CHAPTER VIII.IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE.
What the outlaw called safety was for himself and the Indians alone, and far from it for poor Lucille.
He believed that the three fords were guarded still, that he might run upon a scouting party from the soldiers’ camps at any moment, and he did not feel at ease until he had crossed the river with his captive.
It was bold in him to venture so near the upper ford, believing a party of soldiers to be there, yet he knew that the wild nature of the country through which the river flowed above would keep him from crossing for many a long mile, and, for Lucille’s sake alone, to his credit be it said, he wished to cross by the unknown ford, though, strictly speaking, it was not a ford, but a place where a horse or man might get over by swimming.
Lucille had escaped getting wet in crossing, and, as before, was given a secluded camping place to herself.
The chief made it most comfortable, as there was no hurry now, by cutting pine boughs and building a wikiup and placing the pine straw as a couch, with the cushions from the coach upon it.
A little fire was built near, just to make it more homelike, the chief said, and an extra supper was prepared for all.
Night fell, and soon after supper the tired girl, for she was tired, sank to sleep in a few minutes.
She awoke once in the night, to hear an owl hooting in the trees not far away, and a coyote yelping a short distance from camp.
But she banished all thought with an effort of her will, and went to sleep again, awakening only when the sun had risen.
“I hope you rested well last night, Miss Fallon?”
“I enjoyed a good night’s rest, thank you.”
“A ride of a little over thirty miles, and you will be in your new home to-night.”
“Home! Do not desecrate the name, for it will be a prison, not a home to me,” she said bitterly.
“Breakfast is ready for you.”
She ate it, her spirits returned, and once more she mounted for the ride.
Toward noon they began to climb the range she had seen from far across the river, and soon after the chief halted for dinner.
Then up the steep trail they climbed again, Lucille glancing back from time to time to behold the scenery, and, while the sun was yet two hours above the horizon, they came to a pass in the mountains, where she suddenly beheld an Indian sentinel standing in the trail ahead of them.
“Where is the chief?” asked the outlaw in the Indian tongue, and which was as Hebrew to Lucille.
The Indian sentinel pointed, and soon after there came toward them a horseman that at once riveted Lucille’s gaze. He was the Indian chief, Death Face, and he had just come down from the village to the pass, which his band of braves were guarding.
The youthful warrior was resplendent in a new costume, from boots to war bonnet, for he had on a pair of handsome cavalry boots. Sitting his horse with conscious power, armed with the white man’s weapons of revolvers and bowie knife, his face hideously painted, and mounted upon an animal that was bedecked in barbaric splendor, Death Face struck Lucille as being the most remarkable being she had ever gazed upon.
The chief fairly started as his eyes fell upon her, and the outlaw, after greeting him, said:
“Death Face, I have been on a raid into the white man’s territory, and this lady is my captive, whom I shall sell back to her father for a large price.”
To the utter amazement of Lucille, the young chief replied, in perfect English:
“I do not believe in the theory of my people, chief, of making war upon women and children, and I am surprised that you, as a white man, should do so; but that is your affair, not mine. Only treat her well.”
“That she will tell you I have done. I wish to place her in the renegade’s cabin in your camp.”
“You can do so.”
The outlaw and his captive were then riding on, when he halted and said:
“Chief Death Face, those braves of yours whom I took with me I shall arm with repeating rifles and revolvers. I also have a pair of fine revolvers, a knife and a rifle for you, with a very handsome buckskin suit sent by an officer at the fort to a friend in the East, with slouch hat and all.
“They will fit you, I am sure, and I wish you to accept them, as well as several fine Mexican serapes.”
“Thank you, Captain Eagle, I will take them.”
“You have done well, I see, on your raid?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Come to my quarters in the village to-night.”
“I will.”
“But have you any word of the soldiers?”
“They are still on the other side, though I did not see them.”
“I supposed they had gone, for we had seen no camp-fire smoke for three days.”
“It may be a trick, so still be cautious and guard the fords, especially now that I have a captive here for whose rescue Colonel Carr would doubtless send his whole force.”
With this the chief rode on, muttering to himself:
“I must win that fellow with presents, for he will be the next chief after Iron Eyes, and he has as much influence now. Probably he has been educated in someschool, for he speaks English like a paleface, and acts like one, too. There is some secret about him that I cannot fathom.”
