_
Return to the family of Mr. Duncan. Lewis and his father succeed in getting back to camp. The effect the capture of the children produced on the health of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. Cole and the chief reach the camp of the Arapahoes. Their surprise. They continue their course to Mr. Duncan's camp. Joy at the news they bring. They start again for the west. Thirty Arapahoes accompany them. They arrive at the Sierra Nevada. Having followed our wanderers through many exceedingly trying and difficult scenes, since they became separated from the rest of the family and were lost in the deep and dreary desert, to the hospitable fireside of the curate beyond the Sierra Nevada where they again met with the comforts of civilized life, we will leave them for the present and return to the family of Mr. Duncan. The last we saw of Mr. Duncan and Lewis was in the battle with the Crows; but they succeeded in making their escape, and finally returned to their camp, only, however, to convey the sorrowful intelligence of the sad fate of all who had gone out to the rescue except himself and Lewis. This sad event confined him to a bed of sickness from which he arose after many weeks of suffering, with feeble and tottering steps, and locks whitened by suffering. Grief had done what time had not--it had made him old and grey.
Mrs. Duncan submitted meekly to the terrible blow; but the elasticity of her step was gone, the light from her eye, and the usual glad smile from her lips had disappeared. Had her children sickened and died, she could have laid them away in the grave, with the consoling thought, that all must lay there at last. But the harassing idea of the torture they would be subjected to, and the terrible death they must at last suffer, if indeed they still lived, was a constant source of agony to her.
"If I only knew that they were dead and at rest, I would be content; but, alas! I fear they still live!" she often said to herself, and then the throbbings of her heart would not be still. Poor mother! her thoughts made her life a torture of the deepest intensity.
Lewis would not believe they were dead, and had devoted the whole time of their absence in wandering from tribe to tribe, in his endeavors to gain some information of them. Once he heard there were some white persons captive in a distant Indian village, but he could not learn the name of the tribe, or in what part of the vast western wilds they were located. Twice he had been through to Oregon in hopes of obtaining a clue to their whereabouts, but heartsick had returned only to sink the already drooping spirits of his parents still lower. Mr. Duncan had removed his family farther east, where he would be less liable to be annoyed by hostile Indians, and there taking up his abode determined to await until he could learn the fate of his children.
Cole and the chief travelled with great rapidity. They were inured to hardship from infancy, and with nothing to impede their progress, sometimes riding, and sometimes walking, the fourth week out they came to the Arapahoe village in the evening just as the shades of night were drawing to the lodges, the men, women, and children who had scattered themselves during the day through the forest. The chieftain's eye kindled as the old familiar faces passed before him, and his breast heaved with pride us he read in their cheerful steps and careless ways the security and prosperity of his tribe. Cole and the chief were standing in the shadow of a large chesnut tree, which protected them from observation, but from which they saw all that was passing in the village without being seen. Gradually the Arapahoes seated themselves on the bank of a small stream in little groups, and then the chief saw who it was that had succeeded him in command--it was his best friend--the brave and good Eagle.
"Stay here, till I return," whispered the chief to Cole, and then folding his arms over his brawny chest, he walked with a proud step into their midst. Every tongue seemed to be paralyzed, every limb nerveless, as they, with horror depicted on their swarthy faces, saw him approaching.
At last one old man slowly arose and stretching his long bony hand toward him, said--"Does not our chief rest well in the spirit land, that he comes back to his people again? or does he come to warn us of danger?"
"The Arapahoes have forgotten their chief," said Whirlwind, bitterly.
"No, no: not forgotten him!" cried a young girl--his sister--bounding into the circle, and throwing herself, into his arms.
"The Singing-Bird does not forget," said the chief, holding her tightly in his embrace.
"We did not forget, but thought you dead!" they all cried, after fairly recovering from their panic. The Eagle was one of the first to give him a hearty welcome back, and as he did so, he laid his plume on the returned chieftain's head--thus resigning his title and authority.
"No, keep it yet for awhile," returned Whirlwind, "I must leave you for a time." He then explained the disasters that had befallen them, and, finally, his self-imposed duty in uniting the severed family.
The Indians never do a generous act by piecemeal. They are either warm friends or bitter enemies, knowing no medium between the two. They will lay down their lives to serve a friend, and murder a friend's enemy for the same reason, although they have never seen him before, and personally have no animosity towards him. The Arapahoes applauded the noble design of their chief, and furnished fresh horses to him and Cole, with which to accomplish the distance to the frontier, where Mr. Duncan and his companions were.
Mr. Duncan and family were seating themselves at their evening meal, as the two horseman halted at the door. A glance was sufficient to tell them one was a stranger, and the other--could it be?--was the Arapahoe chief, who was taken captive with his lost ones! They all with one impulse started for the door, but Mrs. Duncan, too overcome with anxiety, stood trembling, pale and speechless, leaning on a chair, from which she had just arisen. Mr. Duncan reached the door, but the words he would have spoken died on his lips, as Lewis bounded past him, and grasping the chiefs arm convulsively, cried--"Do
they live!--speak, if you would not see
them die!" pointing to his father and mother--"do they live?"
"All live!" said the chief; and as the words fell from his lips, a cry of joy and gladness resounded from the chastened hearts of the family. The certainty that the lost ones still lived, though they yet knew not where nor under what circumstances, roused their enervated energies, nerved their limbs and called back the healthful flush to the cheek, and the light of joy to their eyes.
"To be sure they are well," said Cole to their inquiries, "and we have come all the way from the Sierra Nevada mountains to bring you the news, and take you to them."
"Yes, yes; we will go. To-morrow we will be on the road to see them," said Mrs. Duncan.
"Not so fast as that," returned Cole; "I lost all my traps by the red-skins, and must collect some more. Besides, you need more preparation than could be made in that time, or you will fall into savage hands the second time."
"Let it be a week, then; we can be ready in that time," said Mr. Duncan. Their wanderings were recounted by Whirlwind, and when he had concluded, Mrs. Duncan's joy was nearly turned to sorrow, for fear they had not escaped the dangers of the Sierra. Accordingly, their arrangements were made to set out after a week's preparation. Mr. Duncan's equipments being nearly the same as those with which he had started two years before, when his journey was so unfortunately interrupted. Their destination now was somewhat different than what it was then; their only object being to recover their lost children. Cole had given such glowing descriptions of the country west of the Sierra that they thought it probable they should settle there; still, this was a minor consideration with them.
They reached the Arapahoe village in safety, where they found thirty of their warriors ready to accompany them as a guard. Their love and devotion to their chief prompted them to this disinterested act. They were all well mounted on half-tamed prairie horses,--their swarthy forms fantastically painted, and their heads and tunics adorned with shells, beads, and feathers, which gave them a wild, grotesque, but not unbecoming appearance. This was their gala costume, prepared after the most approved Indian style, and France never looked upon her sovereign with more pride when decked in his costliest regal vestments, than this tribe of savages did upon these thirty warriors, that the whole village had been laid under contribution to decorate in befitting pomp for this occasion. It is unnecessary to follow them minutely as they progressed in their journey. Suffice it that their guard protected them from the depredations of other Indians, and at the same time kept them supplied with meat and fish in abundance, cleared the path when obstructed, and daily rendered invaluable service to the emigrants. On reaching the Sierra, they were shown another pass by some Indians they met with, which was less dangerous, although farther over, and quite as toilsome in crossing. _