“Harkee, old trapper,” interrupted Paul, pointing to a little distance, where the ground was drier and the herbage had, in consequence, been less luxuriant; “just call them two horses. Yonder lies another.”
“The boy is right! can it be, that the Tetons have been caught in their own snares? Such things do happen; and here is an example to all evil-doers. Ay, look you here, this is iron; there have been some white inventions about the trappings of the beast-- it must be so--it must be so--a party of the knaves have been skirting in the grass after us, while their friends have fired the prairie, and look you at the consequences; they have lost their beasts, and happy have they been if their own souls are not now skirting along the path which leads to the Indian heaven.”
“They had the same expedient at command as yourself,” rejoined Middleton, as the party slowly proceeded, approaching the other carcass, which lay directly on their route.
“I know not that. It is not every savage that carries his steel and flint, or as good a rifle-pan as this old friend of mine. It is slow making a fire with two sticks, and little time was given to consider or invent just at this spot, as you may see by yon streak of flame, which is flashing along afore the wind as if it were on a trail of powder. It is not many minutes since the fire has passed hereaway, and it may be well to look at our primings, not that I would willingly combat the Tetons, God forbid! but if a fight needs be, it is always wise to get the first shot.”
“This has been a strange beast, old man,” said Paul, who had pulled the bridle, or rather halter of his steed over the second carcass, while the rest of the party were already passing in their eagerness to proceed; “a strange horse do I call it; it had neither head nor hoofs!”
“The fire has not been idle,” returned the trapper, keeping his eye vigilantly employed in profiting by those glimpses of the horizon, which the whirling smoke offered to his examination. “It would soon bake you a buffaloe whole, or for that matter powder his hoofs and horns into white ashes. Shame, shame, old Hector; as for the captain’s pup, it is to be expected that he would show his want of years, and I may say, I hope without offence, his want of education too; but for a hound, like you, who has lived so long in the forest afore he came into these plains, it is very disgraceful, Hector, to be showing his teeth and growling at the carcass of a roasted horse, the same as if he was telling his master, that he had found the trail of a grizzly bear.”
“I tell you, old trapper, this is no horse; neither in hoofs, head nor hide.”
“Anan! Not a horse? your eyes are good for the bees and for the hollow trees, my lad, but--bless me, the boy is right! That I should mistake the hide of a buffaloe, scorched and crimpled as it is, for the carcass of a horse! Ah’s me! The time has been, my men, when I would tell you the name of a beast as far as eye could reach, and that too with most of the particulars of colour, age and sex.”
“An inestimable advantage have you then enjoyed, venerable venator!” observed the attentive naturalist. “The man, who can make these distinctions in a desert, is saved the pain of many a weary walk, and often of an inquiry that in its result proves useless. Pray tell me, did your exceeding excellence of vision extend so far as to enable you to decide on their order or genus?”
“I know not what you mean by your orders of genius.”
“No!” interrupted the bee-hunter, a little disdainfully for him, when speaking to his aged friend; “now, old trapper, that is admitting your ignorance of the English language in a way I should not expect from a man of your experience and understanding. By order, our comrade means whether they go in promiscuous droves, like a swarm that is following its queen-bee, or in single file, as you often see the buffaloes trailing each other through a prairie. And as for genius, I’m sure that is a word well understood, and in every body’s mouth. There is the congressman in our district, and that tonguey little fellow, who puts out the paper in our county, they are both so called, for their smartness; which is what the Doctor means as I take it, seeing that he seldom speaks without some considerable meaning.”
When Paul finished this very clever explanation he looked behind him with an expression, which, rightly interpreted, would have said--“You see, though I don’t often trouble myself in these matters, I am no fool.”
Ellen admired Paul for any thing but his learning. There was enough in his frank, fearless, and manly character, backed as it was by great personal attraction, to awaken her sympathies, without the necessity of prying into his mental attainments. The poor girl reddened like a rose, her pretty fingers played with the belt, by which she sustained herself on the horse, and she hurriedly observed, as if anxious to direct the attentions of the other listeners from a weakness, on which her own thoughts could not bear to dwell--
“And then this is not a horse, after all?”
