The Prairie, Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “My tribe are not women. A brave is no stranger in my village.”

  “Ay; but he, they speak of most, is a chief far beyond the renown of common warriors, and one that might have done credit to that once mighty but now fallen people, the Delawares of the hills.”

  “Such a warrior should have a name?”

  “They call him Hard-Heart, from the stoutness of his resolution; and well is he named, if all I have heard of his deeds be true.”

  The stranger cast a glance, which seemed to read the guileless soul of the old man, as he demanded--

  “Has the Pale-face seen the partisan of my people?”

  “Never. It is not with me now, as it used to be some forty years ago, when warfare and bloodshed were my calling and my gifts!”

  A loud shout from the reckless Paul interrupted his speech, and at the next moment the bee-hunter appeared, leading an Indian war-horse from the side of the thicket opposite to the one occupied by the party.

  “Here is a beast for a Red-skin to straddle!” he cried as he made the animal go through some of its wild paces. “There’s not a brigadier in all Kentucky that can call himself master of so sleek and well-jointed a nag! A Spanish saddle too, like a grandee of the Mexicos! and look at the mane and tail, braided and platted down with little silver balls, as if it were Ellen herself getting her shining hair ready for a dance or a husking frolic! Isn’t this a real trotter, old trapper, to eat out of the manger of a savage?”

  “Softly, lad, softly. The Loups are famous for their horses, and it is often that you see a warrior on the prairies far better mounted than a congress-man in the settlements. But this, indeed, is a beast that none but a powerful chief should ride. The saddle, as you rightly think, has been sit upon in its day by a great Spanish captain, who has lost it and his life together, in some of the battles which this people often fight against the southern provinces. I warrant me, I warrant me, the youngster is the son of a great chief; may be of the mighty Hard-Heart himself!”

  During this rude interruption to the discourse, the young Pawnee manifested neither impatience nor displeasure; but when he thought his beast had been the subject of sufficient comment, he very coolly, and with the air of one accustomed to have his will respected, relieved Paul of the bridle, and throwing the reins on the neck of the animal, he sprang upon his back, with the activity of a professor of the equestrian art. Nothing could be finer or firmer than the seat of the savage. The highly wrought and cumbrous saddle was evidently more for show than use. Indeed it impeded rather than aided the action of limbs, which disdained to seek assistance or admit of restraint from such womanish inventions as stirrups. The horse, which immediately began to prance, was, like its rider, wild and untutored in all his motions, but while there was so little of art, there was all the freedom and grace of nature in the movements of both. The animal was probably indebted to the blood of Araby for its excellence, through a long pedigree, that embraced the steed of Mexico, the Spanish barb and the Moorish charger. The rider, in obtaining his steed from the provinces of Central-America had also obtained that spirit and grace in controlling him, which unite to form the most intrepid and perhaps the most skilful horseman in the world.

  Notwithstanding this sudden occupation of his animal, the Pawnee discovered no hasty wish to depart. More at his ease, and possibly more independent, now he found himself secure of the means of retreat, he rode back and forth, eying the different individuals of the party with far greater freedom than before. But at each extremity of his ride, just as the sagacious trapper expected to see him profit by his advantage and fly, he would turn his horse and pass over the same ground, sometimes with the rapidity of the flying deer, and at others more slowly and with greater dignity of mien and attitude. Anxious to ascertain such facts as might have an influence on his future movements, the old man determined to invite him to a renewal of their conference. He therefore made a gesture expressive at the same time of his wish to resume the interrupted discourse and of his own pacific intentions. The quick eye of the stranger was not slow to note the action, but it was not until a sufficient time had passed to allow him to debate the prudence of the measure in his own mind, that he seemed willing to trust himself again so near a party that was so much superior to himself in physical power, and consequently one that was able at any instant to command his life or control his personal liberty. When he did approach nigh enough to converse with facility, it was with a singular mixture of haughtiness and of distrust.

  “It is far to the village of the Loups,” he said, stretching his arm in a direction contrary to that, in which the trapper well knew, that the tribe dwelt, “and the road is crooked. What has the Big-knife to say?”

