"Enough," Natah Otann said.
"A last gift, a last remembrance."
The chief shrugged his shoulders. "For what good?" he said.
"To render the death you intend for me less cruel."
"What is it you want?"
"Hang round my daughter's neck this earring, suspended by a lock of my hair."
"Is that really all?"
"It is."
"Very good."
The chief came up, took from the emigrant's ear a ring he wore in it, and cut off with a scalping knife a lock of his hair; then, turning to him with a sardonic laugh, he said—
"Listen carefully. Your companions and yourself are going to be flayed alive; of a strip of your skin I will make a bag to hold the lock of hair and ring. You see that I am generous, for I grant you more than you ask; but remember the conditions."
The emigrant looked at him disdainfully.
"Keep your promises as well as I shall mine: and now begin the torture—you will see a man die."
Things were done as had been arranged; the emigrant and his servants were flayed alive. The emigrant endured the torture with a courage which even the chief admired. Not a cry, not a groan, issued from his bleeding chest; he was made of granite. When his skin was entirely stripped off, Natah Otann went up to him; the unhappy wretch was not yet dead.
"Thou art a man," he said to him. "Die satisfied. I will keep the promise I made thee."
And moved doubtlessly by a feeling of pity for so much firmness, he blew out his brains.
This horrible punishment lasted four hours. The Indians plundered all the Americans possessed, and what they could not carry off they burned. Natah Otann rigidly kept the oath he had made to his victim: as he said, from a strip of his skin, imperfectly tanned, he made a bag, in which he placed the lock of hair, and hung it round the child's neck by a cord also made of his skin. On the homeward road to his village, Natah Otann paid the most assiduous attention to the poor little creature; and, on rejoining the tribe, the chief declared before all that he adopted the girl, and gave her the name of Prairie Flower.
At the period our story begins, Prairie Flower was fourteen years of age; she was a charming creature, gentle and simple, lovely as the princess of a fairy tale. Her large blue eyes, veiled by long brown lashes, reflected the azure of the heaven, and she ran about, careless and wild, through the forests and over the prairie, dreaming at times beneath the shady recesses of the giant trees, living as the birds live, forgetting the past, which was to her as yesterday, caring nothing for the future, which to her had no existence, and only thinking of the present to be happy.
The charming girl had unconsciously become the idol of the tribe. The old White Buffalo more especially felt an unbounded affection for her; but the experiment he had made with Natah Otann disgusted him with a second trial at education. He only watched over her with truly paternal care, correcting any fault he might notice in her with a patience and kindness nothing could weary. This old tribune, like all energetic and implacable men, had the heart of a lamb; having entirely renounced the world which mistook him, he had refreshed his soul in the desert, and recovered the illusions and generous impulses of his youth.
Prairie Flower had retained no remembrance of her early years; as no one ever alluded in her presence to the terrible scenes which introduced her to the tribe, fresher impressions had completely effaced them. Loved and petted by all, Prairie Flower fancied herself a child of the tribe. Her long tresses of light hair, gilded like ripe corn, and the dazzling whiteness of her skin, could not enlighten her, for in many Indian nations these anomalies are found; the Mandans, among others, have many women and warriors who, if they put on European clothes, might easily pass for whites.
The Blackfeet, seduced by the charms of this gentle young creature, attached the destinies of the tribe to her. They considered her their tutelary genius, their palladium: their faith in her was deep, serene, and simple. Prairie Flower was truly the Queen of the Blackfeet; a sign from her rosy fingers, a word from her dainty lips, was obeyed with unbounded promptitude and devotion. She could do anything, say everything, demand everything, without fearing even a second's hesitation to her will. She exercised this despotic authority unsuspectingly; she alone was unaware of the immense power she possessed over these brutal natives, who in her presence became gentle and devoted.
Natah Otann was attached to his adopted daughter, so far as organizations like his are capable of yielding to any feeling. At first he sported with the girl as with an unimportant plaything; but gradually, as the child was transformed and became a woman, these sports became more serious, and his heart was attracted. For the first time in his life, this man, with his indomitable soul, felt a feeling stir in him which he could not analyze, but which, through its force and violence, astonished and terrified him.
Then, a dumb struggle began between the chiefs head and heart. He revolted against this influence which subjugated him: he, hitherto accustomed to break through every obstacle, was now powerless before a child, who disarmed him with a smile, when he tried to overpower her. This struggle lasted a long time; at length, the terrible Indian confessed himself vanquished, that is to say, he allowed the current to carry him away, and without attempting a resistance, which he felt to be useless, he began to love the young maiden madly. But this love at times caused him sufferings so terrible, when he thought of the manner in which Prairie Flower had become his adopted daughter, that he asked himself with terror, whether this deep love which had seized on his brain, and mastered him, was not a chastisement imposed by Heaven.
Then, he fell back in his usual state of fury, redoubled his ferocity with those unhappy beings whose plantations he surprised, and, all reeking with blood, his girdle hung with scalps, he returned to the village, and displayed the hideous trophies before the girl. Prairie Flower, astonished at the state in which she saw a man whom she believed to be—not her father, for he was too young—but a relative, lavished on him all the consolations and simple caresses which her attachment to him suggested to her: unfortunately, these caresses heightened his suffering, and he would rush away half mad with grief, leaving her sad and almost terrified by this conduct, which was so incomprehensible to her.
Matters reached such a pitch, that the White Buffalo, whose vigilant eye was constantly fixed on his pupil, considered that he must, at all risks, cut away the evil at the root, and withdraw the son of his friend from the deadly fascination exercised over him by this innocent enchantress. When he felt convinced of the chiefs love for Prairie Flower, the old sachem asked for a private interview with his pupil: the latter granted it, quite unsuspecting the reason which urged the White Buffalo to take this step.
One morning the chief presented himself at the entrance of his friend's lodge. The White Buffalo was reading by the side of a fire kindled in the middle of the hut.
"You are welcome, my son," he said to the young man. "I have only a few words to say to you, but I consider them sufficiently serious for you to hear them without delay; sit down by my side."
The young man obeyed. The White Buffalo then carefully changed his tactics: he, who had so long combated the chief's views as to the regeneration of the Indian race, entered completely into his views, with an ardour and conviction carried so far, that the young man was astonished, and could not refrain from asking what produced this sudden change in his opinion?
"The cause is very simple," the old man answered. "So long as I considered that these views were only suggested by the impetuosity of youth, I merely regarded them as the dreams of a generous heart, which was deceiving itself, and not taking the trouble to weigh the chances of success."
"What now?" the young man asked, quickly.
"Now, I recognize all the earnestness, nobility, and grandeur, contained in your plans; and not only admit their possibility, but I wish to aid you, so as to ensure success."
"Is what you say quite true, my father?" the young man asked, with exultation.
"I swear it: still we must set to work immediately." The chief examined him for a moment carefully, but the old man remained impassive.
