"Bald Eagle," he said, "rests after much thinking and sends Dark Water to speak with Black Bear."
"Dark Water," I said, "Black Bear is not a child. Neither is he a woman. He is not answered by two men, but by one. Go back to Bald Eagle and tell him."
The old chief shook his head.
"Black Bear," he said, "is a great warrior. He has filled the teepees of the Pawnees with tears and with weeping. He has covered the ground with our dead. The Great Spirit has given to him a charmed rifle that cannot miss. But Bald Eagle never speaks twice. The Great Spirit is in him, also. I dare not go back to him, warrior. But I am his other tongue. Speak to me and I shall listen."
He was a smooth old demon, there was no denying that. He spoke like a reverend councilor, and to hear a tribute like this from such a chief made very easy listening. I began to feel that I was quite a person, after all. I was beginning to grow uneasy, too. The various notes of muttered wonder and admiration at the effrontery with which I had dared to ride in among them were beginning to include new sounds. Relatives of warriors who had fallen in the charge on Standing Bear's village were joining the crowd, and one old woman was crying out repeatedly that only my scalp, hanging in her lodge, could comfort her heart for the loss of her dead son.
I saw that it would not do to stand too much on my dignity. I said: "Dark Water, pleasant words fall from the lips of old men like rain from the black clouds. Hear me, then, and carry my message to Bald Eagle. I, Black Bear, have taken in battle a great warrior of the Pawnees, Two Feather. His heart was strong, but the claws of Black Bear were lightning in his eyes. He was blinded and could not see. But his scalp is not at my belt. He has ridden back to the teepee which he left today. Let him stay there. Let his sons be glad and let his squaws make offering at the next feast of the sun. All this is well. Therefore, give me the young boy, Sitting Wolf, to take back to my people, the Sioux, that there may be peace between the Dakotas and the Pawnees, for friendship is better than war."
Dark Water turned into the tent. I heard the stir of his voice. I heard the rumbling of a deep bass, making answer. That was Bald Eagle, I had no doubt, and even the distant sound of his voice filled me with dread and a certain cold uneasiness at the pit of the stomach such as I had not felt since I left the shack of Uncle Abner Dorset. Then Dark Water came again.
He said: "Bald Eagle has spoken to his heart, and his heart says that Two Feather is a brave man and a great warrior... he is the arrow on the bow string, the knife ready to strike. But Sitting Wolf is the son of a chief and the nephew of a great chief. While he is in the teepee of Bald Eagle, Standing Bear will not come nor will his people come. Their knives and their arrows will be blunt against the Pawnees."
It was a tremendous blow to me, but, at the same time, I could not help admiring the craft of Bald Eagle. I was also more suspicious than ever that he was white, for his diplomacy did not have the ring of the true Indian way about it.
"A life has been offered for a life," I said. "If there is still a difference, the horses of the Sioux are many and fleet as the wind, and they have guns that shoot straight and beaded moccasins and buffalo robes by the thousand. They will give what the great Bald Eagle asks for the sake of Sitting Wolf, who is only a boy."
Dark Water shook his head.
"Bald Eagle has spoken," he said.
I saw that there was nothing to be gained, and my heart ached for the poor youngster imprisoned among these devils. So I said: "Let me see Sitting Wolf. Let me know that he is among you. Or else I may return to Standing Bear and tell him that his nephew is dead. Then he will come with his warriors. Black Bear shall ride with him with a rifle that cannot help but kill, and Rising Sun shall ride with him and blind the eyes of the Pawnees. Many men shall die."
There was a murmur through the crowd. Dark Water turned into the teepee and was gone for some time while the young men jostled around me, staring and whispering to one another. Then the old chief came out again. "It is well," he said. "Let my brother, Black Bear, follow."
I dismounted and went through the crowd at the heels of Dark Water until we came to the next teepee where, at a word from him, two braves who stood guard stepped aside for us to enter.