He had not ridden far before Lucille came up alongside of him. She saw now about her in a valley like cañon a camp of Indians.
They were in full war paint, and gazed savagely at her as she rode by, yet were gloating in her capture.
Once through the cañon, and the trail led down into a beautiful valley in which was the village of old Iron Eyes.
Lucille uttered a cry as the view burst upon her, for, through the valley ran a mountain stream, upon both sides of which, for several miles, were the tepees of the Indians, the scattered village of the red men.
The valley was dotted with thousands of ponies, and among the tepees were visible many women and children.
Warriors were riding about, youths were mounted upon bareback ponies, others were playing games, children were bathing in the stream, and squaws were busy getting the evening meal.
At the base of the hills on either side was heavy timber, and above the village towered the mountain ranges.
“What a view for an artist!” cried Lucille.
“Yes, it must strike you strangely, Miss Fallon.”
“It does; but you did not answer my question?”
“What was that?”
“I asked you, after we came through the camp of braves, who that young chief was?”
“He is called Death Face, and is the next chief in power to old Iron Eyes.”
“He is very young?”
“Not over twenty-two, I should say.”
“And yet holds such power?”
“He is a born fighter, a plotter, a soldier, and he has won his way up, young as he is.”
“How is it that he speaks English so well?”
“Only a few minutes ago he told me that he was taught by a renegade white man and his family.”
“And also learned from him, I suppose, not to war against women and children. He could set you a good example, chief.”
“I follow my own inclinations, Miss Fallon.”
“So I have discovered. But in what part of this village am I to find refuge?”
“Up at the head of the valley, in the cabin I spoke of.”
“There must be a couple of thousand Indians here, at least.”
“Double that number and more, for the village is five miles long, has some twelve hundred tepees, and can put out a force to defend it of two thousand warriors. Then there are several other contingent villages in these mountains that claim Iron Eyes as chief. Itwould be a sad day for any force of soldiers to invade these mountains, Miss Fallon, unless they came several thousand strong.”
“That was just what I was thinking,” answered Lucille.
As they rode into the village the squaws and children rushed toward them to see the newcomer.
But a few words from the outlaw prevented any rudeness, for they held no sympathy for the fair-faced captive.
Lucille paled at sight of them, but remained calm, and rode on by the side of the outlaw, whom she could not but now regard as her protector.
Up through the village they rode, the girl’s fears gradually giving place to interest, until at the upper end of the valley, under the shelter of a heavily-wooded ridge, the mountaintop, there were visible a number of tepees apart from the others.
“There is your camp, Miss Fallon. It is a deserted village—the supply tepees, as I told you. Yonder you see your cabin, apart from them, and there you will be safe. I shall have a half-breed squaw, who once lived at the fort as an officer’s servant, remain there with you and do your cooking.”
“And be my guard also?”
“In a measure, yes, for she will keep the Indians away from you, and you do not need any other guardhere, as you could not escape over yonder ridge, unless you have wings.
“The squaw speaks English and has cooked for me when I have been here, for my own tepee is in the village. The cabin is furnished, as I told you, after a rude fashion, and you have your own satchel with clothing, so you will not be uncomfortable.”
As they passed a large tepee the outlaw called out to an Indian woman who stood there to approach them.
She did so, and Lucille noticed that her face was lighter than those about her, and she looked neat in her attire.
“Yellow Bird, I wish you to get your traps and come on up to the cabin. You are to look after this captive of mine while she is here, and take good care of her.”
The woman had glanced at Lucille as she came up, but that was all, and she replied, in fair English:
“Yellow Bird will do as the white chief bids her.”
Then they rode on, and soon halted before the cabin, which was built of hewn logs, with boards roughly sawed out of hewn timber serving as roofing. There was a porch along the front, and it was certainly a very fine cabin to find in an Indian village.
The chief took a key from a hiding place, which he appeared to know of, and unlocked the door.
There were four rooms in the cabin, and Lucille saw that it was furnished, though rudely, for the renegadehad brought his belongings with him when he had fled from his own people.
“You will be at home here, Miss Fallon.”
