_
The return of spring. Their thoughts of home. Preparations to continue their journey. The chief insists upon their course being wrong. Escape of the Wild Man. They discover a borough of Prairie Dogs. Traces of Buffalo observable. They suffer from want of water. A party of Indians. A beautiful landscape. A terrific storm. The chief rendered insensible by a stroke of lightning. He recovers and returns to the camp. The warm south wind now began to stir the air, while the lengthened days, swelling buds, and melting snows, assured them the patiently waited for and much desired spring had come.
"Home--father, mother, brothers, sister; for, where they are, there is home. Shall we indeed see you and once more be folded in your arms? Shall these wanderings ever cease, of which our souls are weary, and our hearts are sick? Oh! home; thou hope of the weary, and haven of rest, though thy place be the tomb, when shall we see thee!" they sadly and feelingly exclaimed.
Howe and the chief made daily excursions down the valley, in search of wild horses, being anxious to secure each member of their party one for riding and two for pack horses. "For," said Howe, "we will start with good horses, and as the summer is before us, it will go hard with us, if we do not find home before cold weather comes again."
"Before the snows again fall," said the chief, "we will not only have found the son of the great Medicine, but will be back here, never more to leave again."
They were successful in their hunts, and a finer set of horses never wore a halter than those wild ones they had secured, and which twice a day they rode round the forest, in order to tame, and accustom them to carry burthens. They had quite a store of nuts still on hand, packed in bags made of skins, which they lashed on one of the horses' backs; and their jerked and dried meats, together with a quantity of salt that they collected at the salt spring, were packed on another; as was also, half a dozen gourd shells, and one of the kettles they had found, which had, from the many uses to which they applied it, become a necessity. Three or four skins according to their thickness, that had been cured with the hair on, were tightly sewed together for a saddle with small strings, and the whole firmly bound on the horses' back by a broad band. By means of the leather they had been enabled to make a very good bridle for Jane and Edward, but Howe and the chief preferred riding with a single band or string for a halter, and this they rarely held in their hands, but went dashing through the forest, their hands free, and their bodies bent almost to their horses' necks.
With something like the feeling of parting with a friend, they bade adieu to the friendly shelter that had protected them from the wet and cold so many months; the beautiful valley with its park-like trees, many now in bloom; and the smooth verdant sward, its ruins, the sole links of the present with the past, and the only token left that others had lived, known joy and sorrow, and died on a land, supposed to have never, before the present race become its masters, known a civilized people.
They rode gaily forth--Howe with his niece and nephew, the Indian chieftain, the timid Mahnewe with her child, and the wild man, whom they had christened Oudin, from a habit he had of repeating a sound very much like the pronunciation of that word. He had become quite docile, understood many sentences, and could be made to understand by words and signs all that was required of him. He also attempted to use words in conveying his wants to others, and they noticed with pleasure, his fits of passion were less frequent, and when they had passed away he seemed ashamed of them.
Taking their course down the valley, which grew broader and gradually assumed the appearance of a primitive forest, and pursued their way along the stream that kept its course at the base of the mountain on their right until night, when they encamped on its bank. At early dawn they again commenced their journey, and leaving the stream, took their course farther to the left, as the chief persisted in his belief that their whole course had been wrong, and that in order to find their friends, they must take another direction. Howe readily assented to this; for, in fact, he was so completely bewildered that he was at a loss what course should be pursued. The forest now began to lose much of its grandeur, the soil grew sandy, and every species of verdure had a stunted and gnarled appearance. At night they encamped on the verge of a broad prairie that stretched far away towards the horizon. They had much difficulty in procuring a supply of water for their horses that night, the surface around where they were having a parched, arid appearance; so different from the fresh verdure of the forest through which they had been travelling, as to cause a feeling of momentary sadness to come over them. This was, however, dispelled by the chief who was highly elated at having struck the prairie.
"Over yonder," said he, stretching his hand towards the wide expanse before them, "our friends await us. Let not our hearts fail us, for before two more suns shall set, we will be among them!"
"So soon! Oh, what joy!" said Jane, transported with the thought.
"They may have left the encampment, and pursued their journey, if they had the good fortune to get out of the hands of the Crows; and, then, it may be many days before we overtake them."
"No," said the trapper. "If your father is living, he never leaves the ground on which he was encamped, until he ascertains the fate of his children. Probably he has built a cabin, and is cultivating a patch of ground around it. He will never leave it if we do not return. If it is not so, I have a wrong conception of the man."
