The Prairie Chief

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TEN.

  SNAKES IN THE GRASS.

  It was a sad but interesting council that was held in the littlefortress of "Tim's Folly" the day following that on which the grizzlybear was captured.

  The wounded missionary, lying in Big Tim's bed, presided. Beside him,with an expression of profound sorrow on his fine face, sat Whitewing,the prairie chief. Little Tim and his big son sat at his feet. Theother Indians were ranged in a semicircle before him.

  In one sense it was a red man's council, but there were none of theIndian formalities connected with it, for the prairie chief and hisfollowers had long ago renounced the superstitions and some of thepractices of their kindred.

  Softswan was not banished from the council chamber, as if unworthy evento listen to the discussions of the "lords of creation," and no pipe ofpeace was smoked as a preliminary, but a brief, earnest prayer forguidance was put up by the missionary to the Lord of hosts, and subjectsmore weighty than are usually broached in the councils of savages werediscussed.

  The preacher's voice was weak, and his countenance pale, but the wontedlook of calm confidence was still there.

  "Whitewing," he said, raising himself on one elbow, "I will speak as Godgives me power, but I am very feeble, and feel that the discussion ofour plans must be conducted chiefly by yourself and your friends."

  He paused, and the chief, with the usual dignity of the red man,remained silent, waiting for more. Not so Little Tim. That worthy,although gifted with all the powers of courage and endurance which markthe best of the American savages, was also endowed with the white man'stendency to assert his right to wag his tongue.

  "Cheer up, sir," he said, in a tone of encouragement, "you mustn't letyour spirits go down. A good rest here, an' good grub, wi' Softswan'scookin'--to say nothin' o' her nursin'--will put ye all right beforelong."

  "Thanks, Little Tim," returned the missionary, with a smile; "I do cheerup, or rather, God cheers me. Whether I recover or am called home is inHis hands; therefore all shall be well. But," he added, turning to thechief, "God has given us brains, hands, materials, and opportunities towork with, therefore must we labour while we can, as if all depended onourselves. The plans which I had laid out for myself He has seen fit tochange, and it now remains for me to point out what I aimed at, so thatwe may accommodate ourselves to His will. Sure am I that with orwithout my aid, His work shall be done, and, for the rest--'though Heslay me, yet will I trust in Him."

  Again he paused, and the Indians uttered that soft "Ho!" of assent withwhich they were wont to express approval of what was said.

  "When I left the settlements of the white men," continued the preacher,"my object was twofold: I wished to see Whitewing, and Little Tim, andBrighteyes, and all the other dear friends whom I had known long ago,before the snows of life's winter had settled on my head, but my mainobject was to visit Rushing River, the Blackfoot chief, and carry theblessed Gospel to his people, and thus, while seeking the salvation oftheir souls, also bring about a reconciliation between them and theirhereditary foe, Bounding Bull."

  "It's Rushin' River as is the enemy," cried Little Tim, interrupting,for when his feelings were excited he was apt to become regardless oftime, place, and persons, and the allusion to his son's wife's father--of whom he was very fond--had roused him. "Boundin' Bull would have binreconciled long ago if Rushin' River would have listened to reason, forhe is a Christian, though I'm bound to say he's somethin' of a queerone, havin' notions of his own which it's not easy for other folk tounderstand."

  "In which respect, daddy," remarked Big Tim, using the English tonguefor the moment, and allowing the smallest possible smile to play on hislips, "Bounding Bull is not unlike yourself."

  "Hold yer tongue, boy, else I'll give you a woppin'," said the fathersternly.

  "Dumb, daddy, dumb," replied the son meekly.

  It was one of the peculiarities of this father and son that they werefond of expressing their regard for each other by indulging now and thenin a little very mild "chaff," and the playful threat to give his son a"woppin'"--which in earlier years he had sometimes done with mucheffect--was an invariable proof that Little Tim's spirit had beencalmed, and his amiability restored.

  "My white father's intentions are good," said Whitewing, after anotherpause, "and his faith is strong. It needs strong faith to believe thatthe man who has shot the preacher shall ever smoke the pipe of peacewith Whitewing."

