CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
PLANS AND PROSPECTS--DICK BECOMES HOME-SICK, AND HENRI METAPHYSICAL--THEINDIANS ATTACK THE CAMP--A BLOW-UP.
On the following day the Indians gave themselves up to unlimitedfeasting, in consequence of the arrival of a large body of hunters withan immense supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of rejoicing.Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed, and as the supply ofmeat before their arrival had been ample, the camp was now overflowingwith plenty. Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine-men wentabout the camp uttering loud cries, which were meant to expressgratitude to the Great Spirit for the bountiful supply of food. Theyalso carried a portion of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable tohunt for themselves, and had no young men in their family circle to huntfor them.
This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance, as it put theIndians in great good-humour, and inclined them to hold friendlyintercourse with the trappers, who for some time continued to drive abrisk trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs,the Indians of course had more than they knew what to do with, and weretherefore glad to exchange those of the most beautiful and valuable kindfor a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside their traps for atime and devoted themselves to traffic.
Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations for their returnjourney.
"Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they sat beside the fire inPee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on a potful of grasshopper soup, whichthe great chiefs squaw had just placed before them,--"ye see, mycalc'lations is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', wethree ha' made enough to sot us up, an it likes us, in the MustangValley--"
"Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of his teethin order to exercise his tongue,--"ha! Joe, but it don't like _me_!What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer? I should think not!"
"Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to thegrasshopper soup or the sentiment, we cannot tell.
"Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak with ahunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; but, as Iwos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o' odds andends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an' powder andlead to last us a twelve-month, besides five good horses to carry us an'our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, I mean to make abee-line for the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure to meet withBlackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peace between theman' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for six weeks afore wegit to home, so we'll start to-morrow."
"Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez meone petit morsel of steak."
"I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick, "you are leader. Just pointthe way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we,Crusoe?"
"We will," remarked the dog quietly.
"How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for ourtobacco?"
"They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all thewestern Injuns do. They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumack andthe inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed together.They call this stuff _Kinnekinnik_, but they like to mix about a fourtho' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, an' he's a good judge;the amount that red-skinned mortal smokes _is_ oncommon."
"What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing to a group of menwho had been feasting for some time past in front of a tent within sightof our trio.
"Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe.
As he spoke, six young warriors were seen to work their bodies about ina very remarkable way, and give utterance to still more remarkablesounds, which gradually increased until the singers burst out into thatterrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have long beenfamous. Its effect would save been appalling to unaccustomed ears.Then they allowed their voices to die away in soft, plaintive tones,while their action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious style wasrevived, and the men wrought themselves into a condition little short ofmadness, while their yells rung wildly through the camp. This was toomuch for ordinary canine nature to withstand, so all the dogs in theneighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus.
Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities of Indians andtheir curs with dignified contempt. He paid no attention to thisserenade, but lay sleeping by the fire until Dick and his companionsrose to take leave of their host, and return to the camp of thefur-traders. The remainder of that night was spent in makingpreparations for setting forth on the morrow, and when, at grey dawn,Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a few hours' repose, the yells andhowling in the Snake camp were going on as vigorously as ever.
The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping the summits of theRocky Mountains, causing the snowy peaks to glitter like flame, and thedeep ravines and gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast, whenDick, and Joe, and Henri mounted their gallant steeds, and, with Crusoegambolling before, and the two pack-horses trotting by their side,turned their faces eastward, and bade adieu to the Indian camp.
Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well aware that he andhis companions were on their way home, and testified his satisfaction bybursts of scampering over the hills and valleys. Doubtless he thoughtof Dick Varley's cottage, and of Dick's mild, kind-hearted mother.Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother, Fan, and felt a glow offilial affection as he did so. Of this we feel quite certain. He wouldhave been unworthy the title of hero if he hadn't. Perchance he thoughtof Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure. We rather think, uponthe whole, that he did.
Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction of _home_. Sweetword! Those who have never left it cannot, by any effort ofimagination, realise the full import of the word "home." Dick was abold hunter, but he was young, and this was his first long expedition.Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing dreamily up throughthe branches at the stars, had he thought of home, until his longingheart began to yearn to return. He repelled such tender feelings,however, when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly, and soughtto turn his mind to the excitements of the chase, but latterly hisefforts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, and, whileadmitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from hiscomrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. Poor DickVarley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knew it,and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong withhis master, although he could not exactly make out what it was. ButCrusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted downthe peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and minuteexactness of a physician; and, we doubt not, ultimately added theknowledge of the symptoms of homesickness to his already well-filledstores of erudition.
