CHAPTER IV.
CAUGHT BY THE INDIANS--A PLEASANT RIDE--ONE PITYING FACE--BENEFIT OF BEING A MASON--THE EVIL EYE--INDIAN BEAUTY AND INDIAN EATING--THE OFFER OF MARRIAGE--DECLINING IT, MAKES ME A FRIEND--A SECOND AND MORE TEMPTING OFFER--DECLINING IT, DOES NOT MAKE ME AN ENEMY--PULLING UP MY STAKES WITH HONOR--THE PONY EXPRESS--AGAIN WITH THE TRAIN.
Previous to our reaching Fort Laramie, we had been able to procureplenty of fresh meat.
The antelope and buffalo had almost seemed waiting for our rifles. Now,however, we met with few or none of either of these, and the scarcitybegan to be severely felt.
Even Captain Crim grew more peppery with us than he had before been, andBrighton Bill lost his usual ruddy jollity.
Consequently, one morning, I started out with a determination to findfresh meat or die. To tell the truth, it came very near to being thelatter.
As yet, all the Indians we had met with on the Plains had been offriendly tribes, and at this time no danger was anticipated. I wasalready some six or seven miles from our train, on the upper side of theNorth Platte, past what they call the Rattlesnake Hills, when I beheldapproaching me a party of Indians. At this time, I was unaware whattribe they were, although now I should pretty readily be able to tellthat they were Cheyennes. These are generally hostile to the whites,unless overawed by superior numbers. I necessarily mean, aproportionately superior number--about one, perhaps, to three. The partyapproached me in an apparently friendly manner, or else the fleetgelding I was mounted on might easily have distanced them. Onapproaching nearer, they requested, in the usual Indian manner, fortobacco or powder. The first, I readily enough gave them. The latter Iwas not inclined to part with. Suddenly one of the Indians drew closerto me, and laid his hand on my rifle. I pulled it back from him, and atthe same moment was grasped round the waist from behind, by a savagewhom I had not previously noticed.
My desperate struggles were in vain. I was torn from my horse, and in afew moments more found myself weaponless, with my arms pinioned behindme, and lashed on the back of one of their ponies. The raw hide-whangsround my waist were tied so tightly as almost to stop the circulation.
The animal was then turned loose, and followed with whoop and yell bythe savages as if they had been nothing else than a band of devils. TheCheyenne who was probably their chief had appropriated my horse. Howmadly I wished that Charlie would throw the red demon as he gallopedafter me, shouting and whooping like an incarnate fiend.
In that mad race, for at the moment I almost fancied the Indians andmyself were all lunatics on a wild race to the infernal regions, what aparoxysm of despairing thought rushed through my mind. Was I to go outof life something like the dying snuff of a candle, without one freeblow in a square fight? And these were the Indians I had read of as aboy, these cowardly, sneaking red curs, who had not dared to give me achance for my life. Great God! Where was Brighton Bill and my othercompanions? What would Captain Crim say if he ever heard of this? Then Ithought of my father, Pinkerton, Maggie Mitchell; and, as my wife's facerose on my vision--my good little wife, I could or would think no more.All became momentarily a blank. Again, however, I returned to my senses.I heard the whooping yell of the red devil who was astride of mygelding, Charlie, and I cursed him in good round Saxon, as if he couldunderstand me.
But what is the use of dwelling upon this. After a ride of some twohours and a half, in a fashion I had never expected to attempt, mycaptors came in sight of an Indian village.
Here I was cut loose from the pony upon which I had performed the mostpainful feat of horsemanship I had ever attempted, and dragged insteadof led into the presence of the chief of the tribe. All the inhabitantsof the village surrounded me. Squaws, old and young, papooses of eithersex, and all the components of an Indian mob, were crowding around thewhite captive.
One only face I saw which displayed anything like pity. It was that ofan Indian girl of some sixteen years. Whether it was pretty or ugly, Iknew not. I only felt that I saw sorrow in her large and star-like eyes,as they gazed upon me.
