted, bringing down many elk, deer, and antelope, cheered and enlivened by the prospect of the evening's carousal and the tales of the great herds of buffalo they would overtake the next day.There was little sleep for any one in the camp that night. When darkness fell the camp-fire was lighted, and the supply of fire-water with which Red Snake had liberally provided himself while he was in Bellevue was sent around. No limit was put upon it, and after a time the prairies rung and the night was made hideous by the yelps and howls and wild orgies of the Indians, who, unaccustomed to the poisonous stuff, were made fairly mad and frantic by it.When the start was made in the morning they were still drunk. Many of them were like mad men, while others were stupefied and logy, scarcely able to sit their ponies and utterly unfitted for the chase. Whether the tales of Red Snake in regard to the great herds of buffalo between them and the Minne-to-wauk-pala were intended as fiction or not they turned out to be true, and shortly after daylight they spied a vast herd feeding to the north of them, for which the Indians started with wild whoops of delight.Red Snake followed, cursing. His plan was not working out exactly as he intended.Riding like maniacs the crazed young warriors soon came close enough to the herd to fire, and a volley of arrows whizzed through the air, stinging and maddening the animals, and while not wounding severely making them ready to fight.Instead of fleeing in terror, as they did from gunfire, they turned about and made a dash into the ranks of the drunken Indians, who, utterly unprepared for such action, became panic-stricken and many of those who sat their ponies unsteadily were thrown and trampled in the wild stampede that followed, while others fired wildly and recklessly, their arrows stinging and maddening the beasts, which gored and trampled the hunters that fell at their feet.With wild shouts Eagle Eye urged his pony in among them, trying with all the might that was in him to rescue his friends, who, maddened and stupefied by the deadly effects of the liquor they had drunk the night before, were unable to help themselves.As he stood with his bow curved, his arrow poised for flight, his eye chanced to fall upon Red Snake, the baleful and malign influence that had brought this and other troubles upon his people. Eagle Eye was a hereditary chief, and loved his people with the love of a father. Suddenly as he gazed upon the renegade white man a fierce anger burned in his breast. He saw red. His blood surged madly through his veins. And changing the aim of his arrow with the quickness of lightning he bent his bow strongly and let it fly, carrying his vengeance with it.He saw Red Snake throw up his hands, heard above the uproar his yell of rage and pain, and saw him fall and the buffaloes charge on and over him, galloping away over the plains.When they had gone the survivors of the disaster, sobered by their peril, drew close together and looked about them. On the ground were strewn the carcasses of a number of buffaloes, and among them, mangled and crushed out of all human semblance, were many of the young Indians who had set out that morning so recklessly.Black Bear, who remained unhurt, went among them turning over those that lay face downward, lifting those that were alive, passing by those that were dead with a grunt. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation and stooped over a prostrate figure. Eagle Eye moved nearer. As Black Bear lifted the trampled and mangled form he saw that it was Red Snake."Is he dead?" he asked in his own language.Black Bear put his ear to the chest of the wounded man."No, he is breathing," he answered in the same language."Then put him on your horse and take him home," thundered Eagle Eye. "He is your friend. You brought him among us to bring death and trouble and disgrace to your own people. Now look out for him. And you"—he pointed his finger in the face of Black Bear with a look that made him cringe, "go to the chief when you get there. I know what you were going to do. I heard your plan. The chief will settle with you for it."Without a word the Indian stooped and picking up the body of Red Snake threw it across his horse, mounted behind it, and rode away. Eagle Eye stayed behind to bury the dead, look after the wounded, and see that the Indians who were too drunken to take care of themselves were mounted and started back toward their village.When he arrived Black Bear was there."Does Red Snake still live?" he asked."He still lives," replied Black Bear."So much the worse for you," Eagle Eye told him, and driving Black Bear before him went straight to the lodge of the chief, where he told him the whole story.When it was finished the old man turned to Black Bear."Have you no love for your people," he asked, "that you are willing to lead them to death and destruction? Well are you named 'Black Bear,' who sees not the danger when his nose is tickled by the honey-pots of strangers. You would have betrayed your people. You would have led your own kindred into the snare laid for you by the white man who has a bad heart toward Indians. You have caused the death of our young men. You are not worthy to live in the lodge of your people. Go; from this day forth you are no longer one of us. We cast you out. Now go!"He slunk away, and at the same moment a young squaw entered the lodge of the chief in search of Eagle Eye."You speak the tongue of the white man," she said. "Come!"Leading him to a teepee not far away she pushed aside the skin that hung over the door. He entered and saw Red Snake lying on a pile of skins and