The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXXII

  WANAHA THE INDIAN

  The moon at its full shone down upon a scene of profound silence. Itssilvery rays overpowered the milder starry sheen of the heavens. The woodsupon the banks of the White River were tipped with a hard, cold burnish,but their black depths remained unyielding. All was still--so still.

  Thousands of Indians are awaiting in silent, stubborn hatred the morrow'ssentence of their white shepherds. A deep passion of hatred and revengelies heavy on their tempestuous hearts; and upon the heart of theirwarlike chieftain most of all.

  The heart that beats within the Indian bosom is invincible. It is beyondthe reach of sympathy, as it is beyond the reach of fear. It stands alonein its devotion to warlike brutality. Hatred is its supreme passion, justas fearlessness is its supreme virtue. And hatred and revenge are movingto-night--moving under the calm covering of apparent peace; moving nowlest the morrow should put it beyond the power of the red man to mete outthe full measure of his lust for native savagery. And so at last therecomes a breaking of the perfect peace of night.

  A dark figure moves out of the depths of the woods. It moves slowlytoward the log hut of Nevil Steyne. It pauses at a distance and surveysthe dim outline against the woodland backing.

  Another figure moves out from the woods, and a moment later another andyet another; and each figure follows in the track of the foremost, andthey stand talking in low murmurs. Thus twenty-five blanketed figures aregathered before the hut of the white renegade. They are Indians,hoary-headed patriarchs of their race, but glowing with the fierce spiritof youth in their sluggish hearts.

  Presently they file away one by one, and it becomes apparent that each oldman is well armed. They spread out and form themselves into a wide circle,which slowly closes in upon the hut. Then each decrepit figure huddlesitself down upon its haunches, like some bald-headed vulture settling withheavily flapping wings upon its prey.

  Sleep has not visited the eyes of those within the hut. When things goawry with those who live by double-dealing, sleep does not come easily.Nevil Steyne is awake, and his faithful wife keeps him company.

  The interior of the hut is dismantled. Bundles of furnishings liescattered about on the floor. It is plain that this is to be the lastnight which these two intend to spend in the log hut which has shelteredthem so long.

  The squaw is lying fully dressed upon the bed, and the man is sittingbeside her smoking. They are talking, discussing eagerly that which hasheld the man's feverish interest the whole night.

  There is no kindness in the man's tone as he speaks to the woman. He isbeset with a fear he cannot conceal. It is in his tone, it is in his eyes,it is in his very restlessness.

  The woman is calm. She is an Indian, and in her veins runs the blood ofgenerations of great chiefs. Fear has no place in her heart, but herdevotion to her man makes her anxious for him. Her slow, labored use ofhis language is meant to encourage him, but he takes no comfort from it.His utter selfishness, his cowardice, place him beyond mere verbalencouragement.

  "It still wants two hours to dawn," Nevil exclaimed, referring to hiswatch for about the twentieth time in the last hour. "God, how the timehangs!"

  The woman's dark eyes were upon his nervous face. She noted the anxiousstraining of his shifty eyes. Their whites were bloodshot, and his browswere drawn together in the painful concentration of a mind fixed upon onethought.

  "It will pass," she said, with all the hopefulness she could express.

  "Of course it will. Do you suppose I don't know?" The man spoke with harshirritation. "You--you don't seem to understand."

  "Wanaha understands." The squaw nodded. Then she, too, gave way to aslight irritation. "Why you not sleep, my Nevil? Wanaha watch. It a longjourney. Sleep, my husband. You fear foolish. So."

  The man turned scornful eyes in her direction, and for a moment did notspeak. Then presently he said--

  "Sometimes I think it's unnecessary for us to go. I can't make up my mind.I never had such difficulty in seeing clearly before. Your brother was soquiet and calm. He spoke so generously. I told him the whole story. How Iwas forced by that damned Seth to go into the fort. And how I was forcedto fight. Pshaw! what's the use of talking? I've told you all thisalready. Yet he listened to all I had to say, and as I made each point henodded in that quiet, assured way of his--you know. I think he understoodand was satisfied. I think so--and yet--it's no use, I can't be sure. Iwish he'd lost his temper in his usual headstrong way. I understand himwhen he is like that. But he didn't. He was very calm.

  "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 ofthe braves can follow us. The soldiers will see that none leave theReservations. Yes, I'm sure it's best to get away. It can do no harm, andit'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 conditionof her husband's mind. She saw clearly that she must humor him.

  Whatever her innermost thoughts may have been she made her repliessubservient to his humor. She had listened closely to his account of hisinterview with her brother, and there is little doubt that she had formedher own opinion, and, being of the blood of the chief, she probablyunderstood him better than this white man did. But whatever she reallythought 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 interviewsLittle Black Fox whenever he pleases. He's a two-faced rascal. Do youknow, it was he who brought the news of relief to the farm. And what'smore, he came in with the soldiers. I always seem to see him about. Once Ithought he was watching my movements. I wonder why?"

  The man drooped dejectedly as he tried to unravel this fresh tangle. Whywas Jim Crow shadowing him? In the interests of the Indians? Again hepulled out his watch. And the woman beside him saw that his hand wasshaking 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 startinguntil dawn, and it still wanted a full hour to the time.

