Wild Western Scenes Part 26

There was another Indian that had attracted the notice of Mary--one who studiously avoided her glance by constantly enveloping his face in his hairy robe whenever she turned towards him. This he continued to do until she was again seated in the snow-canoe, and the order was given to proceed on the journey. He then lingered behind the rest, and throwing aside his mask, she saw before her the savage that had been thrown within the inclosure by the explosion. He pointed to the north, the direction of her home, and, by sundry signs and grimaces, made Mary understand that he had not been a party to her capture, and that he would endeavour to effect her escape. He then joined the others, and the poor girl was once more coursing over the prairie more rapidly than ever.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The savage rushed upon her, entwined his left hand in her flowing hair, and, waving his tomahawk aloft with the other, was in the act of sinking the steel in the fair forehead before him, when the blow was arrested by a mere stripling, who came up at the head of the rest of the Indians.--P. 142]

There was now mingled with the captive maiden's thoughts another subject of contemplation. It was the young chief. His image seemed to be familiar to her dreamy visions, and she often thought that they had really met before. But when or where, her memory failed to designate.

She was glad to find herself so unexpectedly under the protection of one so brave and generous, and she hoped when her father and his friends should overtake them, he might not be hurt in the conflict that must inevitably ensue.

The Indians long continued their flight in silence. Scarce a word was uttered, until the sun was sinking low in the west. And then Mary heard them speaking about the place of encampment; for her frequent intercourse With the savages, before the arrival of Glenn in the vicinity, had enabled her, as well as her father, to acquire an imperfect knowledge of their language. But they still swept onward, without any diminution of speed. The chief had probably objected to their making, a halt by a shake of the head, for Mary did not hear him reply to those who desired to stop.

When the shades of night fell around, and the broad red face of the moon peeped over the eastern horizon, the party still careered over the prairie. More than thirty miles had been traversed. The Indian is more distinguished for bottom than speed, and has been known to pursue a victim, or fly in the retreat, more than twenty-four hours without resting. But this band had suffered much from fatigue before they set out with their captive. The attempt to surprise the fort had cost them both blood and labour, and when the moon had risen midway up in the heavens, they again became clamorous for food and rest. The chief then told them to turn from their course, and in a few minutes Mary saw that they were approaching a grove of towering trees. Ere long they halted under an enormous beech, whose spreading and cl.u.s.tering branches not only greatly obscured the light from above, but had in a great measure prevented the snow from covering the earth at its roots.

It was not long before a fire was struck, and the savages having scattered in every direction in quest of dry wood and bark, in a very short s.p.a.ce of time a large bright blaze flashed up in their midst, around which they spread their buffalo robes and commenced preparing their venison. Each one cooked for himself, save the chief, who was provided proportionably by all. He offered Mary a part of his food, but she declined it. He then proffered to lift her from the snow-canoe, and place her nearer the fire. This too she declined, stating that she was warm enough. She was likewise influenced in this determination by the gestures of the Indian whom she had befriended the preceding night, who sat by in apparent unconcern, but at every opportunity, by looks and signs, endeavoured to cheer and encourage the captive maiden.

After a hearty repast the savages, with the exception of the chief, rolled themselves in their warm, hairy robes before the glowing fire, and were soon steeped in profound slumber. The chief long reclined in a half-rec.u.mbent att.i.tude on the couch that had been prepared for him, and fixing his eyes on the glaring flame, and sometimes on the pale sad features of Mary, seemed to be under the influence of deep and painful meditations. At times his features a.s.sumed a ferocity that caused Mary to start and tremble; but at others they wore a mournful expression, and ever and anon a tear rose up and glistened in his eye.

Thus he sat for more than an hour after all the rest were sunk in motionless slumber. Finally his bedecked head, adorned with a profusion of rich and rare feathers, sunk by degrees on the rude pillow, and he too was soon wandering in the land of dreams.

But sleep brooded not upon the watchful lids of Mary. She gazed in silence at the wild savage scene before her. The uncouth beings who had so recently hooted and yelled like sanguinary demons, with intent to slay and pillage, around her father, her friends and herself, now lay motionless, though free and still hostile, within a few feet of her, and she was their captive! She thought of her humble but peaceful home, and sighed bitterly. And she thought, too, of her distressed friends, and she was the more distressed from the consciousness that they sympathized with her sufferings. Poor girl! She looked at the dark brows and compressed lips of her captors as the fitful flashes of the flames threw a bright ray upon them, and, in despite of the many hopes she had entertained, she was horror-stricken to contemplate the reality of her sad predicament.

