The Prairie (53 page)

Obed turned a rueful eye on the calm, philosophic countenance of the
other, as he answered with so discouraging a statement of his case,
clearing his throat, as he did so, in order to conceal the desperate
concern which began to beset his faculties, with a vestige of that
pride, which rarely deserts poor human nature, even in the greatest
emergencies.

"I believe, venerable hunter," he replied, "considering the question in
all its bearings, and assuming that your theory is just, it will be the
safest to conclude that I am not prepared to make so hasty a departure,
and that measures of precaution should be, forthwith, resorted to."

"Being in that mind," returned the deliberate trapper, "I will act for
you as I would for myself; though as time has begun to roll down the
hill with you, I will just advise that you look to your case speedily,
for it may so happen that your name will be heard, when quite as little
prepared to answer to it as now."

With this amicable understanding, the old man drew back again into the
ring, where he stood musing on the course he should now adopt, with the
singular mixture of decision and resignation that proceeded from his
habits and his humility, and which united to form a character, in
which excessive energy, and the most meek submission to the will of
Providence, were oddly enough combined.

The witch, in Smithfield, shall be burned to ashes, And you three
shall be strangled on the gallows.
—Shakespeare.

The Siouxes had awaited the issue of the foregoing dialogue with
commendable patience. Most of the band were restrained, by the secret
awe with which they regarded the mysterious character of Obed; while a
few of the more intelligent chiefs gladly profited by the opportunity,
to arrange their thoughts for the struggle that was plainly foreseen.
Mahtoree, influenced by neither of these feelings, was content to show
the trapper how much he conceded to his pleasure; and when the old man
discontinued the discourse, he received from the chief a glance, that
was intended to remind him of the patience, with which he had awaited
his movements. A profound and motionless silence succeeded the short
interruption. Then Mahtoree arose, evidently prepared to speak. First
placing himself in an attitude of dignity, he turned a steady and severe
look on the whole assembly. The expression of his eye, however, changed
as it glanced across the different countenances of his supporters and
of his opponents. To the former the look, though stern, was not
threatening, while it seemed to tell the latter all the hazards they
incurred, in daring to brave the resentment of one so powerful.

Still, in the midst of so much hauteur and confidence, the sagacity
and cunning of the Teton did not desert him. When he had thrown the
gauntlet, as it were, to the whole tribe, and sufficiently asserted
his claim to superiority, his mien became more affable and his eye
less angry. Then it was that he raised his voice, in the midst of a
death-like stillness, varying its tones to suit the changing character
of his images, and of his eloquence.

"What is a Sioux?" the chief sagaciously began; "he is ruler of the
prairies, and master of its beasts. The fishes in the 'river of troubled
waters' know him, and come at his call. He is a fox in counsel; an eagle
in sight; a grizzly bear in combat. A Dahcotah is a man!" After waiting
for the low murmur of approbation, which followed this flattering
portrait of his people, to subside, the Teton continued—"What is a
Pawnee? A thief, who only steals from women; a Red-skin, who is not
brave; a hunter, that begs for his venison. In counsel he is a squirrel,
hopping from place to place; he is an owl, that goes on the prairies
at night; in battle he is an elk, whose legs are long. A Pawnee is a
woman." Another pause succeeded, during which a yell of delight broke
from several mouths, and a demand was made, that the taunting words
should be translated to the unconscious subject of their biting
contempt. The old man took his cue from the eyes of Mahtoree, and
complied. Hard-Heart listened gravely, and then, as if apprized that his
time to speak had not arrived, he once more bent his look on the
vacant air. The orator watched his countenance, with an expression that
manifested how inextinguishable was the hatred he felt for the only
chief, far and near, whose fame might advantageously be compared with
his own. Though disappointed in not having touched the pride of one
whom he regarded as a boy, he proceeded, what he considered as far more
important, to quicken the tempers of the men of his own tribe, in order
that they might be prepared to work his savage purposes. "If the earth
was covered with rats, which are good for nothing," he said, "there
would be no room for buffaloes, which give food and clothes to an
Indian. If the prairies were covered with Pawnees, there would be
no room for the foot of a Dahcotah. A Loup is a rat, a Sioux a heavy
buffaloe; let the buffaloes tread upon the rats and make room for
themselves.

