WINGENUND DEVISES A PLAN FOR THE LIBERATION OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SEEKS TO OBTAIN BY MEANS EQUALLY UNUSUAL AND EFFECTIVE THE CO–OPERATION OF THE ONE–EYED HORSE–DEALER.—A FURTHER MARCH INTO THE MOUNTAINS.—WINGENUND PAYS A VISIT TO HIS FRIENDS, AND THE LATTER MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH A STRANGE CHARACTER.

It was about a week after the events related in the preceding chapter, that, in a deep romantic glen, apparently locked in by impassable mountains, there sat a hunter busily engaged in changing the flint of his rifle, it having just missed fire, and thereby lost him a fine chance of killing a bighorn, or mountain sheep; his countenance expressed little of the disappointment which would have been felt by a younger man on such an occasion, and its harsh, coarse features would have led any observer to believe that their possessor was habituated to occupations less generous and harmless than those of the chase.

As he fixed a fresh flint into the lock of his rifle, he hummed, or rather grunted, in a low tone, a kind of chaunt, which was a mixture of half a score different tunes, and as many various dialects, but from the careless deliberation with which he went on with his work, it was easy to perceive that his mind was otherwise occupied.

Whatever might have been his reflections, they were suddenly interrupted by a hand laid upon his shoulder, which made him start as if he had been stung by a serpent. Springing to his feet, and instinctively dropping the muzzle of his rifle to the breast of his unexpected visitor, he exclaimed, after a momentary pause, “Does Wingenund come as a friend or an enemy?”

“Neither,” replied the youth, scornfully. “Wingenund has no friendship for a forked tongue; and if he had come as an enemy, Besha would not now have been alive to ask the question; ‘twas as easy to shoot him as to touch his shoulder.”

“For what, then, is he come?” inquired the horse–dealer, who, although somewhat abashed at this reproof, was not disposed to endure the tone of superiority assumed towards him by the young Delaware.

“He is come to speak to Besha, and then to return; this is not a place to throw away words and time.”

“Indeed it is not, for Wingenund knows that his enemies are within hearing of a rifle–shot.”

“There may be other rifles nearer than Besha thinks,” replied the youth, dryly. “Wingenund is not a bird; wherever he goes his friends can follow him.”

The horse–dealer cast an uneasy glance around, and muttered half–aloud, “If Wingenund is not a bird, I know not how be came to this place unseen by the Upsaroka scouts, who are abroad in every quarter?”

To this Wingenund deigned no reply, but entered at once upon the business upon which he had come. As he explained his proposal, the single eye of his auditor seemed to dilate with unfeigned astonishment, and at its conclusion he shook his head, saying, “It cannot be! the mad–spirit has entered my young brother’s head. Besha would do much to serve his friends, but this would hold a knife to the cord of his own life!”

“The knife is there already,” said the youth sternly; “Besha has told lies to Netis and to War–Eagle, and unless he makes good his first words, their knife or bullet shall find him on the mountain or in the wood, or in the midst of the Upsaroka camp.”

For an instant Besha was tempted to rush upon the bold speaker, and trust the issue to his superior strength; but the quiet eye of the young Delaware was fixed upon him with an expression so fearless and resolved, that he involuntarily quailed before it; and as he was endeavouring to frame some further excuse, the youth continued, in a tone of voice less stern, “Let Besha’s ears be open, it is not yet too late; if he chooses to be friends with Netis, Wingenund can tell him some news that will be good for the person whom he loves best.”

“And who may that be?” said the horse–dealer, doubtless surprised at the youth’s pretending to a knowledge of his affections.

“Himself,” was the brief reply.

The horse–dealer’s eye twinkled with a comic expression, and a broad grin sat upon his countenance. “Supposing that my young brother’s words are true, what is the good news that he has to tell?”

“If the white prisoners are given back unhurt to their friends, the lodge of Besha shall be more full of gifts than any lodge on the banks of the great southern river[79]; if not, the mountain wolves shall gnaw his bones before the change of another moon: let him choose for himself.”