  Wanaha sat up, and Nevil moved about amongst the litter of theirbelongings. There was coffee on the stove and food on the table. He helpedhimself to both, bolting meat and drink in a nervous, hasty manner. Wanahajoined him. She ate sparingly, and then began to gather their goodstogether.

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

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

  The woman looked up into his mean face with a world of love in herprofound 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 wasupon him; he could not move, he could not think. Little Black Fox wasstanding in the doorway, and, behind him, two of his war-councilorsleaning 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 alight. 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 helooked into the face of the terror-stricken renegade. Nevil was tall, buthe was dwarfed by the magnificent carriage and superb figure of thesavage.

  It was the chief who was the first to speak. The flowing tongue of theSioux sounded melodious in the rich tones of the speaker's voice. He spokewithout a touch of the fiery eloquence
which had been his when he was yetthe untried leader of his race. The man seemed to have suddenly matured.He was no longer the headstrong boy that had conceived an overwhelmingpassion for a white girl, but a warrior of his race, a warrior and aleader.

  "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, sherose to the occasion. The haughty manner of the chief was no more haughtythan hers. She was blood of this man, and no less royal than he. Her deepeyes were alert and shining now. The savage was dominant in her again. Shewas, indeed, a princess of her race.

  "And whither would they go, this white brother and his squaw?" There wasa 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 squawhad no answer ready. But the renegade himself found his tongue andanswered.

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

  For a while the young chieftain's eyes seemed to burn into those of theman 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 whiteman you fear, but the Indian you have betrayed. Your tongue lies, yourheart lies. You are neither brave nor squaw-man. Your heart is the heartof a snake that is filled with venom. Your brain is like the mire of themuskeg which sucks, sucks its victims down to destruction. Your blood islike the water of a mosquito swamp, poisonous even to the air. I haveeyes; I have ears. I learn all these things, and I say nothing. The hunteruses 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 itwhen there is danger that he shall get hurt by it. You are a poisonedweapon, and you have sought to hurt me. So."

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

  "The great chief wrongs my man. All he has done he was forced to do. Hishas been the heart to help you. His has been the hand to help you. His hasbeen the brain to plan for you. So. The others come. They take himprisoner. 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 extremityhe remembered what Seth had said to him. And he knew now that Seth'sknowledge 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 guiltyof had nothing to do with his present position. Instead, he stoodarraigned for a treachery which had not been his, toward the one man towhom he had ever been faithful.

  But while his craven heart wilted before his savage judge; while his mindwas racked with tortures of suspense, and his scheming brain had lost itspower of concentration; while his limbs shook at the presentiment of hisdoom, his woman stood fearless at his side, ready to serve him to thebitter end, ready to sacrifice herself if need be that his wretched lifemight be saved.

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

  "No man is coward who serves you as he has served you," she cried, hereyes 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 helperwhen misfortune drives."

  The words stung as they were meant to sting. And something of the oldheadstrong passion leapt into the young chief's heart. He pointed at hissister.

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

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

  As she finished speaking Wanaha bowed her head in token of submission. Butfor all his rage the chief was no slayer of his womenfolk. Theready-witted woman understood the lofty Indian spirit of her brother. Shesaw 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 atleast, she was mistress of the situation.

  "So," she went on, raising her head again and proudly confronting theangry-eyed youth, "my brother, even in his wrath, remembers the law of ourrace. Let him think further, and he will also remember other things. Lethim 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. Thelaws of the Sioux race were as she had said. And they were so stringentthat it would be dangerous to set them aside, even though this man's deathhad been decided upon by the unanimous vote of the council. He stoodirresolute, 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 werestrong, but this wild savage's nature was as untamed and fearless as anybeast of the field. It was her tone of triumph that undid her.

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

  "See!" he cried, his voice thick with fury. "Have your rights! I go. Withthe first streak of dawn I come again. Then I slay! Wanaha shall die by myhand, and then she has no right to the life of the white man!"

  * * * * *

  The first streak of dawn lit the eastern sky. The horses were grazing,tethered to their picket ropes within view of the log hut down by theriver. The wagon stood in its place at the side of the building. There wasno firelight to be seen within the building, no lamplight.

  The circle of silent squatting figures still held their vigil.

  As the daylight grew three figures emerged from the woods and movedsilently to the door of the hut. They paused, listening, but no sound camefrom within. One, much taller than his companions, reached out and raisedthe latch. The door swung open. He paused again. Then he stepped acrossthe threshold.

  The new-born day cast a gray twilight over the interior. The man sniffed,like a beast of prey scenting the trail of blood. And that which came tohis nostrils seemed to satisfy him, for he passed within and strode to thebedside. He stood for a few moments gazing down at the figures of a manand a woman locked in each other's arms.

  He looked long and earnestly upon the calm features of the faces soclosely pressed together. There was no pity, no remorse in his heart, forlife and death were matters which touched him not at all. War was as thebreath of his nostrils.

  Presently he moved away. There was nothing to keep him there. These twohad passed together to the shores of the Happy Hunting Ground. They hadlived and died together. They would--perhaps--awake together. But not onthe prairies of the West.