"My brothers, a little child has spoken to you. He tells you, his hair
is not grey, but frozen—that the grass will not grow where a Pale-face
has died. Does he know the colour of the blood of a Big-knife? No! I
know he does not; he has never seen it. What Dahcotah, besides Mahtoree,
has ever struck a Pale-face? Not one. But Mahtoree must be silent. Every
Teton will shut his ears when he speaks. The scalps over his lodge were
taken by the women. They were taken by Mahtoree, and he is a woman. His
mouth is shut; he waits for the feasts to sing among the girls!"

Notwithstanding the exclamations of regret and resentment, which
followed so abasing a declaration, the chief took his seat, as if
determined to speak no more. But the murmurs grew louder and more
general, and there were threatening symptoms that the council would
dissolve itself in confusion; and he arose and resumed his speech, by
changing his manner to the fierce and hurried enunciation of a warrior
bent on revenge.

"Let my young men go look for Tetao!" he cried; "they will find his
scalp drying in Pawnee smoke. Where is the son of Bohrecheena? His bones
are whiter than the faces of his murderers. Is Mahhah asleep in his
lodge? You know it is many moons since he started for the blessed
prairies; would he were here, that he might say of what colour was the
hand that took his scalp!"

In this strain the artful chief continued for many minutes, calling
those warriors by name, who were known to have met their deaths in
battle with the Pawnees, or in some of those lawless frays which so
often occurred between the Sioux bands and a class of white men, who
were but little removed from them in the qualities of civilisation. Time
was not given to reflect on the merits, or rather the demerits, of most
of the different individuals to whom he alluded, in consequence of the
rapid manner in which he ran over their names; but so cunningly did he
time his events, and so thrillingly did he make his appeals, aided as
they were by the power of his deep-toned and stirring voice, that each
of them struck an answering chord in the breast of some one of his
auditors.

It was in the midst of one of his highest flights of eloquence, that a
man, so aged as to walk with the greatest difficulty, entered the
very centre of the circle, and took his stand directly in front of the
speaker. An ear of great acuteness might possibly have detected that the
tones of the orator faltered a little, as his flashing look first fell
on this unexpected object, though the change was so trifling, that none,
but such as thoroughly knew the parties, would have suspected it. The
stranger had once been as distinguished for his beauty and proportions,
as had been his eagle eye for its irresistible and terrible glance. But
his skin was now wrinkled, and his features furrowed with so many scars,
as to have obtained for him, half a century before, from the French of
the Canadas, a title which has been borne by so many of the heroes of
France, and which had now been adopted into the language of the wild
horde of whom we are writing, as the one most expressive of the deeds of
their own brave. The murmur of Le Balafre, that ran through the assembly
when he appeared, announced not only his name and the high estimation
of his character, but how extraordinary his visit was considered. As
he neither spoke nor moved, however, the sensation created by his
appearance soon subsided, and then every eye was again turned upon
the speaker, and every ear once more drunk in the intoxication of his
maddening appeals.

It would have been easy to have traced the triumph of Mahtoree, in the
reflecting countenances of his auditors. It was not long before a look
of ferocity and of revenge was to be seen seated on the grim visages of
most of the warriors, and each new and crafty allusion to the policy of
extinguishing their enemies, was followed by fresh and less restrained
bursts of approbation. In the height of this success the Teton closed
his speech, by a rapid appeal to the pride and hardihood of his native
band, and suddenly took his seat.

In the midst of the murmurs of applause, which succeeded so remarkable
an effort of eloquence, a low, feeble and hollow voice was heard rising
on the ear, as if it rolled from the inmost cavities of the human chest,
and gathered strength and energy as it issued into the air. A solemn
stillness followed the sounds, and then the lips of the aged man were
first seen to move.

"The day of Le Balafre is near its end," were the first words that were
distinctly audible. "He is like a buffaloe, on whom the hair will grow
no longer. He will soon be ready to leave his lodge, to go in search of
another, that is far from the villages of the Siouxes; therefore, what
he has to say concerns not him, but those he leaves behind him. His
words are like the fruit on the tree, ripe and fit to be given to
chiefs.