With the chief for a guard, they lay down to sleep. On awakening the next morning, they found, to their amazement, that Oudin had escaped to the forest. This was a great disappointment to them, after they had taken so much care to keep him safe and tame him, as he gave promise of much intelligence when he should become civilized. There was no help for it, as he had evidently watched his opportunity to escape and, perhaps, was now miles away.
"The ungrateful wretch," said Edward, "to thus run away after we had done our best to civilize him."
"Good!" said the chief; "glad he is gone. He would kill us some day had he remained."
"I think not," said Howe. "But it is a mystery to me how he escaped your vigilant eye and ear. Whirlwind, I think you must have slept during your watch."
"No," returned the chief, proudly, "Whirlwind never sleeps when on guard. Whirlwind saw Oudin loose his bands, but kept still, and when he stole softly away, did not pursue him."
"What! you saw and permitted his escape?" said the trapper, hurt at the want of good faith in the chief.
"He pined for the forest even as I should pine in the white man's village. What right had we to detain him in a place, and confine him to a life for which he had no inclination? Let him go; he is free, and it is all he craves."
"We had the right of the civilized over the savage. It was our place to instruct and enlighten him, and we have done him a great wrong in permitting him to return to the brutish life he led when we found him."
"Would he be happier when civilized, and had learned to curse the Great Spirit, and drink the white man's fire water? Is the red man happier than he was before the white man came?" asked the Indian, scornfully.
"You know, chief," said the trapper, "no one regrets the wrongs my race have inflicted on your own more than I do. I hope there is a brighter dawn in store for you, and that you may live to bless the coming of my people to your shores."
"The dawn of a never-ending day in the spirit land awaits us--no other. I give you my hand, brother; let there be peace between us," said the chief, sadly.
The trapper grasped the offered hand in a moment, and after due preparation, they once more pursued their journey, taking their way directly across the prairie that stretched out before them. Their horses were fleet travellers, and they hurried over the smooth, green sward that covered the prairie, for two hours, when they were brought to a sudden pause by stumbling on a borough of prairie dogs, the ground being tunneled in every direction underneath, leaving a thin crust of earth, through which the horses broke, sending the yelping denizens howling from their dens over the prairie in admirable fright and confusion. Making a circuit round the deceptive traps of the snarling curs, they again struck out for the distant boundary of the prairie, which they hoped soon to reach. At noon they rested by a pool of stagnant water, the first they had seen since morning, which was unfit for use but of which the horses drank sparingly. The spring grass, now tender and nutritious, was cropped with avidity by the horses, and after a halt of two hours, they again pursued their journey. They soon found the first buffalo they had seen since the preceding autumn, and they hailed the sight of them as an omen of good. About sunset, Whirlwind had the good fortune to kill one, and they deemed it prudent to encamp, as it would be impossible for them to reach the boundary of the prairie that night. Steaks constituted the chief feature of their supper, and a rarity they were, having so long been deprived of them, and which, with the addition of the Indian bread-root, made a no mean repast.
They had searched every ravine, cavity, and hollow for more than a mile around for fresh water, but without success. A pool of unwholesome water similar to the one they rested by at noon, being all they found. This was a little relief to the distressed horses, but none to them. Dividing the milk of the goat between them, they lay down to sleep. At dawn, they were again in motion; and after three hours' hard riding, they saw the distant forest, that bounded the prairie, looming against the horizon. Buffalo, antelope, elk, deer, and fowl now became quite numerous, giving indications that the forest was well watered and fertile. With renewed energy, they rode on, and about noon entered the welcome heavily timbered forest--the surface of which was uneven and rolling, sometimes rising in gentle hills, then towering in precipitous cliffs, interspersed with sylvan dells, through which streamlets wound, sometimes in quiet beauty, and again dashing down ledges of rock, lashing their waters to a foam.
Eagerly they drank the waters of the limpid stream for which they as well as their beasts had been suffering. Tired with their rapid marches which the necessity of procuring water had forced them to take they resolved to rest the remainder of the day. Selecting a spot by the stream, shut in by tall cliffs on either side, they secured their horses and were preparing to spend the night when the chief hurriedly motioned them to be silent. He then with noiseless tread ascended the cliff behind them. Evidently some new danger awaited them, and with terror they clung to each other for protection from the unknown evil. In half an hour he returned. "Indians yonder!" said he, briefly, pointing towards the cliff on the opposite side of the stream.
"Have you seen and do you know them?" asked the trapper, adding, "Perhaps we are nearer home, and they belong to some friendly tribes?"