It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that DickVarley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautifulprairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped overthe green sward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tellJoe Blunt what his feelings had been.
"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steedafter a sharp gallop, "d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for sometime past."
"I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there was adash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to express.
Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have bin.I never felt so before."
"'Twas homesickness, boy," returned Joe.
"How d'ye know that?"
"The same way as how I know most things, by experience an' obsarvation.I've bin home-sick myself once--but it was long, long agone."
Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzedveteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened uphis heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, am
ong othercurious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking partin conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard to beunderstood. Most conversations that were not connected with eating andhunting were of this nature to Henri.
"Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! hah! dat is fat Iam always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."
"I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri'sremark,--"I always packs up an' sots off for home when I gits home-sick;it's the best cure, an' when hunters are young like you, Dick, it's theonly cure. I've know'd fellers a'most die o' homesickness, an' I'm toldthey _do_ go under altogether sometimes."
"Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I fusttry to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be hereto-day."
Henri's idea of homesickness was so totally opposed to theirs, that hiscomrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set him right.
"The fust time I was took bad with it wos in a country somethin' likethat," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie,dotted with clusters of trees and wandering streamlets, that lay beforethem; "I had bin out about two months, an wos makin' a good thing of it,for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow more than usual o'home. My mother wos alive then."
Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a fewminutes he rode on in silence.
"Well, it grew worse and worse, I dreamed o' home all night, an' thoughtof it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos gittin'tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, `I give out, lads,I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried to laugh meout of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bid them good-day,an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. The very first mileo' the way back I began to mend, and before two days I wos all rightagain."
Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of a solitaryhorseman on the brow of an eminence not half a mile distant. The threefriends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump of trees, butnot in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who uttered aloud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at full gallop.
"Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is one of _peace_."
The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri wasmaking preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Beforeanother word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of abouttwenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not awar-party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed,and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplarypatience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, thecouncil-fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long palaver.
We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on thisoccasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of anyimportance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacificovertures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts madethereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutualexpressions of good will.
Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equallyfriendly, and only one war-party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed itin time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of sometrees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of sight.
The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage,and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellersescaped.
It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war-party of Blackfeetwere seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that theprairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs largeenough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into thehollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to eludethe savages, so he gave the word,--but at the same moment a shout fromthe Indians told that they were discovered.
"Look sharp, lads, throw down the packs on the highest point of theridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales ofgoods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must keepthem at arm's length, boys--be alive. War-parties are not to betrusted."
Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably, that in the course of twominutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a wallin front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketted close besidethem, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with their riflescocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came sweeping downtowards them.
"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt, "but keep yer eye on'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin'chief. I'll throw up my left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hithuman flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don'tdraw till I git back to ye."
So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their littlefortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a fewseconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was surrounded.At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round thesolitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to intimidate him;but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed, and a graveexpression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and,drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he was doing there.
Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to shoutvociferously, and evidently meant mischief.
"If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go backto his braves," said Joe, passing suddenly between two of the warriorsand taking a few steps towards the camp.
Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter wereabout to be pierced by a hundred arrows, when he turned round andcried:--
"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first that moves his_horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shall die."
To this the Blackfoot chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talkswith a big mouth. We do not believe his words. The Snakes are liars,we will make no peace with them."
While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand; there was a loudreport, and the noble horse of the savage chief lay struggling in deathagony on the ground.
The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known at thisperiod among the Indians of the far west, and many had never heard thedreaded report before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of itsfatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore, quite paralysedthem for a few moments, and they had not recovered from their surprisewhen a second report was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a secondhorse fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion in the campof the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped it, and from the midst ofthis a loud shriek was heard, as Dick, Henri, and Crusoe bounded overthe packs with frantic gestures.
At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds round, the dismountedhorsemen sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole banddashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.
Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of great anxiety,for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must have beenaccidentally blown up.
"No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming up.
"Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight over his face. "Oh! oui,great damage--moche damage, me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes."
"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dick, who was very slightlysinged, and forgot his own hurts in anxiety about his comrade. "Let mesee?"
"My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin overspread hiscountenance, "ye've not improved yer looks, Henri."
This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extentthat his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universalfrizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quiteuninjured, a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt, affordedso much satisfaction to Henri, that
he capered about shouting withdelight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him.
The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted toreplace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety forJoe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreatiesto wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up.Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was notdisposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies sopromptly to the right-about.
This band followed them for some nights, in the hope of being able tosteal their horses while they slept; but they were not brave enough toventure a second time within range of the death-dealing rifle.
The Dog Crusoe and his Master Page 24
