The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “My brother speaks with the Shawanoe tongue,” said Deerfoot, with no effort to hide his astonishment.

  “When Lone Bear was a child,” said the other, as if willing to clear up the mystery, “he was taken across the great river into the hunting grounds of the Shawanoes; he went with a party of Pawnee hunters, but the Shawanoes killed them and took young Lone Bear to their lodges.”

  “The Shawanoes are brave,” remarked Deerfoot, his eyes kindling with natural pride.

  “Lone Bear staid many moons in the lodges of the Shawanoes, but one night he rose from his sleep, slew the warrior and his squaw, and made haste toward the great river; he swam across and hunted for many suns till he found his people.”

  If this statement was fact, it told a striking story, but Deerfoot doubted its truth. The reason was that, judging from the age of the warrior, the exploit must have taken place when Deerfoot was very young, if not before he was born. The capture of a Pawnee youth and his escape in the manner named, formed an episode so interesting that it would have been spoken of many times during the early boyhood of Deerfoot, who ought to have heard of it, but he was sure that this was the first time the story had fallen on his ears. Deerfoot’s sagacity told him that Lone Bear, as he called himself, was the only Pawnee who understood a word of their conversation; that much was evident to the eye. It might be, too, that there was a good deal of truth in the words of the warrior. At any rate, it was easy to test him.

  “Did Lone Bear dwell with Allomaug?”

  “Allomaug was a brave chief; he was the father of my brother Deerfoot, who is fleeter of foot than the wild buck.”

  That settled it. The reader will remember that Allomaug was the parent of the youth, and that he was a noted sachem among the Shawanoes. Lone Bear had told such a straight story that Deerfoot was convinced that he must have dwelt at one time among his people.

  All this was supplemented by the fact that Deerfoot himself was recognized and addressed by the name he had received from the white people. The young Shawanoe half expected the other to make some reference to the youth’s escape from Waughtauk and his revengeful warriors, but Lone Bear had no knowledge of that episode, which took place long after his flight from the tribe. Deerfoot was puzzled to know by what means the warrior identified him, when he was certain he had never seen Lone Bear until he surveyed him a short time before from the tree-top.

  Deerfoot noticed that during their conversation, the others seemed to listen with as much interest as the American Indians ever allow themselves to show, and Lone Bear, now and then, turned and addressed them in their own tongue. When he did so, he spoke to the whole group and every word was strange to Deerfoot. While the latter could understand a number of dialects used by the tribes west as well as east of the Mississippi, he knew nothing of that of the Pawnees.

  “Why does Deerfoot wander so far from his hunting grounds?” asked Lone Bear.

  “Deerfoot has not wandered as far as the Pawnees,” was the truthful reply of the Shawanoe. “He once lived beyond the great river, but he lives not there now.”

  The Pawnee looked as though he suspected Deerfoot was telling him fiction, but he was too shrewd to express any such thought.

  “Where are the companions of my brother?” was the pointed question of Lone Bear.

  “Deerfoot is alone and his companion is the Great Spirit.”

  The reader will observe that the reply of the Shawanoe partook of the nature of a falsehood, inasmuch as it was accepted by Lone Bear (and such was Deerfoot’s purpose), as a declaration that he had traveled the whole distance alone. Enough has been told to show the extreme conscientiousness of the young Shawanoe, and no danger could lead him to recoil from duty. He had imperiled himself many a time from that very motive, but he believed it right to do his best to deceive Lone Bear. In fact, his visit was of itself a piece of deception.

  “Why does Deerfoot come to the camp of the Pawnees?” continued Lone Bear, as though his guest was on the witness stand.

  “Not many suns ago the Sauk warriors made captives of two pale-faced youths; one of them has come back to his people, but the other has not. He was a friend of Deerfoot; he went among the Sauks, but his friend was not there; he was told that he had been bartered for wampum and blankets and beads to the Pawnees. Can Lone Bear tell Deerfoot of his friend?”