  “Ay, crooked enough!” muttered the old man in English, if you are to set out on your journey by that path, but not half so winding as the cunning of an Indian’s mind. Say, my brother; do the chiefs of the Pawnees love to see strange faces in their lodges?”

  The young warrior bent his body gracefully, though but slightly over his saddle-bow, as he replied with grave dignity--

  “When have my people forgotten to give food to the stranger?”

  “If I lead my daughters to the doors of the Loups, will the women take them by the hand; and will the warriors smoke with my young men?”

  “The country of the Pale-faces is behind them. Why do they journey so far towards the setting sun? Have they lost the path, or are these the women of the white warriors, that I hear are wading up the river ‘with the troubled waters?”’

  “Neither. They, who wade the Missouri, are the warriors of my great father, who has sent them on his message, but we are peace-runners. The white men and the red are neighbours, and they wish to be friends.--Do not the Omahaws visit the Loups, when the tomahawk is buried in the path between the two nations?”

  “The Omahaws are welcome.”

  “And the Yanktons and the burnt-wood Tetons, who live in the elbow of the river ‘with muddy water,’ do they not come into the lodges of the Loups and smoke?”

  “The Tetons are liars,” exclaimed the other. “They dare not shut their eyes in the night. No; they sleep in the sun. See,” he added pointing with fierce triumph to the frightful ornaments of his leggings, “their scalps are so plenty, that the Pawnees tread on them! Go; let a Sioux live in banks of snow; the plains and buffaloes are for men!”

  “Ah! the secret is out,” said the trapper to Middleton, who was an attentive, because a deeply interested observer of what was passing. “This good looking young Indian is scouting on the track of the Siouxes--you may see it by his arrow-heads, and his paint; ay, and by his eye, too; for a Red-skin lets his natur’ follow the business he is on, be it for peace or be it for war,--quiet, Hector, quiet. Have you never scented a Pawnee afore, pup--keep down, dog--keep down--my brother is right. The Siouxes are thieves. Men of all colours and nations say it of them, and say it truly. But the people from the rising sun are not Siouxes, and they wish to visit the lodges of the Loups.”

  “The head of my brother is white,” returned the Pawnee, throwing one of those glances at the trapper, which were so remarkably expressive of distrust, intelligence, and pride, and then pointing, as he continued, towards the eastern horizon, “and his eyes have looked on many things--can he tell me the name of what he sees yonder--is it a buffaloe?”

  “It looks more like a cloud, peeping above the skirt of the plain with the sunshine lighting its edges. It is the smoke of the heavens.”

  “It is a hill of the earth, and on its top are the lodges of the Pale-faces! Let the women of my brother wash their feet among the people of their own colour.”

  “The eyes of a Pawnee are good, if he can see a white-skin so far.”

  The Indian turned slowly towards the speaker, and after a pause of a moment he sternly demanded--

  “Can my brother hunt?”

  “Alas! I claim to be no better than a miserable trapper.”

  “When the plain is covered with the buffaloes, can he
see them?”

  “No doubt, no doubt--it is far easier to see than to take a scampering bull.”

  “And when the birds are flying from the cold, and the clouds are black with their feathers, can he see them too?”

  “Ay, ay, it is not hard to find a duck or a goose when millions are darkening the heavens.”

  “When the snow falls, and covers the lodges of the Long-knives, can the stranger see flakes in the air?”

  “My eyes are none of the best, now,” returned the old man a little resentfully, “but the time has been when I had a name for my sight!”

  “The Red-skins find the Big-knives as easily as the strangers see the buffaloe, or the travelling birds, or the falling snow. Your warriors think the Master of Life has made the whole earth white. They are mistaken. They are pale, and it is their own faces that they see. Go! a Pawnee is not blind, that he need look long for your people!”

