The Prairie (46 page)

The Teton chief soon re-appeared on the surface, and understanding the
nature of his loss, he swam with vigorous strokes to the nearest of
the young men, who relinquished his steed, as a matter of course, to so
renowned a warrior. The incident, however, created a confusion in the
whole of the Dahcotah band, who appeared to await the intention of their
leader, before they renewed their efforts to reach the shore. In the
mean time the vessel of skin had reached the land, and the fugitives
were once more united on the margin of the river.

The savages were now swimming about in indecision, as a flock of pigeons
is often seen to hover in confusion after receiving a heavy discharge
into its leading column, apparently hesitating on the risk of storming a
bank so formidably defended. The well-known precaution of Indian warfare
prevailed, and Mahtoree, admonished by his recent adventure, led his
warriors back to the shore from which they had come, in order to relieve
their beasts, which were already becoming unruly.

"Now mount you, with the tender ones, and ride for yonder hillock," said
the trapper; "beyond it, you will find another stream, into which you
must enter, and turning to the sun, follow its bed for a mile, until
you reach a high and sandy plain; there will I meet you. Go; mount;
this Pawnee youth and I, and my stout friend the physician, who is a
desperate warrior, are men enough to keep the bank, seeing that show and
not use is all that is needed."

Middleton and Paul saw no use in wasting their breath in remonstrances
against this proposal. Glad to know that their rear was to be covered,
even in this imperfect manner, they hastily got their horses in motion,
and soon disappeared on the required route. Some twenty or thirty
minutes succeeded this movement before the Tetons on the opposite shore
seemed inclined to enter on any new enterprise. Mahtoree was distinctly
visible, in the midst of his warriors, issuing his mandates and
betraying his desire for vengeance, by occasionally shaking an arm in
the direction of the fugitives; but no step was taken, which appeared to
threaten any further act of immediate hostility. At length a yell arose
among the savages, which announced the occurrence of some fresh event.
Then Ishmael and his sluggish sons were seen in the distance, and soon
the whole of the united force moved down to the very limits of the
stream. The squatter proceeded to examine the position of his enemies,
with his usual coolness, and, as if to try the power of his rifle, he
sent a bullet among them, with a force sufficient to do execution, even
at the distance at which he stood.

"Now let us depart!" exclaimed Obed, endeavouring to catch a furtive
glimpse of the lead, which he fancied was whizzing at his very ear; "we
have maintained the bank in a gallant manner, for a sufficient length of
time; quite as much military skill is to be displayed in a retreat, as
in an advance."

The old man cast a look behind him, and seeing that the equestrians had
reached the cover of the hill, he made no objections to the proposal.
The remaining horse was given to the Doctor, with instructions to pursue
the course just taken by Middleton and Paul. When the naturalist was
mounted and in full retreat, the trapper and the young Pawnee stole from
the spot in such a manner as to leave their enemies some time in doubt
as to their movements. Instead, however, of proceeding across the plain
towards the hill, a route on which they must have been in open view,
they took a shorter path, covered by the formation of the ground, and
intersected the little water-course at the point where Middleton had
been directed to leave it, and just in season to join his party. The
Doctor had used so much diligence in the retreat, as to have already
overtaken his friends, and of course all the fugitives were again
assembled.

The trapper now looked about him for some convenient spot, where the
whole party might halt, as he expressed it, for some five or six hours.

"Halt!" exclaimed the Doctor, when the alarming proposal reached his
ears; "venerable hunter, it would seem, that on the contrary, many days
should be passed in industrious flight."

Middleton and Paul were both of this opinion, and each in his particular
manner expressed as much.

The old man heard them with patience, but shook his head like one who
was unconvinced, and then answered all their arguments, in one general
and positive reply.

