CHAPTER XLVIII.THE PLEDGE KEPT.
There was much excitement in the village of the Sioux. The white queen, the idolized daughter of Oak Heart, had ridden away from her teepee and had not returned. Then came the discovery of the death of the young brave on the ridge, and the deed was set down to the credit of the hated Long Hair.
These mysterious murders that had been committed so near the encampment had wrought upon the tribesmen greatly. It seemed as though Long Hair possessed some supernatural power. He flitted, seemingly, from place to place without being seen, and killed the Sioux almost in the confines of the encampment.
While the chiefs were in council a horse was seen approaching from a mountain defile, down over the ridge, where the young brave had been found stabbed to the heart. Upon the back of the horse were two persons, one of them apparently a great chief in full war-dress; the other was White Antelope herself.
The strange chief rode directly down into the village, not deigning to more than grunt a salutation to the guards, and the girl refused to make any explanation, either. Straight to the council-lodge the chief rode, and, there dismounting, the two entered, the young girl leading the way.
The Indian is stoical and Spartan, but Oak Heart was fond of his remaining child. He was moved now by her unexpected recovery, and as she ran to him he allowed her to take and hold his hand. The old men nodded, too, for they believed that the White Antelope was “good medicine.” The strange chief, however, they did not know, and they eyed him with suspicion as well as curiosity. Finally the White Antelope arose and stepped into the circle, and there made her voice heard by all in the lodge.
“The Sioux are a wise people; their chiefs are wise; their old men are wise, but sometimes even the wise are mistaken. They make mistakes. They welcome into their tribe one who stung and bit like the viperwarmed in the bosom. Such a viper has been warmed in the bosom of the Utah Sioux!”
The old men grunted and looked at each other. Some glanced covertly at the place where the medicine chief, Death Killer, should have sat. He was not present.
“This one came with a false tale to my father, the great chief, Oak Heart, and told a tale which sent the Sioux on the war-path. They fell upon the palefaces and killed them. The palefaces were not searching for the Sioux village; they were searching for a wicked paleface to punish him. Ah! he was two-tongued—and his tongue was sharp as a knife.
“The White Antelope speaks the truth to you. This traitor was in the councils of the Sioux, but with his own hand he was murdering our young men. See! The still, red scalp of Po-ca-his-ta, torn from his head by the traitor this very day. And this—as other—murders he would have had the Sioux believe were done by Long Hair, the paleface scout.
“Long Hair was sent to tell his big chief of my father’s warning, and to bring people to bury the dead. Long Hair said he would return. Long Hair is of a straight tongue. He is here!”
Instantly the strange chief standing so motionless in their presence threw the war-bonnet aside and dropped the corner of the blanket which muffled his face. Buffalo Bill stood revealed. A deep murmur ran around the lodge, and it was half of surprise, half of admiration for the bold paleface who had redeemed his word to the White Antelope. Fearlessly the scout stood before his redskin foes, his eyes fixed upon the face of Oak Heart.
“It is well,” said the old Sioux. “The Long Hair’s life was forfeit when he was held by Death Killer. He has gone to his people; he has returned as he said. Now he must die.”
But Buffalo Bill never changed color. White Antelope started forward, her richly tinted face paling. It was a moment before she controlled herself and stood calmly to speak as an Indian should.
“Let the White Antelope speak!” said Oak Heart quietly.
The girl, in rapid, burning words, related her capture by Boyd Bennett and his death at the hands of the scout. The treachery of the renegade was proved. Buffalo Bill had been the medicine chief’s prisoner. Why should the Sioux hold the captive of a creature so dishonored?
Her plea evidently made some impression, but all eyes turned upon Oak Heart, and at length the old chief spoke.
“The Long Hair is a mighty paleface chief. He has trailed the red man to his village, and his belt is heavy with the scalps of my braves. He came here under the war-bonnet of a Cheyenne chief, and has saved the White Antelope from death.
“But the Long Hair has long been a foe to the Sioux. It was he who brought help to the white soldiers in the fort when we would have beaten them. It was he who took them ammunition. It was he who stole our ponies.
“The Long Hair has ofttimes looked on death. He is not afraid of death. He must show my warriors how a brave mancandie.”
