The Prairie Chief

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE MASSACRE AND THE CHASE.

  The sun was setting when Whitewing and his friend rode into Clearvale.The entrance to the valley was narrow, and for a short distance theroad, or Indian track, wound among groups of trees and bushes whicheffectually concealed the village from their sight.

  At this point in the ride Little Tim began to recover from the surpriseat his own stupidity which had for so long a period of time reduced himto silence. Riding up alongside of Whitewing, who was a little inadvance of the party, still bearing his mother in his arms, he accostedhim thus--

  "I say, Whitewing, the longer I know you, the more of a puzzle you areto me. I thowt I'd got about at the bottom o' all yer notions an' waysby this time, but I find that I'm mistaken."

  As no question was asked, the red man deemed no reply needful, but thefaintest symptom of a smile told the trapper that his remark wasunderstood and appreciated.

  "One thing that throws me off the scent," continued Little Tim, "is theway you Injins have got o' holdin' yer tongues, so that a feller can'tmake out what yer minds are after. Why don't you speak? why ain't youmore commoonicative?"

  "The children of the prairie think that wisdom lies in silence,"answered Whitewing gravely. "They leave it to their women and whitebrothers to chatter out all their minds."

  "Humph! The children o' the prairie ain't complimentary to their whitebrothers," returned the trapper. "Mayhap yer right. Some of us do talka leetle too much. It's a way we've got o' lettin' off the steam. I'mafeard I'd bust sometimes if I didn't let my feelin's off through mymouth. But your silent ways are apt to lead fellers off on wrong trackswhen there's no need to. Didn't I think, now, that you was after ayoung woman as ye meant to take for a squaw--and after all it turned outto be your mother!"

  "My white brother sometimes makes mistakes," quietly remarked theIndian.

  "True; but your white brother wouldn't have made the mistake if ye hadtold him who it was you were after when ye set off like a mad grizzlywi' its pups in danger. Didn't I go tearin' after you neck and crop asif I was a boy o' sixteen, in the belief that I was helpin' ye in a loveaffair?"

  "It _was_ a love affair," said the Indian quietly.

  "True, but not the sort o' thing that I thowt it was."

  "Would you have refused to help me if you had known better?" demandedWhitewing somewhat sharply.

  "Nay, I won't say that," returned Tim, "for I hold that a woman's awoman, be she old or young, pretty or ugly, an' I'd scorn the man aswould refuse to help her in trouble; besides, as the wrinkled oldcritter _is_ your mother, I've got a sneakin' sort o' fondness for her;but if I'd only known, a deal o' what they call romance would ha' bintook out o' the little spree."

  "Then it is well that my brother did not know."

  To this the trapper merely replied, "Humph!"

  After a few minutes he resumed in a more confidential tone--

  "But I say, Whitewing, has it niver entered into your head to take toyourself a wife? A man's always the better of havin' a female companionto consult with an' talk over things, you know, as well as to make hismoccasins and leggin's."

  "Does Little Tim act on his own opinions?" asked the Indian quickly.

  "Ha! that's a fair slap in the face," said Tim, with a laugh, "but theremay be reasons for that, you see. Gals ain't always as willin' as theyshould be; sometimes they don't know a good man when they see him.Besides, I ain't too old yet, though p'raps some of 'em thinks meraither short for a husband. Come now, don't keep yer old comrade inthe dark. Haven't ye got a notion o' some young woman in partikler?"

  "Yes," replied the Indian gravely.

  "Jist so; I thowt as much," returned the trapper, with a tone and lookof satisfaction. "What may her name be?"

  "Lightheart."

  "Ay? Lightheart. A good name--specially if she takes after it, as I'veno doubt she do. An' what tribe does--"

  The trapper stopped abruptly, for at that moment the cavalcade swept outof the thicket into the open valley, and the two friends suddenly beheldthe Indian camp, which they had so recently left, reduced to a smokingruin.

  It is impossible to describe the consternation of the Indians, who hadridden so far and so fast to join their friends. And how shall we speakof the state of poor Whitewing's feelings? No sound escaped hiscompressed lips, but a terrible light seemed to gleam from his darkeyes, as, clasping his mother convulsively to his breast with his leftarm, he grasped his tomahawk, and urged his horse to its utmost speed.Little Tim was at his side in a moment, with the long dagger flashing inhis right hand, while Bald Eagle and his dusky warriors pressed closebehind.

  The women and children were necessarily left in the rear; butWhitewing's sister, Brighteyes, being better mounted than these, kept upwith the men of war.

  The scene that presented itself when they reached the camp was indeedterrible. Many of the wigwams were burned, some of them still burning,and those that had escaped the fire had been torn down and scatteredabout, while the trodden ground and pools of blood told of the dreadfulmassacre that had so recently taken place. It was evident that the camphad been surprised, and probably all the men slain, while a very briefexamination sufficed to show that such of the women and children as werespared had been carried off into slavery. In every direction outsidethe camp were found the scalped bodies of the slain, left as they hadfallen in unavailing defence of home.

