"Yes," James answered, "we have in front of us a hillock, on the top of which it would be easy for us to take up our quarters."
"And which," William interrupted him, "we could convert into an almost impregnable fortress in a few hours."
"We should have a hard job in getting the wagon up the hill," the father said, shaking his head.
"Nonsense," Sam objected, "not so much as you suppose, Master Black; a little trouble, and we can manage it."
"How so?"
"Why," the servant replied, "we need only unload the wagon."
"That's true; when it's empty, it will be easy to get it to the top of the hill."
"Stay," William observed, "do you think, father, that it is really necessary to take all that trouble? A night is soon spent, and I fancy we should do well to remain where we are: the position is an excellent one; it is only a few paces to the river bank, and we can lead our oxen to water."
"No; we must not remain here, the place is too open, and we should have no shelter if the Indians attacked us."
"The Indians!" the young man said, with a laugh; "why, we have not seen a single one the whole day."
"Yes; what you say, William, is correct, the Redskins have disappeared; but shall I tell you my real thoughts? It is really this disappearance, which I do not understand, that troubles me."
"Why so, father?"
"Because, if they are hiding, they are preparing some ambuscade, and do not wish us to know the direction where they are."
"Come, father, do you really believe that?" the young man remarked in a light tone.
"I am convinced of it," the emigrant said earnestly. The two servants bowed their heads in affirmation.
"You will pardon me, father, if I do not share your opinion," the young man continued. "For my own part, on the other hand, I feel certain that these red devils, who have been following us so long, have eventually understood that they could gain nothing from us but bullets, and, like prudent men, have given up following us further."
"No, no; you are mistaken, my son, it is not so."
"Look ye, father," the young man continued, with a certain amount of excitement, "allow me to make an observation which, I think, will bring you over to my way of thinking."
"Do so, my son; we are here to exchange our opinions freely, and select the best: the common interest is at stake, and we have to act for the safety of all: under circumstances so grave as the present, I should never forgive myself for neglecting good advice, no matter from whom it came; speak, therefore, without timidity."
"You know, father," the young man went on, "that the Indians understand honour differently from ourselves; that is to say, when the success of an expedition is not clearly proved to them, they have no shame about resigning it, because what they seek in the first place is profit."
"I know all that, my son; but I do not see yet what you are driving at."
"You will soon understand me. For nearly two months, from sunrise, the moment we set out, to sunset, which is generally the time of our halt, the Redskins have been following us step by step, and we have been unable to escape for a single moment these most troublesome neighbours, who have watched our every movement."
"That is true," John Black said, "but what do you conclude from that?"
"A very simple thing: they have seen that we were continually on our guard, and that if they attempted to attack us, they would be beaten; hence they have retired, that is all."
"Unfortunately, William, you have forgotten one thing."
"What is it?"
"This: the Indians, generally not so well armed as the white men, are afraid to attack them, especially when they suppose they shall have to deal with persons almost as numerous as themselves, and in the bargain, sheltered behind wagons and bales of merchandise; but that is not at all the case here: since they have been watching us, the Indians have had many opportunities of counting us, and have done so long ago."
"Yes," Sam said.
"Well, they know that we are only four—they are at least fifty, if they are not more numerous. What can four men, in spite of all their courage, effect against such a considerable number of enemies? Nothing, The Redskins know it, and they will act in accordance; that is, when the opportunity offers, they will not fail to seize it."
"But—"—the young man objected.
"Another consideration to which you have not paid attention," John Black quietly continued, "is that the Indians, whatever the number of their enemies may be, never quit them without having attempted, at least once, to surprise them."
"In truth," William answered, "that astonishes me on their part: however, I am of your opinion, father; even if the precautions we propose taking only serve to reassure my mother and sister, it would be well not to neglect them."
"Well spoken, William," the emigrant remarked, "let us therefore set to work without delay."
The party broke up, and the four men, throwing their rifles on their shoulders, began making active preparations for the encampment. Sam collected the oxen by the aid of the dogs, and led them down to the river to drink. John, in the meanwhile, went up to the wagon.
"Well, my love," his wife asked him, "why this halt, and this long discussion? Has any accident occurred?"
"Nothing that need at all alarm you, Lucy," the emigrant answered; "we are going to camp, that is all."
"Oh, gracious me! I do not know why, but I was afraid lest some misfortune had happened."
"On the contrary; we are quieter than we have been for a long time."
"How so, father?" Diana asked, thrusting her charming face from under the canvas which concealed her.
"Those rascally Indians, who frightened us so much, my darling Diana, have at length made up their minds to leave us; we have not seen a single one during the whole day."
"Oh, all the better!" the girl said quickly, as she clapped her dainty palms together; "I confess that I am not brave, and those frightful Red men caused me terrible alarm."
"Well, you will not see them again, I hope," John Black said, gaily; though while giving his daughter this assurance to appease her fears, he did not believe a word he uttered. "Now," he added, "have, the goodness to get down, so that we may unload the wagon."
"Unload the wagon," the old lady remarked, "why so?
"It is just possible," the husband answered, anxious not to reveal the real reason, "that we may remain here a few days, in order to rest the cattle."
"Ah, very good," she said; and she got out, followed by her daughter.
The two ladies had scarce set foot on ground, ere the men began unloading the wagon. This task lasted nearly an hour. Sam had time enough to lead the cattle to water, and collect them on the top of the hill.
"Are we going to camp, then?" Mrs. Black asked.
"Yes," her husband answered.
"Come, Diana," the old lady said.
The two women packed up some kitchen utensils, and clomb the hill, where, after lighting the fire, they began preparing supper. So soon as the cart was unloaded, the two labouring men, aided by William, pushed it behind, while John Black, at the head of the team, began flogging the horses. The incline was rather steep, but owing to the vigour of the horses and the impatience of the men, who at each step laid rollers behind the wheels, the wagon at last reached the top. The rest was as nothing, and within an hour the camp was arranged as follows.
The emigrants formed, with the bales and trees they felled, a large circle, in the midst of which the cattle were tied up, and then put up a tent for the two women. When this was effected, John Black cast a glance of satisfaction around. His family were temporarily protected from a coup de main—thanks to the manner in which the bales and trees were arranged, and the party were enabled to fire from under cover on any enemy that might attack them, and defend themselves a long time successfully.
The sun had set for more than an hour before these various preparations were completed, and supper was ready. The Americans seated themselves in a circle round the fire, and ate with the appetite of men accustomed to danger—an appetite which the greatest alarm cannot deprive them of. After the meal, John Black offered up a prayer, as he did every evening before going to rest; the others standing, with uncovered heads, listened attentively to the prayer, and when it was completed, the two ladies entered the hut prepared for them.