"Does she?" asked the chief, turning with a scornful gesture towards Mahnewe.
The squaw rising from the bank where she had been sitting advanced with the look of sadness entirely dispelled from her face, which was now sunny and radiant with joy.
"Mahnewe," said she, speaking earnestly and rapidly, "is the friend of the white man, and so are her people. Over the hills yonder is their village and these are their hunting grounds. Let not the white man fear; he has saved the life of a wife of the chief, and Mahnewe will answer for his safety."
"Are you sure of what you say?" asked Jane, whose dread of cannibals was the torture of her life.
"Mahnewe cannot mistake the place of her people," said the squaw, looking amused at the evident fright of the young girl.
"I mean of what tribe are they,--are you, Mahnewe?"
"The squaw will not tell," said the chief, tauntingly. "She knows they are the enemies of the Arapahoes. The Snake fears the Eagle."
"Mahnewe is the daughter of a chief, and the wife of a chief. She is not a coward; red blood is in her veins. She is a Snake, and fears not the Arapahoe!"
"Come, this will never answer, chief! Leave Mahnewe to me. Now, tell me truly,--are we on the hunting-grounds of the Snakes, and are you one of that tribe?"
"Mahnewe has said it, and cannot lie," returned the woman earnestly, and with great dignity of manner.
"If this is true, we are saved," said the trapper. "I have friends among that people, and know my way home from their hunting-grounds."
"Are you sure of what you tell us, Mahnewe?" asked Sidney; "for a mistake on this point might involve us all in destruction."
"Are not yonder the hills where my childhood's years were spent? Who can forget the home of their kindred, the place of their birth?"
"Sometimes hills in the distance bear a resemblance to others, which vanishes on a nearer approach," observed the trapper.
"Let Mahnewe go to her people, she fears not of finding strangers in their place," said she, in pleasing tones.
"A good idea, uncle, let her go and ascertain positively; but keep the child to prevent treachery," suggested Sidney.
"Mahnewe goes not without her child, if all our lives should depend on her going!" said the squaw, decidedly.
"But consider, Mahnewe, if they should not prove to be your people the child would only hinder your retreat, and if they should be, you can return and claim it in safety," said Howe.
"If my brother listens to the forked tongue of the Snake's squaw, she will guide the warriors of her people to our retreat, where we shall all be slaughtered," said the chief.
"I think not, chief; there is an air of sincerity about the squaw that dispels all thought of treachery in my mind; besides, she is under great obligations to us for saving her own and the child's life. The Indians are not ungrateful you know, chief, and I think we do her wrong to suspect her motives in wanting to go."
"The Snakes are friends of my brother, and will not harm him. Let the squaw conduct the dogs to our camp; Whirlwind knows how to die," returned the chief.
"They shall not hurt you while we live," said Edward. "Those who are our friends must not offer harm to you, unless they want us their enemies."
"Do not go, Mahnewe," said Jane. "Some harm might result from it for which we should all repent. We shall find out in the course of to-morrow at furthest if these are the Snakes, and if they are you can join them when we are assured no harm can result to us from it."
Mahnewe turned her dark, liquid eyes imploringly to Howe as if to gain his voice in her favor, but they were evidently all against it, and he did not like to take the responsibility.
"Not to-night," said he, kindly, "but perhaps to-morrow you may go."
Sad and sorrowfully she walked away, and they saw how bitter was her disappointment.
"Never mind, child," said Howe, "it will all be well yet. Patience and perseverance will overcome everything. Our first business must be to secure ourselves on the defensive. From the appearance of the Indians, I do not think they suspect our being in this vicinity, and I propose that our horses be secured in this thicket that skirts the bank here, where they can feed and not be detected. We must do without a fire, and one of us had better go cautiously to the top of the cliff yonder, and reconnoitre."
"Whirlwind, will go. Keep watch of the squaw, or she will betray us." So saying, the chief started on his scouting expedition.
Following the course of the brook until it curved around a sudden bend of the cliff, he crossed it, and striking a narrow ravine overhung on one side by shelving rock, he followed on within its shadows for over a mile, when the ravine began to widen, the sides gradually lessen in height, and which, a mile farther on terminated in rolling acclivities, covered with verdure, while the ground between became a beautiful dell, shaded with tall, stately trees, the branches of which were vocal with a hundred bird voices, filling the air with their melody. The dell was quite free from undergrowth, and the sun was excluded by the primitive trees, that interlaced their branches, making the forest almost impenetrable. The soul of the Indian was entranced, as he gazed on this scene, so wild and silent in its beauty. It was his beau-ideal of the Spirit-Land; and, as he gazed, he drew his hand across his eyes to see if he, indeed, was waking. Still, there lay the landscape before him, with the melody above. At that moment the spell was broken by a herd of deer, leisurely crossing the dell. Drawing his bow, he was on the point of shooting, when recollecting his errand thither, he recovered his prudence; for, should the deer escape with an arrow sticking in it, and be seen by the Indians, he was in search of, it would give them to understand that others were near them.