At a late and solemn hour, the Indian who had been the captive the night before, suddenly ceased his snoring, which had been heard without intermission for a great length of time; and when Mary instinctively cast her eyes towards him, she was surprised to see him gently and slowly raise his head. He enjoined silence by placing his hand upon his mouth. After carefully disengaging himself from his comrades, he crept quietly away, and soon vanished entirely from sight on the northern side of the spreading beech. Mary expected he would soon return and a.s.sist her to escape. Although she was aware of the hardships and perils that would attend her flight, yet the thought of again meeting her friends was enough to nerve her for the undertaking, and she waited with anxious impatience the coming of her rescuer. But he came not. She could attribute no other design in his conduct but that of effecting her escape, and yet he neither came for her nor beckoned her away. She had reposed confidence in his promise, for she knew that the Indian, savage as he was, rarely forfeited his word; but when grat.i.tude inspired a pledge, she could not believe that he would use deceit. The fire was now burning quite low, and its waning light scarce cast a beam upon the branches over head. It was evidently not far from morning, and every hope of present escape entirely fled from her bosom. But just as she was yielding to despair, she saw the Indian returning in a stealthy pace, bearing some dark object in his arms. He glided to her side, and beckoned her to leave the snow-canoe, and also to take with her all the robes with which she had been enveloped. She did his bidding, and then he carefully deposited the burden he bore in the place she had just occupied. A portion of the object becoming unwrapped, Mary discovered it to be a huge ma.s.s of snow, resembling, in some respects, a human form, and the Indian's stratagem was at once apparent to her. Relinquishing herself to his guidance, she was led noiselessly through the bushes about a hundred paces distant from the fire, to a large fallen tree that had yielded to some furious storm, when her conductor paused. He pointed to a spot where a curve caused the huge trunk to rise about a foot from the present surface, under which was a round hole cut through the drifted snow down to the earth, and in which were deposited several buffalo robes, and so arranged that a person could repose within without coming in contact with the frozen element around. Mary looked down, and then at her companion, to ascertain his intentions. He spoke to her in a low tone, enough of which she comprehended to understand that he desired her to descend into the pit without delay. She obeyed, and when he had carefully folded the robes and divers furs about her body, he stepped a few paces to one side, and gently lifting up a round lid of snow-crust, placed it over the aperture. It had been so smoothly cut, and fitted with such precision when replaced, that no one would have been able to discover that an incision had been made. He then bade Mary a "Dud by"

in bad English, and set off in a run in a northern direction for the purpose of joining the whites.

Long and interminable seemed Mary's confinement to her, but she was entirely comfortable in her hiding-place, as respected her body. Yet many dreadful apprehensions oppressed her still. She feared that the Indians would soon ascertain that she had left the canoe, and return and discover her place of concealment. At times she thought of the wild beasts prowling around, and feared they would devour her before a.s.sistance came. But the most harrowing fear was that the friendly Indian would abandon her to her fate or perhaps be _killed_, without making known her locality and helpless condition! Thus was she a prey to painful apprehensions and worrying reflections, until from exhaustion she sank into an unquiet and troubled slumber.

With the first light of morning, the war-party sprang to their feet, and hastily dispatching a slight repast, they set out on their journey with renewed animation and increased rapidity. Before starting, the chief called to Mary, and again offered some food; but no reply being returned, or motion discovered under the robe which he imagined enveloped her, he supposed she was sleeping, and directed the party to select the most even route when they emerged in the prairie, that she might as much as possible enjoy her repose.

The Indian who had planned and executed the escape of Mary, with the well-devised cunning for which the race is proverbial, had told his companions that he would rise before day and pursue the same direction they were going in advance of them, and endeavour to kill a deer for their next night's meal. Thus his absence created no suspicion, and the party continued their precipitate retreat.

But, about noon, after casting many glances back at the supposed form of the captive reclining peacefully in the snow-canoe, the chief, with much excitement, betrayed by his looks, which seemed to be mingled with an apprehension that she was dead, abruptly ordered the party to halt. He sprang to the canoe, and convulsively tearing away the skins discovered only the roll of snow! He at first compressed his lips in momentary rage, and then burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter.