  "With God all things are possible," returned the missionary. "And youmust not allow enmity to rankle in your own breast, Whitewing, becauseof me. Besides, it was probably one of Rushing River's braves, and nothimself, who shot me. In any case they could not have known who I was."

  "I'm not so sure o' that," said Big Tim. "The Blackfoot reptile has asharp eye, an' father has told me that you knew him once when you was inthese parts twenty years ago."

  "Yes, I knew him well," returned the preacher, in a low, meditativevoice. "He was quite a little boy at the time--not more than ten yearsof age, I should think, but unusually strong and brave. I met him whentravelling alone in the woods, and it so happened that I had the goodfortune to save his life by shooting a brown bear which he had wounded,and which was on the point of killing him. I dwelt with him and hispeople for a time, and pressed him to accept salvation through Jesus,but he refused. The Holy Spirit had not opened his eyes, yet I felt andstill feel assured that that time will come. But it has not come yet,if all that I have heard of him be true. You may depend upon it,however, that he did not shoot me knowingly."

  Both Little and Big Tim by their looks showed that their belief inRushing River's future reformation was very weak, though they saidnothing, and the Indians maintained such imperturbable gravity thattheir looks gave no indication as to the state of their minds.

  "My white father's hopes and desires are good," said Whitewing, afteranother long pause, during which the missionary closed his eyes, andappeared to be resting, and Tim and his son looked gravely at eachother, for that rest seemed to them strongly to resemble death. "Andnow what does my father propose to do?"

  "My course is clear," answered the wounded man, opening his eyes with abright, cheerful look. "I cannot move. Here God has placed me, andhere I must remain till--till I get well. All the action must be onyour part, Whitewing, and that of your friends. But I shall not be idleor useless as long as life and breath are left to enable me to pray."

  There was another decided note of approval from the Indians, for theyhad already learned the value of prayer.

  "The first step I would wish you to take, however," continued themissionary, "is to go and bring to this hut my sweet friend Brighteyesand your own mother, Whitewing, who, you tell me, is still alive."

  "The loved old one still lives," returned the Indian.

  "Lives!" interposed Little Tim, with emphasis, "I should think she does,an' flourishes too, though she _has_ shrivelled up a bit since you sawher last. Why, she's so old now that we've changed her name toLive-for-ever. She sleeps like a top, an' feeds like a grampus, an'does little else but laugh at what's goin' on around her. I never didsee such a jolly old girl in all my life. Twenty years ago--that time,you remember, when Whitewing carried her off on horseback, when thevillage was attacked--we all thought she was on her last legs, but,bless you sir, she can still stump about the camp in a tremblin' sort o'way, an' her peepers are every bit as black as those of my ownBrighteyes, an' they twinkle a deal more."

  "Your account of her," returned the preacher, with a little smile,"makes me long to see her again. Indeed, the sight of these two wouldcomfort me greatly whether I live or die. They are not far distant fromhere, you say?"

  "Not far. My father's wish shall be gratified," said Whitewing. "Afterthey come we will consult again, and my father will be able to decidewhat course to pursue in winning over the Blackfeet."

  Of course the two Tims and all the others were quite willing to followthe lead of the prairie chief, so it was finally arranged that a
partyshould be sent to the camp of the Indians, with whom Brighteyes andLive-for-ever were sojourning at the time--about a long day's march fromthe little fortress--and bring those women to the hut, that they mightonce again see and gladden the heart of the man whom they had formerlyknown as the Preacher.

  Now, it is a well-ascertained and undoubtable fact that the passion oflove animates the bosoms of red men as well as white. It is also acurious coincidence that this passion frequently leads to modificationsof action and unexpected, sometimes complicated, results and situationsamong the red as well as among the white men.

  Bearing this in mind, the reader will be better able to understand whyRushing River, in making a raid upon his enemies, and while creepingserpent-like through the grass in order to reconnoitre previous to anight attack, came to a sudden stop on beholding a young girl playingwith a much younger girl--indeed, a little child--on the outskirts ofthe camp.

