The Prairie Chief

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  THE PURSUIT, FAILURE, DESPAIR.

  Ever dreaming of the thunderbolt that was about to be launched,Whitewing, Little Tim, Bounding Bull, and the rest of the party arrivedat the little fortress in the gorge.

  They found Big Tim on the _qui vive_, and Brighteyes with Whitewing'smother was soon introduced to the wounded preacher.

  The meeting of the three was impressive, for not only had they been muchattached at the time of the preacher's former visit, but the women weredeeply affected by the sad circumstances in which they found their oldfriend.

  "Not much changed, I see, Brighteyes," he said, as the two women satdown on the floor beside his couch. "Only a little stouter; just whatmight have been expected. God has been kind to you--but, indeed, God iskind to all, only some do not see or believe in the kindness. It isequally kindness in Him whether He sends joy or sorrow, adversity orprosperity. If we only saw the end from the beginning, none of us wouldquarrel with the way. Love has induced Him to lay me low at present.You have another child, I am told, besides Big Tim?"

  "Yes, a daughter--Moonlight we call her," said Brighteyes, with apleased look.

  "Is she here with you?"

  "No; we left her in the camp."

  "And my good old friend," he said, turning on his couch, and graspingthe withered hand of Whitewing's mother, "how has she prospered in allthese years?"

  The "old one," who was, as we have said, as deaf as a post, wrinkled hervisage up into the most indescribable expression of world-embracingbenignity, expanded her old lips, displayed her toothless gums, andchuckled.

  "The dear old one," said her son, "bears the snows of many winters onher head. Her brain could not now be touched by the thunders ofNiagara. But the eyes are still bright inlets to her soul."

  "Bright indeed!" exclaimed the preacher, as he gazed with deep interestat the old face; "wonderful, considering her great age. I trust thatthese portals may remain unclosed to her latest day on earth."

  He was still talking to Whitewing about her when a peculiar whistle washeard outside, as of some water-bird.

  Instantly dead silence fell upon all present, and from the fixed gazeand motionless attitude of each it was evident that they anxiouslyexpected a repetition of the sound. It was not repeated, but a momentlater voices were heard outside, then a hurried step, and next instantBig Tim sprang into the room.

  "A messenger from the camp!" he cried. "Moonlight and Skipping Rabbithave been carried off by Blackfeet."

  It could easily be seen at that moment how Bounding Bull had acquiredhis name. From a sitting posture he sprang to his feet at one bound,darted through the doorway of the hut, cleared the low parapet like adeer, and went down the zigzag path in a succession of leaps that mighthave shamed a kangaroo. Little Tim followed suit almost as vigorously,accompanying his action with a leonine roar. Big Tim was close on hisheels.

  "Guard the fort, my son," gasped Little Tim, as he cut the thong thatsecured his horse at the bottom of the track; "your mother's life isprecious, and Softswan's. If you can quit safely, follow up."

  Leaping into the saddle, he was next instant on the track of the Indianchief, who had already disappeared.

  Hurrying back to the hut, Big Tim proceeded to make hasty preparationfor the defence of the place, so that he might be able to join hisfather. He found the prairie chief standing with closed eyes beside thecouch of the preacher, who with folded hands and feeble voice waspraying to God for help.

  "Is Whitewing indifferent to the misfortunes of his friends," he saidsomewhat sharply, "that he stands idly by while the Blackfoot robberscarry off our little ones?"

  "My son, be not hasty," returned the chief. "Prayer is quite as needfulas action. Besides, I know all the land round here--the direction whichthis youth tells me the enemy have taken, and a short cut over thehills, which will enable you and me to cross the path your father musttake, and join him, so that we have plenty of time to make arrangementsand talk before we go on the war-path."

  The cool, calm way in which the chief spoke, and especially the decidedmanner in which he referred to a short cut and going on the war-path,tended to quiet Big Tim.

  "But what am I to do?" he said, with a look of perplexity. "There aremen enough here, no doubt, to hold the place agin a legion o' Blackfeet,but they have no dependable leader."