Curiously enough, they gave me a sensation of hope. The moment before Ihad been madly desiring that the drama of life, with me, might come toan end. Now, I began to think and weigh my chances, which, to own up, atthe present moment appeared slim enough for safety.
My hands and arms seemed almost dead, and some minutes elapsed beforethey recovered the consciousness of life. Looking in the face of thechief, I saw that he was an old man. As in great age it not unfrequentlyhappens, his face had regained somewhat of the kindliness of youth. Atany rate it lacked the repulsive character which marked that of mycaptor. Suddenly, it seemed to me--was I dreaming? No! This time, I wascertain of it. He had made the Masonic sign of distress. The girl'ssympathetic glance had been palpably an omen of good.
Trembling with agitation I responded.
What immediately followed I am unable to recall. Indeed, I doubt whetherat the time I was thoroughly conscious of it.
When I undoubtedly had fully recovered my presence of mind, I found thatmatters had completely changed for me. The death at the stake, which hadseemed to be my destiny, had faded from my senses. The red devils almostseemed to have been transmuted into copper-colored angels. I was seatedon a buffalo-robe, and some of the elder squaws were bathing my swollenlimbs with cooling lotions, and looking--gratitude was almost compellingme to say what literal truth cannot. They certainly did not look in anywise amiable or handsome.
While this was going on, a tall and splendidly formed specimen of thered man entered the hut. He was dressed in a robe or tunic,magnificently embroidered with shells and beads. He had evidently beensent for by the chief, as I soon discovered, because he was able tospeak English. The only blemish in his personal appearance was a sort ofdip in his right eyebrow, which partially closed the organ beneath.White superstition might possibly have gifted him with the evil eye. TheIndian name he bore somewhat corresponded with this, as he was calledPar-a-wau, or "The Warning Devil."
First, addressing the chief (I afterwards found this was Old SpottedTail) in their own tongue, he received an answer.
Then turning to me, he extended his hand and gave me the Masonic grip.After this, he seated himself beside me, and addressed me in my owntongue, asking how I came upon the hunting-grounds of the Cheyennes,where I was from, and whither I was going? When he had received myanswers and repeated them to the chief in the tongue of their tribe, henext began to inquire very minutely about Masonry among the palefaces.In subsequent conversations with him, for in the present case I had onlyto reply, I found that the Indians had first been initiated in itsmysteries by the agents of the Hudson Bay Company. Neither had it beenmuch carried beyond the northern and western tribes. This was learntfrom Par-a-wau, when I began to feel perfectly at ease with him.
At this time I was merely a captive, although I had, from the merechance of Old Spotted Tail's appreciation of my personal appearance,escaped the risk of no longer being one, by the most speedy means ofescape from life my red acquaintances could have devised for me,consistently with their own amusement. Be it remembered, in stating thisfact, individual vanity bears no part--the Indian idea of comelinessbeing very much the reverse, in general, of the white man's idea of thatdesirable qualification.
After his examination of me had been brought to an end, he made anoration of some length to the aged Cheyenne chief. He had risen to hisfeet as he did so, and the grace of his movements, with his full androllingly sonorous voice, might have done credit to the best of our ownorators. Indeed, so completely did his gesture translate his speech,that I could almost follow every word of the appeal he was making forme. He was evidently pleading for my pardon. This I feel I should havereceived, if I am sufficiently a judge of human features to havetranslated the benign savageness of Old Spotted Tail's countenance. Butthere are always two sides to a question, and the young chief, who hadappropriated not only myself but my gelding, Charlie, now put in for along talk. I could swear he was not half as eloquen
t as Par-a-wau.However, what he said in a harsh voice, and with a large amount of whatmight be called temperate wrath, settled the question in discussion. Theelders of the tribe gave him, twice or thrice, that discordant grunt ofacquiescence which Fenimore Cooper, the modern writer, has translatedmore musically as--
"Ugh!"