“My brother’s words are big,” replied the horse–dealer, striving to overcome the effect produced upon him by the threat of the Delaware youth. “The tongues of women are very brave; if the Washashee tell the truth, not many summers have passed since the LenapÉ were a woman–people.”

The blood of the young chief boiled within him at this insulting allusion to an era in the history of his tribe which has already been explained to the reader, and had he followed his first fierce impulse he would have instantly avenged the affront in the blood of the speaker; but he never lost sight of the object for which he had so long sought an interview with the horse–dealer, wherefore he controlled his rising passion, and replied, “Wingenund comes with this message from those who not many days ago drove the Washashee and the Upsaroka from their strong camp: Besha may judge whether they are women or warriors.”

The horse–dealer felt, if he did not own, the justice of the reproof; he knew also that the greater portion of the coveted goods were in the possession of War–Eagle’s party, and he was willing enough to conciliate them, provided he could ensure a safe retreat from the anger of the Crows, in the event of his intrigue being discovered by them.

Moved by these considerations, he said, in an undecided tone, “My young brother must not forget that the edge of the knife is on the cord of his life; if Besha agrees to his proposal, and the Crows discover him, he will be torn in pieces like a wounded elk among wolves.”

“The life of Wingenund is like the breath of the mountain breeze,” answered the youth; “it is in the hands of the Great Spirit, to move and send it whither he pleases. Let Besha taste this black–water,” he added, drawing from his belt a small bottle; “it is very wonderful.”

The horse–dealer took the phial, which contained a strong, and not very palatable mixture, which had been borrowed by Wingenund from his sister’s chest of medicine; but he declined tasting it, shaking his head in a manner that gave the youth to understand that he suspected something of a hurtful or poisonous nature.

“Let not Besha be afraid,” said the youth scornfully; “the tomahawk and the rifle are the death–weapons of the LenapÉ, they war not with bad waters!” and as he spoke he drank a portion of the dark and distasteful liquid.

It would not have been held, according to Indian custom, an act of unpardonable cowardice in Besha had he any longer hesitated to taste the pledge; and whatever doubts or scruples he might in secret have entertained, he concealed them, and drank off the remaining contents of the phial.

As soon as he had swallowed them, the youth, pointing up to the sky, said, with much solemnity, “Now Wingenund and Besha are before the Great Spirit, and they must beware what they do. This dark–water was given into their hands by the Medicine of the white tent: it is made up by Prairie–bird from a thousand unknown herbs; it is harmless to the good, but it is poison to the forked tongue! Has Besha ever heard of the sickness which makes the skin like a honeycomb; which spares neither woman, warrior, nor child; and in the course of half a moon turns a powerful tribe into a feeble and exhausted band?”

“He has heard of it,” replied the horse–dealer, trembling from head to foot at this allusion to that fell disease[80], which had already begun its fearful ravages among the Indian nations, and has since fulfilled to the very letter the description given of it by the Delaware youth. Its origin and causes were unknown, its cure beyond their skill; it is not therefore to be wondered at if they looked upon it with a mysterious dread.

“Yes,” continued Wingenund, “if truth is on the lips and in the heart of Besha, the medicine–water will be good for him and make him strong. If he thinks of falsehood, and lies spring up in his heart, but he overcomes the bad spirit within, and treads it under his foot, then will the medicine–water give him pain for a short time, but he will recover and be stronger than before; and if his lips and heart continue full of deceit, diseases and sores shall come so thick upon his skin that he shall die among these rocks, the hungry wolf and the turkey–buzzard shall refuse to come near the polluted carcase.”

Such, or nearly such, was the warning threat which the youth held forth in the bold and figurative language of his tribe; and although Besha could not with justice be called a coward, and was superior to many of the superstitions of the Indian nations, still he had heard such well–authenticated accounts of the miraculous power of the Great Medicine of the tent, that the words of Wingenund produced all, and more than all, the effect he had anticipated.

