The Prairie (51 page)

"Look you here, old grey-beard," said Ishmael, seizing the trapper, and
whirling him round as if he had been a top; "that I am tired of carrying
on a discourse with fingers and thumbs, instead of a tongue, ar' a
natural fact; so you'll play linguister and put my words into Indian,
without much caring whether they suit the stomach of a Red-skin or not."

"Say on, friend," calmly returned the trapper; "they shall be given as
plainly as you send them."

"Friend!" repeated the squatter, eyeing the other for an instant, with
an expression of indefinable meaning. "But it is no more than a word,
and sounds break no bones, and survey no farms. Tell this thieving
Sioux, then, that I come to claim the conditions of our solemn bargain,
made at the foot of the rock."

When the trapper had rendered his meaning into the Sioux language,
Mahtoree demanded, with an air of surprise—

"Is my brother cold? buffaloe skins are plenty. Is he hungry? Let my
young men carry venison into his lodges."

The squatter elevated his clenched fist in a menacing manner, and struck
it with violence on the palm of his open hand, by way of confirming his
determination, as he answered—

"Tell the deceitful liar, I have not come like a beggar to pick his
bones, but like a freeman asking for his own; and have it I will. And,
moreover, tell him I claim that you, too, miserable sinner as you ar',
should be given up to justice. There's no mistake. My prisoner, my
niece, and you. I demand the three at his hands, according to a sworn
agreement."

The immovable old man smiled, with an expression of singular
intelligence, as he answered—

"Friend squatter, you ask what few men would be willing to grant. You
would first cut the tongue from mouth of the Teton, and then the heart
from his bosom."

"It is little that Ishmael Bush regards, who or what is damaged in
claiming his own. But put you the questions in straight-going Indian,
and when you speak of yourself, make such a sign as a white man will
understand, in order that I may know there is no foul play."

The trapper laughed in his silent fashion, and muttered a few words to
himself before he addressed the chief—

"Let the Dahcotah open his ears very wide," he said 'that big words may
have room to enter. His friend the Big-knife comes with an empty hand,
and he says that the Teton must fill it."

"Wagh! Mahtoree is a rich chief. He is master of the prairies."

"He must give the dark-hair."

The brow of the chief contracted in an ominous frown, that threatened
instant destruction to the audacious squatter; but as suddenly
recollecting his policy, he craftily replied—

"A girl is too light for the hand of such a brave. I will fill it with
buffaloes."

"He says he has need of the light-hair, too; who has his blood in her
veins."

"She shall be the wife of Mahtoree; then the Long-knife will be the
father of a chief."

"And me," continued the trapper, making one of those expressive signs,
by which the natives communicate, with nearly the same facility as with
their tongues, and turning to the squatter at the same time, in order
that the latter might see he dealt fairly by him; "he asks for a
miserable and worn-out trapper."

The Dahcotah threw his arm over the shoulder of the old man, with an air
of great affection, before he replied to this third and last demand.

"My friend is old," he said, "and cannot travel far. He will stay with
the Tetons, that they may learn wisdom from his words. What Sioux has a
tongue like my father? No; let his words be very soft, but let them be
very clear. Mahtoree will give skins and buffaloes. He will give the
young men of the Pale-faces wives, but he cannot give away any who live
in his own lodge."

Perfectly satisfied, himself, with this laconic reply, the chief was
moving towards his expecting counsellors, when suddenly returning, he
interrupted the translation of the trapper by adding—

"Tell the Great Buffaloe" (a name by which the Tetons had already
christened Ishmael), "that Mahtoree has a hand which is always open.
See," he added, pointing to the hard and wrinkled visage of the
attentive Esther, "his wife is too old, for so great a chief. Let him
put her out of his lodge. Mahtoree loves him as a brother. He is his
brother. He shall have the youngest wife of the Teton. Tachechana, the
pride of the Sioux girls, shall cook his venison, and many braves will
look at him with longing minds. Go, a Dahcotah is generous."

The singular coolness, with which the Teton concluded this audacious
proposal, confounded even the practised trapper. He stared after the
retiring form of the Indian, with an astonishment he did not care to
conceal, nor did he renew his attempt at interpretation until the
person of Mahtoree was blended with the cluster of warriors, who had so
long, and with so characteristic patience, awaited his return.