  The examination of the camp was made in hot haste and profound silence,because instant action had to be taken for the rescue of those who hadbeen carried away, and Indians are at all times careful to restrain andhide their feelings. Only the compressed lip, the heaving bosom, theexpanding nostrils, and the scowling eyes told of the fires that ragedwithin.

  In this emergency Bald Eagle, who was getting old and rather feeble,tacitly gave up the command of the braves to Whitewing. It needscarcely be said that the young chief acted with vigour. He with thetrapper having traced the trail of the Blackfoot war-party--evidently adifferent band from that which had attacked Bald Eagle's camp--andascertained the direction they had taken, divided his force into twobands, in command of which he placed two of the best chiefs of histribe. Bald Eagle himself agreed to remain with a small force toprotect the women and children. Having made his dispositions and givenhis orders, Whitewing mounted his horse; and galloped a short distanceon the enemy's trail; followed by his faithful friend. Reining upsuddenly, he said--

  "What does my brother counsel?"

  "Well, Whitewing, since ye ask, I would advise you to follow yer owndevices. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and know what'sbest."

  "Manitou knows what is best," said the Indian solemnly. "He directsall. But His ways are very dark. Whitewing cannot understand them."

  "Still, we must act, you know," suggested the trapper.

  "Yes, we must act; and I ask counsel of my brother, because it may bethat Manitou shall cause wisdom and light to flow from the lips of thewhite man."

  "Well, I don't know as to that, Whitewing, but my advice, whatever it'sworth, is, that we should try to fall on the reptiles in front and rearat the same time, and that you and I should go out in advance to scout."

  "Good," said the Indian; "my plan is so arranged."

  Without another word he gave the rein to his impatient horse, and wasabout to set off at full speed, when he was arrested by the trapperexclaiming, "Hold on? here's some one coming after us."

  A rider was seen galloping from the direction of the burned camp. Itturned out to be Brighteyes.

  "What brings my sister?" demanded Whitewing.

  The girl with downcast look modestly requested leave to accompany them.

  Her brother sternly refused. "It is not woman's part to fight," hesaid.

  "True, but woman sometimes helps the fighter," replied the girl, notventuring to raise her eyes.

  "Go," returned Whitewing. "Time may not be foolishly wasted. The oldones and the children need thy care."
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br />   Without a word Brighteyes turned her horse's head towards the camp, andwas about to ride humbly away when Little Tim interfered.

  "Hold on, girl! I say, Whitewing, she's not so far wrong. Many a timehas woman rendered good service in warfare. She's well mounted, andmight ride back with a message or something o' that sort. You'd betterlet her come."

  "She may come," said Whitewing, and next moment he was bounding over theprairie at the full speed of his fiery steed, closely followed by LittleTim and Brighteyes.

  That same night, at a late hour, a band of savage warriors entered athicket on the slopes of one of those hills on the western prairieswhich form what are sometimes termed the spurs of the Rocky Mountains,though there was little sign of the great mountain range itself, whichwas still distant several days' march from the spot. A group of weariedwomen and children, some riding, some on foot, accompanied the band. Itwas that which had so recently destroyed the Indian village. They hadpushed on with their prisoners and booty as far and as fast as theirjaded horses could go, in order to avoid pursuit--though, having slainall the fighting men, there was little chance of that, except in thecase of friends coming to the rescue, which they thought improbable.Still, with the wisdom of savage warriors, they took every precaution toguard against surprise. No fire was lighted in the camp, and sentrieswere placed all round it to guard them during the few hours they meantto devote to much-needed repose.

  While these Blackfeet were eating their supper, Whitewing and Little Timcame upon them. Fortunately the sharp and practised eyes and intellectsof our two friends were on the alert. So small a matter as a slightwavering in the Blackfoot mind as to the best place for encampingproduced an effect on the trail sufficient to be instantly observed.

  "H'm! they've took it into their heads here," said Little Tim, "that itmight be advisable to camp an' feed."

  Whitewing did not speak at once, but his reining up at the moment hisfriend broke silence showed that he too had observed the signs.

  "It's always the way," remarked the trapper with a quiet chuckle as hepeered earnestly at the ground which the moon enabled him to seedistinctly, "if a band o' men only mention campin' when they're on themarch they're sure to waver a bit an' spoil the straight, go-ahead runo' the trail."

  "One turned aside to examine yonder bluff," said the Indian, pointing toa trail which he saw clearly, although it was undistinguishable toordinary vision.

  "Ay, an' the bluff didn't suit," returned Tim, "for here he rejoins hisfriends, an' they go off agin at the run. No more waverin'. They'dfixed their eyes a good bit ahead, an' made up their minds."

  "They are in the thicket yonder," said the Indian, pointing to the placereferred to.

  "Jist what I was goin' to remark," observed the trapper. "Now,Whitewing, it behoves us to be cautious. Ay, I see your mind an' minealways jumps togither."