"Why should we fly?" he asked. "Can the legs of mortal men outstrip the
speed of horses? Do you think the Tetons will lie down and sleep; or
will they cross the water and nose for our trail? Thanks be to the Lord,
we have washed it well in this stream, and if we leave the place with
discretion and wisdom, we may yet throw them off its track. But a
prairie is not a wood. There a man may journey long, caring for nothing
but the prints his moccasin leaves, whereas in these open plains a
runner, placed on yonder hill, for instance, could see far on every side
of him, like a hovering hawk looking down on his prey. No, no; night
must come, and darkness be upon us, afore we leave this spot. But listen
to the words of the Pawnee; he is a lad of spirit, and I warrant me many
is the hard race that he has run with the Sioux bands. Does my brother
think our trail is long enough?" he demanded in the Indian tongue.

"Is a Teton a fish, that he can see it in the river?"

"But my young men think we should stretch it, until it reaches across
the prairie."

"Mahtoree has eyes; he will see it."

"What does my brother counsel?"

The young warrior studied the heavens a moment, and appeared to
hesitate. He mused some time with himself, and then he replied, like one
whose opinion was fixed—

"The Dahcotahs are not asleep," he said; "we must lie in the grass."

"Ah! the lad is of my mind," said the old man, briefly explaining the
opinion of his companion to his white friends. Middleton was obliged
to acquiesce, and, as it was confessedly dangerous to remain upon their
feet, each one set about assisting in the means to be adopted for their
security. Inez and Ellen were quickly bestowed beneath the warm and
not uncomfortable shelter of the buffaloe skins, which formed a thick
covering, and tall grass was drawn over the place, in such a manner as
to evade any examination from a common eye. Paul and the Pawnee fettered
the beasts and cast them to the earth, where, after supplying them with
food, they were also left concealed in the fog of the prairie. No time
was lost when these several arrangements were completed, before each of
the others sought a place of rest and concealment, and then the plain
appeared again deserted to its solitude.

The old man had advised his companions of the absolute necessity of
their continuing for hours in this concealment. All their hopes of
escape depended on the success of the artifice. If they might elude the
cunning of their pursuers, by this simple and therefore less suspected
expedient, they could renew their flight as the evening approached, and,
by changing their course, the chance of final success would be greatly
increased. Influenced by these momentous considerations the whole party
lay, musing on their situation, until thoughts grew weary, and sleep
finally settled on them all, one after another.

The deepest silence had prevailed for hours, when the quick ears of the
trapper and the Pawnee were startled by a faint cry of surprise from
Inez. Springing to their feet, like men, who were about to struggle for
their lives, they found the vast plain, the rolling swells, the little
hillock, and the scattered thickets, covered alike in one, white,
dazzling sheet of snow.

"The Lord have mercy on ye all!" exclaimed the old man, regarding the
prospect with a rueful eye; "now, Pawnee, do I know the reason why you
studied the clouds so closely; but it is too late; it is too late! A
squirrel would leave his trail on this light coating of the 'arth. Ha!
there come the imps to a certainty. Down with ye all, down with ye; your
chance is but small, and yet it must not be wilfully cast away."

The whole party was instantly concealed again, though many an anxious
and stolen glance was directed through the tops of the grass, on the
movements of their enemies. At the distance of half a mile, the Teton
band was seen riding in a circuit, which was gradually contracting
itself, and evidently closing upon the very spot where the fugitives
lay. There was but little difficulty in solving the mystery of this
movement. The snow had fallen in time to assure them that those
they sought were in their rear, and they were now employed, with the
unwearied perseverance and patience of Indian warriors, in circling the
certain boundaries of their place of concealment.

Each minute added to the jeopardy of the fugitives. Paul and Middleton
deliberately prepared their rifles, and as the occupied Mahtoree came,
at length, within fifty feet of them, keeping his eyes riveted on the
grass through which he rode, they levelled them together and pulled the
triggers. The effort was answered by the mere snapping of the locks.

"Enough," said the old man, rising with dignity; "I have cast away the
priming; for certain death would follow your rashness. Now let us meet
our fates like men. Cringing and complaining find no favour in Indian
eyes."

