THE ALARM.

On the fifth night after our departure from the Otoe town, we encamped upon the banks of the Platte river. The night was clear and cool, and the reflected stars sparkled in the neighbouring river.

The prevailing silence was now and then broken by the neigh of our horses, who were pasturing at a short distance; or by the trumpet-toned cry of some wild goose, the leader of a flock, on their way to the north. Far to the south, a faint red light was reflected in the heaven, which one of the hunters attributed to the burning of a prairie, some twenty miles off.

A large fire of heavy logs had been built in front of the tent, and the party had gradually gathered round it. Two or three of our dusky companions mingled with the group—grave, but observing, spectators of the actions of the whites. Half of a large deer was roasting before the fire; and the Black Bear, with a face of vast importance, was busily engaged in concocting our evening’s supply of coffee in a large tin bucket, which swung from a pole, inclined over the fire. The interpreter was called upon for a story, and had just discharged a large roll of tobacco from his mouth to make room for the full play of his tongue. “Ugh!” exclaimed one of the Indians.

“What’s the matter now, Hah-che-kah-sug-hah?”[H] asked the doctor, addressing the Indian by his native name. The Indian glanced his eye towards the speaker as he heard his name uttered; but, after standing for a moment, he walked off a few steps and placed his hand behind his ear in the attitude of one engaged in earnest listening.

“What does he hear, D——?” said the doctor, turning to the Indian agent.

“We will know presently,” returned the other quietly, without evincing more curiosity than the red companion with whom he had so long taken up his residence.

For a moment the Indian stood with his brows knit, his eyes bent to the ground, his head inclining a little forward, his nostrils expanded, and every sense apparently on the qui vive. He remained so for a few seconds; then, throwing himself upon the ground, pressed his ear closely against the sod.

“What do you hear, Hah-che-kah-sug-hah?” asked the agent, in the Otoe tongue.

“There is an Indian on the prairie,” was the answer.

This annunciation, being interpreted, drew forth loud expressions of surprise from the whites: but the Indians were perfectly quiet; they asked no questions and made no remarks. They appeared to have the greatest reliance upon the Indian, whose keen hearing had been first attracted by the sound. They watched him earnestly, but calmly, as he lay upon the ground. After continuing in this position for some time, he slowly rose up, and placed his hand again behind his ear—the very image of the most intense attention. Then taking up a pouch and rifle, belonging to one of the hunters, he stole off until he was lost in the gloom which hung over the prairie.

The contrast between the whites and Indians was now clearly observable. The former immediately commenced a conversation, teeming with suppositions, suggestions, and all that out-pouring of confused ideas, usual when a dozen persons, altogether ignorant of a subject, attempt to throw a little light upon it for the benefit of their neighbours. The Indians, on the contrary, remained perfectly cool; so much so, that one of them quietly turned the attention of the cook to a large piece of meat which he was frying to a cinder, in his eagerness to listen to the comments of the party. They appeared to take the matter with as much quietness as if they had been in the heart of their own town, instead of a large prairie, infested by bands of hostile tribes.

Nearly ten minutes had elapsed, when a loud shrill cry arose in the prairie from two different quarters.

“Ugh! Otoe!” repeated several of the Indians, but without moving.

At that moment another long quavering whoop sounded in the air.

“Hah-che-kah-sug-hah!” ejaculated one of the Otoes.

A few moments elapsed, and two strange Otoes appeared in the camp, followed by the dusky form of our Indian friend.

In a few words they told their story. They had been to the Pawnee village, which was about ten miles off, and had left it that evening. About an hour previous they had been espied by a party of Sioux Indians, who had pursued them. Seeing a light, they fled for it. Their enemies followed; and they believed that, even now, they were lurking in the prairie, at but a short distance from the camp.

In an instant all was uproar. Some ran for their guns; some loaded; others filled their powder-horns; others swore at their comrades, on account of the loss of some article of equipment; but all were busily employed in suggesting to their neighbours what was best to be done in the present emergency, and all followed their own inclinations. “Raise the flag!” at last cried one, “and let them see that there are whites in the party; the fear of their rifles may keep them off.”

This was no sooner proposed than executed. A tall pole, with a striped flag floating from the end of it, was reared in front of the tent, in the full light of the fire.

The old Iotan saw the flag hoisted, and though he did not exactly understand why it was done, still he supposed that there was some meaning in it. So he followed the example of the whites, and erected a pole among a pile of kettles, marking his place of encampment. He then decorated the end with a striped flag, which he had hitherto used as a wrapper on state occasions.

“But, Major,” said one, looking rather wild, and walking up to the Indian Agent, “we are representatives of government—will the Sioux dare to fire on the United States?”

“If the people of the United States were all assembled, I presume they would not,” was the quiet answer. “But you had better get back from the fire. The Otoes have done so already. They know that an Indian can pick a man off easier if he stands in the light of the blaze than if he keeps in the shade. You had better join them in the grass yonder; there is no chance for running, for there’s no place to run to.”

This was satisfactory, and in another moment the questioner had followed the example of the savages.

The confusion lasted for a short time; but at length each man had prepared himself. When this was completed, there was nothing more that could be done. There might be an enemy within a few yards, and they might be at the distance of many miles. The darkness was so great that it was impossible to see more than ten yards beyond the fire. Our foes, on the other hand, if any there were, would be able to catch sight of our forms moving between them and the flame, at twenty times that distance. At length a young Indian rose up, and, moving swiftly past the fire, threw himself on the ground beyond. For a moment he remained stationary, and then, raising his head, commenced worming his way through the long grass, until he was lost in the darkness. He returned after an absence of nearly half an hour. He had made a long circuit round the camp, but had discovered nothing. He had seen no signs of an enemy; and he gave it as his opinion, that they had abandoned the pursuit, and that no other human beings besides ourselves were in the neighbourhood. As he concluded he took his seat at the fire, with the confident air of a person who felt that there was nothing to be apprehended from this exposure. He was soon followed by the rest, and in a short time the camp was as merry and noisy as if nothing had taken place to excite their fears.