The Watchers of the Plains Part 47

"Do you know, my Wana, it seemed to me that he'd heard my story before, told by some one else, probably told with variations to suit themselves.

It seemed to me that--well, he was only listening to me because he had to.

I swear I'd give ten years of my life to know what he really thinks. Yes, I think I'm right. Once away from here we are safe. Neither he nor any of the braves can follow us. The soldiers will see that none leave the Reservations. Yes, I'm sure it's best to get away. It can do no harm, and it's best to be sure. Still an hour and three-quarters," he finished up, again referring to his watch.

"Yes, it best so," the woman said in reply. She understood the condition of her husband's mind. She saw clearly that she must humor him.

Whatever her innermost thoughts may have been she made her replies subservient to his humor. She had listened closely to his account of his interview with her brother, and there is little doubt that she had formed her own opinion, and, being of the blood of the chief, she probably understood him better than this white man did. But whatever she really thought no word of it escaped her.

Another silence fell. Again it was the man who broke it.

"That Jim Crow is very active. He comes and goes all day. He interviews Little Black Fox whenever he pleases. He's a two-faced rascal. Do you know, it was he who brought the news of relief to the farm. And what's more, he came in with the soldiers. I always seem to see him about. Once I thought he was watching my movements. I wonder why?"

The man drooped dejectedly as he tried to unravel this fresh tangle. Why was Jim Crow shadowing him? In the interests of the Indians? Again he pulled out his watch. And the woman beside him saw that his hand was shaking as he held it out to the light of the stove.

It was time to hitch up his horses, he said. Yet they were not starting until dawn, and it still wanted a full hour to the time.

Wanaha sat up, and Nevil moved about amongst the litter of their belongings. There was coffee on the stove and food on the table. He helped himself to both, bolting meat and drink in a nervous, hasty manner. Wanaha joined him. She ate sparingly, and then began to gather their goods together.

Nevil turned to her. He was preparing to fetch the horses which were picketed out on the prairie. He was in better mood now. Action restored in him a certain amount of confidence.

"It will be good to get away, my Wana," he said, for a moment laying one hand upon her shoulder.

The woman looked up into his mean face with a world of love in her profound eyes.

"It good to be with you--anywhere, my Nevil," she said, in her quiet way.

The man turned to the door.

He raised the latch and threw it open. He stood speechless. A panic was upon him; he could not move, he could not think. Little Black Fox was standing in the doorway, and, behind him, two of his war-councilors leaning on their long, old-fashioned rifles.

Without a word, the chief, followed by his two attendants, stepped within.

The door was closed again. Then Little Black Fox signed to Wanaha for a light. The squaw took the oil-lamp from a shelf and lit it, and the dull, yellow rays revealed the disorder of the place.

The chief gazed about him. His handsome face was unmoved. Finally he looked into the face of the terror-stricken renegade. Nevil was tall, but he was dwarfed by the magnificent carriage and superb figure of the savage.

It was the chief who was the first to speak. The flowing tongue of the Sioux sounded melodious in the rich tones of the speaker's voice. He spoke without a touch of the fiery eloquence which had been his when he was yet the untried leader of his race. The man seemed to have suddenly matured.

He was no longer the headstrong boy that had conceived an overwhelming pa.s.sion for a white girl, but a warrior of his race, a warrior and a leader.

"My brother would go from his friends? So?" he said in feigned surprise.

"And my sister, Wanaha?"

"Wanaha obeys her lord. Whither he goes she goes. It is good."

The squaw was alive to the position, but, unlike her white husband, she rose to the occasion. The haughty manner of the chief was no more haughty than hers. She was blood of this man, and no less royal than he. Her deep eyes were alert and shining now. The savage was dominant in her again. She was, indeed, a princess of her race.

"And whither would they go, this white brother and his squaw?" There was a slight irony in the Indian's voice.

Again the squaw answered.

"We go where white men and Indians live in peace."

"No white man or Indian lives in peace where he goes."

Little Black Fox pointed scornfully at the cowering white man. The squaw had no answer ready. But the renegade himself found his tongue and answered.

"We go until the white man's anger is pa.s.sed," he said. "Then we return to the great chief's camp."

For a while the young chieftain's eyes seemed to burn into those of the man before him, so intense was the angry fire of his gaze.