“Yes, at home!” repeated Lucille, with sarcasm, to add quickly:
“But it is so much better than I expected, you have treated me so much differently than I anticipated, that I thank you.”
The moment that she was left alone by the outlaw, and she saw him and his braves ride away, Lucille Fallon yielded to the prerogative of a woman, and, seating herself in the cabin, burst into tears.
“At home! Ah! if this were to be my home, I would rather that the grave should be,” she cried bitterly.
She had totally forgotten about the Indian woman until she heard the gently uttered words:
“Don’t cry, paleface.”
She started to her feet, for she was too proud to wish any one to see her weeping.
Before her stood Yellow Bird, the half-breed Indian woman. She had tidied herself up, and had a bundle under her arms. Her face was a good one, not cruel, and she said again:
“Don’t cry, Yellow Bird be good to you.”
Lucille stepped forward and grasped the woman’s hand.
“You are good, I can see that. You have lived among the palefaces, the outlaw told me?”
“Yes, my mother was a paleface squaw, my father a great Indian chief. He died, and my mother went back to her people, taking me with her. She died, and I work hard for officer’s family at fort far away. I hear them say: ‘She only half-breed Injun; watch her.’ I feel mad, I feel bad, and run away back to my people. But some treat me good, one young squaw pretty, just like you, and I love her. I love you for her. Yellow Bird be good to you.”
The tears came into the eyes of Lucille, and, stepping close up to the woman, she kissed her.
It was under the impulse of her loneliness, her sorrow, her helplessness, and the kind words spoken to her.
The squaw started as though she had been struck a blow, for it fairly frightened her, but she said quickly:
“Oh, yes, Yellow Bird be heap good to little paleface.”
Then she set about her work to clean up, just as she had done when living in the officer’s family. She got water from a spring near, and built a fire in the large hearth, so that the cabin soon no longer looked forlorn.
The outlaw had left the stage cushions there, the stores he had bought in Pioneer City and Lucille’s satchel, and the young captive was soon quite comfortable, and she began to feel that she had cause tocongratulate herself, after all, that matters were as they were.
In Yellow Bird she believed she had found a friend. Yet Lucille was not one to gush, and she decided that there was a very narrow margin between deceit and sincerity in one’s appearance, so she wished to know whether the Indian woman was really true or false.
As she watched the squaw preparing supper, she asked her about Death Face, the young chief.
“He heap good young chief—heap like paleface. He be great chief some day, and maybe have peace with palefaces, for he don’t like to kill Little Paleface’s people, but big fighter in battle. Red people all love Death Face. Iron Eyes heap cruel man, kill and scalp paleface, hate them bad. Iron Eyes kill many.”
Lucille glanced out of the open window and said half aloud:
“Speak of the devil, and his imp appears. There comes Death Face now.”
He rode up to the front of the cabin and was alone.
Lucille walked out on the piazza and to her surprise he bowed courteously to her and then said:
“I hope you are comfortable here!”
“Comfortable, yes, far more so than I anticipated being, but unhappy, as you may know, for my peopleare not your people, my life not your life, we are raised in a different atmosphere and are foes.”
The chieftain listened to her in deepest attention, gazing fixedly at her, and then said:
“I like to hear you talk, for it brings back to me the voice of those I loved, those who are gone.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“I mean one whom I loved as a father, another who was a mother to me, and a sister and brother. They are all gone—dead; but I had not forgotten them, and you bring them back to me now, so I love to look at you, love to hear you talk.
“Speak again, for your voice is as sweet as the murmur of the brook in summer, as sweet as the trilling of the birds, and your face as lovely as the mountain flowers that seem timid, just like you.”
Lucille listened with rapt attention to the words of the strange young chief, for he spoke with a softness of tone, a respectful look, and with words that fell strangely from the lips of an Indian, and were in strong contrast to the hideously painted death face with which he had ornamented his countenance.
As though he feared he should not talk to the captive longer, Death Face said:
“I will go now, but I came to see if I could help you, if I could make you more comfortable.
“This was my home once, and I am glad to have you here.
“Do you see those graves under the ridge yonder?—they are buried there, those I loved, and I put white crosses above their graves, and cut their names on them with my knife.”