"And now," Black said, "let us keep a careful watch the night is dark, the moon rises late, and you are aware that the Indians choose the morning, the moment when sleep is deepest, to attack their enemies."
The fire was covered, so that its light should not reveal the exact position of the camp; and the two servants lay down side by side on the grass, where they soon fell asleep: while father and son, standing at either extremity of the camp, watched over the common safety.
All was calm in the prairie; not a sound disturbed the silence of the desert. On the sudden appearance of the Indian, whatever the emotion Bright-eye might feel, it was impossible for Natah Otann to perceive anything: the hunter's face remained calm, and not a muscle moved.
"Ah!" he said, "the sachem of the Piékanns is welcome: does he come as a friend or an enemy?"
"Natah Otann comes to sit by the fire of the palefaces, and smoke the calumet with them," the chief replied, casting a searching glance around him.
"Good: if the chief will wait a moment, I will light the fire."
"Bright-eye can light it, the chief will wait: he has come to talk with the palefaces, and the conversation will be long."
The Canadian looked fixedly at the Redskin; but the Indian was impassive like himself, and it was impossible to read anything on his features. The hunter collected a few handfuls of dry wood, struck a light, and soon a bright flame sprung up, and illumined the mount. The Indian drew near the fire, took his calumet from his girdle, and began grimly smoking. Bright-eye not wishing to remain in any way behindhand, imitated his every movement with perfectly feigned indifference, and the two men sat for several moments puffing clouds of smoke at each other. Natah Otann at length broke the silence.
"The pale hunter is a warrior," he said; "why does he try to hide himself like the water rat?"
Bright-eye did not consider it advisable to reply to this insinuation, and continued smoking philosophically, while casting a side-glance at his questioner.
"The Blackfeet have the eye of the eagle," Natah Otann continued, "their piercing eyes see all that happens on the prairie."
The Canadian made a sign of assent, but did not yet reply; the chief continued:—
"Natah Otann has seen the trail of his friends the palefaces, his heart quivered with pleasure in his breast, and he has come to meet them."
Bright-eye slowly removed his pipe from his lips, and turning towards the Indian, examined him carefully for an instant, and then answered—
"I repeat to my brother that he is welcome: I know that he is a great chief, and am happy to see him."
"Wah!" the Indian said, with a cunning smile: "is my brother so satisfied as he says at my presence?"
"Why not, chief?"
"My brother is angry still that the Blackfeet fastened him to the stake of torture."
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and coldly answered:—
"Nonsense, chief! why do you fancy I am angry with you or your nation? war is war; I have no reproaches to make to you. You wished to kill me, I escaped; so we are quits."
"Good: does my brother speak the truth? has he really forgotten?" the chief asked with some vivacity.
"Why not?" the Canadian answered cautiously. "I have not a forked tongue, the words my mouth utters come from my heart: I have not forgotten the treatment you made me undergo, I should lie if I said so: but I have forgiven it."
"Ochi! my brother is a greatheart: he is generous."
"No: I am merely a man who knows Indian customs, that is all: you did no more and no less than all the Redskins do under similar circumstances: I cannot be angry with you for having acted according to your nature."
There was a silence; the two men went on smoking. The Indian was the first to interrupt it.
"Then my brother is a friend," he said.
"And you?" the hunter asked, answering one question by another.
The chief rose with a gesture full of majesty, and threw back the folds of his buffalo robe.
"Would an enemy come like this?" he asked, in a gentle voice.
The Canadian could not repress a movement of surprise; the Blackfoot was unarmed, his girdle was empty: he had not even his scalping knife,—that weapon from which the Indians part so unwillingly. Bright-eye offered him his hand.
"Shake hands, chief," he said to him. "You are a man of heart: now speak, I am listening to you: and, in the first place, will you have a draught of firewater?"
"The firewater is an evil counsellor," the chief replied, with a smile; "it makes the Indians mad: Natah Otann does not drink it."
"Come, come, I see that I was mistaken with regard to you, chief; that pleases me: speak, my ears are open."
"What I have to say to Bright-eye other ears must not listen to."
"My friends are in a deep sleep, you can speak without fear; and even if they were awake, as you know, they do not understand your language."
The Indian shook his head.
"Glass-eye knows everything," he replied, "the Grizzly Bear will not speak before him."
"As you please, chief: still, I would remark that I have nothing to say to you: you can speak, therefore, or be silent at your ease."
Natah Otann seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then continued:—
"Bright-eye will follow his friend to the river bank, and there listen to the words of the Blackfoot chief."
"Hum!" the hunter said, "and who will watch over my companions during my absence? No, no," he added, "I cannot do that, chief. The Redskins have the cunning of the opossum: while I am near the river, my friends may be surprised. Who will respond for their safety?"
The Indian rose.
"The word of a chief," he said, in a proud voice, and with a gesture full of majesty.
The Canadian looked at him attentively. "Listen, Redskin," he said to him, "I do not doubt your honour, so do not take in ill part what I am going to say to you."
"I listen to my brother," the Indian answered.
"I must watch over my companions. Since you insist on speaking to me in secret, I consent to follow you, but on one condition, that I do not lay aside my weapons; in that way, should one of those things happen, which are too common in the prairie, and which no human foresight can prevent, I shall be able to face the danger and sell my life dearly: if what I propose suits you, I am ready to follow you; if not, not."
"Good," the Indian said, with a smile, "my pale brother is right, a true hunter never quits his weapons. Bright-eye may follow his friend."
"Very well, then," the Canadian said, resolutely, as he threw his rifle on his shoulder.
Natah Otann began descending the hill. While gliding noiselessly through the shrubs and thickets, the Canadian walked literally in his footsteps; but though pretending the most perfect security, he did not omit carefully examining the vicinity, and lending an ear to the slightest sound, but all was calm and silent in the desert, and after some ten minutes' walk the two men reached the riverside.
The Mecha-Chebe rolled its waters majestically in a bed of golden sand, while at times a few vague shadows appeared on the bank: they were wild beasts coming to drink in the river. Two leagues from them, at the top of the hill, sparkled the last flames of an expiring fire, which appeared at intervals between the branches. Natah Otann stopped at the extremity of a species of small promontory, the point of which advanced some distance into the water. This spot was entirely free from vegetation: the eye could survey the prairie for a great distance, and detect the slightest movement in the desert.
"Does this place suit the hunter?" the chief asked.
"Capitally," Bright-eye replied, resting the butt of his rifle on the ground, and crossing his hands over the muzzle: "I am ready to hear the communication my brother wishes to make me."