“It is nothing more nor less than the hide of a buffaloe,” continued the trapper, who had been no less puzzled by the explanation of Paul, than by the language of the Doctor; “the hair is beneath; the fire has run over it as you see, for being fresh, the flames could take no hold. The beast has not been long killed, and it may be that some of the beef is still hereaway.”
“Lift the corner of the skin, old trapper,” said Paul, with the tone of one, who felt, as if he had now proved his right to mingle his voice in any council; “if there is a morsel of the hump left, it must be well cooked, and it shall be welcome.”
The old man laughed heartily at the conceit of his companion. Thrusting his foot beneath the skin, it moved. Then it was suddenly cast aside, and an Indian warrior sprang from its cover, to his feet, with an agility, that bespoke how urgent he deemed the occasion.
CHAPTER VII.
“I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.”
Shakspeare A second glance sufficed to convince the whole of the startled party, that the young Pawnee, whom they had already encountered, again stood before them. Surprise kept both sides mute, and more than a minute was passed in surveying each other with eyes of astonishment, if not of distrust. The wonder of the young warrior was, however, much more tempered and dignified than that of his Christian acquaintances. While Middleton and Paul felt the tremor, which shook the persons of their dependant companions, thrilling through their own quickened blood, the glowing eye of the Indian rolled from one to another, as if it could never quail before the rudest assaults. His gaze, after making the circuit of every wondering countenance, finally settled in a proud and steady look on the equally immoveable features of the trapper. The silence was first broken by Dr. Battius, in the ejaculation of,--
“Order, primates; genus, homo; species, prairie!”
“Ay--ay--the secret is out,” said the old trapper, shaking his head, like one who congratulated himself on having mastered the mystery of some knotty difficulty. “The lad has been in the grass for a cover; the fire has come upon him in his sleep, and having lost his horse, he has been driven to save himself under that fresh hide of a buffaloe. No bad invention, when powder and flint were wanting to kindle a ring. I warrant me, now, this is a clever youth, and one that it would be safe to journey with. I will speak to him kindly, for anger can at least serve no turn of ours. My brother is welcome again,” using the language, which the other understood; “the Tetons have been smoking him as they would a raccoon.”
The young Pawnee rolled his eye over the place, as if he were examining the terrific danger from which he had just escaped, but he disdained to betray the smallest emotion at its imminency. His brow contracted, as he answered to the remark of the trapper by saying--
“A Teton is a dog. When the Pawnee war whoop is in their ears, the whole nation howls.”
“It is true. The imps are on our trail, and I am glad to meet a warrior, with the tomahawk in his hand, who does not love them. Will my brother lead my children to his village? If the Siouxes follow on our path, my young men shall help him to strike them.”
The young Pawnee warrior turned his eyes from one to another of the strangers,
in a keen scrutiny, before he saw fit to answer so important an interrogatory. His examination of the males was short, and apparently satisfactory. But his gaze was fastened long and admiringly, as in their former interview, on the surpassing and unwonted beauty of a being so fair and so unknown as Inez. Though his glance wandered for moments from her countenance to the more intelligible and yet extraordinary charms of Ellen, it did not fail to return promptly to the study of a creature who, in the view of his unpractised eye and untutored imagination, was formed with all that perfection, with which the youthful poet is apt to endow the glowing images of his heated brain. Nothing so fair, so ideal, so every way worthy to reward the courage and self-devotion of a warrior, had ever before been encountered on the prairies, and the young brave appeared to be deeply and intuitively sensible to the influence of so rare a model of the loveliness of the sex. Perceiving, however, that his gaze gave uneasiness to the subject of his admiration, he withdrew his eyes, and laying his hand impressively on his chest, he, modestly, answered--
“My father shall be welcome. The young men of my nation shall hunt with his sons; the chiefs shall smoke with the gray-head. The Pawnee girls will sing in the ears of his daughters.”