  The warrior suddenly paused, and bent his face aside, like one who listened with all his faculties absorbed in the act. Then turning the head of his horse, he rode to the nearest angle of the thicket, and looked intently across the bleak prairie, in a direction opposite to the side on which the party stood. Returning slowly from this unaccountable, and to his observers, startling procedure, he riveted his eyes on Inez and paced back and forth several times, with the air of one who maintained a warm struggle on some difficult point, in the secret recesses of his own thoughts. He had drawn the reins of his impatient steed, and was seemingly about to speak, when his head again sunk on his chest and he resumed his former attitude of attention. Galloping like a deer, to the place of his former observations, he rode for a moment swiftly, in short and rapid circles, as if still uncertain of his course, and then darted away, like a bird that had been fluttering around its nest before it takes a distant flight. After scouring the plain for a minute, he was lost to the eye behind a swell of the land.

  The hounds, who had also manifested great uneasiness for some time, followed him for a little distance, and then terminated their chase by seating themselves on the ground and raising their usual low, whining, and alarming howls.

  CHAPTER II.

  “How if he will not stand?”

  Shakspeare

  The several movements related in the close of the preceding chapter, had passed in so short a space of time, that the old man, while he neglected not to note the smallest incident, had no opportunity of expressing his opinion concerning the stranger’s motives. After the Pawnee had disappeared, however, he shook his head and muttered, while he walked slowly to the angle of the thicket that the Indian had just quitted--

  “There are both scents and sounds in the air, though my miserable senses are not good enough to hear the one, or to catch the taint of the other.”

  “There is nothing to be seen,” cried Middleton, who kept close at his side. “My eyes and my ears are good, and yet I can assure you that I neither hear nor see any thing.”

  “Your eyes are good! and you are not deaf!” returned the other with a slight air of contempt; “no, lad, no; they may be good to see across a church, or to hear a town-bell, but afore you had passed a year in these prairies you would find yourself taking a turkey for a buffaloe, or conceiting, full fifty times, that the roar of a buffaloe bull was the thunder of the Lord! There is a deception of natur’ in these naked plains, in which the air throws up the images like water, and then it is hard to tell the prairies from a sea. But yonder is a sign that a hunter never fails to know!”

  The trapper pointed to a flight of vultures, that were sailing over the plain at no great distance, and apparently in the direction in which the Pawnee had riveted his eye. At first Middleton could not distinguish the small dark objects, that were dotting the dusky clouds, but as they came swiftly onward, first their forms, and then their heavy waving wings became distinctly visible.

  “Listen,” said the trapper, when he had succeeded in making Middleton see the moving column of birds. “Now you hear the buffaloes, or bisons, as your knowing Doctor sees fit to call them, though buffaloes is their name among all the hunters of these regions. And, I conclude, that a hunter is a better judge of a beast and of its name,” he added, winking to the young soldier, “than any man who has turned over the leaves of a book, instead of travelling over the face of the ’arth, in order to find out the name and the natur’s of its inhabitants.”

  “Of their habits, I will grant you;” cried the naturalist, who rarely missed an opportunity to agitate any disputed point in his favourite studies. “That is, provided always deference is had to the proper use of definitions, and that they are contemplated with scientific eyes.”

  “Eyes of a mole! as if man’s eyes were not as good for names as the eyes of any other creatur’! Who named the works of His hand? can you tell me that, with your books and college wisdom? Was it not the first man in the Garden, and is it not a plain consequence that his children inherit his gifts?”

  “That is certainly the Mosaic account of the event,” said the Doctor; “though your reading is by far too literal.”

  “My reading! nay, if you suppose, that I have wasted my time in schools, you do such a wrong to my knowledge as one mortal should never lay to the door of another without sufficient reason. If I have ever craved the art of reading, it has been that I might better know the sayings of the book you name, for it is a book which speaks, in every line, according to human feelings, and therein according to reason.”

  “And do you then believe,” said the Doctor a little provoked by the dogmatism of his stubborn adversary, and perhaps, secretly, too confident in his own more liberal, though scarcely as profitable attainments--“Do you then believe that all these beasts were literally collected in a garden, to be enrolled in the nomenclature of the first man?”