For the first time since entering the lodge, Buffalo Bill spoke:
“It is true, Oak Heart, that I have been your foe, and the foe of your people of late. It was not always so. When the Sioux would dwell at peace with the paleface, were content to live and hunt in these mountains and not fall upon and kill the white soldiers, Long Hair was their friend.
“When the Wise Woman lived and her wisdom guided the tribe, the Sioux remained at peace with the paleface. But now worse councils prevail among you, and your young men go out to battle and are slain. And what do you gain? The palefaces are as numberless as the leaves of the forest. When you kill one, two come in his place; where you kill two, a dozen appear. Take the word of one who has smoked in your lodges and heard wisdom from your old men. The Long Hair tells you to bury the hatchet and smoke the peace-pipe with the white chiefs. Then shall you have content and your bellies be filled, and your young men shall grow up and be great hunters and your young squaws live to bear children.
“Long Hair has spoken. If the Sioux kill me, it is but one white man dead. But how many will strike the trail of the Sioux to avenge my death? The Sioux have already lost many braves. Let them be content; blood enough has been spilled. Is it not so?
“Remember, too, oh, Oak Heart, how Long Hair has sat in your lodge and talked with you and the Wise Woman before the Great Spirit took her. Here!” he drew from his hunting-shirt a sacred tomahawk pipe with a broken edge. “Here is the pledge given to Long-Hair long ago by the Wise Woman, and by OakHeart. Then was Oak Heart’s mind single; he was not full of wiles and thoughts of evil against the white men and against Long Hair. This was the pledge that Long Hair and the Sioux should never be at enmity. And has the enmity been of Long Hair’s seeking? Nay! The red men started to slay. The Long Hair must go with his people. Has he done wrong?
“See! Must Pa-e-has-ka die?” and he held up the trophy again.
A deathlike silence had fallen upon the lodge. The old chief was greatly moved, and for an Indian—especially a councilor—to show emotion is a disgrace. Perhaps, too, his mind was filled with thoughts of the Wise Woman, of whom Buffalo Bill had spoken so feelingly.
Years before, when Oak Heart was a much younger man, the tribe had raided far to the south, by the waters of a great river. They had come upon a ranchman and his family, killed him, flung his body into the river, and taken his wife, a beautiful white squaw, captive. None but the son of the ranchman—a mere child—escaped. He had been found and cared for after the massacre by Buffalo Bill.
The white squaw’s brain had been turned by the horror of that time. She wandered about the encampment in a dazed state. The Indians have a great awe of those who are insane, believing that the finger of the Great Spirit has touched them. She was cared for tenderly and brought north with the tribe.
She was a skilful woman with herbs and simples. She nursed the wounded warriors; she helped the women in travail; she cared for the children and the young squaws. She was much beloved. Her influence,even before her mind cleared, became one for great good in the tribe.
Slowly she grew normal once more. Years had passed. Instead of golden tresses, her hair was as white as the snow upon the mountain peaks. Yet she was still a young woman and good to look upon. Oak Heart loved her. He had treated her with the utmost respect and kindness. She had lived so long among the redskins that she had lost all distaste for them, and had imbibed many of their religious beliefs. She was unutterably opposed to the warring of the tribe with the whites, however.
Her husband and children were dead—and the past was dead. She espoused Oak Heart so as to retain her influence over him and over the tribe, for the good of the whites. It was after that that Buffalo Bill met the Wise Woman and knew who she was. But he had never told her that her son was alive, for fear that the knowledge would do the poor woman more harm than good. Also, she had a child by Oak Heart—the White Antelope. But she died when the girl was small.
Possibly thoughts of the dead woman moved the old chief. Besides, the peace-pipe was a sacred pledge. He suddenly rose, threw around him his blanket, and, standing in the midst of the lodge, spoke impressively:
“The Pa-e-has-ka is a friend to Oak Heart. When the hatchet shall be buried between the red men and the palefaces, they shall be brothers again. But now the palefaces are on the trail of my people; so let the Pa-e-has-ka hasten from us and join his own tribe. Not one of my braves shall follow him. Oak Heart has spoken.”
There were murmurs about the lodge, but no chiefat the moment put his objections in words. Buffalo Bill found the White Antelope’s hand seeking his own. She acted more like a modest and timid white girl than ever before.
“Let the white chief come with me,” she whispered. “I have something to show him.”
The amazed scout went with her out of the grand lodge and was taken to her own teepee.