blankets in a corner, crushed and bleeding, the seal of approaching death upon his face.As Eagle Eye approached him he opened his eyes."You die," said the Indian, looking down upon him sternly, his arms folded across his breast.Red Snake looked up, the dew of death upon his forehead."Yes," he sneered. "It's all over. The game's up—and I'm glad of it.""Who are you? What you name?" asked Eagle Eye."No matter who I am. I've sacrificed all claim to the name I was born with. I'll die as I have lived, as 'Red Snake,' a squaw-man, a renegade, a drunkard, an all-around bad egg."As the words left his lips a shudder ran through his body, his eyes flew wide, and he clutched wildly at his breast; then with a gasping breath fell backward, the blood gushing from his lips.Eagle Eye bent over him. The Indian head-dress had been lost or cast aside and his thick mane of red hair fell loose about his face. Beneath the buckskin shirt which he had thrust aside in his agony his skin was smooth and white, and, as if in immutable justice for the deed that he had done, a feathered arrow protruded from his breast.The Indian stood looking down at the dead body for a moment, then spurned it with his foot.He turned presently and cast his keen eyes about the wigwam. With a step as soft as that of a panther he skirted its walls, and from under a heap of hides, blankets and rubbish in a corner drew forth a battered tin box.For a moment he stood holding it in his hands and gazing at it curiously. Then he tucked it under his arm under his blanket, and with a backward glance at the body and a muttered "Ugh!" lifted the flap and passed out into the night.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW JOE CAME HOME
When Nina saw Joe fall and heard him slide down the bank and into the water she thought he was dead.
When she could see nothing of him, and heard the Indians rushing through the trees and grass above her she fled like a startled rabbit through the undergrowth.
She saw an Indian dash down the bank and look up and down the creek, then she heard his footsteps recede and words called out in a language she did not understand. Twice while she hid and cowered in the undergrowth she saw Indians come down to the creek and look along its banks, then she heard them ride away.
Many times in her flight she stopped and listened. It was pitch-dark in the thicket, and the little girl, creeping forward through the underbrush, was half-crazed with fear. But she knew that her best protection from capture by the savages was in the tangled brush, and she fought her way gallantly through it, and just at dawn found herself at the edge of the thicket, with the broad, open prairies before her.
Remembering Joe's directions she gave the whistle he had always used in calling Kit, and to her unbounded joy heard a low, smothered whinny in answer.
In her terror and loneliness it sounded to the little Princess like the voice of an old friend. Guiding her direction by the sound she stole along in the shadow of the thicket and not long after came to where Kit, still tied as Joe had left her, turned her slender head and intelligent eyes toward her, pawing the ground with an impatient hoof.
Nina had never ridden horseback, but she was too terrified, too weary now to remember that. Clasping her arms about Kit's neck she managed to scramble on her back and started off, not knowing which way to go, but eager to put distance in any direction between herself and the horrors with which she had been surrounded.
She had to cling tight to Kit's mane to keep from falling off, and was afraid to let her go much faster than a walk, so that her progress was slow and difficult. Sunrise found her plodding on, a forlorn little figure on a big bay mare, tears running down her face, and muffled sobs shaking her.
[image]SUNRISE FOUND HER PLODDING ON, A FORLORN LITTLE FIGURE ON A BIG BAY MARE.
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SUNRISE FOUND HER PLODDING ON, A FORLORN LITTLE FIGURE ON A BIG BAY MARE.
Shortly after sunrise she was overtaken by a band of Winnebago Indians laden with elk hides and buffalo skins, returning to their camp from a week's hunt in the Blackbird Hills.
The surprise of the Indians may be imagined when seeing a solitary rider ambling slowly and apparently aimlessly over the prairies, they overtook it and saw that the rider was a beautiful little white girl, who cried bitterly when they spoke to her and would not tell who she was, where she had come from or where she was going.
None of the band could speak English, and as Nina knew no Indian there was little chance of her being able to inform them. It was quite evident, however, that the child was wild with terror when they approached her, and when they took her and her horse in tow she shrieked and fought, utterly unaware that they were doing their utmost to assure her that they were "good Indians," that they never hurt children and would take her back to her home and family if she could make them understand where she lived.
After much perplexed discussion among themselves the Winnebagoes decided to take her back with them to their encampment, where they would find some of their tribe who spoke English, and find out who the young stranger might be.
They tried to be kind and gentle to her, and the squaws did their best to comfort her, but the child was in a perfect panic of terror, and at the approach of every new person shrank and shuddered, looking with great agonized violet eyes into the faces of the Indians, and shaking and trembling with fear. To her all Indians were alike, and momentarily she expected the hated Red Snake to come and claim her.