"The Teton chief has spoken very plainly," the old man continued; "he
will not give you the lady, to whom the Lord in heaven knows you have no
claim, unless it be such as the wolf has to the lamb. He will not give
you the child, you call your niece; and therein I acknowledge that I
am far from certain he has the same justice on his side. Moreover,
neighbour squatter, he flatly denies your demand for me, miserable and
worthless as I am; nor do I think he has been unwise in so doing, seeing
that I should have many reasons against journeying far in your company.
But he makes you an offer, which it is right and convenient you should
know. The Teton says through me, who am no more than a mouthpiece, and
therein not answerable for the sin of his words, but he says, as this
good woman is getting past the comely age, it is reasonable for you
to tire of such a wife. He therefore tells you to turn her out of your
lodge, and when it is empty, he will send his own favourite, or rather
she that was his favourite, the 'Skipping Fawn,' as the Siouxes call
her, to fill her place. You see, neighbour, though the Red-skin is
minded to keep your property, he is willing to give you wherewithal to
make yourself some return!"

Ishmael listened to these replies, to his several demands, with that
species of gathering indignation, with which the dullest tempers mount
into the most violent paroxysms of rage. He even affected to laugh at
the conceit of exchanging his long-tried partner for the more flexible
support of the youthful Tachechana, though his voice was hollow and
unnatural in the effort. But Esther was far from giving the proposal so
facetious a reception. Lifting her voice to its most audible key, she
broke forth, after catching her breath like one who had been in some
imminent danger of strangulation, as follows—

"Hoity-toity; who set an Indian up for a maker and breaker of the rights
of wedded wives! Does he think a woman is a beast of the prairie, that
she is to be chased from a village, by dog and gun. Let the bravest
squaw of them all come forth and boast of her doings; can she show such
a brood as mine? A wicked tyrant is that thieving Red-skin, and a bold
rogue I warrant me. He would be captain in-doors, as well as out!
An honest woman is no better in his eyes than one of your broomstick
jumpers. And you, Ishmael Bush, the father of seven sons and so many
comely daughters, to open your sinful mouth, except to curse him! Would
ye disgrace colour, and family, and nation, by mixing white blood with
red, and would ye be the parent of a race of mules! The devil has often
tempted you, my man, but never before has he set so cunning a snare as
this. Go back among your children, friend; go, and remember that you are
not a prowling bear, but a Christian man, and thank God that you ar' a
lawful husband!"

The clamour of Esther was anticipated by the judicious trapper. He had
easily foreseen that her meek temper would overflow at so scandalous a
proposal as repudiation, and he now profited by the tempest, to retire
to a place where he was at least safe from any immediate violence on the
part of her less excited, but certainly more dangerous husband. Ishmael,
who had made his demands with a stout determination to enforce them, was
diverted by the windy torrent, like many a more obstinate husband, from
his purpose, and in order to appease a jealousy that resembled the fury
with which the bear defends her cubs, was fain to retire to a distance
from the lodge, that was known to contain the unoffending object of the
sudden uproar.

"Let your copper-coloured minx come forth, and show her tawney beauty
before the face of a woman who has heard more than one church bell, and
seen a power of real quality," cried Esther, flourishing her hand in
triumph, as she drove Ishmael and Abiram before her, like two truant
boys, towards their own encampment. "I warrant me, I warrant me, here is
one who would shortly talk her down! Never think to tarry here, my men;
never think to shut an eye in a camp, through which the devil walks as
openly as if he were a gentleman, and sure of his welcome. Here, you
Abner, Enoch, Jesse, where ar' ye gotten to? Put to, put to; if that
weak-minded, soft-feeling man, your father, eats or drinks again in
this neighbourhood, we shall see him poisoned with the craft of the
Red-skins. Not that I care, I, who comes into my place, when it is once
lawfully empty; but, Ishmael, I never thought that you, who have had one
woman with a white skin, would find pleasure in looking on a brazen—ay,
that she is copper ar' a fact; you can't deny it, and I warrant me,
brazen enough is she too!"