"I understand you," he at length said, slowly, and in a deep voice; "you offer me your hand on the verge of an abyss. Thanks, my father, I will not be unworthy of you; I swear to you by the Wacondah."
"Good; believe me, my son, I recognize you," the old man said, shaking his head mournfully. "One's country is often an ungrateful mistress; but it is the only one which gives us true enjoyment of mind, if we serve her disinterestedly for herself alone."
The two men shook hands affectionately; the compact was sealed. We shall soon see whether Natah Otann had really conquered his love as he imagined.
Natah Otann set to work immediately, with that feverish ardour that distinguished him. He sent emissaries in every direction to the principal chiefs of the western prairies, and convoked them to a great plain in the valley of the Missouri, at a spot called "The Tree of the Master of Life," on the fourth day of the moon of the hardened snow. This spot was held in great veneration by the Missouri Indians, who went there constantly to hang up presents. It was an immense sandy plain, completely denuded of vegetation; in the centre of the desert rose a gigantic tree, an oak, twenty feet in circumference at least, the trunk being hollow, and the tufted branches covering an enormous superficies. This tree, which was a hundred and twenty feet in height, and which grew there by accident, necessarily was regarded by the Indians as something miraculous; hence the name they gave it.
On the appointed day, the Indians arrived from all sides, marching in good order, and camping at a short distance from the spot selected for the council. An immense fire had been kindled at the foot of the tree, and at a signal given by the drummers, orChichikouès, the chiefs collected around it, a few paces behind the sachems. The Blackfeet, Nez Percés, Assiniboins, Mandans, and other horsemen, formed a tremendous cordon round the council fire; while scouts traversed the desert in every direction, to keep off intruders, and insure the secrecy of the deliberations.
In the east the sun was pouring forth its beams; the desert, parched and naked, was mingled with the boundless horizon; to the south, the Rocky Mountains displayed the eternal snow of the summits; while in the north-west, a silvery ribbon indicated the course of the old Missouri. Such was the landscape, if we may call it so, where the barbarous warriors, clothed in their strange costumes, were assembled near the symbolic tree. This majestic sight involuntarily reminded the observer of other times and climes, when, by the light of the incendiary fires they kindled, the ferocious comrades of Attila rushed to conquer and rejuvenate the Roman Empire.
Generally the natives of America have a Divinity, or more correctly, a Genius, at times beneficent, but more frequently hostile. The worship of the savage is less veneration than fear. The Master of Life is an evil genius, rather than kind; hence the Indians give his name to the tree to which they attribute the same powers. Indian religions, being all primitive, make no account of the moral being, and only dwell on the accidents of nature, which they make into gods. These different tribes strive to secure the favour of the deserts, where fatigue and thirst entail death, and of the rivers, which may swallow them up.
The chiefs, as we have said, were crouching round the fire, in a state of contemplative immobility, from which it might be inferred that they were preparing for an important ceremony of their worship. Presently Natah Otann raised to his lips the long war pipe, made of a human thighbone, which he wore hanging round his neck, and produced a piercing and prolonged sound. At this signal, for it was one, the chiefs rose, and forming in Indian file, marched twice round the tree, singing, in a low voice, a hymn, to implore its assistance for the success of their plans. At the third time of marching round, Natah Otann took off a magnificent collar of grizzly bears' claws from his neck, and hung it to the branches of the tree, saying,—
"Master of Life, look on us with a favourable eye. I offer thee this present."
The other chiefs imitated his example each in turn; then they resumed their scats round the council fire. The pipe bearer then entered the circle, and after the customary ceremonies, offered the calumet to the chiefs, and when each had smoked, the oldest sachem invited Natah Otann to take the word.
The Indian chief's plan was probably the most daring ever formed against the whites, and, as the White Buffalo said, mockingly, must offer chances of success through its improbability, because it flattered the superstitious ideas of the Indians, who, like all primitive nations, place great faith in the marvellous. It is besides, the quality of oppressed nations, to whom reality never offers aught but disillusions and suffering, to take refuge in the supernatural, which alone offers them consolation. Natah Otann had drawn the first idea of his plan from one of the oldest and most inveterate traditions of the Comanches, his ancestors. This tradition, by reciting which his father often lulled him to sleep in his childhood, pleased his adventurous mind; and when the hour arrived to put in execution the projects which he had so long revolved, he invoked it, and resolved to employ it, in order to collect the other Indian nations around him in one common whole.
When Motecuhzoma (whom Spanish writers improperly call Montezuma, a name which has no meaning, while the first signifies thestern lord) found himself imprisoned in his palace by that talented adventurer, Cortez, who, a few days later, tore his kingdom from him, the Emperor, who preferred to confide in greedy strangers than take refuge in the midst of his people, had a presentiment of the fate reserved for him. A few days prior to his death, he assembled the principal Mexican chiefs who shared his prison, and addressed them thus:—
"Listen! My father, the Sun, has warned me that I shall soon return to him. I know not how or when I am destined to die, but I am certain that my last hour is close at hand."
As the chiefs burst into tears at these words, for they held him in great veneration, he consoled them by saying—
"My last hour is near on this earth, but I shall not die, as I am returning to my father, the Sun, where I shall enjoy a felicity unknown in this world; weep not, therefore, my faithful friends, but, on the contrary, rejoice at the happiness which awaits me. The bearded white men have treacherously seized the greater portion of my empire, and they will soon be masters of the remainder. Who can stop them? Their weapons render them invulnerable, and they dispose at their will of the fire from heaven; but their power will end one day; they, too, will be the victims of treachery; the penalty of retaliation will be inflicted on them in all its rigour. Listen, then, attentively, to what I am about to ask of you; the safety of our country depends on the fidelity with which you execute my last orders. Each of you take a title of the sacred fire which was formerly kindled by the Sun himself, and on which the white men have not yet dared to lay a sacrilegious hand to extinguish it. This fire burns before you in this golden censer; take it unto you, not letting your enemies know what has become of it. You will divide the fire among you, so that each may have a sufficiency; preserve it religiously, ant never let it go out. Each morning, alter adoring it mount on the roof of your house, at sunrise, and look toward the east; one day you will see me appear, giving my right hand to my father, the Sun; then you will rejoice, for the moment of your deliverance will be at hand. My father and I will come to restore you to liberty, and deliver you for ever from these enemies, who have come from a perverse world, that rejected them from its bosom."
The Mexican chiefs obeyed the orders of their well-beloved Emperor on the spot, for time pressed. A few days later, Motecuhzoma mounted on the roof of his palace, and prepared to address his mutinous people, when he was struck by an arrow, it was never known by whom, and fell into the arms of the Spanish soldiery who accompanied him. Before breathing his last sigh, the Emperor sat up, and raising his hands to heaven, said, with a supreme effort, to his friends assembled round him—"The fire! the fire! think of the fire."