As days passed, however, and Red Snake did not appear, when day followed day and no dreadful thing happened to her, and she saw the boys and men ride away leaving her behind with the squaws, old men and children, she began to be less afraid. Little by little the haunted look of terror left her eyes, and after a time she began to scrape acquaintance with the children that hung fascinated about her. The bright-eyed little papooses strapped to their rigid back-boards appealed to her wonderfully, and when she sat down before them and played with them, chucking them under their fat little chins and playing "peek-a-boo" with her apron, they squealed with laughter, and she too could begin to smile. After a while she began to play with the little Indian girls and boys, and little by little to learn their language and teach them hers.
Twice the camp was moved, and Nina was moved with it, helping the squaws with the babies, and feeling tremendous interest in the bustle of preparation, when the teepees were taken down, folded and tied with cords made of deer and buffalo hide, and fastened to the ponies, strong shaggy little beasts which dragged them after them in long traces, while the women carried the bundles, and the braves walked along smoking their pipes ahead of the procession, or nonchalantly rode their ponies, leaving the squaws and children to bear all the burdens and shoulder all the responsibilities of moving.
At first Nina could not understand these moves, but gradually came to know that the Indians were engaged in their fall hunt, and that while the men scoured the plains for the animals that provided them with food, clothing, and shelter for the winter, the women and children moved slowly along behind them with the equipment, so that the camp to which the hunters belonged was never far away.
The Indians were all kind to her, the women gentle and even motherly to the little paleface that had been thrust so unceremoniously among them, the men quiet and grave, but never cross nor severe.
Gradually as the days passed by she became fond of her little playfellows, and though she was desperately unhappy, and longed with a sick, yearning heartache for her adopted home, she did not suffer as she might have suffered if she had fallen among less quiet and gentle people.
One day when she had been romping over the prairie with the children and dogs they came back to find a great band of hunters just riding in, laden with the fruits of the chase. Some of them bore long poles on their shoulders from which were suspended the carcases of elk and deer, others carried great willow baskets, which the Indian women made, containing the meat of deer, antelope, and buffaloes which had been stripped from the bones to save carrying the huge bodies; others carried great baskets of grouse, prairie-chicken, and quail, and the whole camp was full of rejoicing.
Among the hunters was one tall, powerful Indian, who stopped short as the group of children came running toward them, and stared at Nina with an expression of utter astonishment on his face.
Pointing his finger at her he asked in the Winnebago dialect how she came to be there. A babel of tongues broke out among the children and squaws, each trying to tell her version of the story.
Nina, seeing him staring at her, was filled with fear. Her face paled, her great violet eyes widened with terror, and her bosom began to heave. But the red man walked straight up to her and put out a big brown hand.
"How, Nee-ah-nah," he said, and smiled down upon her.
Nina, with a trembling hand at her bosom, drew back.
The big Indian smiled, and putting his hand in his bosom, brought forth a little chain of blue beads which he held up before her.
The child looked, gasped, then looked again, then with a joyful cry ran to him.
"Neowage, Neowage!" she cried.
The big Indian grinned down at her and held her hand.
"How come here?" he asked gently.
Nina burst into tears. "I was captured by the Sioux," she cried. "They made an assault on the house—they got me—and Joe—Joe came after me to rescue me—and he was killed, Neowage, he waskilled! Red Snake shot him."
Neowage threw up his hands. "Ai-ee, ai-ee! Keel?Shokeel? Ai-ee, that too bad. Tell."
Between her heartbroken sobs Nina told of the assault upon the sod house, of her capture, and of Joe's attempted rescue and what followed. When she had finished she clung to Neowage's hand sobbing bitterly.
"Take me home, Neowage," she begged, "oh,take me home! They've been good and kind to me here, but oh, I want to go back to Mother Peniman, and Ruth and Sara and Lige and Sam and little Da-da! I want to go back to them and try to comfort them, for if it were not for me dear Joe would not now be gone."
The big Indian stroked the golden hair with his great brown hands and patted and comforted her.
"Me take you home, Nee-ah-nah," he said, "me take you home."
The next morning Nina bade farewell to the squaws and papooses, the boys and girls that had been so kind to her, and mounted upon Kit's back, rode away by the side of Neowage in the direction of the homestead on the Blue River.
It was a soft golden day in early October, and the prairies were yellow with goldenrod and spangled gayly with sunflowers and St. Michaelmas daisies. As they rode the sun cast long shadows on the grass that looked like brown velvet in the distance, and the sky arched over them with a blue that is all Nebraska's own.
They talked little on the way. Neowage seemed to have fallen into a fit of deep musing, and Nina's heart was too sore with grief to feel like attempting conversation.