  "Here is a leader on whom you can depend; I know him well," saidWhitewing, pointing to the warrior who had brought the news from thecamp. "He is a stranger to you, but has been long in my band, and wasleft by me in the camp to help to guard it in our absence. With himthere, I should have thought the stealing of two girls impossible, buthe has explained that mystery by telling me that Moonlight crept out ofthe camp like a serpent, unknown to all, for they found her trail. WithWolf in command and the preacher to give counsel and pray, the womenhave no cause for fear."

  Somewhat reassured, though he still felt uneasy at the thought ofleaving Softswan behind him, Big Tim went about his preparations for thedefence of the fortress and the rescue of his sister. Such preparationsnever take much time in the backwoods. In half an hour Wolf and hisbraves were ready for any amount of odds, and Big Tim was following theprairie chief through the intricacies of the mountains.

  These two made such good use of their time that they were successful inintercepting and joining the war-party, which Bounding Bull, with hisfriend and ally Little Tim, were leading by forced marches on the trailof the Blackfeet.

  Rushing River was well aware, however, that such a party would soon befollowing him. He therefore had advanced likewise by forced marches,because his object was not so much to meet his enemy as to secure hisbride. Only let him place her in the safe keeping of his mother withthe main body of his tribe, and he would then return on his steps withpleasure, and give battle to his foe.

  In this object he was successful. After several days' march he handedover Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit to the care of an old woman, whosecountenance was suggestive of wrinkled leather, and whose expression wasnot compatible with sweetness. It was evident to the captives thatRushing River owed his manly bearing and his comparatively gentlemanners not to his mother but to the father, whose scalp, alas! hungdrying in the smoke of a foeman's wigwam.

  During the forced march the Blackfoot chief had not once opened his lipsto the girl he loved. He simply rode by her side, partly perhaps toprevent any sudden attempt at flight, and certainly to offer assistancewhen difficulties presented themselves on their pathless journey throughthe great wilderness. And on all such occasions he offered his aid withsuch grave and dignified gentleness that poor Moonlight became more andmore impressed, though, to do her justice, she fought bravely againsther tendency to fall in love with her tribal foe.

  On reaching home Rushing River, instead of leading his captive to hisown wigwam, conducted her, as we have said, to that of his mother.Then, for the first time since the day of the capture, he addressed herwith a look of tenderness, which she had never before received exceptfrom Little Tim, and, in a minor degree, from her brother.

  "Moonlight," he said, "till my return you will be well cared for here bymy mother--the mother of Rushing River."

  Having said this, he lifted the leathern door of the lodge and went outinstantly.

  Moonlight had received a terrible shock. Turning quickly to the oldwoman, she said--

  "Was that Rushing River?"

  "That," replied the old woman, with a look of magnificent pride, "is myson, Rushing River--the brave whose name is known far and wide in themountains and on the plains; whose enemies tremble and grow pale whenthey hear of him, and who when they see him become dead--or run away!"

  Here, then, was a discovery that was almost too much for the unfortunatecaptive, for this man was the deadly foe of her father and of herbrother's father-in-law, Bounding Bull. He was also the sworn enemy ofher tribe, and it now became her stern duty, as a true child of thewestern wilderness, to hate with all her soul the man wh
om she loved!

  Under the impulse of her powerful feelings she sat down, covered herface with her little hands, and--no, she did not burst into tears! Hadshe been a civilised beauty perhaps she might have done so, but shestruggled for a considerable time with Spartan-like resolution to crushdown the true feelings of her heart. Old Umqua was quite pleased withthe effect of her information, ascribing it as she did to a wrong cause,and felt disposed to be friendly with the captive in consequence.

  "My son has carried you off from the camp of some enemy, I doubt not?"she said, in kindly tones.

  Moonlight, who had by that time recovered her composure, replied that hehad--from the camp of Bounding Bull, whose little daughter he hadcaptured at the same time, and added that she herself was a daughter ofLittle Tim.

  It was now Umqua's turn to be surprised.

  "What is that you tell me?" she exclaimed. "Are you the child of thelittle pale-face whose name extends from the regions of snow to thelands of the hot sun?"

  "I am," replied Moonlight, with a look of pride quite equal to andrather more lovely than that of the old woman.