Cautiously he proceeded across the enchanting landscape, and, after an hour's walk, discovered an opening in the forest. "Here," thought the chief, "I shall get a glimpse of the dogs, and if, as I think, they are Snakes, it will go hard with me, if I don't carry off one scalp at least," and his eyes glared with the ferocity of a tiger. He was as much a savage still at heart as ever. Nearing the opening, he saw before him a lake to which he approached by a smooth grassy plat, of several rods wide, dotted here and there with mosses, ferns, and beautiful wild flowers, with an occasional tree shorn of half its limbs which lay scattered along the water's edge. The opposite bank skirted the base of the hills they had seen from the encampment, rising in peaks, barren and rocky on their summits. The water of the lake was transparent and calm, and looked as placid as though nothing had ever penetrated the lonely spot in which it was nestled, to mar its surface. The chief on emerging into the open glade, saw the sky had become flecked with clouds that were scudding across the heavens, in a thousand fantastic waves, while just above the peak of the topmost hill over the lake, a black cloud, heavy and portentous with a gathering storm, was rising slowly, leaving a long streak of light unbroken cloud against the horizon.
The chief surveyed the lake, the hills and the forest from which he had emerged, with the surrounding scenery long and earnestly, and then murmured to himself in a tone, that betokened a sorrowful certainty; "It is not true, these are not the hunting grounds of the Snakes; they have none so good and beautiful as these. We are lost! lost! in the interminable wilds of the West, where hope or deliverance may never come." And the stern but proud chieftain bowed his head in despair for a moment: then stretching his hands towards the sky, which dimly shone through the dark rolling clouds, he cried: "Father, Manito! why hast thou left thy child to wander from his people, and cast a spell[10] over his feet so that he cannot return?--Has he done an evil in thy sight, that he is thus punished?--Great Spirit, Manito! thy prophet awaits thy sign!"
[10] The Indians imagine that good and evil spirits can cast a spell over any person they desire, and while under it, they have no control over their own actions, but are obliged to follow the inclination of the spirit by which the spell is cast.
As he concluded, a peal of thunder that shook the ground, burst from the clouds above, followed by a blinding flash of lightning, which was quickly followed by another, and another; and, as the wind came sweeping down in angry blasts, it seemed as if every element in nature were warring against each other. The chief stood unmoved on the spot, his arms still raised, his lips parted but motionless, stupefied by the storm around him. The Great Spirit he imagined had spoken to him angrily in the storm, and superstitious as all the Indians are, it filled his soul with horror. Large drops of rain soon began to fall, the wind rose furiously, lashing the water on the lake into huge waves, while wild fowls and birds darted frightened through the air. Still the chieftain stood there. What was now the storm to him? Was not the Great Spirit angry? and as the rain fell on his upturned face in torrents, the lightnings descended, shivering a tree near where he stood, and stunning him with the shock. He was prostrated, and lay on the green sward motionless, the rain forming a pool about him, which was every moment augmented as the torrents came down upon him.
When consciousness again returned, the sky was clear, without a single cloud to mar its serenity. It was night, and the heavens were dotted with a thousand gems that apparently smiled at the forlorn appearance of the half-drowned chief as he slowly dragged himself from his unsought bath. The lake was as placid as when he first saw it, and there was nothing to remind him of the commotion that had raged around him, save the shivered tree and his saturated garments and hair.
"It is the abode of the Evil Spirits," said he, "and they have lured me hither." Starting in the direction whence he came, he saw within half a mile, a camp-fire dimly burning as if struggling with wet fuel. Highly elated at the discovery, as it plainly showed by their lighting a fire that they were unaware of others being around, he crept noiselessly towards them. Approaching within a few rods he saw they were a party of about thirty, who were evidently on a hunt. They were not Snakes; he was sure of that; but of what tribe they were he could not tell. Evidently not of any tribe of which he had any knowledge, and they had a stronger resemblance to the cannibals than to any others he had seen. With this information he returned about midnight, much to the relief of the rest at the camp, who had feared he had been captured, and were in great suspense for his safety. _