But the rest raved and stamped, and uttered direful imprecations and threats of vengeance. Immediately they were aware of the treachery of the absent Indian, and resolved with one voice that his blood should be an atonement for the act. Their thoughts had dwelt too fondly on the shining gold they were to get in exchange for the maiden, for them ever to forgive the recreant brother who had s.n.a.t.c.hed the prize from them. The chief soon recovered his usual grave expression, and partook in some measure the general disappointment and chagrin. His motives were not of the same mercenary cast which actuated his tribe, nor did he condemn the conduct of the one who had rescued the maid, being aware of the clemency extended him when in the power of the enemy; but the thought of being outwitted and thwarted roused his anger, and he determined to recover the lost captive, if possible.

The snow was quickly thrown out, and the war-party adjusted their weapon's, with the expectation of encountering the whites; and then whirling about they retraced their steps even more swiftly than they had been advancing. Just as the night was setting in, they came in sight of the grove where they had encamped. They slackened their pace, and looking eagerly forward, seemed to think it not improbable that the whites had arrived in the vicinity, and might be lying in ambush awaiting their return in search of the maid. They then abandoned the canoe, after having concealed it under some low bushes, and entered the grove in a stooping and watchful posture. Ere long the chief attained the immediate neighbourhood of the spreading tree, and with an arrow drawn to its head, crept within a few paces of the spot where he had lain the preceding night. His party were mostly a few feet in the rear, while a few were approaching in the same manner from the opposite direction. Hearing no sound whatever, he rose up slowly, and with an "Ugh" of disappointment, strode carelessly across the silent and untenanted place of encampment.

Vexation and anger were expressed by the savages in being thus disappointed. They hoped to wreak their vengeance on the whites, and had resolved to recapture the maiden. Where they expected to find them, the scene was silent and desolate. And they now sauntered about under the trees in the partial light of the moon that struggled through the matted branches, threatening in the most horrid manner the one who had thus baffled them. Some struck their tomahawks into the trunks of trees, while others brandished their knives, and uttered direful yells. The young chief stood in silence, with his arms folded on his breast. A small ray of light that fell upon his face exhibited a meditative brow, and features expressing both firmness and determination. He had said that the captive should be regained, and his followers ever and anon regarded his thoughtful att.i.tude with the confidence that his decision would accelerate the accomplishment of their desires. Long he remained thus, motionless and dignified, and no one dared to address him. [He had been elected chief by acclamation, after the death of Raven. He was not an Osage by birth, but had been captured from one of the neighbouring tribes (the p.a.w.nee) when only six years old. His bravery, as he grew up, had elicited the admiration of the whole tribe, and it had long been settled that he should succeed Raven. His complexion was many degrees lighter than that of the Osages, or even that of the p.a.w.nees, and had it not been for the paint and stains with which the warriors decorate their faces, he might have pa.s.sed, if properly attired, for an American. When taken in battle he was saved from the torture by a young Indian maiden. She procured his release and he refused to return to his own nation. He said that he was no p.a.w.nee, and when asked to what nation he belonged, he either could not or would not reply, but said he was satisfied to hunt and fight with any tribe, and if the chief would give him his daughter (the one that saved his life,) he would be an Osage. It was done, and his brave exploits soon won for him the t.i.tle of the "Young Eagle."]

The young chief called one of the oldest of the party, who was standing a few paces distant absorbed in thought, to his side, and after a short conference the old savage prostrated himself on the snow, and endeavoured like a hound to scent the tracks of his recreant brother. At first he met with no success, but when making a wide circuit round the premises, still applying his nose to the ground occasionally, and minutely examining the bushes, he paused abruptly, and announced to the party that he had found the precise direction taken by the maid and her deliverer. Instantly they all cl.u.s.tered round him, evincing the most intense interest. Some smelt the surface of the snow, and others examined the bushes. Small twigs, not larger than pins, were picked up and closely scrutinized. They well knew that any one pa.s.sing through the frozen and cl.u.s.tered bushes must inevitably sever some of the twigs and buds. Their progress was slow, but unerring. The course they pursued was the direction taken by Mary and her rescuer. It was not long before they arrived within a few feet of the place of the maiden's concealment. But now they were at fault.