“And if we meet the Tetons?” demanded the trapper, who wished to understand, thoroughly, the more important conditions of this new alliance.
“The enemy of the Big-knives shall feel the blow of the Pawnee.”
“It is well. Now let my brother and I meet in council, that we may not go on a crooked path, but that our road to his village may be like the flight of the pigeons.”
The young Pawnee made a significant gesture of assent, and followed the other a little apart, in order to be removed from all danger of interruption from the reckless Paul or the abstracted naturalist. Their conference was short, but as it was conducted in the sententious manner of the natives, it served to make each of the parties acquainted with all the necessary information of the other. When they rejoined their associates, the old man saw fit to explain a portion of what had passed between them, as follows--
“Ay, I was not mistaken,” he said; “this goodlooking young warrior--for good-looking and noblelooking he is, though a little horrified perhaps with paint--this good-looking youth, then, tells me he is out on the scout for these very Tetons. His party was not strong enough to strike the devils, who are down from their towns in great numbers to hunt the buffaloe, and runners have gone to the Pawnee villages for aid. It would seem that this lad is a fearless boy, for he has been hanging on their skirts alone, until, like ourselves, he was driven to the grass for a cover. But he tells me more, my men, and what I am mainly sorry to hear, which is, that the cunning Mahtoree instead of going to blows with the squatter, has become his friend, and that both broods, red and white, are on our heels, and outlying around this very burning plain to circumvent us to our destruction.”
“How knows he all this to be true?” demanded Middleton.
“Anan?”
“In what manner does he know, that these things are so?”
“In what manner! Do you think news-papers and town criers are needed to tell a scout what is doing on the prairies, as they are in the bosom of the States? No gossipping woman, who hurries from house to house to spread evil of her neighbour, can carry tidings with her tongue so fast as these people will spread their meaning by signs and warnings, that they alone understand. ’Tis their l’arning, and what is better, it is got in the open air, and not within the walls of a school. I tell you, captain, that what he says is true.”
“For that matter,” said Paul, “I’m ready to swear to it. It is reasonable, and therefore it must be true.”
“And well you might, lad; well you might. He furthermore declares, that my old eyes for once were true to me, and that the river lies, hereaway, at about the distance of half a league. You see the fire has done most of its work in that quarter, and our path is clouded in smoke. He also agrees that it is needful to wash our trail in water. Yes, we must put that river atween us and the Sioux eyes, and then, by the favour of the Lord, not forgetting our own industry, we may gain the village of the Loups.”
“Words will not forward us a foot,” said Middle ton, “let us move.”
The old man assented, and the party once more prepared to renew its route. The Pawnee threw the skin of the buffaloe over his shoulder and led the advance, casting many a stolen glance behind him as he proceeded, in order to fix his gaze on the extraordinary and to him unaccountable loveliness of the unconscious Inez.
An hour sufficed to bring the fugitives to the banks of the stream, which was one of the hundred rivers that serve to conduct, through the mighty arteries of the Missouri and Mississippi, the waters of that vast and still uninhabited region to the Ocean. The river was not deep, but its current was troubled and rapid. The flames had scorched the earth to its very margin, and as the warm streams of the fluid mingled, in the cooler air of the morning, with the smoke of the still raging conflagration, most of its surface was wrapped in a mantle of moving vapour. The trapper pointed out the circumstance with pleasure, saying, as he assisted Inez to dismount on the margin of the water-course--
“The knaves have outwitted themselves! I am far from certain that I should not have fired the prairie, to have got the benefit of this very smoke to hide our movements, had not the heartless imps saved us the trouble. I’ve known such things done in my day, and done with success. Come, lady, put your tender foot upon the ground--for a fearful time has it been to one of your breeding and skeary qualities. Ah’s me! what have I not known the young, and the delicate, and the virtuous, and the modest, to undergo, in my time, among the horrifications and circumventions of Indian warfare! Come, it is a short quarter of a mile to the other bank, and then our trail, at least, will be broken.”