These were his last words: ten minutes later he had ceased to breathe. In vain did the Spaniards, whose curiosity was strongly aroused by this mysterious recommendation, try by all the means in their power to penetrate its meaning; but they did not succeed in making one of the Mexicans they interrogated speak. All religiously preserved their secret, and several, indeed, died of torture, rather than reveal it.
The Comanches, and nearly all the nations of the Far West, have kept this belief intact. In all the Indian villages, the fire of Motecuhzoma, which burns eternally is guarded by two warriors, who remain by it for twenty-four hours without eating or drinking, when they are relieved by two others. Formerly the guardians remained forty-eight hours instead of twenty-four. It frequently happened that they were found dead when the reliefs came, either through the mephitic gases of the fire, which had great effect on them, owing to their long fast, or for some other reason. The bodies were taken away, and placed in a cavern, where, as the Comanches say, a serpent devoured them.
This belief is so general, that it is not only found among the Red Indians, but also among the Manzos. Many men, considered to be well educated, keep up, in hidden corners, the fire of Motecuhzoma, visit it every day, and do not fail at sunrise to mount on the roof of their houses and look towards the east, in the hope of seeing their well-beloved emperor coming to restore them that liberty for which they have sighed during so many ages, and which the Mexican Republic is far from having granted them.
Natah Otann's idea was this:—To tell the Indians, after narrating the legend to them, that the time had arrived when Motecuhzoma would appear and act as their chief; to form a powerful band of warriors, whom he would spread along the whole American frontier, so as to attack his enemies at every point simultaneously, and not give them the time to look about them. This project, mad as it was, especially in having to be executed by Indians, or men the least capable of forming alliances, which have ever caused them defeats; this project, we say, was deficient neither in boldness nor in nobility, and Natah Otann was really the only man capable of carrying it out, could he but find, among the persons he wished to arouse, two or three docile and intelligent instruments, that would understand his idea, and heartily cooperate with him.
The Comanches, Pawnees, and Sioux were of great utility to the chief, as well as the majority of the Indians of the Far West, for they shared in the belief on which Natah Otann based his plans, and not only did not need to be persuaded, but would help him in persuading the Missouri Indians by their assent to his assertions. But in so large an assembly of nations, divided by a multitude of interests, speaking different languages, generally hostile to each other, how would it be possible to establish a tie sufficiently strong to attach them in an indissoluble manner? How convince them to march together without jealousy? Lastly, was it reasonable to suppose that there would not be a traitor to sell his brothers, and reveal their plans to the Yankees, whoever have an eye on the movements of the Indians, for they are so anxious to be rid of them?
Still, Natah Otann did not recoil; he did not conceal from himself the difficulties which he should have to overcome; but his courage grew with obstacles. His resolution was strengthened, if we may use the term, in proportion to the responsibilities which must every moment rise before him. When the sachems made him the signal to rise; Natah Otann saw that the moment had arrived to begin the difficult game he wished to play. He took the word resolutely, certain that, with the men he had before him, all depended on the manner in which he handled the question, and that, the first impression once made, success was almost certain.
"Chiefs of the Comanches, Osages, Sioux, Pawnees, Mandans, Assiniboins, Missouris, and all you that listen to me. Redskin brothers," he said, in a firm and deeply accentuated voice, "for many moons my spirit has been sad. I see, with sorrow, our hunting grounds, invaded by the white men, grow smaller every day. We, whose innumerable peoples covered, scarce four centuries back, the immense extent of territory compassed between the two seas, are now reduced to a small party of warriors who, timid as antelopes, fly before our despoilers. Our sacred cities, the last refuge of the civilization of our fathers, the Incas, will become the prey of those monsters with human faces who have no other god but gold. Our dispersed race will possibly soon disappear from that world which it has so long possessed and governed alone. Tracked like wild animals; brutalized by firewater, that corrosive poison invented by the white men for our ruin; decimated by the sword and white diseases, our wandering tribes are now but the shadow of a people. Our conquerors despise our religion, and wish to bow us beneath the laws of the crucified One. They outrage our wives; kill our children; burn our villages; and will reduce us, if they can, to the state of wild beasts, under the pretext of civilizing us. Indians, all you who hear me, is our blood so impoverished in our veins, and have you all renounced your independence! Reply, will you die as slaves, or live free?"
At these words, pronounced in aloud tone, and heightened by an energetic gesture, a tremor ran through the assembly; brows were bent firmly, all eyes sparkled.
"Speak, speak again, sachem of the Blackfeet," all the chiefs shouted unanimously.
Natah Otann smiled proudly, his power over the masses was revealed to him. He continued:—
"The hour has at length arrived, after so many hesitations, to shake off the shameful yoke that presses on us. Within a few days, if you please, we will drive the whites far from our frontiers, and repay them all the evil they have done us. For a long time I have watched the Americans and Spaniards. I know their tactics, their resources: to utterly destroy them, what do we need, my well-beloved brothers? two things alone—skill and courage!"
The Indians interrupted him with shouts of joy.
"You shall be free," Natah Otann continued. "I will restore to you the valleys of your ancestors, the fields where their bones are buried, and which the sacrilegious plough disperses in every direction. This project, ever since I became a man, has fermented in my heart, and become my life. Far from me and from you the thought that I intend to force myself on you as chief, especially since the prodigy of which I have been witness, in the appearance of the great emperor! No; after that supreme chief, who must guide you to liberty, you are free to choose the man who will execute his orders, and communicate them to you. When you have chosen him, you will obey him; follow him everywhere; and pass with him through the most insurmountable dangers, for he will be the elect of the Sun; the lieutenant of Motecuhzoma! Do not deceive yourselves, warriors; our enemy is powerful, numerous, well disciplined, warlike, and has, before all, the habit of conquering us, which is a great advantage to him. Name, then, this lieutenant; let his election be free; take the most worthy, and I will joyfully march under his orders!"
And, after saluting the sachems, Natah Otann disappeared in a crowd of warriors, with calm brow, but with a heart devoured by restlessness. His eloquence, so novel to the Indians, had seduced them, and thrown them into a species of frenzy. They considered the daring Blackfoot chief a genius superior to themselves, and almost bowed the knee to him in adoration, so cleverly had he struck the chord which must touch their hearts. For a long time the council gave way to a sort of madness, and all spoke at once; when this emotion was calmed, the wisest of the sachems discussed the opportunity for taking up arms, and the chances of success. It was now that the tribes of the Far West, who believed in the legend of the sacred fire, became so useful; at length, after a protracted discussion, opinions were unanimous for a general uprising. The ranks, momentarily broken, were reformed, and the White Buffalo, invited by the chiefs to express the opinions of the council, spoke as follows:—
"Chiefs of the allied Indian tribes, listen! This day it has been resolved by the following chiefs:—Little Panther, Spotted Dog, White Buffalo, Grizzly Bear, Red Wolf, White Fox, Tawny Vulture, Glistening Snake, and others, each representing a nation and a tribe, that war has been declared against the white men, our plunderers; and as this war is holy, and has liberty for its object, all men, women, and children must take part in it, each according to their strength. This very day thewampumswill be sent by the chiefs to all the Indian tribes that, owing to the distance of these hunting grounds, were unable to be present at this great council, in spite of their great desire to be so. I have spoken."