There were no bushes immediately around the fallen tree. They paused, the chief in the van, with their bows and arrows and tomahawks in readiness for instant use. They knew that the maiden could not return to her friends on foot, or the treacherous savage be able to bear her far on his shoulder. They thought that one or both must be concealed somewhere in the neighbourhood, and the fallen tree, were it hollow, was the place most likely to be selected for that purpose. After scanning the fallen trunk a few minutes in silence, and discovering nothing to realize their hopes, they uttered a terrific yell, and commenced striking their tomahawks in the wood, and ripping up the bark in quest of some hiding-place. But their search was in vain. The fallen trunk was sound and solid throughout, and the young chief sat down on it within three paces of Mary! Others, in pa.s.sing about, frequently trod on the very verge of the concealed pit.

Mary was awakened by the yell but knew not that the sound came from her enemies. The Indian had told her that he would soon return, and her heart now fluttered with the hope that her father and her friends were at hand. Yet she prudently determined not to rush from her concealment until she was better a.s.sured of the fact. She did not think the savages would suspect that she was hid under the snow, but yet she thought it very strange that her father did not come to her at once. Several minutes had elapsed since she had been startled by the sounds in the immediate vicinity. She heard the tramp of men almost directly over her head, and the strokes against the fallen trunk. She was several times on the eve of rising up, but was as often withheld by some mysterious impulse. She endeavoured to reflect calmly, but still she could not, by any mode of conjecture realize the probability of her foes having returned and traced her thither. Yet an undefinable fear still possessed her, and she endeavoured with patience to await the pleasure of her friends. But when the chief seated himself in her vicinity, and fell into one of his fits of abstraction, and the whole party became comparatively still and hushed, the poor girl's suspense was almost insufferable. She knew that human beings were all around her, and yet her situation was truly pitiable and lonely. She felt a.s.sured that if the war-party had returned in pursuit of her, the same means which enabled them to trace their victim to the fallen trunk would likewise have sufficed to indicate her hiding-place. Then why should she hesitate? The yells that awakened her had not been heard distinctly, and under the circ.u.mstances she could not believe that she was surrounded by savages. On the other hand, if they were her friends, why did they not relieve her? Now a sudden, but, alas!

erroneous thought occurred to her. She was persuaded that they were her friends, but that the friendly Indian was not with them--he had perhaps directed them where she could be found, and then returned to his home. Might not her friends, at that moment, be anxiously searching for her? Would not one word suffice to dispel their solicitude, and restore the lost one to their arms? She resolved to speak. Bowing down her head slightly, so that her precise location might not instantly be ascertained, she uttered in a soft voice the word "FATHER!" The chief sprang from his seat, and the party was instantly in commotion. Some of the savages looked above, among the twining branches, and some shot their arrows in the snow, but fortunately not in the direction of Mary, while others ran about in every direction, examining all the large trees in the vicinity. The chief was amazed and utterly confounded. He drew not forth an arrow, nor brandished a tomahawk. While he thus stood, and the rest of the party were moving hurriedly about a few paces distant, Mary again repeated the word "FATHER!" As suddenly as if by enchantment every savage was paralyzed. Each stood as devoid of animation as a statue.

For many moments an intense silence reigned, as if naught existed there but the cheerless forest trees. Slowly, at length, the tomahawk was returned to the belt, and the arrow to the quiver. No longer was a desire to spill blood manifested. The dusky children of the forest attributed to the mysterious sound a supernatural agency. They believed it was a voice from the perennial hunting-grounds. Humbly they bowed their heads, and whispered devotions to the Great Spirit.

The young chief alone stood erect. He gazed at the round moon above him, and sighs burst from his breast, and burning tears ran down his stained cheek. Impatiently, by a motion of the hand, he directed the savages to leave him, and when they withdrew he resumed his seat on the fallen trunk, and reclined his brow upon his hand. One of the long feathers that decked his head waved forward, after he had been seated thus a few minutes, and when his eye rested upon it he started up wildly, and tearing it away, trampled it under his feet. At that instant the same "FATHER!" was again heard. The young chief fell upon his knees, and, while he panted convulsively, said, in ENGLISH, "_Father! Mother! I'm your poor William--you loved me much--where are you? Oh tell me--I will come to you--I want to see you!_" He then fell prostrate and groaned piteously. "Father! oh! where are you? Whose voice was that?" said Mary, breaking through the slight incrustation that obscured her, and leaping from her covert.

The young chief sprang from the earth--gazed a moment at the maid--spoke rapidly and loudly in the language of his tribe to his party, who were now at the place of encampment, seated by the fire they had kindled--and then, seizing his tomahawk, was in the act of hurling it at Mary, when the yells of the war-party and the ringing discharges of firearms arrested his steel when brandished in the air.