The Indian walked up and down the sand with folded arms and drooping head, like a man who is reflecting deeply. The hunter followed him with his glance, waiting calmly, till he thought proper to offer an explanation. It was easy to see that Natah Otann was ripening in his brain one of those bold projects such as Indians frequently imagine, but knew not how to enter upon it. The hunter resolved to put a stop to this state of things.
"Come," he said, "my brother has made me leave my camp; he invited me to follow him; I consented to do so: now that, according to his desire, we are free from human ears, will he not speak, so that I may return to my companions?"
The Indian stopped before him.
"My brother will remain," he said; "the hour is come for an explanation between us. My brother loves Glass-eye?"
The hunter regarded his querist craftily.
"What good of that question?" he asked: "it must be a matter of indifference to the chief whether I love or not the man he pleases to call Glass-eye."
"A chief never loses his time in vain discourses," the Indian said, peremptorily; "the words his lips utter are always simple, and go straight to the point; let my brother then answer as clearly as I interrogate him."
"I see no great inconvenience in doing so. Yes, I love Glass-eye; I love him not only because he saved my life, but because he is one of the most honourable men I ever met."
"Good! for what purpose does Glass-eye traverse the prairie? My brother doubtlessly knows."
"My faith, no! I confess to you, chief, my ignorance on that head is complete. Still, I fancy that, wearied with the life of cities, he has come here with no other object than to calm his soul by the sublime aspect of nature, and the grand melodies of the desert."
The Indian shook his head; the hunter's metaphysical ideas and poetic phrases were so much Hebrew to him, and he did not understand them.
"Natah Otann," he said, "is a chief, he has not a forked tongue; the words he utters are as clear as the blood in his veins. Why does not the hunter speak his language to him?"
"I answer your questions, chief, and that is all. Do you fancy that I would go out of my way to interrogate my friend as to his intentions? They do not concern me; I have no right to seek in a man's heart for the motive of his actions."
"Good! my brother speaks well; his head is grey, and his experience long."
"That is possible, chief; at any rate you and I are not on such friendly terms that we should exchange our thoughts without some restriction, I fancy; you have kept me here for an hour without saying anything, so it is better for us to separate."
"Not yet."
"Why not? Do you imagine I am like you, and that instead of sleeping o' nights as an honest Christian should do, I amuse myself with rushing about the prairie like a jaguar in search of prey?"
The Indian began laughing.
"Wah!" he said, "my brother is very clever; nothing escapes him."
"By Jingo! there is no great cleverness in guessing what you are doing here."
"Good! then let my brother listen."
"I will do so, but on the condition that you lay aside once for all those Indian circumlocutions in which you so adroitly conceal your real thoughts."
"My brother will open his ears, the words of his friend will reach his heart."
"Come, make an end of it."
"As my brother loves Glass-eye, he will tell him from Natah Otann that a great danger threatens him."
"Ah!" the Canadian said, casting a suspicious glance at the other, "and what may the danger be?"
"I cannot explain further."
"Very good," Bright-eye remarked, with a grin, "the information is valuable, though not very explicit; and pray what must we do to escape the great danger that menaces us?"
"My brother will wake his friend, they will mount their horses, and retire at full speed, not stopping till they have crossed the river."
"Hum! and when we have done that, we shall have nought more to fear?"
"Nothing."
"Only think of that," the hunter said, ironically; "and when ought we to start?"
"At once."
"Better still." Bright-eye walked a few paces thoughtfully; then he returned, and stood before the chief, whose eyes sparkled in the gloom like those of a tiger cat, and who followed his every movement.
"Then," he said, "you cannot reveal to me the reason that forces us to depart?"
"No!"
"It is equally impossible, I suppose, for you to tell me of the nature of the danger that menaces us?" he went on.
"Yes."
"Is that your last word?"
The Indian bowed his head in affirmation.
"Very good, as it is so," Bright-eye said all at once, striking the ground with the butt of his rifle, "I will tell it you."
"You?"
"Yes, listen to me carefully; it will not be long, and will interest you I hope."
The chief smiled ironically.
"My ears are open," he said.
"All the better, for I shall fill them with news which, perhaps, will not please you."
"I listen," the impassive Indian repeated.
"As you said to me a moment back—and the confidence on your part was useless, for I have known you so long on the prairie—the Redskins have the eyes of an eagle, and they are birds of prey, whom nothing escapes."
"Go on."
"Here I am; your scouts have discovered, as was not difficult, the trail of an emigrant family; that trail you have been following a long time so as not to miss your blow; supposing that the moment had arrived to deal it, you have assembled Comanches, Sioux, and Blackfeet, all demons of the same breed, in order this very night to attack people whom you have been watching for so many days, and whose riches you covet because you suppose them so great—-eh?"
Natah Otann's face revealed no emotion. He remained calm, although internally restless and furious at having his thoughts so well guessed.
"There is truth in what the hunter says," he replied, coldly.
"It is all true," Bright-eye exclaimed.
"Perhaps; but I do not see in it for what reason I should have come here to warn my Paleface brother."
"Ah, you do not see that; very well. I will explain it to you. You came to seek me, because you are perfectly well aware that Glass-eye, as you call him, is not the man to allow the crime you meditate to be committed with impunity in his presence."
The Blackfoot shrugged his shoulders. "Can a warrior, however brave he may be, hold his ground against four hundred?" he said.
"Certainly not," Bright-eye went on; "but he can control them by his presence, and employ his ascendency over them to compel them to give up their prospects; and that is what Glass-eye will undoubtedly do, for reasons of which I am ignorant, for all of you have for him an incomprehensible respect and veneration, and as you fear lest you may see him come among you at the first shot fired, terrible as the destroying angel, you seek to remove him by a pretext, plausible with anyone else, but which will produce on him no other effect than making him engage in the affair. Come, is that really all? have I completely unmasked you? Reply."
"My brother knows all; I repeat, his wisdom is great."
"Now, I presume, you have nothing to add? Very well, good night."
"A moment."
"What more?"
"You must."
"Very well; but make haste."
"My brother has spoken in his own cause, but not in that of Glass-eye; let him wake his friend, and impart our conversation to him; mayhap he is mistaken."
"I do not believe it, chief," the hunter answered, with a shake of his head.
"That is possible," the Indian persisted; "but let my brother do as I have asked him."
"You lay great stress on it, chief!"
"Great."
"I do not wish to vex you about such a trifle. Well! you will soon allow that I was right."
"Possibly; I will await my brother's reply for half an hour."
"Very good; but where shall I bring it to you?"