A long cry of enthusiasm interrupted the White Buffalo, who continued, soon after:—
"The chiefs, after ripe deliberation, assenting to the request made to the council by Natah Otann, the first sachem of the Blackfeet, that they should appoint a lieutenant to the Emperor Motecuhzoma, sovereign-chief of the Indian warriors, have chosen, as supreme leader under the sole orders of the said Emperor, the wisest, most prudent, and most worthy to command us. That warrior is the sachem of the Blackfoot Indians, of the tribe of the Kenhas, whose race is so ancient, Natah Otann, the cousin of the Sun, that dazzling planet which illumines us."
A thunder of applause greeted the last words. Natah Otann saluted the sachems, walked into the circle, and said, in a haughty voice,—
"I accept, sachems, my brothers; we agree, I shall be dead, or you will be free."
"May the Grizzly Bear live for ever!" the crowd shouted.
"War to the white men!" Natah Otann continued, "a war without truce or mercy. A slaughter of wild beasts, as they are accustomed to treat us. Remember the law of the prairies:—eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Let each chief send the wampum of war to his nation, for at the end of this moon we will arouse our enemies by a thunderbolt. At the seventh hour of this night we will meet again, to select the subaltern chiefs, number our warriors, and choose the day and hour of attack."
The chiefs bowed without replying, rejoined their escorts, and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust. Natah Otann and the White Buffalo remained alone, a detachment of Blackfeet warriors watching over them at a distance. Natah Otann, with his arms crossed and head bowed, seemed plunged in profound reflection.
"Well," the old Indian said, with an almost imperceptible shade of irony in his voice, "you have succeeded, my son; you are happy. Your plans will, at length, be accomplished."
"Yes," he replied, without noticing the sarcastic tone of voice; "war is declared; my plans have succeeded; but now, friend, I tremble at such a heavy task. Will these peculiar men thoroughly comprehend me? Will they be able to read, in my heart, all the love and adoration I feel for them? Are they ripe for liberty? perhaps they have not suffered enough yet? Father, father, whose heart is so powerful and soul so great: whose life was used up in numerous contests, counsel me! help me! I am young and weak, and I only have a strong will and a boundless devotion to support me."
The old man smiled mournfully, and muttered, answering his own thoughts more than his friend:—
"Yes; my life was used up in supreme struggles: the work I helped to raise has been overthrown, but not destroyed; for a new society, full of vitality, has risen from the ruins of a decrepit society; by our efforts the furrow was ploughed too deeply for it ever to be filled up again: progress marching onward, nothing can check or stop it! Do not halt on the road you have chosen; it is the greatest and most noble a great heart can follow."
In uttering these words, the old man had allowed his enthusiasm to carry him away; his head was raised; his brow glistened; the expiring sun played on his face, and imparted to it an expression which Natah Otann had never seen before, and which filled him with respect. But the old man shook his head sorrowfully, and continued:—
"Child, how will you keep your promise? where will you find Motecuhzoma?"
Natah Otann smiled.
"You will soon see, my father," he said.
At the same moment, an Indian, whose panting horse seemed to breathe fire through its nostrils, came up to the chiefs, where he stopped suddenly, as if converted into marble; without dismounting, he bent down to Natah Otann's ear.
"Already!" the latter exclaimed, "Oh! heaven must be on my side! There is not a moment to lose. My horse! quick."
"What is the matter?" the White Buffalo asked.
"Nothing that relates to you at present, my father; but you shall soon know all."
"You are going alone, then?"
"I must for a short period. Farewell!"
Natah Otann's horse uttered a snort of pain, and started at full gallop. Ten minutes later all the Indians had disappeared, and solitude and silence prevailed round the tree of the Master of Life.
Matters had reached this point at the moment when the story we have undertaken to tell, begins: now that we have supplied these indispensable explanations, we will take up our narrative again at the point where we broke it off.
John Black and his family, posted behind the barricade that surrounded the camp, regarded with joy, mingled with alarm, the cavalcade coming toward them like a tornado, raising clouds of dust in its passage.
"Attention, boys!" the American said to his son and servants, with his hand on his trigger. "You know the diabolical trickery of these apes of the prairie; we must not let them surprise us a second time; at the least suspicious sign, a bullet! We shall thus prove to them that we are on our guard."
The emigrant's wife and daughter, with their eyes fixed on the prairie, attentively followed the movements of the Indians.
"You are mistaken, my love," Mrs. Black said; "these men have no hostile designs. The Indians rarely attack by day; when they do so, they never come so openly as this."
"The more so," the young lady added, "as, if I am not mistaken, I can see Europeans galloping at the head of the party."
"Oh!" Black said, "that really has no significance, my child. The prairies swarm with scoundrels who join those demons of Redskins when honest travellers are to be plundered. Who knows, indeed, whether white men were not the instigators of last night's attack?"
"Oh, father, I never could believe such a thing as that," Diana remarked.
Miss Black, of whom we have hitherto said but little, was a girl of about seventeen, tall and slender; her large black eyes, bordered with velvety lashes; the thick bandeaux of brown hair; her little mouth, with its rosy lips and pearly teeth, made her a charming creature, who would have been an ornament anywhere; but in the desert must naturally attract attention. Religiously educated by her mother, a good and pious Presbyterian, Diana still retained all the candour and innocence of youth, combined with that experience of everyday life imparted by the rude life of the clearings, where people begin early to think and act for themselves. In the meanwhile the cavalcade rapidly approached, and was now no great distance off.
"Those are really our animals galloping down there," Will said; "I recognise Sultan, my good horse."
"And Dolly, my poor milch cow," Mrs. Black said, with a sigh.
"Console yourselves," Diana said, "I'll answer for it these people are bringing back our cattle."
The emigrant shook his head in agitation.
"The Indians never give up what they have once seized; but, by my soul, I'll have it out with them, and not let myself be robbed without a trial for it."
"Wait a minute, father," said Will, stopping him, for the emigrant was about to leap over the intrenchments, "we shall soon know what their intentions are."
"Hum! they are very clear, in my idea. The demons want to propose to us some disgusting bargain."
"Perhaps, father, you are mistaken," Diana said, quickly; "and see, they are stopping, and apparently consulting."
In fact, on arriving within gunshot, the Indians halted, and began talking together.
"Why shall we not go on?" the Count asked Bright-eye.
"H'm, you don't know the Yankees, Mr. Edward. I am sure that, if we were to go ten paces further, we should be saluted by a shower of bullets."