  This latter remark had reference to the fact that the Indian had leapedoff his horse and handed the reins to Brighteyes. Placing his horsealso in charge of the Indian girl, Tim said, as the two set off--

  "We have to do the rest on fut, an' the last part on our knees."

  By this the trapper meant that he and his friend would have to creep upto the enemy's camp on hands and knees, but Whitewing, whose mind hadbeen recently so much exercised on religious matters, at once thought ofwhat he had been taught about the importance of prayer, and again thewords, "looking unto Jesus," rushed with greater power than ever uponhis memory, so that, despite his anxiety as to the fate of his affiancedbride and the perilous nature of the enterprise in hand, he keptpuzzling his inquiring brain with such difficulties as the absolutedependence of man on the will and leading of God, coupled with the factof his being required to go into vigorous, decisive, and apparentlyindependent action, trusting entirely to his own resources.

  "Mystery," thought the red man, as he and his friend walked swiftlyalong, taking advantage of the shelter afforded by every glade, thicket,or eminence; "all is mystery!"

  But Whitewing was wrong, as many men in all ages have been on firstbending their minds to the consideration of spiritual things. All is_not_ mystery. In the dealings of God with man, much, very much, ismysterious, and by us in this life apparently insoluble; but manythings--especially those things that are of vital importance to thesoul--are as clear as the sun at noonday. However, our red man was atthis time only beginning to run the spiritual race, and, like manyothers, he was puzzled.

  But no sign did he show of what was going on within, as he glided along,bending his keen eyes intently on the Blackfoot trail.

  At last they came to the immediate neighbourhood of the spot where itwas rightly conjectured the enemy lay concealed. Here, as Tim hadforetold, they went upon their knees, and advanced with the utmostcaution. Coming to a grassy eminence they lay flat down and workedtheir way slowly and painfully to the top.

  Well was it for them that a few clouds shrouded the moon at that time,for one of the Blackfoot sentinels had been stationed on that grassyeminence, and if Whitewing and the trapper had been less expert in thearts of savage war, they must certainly have been discovered. As itwas, they were able to draw off in time and reach another part of themound where a thick bush effectually concealed them from view.

  From this point, when the clouds cleared away, the camp could be clearlyseen in the vale below. Even the forms of the women and children weredistinguishable, but not their faces.

  "It won't be easy to get at them by surprise," whispered the trapper."Their position is strong, and they keep a bright lookout; besides, themoon won't be down for some hours yet--not much before daybreak."

  "Whitewing will take the prey from under their very noses," returned theIndian.

  "That won't be easy, but I've no doubt you'll try, an' sure, LittleTim's the man to back ye, anyhow."

  At that moment a slight rustling noise was heard. Looking through thebush, they saw the Blackfoot sentinel approaching. Instantly they sankdown into the grass, where they lay so flat and still that it seemed asif they had vanished entirely from the scene.

  When the sentinel was almost abreast of them, a sound arose from thecamp which caused him to stop and listen. It was the sound of song.The missionary--the only _man_ the Blackfoot Indians had not slain--having finished supper, had gathered some of the women and childrenround him, and, after an earnest prayer, had begun a hymn of praise. Atfirst the Blackfoot chief was on the point of ordering them to cease,but as the sweet notes arose he seemed to be spell-bound, and remained asilent and motionless listener. The sentinel on the mound also becamelike a dark statue. He had never heard such tones before.

  After listening a few minutes in wonder, he walked slowly to the end ofthe mound nearest to the singers.

  "Now's our chance, Whitewing," said the trapper, rising from his lair.

  The Indian made no reply, but descended the slope as carefully as he hadascended it, followed by his friend. In a short time they were back atthe spot where the horses had been left in charge of Brighteyes.

  Whitewing took his sister aside, and for a few minutes they conversed inlow tones.

  "I have arranged it all with Brighteyes," said the Indian, returning tothe trapper.

  "Didn't I tell 'ee," said Tim, with a low laugh, "that women was good athelpin' men in time o' war? Depend upon it that the sex must have afinger in every pie; and, moreover, the pie's not worth much that theyhaven't got a finger in."

  To these remarks the young chief vouchsafed no answer, but gravely wentabout making preparations to carry out his plans.

  While tying the three horses to three separate trees, so as to be readyfor instant flight, he favoured his friend with a few explanations.

  "It is not possible," he said, "to take more than three just now, forthe horses cannot carry more. But these three Brighteyes will rescuefrom the camp, and we will carry them off. Then we will return with ourbraves and have all the rest--if Manitou allows."

  The trapper looked at his friend in surpris
e. He had never before heardhim make use of such an expression as the last. Nevertheless, he madeno remark, but while the three were gliding silently over the prairieagain towards the Blackfoot camp he kept murmuring to himself: "You're agreat puzzle, Whitewing, an' I can't make ye out nohow. Yet I make nodoubt yer right. Whativer ye do comes right somehow; but yer a greatpuzzle--about the greatest puzzle that's comed across my tracks since Iwas a squallin' little babby-boy!"