Paul had by this time assisted Ellen to dismount, and he now stood looking, with rueful eyes, at the naked banks of the river. Neither tree nor shrub grew along its borders, with the exception of here and there a solitary thicket of low bushes, from among which it would not have been an easy matter to have found a dozen stems of a size sufficient to make an ordinary walking-stick.
“Harkee, old trapper,” the moody-looking beehunter exclaimed; “it is very well to talk of the other side of this ripple of a river, or brook, or whatever you may call it, but in my judgment it would be a smart rifle that would throw its lead across it--that is to any detriment to Indian or deer.”
“That it would--that it would; though I carry a piece, here, that has done its work in time of need, at as great a distance.”
“And do you mean to shoot Ellen and the captain’s lady across; or do you intend them to go, trout fashion, with their mouths under water?”
“Is this river too deep to be forded?” asked Middleton, who, like Paul, began to consider the impossibility of transporting her, whose safety he valued more than his own, to the opposite shore.
“When the mountains above feed it with their torrents it is, as you see, a swift and powerful stream. Yet have I crossed its sandy bed, in my time, without wetting a knee. But we have the Sioux horses; I warrant me, that the kicking imps will swim like so many deer.”
“Old trapper,” said Paul, thrusting his fingers into his mop of a head, as was usual with him, when any difficulty confounded his philosophy, “I have swam like a fish in my day, and I can do it again, when there is need; nor do I much regard the weather; but I question if you get Nelly to sit a horse, with this water whirling like a mill-race before her eyes; besides, it is manifest the thing is not to be done dryshod.”
“Ah, the lad is right. We must to our inventions, therefore, or the river cannot be crossed.” Then cutting the discourse short, he turned to the Pawnee, and explained to him the difficulty which existed in relation to the women. The young warrior listened gravely, and throwing the buffaloe-skin from his shoulder he immediately commenced, assisted by the occasional aid of the understanding old man, the preparations necessary to effect this desirable ob
ject.
The hide was soon drawn into the shape of an umbrella top, or an inverted parachute, by thongs of deer-skin, with which both the labourers were well provided. A few light sticks served to keep the parts from collapsing, or falling in. When this simple and natural expedient was arranged, it was placed on the water, the Indian making a sign that it was ready to receive its freight. Both Inez and Ellen hesitated to trust themselves in a bark of so frail a construction, nor would Middleton or Paul consent that they should do so, until each had assured himself, by actual experiment, that the vessel was capable of sustaining a load much heavier than it was destined to receive. Then, indeed, their scruples were reluctantly overcome, and the skin was made to receive its precious burthen.
“Now leave the Pawnee to be the pilot,” said the trapper; “my hand is not so steady as it used to be; but he has limbs like toughened hickory. Leave all to the wisdom of the Pawnee.”
The husband and lover could not well do otherwise, and they were fain to become deeply interested, it is true, but passive spectators of this primitive species of ferrying. The Pawnee selected the beast of Mahtoree, from among the three horses, with a readiness that proved he was far from being ignorant of the properties of that noble animal, and throwing himself upon its back, he rode into the margin of the river. Thrusting an end of his lance into the hide, he bore the light vessel up against the stream, and giving his steed the rein, they pushed boldly into the current. Middleton and Paul followed, pressing as nigh the bark as prudence would at all warrant. In this manner the young warrior bore his precious cargo to the opposite bank in perfect safety, without the slightest inconvenience to the passengers, and with a steadiness and celerity which proved that both horse and rider were not unused to the operation. When the shore was gained, the young Indian undid his work, threw the skin over his shoulder, placed the sticks under his arm, and returned, without speaking, to transfer the remainder of the party, in a similar manner, to what was very justly considered the safer side of the river.
The Prairie, Volume 2 Page 10