They rested that night at an Indian camp on the prairies, and started at daylight the next morning. It was almost evening when familiar landmarks began to come in sight, and quite dark when they rode up to the sod house.
The lamps were lighted inside, and creeping up to the windows Nina looked in, with a heart that was like to burst with mingled grief and joy.
The children had gone to bed, and on either side of the table sat Joshua and Hannah Peniman. The Bible was open on the table between them, and Joshua Peniman's head was bent forward on his hands while Hannah sat with hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the fire, with an expression of heartbreak in their depths that made Nina sob aloud.
Somewhere in that land of broken dreams in which her thoughts were wandering Hannah Peniman heard the sound. She started, looked up, saw the face at the window, and with a sharp, gasping breath sprang to her feet, her hand pressed against her breast.
Nina dashed to the door, threw it open, and sprang into her arms.
"Mother Peniman, Mother Peniman!" she sobbed over and over, unable to speak any other word.
"Nina! Nina! My lamb! My child! Where did you come from?"
Joshua Peniman had sprung to his feet and stood staring like a man in a dream.
Before he could speak Mrs. Peniman had loosed Nina's arms from her neck and peered into her face.
"Nina"—she gasped, "Joe—where is he?"
Nina buried her head in Mrs. Peniman's bosom. "Oh, Mother Peniman, Mother Peniman," she wailed over and over as if she could not speak the words that must be spoken.
Joshua Peniman came to her, raised her head, and with his haggard eyes gazed into her face.
"What is it, Nina?" he said, with the gentle tone of authority she knew so well in his shaking voice. "Tell us. Anything is better than suspense."
It was some minutes before she could control herself enough to speak. Then, as gently as she could, she told her story. When it was finished there was no sound in the room. Joshua Peniman stood as if turned to stone, while Hannah Peniman's face turned from white to livid grey and looked as if stricken with death.
The sound of the talking had wakened the children, and they now came rushing out into the room; there was a wild shout of joy, which was changed to bitter tears as they heard the news she had brought them.
Suddenly Joshua Peniman raised his head.
"I have not thought to ask how you got here, Nina?" he said, in a voice she would scarcely have recognized. "Surely you did not come alone?"
"No, Neowage brought me."
"Neowage? Where is he?"
They found him squatted in the grass outside, with too much delicacy of feeling to obtrude himself upon the family in their grief.
Joshua Peniman grasped his hand in silence, unable to speak. In silence the Indian returned the pressure.
When he had greeted the family with his impassive "How," and had eaten the meal which the weeping Ruth provided for him, he lay down before the fire and gazed thoughtfully into its depths. Hannah Peniman had gone away into the night alone, Ruth had taken Nina away to bed, and Joshua Peniman sat with his arms on the table and his head bowed upon them, a prey to the agony and despair of losing an eldest and best-beloved son.
Suddenly Neowage looked up.
"Nee-ah-nah noseehim die!"
Mr. Peniman raised his head, and his gentle face was seamed and seared as if a dozen years had gone over it.
"No, but I fear it is as she said. Joe would have been home before this if he was alive."
"Sho no dead!"
Again Neowage relapsed into silence, smoking his pipe and gazing steadily into the fire. Presently he rose, gathered his blanket about him, and shaking his host's hand solemnly strode forth into the night.
For three days the Peniman family mourned Joe as dead.
Mr. Peniman said little, but his hair turned white, almost in a night, and into Hannah Peniman's eyes had come a look of silent, patient suffering that none of the family could look upon without tears.
To Lige and Sam the blow had come with a shock that left them stunned for a while, then overcome with uncontrollable grief. Ruth and Nina clung to one another in a sorrow too sharp and keen for words, and the little ones wept without ceasing for the brother who did not come home.
On the morning of the fourth day the Chapter had been read, the silent prayer was over, and the family set mournfully about the work that had to be done, no matter how heavy the heart.
Going down to the spring for water Lige passed the dugout, and hearing the step outside Kit put her head out and whinnied.
The sound fairly unmanned him.
Kit had always known Joe's step, and had greeted him with that glad little whinny every morning.
"He can't come to you this morning, Kit," he whispered huskily, going to her and putting his arms about her neck, "he can't come to you—or to us—ever again." And leaning against the smooth brown neck he burst into a passion of tears.
To none of the family perhaps, except his mother, had Joe's absence brought more poignant grief. Always together, from their very babyhood, and dependent largely upon one another for companionship, there had grown up between the lads a comradeship so close, an affection so sweet and strong, that life seemed scarcely to be endured apart from one another.
Lige had striven nobly to fill Joe's place, hoping daily, almost hourly, to see him come riding home. But as the days and weeks passed that hope had grown gradually fainter and fainter, until the news that he had just heard was merely a confirmation of the fear that was in his heart.