Consequently Old Spotted Tail pronounced a few words, and my redlawyer--so I began to consider Warning Devil, although I had been unableto fee him--turning to me, said in English:
"Will my brother come with Par-a-wau to his dwelling?"
Of course I would, because I must. How, indeed, could I do otherwise? SoI followed him. The fact is, I had begun to entertain a certain degreeof liking for the chief with the evil eye. He had befriended me. If myCheyenne captivity had been a long one, I scarcely doubt that thisliking would have ripened. However, I had now to accompany him. Let myreaders conceive how great was my astonishment when I entered his hutafter him, to find my first glance riveted by his daughter.
She was the Indian maiden whose look of sympathizing pity had, some twohours previously, called back my numbed senses to new life and hope.
"Will Clo-ke-ta provide my brother food?"
She too, then, spoke, or at any rate comprehended, my language, for shemade no reply, but began to busy herself in preparing an Indian meal.During the time which elapsed before it was ready, I was able in a mostsatisfactory manner to take an inventory of her personal attractions.These I shall, however, refrain from inflicting upon my readers. Let itbe sufficient to say that she was one of the most beautiful children ofthe red man (if not the only really beautiful one) I had ever seen.
Perhaps it was well for me, that while I was watching her every suppleand graceful movement, the thought of the dear little wife who waswaiting for me in the far East, appealed to my love for her.
Otherwise, it may have been possible that I might have forgottencivilization forever. The nomadic life had always great attractions forme. Where could I more thoroughly have indulged in it, than as theson-in-law of Warning Devil, and the owner of such a charming squaw asClo-ke-ta might have proved to me? However, this was a wrong, as well asnot altogether agreeable, reflection.
Turning my head with something like a sigh on my lips to Par-a-wau, Isaw that his one unhidden eye was fixed steadily upon me.
"My brother is sad," he said. "But the trees are not always green. Hemust wait in peace until they once more bud."
He had scarcely interpreted the meaning of my sigh. Yet his poeticalwords (whatever nonsense may be prated about them by novelists, suchIndians as I have met with rarely display any trace of poetical feeling)brought me thoroughly back to my present position, and I asked him:
"How long I should have to remain a captive with the Cheyennes?"
This he was unable to say, but he informed me Old Spotted Tail hadgranted me the freedom of the village, although with the precaution thatan Indian guard should accompany me whenever Par-a-wau could not.
Clo-ke-ta now had the meal prepared, which was a very satisfactoryspread for an appetite which had been unattended to since the early hourin which I left Captain Crim's camp. The jerked antelope and the roastedmaize were in truth excellent, and if I only had been offered a horn ofwhiskey to wash it down with, I might not altogether have regretted thedinner I had lost. This, especially when I now remember the bright eyesand raven hair of her who attended to the need of my inner man.
The fancy, which Old Spotted Tail had evidently taken for me, wasdestined to exhibit itself in true Indian fashion.
He offered me one of his own daughters in marriage.
But I was not educated in Mormonism; and even had I been, it may bequestionable, while I daily saw Clo-ke-ta, whether El-eu-e-na, which wasthe name of the chief's daughter, would have had any attractions forme. She was not particularly interesting in appearance. Whether she hadany fancy for my luckless self or not, it would be impossible for me tosay. An Indian girl's affections do not count for much in the eyes oftheir fathers. In spite of this, I most respectfully declined thealluring offer, through Par-a-wau, with, as he afterwards informed me,the most profound expression of thankfulness for the undeserved honorOld Spotted Tail had done me.
This seemed to me, as I listened without understanding, to greatlygratify the chief who had captured me, and led to a result that wasinfinitely more gratifying to myself, as he aspired to the honor ofregistering himself as one of Old Spotted Tail's sons-in-law.