“It shall be done,” said Besha, in a subdued tone; “let Wingenund tell Olitipa that the lips and the heart of her friend will be true, and let him desire her to speak to the Great Spirit, that the medicine–water may not hurt him. Besha will be true; if the Crows discover and kill Wingenund, the hands of Besha shall be clear of his blood.”

“Let the words of Wingenund remain in Besha’s ears; let his tongue and his path be straight, and the hearts and hands of the LenapÉ will be open to him. At two hours after nightfall[81] Wingenund will be here again.”

So saying, the youth turned; and, darting through some low bushes, clambered up the steep and rocky bed of a mountain–torrent with the activity of a mountain–cat.

Besha followed with his eyes the light form of the young Delaware, until it disappeared behind a tall cliff that projected so far across the narrow gorge as completely to hide its existence from the observation of any one traversing the valley, while its rugged and precipitous front might have deterred the boldest hunter from attempting the passage. The horse–dealer then shouldered his rifle, and returned slowly to the Crow camp, distant about a mile, revolving as he went along various schemes for ensuring the gratitude of the Delawares, without forfeiting the friendship of those with whom he was now allied.

Wingenund had rightly estimated the probable nature and quality of his reflections, and sundry sharp twitches which he felt in his stomach served to remind him of the dangerous liquid which it contained. Warned by these sensations, he made up his mind to obey the Great Medicine of the tent, and for the present, at least, to be faithful to the promise made to Wingenund.

The Delaware youth pursued his way up the rough and craggy gorge until he reached a cave that he had noticed on his descent as likely to afford shelter and a secure retreat. Here he stopped; and ensconcing himself in a dark recess, whence he could, without being himself discovered, see any one passing before the aperture, he threw himself on the ground, and drawing from his belt a few slices of dried bison–meat, he made his frugal meal, and quenched his thirst from a streamlet that trickled down the face of the rock behind him. While resting himself, he indulged in hopes and reveries suited to his enthusiastic nature; he was now engaged in an enterprise such as he had often heard recorded in the songs of the LenapÉ warriors; he was about to trust himself alone in the midst of a hostile camp, and to risk his life for the liberation of his early benefactor and the friend of his adopted brother; he felt the spirit of his fathers stir within his breast.

“If I escape,” said he to himself, “they shall escape with me; and if I die, I will not die alone, and the name of Wingenund shall not be forgotten among the warriors of his tribe.”

In these and similar meditations he beguiled the hours until darkness overspread the earth, and the time of the appointed rendezvous drew nigh; then, once more emerging from the cave, he picked his way cautiously among the rocks, and at length found himself at the spot where he had parted from Besha. Having purposely concealed his rifle in the cave, he was now armed only with a knife and a small pistol, which he carried in his belt.

The night was cold and boisterous; dark clouds hung around the mountain–peaks, and chased each other in rapid succession over the disc of the moon, while a fitful gust of wind swept down the rocky glens, whistling as they passed among the branches of the scathed pines which were thinly scattered in that wild and desolate region.

He had not waited long when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and straining his keen sight to its utmost power, he recognised Besha, who came not alone, but accompanied by another man.

Although this was an addition to the company that he did not expect, the youth came fearlessly forward, his quick apprehension suggesting to him that if treachery had been intended the horse–dealer’s companion would have been concealed. After exchanging a sign of recognition, Wingenund led the way to a deep recess which he had noted in a rock at no great distance, where they collected and kindled a few sticks of withered juniper and sage, which supplied them with warmth and light without rendering the place of their colloquy visible from the valley below.

By the light of the fire Wingenund observed with surprise that the horse–dealer’s companion, a lad of nearly his own size and stature, had only one eye, the cavity of the other being covered with a patch of cloth; his complexion was of a hue so swarthy, that it evidently contained an admixture of the negro race: and his hair, though not woolly, was coarse, long, and matted, differing entirely in its texture from that of the tribes of purely Indian blood. He was wrapped in a tattered blanket, and stood apart like one conscious of his inferiority of station. To account for his appearance without entering at length into the explanations given by the horse–dealer to Wingenund, it will be sufficient to state that the latter had proposed to enter the Crow camp in a female dress, and to find an opportunity, as an inmate of his lodge, for communicating with Paul MÜller and Ethelston.