  This was coming to the point at once, but it was the wiser course. Deerfoot saw that any other statement he might make would be doubted, as most probably was the explanation itself. He looked into the face of Lone Bear, so as to study his expression, while answering the question.

  “The words of my brother sound strange to the ears of Lone Bear; he has not seen his pale-faced friend.”

  “Has not he seen him?” immediately asked Deerfoot, pointing to the Pawnee on the other side.

  Lone Bear exchanged words for two or three minutes with the latter, and then replied to the visitor.

  “Eagle-of-the-Rocks has not seen the pale-face friend of my brother; he and Lone Bear have staid with their Pawnee brothers; they have met no pale-faces in many moons.”

  Here was a direct contradiction of what Hay-uta had told. It might seem that the Sauk had mistaken the identity of Lone Bear and Eagle-of-the-Rocks, and had there been but one of them in question, it was possible; but Deerfoot was satisfied that no such error had been made. Hay-uta was positive respecting both, and he could not have committed a double error.

  Furthermore, the study of the Pawnee’s face convinced Deerfoot that Lone Bear was lying to him, though to ordinary eyes the expression of the warrior’s face was like that of stone.

  Why this falsehood should have been used was beyond the power of the Shawanoe to guess. The band was so far from the settlements that they could feel no fear from white men. Nevertheless, Deerfoot was sure that, had Lone Bear chosen, he could have told every thing necessary to know about Otto Relstaub.

  Two answers to the query presented themselves: the poor lad had either been slain or he had been turned over to the custody of still another party of Indians. As for escape, that was out of the question.

  The probability that the Pawnees had put Otto to death occurred to Deerfoot more than once, and while seated on the ground, he had looked for signs that might show what had been done. There were several scalps dangling at the girdles of the warriors, but the hair of each was long, black and wiry, showing that it had been torn from the crown of one of their own race. The yellow tresses of the German lad would have been noticed at once by Deerfoot.

  The latter was angered by the course of Lone Bear, who had told an untruth, without, so far as Deerfoot could see, any proper motive. So sure was the youth on this point, that he did not hesitate to tell the Indian his belief.

  “My brother, Lone Bear, has spoken, but with a double tongue. He and Eagle-of-the-Rocks have seen my pale-faced friend; they gave the beads and wampum for him; Deerfoot knows it; Deerfoot has spoken.”

  Lone Bear, like all his race and the most of ours, was one of those who looked upon the charge of falsehood (especially if true) as a deadly insult. His dull, broad face seemed to crimson beneath its paint, and turning partly toward the daring youth, he grasped the handle of his knife.

  “Dog of a Shawanoe! Who bade you come to the camp of the Pawnees? Do you think we are squaws who are ill, that we will let a dog bark at our heels without kicking him from our path?”

  Lone Bear talked louder and faster with each word, until when the last passed his lips, he was in a passion. He had faced clear round, so that he glowered upon the youth. He now rose to his feet and Deerfoot, seeing that trouble was at hand, did the same. As he came up, he took care to limp painfully and to stand as though unable to bear any part of his body’s weight on the injured leg.

  “Lone Bear is as brave as the fawn that runs to its mother, when it hears the cry of the hound; he is in the camp of his friends and it makes him brave; but if he stood alone before Deerfoot, then would his heart tremble and he would ask Deerfoot to spar
e him!”

  No more exasperating language could be framed than that which was uttered by the young Shawanoe. He meant that it should fire Lone Bear and he succeeded.

  CHAPTER V.

  Shawanoe vs. Pawnee.

  Why it was Deerfoot sought a quarrel with the Pawnee can not be made fully clear. I incline to believe that his quick penetration detected signs among the warriors that they did not mean to let him withdraw, when he should seek to do so, and his plan was to use the quarrel as a shield to thwart their purpose. This may seem a strained explanation but let us see how it worked.

  It is not impossible that the wonderful young warrior brought about the disturbance in what may be called pure wantonness; that is, his confidence in his own prowess led him to invite a contest, which scarcely any other person would dare seek.