I found myself in a small teepee in the center of which a few embers glowed, and at one side, sitting on a buffalo robe, was Sitting Wolf, with his hands tied behind his back. He drew himself up when he saw us enter, and, the moment his eyes found my face, he uttered a cry of joy and leaped to his feet.
A RIFLE TEST
The others left us, though presently, by the stir of feet around the teepee, I knew that new guards had been posted there. In the meantime questions ran like water out of Sitting Wolf's lips. I answered them all. When he finally asked me what strange power had brought me safely through the lines of the Pawnees and into their village, I told him the story. He listened to it, smiling and nodding.
"I have done nothing," he said, "to be worth the love of such a brother, but, before I die, I shall find a way."
I asked him about Bald Eagle and the fight. He told me practically what I had already heard, but with a good many more details. The war party with which Bald Eagle had overtaken them, it seemed, was nearly a hundred men fewer than the Sioux, but all the Pawnees were armed with excellent rifles, and they shot amazingly straight. The fight had not lasted five minutes before the Sioux broke and were herded back to the hill where they entrenched themselves to make a last stand. It had been a wretched slaughter from the first.
"How do they come to shoot so straight?" I asked.
"They practice with the guns all day. I hear the noises," he said. "And Bald Eagle teaches them to fight on foot, so that their guns shoot straighter."
I asked him, then, if Bald Eagle were not a white man. He said that he did not know. The skin of the great chief was red, but that it might have been dyed. He himself had had the same thought. At least he was sure that Bald Eagle was not a Pawnee, because he spoke the language haltingly. When he asked the tribesmen, however, they maintained a resolute silence about their war leader. In person he said that Bald Eagle was a huge man with a great, savage face - two men in one, was the way Sitting Wolf put it. I remembered the volume of that rolling bass voice and believed it. He told me, too, that Bald Eagle never mixed with the tribe ordinarily, but sent out Dark Water with his commands. Only when a war party was ready, he put himself at their head. The Pawnees swore that he remained by himself so much because the Great Spirit was constantly in communion with him.
It was Bald Eagle who had saved him when a knife was at his throat. And he said that the great chief was said never to slaughter the young if he could avoid it. So we chatted on until the night came. Food was brought to us. Still we talked until very late, and the evening noises in the Indian village grew less. Then I decided to depart. I told Sitting Wolf that I should never rest until I had captured men of such importance among the Pawnees that Bald Eagle would be glad to trade me Sitting Wolf in exchange. The youngster gave me a dozen messages for his family, then I turned to the entrance of the teepee and walked out - to find two guns leveled at my breast.
Such treachery amazed me. And yet, after all, I was a prize not to be passed over lightly. When I demanded what it meant, the young braves grinned mockingly at me, and I went back into the teepee to think the thing over. Sitting Wolf was in an agony of sorrow because this had come on me for his sake. He wanted me to cut his bonds, then he would arm himself with my knife, and we both could rush out at them and try to cut our way through the camp. It was very brave, but very foolish, talk, and it did not tempt me for a moment. A man like Bald Eagle would never close his hand upon a nettle that he could not hold. So I told the boy the only thing to do was to wait for the morning and see what would happen. I told him I had not the slightest doubt as to my safety. Such a chief as Bald Eagle would not allow me to be murdered after I had come to him of my own free will, bringing in safely one of his best warriors.
That served to convince Sitting Wolf. Aft
er he had gone to sleep that night, I sat there awake, chewing the stem of my pipe and wondering what deviltry lay before me. Finally I dozed off, and in the morning I found old Dark Water standing in the entrance to the teepee, looking down at me as blandly as you please.
I merely said: "I have had a Pawnee sleep, friend, but it is not as good as a Pawnee scalp."
He nodded as though he understood my feelings exactly and even sympathized with them.
"Bald Eagle is very sad," said the scoundrel. "He wishes to send Black Bear safely home to his people, but the Pawnees are angry. They say that many warriors of their blood have died with the bullets of Black Bear in their hearts. Therefore, they will not let him go before a great price has been paid."
Sitting Wolf growled deep in his throat. I swallowed my emotions. There is no use quarreling with a man who has a knife at your breast. I said quietly: "Very well.. .what is the price to be?"
