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CHAPTER 13
Story of Kosato, the Renegade Blackfoot.
IF the meekness and long-suffering of the Pierced-noses grieved
the spirit of Captain Bonneville, there was another individual in
the camp to whom they were still more annoying. This was a
Blackfoot renegado, named Kosato, a fiery hot-blooded youth who,
with a beautiful girl of the same tribe, had taken refuge among
the Nez Perces. Though adopted into the tribe, he still
retained the warlike spirit of his race, and loathed the
peaceful, inoffensive habits of those around him. The hunting of
the deer, the elk, and the buffalo, which was the height of their
ambition, was too tame to satisfy his wild and restless nature.
His heart burned for the foray, the ambush, the skirmish, the
scamper, and all the haps and hazards of roving and predatory
warfare.
The recent hoverings of the Blackfeet about the camp, their
nightly prowls and daring and successful marauds, had kept him in
a fever and a flutter, like a hawk in a cage who hears his late
companions swooping and screaming in wild liberty above him. The
attempt of Captain Bonneville to rouse the war spirit of the Nez
Perces, and prompt them to retaliation, was ardently seconded by
Kosato. For several days he was incessantly devising schemes of
vengeance, and endeavoring to set on foot an expedition that
should carry dismay and desolation into the Blackfeet town. All
his art was exerted to touch upon those springs of human action
with which he was most familiar. He drew the listening savages
round him by his nervous eloquence; taunted them with recitals of
past wrongs and insults; drew glowing pictures of triumphs and
trophies within their reach; recounted tales of daring and
romantic enterprise, of secret marchings, covert lurkings,
midnight surprisals, sackings, burnings, plunderings, scalpings;
together with the triumphant return, and the feasting and
rejoicing of the victors. These wild tales were intermingled with
the beating of the drum, the yell, the war-whoop and the
war-dance, so inspiring to Indian valor. All, however, were lost
upon the peaceful spirits of his hearers; not a Nez Perce was to
be roused to vengeance, or stimulated to glorious war. In the
bitterness of his heart, the Blackfoot renegade repined at the
mishap which had severed him from a race of congenial spirits,
and driven him to take refuge among beings so destitute of
martial fire.
The character and conduct of this man attracted the attention of
Captain Bonneville, and he was anxious to hear the reason why he
had deserted his tribe, and why he looked back upon them with
such deadly hostility. Kosato told him his own story briefly: it
gives a picture of the deep, strong passions that work in the
bosoms of these miscalled stoics.
"You see my wife," said he, "she is good; she is beautiful --I
love her. Yet she has been the cause of all my troubles. She was
the wife of my chief. I loved her more than he did; and she knew
it. We talked together; we laughed together; we were always
seeking each other's society; but we were as innocent as
children. The chief grew jealous, and commanded her to speak with
me no more. His heart became hard toward her; his jealousy grew
more furious. He beat her without cause and without mercy; and
threatened to kill her outright if she even looked at me. Do you
want traces of his fury? Look at that scar! His rage against me
was no less persecuting. War parties of the Crows were hovering
round us; our young men had seen their trail. All hearts were
roused for action; my horses were before my lodge. Suddenly the
chief came, took them to his own pickets, and called them his
own. What could I do? he was a chief. I durst not speak, but my
heart was burning. I joined no longer in the council, the hunt,
or the war-feast. What had I to do there? an unhorsed, degraded
warrior. I kept by myself, and thought of nothing but these
wrongs and outrages.
"I was sitting one evening upon a knoll that overlooked the
meadow where the horses were pastured. I saw the horses that were
once mine grazing among those of the chief. This maddened me, and
I sat brooding for a time over the injuries I had suffered, and
the cruelties which she I loved had endured for my sake, until my
heart swelled and grew sore, and my teeth were clinched. As I
looked down upon the meadow I saw the chief walking among his
horses. I fastened my eyes upon him as a hawk's; my blood boiled;
I drew my breath hard. He went among the willows. In an instant I
was on my feet; my hand was on my knife --I flew rather than ran
-- before he was aware I sprang upon him, and with two blows laid
him dead at my feet. I covered his body with earth, and strewed
bushes over the place; then I hastened to her I loved, told her
what I had done, and urged her to fly with me. She only answered
me with tears. I reminded her of the wrongs I had suffered, and
of the blows and stripes she had endured from the deceased; I had
done nothing but an act of justice. I again urged her to fly; but
she only wept the more, and bade me go. My heart was heavy, but
my eyes were dry. I folded my arms. ' 'Tis well,' said I; 'Kosato
will go alone to the desert. None will be with him but the wild
beasts of the desert. The seekers of blood may follow on his
trail. They may come upon him when he sleeps and glut their
revenge; but you will be safe. Kosato will go alone.
"I turned away. She sprang after me, and strained me in her arms.
'No,' she cried, 'Kosato shall not go alone! Wherever he goes I
will go -- he shall never part from me.
"'We hastily took in our hands such things as we most needed, and
stealing quietly from the village, mounted the first horses we
encountered. Speeding day and night, we soon reached this tribe.
They received us with welcome, and we have dwelt with them in
peace. They are good and kind; they are honest; but their hearts
are the hearts of women.
Such was the story of Kosato, as related by him to Captain
Bonneville. It is of a kind that often occurs in Indian life;
where love elopements from tribe to tribe are as frequent as
among the novel-read heroes and heroines of sentimental
civilization, and often give rise to bloods and lasting feuds.
Content of CHAPTER 13 [Washington Irving's book: The Adventures of Captain Bonneville]
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