So deeply was he plunged in grief that when he chanced to glance out and see two riders dashing across the prairies he took no interest in them. He glanced at them idly, then turned away as the blur of hot, bitter tears dimmed his eyes.
Brushing them hastily aside he took up his pail and went on to the spring.
Thus it was that Sam was the first to herald the approach of the strangers.
"Father," he said, in a sad, subdued voice, utterly unlike Sam's usual cheerful bellow, "here come two men on horseback. One of 'em looks like an Indian."
Mr. Peniman rose quickly and went to the door. He had no hope, yet something in the words of Neowage the night before had clung in his memory and said themselves over and over in his brain all night.
"Nee-ah-nah noseehim die."
No one had seen him die! Perhaps—perhaps God in His infinite mercy——
As he stood in the doorway with his hand shading his eyes, his silvery hair glistening in the morning light, there was a strange tumult in his breast.
He shaded his eyes and gazed intently. Presently when the riders had come nearer he saw one of them lean forward and wave his hat about his head.
"Hannah!" he called in a queer, choked voice, "Hannah!"
Something in his tone brought her hurrying to the door.
The riders were now galloping madly. One of them, far in advance of the other, leaned forward on his horse's neck, and waved and waved, riding as if the horse could not carry him fast enough.
With a gasping breath Hannah Peniman clutched her husband's hand. Neither spoke. Both ashen pale, silent, tense, they strained forward, their eyes set on the riders galloping toward them.
Suddenly from Hannah Peniman's lips came a hoarse, "Merciful God!"
At the same moment Sam leaped through the door and began racing toward the riders with Paul at his heels, shouting frantically, "Joe, Joe,Joe!"
The riders were close now, and the foremost, with tears streaming down his pale cheeks, was lashing the little Indian pony with one hand, while with the other he waved and waved his hat about his head, shouting, "Home, home, home!"
None of them ever knew who reached him first, how or when or where he got off his horse, or how they all got back to the sod house, laughing and crying and clinging to one another, and saying over and over again as if they would never tire, "Joe's home, Joe's alive,Joe's home again!"
Down at the spring Lige had heard nothing of the excitement. He had splashed water over his face and eyes to remove the traces of tears, and close by the running water had sat down to get control of himself before he should go back to his mother and the house. As he came slowly up the incline carrying the pail he saw a crowd about the door. For an instant he stood motionless, then dropped his pail and ran swiftly toward the house.
Was it—-could it be—news of—ofJoe?
When he was nearly to the house one of the children leaping and capering about stepped aside, and he saw a tall, slender boyish figure clasped in his mother's arms. Lige, tall young pioneer that he was, almost fainted. When the world righted itself he gave a hoarse, hysterical shout and dashing forward precipitated himself into Joe's arms.
Perhaps it was his shout of "Joe, Joe, Joe!" perhaps the general hubbub, that awoke Nina, who, exhausted by the trials through which she had passed, had been charged to remain in bed.
Startled by the noise she woke in a panic, leaped out of bed and ran to the window. What she saw outside held her there paralyzed, believing that she had lost her senses.
Joe glancing up saw here there, her eyes wide and fixed, her face white as a snowdrop, her head framed in a nimbus of golden hair.
Never while life lasted did he forget the picture.
"Nina!" he shouted, joy, amazement, incredulity in his voice.
The girl meanwhile was staring at him as if he were a ghost.
"J—J—Jo-oe!" her lips framed the word rather than spoke it. Then again, as if she could not believe the evidence of her senses—"Joe!"
Ruth ran to her and caught her in her arms. "Yes, Nina, yes, darling, don't look so scared. It isn't his ghost, it's justhimself, our own darling, blessed, precious Joesy home again, alive and well, and not dead at all!"
Joe broke from his mother's arms.
"Nina, Nina," he cried stretching his arms toward the window, "oh, Nina, how did you get here? How did you escape? Oh, I've worried and worried and worried about you! Oh, thank God, you got home! I thought that the Sioux or Red Snake had got you again!"
Nina leaned from the window gasping and panting.
"But you, Joe—you—I thought you were dead! I saw you fall—I saw you slide into the water—and when I went to look for you you were gone. Oh, Joe, where did you go? I thought you were dead——"
She burst into a fit of hysterical weeping, and Ruth drew her back into the bedroom. A few minutes later, dressed, and a bit more calm, she burst from the door and ran into Joe's waiting arms.
It took a vast amount of talking, of telling and explaining and exclaiming, and tears and chills and thrills, before the whole story was complete, its two parts pieced together and all the events that had caused so much suffering and anxiety made plain.