  "Ha!" exclaimed Umqua, "you are a lucky girl. I see by my son's lookand manner that he intends to take you for his wife. I suppose he hasgone away just now, for I saw he was in haste, to scalp your father, andyour brother, and Bounding Bull, and all his tribe. After that he willcome home and take you to his wigwam. Rushing River is very brave andvery kind to women. The men laugh at him behind his back--they dare notlaugh before his face--and say he is too kind to them; but we womendon't agree with that. We know better, and we are fondest of the kindmen, for we see that they are not less brave than the others. Yes, youare a lucky girl."

  Moonlight was not as deeply impressed with her "luck" as the old ladyexpected, and was on the point of bursting out, after the manner ofsavages, into a torrent of abuse of the Blackfoot race in general, andof Rushing River in particular, when the thought that she was a captiveand at the mercy of the Blackfeet fortunately restrained her. Insteadof answering, she cast her eyes on the ground and remained stolidlysilent, by which conduct she got credit for undeserved modesty.

  "Where is the little one of that serpent Bounding Bull?" asked Umqua,after a brief silence.

  "I know not" replied Moonlight, with a look of anxiety. "When wearrived here Skipping Rabbit was separated from me. She journeyed underthe care of a youth. They called him, I think, Eaglenose."

  "Is Skipping Rabbit the child's name?"

  "Then Skipping Rabbit will skip more than ever, for Eaglenose is a funnyman when not on the war-path, and his mother is a good woman. She doesnot talk behind your back like other women. You have nothing to fearfor Skipping Rabbit. Come with me, we will visit the mother ofEaglenose."

  As the two moved through the Indian camp, Moonlight noticed that the menwere collecting and bridling their horses, cleaning and sharpening theirweapons, and making preparations generally for an expedition on a largescale. For a moment a feeling of fear filled her heart as she recalledUmqua's remarks about scalping her kindred; but when she reflected howwell able her sturdy little father and big brother and Bounding Bullwere to take care of themselves, she smiled internally, and dismissedher fears.

  Long before they reached Eaglenose's mother's wigwam, Moonlight wassurprised to hear the well known voice of Skipping Rabbit shouting inunrestrained peals of merry laughter. On entering, the cause thereofwas at once apparent, for there sat Eaglenose beside his mother (whosenose, by the way, was similar to his own) amusing the child with ahome-made jumping-jack. Having seen a toy of this kind during one ofhis visits to the settlements of the pale-faces, the Blackfoot youth hadmade mental notes of it, and on his return home had constructed ajumping-jack, which rendered him more popular in his tribe--especiallywith the youngsters--than if he had been a powerful medicine-man or anoted warrior.

  When Moonlight entered, Skipping Rabbit was standing in front ofEaglenose with clasped hands and glittering eyes, shrieking with delightas the absurd creature of wood threw up its legs and arms, kicked itsown head, and all but dislocated its own limbs. Catching sight of herfriend, however, she gave vent to another shriek with deeper delight init, and, bounding towards her, sprang into her arms.

  Regarding this open display of affection with some surprise, and rightlyascribing it to the influence of white blood in Bounding Bull's camp,Umqua asked Eaglenose's mother if the men were getting ready to go onthe war-path.

  "I know not. Perhaps my son knows."

  Thus directly referred to, Eaglenose, who was but a young warrior justemancipated from boyhood, and who had yet to win his spurs, rose, and,becoming so grave and owlish that his naturally prominent feature seemedto increase in size, said sententiously--

  "It is not for squaws to inquire into the plans of _men_, but as thereis no secret in what we are going to do, I may tell you, mother, thatwomen and children have not yet learned to live on grass or air. We gojust now to procure fresh meat."

  So saying, the stripling pitched the jumping-jack into the lap ofSkipping Rabbit, and strode out of the lodge with the pomposity of sevenchiefs!

  That night, when the captives were lying side by side in Umqua's wigwam,gazing at the stars through the hole which was left in the top for theegress of the smoke, Moonlight said to her little friend--

  "Does the skipping one know that it is Rushing River who has caught usand carried us away?"

  The skipping one said that she had not known, but, now that she didknow, she hated him with all her heart.