Dark Water heaved a sigh. I suppose he had been prepared to listen to a torrent of abuse.
"You are to take your rifle and come with me."
I wondered what my rifle could have to do with my price, unless the idiots really thought it was charmed. I was taken along with a party of twenty or thirty warriors who acted as a bodyguard. Practically the entire tribe accompanied us at a distance, most of the men with arms. I could see the cause of the fighting successes of Bald Eagle at a glance. More than discipline and good, daring generalship, these fellows had secured excellent rifles, and, what was more, I could see that they were kept in good condition. The Pawnees had been taught to handle their guns as though they were sacred things. Altogether, they made a striking appearance, and I decided on the spot that I never wanted to meet these Pawnees on terms of equal numbers, not with the Sioux or any other Indians at my back. The more I saw of the work of Bald Eagle, the more I wanted to see the old villain face to face.
We had gone into the prairie near the village, and there I found, tethered to pegs in the ground, three skinny old horses, down-headed, ragged of mane and tail, their backbones and their ribs thrusting out through the skin, but still clinging to life by a miracle. Dark Water pointed them out to me and told me in a few words why I had been brought there. It was known that if a bullet grazed the neck of a horse close to the ears, just nicking the spinal cord, the animal could be stunned. I had heard of that method being used to catch wild horses. But I had also heard that for every one that was stunned, a hundred more were killed outright, and several hundred more were missed altogether. Dark Water finished this part of his little speech and then went on to another part that was still more interesting to me.
"The Pawnees sigh," he said, "when they think of Black Bear leaving them in safety and going back to the Dakotas to bring them on our trail. They say that Black Bear has done enough for one life, and that it is time for him to rest." It was a diplomatic way for the ruffians to hint that they thought of sending a bullet through my head. The chief went on: "Bald Eagle has a great need of a man who can do what men talk of but never perform... throw a horse senseless on the prairie but not take his life with the touch of a bullet. If Black Bear could do this thing, Bald Eagle would find a use for him and afterward set him free."
Nothing could have been plainer. Some wild horse had caught the eye of the chief. He had tried to catch the horse in vain. Now he wanted to use the last desperate expedient that would either catch or kill it. It sounded very much more like an Indian's desire than a white man's. I changed my mind about Bald Eagle for the hundredth time.
"Bald Eagle," I said, "wishes to have stronger wings. Dark Water, if I should be able to get them for him, will he set free both Sitting Wolf and me?"
Dark Water favored me with a strange smile. "The old men say that no man shall ever sit on the back of the horse Bald Eagle has seen. But if you, Black Bear, should catch him, Bald Eagle will set you and Sitting Wolf free. And here," he concluded, "are three horses."
He waved toward them and stepped back. The other warriors drew away from me, and I saw that I was expected to try my hand on these wretched nags. I lay down on my side, found a comfortable elbow rest, and tucked the butt of the rifle into the hollow of my shoulder. Then I drew my bead on the nearest horse. I aimed high up on the back of the neck. A long aim is a useless thing - after an instant of holding on a target, even the strongest hand begins to waver. The moment I had my goal in the sight, I fired, and the horse dropped. A dozen warriors rushed out to the spot and lifted its head. It dropped back with an audible, loose thump. They felt its heart - then they stood up and waved their hands. I had failed, for the horse was dead.
There was a rapid chattering of surprise. Those rascals really expected me to do magic with that rifle. I went out and looked at the bullet mark. I had simply snapped the spinal cord - that was all there was to it - and the brute was dead. I returned to my place and tried again, and again the horse dropped. Once more they surrounded the fallen body. They felt the heart, then they began to shout all at once, and I knew that this time the trick had been turned. Yes, a moment later the old horse got staggering to his feet and went about at the length of his tether, shaking his head. I tried the third brute. I felt a certain surety, now, in my work. Again I nipped the neck of the horse, and once more it fell stunned, not dead.