As soon as Besha once made up his mind to forward the scheme, he resolved to do so with as little risk of discovery as possible. Happening to have in his lodge a slave, a captive taken in a horse stealing skirmish among the Comanches, who was nearly the same age as Wingenund, he thought that the youth might personate him more easily than he could imitate the gait and appearance of a woman.

Many were the jokes among the Crows about the one–eyed Besha, and his one–eyed slave. The latter had lost his eye by the point of an arrow, in the same skirmish which threw him into Besha’s power, and being a cunning and dexterous lad, he soon grew into favour with his new master, who frequently employed him as a spy, and found him extremely useful in stealing, marking, and disguising horses for him.

Wingenund saw at once the drift of Besha’s project, and they lost no time in carrying it into effect. The exchange of dress was made in a few seconds, and the horse–dealer then drew from his pouch a small bladder, containing ointment, with which he stained the youth’s hands and face, fastening at the same time a patch over his left eye. Wingenund then desired Besha to walk up and down, and speak with the lad, that he might carefully note his movements, and the intonation of his voice. This observation he continued for some time, until he thought himself tolerably perfect in his lesson. There remained, however, one point on which he still felt himself very insecure against detection. On his explaining this to Besha, the latter grinned, and drawing from under his vest a head–dress of false hair, ragged and matted as that of his slave, he placed it on the head of Wingenund. The youth felt his disguise was now complete; and retaining his own knife and small pistol in his belt, threw the tattered blanket over his shoulder, and prepared to accompany Besha to his lodge.

The latter having instructed the slave to keep himself concealed among the rocks for a few days, and having provided him with a small bag of provisions, returned slowly towards the Crow camp, giving to his young companion by the way such hints as he deemed necessary for his safety. Fortunately for Wingenund, the lad whom he personated was known by the Crows to be ignorant of their language, so there was no great risk of his being betrayed by his speech.

As they picked their way slowly along the base of the rugged hills which frowned over the valley, they came to a spot where a few stunted pines threw a darker shadow across their path. To one of these was attached a horse, which Wingenund unfastened by desire of Besha, and led it after him by the halter.

As they reached the outposts of the camp, Besha was addressed by several of the sentries, to whom he explained his night expedition, by informing them that he had been with his slave to recover a horse that had strayed. They were perfectly satisfied with this explanation, it being of very frequent occurrence that both master and man returned by day and by night with horses that they had “recovered;” the latter word being in the Crow dialect almost, if not quite, synonymous with “stolen.”

The lodge of Besha was pitched next to that of White–bull, in which Ethelston and Paul MÜller were confined. His entrance caused no disturbance amongst its slumbering inmates; and Wingenund, fore–armed with the requisite local information, tied up the horse beside its fellow; and nestling himself into his allotted corner, laid himself down to rest as composedly as if he had been in his usual quarters in the outer division of his sister’s tent.

While Wingenund was thus carrying his project into effect his friends fulfilled the intention they had formed of marching further into the mountains.

“Dear Prairie–bird!” said Reginald, as they walked together in front of her tent, “I fear you must be much fatigued by this last march. I never could have believed that a horse, bearing a female rider, could have crossed that rocky pass by which we entered this valley.”

“The horse deserves more praise than the rider, Reginald; and Nekimi seemed quite aware that his master attached a higher price to his burthen than it was worth, for he put his feet so safely and gently down, that I need not have feared his slipping, even had he not been led by one yet more gentle and careful than himself.”

“It was, however, a severe trial, Prairie–bird,” replied her lover; “for you remember that Lita’s mule stumbled, and nearly fell with her over that fearful precipice! but Nekimi is unmatched for speed and sureness of foot, and is of so generous and affectionate a nature that I love him more than I ever thought I could have loved a quadruped. When we return to Mooshanne, he shall be repaid for all his faithful service; warm shall be his stable, soft his litter, and his beloved mistress shall sometimes give him corn with her own fair hand, in remembrance of these days of hardships!”