  It was the old story over again. Love at first sight! And no wonder,for the young girl, though only an Indian, was unusually graceful andpretty, being a daughter of Little Tim and Brighteyes. From the former,Moonlight (as she was named) inherited the free-and-easy yet modestcarriage of the pale-face, from the latter a pretty little straight noseand a pair of gorgeous black eyes that seemed to sparkle with a privatesunshine of their own.

  Rushing River, although a good-looking, stalwart man in the prime oflife, had never been smitten in this way before. He therefore resolvedat once to make the girl his wife. Red men have a peculiar way ofsettling such matters sometimes, without much regard to the wishes ofthe lady--especially if she be, as in this case, the daughter of a foe.In pursuance of his purpose, he planned, while lying there like a snakein the grass, to seize and carry off the fair Moonlight by force,instead of killing and scalping the whole of the Indians in BoundingBull's camp with whom she sojourned.

  It was not any tender consideration for his foes, we are sorry to say,that induced this change of purpose, but the knowledge that in a nightattack bullets and arrows are apt to fly indiscriminately on men, women,and children. He would have carried poor Moonlight off then and thereif she had not been too near the camp to permit of his doing so withoutgreat risk of discovery. The presence of the little child alsoincreased the risk. He might, indeed, have easily "got rid" of her, butthere was a soft spot in that red man's heart which forbade the savagedeed--a spot which had been created at that time, long, long ago, whenthe white preacher had discoursed to him of "righteousness andtemperance and judgment to come."

  Little Skipping Rabbit, as she was called, was the youngest child ofBounding Bull. If Rushing River had known this, he would probably havehardened his heart, and struck at his enemy through the child, butfortunately he did not know it.

  Retiring cautiously from the scene, the Blackfoot chief determined tobide his time until he should find a good opportunity to pounce uponMoonlight and carry her off quietly. The opportunity came even soonerthan he had anticipated.

  That night, while he was still prowling round the camp, Whitewingaccompanied by Little Tim and a band of Indians arrived.

  Bounding Bull received them with an air of dignified satisfaction. Hewas a grave, tall Indian, whose manner was not at all suggestive of hisname, but warriors in times of peace do not resemble the same men intimes of war. Whitewing had been the means of inducing him to acceptChristianity, and although he was by no means as "queer" a Christian asLittle Tim had described him, he was, at all events, queer enough in theeyes of his enemies and his unbelieving friends to prefer peace orarbitration to war, on the ground that it is written, "If possible, asmuch as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men."

  Of course he saw that the "if possible" justified self-defence, andmight in some circumstances even warrant aggressive action. Such, atall events, was the opinion he expressed at the solemn palaver which washeld after the arrival of his friends.

  "Whitewing," said he, drawing himself up with flashing eyes and extendedhand in the course of the debate, "surely you do not tell me that theBook teaches us to allow our enemies to raid in our lands, to carry offour women and little ones, and to burn our wigwams, while we sit stilland wait till they are pleased to take our scalps?"

  Having put this rather startling question, he subsided as promptly as hehad burst forth.

  "That's a poser!" thought the irreverent Little Tim, who sympathisedwith Bounding Bull, but he said nothing.

  "My brother has been well named," replied the uncompromising Whitewing;"he not only bounds upon his foes, but lets his mind bound to foolishconclusions. The Book teaches peace--if possible. If it be notpossible, then we cannot avoid war. But how can we know what ispossible unless we try? My brother advises that we should go on thewar-path at once, and drive the Blackfeet away. Has Bounding Bull triedhis best to bring them to reason? has he failed? Does he know thatpeace is _impossible_?"

  "Now look here, Whitewing," broke in Little Tim at this point. "It'sall very well for you to talk about peace an' what's possible. I'm aChristian man myself, an' there's nobody as would be better pleased thanme to see all the redskins in the mountains an' on the prairies at peacewi' one another. But you won't get me to believe that a few soft wordsare goin' to make Rushin' River all straight. He's the sworn enemy o'Boundin' Bull. Hates him like pison. He hates me like brimstone, an'it's my opinion that if we don't make away wi' him he'll make away wi'us."