It was a long time before Joe, with his hand clasped in his father's, his mother's arm about his neck, Ruth and Sara on either knee, Nina at his feet, and Lige and Sam and Paul and David crowded close up to him, had time to remember Pashepaho.
When he did remember him he ran to the door and called him. The handsome young chief was standing outside, his face wreathed in smiles.
Joe called to him joyously.
"Come on in here, Pashepaho," he shouted, "I want you to come in and join in the jamboree, and see all these blessed people I've been talking to you so much about." Then clasping Pashepaho's hand, "Listen, folks, I wouldn't be here now having you all make such a fuss over me if it wasn't for this fellow. If Pashepaho hadn't nursed me and tended me and doctored me like a brother I'd have been a dead one long ago."
You may be sure that Pashepaho received a warm and cordial welcome from the family. When Mr. and Mrs. Peniman shook his hand and thanked him with deep emotion for all he had done for their son tears sprang to his eyes. But when the children gathered about him and pulled the feathers on his dress and tugged at the beads and laid timid fingers upon his tomahawk he smiled, gave Sam his war-bonnet to look at, took little David upon his knee, and was soon happy and at home amongst them.
CHAPTER XX
EAGLE EYE REMEMBERS
When Eagle Eye left the Peniman family, striding away across the plains without a word of gratitude or farewell, Mrs. Peniman and the girls felt grieved and disappointed.
It would have comforted them perhaps if they could have seen his face; if they could have detected the surreptitious glances he threw backward, or if they could have beheld the moisture that blurred his eyes, which he hurriedly wiped away as if ashamed of his weakness.
He was not yet strong, and could not make rapid progress, and as he sat down in the grass now and then to rest his eyes turned ever backward to the homestead, while he turned over and over in his mind the story Joshua Peniman had told him.
Of that story he knew more than the white man suspected.
He was a Sioux, and had seen Red Snake among his people.
When, after many days' travel, he at last reached the Sioux village on the Missouri River, near the mouth of the Niobrara, he went at once to the head chief of the tribe.
"Where Red Snake?" he asked in his own language.
"I know not," answered the chief in the same language, "I have not seen him for many sleeps."
"Red Snake bad man," continued Eagle Eye, and proceeded to tell the chief the story that Joshua Peniman had told him, adding to it much that he had learned about the family while being nursed back to health among them.
When he had finished the tale the old chief looked thoughtful.
"Red Snake has a bad heart to the white brother," he said after a long pause. "He has done much harm to my people. He leads my young men into much trouble. He has brought fire-water among us, he has taught our young men to drink. And when my young men are drunk he takes them on raids on the white people. He make me much trouble with the white man's government. I wish he would come to my teepees no more."
Eagle Eye fervently echoed the wish.
"Where is the boy—the young maiden—he captured?" he continued.
Eagle Eye shook his head. "Gone!" he said laconically.
Both Indians puffed their pipes solemnly for a while. Then Eagle Eye asked the question he had been making ready to ask from the beginning.
"Does the Great Chief know what is Red Snake's name?"
The old chief shook his head slowly.
"I know nothing. One time when the big fire burn the grass of the prairies Black Bear brought a white man to our camps. He was drunk and had been caught in the great fire. He was heap sick, sleep two, three, many days. He gave Black Bear much presents, gun, knife, beads, many things. He gave other young men of my camp presents. At last he gave them firewater, and my young men were pleased. They gave the paleface a place in the lodge of my people. They called him 'Red Snake' because he moved so still and the Great Spirit had given him red hair. After a while he married Wahahnesha. He has been with my people ever since."
"And you never heard the true name of the white man?"
"No. He never told his name."
For some minutes they smoked in silence. Then rising slowly the old chief went to the back of the lodge and returned with a pouch made of deerskin in his hand. From it he drew a small red morocco-covered book, which he held out to Eagle Eye.
"He lose. Me find. Me keep."
Eagle Eye took the book and turned it over and over in his hands. As he turned its pages he could make out a lot of queer-looking marks and signs, which meant nothing to him. After scrutinizing it carefully but uselessly for a while he handed it back to the chief. The chief waved his hand.
"You keep," he said laconically, "give white man some day."
After another silence he burst forth: "He no red snake, heblacksnake. Heap bad man. Some day he make heap trouble for Sioux. Bring white soldier—shoot my young men. Wish he killed—wish he come back to my people no more."
Eagle Eye sat smoking silently for a time, then rose and left the lodge.
He heard the sound of voices, and following it came to a great camp-fire, about which a number of young men of the tribe were sitting cross-legged on the ground. He greeted, then joined them, listening idly to the talk that went on among them.