  His last words were the spark to the magazine. The knife griped by Lone Bear was snatched from his girdle, and he sprang forward, striking with lightning-like viciousness at the chest of the Shawanoe, who avoided him with half an effort.

  In dodging the blow, the youth moved backward and to one side, so as to bring all the warriors in front, and to leave open his line of retreat. He had been as quick as Lone Bear to draw his weapon, but he did not counter the blow—that is to an effective extent. He struck his antagonist in the face, but only with the handle of the weapon. Perhaps a pugilist would have said that the younger “heeled” the other.

  The stroke was a smart one, and delivered as it was on the nose, intensified, by its indignity, the fury of Lone Bear. He lost all self-control, as Deerfoot meant he should do.

  This flurry, as may be supposed, centred the interest of the others upon the two. The quarrel started as suddenly as it sometimes does among a group of fowl, and, before it was understood, the combatants, with drawn knives were facing each other. Few sights are more entertaining to men than that of a fight. The Pawnees in an instant were on their feet, with eyes fixed on the scene.

  It must be believed that every one of the eleven Pawnees was sure it was out of Deerfoot’s power to elude the vengeance of Lone Bear. The only fear of the ten was that he would dispatch the youth so quickly that much of their enjoyment would be lost. When they saw him strike Lone Bear in the face, a general shout of derision went up at the elder antagonist, for permitting such an outrage. This did not add to the good temper of Lone Bear, who compressed his lips, while his eyes seemed to shoot lightning, as he bounded at Deerfoot, intending to crush him to the earth and to stamp life from him.

  But even though the youth seemed to be lame, he leaped backward and again escaped him. Lone Bear dashed forward, to force him down, but Deerfoot kept limping away just fast enough to continue beyond the reach of his enemy.

  “Lone Bear runs like the fowl that has but one leg,” was the odd remark of Deerfoot, who pointed the finger of his left hand at the other’s face by way of tantalizing him.

  But the fierce Pawnee was now pursuing so swiftly that Deerfoot had to whirl about and run with his face from him. He still limped, though had any one studied his gait, the trick would have been detected; but the sight of Lone Bear chasing a lame youth and failing to overtake him, did not calm his rage.

  The warrior, however, was fleet, and marvellous as was the speed of the young Shawanoe, he was compelled to put forth considerable exertion to keep beyond his reach. His course took him quite close to the edge of the wood, along which he ran, so that, should it become necessary, he could leap among the trees. He watched his pursuer over his shoulder, to prevent his coming too close. His plan was to keep just beyond his reach and tempt him to the utmost effort.

  Faster and faster went the fugitive, while the pursuer desperately put forth every effort, maddened beyond expression that the outstretched hand failed only by a few inches to grasp the flying Deerfoot. The spectators were amused to the last degree. Expecting quite a chase, they ran forward, as persons along shore follow a boat race, so as not to lose a phase of the struggle.

  In the depths of his wrath, Lone Bear regained something of his self-command, and called to mind the stories he had heard of the fleetness of the young Shawanoe. That, with the fact that there was no longer the least halt in his gait, told the disadvantage in which the pursuer was placed.

  If he could not reach the Shawanoe with his knife, he could with his tomahawk or his rifle. Hastily thrusting back the knife, he whipped out his tomahawk and raising it over his shoulder, hurled it with might and main at the crown surmounted by the stained eagle feathers and streaming black hair. At that moment, pursuer and fugitive were scarcely ten feet apart.

  But Deerfoot knew what was coming, and the instant the missile left the hand of Lone Bear, he dropped flat on his side, as if smitten by a thunderbolt. The shouting Pawnees, who were some distance behind, supposed his skull had been cloven by the fiercely-driven tomahawk, but it was not so.

  Lone Bear did not see the trick of Deerfoot in time to escape its purpose. The fall was so sudden, that before he could check himself, his moccasin struck the prostrate figure, and he sprawled headlong over him, heels in the air, and with a momentum almost violent enough to cause him to overtake the tomahawk that had sped end over end several rods in advance.