"Nonsense!" the young man said, with a shrug of his shoulder; "they are not so mad as to act in that way."
"It's possible; but they would do as I tell you. Look attentively, and you will see from this spot the barrels of their rifles glistening between the stakes of the barricades."
"By Jove! it's true; then they want to be massacred."
"They would have been so long ago, had not my brother interceded in their favour," Natah Otann said, joining in the conversation.
"And I thank you, chief. The desert is large; what harm can those poor devils do you?"
"They, none; but presently others will come and settle by their side, and so on; so that in six months my brother would see a city at a spot where there is now nothing but nature as it left the omnipotent hands of the Master of Life."
"That is true," Bright-eye said, "the Yankees respect nothing; the rage for building cities renders them dangerous madmen."
"Why have we stopped, chief?" the Count said, recurring to his first question.
"To negotiate."
"Will you do me a kindness? Leave this business to me. I am curious to see how these people understand the laws of war, and how they will receive me."
"My brother is free."
"Wait for me here, then, and do not make a move during my absence."
The young man took off his weapons, which he handed to his servant.
"What?" Ivon remarked. "Are you going, my lord, in this state among those heretics?"
"How else should I go? You know very well that a flag of truce has nothing to fear."
"That is possible," the Breton said, very slightly convinced; "but if your lordship will believe me, you will, at least, keep your pistols in your belt; for an accident happens so easily, and you do not know among what sort of people you are going."
"You are mad!" the Count said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, then, as you are going unarmed to speak with people who do not inspire me with the slightest confidence, I must ask your lordship to permit me to accompany you."
"You, nonsense!" the young man said, laughing. "You know very well that you are a wonderful coward; that's agreed on."
"Perfectly true; but I feel capable of anything to defend my master."
"There we have it; your cowardice need only come on you suddenly, and, in your alarm, you will be ready to kill everybody. No, no, none of that; I do not wish to get into trouble through you."
And dismounting, he walked in the direction of the barricades. On arriving a short distance from them, he took out a white handkerchief, and waved it in the air. Black, still ready to fire, carefully watched the Count's every movement, and when he saw his amicable demonstration, he rose, and made him a signal to come on. The young man quietly returned his handkerchief to his pocket, lit a cigar, stuck his glass in his eye, and after drawing on his gloves, walked resolutely on. On reaching the intrenchments, he found himself in front of Black, who was waiting for him, leaning on his rifle.
"What do you want of me?" the American said, roughly. "Make haste! I have no time to lose in conversation."
The Count surveyed him haughtily, assumed the most insolent posture he could select, and puffing a cloud of smoke into his face, said dryly—
"You are not polite, my dear fellow."
"Halloa!" the other said. "Have you come here to insult me?"
"I have come to do you a service; and if you continue in that tone, I am afraid I shall be obliged not to do it."
"We'll see to that—do me a service! And what may it be?" the American asked with a grin.
"You are a low fellow," the Count remarked, "with whom it is offensive to talk. I prefer to withdraw."
"Withdraw—oh, nonsense! You are too valuable a hostage. I shall keep you, my gentleman, and only give you up at a good figure,", the American continued.
"What! Is that the way you comprehend the law of nations? That's curious," the Count said, still sarcastic.
"There is no law of nations with bandits."
"Thanks for your compliment, master. And what would you do to keep me, if I did not think proper?"
"Like this," the American said, laying his hand roughly on his shoulder.
"What!" the Count said. "I really believe, Heaven forgive me! that you dared to lay a hand on me!"
And ere the emigrant had time to prevent it, he seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and hurled him over the barricade. The giant fell all bruised in the middle of his camp. Instead of withdrawing, as any other might have done in his place, the young man crossed his arms, and waited, smoking peacefully. The emigrant, stunned by his rough fall, rose, shaking himself like a wet dog, and feeling his ribs, to assure himself that there was nothing broken. The ladies uttered a cry of terror on seeing him re-enter the camp in such a peculiar way, while his son and servants looked toward him, ready to fire at the first signal.
"Lower your guns," he said to them; and leaping once more over the barricade, he walked towards the Count. The latter awaited him with perfect calmness.
"Ah! there you are," he said, "Well, how did you like that?"
"Come, come," the American replied, holding out his hand; "I was in the wrong; I am a brute beast; forgive me."
"Very good; I like you better like that; we only need to understand each other. You are now prepared to listen to me, I fancy?"
"Quite."
There are certain men, like John Black, with whom it is necessary to employ extreme measures, and prove your superiority to them. With such persons you do not argue, but smash them; after which it always happens that these men, before so intractable, become gentle as lambs, and do all you want. The American, possessed of great strength, and confiding in it, thought he had a right to be insolent with a slight and weak looking man; but so soon as this man had proved to him, in a peremptory manner, that he was the more powerful of the two, the bull drew in his horns, and recoiled all the distance he had advanced.
"This night," the Count then said, "you were attacked by the Blackfeet; I wished to come to your aid, but it was impossible, and, besides, I should have arrived too late. As, however, for some reason or other; the men who attacked you feel a certain amount of consideration for me, I have profited by my influence to make them restore the cattle they stole from you."
"Thanks; believe that I sincerely regret what has passed between us; but I was so annoyed by the loss I had experienced."
"I understand all that, and willingly pardon you, the more so as I, perhaps, gave you rather too rude a shock just now."
"Oh, do not mention it, I beg."
"As you please; it is all the same to me."
"And my cattle?"
"Are at your disposal. Will you have them at once?"
"I will not conceal from you that—"
"Very good," the Count interrupted him; "wait a minute, I will tell them to bring them up."
"Do you think I have nothing to fear from the Indians?"
"Not if you know how to manage them."
"Well, then, shall I wait for you?"
"Only a few minutes."
The Count went down the hill again with the same calm step he had gone up it. So soon as he rejoined the Indians, his friends surrounded him; they had seen all that passed, and were delighted at the way in which he had ended the discussion.
"Good heavens! how coarse those Americans are," the young man said. "Pray give him his cattle, chief, and let us have done with him. The animal all but put me in a passion."
"He is coming toward us," Natah Otann replied, with an undefinable smile. Black, indeed, soon came up. The worthy emigrant, having been duly scolded by his wife and daughter, had recognized the full extent of his stupidity, and was most anxious to repair it.
"Really, gentlemen," he said, "we cannot part in this way. I owe you great obligations, and am desirous to prove to you that I am not such a brute as I probably seem to be. Be kind enough to stay with us, if only for an hour, to show us that you bear no malice."
This invitation was given in a hearty, but, at the same time, cordial manner, and it was so evident that the good man was confused, that the Count had not the heart to refuse him. The Indians camped where they were. The chief and the three hunters followed the American into his camp, where the cattle had already been restored. The reception was as it should be in the desert; the ladies had hastily prepared refreshments under the tent, while William and the two serving men made a breach in the barricade, to give passage to his father's guests. Lucy Black and Diana awaited the newcomers at the entrance of the camp.