"Nowhere!" the Indian exclaimed, sharply. "If I am right, my brother will imitate the cry of the magpie twice; if I am mistaken, it will be that of the owl."
"Very good, that's agreed; you shall soon hear, chief."
The Indian bowed gracefully.
"May the Wacondah be with my brother!" he said.
After this courteous salutation, the two men parted. The Canadian carelessly threw his rifle on his shoulder, and stalked back to his camp, while the Indian followed him with his glance, apparently remaining insensible; but as soon as the hunter had disappeared, the chief lay down in the sand, glided along in the shade like a serpent, and in his turn disappeared amid the bushes, following the direction taken by Bright-eye, though at a considerable distance.
The latter did not fancy himself followed; he therefore paid no attention to what went on around him, and regained his camp without noticing anything of an extraordinary nature. Had not the Canadian been preoccupied, and his old experience lulled to sleep for the moment, he would have certainly perceived, with that penetration which distinguished him, that the desert was not in its usual state of tranquillity: he would have felt unusual tremors in the leaves, and possibly have seen eyes flashing in the shade of the tall grass. He soon reached the camp where the Count and Ivon were sleeping profoundly. Bright-eye hesitated a few seconds ere awakening the young man whose sleep was so peaceful; still, reflecting that the least imprudence might entail terrible consequences, whose result it was impossible to calculate, he bent over him, and gently touched his shoulder. Though the touch was so slight, it sufficed to wake the Count; he opened his eyes, sat up, and looking at the old hunter—
"Is there anything fresh, Bright-eye?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir Count," the Canadian replied, seriously.
"Oh, oh, how gloomy you are, my good fellow," the young man said, with a laugh. "What's the matter then?"
"Nothing, yet; but we may soon have a row with the Redskins."
"All the better, for that will warm us, as it is horribly cold," he replied, shivering. "But how do you know the fact?"
"During your sleep I received a visitor."
"Ah?"
"Yes."
"And who was the person who selected such an important moment to pay you a visit?"
"The sachem of the Blackfeet."
"Natah Otann?"
"Himself."
"Upon my word, he must be a somnambulist, to amuse himself by walking about the desert at night."
"He does not walk, he watches."
"Oh, I am in a bother; so keep me no longer in suspense; tell me what passed between you. Natah Otann is not the man to put himself out of the way without strong reasons, and I am burning to know them."
"You shall judge."
Without any further preface, the hunter described in its fullest details the conversation he had with the chief.
"By Jove! that's serious," the Count said when Bright-eye had ended his story. "This Natah Otann is a gloomy scoundrel, whose plans you fully penetrated, and you behaved splendidly in answering him so categorically. For what has this villain taken me? Does he fancy, I wonder, that I shall act as his accomplice? Let him dare to attack those poor devils of emigrants down there, and by the saints, I swear to you, Bright-eye, that blood will be shed between us, if you help me."
"Can you doubt it?"
"No, my friend, I thank you; with you and my coward of an Ivon, I shall manage to put them to flight."
"Is my lord calling me?" the Breton asked, raising his head.
"No, no, Ivon, my good fellow; I only say that we shall soon have some fighting."
The Breton emitted a sigh, and muttered, as he lay down again,—
"Ah! if I had as much courage as I possess goodwill; but alas! as you know, I am a wonderful coward, and I shall prove more harm to you than good."
"You will do all you can, my friend, and that will be sufficient."
Ivon sighed in reply. Bright-eye had listened laughingly to this colloquy. The Breton still possessed the privilege of astonishing him, for he did not at all comprehend his singular organization. The Count turned towards him.
"So it is settled?" he said.
"Settled," the hunter answered.
"Then give the signal; my friend."
"The owl, I suppose?"
"By Jove!" the Count said.
Bright-eye raised his fingers to his mouth, and, as had been agreed with Natah Otann, imitated twice the cry of the owl, with rare perfection. Hardly had the echo of the last cry died away, than a great rumour was heard in the bushes, and, before the three men had time to put themselves in a posture of defence, some twenty Indians rushed upon them, disarmed them in a twinkling, and reduced them to a state of utter defencelessness. The Count shrugged his shoulders, leant against a tree, and, thrusting his glass in his eye, said,—-
"This is very funny."
"Well, I can't see the point of the joke," muttered Ivon, in a grand aside.
Among the Indians, whom it was easy to recognize as Blackfeet, was Natah Otann! After removing the weapons of the white men, so that they could not attempt a surprise this time, he walked towards the hunter.
"I warned Bright-eye," he said.
The hunter smiled contemptuously.
"You warned us after the fashion of Redskins," he replied.
"What does my brother mean?"
"I mean that you warned us of a danger that threatened us, and not that you intended treachery."
"It is the same thing," the Indian replied, with utter calmness.
"Bright-eye, my friend, do not argue with those scoundrels," the Count said.
And turning haughtily to the chief,—
"Come! what do you want of us?" he asked.
Since his arrival on the prairie, and through his constant contact with the Indians the Count had almost unconsciously learned their language, which he spoke rather fluently.
"We do not wish to do you any hurt; we only intend to prevent your interference in our affairs," Natah Otann said respectfully; "we should be very sorry to have recourse to violent measures."
The young man burst into a laugh.
"You are humbugs! I can manage to escape, in spite of you."
"Let my brother try it."
"When the moment arrives; as for the present, it is not worth the trouble!"
While speaking in this light tone, the young man took his case from his pocket, chose a cigar, and, pulling out a lucifer match, stooped down and rubbed it on a stone. The Indians, considerably puzzled by his movements, followed them anxiously; but suddenly they uttered a yell of terror, and fell back several paces. The match had caught fire with the friction; a delicious blue flame sported about its extremity. The Count carelessly twisted the slight morsel of wood between his fingers, while waiting till all the sulphur was consumed. He did not notice the terror of the Indians.
The latter, with a movement as swift as thought, stooped down, and each picking up the first piece of wood he found at his feet, all began rubbing it against the stones. The Count, in amazement, looked at them, not yet understanding what they were about. Natah Otann seem to hesitate for a moment; a smile of strange meaning played, rapidly as lightning, over his gloomy features; but reassuming almost immediately his cold impassiveness, he took a step forward, and respectfully bowing before the Count—
"My father commands the fire of the sun," he said, with all the appearance of a mysterious terror, while pointing to the match.
The young man smiled; he had guessed the secret.
"Which of you," he said haughtily, "would dare to contend with me?"