  Before the Pawnee could rise, Deerfoot bounded up, sprang forward, and, placing one foot on the head of Lone Bear, leaped high in the air and spun around so as to face the party. Brandishing his bow aloft, he emitted a shout of defiance and called out:

  “Why do not the Pawnees run? Is none of their warriors fleet enough to seize Deerfoot when he is lame?”

  The only one of the company who could understand these questions was the slightly stunned Lone Bear, who just then was climbing to his feet; but the gestures and manner of the fugitive told the meaning of the performance.

  The young Shawanoe stood still on the edge of the wood, as if to show his contempt for the Pawnees, who before Lone Bear could recover from his discomfiture, sped forward in pursuit. One of them emitted several whoops, which Deerfoot half suspected were meant as a signal, though ofcourse he could not be sure of their meaning.

  It seemed like tempting fate to stand motionless, when only a few seconds were required to bring his enemies to the spot, but Deerfoot waited till Lone Bear was erect again, when he called to him,

  “The heart of Deerfoot is sad because Lone Bear can not run without falling; let him go to the lodges of the Pawnees and ask the squaws to teach him how to run.”

  Lone Bear made no reply, for it is safe to say he could not “do justice to his feelings”. Few Indian tongues contain words that answer for expletives, which in one sense was fortunate and in another unfortunate for Lone Bear.

  When several of the pursuers brought their guns to their shoulders, Deerfoot shot like an arrow among the trees and vanished. It was time to do so, for his enemies were close upon him.

  Though the Pawnees had learned of the swiftness of the young Shawanoe, they had no thought of abandoning the attempt to capture him. The flying tresses would make the most tempting of scalps to dangle from the ridge-pole of the wigwam, and because he could outrun all their warriors was no proof that he could not be overcome by strategy.

  When the fugitive disappeared, the same signal of which I have spoken was repeated, and the Pawnees scattered—that is to say they plunged into the wood at different points: they did not try to overhaul him by direct pursuit.

  Two of the Indians declined to join in the chase, but walked toward Lone Bear, who having assumed the perpendicular again, was looking around, as if uncertain of the best course to pursue.

  The American Indian, as a rule, is melancholy and doesn’t enjoy innocent fun as much as he ought, but, as I have shown, there are few or none in which the element of humor is altogether wanting. The two of whom I am just now speaking, shook with laughter, as they saw Lone Bear sprawl over Deerfoot, his heels flying in air, and their mirth became so great when the young Shawanoe used his crown as a stepping stone, that they paused from weakness.

 
Lone Bear knew nothing of this, and when he saw them approaching, their faces were as long and grave as if on the way to attend the funeral of their dearest friend. Perhaps he expected to receive a little sympathy, but he must have felt some misgiving.

  “Lone Bear runs like the wild buck,” was the remark of one of the warriors, though the observation itself did not amount to much, nor could the one to whom it was addressed see why it should be made at all. He, therefore, remained silent, feeling as though he would like to rub some of the bruised portions of his body, but too dignified to do so.

  “If the wolf or buffalo crosses the path of Lone Bear, he does not turn aside.”

  “No; he runs over him.”

  “Even though he be a warrior, Lone Bear goes over him, as though he were not there.”

  The party of the third part began to see the drift of these comments, and he glared as though debating which one to slay first.

  “Lone Bear has a kind heart; it is like that of the squaw that presses her pappoose to her heart.”

  “He is kinder than the squaw, for he lies still and lets the Shawanoe rest his weary foot on his head.”

  Lone Bear glowered from one to the other, as they spoke in turn, and kept his hand on his knife at his girdle, as if to warn them they were going too far. They seemed to hold him in little fear, however, and continued their mock sympathy. One walked to where the tomahawk had lain untouched since it left the hand of the Pawnee, and, picking it up, examined it with much care.

  “There is no blood on it,” he remarked, as if talking to himself, but making sure he spoke loud enough for the other to hear; “we were mistaken when we thought it went through the body of the Shawanoe; the hand of Lone Bear trembles like that of an old man, and he can not drive his tomahawk into the tree which he reaches with his hand.”