"You are welcome, gentlemen," the Americans wife said, with a graceful bow; "we are all so much indebted to you, that we are only too happy to receive you."
The chief and the Count bowed politely to the lady, who was doing all in her power to repair the clumsy brutality of her husband. The Count, at the sight of Diana, felt an emotion which he could not, at the first blush, understand; his heart beat on regarding this charming creature, who was exposed to so many dangers through the life to which she was condemned. Diana blushed at the ardent glance of the young man, and timidly drew nearer her mother, with that instinct of modesty innate in woman's heart, which makes her ever seek protection from her to whom she owes existence.
After the first compliments, Natah Otann, the Count, and Bright-eye, entered the tent where Black and his son were awaiting them. When the ice was broken, which does not take long among people accustomed to prairie life, the conversation became more animated and intimate.
"So," the Count asked, "you have left the clearings with the intention of never returning?"
"Oh, yes," the emigrant answered; "for a man having a family, everything is becoming so dear on the frontier, that he must make up his mind to enter the desert."
"I can understand your doing so as a man, for you can always manage to get out of difficulties; but your wife and daughter—you condemn them to a very sorrowful and dangerous life."
"It is a wife's duty to follow her husband," Mrs. Black said with a slight accent of reproach. "I am happy wherever he is, provided I am by his side."
"Good, madam; I admire such sentiments; but permit me an observation."
"Certainly, sir."
"Was it necessary to come so far to find a suitable farm?"
"Certainly not; but we should have run the risk of being someday expelled from the new clearing by the owners of the land, and compelled to begin a new plantation further away," she said.
"While now," Black continued, "at the place where we are, we have nothing of that sort to fear, as the land belongs to nobody."
"My brother is mistaken," the chief said, who had not yet spoken a word; "the country, for ten days' march in every direction, belongs to me and my tribe; the Paleface is here on the hunting grounds of the Kenhas."
Black regarded Natah Otann with an air of embarrassment.
"Well," he said, after a moment's pause, as if speaking against the grain; "we will go further, wife."
"Where can the Palefaces go to find land that belongs to nobody?" the chief continued, severely.
This time the American had not a word to say. Diana, who had never before seen an Indian so close, regarded the chief with a mingled feeling of curiosity and terror. The Count smiled.
"The chief is right," Bright-eye said, "the prairies belong to the Red men."
Black had bowed his head on his chest, in perplexity.
"What is to be done?" he muttered.
Natah Otann laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Let my brother open his ears," he said to him; "a chief is about to speak."
The American fixed an inquiring glance on him.
"Does this country suit my brother then?" the Indian continued.
"Why should I deny it? This country is the finest I ever saw; close to me I have the river, behind me, immense virgin forests. Oh yes, it is a fine country, and I should have made a magnificent plantation."
"I have told my Paleface brother," the chief went on, "that this country belonged to me."
"Yes, you told me so, chief, and it is true; I cannot deny it."
"Well, if the Paleface desires it, he can obtain so much ground as he wishes," Natah Otann said, concisely.
At this proposition, which the American was far from suspecting, he pricked up his ears; the squatter's nature was aroused in him.
"How can I buy the land when I possess nothing?" he said.
"That is of no consequence," the chief replied.
The astonishment now became general; each looked at the Indian curiously: for the conversation had suddenly acquired a grave importance which no one expected. Black, however, was not deceived by this apparent facility.
"The chief has doubtless not understood me," he said.
The Indian shook his head.
"The Paleface cannot buy the land, because he has not wherewith to pay for it; those were his words."
"True; and the chief answered that it was of little matter."
"I said so."
There was no mistake, the two men had clearly understood one another.
"There is some devilry behind that," Bright-eye muttered in his moustache; "an Indian does not give an egg, unless he expects an ox in return."
"What do you want to arrive at, chief?" the Count asked Natah Otann, frankly.
"I will explain myself," the latter said; "my brother interests himself in this family, I believe?"
"I do," the young man answered, with some surprise, "and you know my reasons."
"Good; let my brother pledge himself to accompany me during two moons, without asking any explanation of my actions, and give me his aid whenever I require it, and I will give this man as much ground as he needs to found a settlement, and he need never fear being annoyed by the Redskins, or dispossessed by the Whites, for I am really the owner of the land, and no other can lay claim to it."
"A moment," Bright-eye said, as he rose; "in my presence, Mr. Edward will not accept such a bargain; no one buys a pig in a poke, and it would be madness to submit his will to the caprices of another man."
Natah Otann frowned, his eye flashed fire, and he rose.
"Dog of the Palefaces," he shouted, "take care of thy words—I have once spared thy life."
"Your menaces do not frighten me, Redskin," the Canadian replied, resolutely; "you lie if you say that you were master of my life; it only depends from the will of God; you cannot cause a hair of my head to fall without His consent."
Natah Otann laid his hand on his knife, a movement immediately imitated by the hunter, and they stood opposite each other, ready for action. The ladies uttered a shriek of terror, William and his father stood before them, ready to interfere in the quarrel, if it were necessary. But the Count had already, quick as thought, thrown himself between the two men, shouting loudly—
"Stop! I insist on it!"
Yielding to the ascendency of the speaker, the Blackfoot and the Canadian each fell back a step, returned their knives to their girdles, and waited. The Count looked at them for a moment, then, holding out his hand to Bright-eye, said, affectionately—
"Thank you, my friend, but for the present I do not require your aid."
"Good, good," the hunter said; "you know I am yours, body and soul. Mr. Edward, it is only deferred." And the worthy Canadian sat down again quietly.
"As for you, chief," the young man continued, "the proposals are unacceptable. I should be mad to agree to them, and I hope I am not quite in that state yet. I wish to teach you this, that I have only come on the prairie to hunt for a short time; that time has passed; pressing business requires my presence in the United States, and dispels my desire to be useful to these good people; so soon as I have accompanied you to the village, according to my promise, I shall say good-bye to you, and probably never return."
"Which will be extremely agreeable to me," Bright-eye said, in confirmation.
The Indian did not stir.
"Still," the Count went on, "there is, perhaps, a way of settling the matter to the satisfaction of all parties; land is not so dear here; tell me your price, and I will pay you at once, either in dollars, or in bills on a New York banker."
"All right," the hunter said; "there is still that way open."
"Oh! I thank you, sir," Mrs. Black exclaimed, "but my husband cannot and ought not to accept such a proposal."
"Why not, my dear lady, if it suits me, and the chief accepts my offer?"
Black, we must do him the justice to say, satisfied himself by signifying his approval by a gesture; but the worthy squatter, like a true American, was very careful not to say a word. As for Diana, fascinated by such disinterestedness, she gazed on the Count with eyes sparkling with gratitude, not daring to express aloud what her secret thoughts were about this noble and generous gentleman. Natah Otann raised his head.