The Indians regarded each other with amazement. These men, so intrepid and accustomed to brave the greatest dangers, were vanquished by the incomprehensible power their prisoner possessed. As, while talking to the chief, the Count had not watched his match, it had gone out before he could use it, and he threw it away. The Indians rushed upon it, to assure themselves that the flame was real. Without appearing to attach any importance to this action, the Count drew a second match from his box, and renewed his experiment. His triumph was complete; the Redskins, in their terror, fell at his feet, imploring him to pardon them. Henceforth he might dare anything. These primitive men, terrified by the two miracles he had performed, regarded him as a superior being to themselves, and were completely mastered by him. While Bright-eye laughed in his sleeve at the Indians' simplicity, the young man cleverly employed his triumph.
"You see what I can do," he said.
"We see it," Natah Otann made answer.
"When do you intend to attack the emigrants?"
"When the moon has set, the warriors of the tribe will assault their camp."
"And you?"
"Will guard our brother."
"So you now fancy that is possible," the Count said, haughtily.
The Redskins shuddered at the flash of his glance.
"Our brother will pardon us," the chief replied, submissively; "we only knew him imperfectly."
"And now?"
"Now we know that he is our master, let him command, and we will obey."
"Take care!" he said, in a tone which made them shudder, "for I am about to put your obedience to a rude trial."
"Our ears are open to receive our brother's words."
"Draw nearer."
The Blackfeet took a few hesitating steps in advance, for they were not yet completely reassured.
"And now listen to me attentively," he said, "and when you have received my orders, take care to execute them thoroughly."
We are now obliged to return to the Americans' camp. As we have said, Black and his son were mounting guard, and the pioneer was far from easy in his mind. Although not yet possessed of all the experience required for a desert life, the four months he had spent in fatiguing marches and continued alarms had endowed him with a certain degree of vigilance, which, under existing circumstances, might prove very useful; not, perhaps, to prevent an attack, but, at least, to repulse it. The situation of his camp was, besides, excellent; for from it he surveyed the prairie for a great distance, and could easily perceive the approach of an enemy.
Father and son were seated by the fire, rising from time to time, in turn, to cast glances over the desert, and assure themselves that nothing menaced their tranquillity. Black was a man gifted with an iron will and a lion's courage; hitherto his schemes had been unsuccessful, and he had sworn to make himself an honourable position, no matter at what cost.
He was the descendant of an old family of squatters. The squatter being an individuality peculiar to America, and vainly sought elsewhere, we will describe him as he is, in a few words. On the lands belonging to the United States, not yet cleared or put up for sale, large numbers of persons have settled, with the desire of eventuallypurchasingtheir lots. These inhabitants are called squatters. We will not say that they are the pick of the western emigrants, but we know that, in certain districts, they have constituted themselves a regular Government, and have elected magistrates to watch over the execution of the Draconian laws they have themselves laid down to insure the tranquillity of the territories they have invaded. But by the side of these quasi-honest squatters, who bow their necks beneath a yoke that is often harsh, there is another class of squatters, who understand the possession of land in its widest sense; that is to say, whenever they discover, in their vagabond peregrinations, a tract of land that suits them, they instal themselves there without any further inquiry, and caring nothing for the rightful owner, who, when he arrives with his labourers to till his estate, is quite annoyed to find it is in the hands of an individual who, trusting to the axiom that possession is nine points of the law, refuses to give it up, and if he insist, drives him away by means of his rifle and revolver.
We know a capital story of a gentleman, who, starting from New York with two hundred labourers, to clear a virgin forest he had purchased some ten years previously, and never turned to any use, found, on arriving at his claim, a town of four thousand souls built on the site of his virgin forest, of which not a tree remained. After numberless discussions, the said gentleman esteemed himself very fortunate in being able to depart with a whole skin, and without paying damages to his despoilers, whom he had momentarily hoped to oust. But there is no more chance of ousting a squatter, than you can get a dollar out of a Yankee, when he has once pocketed it.
John Black belonged to the former of the two classes we have described. When he reached the age of twenty, his father gave him an axe, a rifle with twenty charges of powder, and a bowie knife, saying to him—
"Listen, boy. You are now tall and strong; it would be a shame for you to remain longer a burden on me. I have your two brothers to support. America is large; there is no want of land. Go in God's name, and never let me hear of you again. With the weapons I give you, and the education you have received, your fortune will soon be made, if you like: before all, avoid all disagreeable disputes, and try not to be hanged."
After this affectionate address, the father tenderly embraced his son, put him out of the cabin, and slammed the door in his face. From that moment John Black had never heard of his father—it is true that he never tried to obtain any news about him.
Life had been rough to him at the outset; but owing to his character, and a certain elasticity of principle, the sole inheritance his family had given him, he had contrived to gain a livelihood, and bring up his children without any great privations. Either through the isolation in which he had passed his youth, or for some other reason we are ignorant of, Black adored his wife and children, and would not have parted from them on any account. When fatality compelled him to give up the farm he occupied, and look for another, he set out gaily, sustained by the love of his family, no member of which was ungrateful for the sacrifices he imposed on himself; and he had resolved to go this time so far, that no one would ever come to dispossess him, for he had been obliged to surrender his farm to its legitimate proprietor, which he had done on the mere exhibition of the title deeds, without dreaming of resistance —a conduct which had been greatly blamed by all his neighbours.
Black wished to see his family happy, and watched over it with the jealous tenderness of a hen for its chicks. Thus, on this evening, an extreme alarm had preyed on him, though he could not explain the cause: the disappearance of the Indians did not seem to him natural; everything around was too calm, the silence of the desert too profound: he could not remain at any one spot, and, in spite of his son's remarks, rose every moment to take a look over the intrenchments.
William felt for his father a great affection, mingled with respect: the state in which he saw him vexed him the more, because there was nothing to account for his extraordinary restlessness.
"Good gracious, father!" he said, "do not trouble yourself so much; it really causes me pain to see you in such a state. Do you suppose that the Indians would have attacked us by such a moonlight as this? Look, objects can be distinguished as in broad day; I am certain you might even read the Bible by the silvery rays."
"You are right for the present moment, Will. The Redskins are too crafty to face our rifles during the moonshine; but in an hour the moon will have set, and the darkness will then protect them sufficiently to allow them to reach the foot of the barricade unnoticed."
"Do not imagine they will attempt it, my dear father! Those red devils have seen us sufficiently close to know that they can only expect a volley of bullets from us."
"Hum! I am not of your opinion; our beasts would be riches to them: I do not wish to abandon them, as we should then be compelled to return to the plantations to procure others, which would be most disagreeable, you will allow."
"It is true; but we shall not be reduced to that extremity."
"May Heaven grant it, my boy; but do you hear nothing?"
The young man listened attentively.
"No," he said, at the end of a moment.