He learned after a time that they were talking about a great hunt that was to take place the next day, and that Red Snake, who had been suffering from a wound in the knee and had gone to Bellevue to see a white man's doctor, had returned the day before and was to accompany them. There was much joking about the presents he had brought them and the fire-water that was to be taken with them on the hunt, and which was to enliven their night camps.
"And where is the hunt to be?" asked Eagle Eye, a quick alarming thought running through his head.
"To the Minne-to-wauk-pala. He say heap much antelope, elk, buffalo out that way."
The eyes which had given the young Indian his name blazed hotly. In an instant he saw the plan. He knew as well as if he had heard the details that the drunken degenerate white man was planning to take these young men on a hunting expedition, and when they were crazed with fire-water lead them on a raid on the Peniman homestead, for which, if trouble arose, they would be blamed, and he would escape free, and yet would be enabled to work out his fiendish designs upon the family.
Without a moment's hesitation he resolved to join the hunt.
Long before the sun rose the next morning the young Indians were on their way. Red Snake, attired in his usual fashion, with his face stained red and great warlike emblems of red and blue and yellow painted on his face and breast, led the way.
He was not intoxicated this day, Eagle Eye observed with some interest, and the fire-water was kept carefully secreted until they made their night camp, when a demijohn was passed around and around among them until the Indians were all wild or stupid. He drank nothing. Eagle Eye, while making a great pretense of roisterous drinking, took little, but pretending to be stupefied lay down beside the fire with his blanket over his head and watched and listened until all was still.
The camp had sunk to silence, the whoops and yelps of the drunken Indians had gradually sunk to grunts and snores, when Eagle Eye saw Red Snake creep from his blanket and signal to Black Bear, a wild young buck who had already been in considerable trouble, and draw him away from the camp.
Eagle Eye lay still for a few moments, then rolling over and grunting, as if in a bad dream, edged himself away from the firelight until he reached the shadows beyond, then on hands and knees crept noiselessly through the grass until he was within earshot of Red Snake and Black Bear. They were talking in low, guttural tones, fortunately in the Sioux dialect.
After a jumble of talk, of which he could make nothing, he heard at last the thing for which he had been waiting; Red Snake and Black Bear were planning a raid upon the Peniman homestead, and to Black Bear was confided the details of leading the raid, while Red Snake himself would be free to carry out whatever nefarious designs on the persons or property of the settlers he might have in mind without danger of detection.
Eagle Eye's blood boiled hotly. Not only was his indignation aroused against the renegade by the feeling of gratitude for the white family who had nursed and tended him, but because of his loyalty and devotion to his own people.
He had been one of those who had been betrayed into making the assault upon the Peniman place before, and his life had nearly paid the penalty of his folly. Then, as now, the young Indians had known nothing of his plans, but maddened with fire-water, incited by wild tales of loot and treasure, they had followed him, ignorant of the fact that they were being made the cat's-paw to cover his crimes, and that should detection and punishment follow it was the Sioux who would be blamed and punished by the white man's law, while the white man who was responsible for it would escape, his villainy covered by the blanket and war-paint of an Indian.
All the next day the party hunted, bringing down many elk, deer, and antelope, cheered and enlivened by the prospect of the evening's carousal and the tales of the great herds of buffalo they would overtake the next day.
There was little sleep for any one in the camp that night. When darkness fell the camp-fire was lighted, and the supply of fire-water with which Red Snake had liberally provided himself while he was in Bellevue was sent around. No limit was put upon it, and after a time the prairies rung and the night was made hideous by the yelps and howls and wild orgies of the Indians, who, unaccustomed to the poisonous stuff, were made fairly mad and frantic by it.
When the start was made in the morning they were still drunk. Many of them were like mad men, while others were stupefied and logy, scarcely able to sit their ponies and utterly unfitted for the chase. Whether the tales of Red Snake in regard to the great herds of buffalo between them and the Minne-to-wauk-pala were intended as fiction or not they turned out to be true, and shortly after daylight they spied a vast herd feeding to the north of them, for which the Indians started with wild whoops of delight.
Red Snake followed, cursing. His plan was not working out exactly as he intended.
Riding like maniacs the crazed young warriors soon came close enough to the herd to fire, and a volley of arrows whizzed through the air, stinging and maddening the animals, and while not wounding severely making them ready to fight.
Instead of fleeing in terror, as they did from gunfire, they turned about and made a dash into the ranks of the drunken Indians, who, utterly unprepared for such action, became panic-stricken and many of those who sat their ponies unsteadily were thrown and trampled in the wild stampede that followed, while others fired wildly and recklessly, their arrows stinging and maddening the beasts, which gored and trampled the hunters that fell at their feet.