  Whitewing--who was fond of silencing his opponents by quoting Scripture,many passages of which he had learned by heart long ago from his friendthe preacher--did not reply for a few seconds. Then, looking earnestlyat his brother chief, he said--

  "With Manitou all things are possible. A soft answer turns away wrath."

  Bounding Bull pondered the words. Little Tim gave vent to a doubtful"humph"--not that he doubted the truth of the Word, but that he doubtedits applicability on the present occasion.

  It was finally agreed that the question should not be decided until thewhole council had returned to Tim's Folly, and laid the matter beforethe wounded missionary.

  Then Little Tim, being freed from the cares of state, went to solacehimself with domesticity.

  Moonlight was Indian enough to know that females might not dare tointerrupt the solemn council. She was also white woman enough to scornthe humble gait and ways of her red kindred, and to run eagerly to meether sire as if she had been an out-and-out white girl. The hunter, aswe have said, rather prided himself in keeping up some of the ways ofhis own race. Among other things, he treated his wife and daughterafter the manner of white men--that is, well-behaved white men. WhenMoonlight saw him coming towards his wigwam, she bounded towards him.Little Tim extended his arms, caught her round the slender waist withhis big strong hands, and lifted her as if she had been a child untilher face was opposite his own.

  "Hallo, little beam of light!" he exclaimed, kissing her on each cheek,and then on the point of her tiny nose.

  "Eyes of mother--heart of sire, Fit to set the world on fire."

  Tim had become poetical as he grew older, and sometimes tried to throwhis flashing thoughts into couplets. He spoke to his daughter inEnglish, and, like Big Tim with his wife, required her to converse withhim in that language.

  "Is mother at home?"

  "Yes, dear fasser, mosser's at home."

  "An' how's your little doll Skippin' Rabbit?"

  "Oh! she well as could be, an' a'most as wild too as rabbits. Runs awayfrom me, so I kin hardly kitch her sometime."

  Moonlight accompanied this remark with a merry laugh, as she thought ofsome of the eccentricities of her little companion.

  Entering the wigwam, Little Tim found Brighteyes engaged with an ironpot, from which arose savoury odours. She had been as lithe and activeas Moonlight once, and was still handsome and matronly. The eyes,however, from which she derived her name, still shone with undiminishedlustre and benignity.

  "Bless you, old woman," said the hunter, giving his wife a hearty kiss,"you're as fond o' vict
uals as ever, I see."

  "At least my husband is, so I keep the pot boiling," retortedBrighteyes, with a smile, that proved her teeth to be as white as indays of yore.

  "Right, old girl, right. Your husband is about as good at emptying thepot as he is at filling it. Come, let's have some, while I tell you ofa journey that's in store for you."

  "A long one?" asked the wife.

  "No, only a day's journey on horseback. You're goin' to meet an oldfriend."

  From this point her husband went on to tell about the arrival andwounding of the preacher, and how he had expressed an earnest desire tosee her.

  While they were thus engaged, the prairie chief was similarly employedenlightening his own mother.

  That kind-hearted bundle of shrivelled-up antiquity was seated on thefloor on the one side of a small fire. Her son sat on the oppositeside, gazing at her through the smoke, with, for an Indian, an unwontedlook of deep affection.

  "The snows of too many winters are on my head to go on journeys now,"she said, in a feeble, quavering voice. "Is it far that my son wants meto go?"

  "Only one day's ride towards the setting sun, thou dear old one."

  Thus tenderly had Christianity, coupled with a naturally affectionatedisposition, taught the prairie chief to address his mother.

  "Well, my son, I will go. Wherever Whitewing leads I will follow, forhe is led by Manitou. I would go a long way to meet that good man thepale-face preacher."

  "Then to-morrow at sunrise the old one will be ready, and her son willcome for her."

  So saying, the chief rose, and stalked solemnly out of the wigwam.