"You go," he said at last, "because you fear to stay. It is not the white man you fear, but the Indian you have betrayed. Your tongue lies, your heart lies. You are neither brave nor squaw-man. Your heart is the heart of a snake that is filled with venom. Your brain is like the mire of the muskeg which sucks, sucks its victims down to destruction. Your blood is like the water of a mosquito swamp, poisonous even to the air. I have eyes; I have ears. I learn all these things, and I say nothing. The hunter uses a poisoned weapon. It matters not so that he brings down his quarry.

But his weapon is for his quarry, and not for himself. He destroys it when there is danger that he shall get hurt by it. You are a poisoned weapon, and you have sought to hurt me. So."

Wanaha suddenly stepped forward. Her great eyes blazed up into her brother's.

"The great chief wrongs my man. All he has done he was forced to do. His has been the heart to help you. His has been the hand to help you. His has been the brain to plan for you. So. The others come. They take him prisoner. He must fight for them or die."

"Then if he fights he is traitor. So he must die."

Nevil had no word for himself. He was beyond words. Even in his extremity he remembered what Seth had said to him. And he knew now that Seth's knowledge of the Indians was greater, far deeper, than his. This was his "dog's chance," but he had not even the privilege of a run.

The irony of his lot did not strike him. Crimes which he had been guilty of had nothing to do with his present position. Instead, he stood arraigned for a treachery which had not been his, toward the one man to whom he had ever been faithful.

But while his craven heart wilted before his savage judge; while his mind was racked with tortures of suspense, and his scheming brain had lost its power of concentration; while his limbs shook at the presentiment of his doom, his woman stood fearless at his side, ready to serve him to the bitter end, ready to sacrifice herself if need be that his wretched life might be saved.

Now she replied to her brother's charge, with her beautiful head erect and her bosom heaving.

"No man is coward who serves you as he has served you," she cried, her eyes confronting her brother's with all the fearless pride of her race.

"The coward is the other. The one who turns upon his friend and helper when misfortune drives."

The words stung as they were meant to sting. And something of the old headstrong pa.s.sion leapt into the young chief's heart. He pointed at his sister.

"Enough!" he cried; and a movement of the head conveyed a command to his attendants. They stepped forward. But Wanaha was quicker. She met them, and, with upraised hand, waved them back in a manner so imperious that they paused.

"Little Black Fox forgets!" she cried, addressing herself to her brother, and ignoring the war-councilors. "No brave may lay hand upon the daughter of my father. Little Black Fox is chief. My blood is his blood. By the laws of our race his is the hand that must strike. The daughter of Big Wolf awaits. Let my brother strike."

As she finished speaking Wanaha bowed her head in token of submission. But for all his rage the chief was no slayer of his womenfolk. The ready-witted woman understood the lofty Indian spirit of her brother. She saw her advantage and meant to hold it. She did not know what she hoped.

She did not pause to think. She had a woman's desire to gain time only.

And as she saw her brother draw back she felt that, for the moment at least, she was mistress of the situation.

"So," she went on, raising her head again and proudly confronting the angry-eyed youth, "my brother, even in his wrath, remembers the law of our race. Let him think further, and he will also remember other things. Let him say to himself, 'I may not slay this man while my sister, Wanaha, lives. She alone has power to strike. The council of chiefs may condemn, but she must be the executioner.' So! And my brother will be in the right, for Wanaha is the blood of Big Wolf, and the white man is her husband."

The headstrong chief was baffled. He knew that the woman was right. The laws of the Sioux race were as she had said. And they were so stringent that it would be dangerous to set them aside, even though this man's death had been decided upon by the unanimous vote of the council. He stood irresolute, and Wanaha added triumph to her tone as she went on.

"So, great chief, this man's life is mine. And I, Wanaha, your sister, refuse to take it. For me he is free."

But Wanaha in her womanish enthusiasm had overshot her mark. The laws were strong, but this wild savage's nature was as untamed and fearless as any beast of the field. It was her tone of triumph that undid her.

Little Black Fox suddenly whipped out a long hunting-knife from his belt and flung it upon the table with a great clatter. It lay there, its vicious, gleaming blade shining dully in the yellow lamplight.