With wild shouts Eagle Eye urged his pony in among them, trying with all the might that was in him to rescue his friends, who, maddened and stupefied by the deadly effects of the liquor they had drunk the night before, were unable to help themselves.
As he stood with his bow curved, his arrow poised for flight, his eye chanced to fall upon Red Snake, the baleful and malign influence that had brought this and other troubles upon his people. Eagle Eye was a hereditary chief, and loved his people with the love of a father. Suddenly as he gazed upon the renegade white man a fierce anger burned in his breast. He saw red. His blood surged madly through his veins. And changing the aim of his arrow with the quickness of lightning he bent his bow strongly and let it fly, carrying his vengeance with it.
He saw Red Snake throw up his hands, heard above the uproar his yell of rage and pain, and saw him fall and the buffaloes charge on and over him, galloping away over the plains.
When they had gone the survivors of the disaster, sobered by their peril, drew close together and looked about them. On the ground were strewn the carcasses of a number of buffaloes, and among them, mangled and crushed out of all human semblance, were many of the young Indians who had set out that morning so recklessly.
Black Bear, who remained unhurt, went among them turning over those that lay face downward, lifting those that were alive, passing by those that were dead with a grunt. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation and stooped over a prostrate figure. Eagle Eye moved nearer. As Black Bear lifted the trampled and mangled form he saw that it was Red Snake.
"Is he dead?" he asked in his own language.
Black Bear put his ear to the chest of the wounded man.
"No, he is breathing," he answered in the same language.
"Then put him on your horse and take him home," thundered Eagle Eye. "He is your friend. You brought him among us to bring death and trouble and disgrace to your own people. Now look out for him. And you"—he pointed his finger in the face of Black Bear with a look that made him cringe, "go to the chief when you get there. I know what you were going to do. I heard your plan. The chief will settle with you for it."
Without a word the Indian stooped and picking up the body of Red Snake threw it across his horse, mounted behind it, and rode away. Eagle Eye stayed behind to bury the dead, look after the wounded, and see that the Indians who were too drunken to take care of themselves were mounted and started back toward their village.
When he arrived Black Bear was there.
"Does Red Snake still live?" he asked.
"He still lives," replied Black Bear.
"So much the worse for you," Eagle Eye told him, and driving Black Bear before him went straight to the lodge of the chief, where he told him the whole story.
When it was finished the old man turned to Black Bear.
"Have you no love for your people," he asked, "that you are willing to lead them to death and destruction? Well are you named 'Black Bear,' who sees not the danger when his nose is tickled by the honey-pots of strangers. You would have betrayed your people. You would have led your own kindred into the snare laid for you by the white man who has a bad heart toward Indians. You have caused the death of our young men. You are not worthy to live in the lodge of your people. Go; from this day forth you are no longer one of us. We cast you out. Now go!"
He slunk away, and at the same moment a young squaw entered the lodge of the chief in search of Eagle Eye.
"You speak the tongue of the white man," she said. "Come!"
Leading him to a teepee not far away she pushed aside the skin that hung over the door. He entered and saw Red Snake lying on a pile of skins and blankets in a corner, crushed and bleeding, the seal of approaching death upon his face.
As Eagle Eye approached him he opened his eyes.
"You die," said the Indian, looking down upon him sternly, his arms folded across his breast.
Red Snake looked up, the dew of death upon his forehead.
"Yes," he sneered. "It's all over. The game's up—and I'm glad of it."
"Who are you? What you name?" asked Eagle Eye.
"No matter who I am. I've sacrificed all claim to the name I was born with. I'll die as I have lived, as 'Red Snake,' a squaw-man, a renegade, a drunkard, an all-around bad egg."
As the words left his lips a shudder ran through his body, his eyes flew wide, and he clutched wildly at his breast; then with a gasping breath fell backward, the blood gushing from his lips.
Eagle Eye bent over him. The Indian head-dress had been lost or cast aside and his thick mane of red hair fell loose about his face. Beneath the buckskin shirt which he had thrust aside in his agony his skin was smooth and white, and, as if in immutable justice for the deed that he had done, a feathered arrow protruded from his breast.
The Indian stood looking down at the dead body for a moment, then spurned it with his foot.
He turned presently and cast his keen eyes about the wigwam. With a step as soft as that of a panther he skirted its walls, and from under a heap of hides, blankets and rubbish in a corner drew forth a battered tin box.
For a moment he stood holding it in his hands and gazing at it curiously. Then he tucked it under his arm under his blanket, and with a backward glance at the body and a muttered "Ugh!" lifted the flap and passed out into the night.