Against this ebullition of wounded female pride, the experienced husband
made no other head, than by an occasional exclamation, which he intended
to be precursor of a simple asseveration of his own innocence. The fury
of the woman would not be appeased. She listened to nothing but her own
voice, and consequently nothing was heard but her mandates to depart.

The squatter had collected his beasts and loaded his wagons, as
a measure of precaution, before proceeding to the extremity he
contemplated. Esther consequently found every thing favourable to
her wishes. The young men stared at each other, as they witnessed the
extraordinary excitement of their mother, but took little interest in
an event which, in the course of their experience, had found so many
parallels. By command of their father, the tents were thrown into the
vehicles, as a sort of reprisal for the want of faith in their late
ally, and then the train left the spot, in its usual listless and
sluggish order.

As a formidable division of well-armed borderers protected the rear of
the retiring party, the Siouxes saw it depart without manifesting the
smallest evidence of surprise or resentment. The savage, like the tiger,
rarely makes his attack on an enemy who expects him; and if the warriors
of the Tetons meditated any hostility, it was in the still and patient
manner with which the feline beasts watch for the incautious moment, in
order to ensure the blow. The counsels of Mahtoree, however, on whom so
much of the policy of his people depended, lay deep in the depository of
his own thoughts. Perhaps he rejoiced at so easy a manner of getting rid
of claims so troublesome; perhaps he awaited a fitting time to exhibit
his power; or it even might be, that matters of so much greater
importance were pressing on his mind, that it had not leisure to devote
any of its faculties to an event of so much indifference.

But it would seem that while Ishmael made such a concession to the
awakened feelings of Esther, he was far from abandoning his original
intentions. His train followed the course of the river for a mile, and
then it came to a halt on the brow of the elevated land, and in a place
which afforded the necessary facilities. Here he again pitched his
tents, unharnessed his teams, sent his cattle on the bottom, and, in
short, made all the customary preparations to pass the night, with the
same coolness and deliberation as if he had not hurled an irritating
defiance into the teeth of his dangerous neighbours.

In the mean time the Tetons proceeded to the more regular business of
the hour. A fierce and savage joy had existed in the camp, from the
instant when it had been announced that their own chief was returning
with the long-dreaded and hated partisan of their enemies. For many
hours the crones of the tribe had been going from lodge to lodge, in
order to stimulate the tempers of the warriors to such a pass, as might
leave but little room for mercy. To one they spoke of a son, whose scalp
was drying in the smoke of a Pawnee lodge. To another, they enumerated
his own scars, his disgraces, and defeats; with a third, they dwelt on
his losses of skins and horses; and a fourth was reminded of vengeance
by a significant question, concerning some flagrant adventure, in which
he was known to have been a sufferer.

By these means the men had been so far excited as to have assembled, in
the manner already related, though it still remained a matter of doubt
how far they intended to carry their revenge. A variety of opinions
prevailed on the policy of executing their prisoners; and Mahtoree had
suspended the discussions, in order to ascertain how far the measure
might propitiate, or retard, his own particular views. Hitherto the
consultations had merely been preliminary, with a design that each chief
might discover the number of supporters his particular views would be
likely to obtain, when the important subject should come before a more
solemn council of the tribe. The moment for the latter had now arrived,
and the preparations were made with a dignity and solemnity suited to
the momentous interests of the occasion.

With a refinement in cruelty, that none but an Indian would have
imagined, the place, selected for this grave deliberation, was
immediately about the post to which the most important of its subjects
was attached. Middleton and Paul were brought in their bonds, and laid
at the feet of the Pawnee; then the men began to take their places,
according to their several claims to distinction. As warrior after
warrior approached, he seated himself in the wide circle, with a mien as
composed and thoughtful, as if his mind were actually in a condition to
deal out justice, tempered, as it should be, with the heavenly quality
of mercy. A place was reserved for three or four of the principal
chiefs, and a few of the oldest of the women, as withered, as age,
exposure, hardships, and lives of savage passions could make them,
thrust themselves into the foremost circle, with a temerity, to which
they were impelled by their insatiable desire for cruelty, and which
nothing, but their years and their long tried fidelity to the nation,
would have excused.