"I will prove to my brother," he said, in a gentle voice, and bowing courteously, "that the Red men are as generous as the Palefaces. I sell him eight hundred acres of land, to be chosen where he pleases along the river, for one dollar."
"A dollar?" the young man exclaimed, in surprise.
"Yes," the chief said, smiling, "in that way I shall be paid, my brother will owe me nothing; and if he consents to stay a little while with me, it will be of his own accord, and because he likes to be with a true friend."
This unforeseen result to a scene which had for a moment threatened to end in blood, filled all persons with surprise. Bright-eye alone was not duped by the chief's courtesy.
"There's something behind it," he muttered to himself, "but I will watch, and that demon must be very cunning to cheat me."
The Count was affected by this generosity, which he was far from expecting.
"There, chief," he said, handing him the stipulated dollar, "now we are quits; but be assured that I will not be outdone by you."
Natah Otann bowed courteously.
"Now," the Count continued, "a last favour."
"Let my brother speak, he has the right to ask everything of me."
"Make peace with my old Bright-eye,"
"As my brother desires it," the chief said, "I will do so willingly; and, as a sign of reconciliation, I beg him to accept the dollar you have given me."
The hunter's first impulse was to decline it; but he thought better of it, took the dollar, and carefully placed it in his belt. Black knew not how to express his gratitude to the Count, who had really made him a landed proprietor; and the same day the American and his son chose the land on which the plantation should be established. The Count drew up on a leaf of his pocketbook a regular deed of sale, which was signed by himself, Bright-eye, and Ivon, as witnesses, by Black as purchaser, and at the foot of which Natah Otann drew the totem of his tribe, and an animal intended to represent a bear, which formed his speaking but most emblematical signature. The chief, had he pleased, could have signed like the rest, but he wished to hide from all the instruction he owed to the White Buffalo. Black preciously placed the deed between the leaves of his family bible, and said to the Count, while squeezing his hand hard enough to smash it—
"Remember that you have in John Black a man who will let his bones be broken for you, whenever you think proper."
Diana said nothing, but she gave the young man a look which paid him amply for what he had done for the family.
"Attention," Bright-eye said, in a whisper, the first time he found himself alone with Ivon; "from this day watch carefully over your master, for a terrible danger threatens him."
About four or five hours after the various events we have described in the previous chapters, a horseman, mounted on a powerful steed, caparisoned in the Indian fashion, that is to say, bedizened with feathers, and painted of glaring colours, crossed a streamlet, and galloped over the prairies, proceeding in the direction of the Virgin forest, to which we have several times alluded. The rider, dressed in the war costume of the Blackfoot Indians, and whom it was easy to recognize as a chief by the eagle feather fastened over his right ear, incessantly bent over his horse's neck, and urged it to increased speed.
It was night, but an American night, full of sharp odours and mysterious sounds, with a dark blue sky, studded with an infinite number of dazzling stars; the moon profusely spread her silvery rays over the landscape, casting a deceitful brightness, which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects. All seemed to sleep on the prairies; the wind even hardly shook the umbrageous tops of the trees; the wild beasts, after drinking at the river, had returned to their hidden dens. The horseman alone moved on, gliding silently through the darkness; at times he raised his head, as if consulting the sky, then, after a seconds rest, he galloped onwards.
Many hours passed ere the horseman thought of stopping. At length he reached a spot where the trees were so interlaced by creepers which enfolded them, that a species of insurmountable wall suddenly prevented the rider's progress. After a moment's hesitation, and looking attentively around to discover a hole by which he could pass, seeing clearly that all attempts would be useless, he dismounted. He saw that he had arrived at a canebrake, or spot where a passage can only be made by fire or axe. The Indian chief fastened his horse to the trunk of a tree; left within its reach a stock of grass and climbing peas; then, certain that his horse would want for nothing during this long night, he began thinking of himself.
First he cut down with his bowie knife the bushes and plants which interfered with the encampment he wished to form; then he prepared, with all the stoicism of a prairie denizen, a fire of dry wood, in order to cook his supper, and keep off wild beasts, if anyone took it into his head to pay him a visit during his sleep. Among the wood he collected was a large quantity of what the Mexicans callpalo mulato, or stinking wood; this he was careful to remove, for the pestiferous smell of that tree would have denounced his presence for miles round, and the Indian, judging from the precautions he took, seemed afraid of being discovered; in fact, the care with which he had placed sand-bags round his horse's hoofs, to dull the sound, sufficiently proved this.
When the fire, so placed as not to be visible ten yards off, poured its pleasant column of flame into the air, the Indian took from his elk-skin pouch a little Indian wheat and pemmican, which he ate with considerable appetite, looking round continually in the surrounding gloom, and stopping to listen attentively to those noiseless sounds which by night trouble the imposing calmness of the desert, without any apparent cause. When his scanty meal was ended, the Indian filled his pipe with kinne-kinnick, and began smoking.
Still, in spite of his apparent calmness, the man was not easy; at times he took the pipe from his lips, looked up, and anxiously consulted the sky, through a break in the foliage above his head. At length he appeared to form an energetic resolution, and raising his fingers to his lips, imitated thrice, with rare perfection, the cry of the blue jay, that privileged bird that sings in the night; then he bent his body forward and listened, but nothing proved to him that his signal had been heard.
"Wait a while," he muttered.
And crouching again before the fire, into which he threw a handful of dry branches, he began smoking again. Several hours passed thus: at length the moon disappeared from the horizon, the cold became sharper, and the sky, in which the stars expired one after the other, was tinted with a rosy hue. The Indian, who had been slumbering for a while, suddenly shook himself, turned a suspicious glance around, and muttered hoarsely,—
"She cannot be far off."
And he again gave the signal. The last cry had scarce died out in the distance, when a roar was heard close by. The Indian, instead of being alarmed by this ill-omened sound, smiled, and said in a loud and firm voice,—
"You are welcome, She-wolf; you know it is I who am awaiting you here."
"Ah! you are there, then!" a voice answered.
A rustling of leaves was now heard in the bushes opposite the spot where the Indian was seated; the reeds and creepers were pulled back by a vigorous hand, and a woman appeared in the space left free. Before advancing, she thrust her head forward cautiously, and looked.
"I am alone," the Indian said; "you can approach without fear."
A smile played over the newcomer's lips at this answer, which she did not expect.
"I fear nothing," she said.
Before going further, we will give some indispensable details about this woman—vague, it is true, as we can only supply what the Indians said about her, but which will be useful to the reader in comprehending the facts that will follow. No one knew who she was, or whence she came. The period when she was first seen on the prairie was equally unknown. All was an inexplicable mystery connected with her. Though she spoke fluently, and with extreme purity, most of the prairie idioms, still certain words she at times used, and the colour of her skin, not so brown as that of the natives, caused the supposition that she belonged to another race from theirs. It was only a supposition, however, for her hatred of the Indians was too well known for the bravest among them ever to venture to see her sufficiently closely to render themselves certain on that head.