The emigrant proceeded with a sigh: "I visited the river bank this morning, and I have rarely seen a spot better suited for a settlement. The virgin forest that extends behind us would supply excellent firewood, without reckoning the magnificent planks to be obtained from it: there are several hundred acres around, which, from their proximity to the water, would produce, I am certain, excellent crops."
"Would you feel inclined to settle here, then?"
"Have you any objection?"
"I—none at all! provided we can live and work together. I care little at what place we stop: this spot appears to me as good as another, and it is far enough from the settlements to prevent our being turned out, at least for a great number of years."
"That is exactly my view."
At this moment a gentle quivering ran along the tall grass.
"This time I am certain I am not mistaken," the emigrant exclaimed; "I heard something."
"And I too!" the young man said, rising quickly, and seizing his rifle.
The two men hurried to the entrenchments, but they saw nothing of a suspicious nature: the prairie was still perfectly calm.
"'Tis some wild beast going down to drink, or returning," Will said, to reassure his father.
"No, no," the latter replied, with a shake of the head; "it is not the noise made by any animal—it was the echo of a man's footfall, I am convinced."
"The simplest way is to go and see."
"Come then."
The two men resolutely climbed over the intrenchments, and with rifles outstretched, went round the camp, carefully searching the bushes, and assuring themselves that no foe lurked in them.
"Well!" they exclaimed, when they met.
"Nothing—and you?"
"Nothing."
"It is strange," John Black muttered, "and yet the noise was very distinct."
"That is true; but I repeat, father, that it was nothing but an animal leaping somewhere near. In a night so calm as this, the slightest sound is heard for a great distance; besides, we are now certain that no one is concealed near us."
"Let us go back," the emigrant said, thoughtfully. They began climbing over the entrenchments; but both stopped suddenly, by mutual agreement, hardly checking a cry of amazement, almost of terror. They had just perceived a human being, whose outline it was impossible to trace at such a distance, crouched over the fire.
"This time I will have it out," the emigrant exclaimed, taking a prodigious bound into the camp.
"And I, too," his son murmured, as he followed his example.
But when they came opposite their strange visitor, their surprise was redoubled. In spite of themselves, they stopped to gaze on the stranger, without thinking to ask how he had entered their camp, and by what right he had done so.
As far as they could form a judgment, they soon began to consider the extraordinary being before them—a woman; but years, the mode of life she led, and perchance cares, had furrowed her face with such a multitude of cross hatchings, that it was impossible to conjecture her age, or whether she had formerly been lovely. The large black eyes, surmounted by thick brows crossing her curved nose, and deep sunk, flashed with a gloomy fire; her salient and empurpled cheekbones, her large mouth studded with dazzling teeth, and her thin lips and square chin, gave her at first an appearance which was far from arousing sympathy and exciting confidence; while her long black hair, matted with leaves and grass, fell in disorder on her shoulders. She wore a costume more suited for a man than a woman. It was composed of a long robe of buffalo hide, with short sleeves, fastened on the hips by a girdle bedizened with beads. This robe had the skirt fringed with feathers, and only came down to the knee. Hermitasseswere fastened round the ankles, and reached slightly above the knee, where they were held up by garters of buffalo hide. Herhumpisor slippers were plain and unornamented. She wore iron rings on her wrist, two or three bead collars round her neck, and earrings. From her girdle hung on one side a powder flask, an axe, and a bowie knife; on the other, a bullet pouch and a long Indian pipe. Across her knees lay a rather handsome gun, of English manufacture.
She was crouching over the fire, which she gazed at fixedly, with her chin on the palm of her hand.
On the arrival of the Americans, she did not rise, and did not even appear to notice their presence. After examining her attentively for some time, Black walked up, and, tapping her on the shoulder, said—
"You are welcome, woman; it seems as if you were cold, and the fire does not displease you."
She slowly raised her head on feeling the touch, and, fixing on her questioner a gloomy glance, in which it was easy to perceive a slight wildness, she replied in English, in a hollow voice, and with guttural accent—
"The Palefaces are mad; they ever think themselves in their towns; they forget that in the prairie the trees have ears and the leaves eyes to see and hear all that is done. The Blackfeet Indians raise their hair very skilfully."
The two men looked at each other on hearing these words, whose meaning they were afraid to guess, though they seemed somewhat obscure.
"Are you hungry? Will you eat?" John Black continued, "or is it thirst that troubles you? I can, if you like, give you a good draught of firewater to warm you."
The woman frowned.
"Fire-water is good for Indian squaws," she said, "what good would it do me to drink it? Others will come who will soon dispose of it. Do you know how many hours you still have to live?"
The emigrant shuddered, in spite of himself at this species of menace.
"Why speak to me thus?" he asked; "have you any cause of complaint against me?"
"I care little," she continued. "I am not among the living, since my heart is dead."
She turned her head in every direction with a slow and solemn movement, while carefully examining the country.
"Stay," she continued, pointing with her lean arm to a mound of grass a short distance off, "'twas there he fell—'tis there he rests. His head was cleft asunder by an axe during his sleep—poor James! This spot is ill-omened: do you not know it? The vultures and the crows alone stay here at long intervals. Why, then, have you come here? Are you weary of life? Do you hear them? They are approaching; they will soon be here."
Father and son exchanged a glance.
"She is mad. Poor creature!" Black muttered.
"Yes; that is what they all say on the prairies," she exclaimed, with some accusation in her voice. "They call meOhucahauck Chiké(the evil one of the earth), because they fear me as their evil genius. You, also, fancy me mad, eh? ah! ah! ah!"
She burst into a strident laugh, which ended in a sob; she buried her face in her hands, and wept. The two men felt awed in spite of themselves; this strange grief, these incoherent words, all aroused their interest in favour of this poor creature, who appeared so unhappy. Pity was at work in their hearts, and they regarded her silently without daring to disturb her. In a few moments she raised her head, passed the back of her hand over her eyes to dry them, and spoke again. The wild expression had disappeared; the very sound of her voice was no longer the same; as if by enchantment, a complete change had taken place in her.
"Pardon," she said mournfully, "the extravagant words I have uttered. The solitude in which I live, and the heavy burden of woe which has crushed me so long, at times trouble my reason; and then the place where we now stand reminds me of terrible scenes, whose cruel memory will never be erased from my mind."
"Madam, I assure you—," John Black continued, not knowing what he said, so great was his surprise.
"Now the fit has passed away." She interrupted him with a gentle and melancholy smile, which gave her countenance a very different expression from that the Americans had hitherto remarked; "I have been following you for the last two days to come to your help; the Redskins are preparing to attack you—"
The two men shuddered: and, forgetting all else to think only of the pressing danger, they cast a restless glance around them.