  "So do I," said Moonlight firmly. But Moonlight was wrong, for shehated the man with only a very small portion of her heart, and loved himwith all the rest. It was probably some faint recognition of this factthat induced her to add with the intense energy of one who is resolvedto walk in the path of duty--"I hate _all_ the Blackfeet!"

  "So do I," returned the child, and then pausing, slowly added,"except"--and paused again.

  "Well, who does the skipping one except?"

  "Eaglenose," replied the skipper promptly. "I can't hate _him_, he issuch a very funny brave."

  After a prolonged silence Moonlight whispered--

  "Does Skipping Rabbit sleep?"

  "No."

  "Is there not something in the great medicine-book that father speaks somuch about which teaches that we should love our enemies?"

  "I don't know," replied the little one. "Bounding Bull never taughtthat to _me_."

  Again there was silence, during which Moonlight hoped in a confused sortof way that the teaching might be true. Before she could come to aconclusion on the perplexing point both she and her little friend werein that mysterious region where the human body usually ceases to betroubled by the human mind.

  When Bounding Bull and Little Tim found that the Blackfoot chief hadescaped them, they experienced what is often termed among Christians agreat trial of faith. They did not indeed express their thoughts inlanguage, but they could not quite prevent their looks from betrayingtheir feelings, while in their thoughts they felt sorely tempted tocharge God with indifference to their feelings, and even with somethinglike cruelty, in thus permitting the guilty to triumph and the innocentto suffer. The state of mind is not, indeed, unfamiliar to people whoare supposed to enjoy higher culture than the inhabitants of thewilderness. Even Whitewing's spirit was depressed for a time, and hecould offer no consolation to the bereaved fathers, or find much comfortto himself; yet in the midst of all the mental darkness by which he wasat that time surrounded, two sentences which the pale-face missionaryhad impressed on him gleamed forth now and then, like two flickeringstars in a very black sky. The one was, "Shall not the Judge of all theearth do right?" the other, "He doeth all things well." But he did notat that time try to point out the light to his companions.

  Burning with rage, mingled somewhat with despair, the white hunter andthe red chief returned home in hot haste, bent on collecting a force ofmen so strong that they would be enabled to go forth with the absolutecertai
nty of rescuing their children, or of avenging them by sweepingthe entire Blackfoot nation, root and branch, off the face of the earth;and adorning the garments of their braves with their scalp-locks forages to come.

  It may be easily believed that they did not waste time on the way.Desperate men cannot rest. To halt for a brief space in order to takefood and sleep just sufficient to sustain them was all the relaxationthey allowed themselves. This was, of course, simply a process ofwearing out their strength, but they were very strong men, long inuredto hardships, and did not easily wear out.

  One night they sat round the camp fire, very weary, and in silence. Thefire was low and exceedingly small. Indeed, they did not dare toventure on a large one while near the enemy's country, and usuallycontented themselves with a supper of cold, uncooked pemmican. On thisnight, however, they were more fatigued than usual--perhaps depressionof spirit had much to do with it--so they had kindled a fire and warmedtheir supper.

  "What are the thoughts of Bounding Bull?" said Little Tim, at lengthbreaking silence with something like a groan.

  "Despair," replied the chief, with a dark frown; "and," he added, with atouch of hesitation, "revenge."

  "Your thoughts are not much different from mine," returned the hunter.

  "My brothers are not wise," said Whitewing, after another silence. "Allthat Manitou does to His children is good. I have hope."

  "I wish my brother could give me some of his hope. What does he resthis hope on?" asked Little Tim.

  "Long ago," answered the chief, "when Rushing River was a boy, the whitepreacher spoke to him about his soul and the Saviour. The boy's heartwas touched. I saw it; I knew it. The seed has lain long in theground, but it is sure to grow, for it must have been the Spirit ofManitou that touched him; and will He not finish the work that Hebegins? That is my hope."

  The chief's eyes glittered in the firelight while he spoke. His twocompanions listened with grave attention, but said no word in reply.Yet it was evident, as they lay down for a few hours' rest, that thescowl of revenge and the writing of despair had alike in some measuredeparted from the brow of each.