His appearance was greeted by a yell, that spread far and wide over the
plain, and in a moment a hundred savages were seen riding madly to the
spot. Mahtoree received his prisoners with great self-restraint, though
a single gleam of fierce joy broke through his clouded brow, and the
heart of Middleton grew cold as he caught the expression of that eye,
which the chief turned on the nearly insensible but still lovely Inez.

The exultation of receiving the white captives was so great, as for
a time to throw the dark and immovable form of their young Indian
companion entirely out of view. He stood apart, disdaining to turn an
eye on his enemies, as motionless as if he were frozen in that attitude
of dignity and composure. But when a little time had passed, even this
secondary object attracted the attention of the Tetons. Then it was that
the trapper first learned, by the shout of triumph and the long drawn
yell of delight, which burst at once from a hundred throats, as well as
by the terrible name, which filled the air, that his youthful friend
was no other than that redoubtable and hitherto invincible warrior,
Hard-Heart.

What, are ancient Pistol and you friends, yet?
—Shakespeare.

The curtain of our imperfect drama must fall, to rise upon another
scene. The time is advanced several days, during which very material
changes had occurred in the situation of the actors. The hour is noon,
and the place an elevated plain, that rose, at no great distance from
the water, somewhat abruptly from a fertile bottom, which stretched
along the margin of one of the numberless water-courses of that region.
The river took its rise near the base of the Rocky Mountains, and,
after washing a vast extent of plain, it mingled its waters with a
still larger stream, to become finally lost in the turbid current of the
Missouri.

The landscape was changed materially for the better; though the hand,
which had impressed so much of the desert on the surrounding region, had
laid a portion of its power on this spot. The appearance of vegetation
was, however, less discouraging than in the more sterile wastes of the
rolling prairies. Clusters of trees were scattered in greater profusion,
and a long outline of ragged forest marked the northern boundary of the
view. Here and there, on the bottom, were to be seen the evidences of a
hasty and imperfect culture of such indigenous vegetables as were of a
quick growth, and which were known to flourish, without the aid of art,
in deep and alluvial soils. On the very edge of what might be called
the table-land, were pitched the hundred lodges of a horde of wandering
Siouxes. Their light tenements were arranged without the least attention
to order. Proximity to the water seemed to be the only consideration
which had been consulted in their disposition, nor had even this
important convenience been always regarded. While most of the lodges
stood along the brow of the plain, many were to be seen at greater
distances, occupying such places as had first pleased the capricious
eyes of their untutored owners. The encampment was not military, nor
in the slightest degree protected from surprise by its position or
defences. It was open on every side, and on every side as accessible
as any other point in those wastes, if the imperfect and natural
obstruction offered by the river be excepted. In short, the place bore
the appearance of having been tenanted longer than its occupants had
originally intended, while it was not wanting in the signs of readiness
for a hasty, or even a compelled departure.

This was the temporary encampment of that portion of his people, who
had long been hunting under the direction of Mahtoree, on those grounds
which separated the stationary abodes of his nation, from those of the
warlike tribes of the Pawnees. The lodges were tents of skin, high,
conical, and of the most simple and primitive construction. The shield,
the quiver, the lance and the bow of its master, were to be seen
suspended from a light post before the opening, or door, of each
habitation. The different domestic implements of his one, two, or three
wives, as the brave was of greater or lesser renown, were carelessly
thrown at its side, and here and there the round, full, patient
countenance of an infant might be found peeping from its comfortless
wrappers of bark, as, suspended by a deer-skin thong from the same post,
it rocked in the passing air. Children of a larger growth were tumbling
over each other in piles, the males, even at that early age, making
themselves distinguished for that species of domination which, in after
life, was to mark the vast distinction between the sexes. Youths were in
the bottom, essaying their juvenile powers in curbing the wild steeds
of their fathers, while here and there a truant girl was to be seen,
stealing from her labours to admire their fierce and impatient daring.