"You know it?" Black exclaimed.
"I know all," she answered; "but reassure yourselves. You have still two hours ere their horrible war cry will sound in your ears; that is more than enough to render you safe."
"Oh! we have good rifles and keen sight," said William, clutching his weapon in his nervous hands.
"What can four rifles, however good they may be, do against two or three hundred tigers thirsting for blood, like those you will have to fight? You do not know the Redskins, young man."
"That is true," he answered; "but what is to be done?"
"Seek a refuge?—where find help in these immense solitudes?" the father added, casting a despairing glance around him.
"Did I not tell you I wished to help you?" she said, sharply.
"Yes; you told us so; but I try in vain to detect of what use you can be to us."
She smiled a melancholy smile.
"It is your good angel that brought you to the spot where you now are. While I was watching you all the day, I trembled lest you might not encamp here. Come!"
The two men, surprised by the ascendancy this strange creature had gained over them in a few minutes, followed her without reply. After walking about a dozen steps, she stopped, and turned toward them.
"Look," she said, stretching out her thin arm in a north-west direction, "your enemies are there, scarce two leagues off, buried in the tall grass. I have heard their plans, and was present at their council, though they little suspected it. They are only waiting for the moon to set, ere they attack you. You have scarce an hour left."
"My poor wife!" Black murmured.
"It is impossible for me to save you all: to fancy it would be madness; but I can, if you wish it, attempt to save your wife and daughter from the fate that menaces them."
"Speak! speak!"
"This tree, at the foot of which we are now standing, although apparently possessing all the vigour of youth, is internally hollow, so that only the bark stands upright. Your wife and daughter, supplied with some provisions, will get into the tree and remain there in safety till the danger has passed away. As for ourselves—"
"As for us," Black quickly interrupted her, "we are men accustomed to danger: our fate is in the hands of God."
"Good; but do not despair: all is not lost yet."
The American shook his head.
"As you said yourself, what can four men do against a legion of demons like those who menace us? But that is not the question of the moment. I do not see the hole by which my wife and daughter can enter the tree."
"It is twenty to twenty-four feet up, hidden among the branches and leaves."
"The Lord be praised! they will be sheltered."
"Yes; but make haste and warn them, while your son and I make all the preparations."
Black, convinced of the necessity of haste, ran off, while the stranger and William constructed, with that dexterity produced by the approach of danger, a species of handy ladder, by which the two women could not merely ascend the tree, but go down into the cavity. Black waked the ladies, and called the servants; in a few words he explained to them what was passing; then, loading his wife and daughter with provisions, furs, and other indispensable objects, he led them to the spot where the stranger was expecting them.
"This is my most precious treasure," Black said; "if I save it, I shall be solely indebted to you."
The two ladies began thanking their mysterious protectress; but she imposed silence on them by a peremptory gesture.
"Presently, presently," she said; "if we escape, we shall have plenty of time for mutual congratulations; but at this moment we have something more important to do than exchange compliments. We must get into a place of safety."
The two ladies fell back, quite repulsed by this rough reception, while casting a curious and almost alarmed glance on the strange creature. But the latter, perfectly stoical, seemed to notice nothing. She explained in a few clear words the means she had found to conceal them: recommended them to remain silent in the hollow tree, and then ordered them to mount. The two ladies, after embracing Black and his son, began resolutely ascending the rungs of the improvised ladder. They reached in a few seconds an enormous branch, on which they stopped, by the orders of the stranger. Black then threw down into the interior of the tree the furs and provisions, after which the ladder was placed inside, and the ladies glided through the hole.
"We leave you the ladder, which is useless to us," the stranger then said. "But be very careful not to come out till you have seen me again; the least imprudence, under the circumstances, might cost your lives. However, keep your minds at rest. Your imprisonment will not be long, a few hours at the most: so be of good cheer."
The ladies once again tried to express their gratitude; but, without listening, the stranger made Black a sign to follow her, and rapidly descended from the tree. Aided by the Americans, she then began removing every trace that might have revealed where the ladies were bestowed. When the stranger had assured herself, by a final glance, that all was in order, and nothing could betray those who were so famously hidden, she sighed, and followed by the two men, walked to the intrenchments.
"Now," she said, "let us watch attentively around us, for these demons will probably crawl close up in the shadows. You are free and honest Americans, show these accursed Indians what you can do."
"Let them come!" Black muttered hoarsely.
"They will soon do so," she replied, and pointed to several almost imperceptible black dots, which, however, grew larger, and were evidently approaching the encampment.
The Redskins have a mode of fighting which foils all the methods employed by European tactics. In order to understand their system properly, we must, in the first place, bear in mind that the Indian idea of honour is different from ours. This understood, the rest may be easily admitted. The Indians, in undertaking an enterprise, have only one object—success, and all means are good to attain it. Gifted with incontestable courage, at times rash to an excess, stopping at nothing, and recoiling before no difficulty—for all that, when the success of these enterprises appears to them dubious, and that consequently the object is missed, they retire as easily as they advanced, not considering their honour compromised by a retreat, or by leaving the battlefield to an enemy more powerful than themselves, or well on his guard.
Thus, their system of fighting is most simple, and they only proceed by surprises. The Redskins will follow the enemy's trail for entire months with unequalled patience, never relaxing their watch for a moment, spying him night and day, while ever careful not to be themselves surprised: then, when the occasion at last presents itself, and they fancy the moment arrived to execute the project, all the chances for or against which they have so long calculated, they act with a vigour and fury which frequently disconcert those they attack; but if after the first onset they are repulsed—if they see that those they attack will not let themselves be intimidated, and are prepared to resist, then, on a given signal, they disappear as if by enchantment, and, without any shame, begin watching again for a more favourable moment.
Black, on the advice of the stranger, had placed himself and his party in such positions that they could survey the prairie in every direction. The stranger and himself were leaning on their rifles in the angle that faced the river. The prairie at this moment presented a singular appearance. The breeze, which at sunset had risen with a certain strength, was gently dying out, scarce bending the tops of the great trees. The moon, almost departed, only cast over the landscape an uncertain and timorous gleam, which, in lieu of dissipating the gloom, only rendered the darkness visible, through the striking contrasts between the obscurity and the pale and fugitive rays of the declining planet.
At times, a dull roar or sharp bark rose in the silence, and, like a sinister appeal, reminded the emigrant that implacable and ferocious enemies were on the watch around, although invisible. The purity of the atmosphere was so great, that the slightest sound could be heard for an immense distance, and it was easy to distinguish the enormous blocks of granite that formed black dots on the ground.