They brought me back in triumph to the village. Dark Water, in much excitement, hurried into the teepee of Bald Eagle and returned, after a time, to tell me that a hunting party would start at once and take me with them. In the meantime Bald Eagle asked to see my rifle. I sent it in to him, and Dark Water returned in a short time, bringing back my own weapon and a brand new rifle, as tight as a drum, a good pound lighter than my old gun, and in every way better. I tried it only once and knew that it was meant for me. It was not only lighter, but it had more power also. I took it with thanks and then sent for Two Feather.
"My friend," I said, "the Great Spirit has breathed upon my rifle. Take it with my good wishes. Bald Eagle has given me one of his talons in its place."
Two Feather took my rifle in both hands and was like a happy boy. From that moment I knew that I could count on at least one real friend among the Pawnees. Meanwhile a dozen braves, including Two Feather himself, had gathered. They were the cream of the tribe. Each had three horses, and those horses were the best the Pawnees could find. Then Dark Water made us a farewell speech. He told us that we were about to start on a long trail, and that before the end of it we might find whether the great horse for which Bald Eagle had yearned was a horse, indeed, or a form of the Great Spirit. "But," he said finally, "if the bullet stuns him not but strikes him dead, and if you come not back with White Smoke, never come again in the sight of Bald Eagle, for your faces will be hateful to him."
WHITE SMOKE
I should have guessed from the very beginning that the goal of the quest was White Smoke - that strange horse haunted the minds of the Indians like a fairy tale, just as it haunted the white traders and trappers. The very thought of leveling at that matchless stallion a rifle bullet that might drop it dead made my heart jump. However, I would be shooting for the sake of Sitting Wolf as well as my own.
We traveled steadily westward. I was kept under a constant watch every moment. I was never allowed to carry a weapon, but each day I was allowed to take my rifle - under the eye of the entire detachment - and practice with it as much as I pleased. I kept my hand in a good hour every day. I no longer tried to center things. It was always the outer and upper edge that I made my target - a mere nip off the edge of a rock or the top of a trunk. A slight graze of the bullet was what I always tried for. Invariably my horse was tethered to the saddle of someone among the Indians, which was only to be expected. They handled me as if I were a fire that might go out, and like a fire that might burn them to a crisp.
We marched for ten days. A dozen times we crossed the old trails of herds of wild horses, and on each occasion one of the band took a coil of rope and went over the tracks. Wherever it was found that a horse had galloped, they meas
ured the tracks. And finally I learned why. No two horses take the same span in striding, and a horse at full speed never varies the length of his reach. It is as certain a method as fingerprinting.
I think it was the ninth or the tenth day when one of the younger braves, searching fresh-made tracks, discovered what he wanted. He let out a yell like a war cry. The whole lot of them swarmed around the spot and saw that the rope exactly fitted the stretch between hoofmarks. Then we held a consultation. That is to say, they consulted and I listened, for I would never have dared to lift my voice among such expert trackers. Finally they adopted a scheme that I should never have dreamed of. The wind was blowing steadily from the north, and we cut to the south in a shallow detour, riding hard for the rest of that day and continuing, once more, with the dawn. About midday we came to a pass through some high hills - for we had been striking steadily toward the Rockies and out of the prairies. Two of the men took fresh horses and headed north and south across the pass, while the rest of us hid the horses among a grove of poplars and then went back to lie in wait in a thicket. The Indian maneuver had been made in the simple hope that White Smoke was leading his band toward this cleft, and that we might have headed him.
In a quarter of an hour the two scouts swept back to assure us that there were no tracks in sight. So we waited, broiling in the heat that seeped through the scant and speckled shade under the brush. We waited until the deadening heat of the mid-afternoon had scalded us and diminished. We waited until the golden time of the late day arrived, and it was at this moment that Two Feather, who had eyes like a hawk, as I could bear testimony from our first encounter, suddenly whispered and pointed. We hardly dared lift our heads, but presently we made out a thin cloud of dust, rolling in from the east, growing thicker and larger, until at last it took shape as a mist, sweeping above the gleaming backs of horses.
Brand, Max - 1925 Page 13