At times she disappeared for weeks, even for months, and it was impossible to discover her trail. Then she was suddenly seen again wandering about, talking to herself, marching nearly always by night, frequently accompanied by an idiotic and dumb dwarf, who followed her like a dog, and whom the Indians, in their credulous superstition, suspected strongly of being her familiar. This woman, ever gloomy and melancholy, with her wild looks and startling gestures, could not be accused of doing anyone harm, in spite of the general terror she inspired. Still, owing to the strange life she led, all the misfortunes that happened to the Indians, in war or hunting, were imputed to her. The Redskins considered her a wicked genius, and had given her the name of theSpirit of Evil. Hence the man who had come so far to see her must necessarily have been gifted with extraordinary courage, or some powerful reason impelled him to act as he was doing.
As this Blackfoot chief is destined to play a great part in this narrative, we will give his portrait in a few words. He was a man who had reached middle life, or about forty-five years. He was tall, well built, and admirably proportioned. His muscles, standing out like whipcord, denoted extraordinary vigour. He had an intelligent face; his features expressed cunning, while his eyes were rarely fixed on any object, but gave him an expression of craft and brutal cruelty, which inspired an unenviable repugnance towards him, if you took the trouble to study him carefully: but observers are rare in the desert, and with the Indians this chief enjoyed a great reputation, and was equally beloved for his tried courage and inexhaustible powers of speech, qualities highly esteemed by the Redskins.
"The night is still gloomy; my mother can approach," the Indian chief said.
"I am coming," the woman said, drily, as she advanced.
"I have been waiting a long while."
"I know it, but no matter."
"The road was long to come."
"I am here; speak!"
And she leaned against the stem of a tree, crossing her arms on her chest.
"What can I say, if my mother does not first question me?"
"That is true. Answer me then."
There was a silence, only troubled by the wind sighing in the leaves; after a few moments' reflection, the woman at length began,—
"Have you done what I ordered?"
"I have."
"Well?"
"My mother guessed rightly."
"Is it so?"
"All is preparing for action,"
"You are sure?"
"I was present at the council."
She smiled triumphantly.
"Where was the meeting place?"
"At the tree of life."
"Long ago?"
"The sun has set eight hours since."
"Good! What was resolved?"
"What you already know."
"The destruction of the whites?"
"Yes."
"When will the war signal be given?"
"The day is not yet fixed."
"Ah!" she said in a tone of regret.
"But it cannot be long," he added quickly.
"What makes you think so?"
"The Grizzly Bear is eager to finish."
"And I, too," the woman muttered in a low voice.
The conversation was again broken off. The woman paced up and down the clearing in thought. The chief followed her with his eyes, carefully examining her. All at once she stopped before him, and looked him In the face.
"You are devoted to me, chief?" she said.
"Do you doubt it?"
"Perhaps."
"Still, only a few hours ago, I gave you a decided proof of my devotion."
"What?"
"This!" he said, pointing to his left arm, which was wrapped in strips of bark.
"I do not understand you."
"You see I am wounded?"
"Well! what then?"
"The Redskins attacked the Palefaces some hours ago; they were scaling the barricade which protected their camp, when they suddenly retired on your appearance, by order of their chief, who was wounded, and thirsting for revenge."
"It is true."
"Good. And the chief who commanded the Redskins—does my mother know him?"
"No."
"It was I, the Red Wolf: does my mother still doubt?"
"The path on which I am walking is so gloomy," she replied sorrowfully; "the work I am accomplishing is so serious, and of such import to me, that at times I feel fear enter my heart, and doubt contract my chest, when I think I am alone, a poor weak woman, to wrestle with a giant. For long years I have been ripening the plan I wish to accomplish today; I have occupied my whole life to obtain the result I desire, and I fear failure at the moment of succeeding. Then, if I have no longer confidence in myself, can I trust a man whom self-interest may urge to betray, or at any rate abandon me at a moment."
The chief drew himself up on hearing these words; his eye flashed fire, and, with a gesture of wounded pride, he said,—
"Silence! my mother must not add a word. She insults at this moment a man who is most anxious to prove his truth to her: ingratitude is a white vice, gratitude a red virtue. My mother was ever kind to me; Red Wolf cannot count the occasions on which he owes his life to her. My mother's heart is ulcered by misfortune; solitude is an evil counsellor: my mother listens too much to the voices which whisper in her ear through the silence of night; she forgets the services she has rendered, only to remember the ingratitude she has sowed on her road. Red Wolf is devoted to her, he loves her; the She-wolf can place entire confidence in him, he is worthy of it."
"Dare I believe in these protestations? Can I put faith in these promises?" she muttered.
The chief continued passionately,—
"If the gratitude I have vowed to my mother is not enough, another and stronger tie attaches us, which must convince her of my sincerity."
"What is it?" she asked, looking fixedly at him.
"Hatred," he answered.
"That is true," she said, with a sinister burst of laughter. "You hate him too?"
"Yes; I hate him with all the strength of my soul: I hate him, because he has robbed me of the two things I held most to on earth,—the love of the woman I adored, and the power I coveted."
"But are you not a chief?" she said significantly.
"Yes!" he exclaimed proudly, "I am a chief, but my father was a sachem of the Kenhas; his son is brave, he is crafty, the scalps of numberless Palefaces dry before his lodge. Why then is Red Wolf only an inferior chief, instead of leading his men to battle as his father did?"
The woman seemed to take a delight in exciting the anger of the Indian, instead of calming it.
"Because doubtlessly," she said, "a wiser man than the Red Wolf has gained the votes of his brothers."
"Let my mother say that a greater rogue stole them from him, and her words will be true," he exclaimed violently. "Grizzly Bear is a Comanche dog, the son of an exile, received through favour into my tribe; his scalp will soon dry on the girdle of the Red Wolf."
"Patience!" the woman said in a hoarse voice. "Vengeance is a fruit which is only eaten ripe: the Red Wolf is a warrior; he can wait."
"Let my mother order," the Indian said, suddenly calmed; "her son will obey."
"Has the Red Wolf succeeded in obtaining the medicine which Prairie-Flower wears round her neck?"
The Indian bowed his head in confusion.
"No," he said hoarsely. "Prairie-Flower never leaves the White Buffalo; it is impossible to approach her."
The woman smiled ironically.
"What! did Red Wolf ever keep a promise?"
The Blackfoot shuddered with rage.
"I will have it," he cried, "even if I must use force in obtaining it."
"No," she replied; "cunning alone must be employed."
"I will have it," he repeated. "Before two days I will give it to my mother."
"No," she said quickly; "in two days is too soon. Let my son give it me on the fifth day of the new moon, which will begin within three days."