"Do you know for certain that we shall be attacked this night?" the American asked, in a low voice.
"I was present at the last council of the chiefs," the unknown replied distinctly.
The emigrant bent on her a scrutinising glance, which she recognised, and immediately understood; she shrugged her shoulders disdainfully.
"Take care," she said to him, with a certain emphasis, "let not doubt invade your mind; what interest should I have in deceiving you?"
"I know not," he replied dreamily "but I also ask myself what interest you have in defending me?"
"None; since you place the matter on that footing, what do I care whether your wealth is plundered, your wife, your daughter, and yourself scalped? it is a matter of supreme indifference to me; but must the affair be only regarded from that side? Do you imagine that material interests have a great weight with me? If that is your opinion, I shall withdraw, leaving you to get out of your present position in the best way you can."
While uttering these words, she had thrown her rifle over her shoulder, and prepared to climb over the palisade, but Black quickly checked her.
"You do not understand me," he said; "any man in my place would act as I do; my position is fearful, you allow it yourself; you entered my camp, and it is impossible for me to guess how. Still, I have hitherto put the utmost confidence in you, as you cannot deny; but I do not know who you are, or what motive causes you to act. Your words, far from explaining, plunge me, on the contrary, into greater uncertainty; the safety of my entire family and all I possess is at stake: reflect seriously on all this, and I defy you to disapprove of my not putting utter confidence in you, although you are, doubtlessly, deserving of it, so long as I do not know who you are."
"Yes," she answered, after a moment's reflection, "you are right, the world is so, people must first of all give their name and quality; egotism is so thoroughly the master over the whole surface of the globe, that even to do a person a service, you require a certificate of honesty, for no one will admit disinterestedness of heart,—that aberration of generous minds, which practical people brand as madness. Unfortunately, you must take me for what I appear, at the risk of seeing me go away, and hence any confidence on my part would be superfluous. You will judge me by my acts, the only proof I can and will give you of the purity of my intentions; you are free to accept or decline my assistance, and after all is over, you can thank or curse me at your choice."
Black was more perplexed than ever; the stranger's explanations only rendered the fog denser, instead of affording him light. Still, in spite of himself, he felt himself attracted toward her. After a few moments of serious reflection, he raised his head, struck his rifle barrel smartly with his right hand, and looking his companion well in the face, said in a firm voice,—
"Listen, I will no longer try to learn whether you come from God or the devil; if you are a spy of our enemies, or our devoted friend—events, as you said, will soon decide the question. But bear this in mind, I will carefully watch your slightest gesture, your every word. At the first suspicious word or movement, I will put a bullet through your head, even if I am killed the moment after. Is that a bargain?"
The stranger began laughing.
"I accept," she said. "I recognise the Yankee in that proposition."
After this, the conversation ceased, and their entire attention was concentrated on the prairie. The most profound calm still continued to brood over the desert; apparently, all was in the same state as at sunset. Still the stranger's piercing eyes distinguished on the river bank several wild beasts flying precipitately, and others escaping across the river, instead of continuing to drink. One of the truest axioms in the desert is:—there can be no effect without a cause. Everything has a reason in the prairie, all is analysed or commented on; a leaf does not fall from a tree, a bird fly away, without the observer knowing or guessing why it has happened.
After a few moments of profound examination, the stranger seized the emigrant's arm, and bending down to his ear, said in a weak voice, like the sighing of the breeze, one word which made him tremble, as she stretched out her arm in the direction of the plain.
"Look!"
Black bent forward.
"Oh!" he said a minute after, "what is the meaning of this?"
The prairie, as we have already mentioned, was covered in several places by blocks of granite and dead trees; singularly enough, these black dots, at first a considerable distance from the camp, seemed approaching insensibly, and now were only a short way from it. As it was physically impossible for rocks and trees to move of their own accord, there must be a cause for this, which the worthy emigrant, whose mind was anything but subtle, cudgelled his brains in vain to guess. This new Birnam Wood, which moved all alone, made him excessively uncomfortable; his son and servants had also noticed the same fact, though equally unable to account for it. Black remarked specially that a tree he remembered perfectly well seeing that same evening more than one hundred and fifty feet from the mound, had suddenly come so close, that it was hardly thirty paces off. The stranger, without evincing any emotion, whispered—
"They are the Indians!"
"The Indians?" he said, "impossible!"
She knelt behind the palisade, shouldered her rifle, and after taking a careful aim, pulled the trigger. A flash traversed the darkness, and at the same moment the pretended tree bounded like a deer. A terrible yell was raised, and the Redskins appeared, rushing toward the camp like a herd of wolves, brandishing their weapons, and howling like demons. The Americans, very superstitious people, reassured by seeing that they had only to deal with men, when they feared some spell, received their enemies bravely with a rolling and well-directed fire. Still, the Indians, probably knowing the small number of white men, did not recoil, but pushed on boldly. The Redskins were hardly a few yards off, and were preparing to carry the barricades, when a shot, fired by the stranger, tolled over an Indian ahead of the rest, at the instant he turned to his comrades to encourage them to follow him.
The fall of this man produced an effect which the Americans, who fancied themselves lost, were far from anticipating. As if by enchantment, the Indians disappeared, the yells ceased, and the deepest silence prevailed again. It might be supposed that all that had passed was a dream. The Americans regarded each other with amazement, not knowing to what they should attribute this sudden retreat.
"That is incomprehensible," Black said, after assuring himself by a hasty glance that none of his party were wounded; "can you explain that, mistress, you, who seem to be our guardian angel, for it is to your last shot we owe the rest we at present enjoy?"
"Ah!" she said, with a sarcastic smile, "you are beginning to do me justice, then."
"Do not speak about that," the emigrant said, with an angry voice; "I am a fool; pardon me, and forget my suspicions."
"I have forgotten them," she replied. "As for that which astounds you, it is very simple. The man I killed, or, at any rate, wounded, was an Indian chief of great reputation; on seeing him fall, his warriors were discouraged, and they ran to carry him off the field, lest his scalp should fall into your hands."
"Oh, oh!" Black said, with a gesture of disgust; "do these Pagans fancy we are like themselves? No, no! I would kill them to the last man, in self-defence, and no one could blame me for it; but as for scalping, that is a different matter. I am an honest Virginian, without a drop of red blood in my veins. My father's son does not commit such infamy."
"I approve your remarks," the stranger said, in a sorrowful voice; "scalping is a frightful torture; unfortunately, many white men on the prairies do not think like you; they have adopted Indian fashions, and scalp, without ceremony, the enemies they kill."