At the mention of his home, the cheek of Prairie–bird coloured with an emotion which that subject never failed to excite. Reginald observed it, and said to her, in a half–jesting tone, “Confess now, dearest, have you not a longing desire to see that home of which I have so often spoken to you?”

“It appears to me so like a dream, that I scarcely dare let my thoughts dwell upon it! But your sister, of whom Wingenund told me so much, I hope she will love me?”

Reginald bent his dark eyes upon her countenance with an expression that said, as plainly as words could speak it, “How could any one see thee, and fail to love thee?” Then turning the conversation to Wingenund, he replied, “Two days have now elapsed since your young brother went upon his dangerous expedition; I begin to feel most anxious for his safety.”

“With grief I saw him go; for even if he succeeds in seeing and speaking with the Black Father, I cannot tell what advantage will come from it.”

“They may perhaps devise some scheme for escape, and will at all events be comforted by the assurance that their friends are near and watchful. Three several times on the march hither had we made our plans for attacking the camp, and rescuing them, but the hateful MahÉga was always on his guard, and had posted himself in such a manner that we could not approach without incurring severe loss. War–Eagle has himself owned that the Osage has conducted this retreat with wonderful skill. What a pity that so great a villain should possess such high qualities!”

“If he were not in the camp of the Crows,” said Prairie–bird, “my beloved father and your friend would have been set free long ago; cruelty and revenge are his pleasures, and his hand is ever ready to shed blood.”

“He will doubtless do all in his power to prevent their liberation; and if his malignant eye should detect the presence of Wingenund, he would represent the brave youth as a spy, and urge the Crows to destroy him.”

“I trust much to Wingenund’s skill, but more, oh! how much more to the protection of Him, at whose word the strongest bars and bolts are broken, and the fetters of iron fall from the limbs of the captive!”

“What a strength and support must it be to you, dearest Prairie–bird, thus habitually to look up to Heaven amid all the trials and troubles of earth!”

“How would it be possible to do otherwise?” she replied, looking up in his face with an expression of innocent surprise; “Can any one look upon the flowers of the prairie, the beauty of the swift antelope, the shade of the valleys, the hills and snow–clad mountains, the sun, the moon, and the thousand thousand worlds above, and yet not worship Him who framed them?”

“I grant you, dearest,” he replied, “that no reasonable being could consider those things without experiencing the emotions that you describe, yet many, very many, will not consider them; still fewer are there who refer the thoughts, actions, and events of daily life to an ever–present, over–ruling Providence.”

“Surely they can never have read this book,” she said, pointing to the volume which was her constant companion; “or they must feel ever grateful for past mercies, present benefits, and the blessed promises of the future revealed in it!”

For a moment Reginald cast his eyes upon the ground, conscience reminding him of many occasions on which he had been led by temptation and carelessness to wander from those ordinances and precepts of religion which he respected and approved; at length he replied, “True, my beloved, but the human heart is a treacherous guide, and often betrays into errors which reason and revelation would alike condemn.”

“It may be so among the cities and crowded haunts of men, of which I know nothing beyond what I have read and what the Black Father has taught me; yet I cannot understand how a loving heart can be, in such cases, a treacherous guide. Is it not sweet to serve one whom we love on earth, to think of him, to bless him, to follow where he points the way, to afford him pleasure, to fulfil his wishes, even before they are expressed? If such feelings be sweet and natural towards one frail and imperfect as ourselves, why should the heart refuse to entertain them towards the one perfect Being, our ever–present Benefactor, the Fountain of Love?”

Again Reginald was silent; the impassioned eloquence of her eyes told him how her heart overflowed with feelings but faintly shadowed in her simple language; and he desired rather to share than to shake her creed. Why should he tell her, that in spite of all the incentives of hope and gratitude, in spite of all the arguments of reason and the truths of revelation, the great majority of the so–called Christian world pursued their daily course of business or amusement as if the present were the substance of life, and eternity a dream? Reginald felt his own heart softened, purified, and exalted by communion with the gentle being at his side; the cares and troubles of life might perhaps disturb at some future time the current of her lot, but her faith was built upon a Rock that would not be shaken, and his spirit, already sympathising with hers, experienced a new and delightful sensation of happiness.