The white men had arrived! The young, chief seized Mary by her long flowing hair--again prepared to level the fatal blow--when she turned her face upwards, and he again hesitated. Discharges in quick succession, and nearer than before, still rang in his ears. Mary strove not to escape. Nor did the Indian strike. The whites were heard rushing through the bushes--the chief seized the trembling girl in his arms--a bullet whizzed by his head--but, unmindful of danger, he vanished among the dark bushes with his burden.

CHAPTER XII.

Joe's indisposition--His cure--Sneak's reformation--The pursuit--The captive Indian--Approach to the encampment of the savages--Joe's illness again--The surprise--The terrific encounter--Rescue of Mary--Capture of the young chief--The return.

We return to the white men. The grief of Roughgrove, and of all the party, when it was ascertained beyond a doubt that Mary had been carried off by the savages, was deep and poignant. The aged ferryman sat silent and alone, and would not be comforted, while the rest made the necessary arrangements to pursue the foe. The sled was so altered that blankets, buffalo robes, and a small quant.i.ty of food could be taken in it. Bullets were moulded and the guns put in order. Joe was ordered to give the horses water, and place a large quant.i.ty of provender within their reach. The hounds were fed and then led back to their kennel, and Glenn announced, after Roughgrove declared his determination to go along, that Ringwood and Jowler alone would be left to guard the premises.

"My goodness!" said Joe, when he understood that he was expected to make one of the pursuing party, "I can't go! My head's so sore, and aches so bad, I couldn't go ten miles before I'd have to give up. Let me stay, Mr. Glenn, and take care of the house."

"Do you forget that _Mary_ is in the hands of the Indians? Would you hesitate even to _die_, while striving to rescue a poor, innocent, helpless maiden? For shame!" replied Glenn.

"I'd spill my heart's blood for her," said Joe, "if it would do any good. But you know how I was crippled last night, and I didn't sleep a bit afterwards, hardly."

"Dod"--commenced Sneak.

"Joe," said Boone, "from the vigorous manner in which you fought the wolves, I am induced to believe that your present scruples are not well founded. We will need every man we can obtain."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind it at all," said Joe, "if it wasn't that you're a going to start right off now. If I only had a little sleep--"

"You shall have it," said Boone. Both Glenn and Roughgrove looked inquiringly at the speaker. "We will not start to-night," continued he. "It would be useless. We could not overtake them, and if we did, it would cause them to put Mary to death, that they might escape our vengeance the more easily. I have duly considered the matter. We must rest here to-night, and rise refreshed in the morning. We will then set out on their trail, and I solemnly pledge my word never to return without bringing the poor child back unharmed."

"I _hope_ my head'll be well by morning," said Joe.

"I _know_ it will be well enough," said Glenn; "so you need entertain no hope of being left behind."

"Now, Sneak, a word with you," said Boone. "I think you would do almost _any thing_ for my sake--"

"If I wouldn't, I wish I may be dod--"

"Stop!" continued Boone, interrupting him.

"Jest ax me to cut off my little finger," said Sneak, "and if I don't do it, I wish I may be dod--"

"Stop!" again interposed Boone. "My first request is one that poor _Mary_ asked me to make. I know it will be a severe trial."

"Name it," cried Sneak, "and if it's to job out one of my eyes, dod rot me if I don't do it!"

"_Hear_ me," continued Boone; "she desired me to ask you not to use that ugly word _dod-rot_ any more."

"Hay!" exclaimed Sneak, his eyes dilating, and his mouth falling wide open.

"I know it will be a hard matter," said Boone; "but Mary thinks you have a good and brave heart, and she says you are the only one among us that uses bad words."

"I'd go my death for that gal, or any other female woman in the settlement, any day of my life. And as she wants me to swaller them words, that was born with me, dod--I mean, I wish I may be--_indeed_, I'll be starved to death if I don't do it! only when I'm raven mad at something, and then I can't help it."

"Very well," said Boone. "Now I have a request of my own to make."

"Sing it out! dod--no--nothing! I didn't say it--but I'll _do_ what you want me to," said Sneak.

"I think _you_ will not suffer for the want of sleep," continued Boone; "and I wish you to go out and get as many of the neighbours to join us as possible. You can go to three or four houses by midnight, sleep a little, and meet us here, or in the prairie, in the morning."

"I shall cut stick--if I don't I wish I may be do--I--_indeed_ I will!" and before he ceased speaking he was rushing through the gate.