On the same evening, however, I was destined to a really far greatertemptation. It was after the evening meal, and I was seated nearPar-a-wau. His child was putting away the willow platters and othermeans of serving up and disposing of the food she had, as customary,prepared. While she was attending to her domestic duties, Warning Devil,without any warning, addressed me.
"My brother has keen eyes."
"They are sharp enough at times, but they could not keep me out of thehands of the Cheyennes."
"He knows that El-eu-e-na is not fair to look on." I could not helplaughing as he said this. "Nor would she make a good squaw. She couldnot prepare the buffalo or the antelope, nor clean my brother's rifle,nor embroider his moccasins, as a great chief needs that she should."What the deuce was he coming to? I was not doomed to wait long, forafter a pause he addressed me this question in an affirmative manner,which I at once understood. "My brother has seen Clo-ke-ta?"
"Yes!"
"And what does he think of her?"
For my life, I could not have helped casting a swift glance at theIndian girl. She was standing near us, with her eyes veiled by theirbrown lids, and a crimson blush glowing through her dusky skin, over hercheeks, forehead, neck, and all of the upper portion of her person whichwas exposed. So fierily red was this flush, I could not help seeing iteven in the gathering gloom.
"Cannot my father see with his own eyes," I replied. "She is as fair asthe young red morning."
This was said by me in a grave and reserved tone, which among men of myown race would have precluded the continuance of the parent in what Ifelt he had been about to say. But I had not counted truly upon theIndian nature. My present gravity was the exact reproduction of his own.It was so unlike my usual manner, that he evidently supposed I had takenthe matter he was about to propose into serious consideration. Heconsequently again spoke.
"If my brother will take Clo-ke-ta as his squaw, he shall be toPar-a-wau as a son, in place of the young warrior who is dead. He knows,for he has seen what Clo-ke-ta can do for her father's friend. She willdo more for him who marries her. Shall it be as Par-a-wau says?"
It must frankly be admitted that for one moment the loveliness of theface I had just seen, and which I dared not again glance at, made mewaver. Then, the memory of my wife and my own actual father rushedacross me with passionate force, and I spoke. I was no longer a coward.
Looking up, I told the noble savage--for I have the right to call himnoble--all. I told him that I was already married, and had my fatherstill living; that if I were to do what he had offered me the means ofdoing, I should bring a stain upon my name their tenderness might neverblot from it.
"Looking up, I told the noble savage, for I have theright to call him noble, all."--_Page 63._]
For some time, all was silent.
Then I felt my hand clasped in the cold fingers of two small and duskyones, and raised to the lips of Clo-ke-ta.
"My brother is right," she said. "If he made Clo-ke-ta his squaw, andleft her to return to the East, Clo-ke-ta would die."
Immediately after, I and the Warning Devil were alone in the gloom.
It almost seemed to me as if Par-a-wau must have resented my impliedrefusal to marry his daughter. But he did not. Nay! on the contrary Isoon found he either assisted me in my wish for liberation, or was gladto get rid of me. Nevertheless, I am inclined to think that my captoralso assisted in promoting my liberation. In his wish to become theson-in-law of Old Spotted Tail, he was, at least, equally anxious to getrid of my presence in the tribe. On the ninth
day of my captivity, theaged chief gave me permission to pick up my stakes and quit my enforcedcamping-ground.
In doing so, he presented me with many presents, among which was awar-club, magnificently decorated with Indian carvings. This, heinformed me through Par-a-wau, would be a protection to me from allhostile tribes, east of the Rocky Mountains.
However, it was to the gratification of finding me no longer opposed tothe chief who had captured me, that I was mostly indebted. This youngbrave restored me not only the gelding he had deprived me of, but myrifle, the revolver I carried, and even the tobacco-pouch which he hadappropriated. Let no one, from this time, henceforth say that there isno gratitude in a savage breast. He had found that I did not proposestanding in his way. Why should he interpose any obstacles to myremoving myself completely out of it.