He might have indulged longer in this blissful reverie, had not his ear caught the sound of an approaching footstep: he turned quickly, and recognising the light form of Wingenund, exclaimed, “See, Prairie–bird, our dear young brother safely returned! May all your other hopeful anticipations be as happily realised! Speak, Wingenund; let us hear how you have sped in your difficult and dangerous mission?”

Instead of giving the youth’s narrative in his own words, we will resume the thread of his story where we left it, being thus enabled to relate various particulars which his modesty induced him to omit.

At the first dawn of day he looked round the horse–dealer’s lodge, and made a survey of its inmates. In the centre lay Besha himself, and by his side a squaw from one of the southern tribes, who had been the companion of his rambles and expeditions for many years. Beyond them there slept, or seemed to sleep, a youth, whose appearance indicated that he also belonged to a southern clime, and that some Mexican blood ran in his veins; his features were finely formed, his complexion darker than that of a northern Indian, and a short moustachio began to shade his upper lip; his eye was small, but piercing, and black as jet, and scarcely was the light sufficient to render distinguishable the objects in the lodge ere his quick gaze fell upon Wingenund, with an expression that convinced the latter that the plot had been confided to him. These were the only inmates of the lodge, which was filled with various indications of its owner’s success in trade, packages and bales being piled therein to a considerable height.

Agreeably to the plan preconcerted by Besha, his wife invited Bending–willow to come to her in the course of the morning; and, on her arrival, set before her some cakes of maize, sweetened with sugar,—a luxury equally new and agreeable to the Upsaroka bride. Further civilities beyond those interchangeable by signs were precluded between them, by the circumstance of their being each entirely ignorant of the other’s language; but the offering of a string of blue beads after the cakes completed the triumph of the hostess in the good graces of her guest.

Besha did not lose this favourable opportunity for calling the attention of the latter to the subject of the prisoners, in whose behalf he expressed a hope that she would use her best exertions.

Bending–willow smiled, and said that she was a woman, and had no power in the council of the tribe.

The crafty horse–dealer saw at a glance how the assertion was belied by the smile, and replied,—

“When White–bull speaks, the braves listen: when Bending–willow speaks, does not White–bull listen too?”

The Upsaroka beauty looked down and counted the beads upon her new bracelet, with an expression of countenance which encouraged Besha to proceed. “These white men are of no use in the Upsaroka camp; they eat and drink, and kill no game. If they are sent back to their own people, the lodge of White–bull will be full of presents, and the women will say, ‘Look at Bending–willow; she is dressed like the wife of a great chief!’”

By these, and similar arguments, the Crow bride was easily induced to connive at the plot laid for the liberation of the prisoners. Being a good–natured creature, and feeling that the kindness of Prairie–bird to her had been ill requited, she was the more willing to favour the white people, and only held Besha to the promise that, in contriving their escape, no injury should be done to the person or property of any of her tribe.

With the assistance of Bending–willow, Wingenund found several opportunities of conversing with Ethelston and the Black Father; but the camp was so strictly guarded that they could not devise any plan that seemed to promise success, while a failure was sure to bring upon them more rigid confinement, if not a severer and more summary punishment. Wingenund was authorised by Besha to comfort them with the assurance that they had a true friend in White–bull’s bride, and that they were quite safe from the malignant designs of MahÉga. On the other hand, the horse–dealer positively refused, under present circumstances, to incur the risk of aiding their escape while the position of the camp was so unfavourable for it, and the Crow sentries were kept so much on the alert by the immediate vicinity of War–Eagle’s party.

Under these circumstances, the youth had slipped away by night to consult with his friends whether the liberation of the prisoners should be attempted by force, or whether it might not be more advisable to throw the Crows off their guard by discontinuing the pursuit, and leaving it to the ingenuity of Wingenund to devise a plan for their escape.