“You can read, then?”
“Oh, yes, and write. You will find books in the cabin to read. Don’t feel bad, for you shall not be harmed, for Death Face says so. I will come again.”
He wheeled his horse and rode rapidly away, leaving Lucille wondering at her strange Indian acquaintance.
Walking over to the graves under the ridge, Lucille saw that there were four of them, all marked by rude wooden crosses, but it was too dark to see the names, and she hastened back to the cabin, where Yellow Bird had her supper ready.
It was a tempting repast, and eaten with real relish, Lucille talking the while to the squaw and asking her about the young chief, Death Face.
Yellow Bird had little more to tell her than what she had already known, or would not tell her more. She did not say that all the maidens in the village were in love with the young chief, but that he seemed to care for none of them.
The firelight was the only light they had in the cabin, and Lucille asked the woman to bring in wood enough to burn all night.
This Yellow Bird did, and then the captive spreadsome bedding, put the serapes the chief had given her over them, and retired for the night, bolting the doors firmly.
Yellow Bird spread her bed in front of the fire, and the two were soon fast asleep.
When Lucille awoke the next morning she found Yellow Bird was getting breakfast, and the squaw told her that the young chief had been there early and left bear and other robes for her, dressed deerskins, and plenty of game and fish which he had shot and caught.
The outlaw came after breakfast and asked her how she was, and then said:
“There is a hammock in this house, Death Face told me, so I will swing it on the porch for you.”
The hammock was found, swung, and then the outlaw said:
“I have brought you pen, ink, and paper, Miss Fallon, and I wish you to write a letter to your father.
“Tell him how you are treated by me, but make known that he must pay the sum of twenty thousand dollars for your ransom. The letter will be mailed to him at Pioneer City, and he shall send his answer by Jack Jessop, who will be met by a man whom I will instruct to be on hand. Your father must state in his letter if he will pay that ransom on the next run of the coach, and send it by Jack Jessop to be givento my representative. If my man is harmed, then I will not answer for your safety.
“But, if he promises to send the money by Jessop, when he is ready to pay it, then you will be returned to him in safety, being given into Jack Jessop’s charge the third run of the coach after your father writes agreeing to my terms. Do you understand, Miss Fallon?”
“Perfectly.”
“I will write also, and you shall see my letter. Then I will see that the letters are mailed without delay in Pioneer City.”
“It can be done none too soon to please me.”
“So I thought.”
“One minute, please?”
“Yes.”
“You said on the way here that you would tell me a secret some day that I am interested in.”
“I believe I will tell you a secret,” said the man, thoughtfully, and he sat down upon the porch.
Lucille sat in the hammock, using it for a swing, and the strangeness of her situation and surroundings could not but impress her.
“I’ll tell you my secret, yes, and perhaps you will then understand that I seek revenge as well as gold from your father. By the way, do you think I resemble your father?”
“In form, yes, and in face, also, save for the stamp of wickedness on your countenance.”
“Well, he is innocent, I am evil. But we should be alike, for we are brothers.”
Lucille sprang out, of the hammock and cried fiercely:
“It is false!”
“I tell you we are brothers, he being several years my senior,” said the outlaw. “My first love was a young and beautiful girl, and, though she loved me, he stole her from me.”
“I do not believe you.”
“Well, he married her, that is certain——”
“My mother?”
“Oh, no; your mother was his second wife.
“He won my sweetheart from me, married her, and then went to Texas to live. I heard afterward that his wife died after two years of wedded life, but I did not know, did not care, and I was not aware of where he was, or what doing until during the Civil War. I was taken prisoner by the Confederates, when in my captor, the colonel of a regiment, I recognized my brother. He knew me at a glance, and he came to me and we had a long talk together.
“He told me that he had not known of my love for the woman he married, that he had never been told by her or her parents about an engagement between her and myself, that I was away and he thereforecould not hear it from my own lips, and hence he had asked her to be his wife. He was going to Texas to live, and the marriage was hastened and she went with him, and only when on her dying bed had she confessed to him that she had been engaged to me.
“Then he had written me the truth; but his letter I never received, and I did not believe what he told me.”
“Yet it was the truth.”
“How do you know?”