  “Why not? I understand your meaning; for it is not needful to live in towns to hear all the devilish devices, that the conceit of man can invent to upset his own happiness. What does it prove, except indeed it may be said to prove that the garden He made was not after the miserable fashions of our times, thereby directly giving the lie to what the world calls its civilizing. No, no, the garden of the Lord was the forest then, and is the forest now, where the fruits do grow, and the birds do sing, according to his own wise ordering. Now, lady, you may see the mystery of the vultures! There come the buffaloes themselves, and a noble herd it is! I warrant me, that Pawnee has a troop of his people in some of the hollows, nigh by; and as he has gone scampering after them, you are about to see a glorious chace. It will serve to keep the squatter and his brood under cover, and for ourselves there is little reason to fear. A Pawnee is not apt to be a malicious savage.”

  Every eye was now drawn to the striking spectacle that succeeded. Even the timid Inez hastened to the side of Middleton to gaze at the sight, and Paul summoned Ellen from her culinary labours, to become a witness of the lively scene.

  Throughout the whole of those moving events, which it has been our duty to record, the prairies had lain in all the majesty of perfect solitude. The heavens had been blackened with the passage of the migratory birds, it is true, but the dogs of the party, and the ass of the Doctor, were the only quadrupeds that had enlivened the broad surface of the waste beneath. There was now a sudden exhibition of animal life, which changed the scene, as it were, by magic, to the very opposite extreme.

  A few enormous bison bulls were first observed, scouring along the most distant roll of the prairie, and then succeeded long files of single beasts, which, in their turns, were followed by a dark mass of bodies, until the dun-coloured herbage of the plain was entirely lost in the deeper hue of their shaggy coats. The herd, as the column spread and thickened, was like the endless flocks of the smaller birds, whose extended flanks are so often seen to heave up out of the abyss of the heavens, until they appear as countless as the leaves in those forests, over which they wing their endless flight. Clouds of dust shot up in little columns from the centre of the mass, as some animal, more furious than t
he rest, ploughed the plain with his horns, and, from time to time, a deep hollow bellowing was borne along on the wind, as though a thousand throats vented their plaints in a discordant murmuring.

  A long and musing silence reigned in the party, as they gazed on this spectacle of wild and peculiar grandeur. It was at length broken by the trapper, who, having been long accustomed to similar sights, felt less of its influence, or, rather felt it in a less thrilling and absorbing manner, than those to whom the scene was more novel.

  “There go ten thousand oxen in one drove, without keeper or master, except Him who made them, and gave them these open plains for their pasture! Ay, it is here that man may see the proofs of his wantonness and folly! Can the proudest governor in all the States go into his fields, and slaughter a nobler bullock than is here offered to the meanest hands; and when he has gotten his surloin or his steak, can he eat it with as good a relish as he who has sweetened his food with wholesome toil, and earned it according to the law of natur’, by honestly mastering that which the Lord hath put before him?”

  “If the prairie platter is smoking with a buffaloe’s hump I answer, no,” interrupted the luxurious beehunter.

  “Ay, boy, you have tasted, and you feel the genuine reasoning of the thing. But the herd is heading a little this-a-way, and it behoves us to make ready for their visit. If we hide ourselves, altogether, the horned brutes will break through the place and trample us beneath their feet, like so many creeping worms; so we will just put the weak ones apart, and take post, as becomes men and hunters, in the van.”

  As there was but little time to make the necessary arrangements, the whole party set about them in good earnest. Inez and Ellen were placed in the edge of the thicket on the side farthest from the approaching herd. Asinus was posted in the centre, in consideration of his nerves, and then the old man, with his three male companions, divided themselves in such a manner as they thought would enable them to turn the head of the rushing column should it chance to approach too nigh their position. By the vacillating movements of some fifty or a hundred bulls, that led the advance, it remained questionable, for many moments, what course they intended to pursue. But a tremendous and painful roar, which came from behind the cloud of dust that rose in the centre of the herd, and which was horridly answered by the screams of the carrion birds, that were greedily sailing directly above the flying drove, appeared to give a new impulse to their flight, and at once to remove every symptom of indecision. As if glad to seek the smallest signs of the forest, the whole of the affrighted herd became steady in its direction, rushing in a straight line toward the little cover of bushes, which has already been so often named.