These two alternatives having been duly discussed in council, it was almost unanimously agreed to adopt the latter; and Wingenund prepared again to return to his perilous post, having received from War–Eagle, Reginald, and Prairie–bird the praises which his skill and enterprise had so well deserved.

He did not forget to take with him a small supply of beads and trinkets, which he concealed in his belt, and which were destined to secure the continued favour of Bending–willow.

As soon as he was gone, War–Eagle proposed that the party should quit their present station in search of one where they might be more likely to fall in with deer and bison, as meat was becoming very scarce in the camp; and a scout, sent out on the preceding day, had returned with a report that he had found, at the distance of half a day’s march, a large and fertile valley, watered by a fine stream, and abounding in materials for fuel. This last consideration was of itself highly important, for the Crows had gathered every dry bush and stick from the barren glen in which they were now encamped; and the utmost exertions of the indefatigable Perrot scarcely enabled him to provide a sufficiency for cooking the necessary provisions; while the coldness of the atmosphere, especially at night, rendered the absence of fire a privation more than ordinarily severe.

The counsel of War–Eagle was therefore adopted without delay, it having been agreed that two of the most experienced men, the one a Delaware, and the other a white hunter, should hover around the Crow camp, and communicate to the main body, from time to time, their movements and proceedings.

Having been supplied with an extra blanket, and a few pounds of dried meat and parched corn, these two hardy fellows saw their comrades depart without the least apparent concern, and soon afterwards withdrew to a sheltered and more elevated spot, whence they could, without being perceived, command a distant view of the Crow camp.

Following the steps of the scouts, War–Eagle led his party to a part of the valley where a huge rent or fissure in the side of the mountain rendered the ascent practicable for the horses. It was, however, a wild and rugged scene, and a fitting entrance to the vast pile of mountains that showed their towering peaks far to the westward.

Prairie–bird was mounted upon Nekimi, and Reginald walked by her side, his hand ever ready to aid and guide him amongst the huge stones, which in some places obstructed the path.

Never had velvet lawn, or flower–embroidered vale, seemed to our hero half so smooth and pleasant as did that rocky pass. At every turn some new feature of grandeur arrested the attention of Prairie–bird, who expressed her admiration in language which was a strange mixture of natural eloquence and poetry, and which sounded to his ears more musical than “Apollo’s lute.”

What struck him as most remarkable was, that, whether in speaking of the magnificent scenery around, or of the more minute objects which fell under her observation, her spirit was so imbued with Scripture, that she constantly clothed her ideas in its phraseology, without being conscious of so doing.

Thus, when in crossing the valley they passed by some anthills, and, in ascending the opposite height, saw here and there a mountain–rabbit nibbling the short moss that overspread the bed of rock, Reginald directed her attention to them, saying, “See, Prairie–bird, even in this desolate wilderness these insect–millions have built them a city, and the rabbit skips and feasts as merrily as in more fertile regions.”

“True, dear Reginald,” she replied, “therefore did the wise man say in days of old, ‘The ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their meat in the summer: the conies are but a feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the rocks.’”

A little further onward, the pass was overhung by an enormous cliff, from the top of which a bighorn looked down upon the party below, the long beard of the mountain–goat streaming in the wind. One of the hunters fired at it, but the harmless bullet glanced from the face of the cliff, while amid the echoes repeated and prolonged by the surrounding heights, the bighorn sprang from rock to rock across the yawning chasms by which they were divided, as lightly as the forest squirrel leaps from a branch of the spreading oak to that of the neighbouring elm.

Reginald watched the animal’s progress, and called the attention of Prairie–bird to the surprising swiftness and activity with which it held on its perilous course.

When at length it disappeared behind the angle of an abrupt precipice, she said, “Does it not call to your mind the description given of the wild–ass of the East, in the Book of Job, ‘Who has sent out the wild–ass free? or who hath loosened the band of the wild–ass? whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwelling? He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing.’ Tell me, Reginald,” continued the maiden, after a momentary pause, “can the creature here described be the same dull patient animal that I have often seen bearing the packs of the Mexican traders?”