Par-a-wau also gave me a pony and a magnificent Indian robe or tunic.But the farewell that touched me most was that of Clo-ke-ta.
As I was about leaving the Cheyenne village, she placed in my hand, witha pair of embroidered moccasins, a flower. It was the one which amongthe Indians is supposed to typify memory and regret.
Regretfully, I looked after her as I left the Cheyenne settlement. Shehad, however, vanished. Only the Warning Devil and the young chief whohad taken me prisoner, were visible among the thronging red men who werewatching my departure. The last made a single gesture. It might havebeen interpreted to mean one of two things, either--
"God speed!" or--
"Please the devil! that I may never see you again!"
I was, at any rate, once more a free man, and had full liberty to wanderwhere or in what direction I would.
The chief had given me two guides. As these Indians could not speak aword of English, I was in one sense of the word companionless. It wasbarely some two miles from the Cheyenne village when the wild waste ofthe country spread out in an unbroken plain before my view, and Ialmost seemed to feel alone in the world. The primal days of Adam seemedto have settled on the solitary waste. There was no friendly word togreet our progress, no hostile arm to impede our rushing gallop. Not theslightest sign of civilization was visible. The enforced taciturnity ofthe two Indians made this but the more obvious.
So, the first day passed.
On the second, I saw an antelope. The stillness, which had heretoforebeen unbroken by anything save the tramp of our animals, our own breath,or the muttered exclamations of my two guides, was now shattered by thecrack of my rifle. As the antelope fell to the earth, I heard theguttural exclamations of my guides, in which they gave the expression oftheir wonder as well as their gratification.
It was very certainly a good shot. The antelope had been at long range.The two Indians had been astonished.
As they trotted off, to secure the fallen animal, I could not helpfeeling that in their eyes, at least, I had in some measure justifiedthe benevolence towards me of Old Spotted Tail.
On the third day we struck the Emigrant trail. The night before, we hadencamped in a spot which was as lovely as any I have ever seen. Arunning rivulet of deliciously cool water, fledged by green trees andarched in by the broad blue heaven, which girdles in life on the Plains,gave us, on its banks, a resting-place. Here, I slept well, and woke inthe morning with a fresh consciousness of the life, vigor, and beauty ofthe world.
Two hours after our start this day, we struck the trail.
The guides came to a sudden halt, and pointing to the route I had tocontinue, abruptly left me. Their characteristic taciturnity had notdeserted them for a single instant.
During the whole of this day I followed the trail, overtaking andpassing one Emigrant train, from whom, naturally enough, I could learnnothing of any which had preceded it. On the succeeding morning, I,however, encountered the Pony Express, and on inquiry learnt that a longtrain, with a large number of horses, had been passed by it. This trainhad been encamped at Sweet Water, close to Independence Rock, near whatthe rider called the old Frenchman's.
"How far off, is it?" I asked.
"You may reach them or their halting-place by to-morrow noon," was theresponse.
He evidently did not know the speed of the animal I was mounted on, ormy temper. It was before nine on the following morning, that I arrivedat Captain Crim's halting-place. He had been detained here by adistemper which had attacked the horses, and possibly, as Brighton Billasserted, by a faint hope that I might yet make my re-appearance.
The first who saw me approaching the camp was Tom Doyle. His wild shoutstartled all in the camp.
"Hillo! Here's Mose."
The cry was enough. In a few moments, I was surrounded and almost tornto pieces by the nervous hands which clutched mine. Even Captain Crimsqueezed my fingers with his own stalwart grip, and told me, "how glad'he' was to see me, whole and safe again."
After this came question and reply, so fast, that my tongue, silentduring the last two days and a half, literally ached with its answers,and I was glad enough when the hour for eating came, to which portion ofthe antelope I had killed on the preceding day made no despicableaddition, as game had still been scarce with the boys.
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