"Many snows have fallen since Le Balafre has been found on the war-path.
His blood has been very hot, but it has had time to cool. The Wahcondah
gives him dreams of war no longer; he sees that it is better to live in
peace.

"My brothers, one foot is turned to the happy hunting-grounds, the other
will soon follow, and then an old chief will be seen looking for the
prints of his father's moccasins, that he may make no mistake, but be
sure to come before the Master of Life, by the same path, as so many
good Indians have already travelled. But who will follow? Le Balafre has
no son. His oldest has ridden too many Pawnee horses; the bones of the
youngest have been gnawed by Konza dogs! Le Balafre has come to look for
a young arm, on which he may lean, and to find a son, that when he is
gone his lodge may not be empty. Tachechana, the skipping fawn of the
Tetons, is too weak, to prop a warrior, who is old. She looks before her
and not backwards. Her mind is in the lodge of her husband."

The enunciation of the veteran warrior had been calm, but distinct, and
decided. His declaration was received in silence; and though several of
the chiefs, who were in the counsels of Mahtoree, turned their eyes on
their leader, none presumed to oppose so aged and so venerated a brave,
in a resolution that was strictly in conformity to the usages of the
nation. The Teton himself was content to await the result with seeming
composure, though the gleams of ferocity, that played about his eye,
occasionally betrayed the nature of those feelings, with which he
witnessed a procedure, that was likely to rob him of that one of all his
intended victims whom he most hated.

In the mean time Le Balafre moved with a slow and painful step towards
the captives. He stopped before the person of Hard-Heart, whose
faultless form, unchanging eye, and lofty mien, he contemplated long,
with high and evident satisfaction. Then making a gesture of authority,
he awaited, until his order had been obeyed, and the youth was released
from the post and his bonds, by the same blow of the knife. When the
young warrior was led nearer to his dimmed and failing sight, the
examination was renewed, with strictness of scrutiny, and that
admiration, which physical excellence is so apt to excite in the breast
of a savage.

"It is good," the wary veteran murmured, when he found that all his
skill in the requisites of a brave could detect no blemish; "this is a
leaping panther! Does my son speak with the tongue of a Teton?"

The intelligence, which lighted the eyes of the captive, betrayed how
well he understood the question, but still he was far too haughty to
communicate his ideas through the medium of a language that belonged to
a hostile people. Some of the surrounding warriors explained to the old
chief, that the captive was a Pawnee-Loup.

"My son opened his eyes on the 'waters of the wolves,'" said Le Balafre,
in the language of that nation, "but he will shut them in the bend of
the 'river with a troubled stream.' He was born a Pawnee, but he will
die a Dahcotah. Look at me. I am a sycamore, that once covered many with
my shadow. The leaves are fallen, and the branches begin to drop. But
a single sucker is springing from my roots; it is a little vine, and it
winds itself about a tree that is green. I have long looked for one
fit to grow by my side. Now have I found him. Le Balafre is no longer
without a son; his name will not be forgotten when he is gone! Men of
the Tetons, I take this youth into my lodge."

No one was bold enough to dispute a right, that had so often been
exercised by warriors far inferior to the present speaker, and the
adoption was listened to, in grave and respectful silence. Le Balafre
took his intended son by the arm, and leading him into the very centre
of the circle, he stepped aside with an air of triumph, in order
that the spectators might approve of his choice. Mahtoree betrayed no
evidence of his intentions, but rather seemed to await a moment better
suited to the crafty policy of his character. The more experienced
and sagacious chiefs distinctly foresaw the utter impossibility of two
partisans so renowned, so hostile, and who had so long been rivals in
fame, as their prisoner and their native leader, existing amicably in
the same tribe. Still the character of Le Balafre was so imposing, and
the custom to which he had resorted so sacred, that none dared to lift
a voice in opposition to the measure. They watched the result with
increasing interest, but with a coldness of demeanour that concealed the
nature of their inquietude. From this state of embarrassment, and as it
might readily have proved of disorganisation, the tribe was unexpectedly
relieved by the decision of the one most interested in the success of
the aged chief's designs.