“The same, I believe, dearest, in its origin, and its place in natural history, but widely different in its habits and powers, if we may credit the narratives of travellers, whether modern or ancient. I remember reading a most spirited description of this same animal in the account given by the eminent historian[82] of the expedition of the younger Cyrus, who relates that the herds of them found near the banks of the Euphrates surpassed the swiftest horses in speed, and were neither to be tamed nor approached without the greatest difficulty; and in later times they have been described as abounding in the wildest regions of Persia and Tartary, where their flesh is considered one of the greatest delicacies at the table of the hunter, and even at that of the prince. In order to distinguish this animal from its humble and degraded kindred in the West, it has been dignified by the name of the Onager.”

The conversation was here interrupted by a sudden halt in the line of march, and Reginald heard the sound of numerous voices towards the front as of men speaking under surprise and excitement. When he advanced, with Prairie–bird at his side, they made way for him to pass until he reached the front, where he found War–Eagle holding by a leathern thong the most singular–looking creature that he had ever beheld. It bore in some respects the semblance of a human being, but the extreme lowness of its stature, the matted hair by which it was covered, the length of the finger nails, and the smallness of the deep–set eyes, made it almost a matter of doubt whether it did not rather belong to the monkey tribe.

This was, however, soon dispelled by Pierre, who recognised in the diminutive and terrified creature one of the race known to mountain–hunters under the name of Root–diggers. They are the most abject and wretched of all the Indian tribes, living in caves and holes, and supporting their miserable existence upon such animals as they can catch, in toils of the simplest kind, and by grubbing and digging for roots such as no other human being could eat or digest. The one now taken by the Delawares had been engaged in the latter occupation when he first saw them approach, and he fled immediately towards the rocks. Had he been followed by an eye less sure, and a foot less fleet than that of War–Eagle, he might have escaped, for despite his uncouth appearance, he was nimble as a mountain–cat, but the Delaware chief overtook and secured him; and in spite of all the endeavours made to reassure him, the unfortunate Root–digger now looked about him as if he expected every moment to be his last. Beads, trinkets, and shreds of bright–coloured cloth were all held up to him in turn, but were left unnoticed, and his deep twinkling eyes roved incessantly from one to another of the bystanders with an expression of the most intense alarm.

“Are they always thus fearful and intractable?” inquired Reginald of the Canadian hunter.

“Not always,” replied Pierre; “but the Crows and Black–feet, and white men too, generally treat them worse than dogs whenever they find them: that is not often, for they always hide among rocks and stones, and seldom come down so low in the valleys. I never saw one in this region before.”

“Prairie–bird,” said Reginald in a whisper to the maiden, “speak to the poor creature a few words of comfort. Were he shy, suspicious, and wild as a wolf, that voice would subdue and dispel his apprehensions.”

“The sweetness of the voice lies in the hearer’s partial ear,” replied Prairie–bird, blushing deeply; “but I will do your bidding to the best of my power; and if I mistake not the poor creature’s symptoms, I think I can find the means to relieve them.”

So saying, and leaping lightly from her horse, the maiden took from one of the packs a piece of baked maize–cake, and a slice of dried bison–meat. Carrying these in her hand, she approached the Root–digger, and motioning to the bystanders to retire to some distance, she deliberately untied the thong by which he had been fastened, and placing the food before him, made signs that he should eat. At first the uncouth being gazed upon her as if he could or would not understand her meaning; but she spoke to him in the soft Delaware tongue, and eating a morsel of the cake, repeated the signal that he should eat with her. Whether overcome by the gentleness of her manner, or by the cravings of hunger, the savage no longer resisted, but devoured with ravenous haste the food which she had set before him. Prairie–bird smiled at the success of her attempt, which so far encouraged her, that she again offered the several presents which he had before rejected, and which he now accepted, turning them over and over in his hand, and inspecting them with childish curiosity.

Reginald looked on with gratified pride, saying within himself, “I knew that nothing could resist the winning tones of that voice!

‘Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature;’

And where is there music like the voice of Prairie–bird?”