“I have his first wife’s written confession, in which she told all, and how her parents had told her not to speak of her love affair with you, as he was rich, you were not, having squandered much of your fortune in fast living. Her name was Dorothy Armand, and she left her confession with her jewelry and other things that my father placed in my mother’s keeping, and all of which she left to me.”
“Yes, her name was Dorothy Armand, as you say; but she deceived me, and I would not believe her dying confession, or take my brother’s word, either, for they wronged me, and I never forgive a wrong.”
“But my father never did you a wrong, whatever his wife did in deceiving him as to her engagement to you,” said Lucille warmly.
“His name is Louis Fallon Lamar, and he was a colonel in the Confederate army, as I have said, and a Texan ranchero. He got me exchanged, I admit, andgave me money; but that did not atone for the past, and I hated him, for even in war he beat me, as he rose to be a colonel of cavalry, I only a captain of infantry.
“He had married again, he told me, and had a daughter, but I was glad to feel that he was ruined by the war. What became of him then I never knew until I recognized him as a soldier in the United States army, and only a sergeant.
“Then I remembered that I had heard that a Southerner of our name had killed a man in the East, and had fled to escape the gallows.
“I wrote East, got the particulars, and found that it was my brother Louis. I have only hoped to capture him that I might send him back as a fugitive from justice to be hanged.”
Lucille’s eyes flashed fire, and for a moment she did not speak. Then she said:
“Let me ask you to look me in the eyes while I tell you what I know about what you have told me of my father.”
“I am listening.”
“My father did come out of the war ruined almost. He had married again, my mother being his second wife. He had felt keenly the unhappy circumstances of his first marriage, in fact, it cut him to the heart. He saved my mother’s father’s life at the risk of hisown, was wounded by the shot intended for my grandfather, who took father to his home, where his daughter, my mother, nursed him through a long siege of suffering. My mother loved him, and he loved her, so they were married.
“My father went North on business, accompanied a gentleman to his home one night with whom he had some business. Burglars broke into the house, and the host was shot down and robbed. Before he died he stated under oath that it was my father who had killed him, that they had a business deal on hand, that my father knew he had thousands of dollars in his home, and had come into his room at night and killed him.
“My father had been in a distant wing of the house, had arisen at the noise of the struggle, had gone to the aid of his friend, to come face to face with you as you fled. You were dressed just as he was, you had killed your man, robbed him, and were flying. Stunned by the recognition, my father had been incapable of action, and, tottering to a seat, had remained there until arrested as the murderer.
“Determined not to hang for your crime, and feeling that there was no hope for him, he sprang upon the constable who guarded him, choked him into unconsciousness, secured the keys of his manacles, freed himself, and fled. He wrote my mother that he was not guilty of the crime, but circumstantial evidence was against him, his insane flight added seeming proof,and she unfortunately believed that he had committed the deed, and wrote to him.
“Thus a wide gulf was between them, and he became a homeless wanderer and fugitive. He went to dwell among the Indians, and, having been educated as a physician, he became a medicine man in the tribe, checked a smallpox epidemic in their midst, and became a great chief, honored and loved by them. Discovering gold in his wanderings, he hid it away and at last decided to make good use of it. So he left the Indian village, carrying his gold on pack horses, and, going to a settlement, shipped it home to my mother.
“It was a fortune for us, and she gladly received it, for her income was not large, and long before she had repented of her belief in my father’s guilt, and tried in vain to find him.
“One day, just one year ago, my mother received a letter from the judge of the court in the city where the murder was committed which had wrecked my father’s life. It told of the confession of a prisoner, who had died in prison, that my father was innocent of the crime, that it was his brother who had been the murderer—he, the prisoner, being his ally—and that he saw the recognition of his brother by my father, and the shock it gave him.
“But the murderer had committed other crimes, forcing him to become a fugitive, and so he could not be found, nor could my father, who afterward, Ilearned, had entered the army on the border. My mother was dying then, and I had to cling to her. She died, and soon after I had my lawyer find out if Sergeant Louis Fallon was my father, and he did so.
“Then I wrote him that I would come to him. You know the rest, and I know that you have wronged my father beyond all forgiveness. Yes, you are his crime-stained brother, Loyd Lamar.”