THE OSAGES ENCAMP NEAR THE BASE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.—AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR ARRIVES.

After parting with the AricarÁs, MahÉga travelled westward for many days over that barren and desolate region lying between the sources of the Platte and Arkansas rivers, without falling in with any other Indians: his party was guided by a grim and scarred warrior, who had been on several hunting excursions to the Rocky Mountains, in the course of which he had been more than once engaged with the Shiennes, Crows, and other tribes, whose names have of late years become familiar to the general reader, but who were then known only to the few adventurous spirits who had pushed their way into that wild and dangerous country.

Prairie–bird, attended by her faithful Lita, and mounted on her high–mettled and sure–footed pony, was placed near the centre of the line of march, and MahÉga himself always brought up the rear, that being the post usually occupied by an Indian chief on all occasions, excepting when engaged in attack or pursuit of a foe.

The maiden seemed to have resigned herself composedly to her captive condition; and if she still harboured thoughts, or projects of escape, none could detect them in the quiet observant eye with which she noted the new and interesting objects presented to her view. They had already passed the chain of hills known as the Ozark range, and leaving the Black Hills to the northward, were crossing the sandy elevated plain which lies between them and the Rocky Mountains: the sand of this district is of a reddish hue, and in many places the hollows and small ravines are incrusted with salt, which gives them, at first, the appearance of being covered with snow; large masses of rock salt are also of frequent occurrence, and give to the waters of all the smaller tributaries of the Upper Arkansas a brackish and briny taste.

One evening, a little before sunset, Prairie–bird checked her horse, to enjoy at leisure the magnificent panorama before her; and even the suspicious MahÉga forbore to interrupt her enjoyment of its beauties, contenting himself with viewing them as reflected on her own lovely countenance. To the northward was an abrupt crag of sandstone rock, towering above the plain, over which the party were now travelling; its rugged outline broken into a thousand fissures and rents, probably by the might of a rushing torrent in bygone years, frowned like the turrets and battlements of an ancient feudal castle, and the maiden’s fancy (recurring to some of the tales which had found their way into her slender library) peopled its lofty towers and spacious courts below with a splendid host of chivalry, fairest and foremost amongst whom was the proud and martial figure of Reginald Brandon!

Brushing a teardrop from her eye, she averted it from the castellated bluff, and turned it westward, where was spread a gradually ascending plain, covered with cedars, pines, and rich masses of various forest growth; far beyond which the Great Peak, highest of the Northern Andes, reared its majestic form, the setting sun shedding a flood of golden light upon the eternal snow reposing on its crest. With admiring wonder, Prairie–bird, to whom the dread magnificence of mountain scenery was new, gazed on the mighty landscape stretched out before her; she held her breath as the rays of the sinking sun changed the golden fleecy haze around the distant peak to a rosy hue, and soon again to a deeper saffron tint; and when, at last, it disappeared behind the rocky barrier in the west, Prairie–bird covered her eyes with her hands, as if to enjoy over again in memory a scene of such surpassing beauty.

“Yes,” she exclaimed half aloud; “many of the works of man are wonderful, and the fictions of his fancy yet more marvellous; even visions such as rose before my imagination, when contemplating yon rugged craggy height; but what are they, when compared to the living wonders of creation! Almighty Creator—merciful Father! Thou hast led the steps of thy feeble and helpless child to this wild and remote mountain solitude! It is filled with Thy presence! Thou art her protector and guide—her trust is in Thee!”

MahÉga gazed with awe on the maiden as, with parted lips, and eyes upturned to the glowing western heaven, she seemed to commune with some unseen mysterious Being; and the other Indians, watchful of their leader’s countenance, kept at a respectful distance until her short reverie was past, when the party resumed their march towards the spot chosen for the evening encampment.

The journey over the ascending sandy plain before mentioned, occupied several days, at the end of which they reached the opening of a fertile valley, sheltered on three sides by steep ridges, well covered with wood, and watered by a clear stream: far as the eye could reach, the plain to the southward was studded with vast herds of buffalos grazing in undisturbed security; the timid antelope bounded across the distant prairie; and as the travellers entered the valley, the quick eye of MahÉga detected on the velvet turf stretched beneath the northern ridge, numerous tracks of the mountain deer and of the argali, or bighorn, a species of goat, the chamois of the Rocky Mountains, found generally among the most rugged cliffs and precipices; to the scenery of which his long beard, bright eyes, and enormous twisted horn, give a wild and picturesque effect. MahÉga was so struck with the singular advantages offered by this valley, both as affording a sheltered camp, ample pasturage for the horses, and a plentiful supply of game, that he resolved to take up there his summer quarters, and in selecting the spot for his encampment displayed the sagacity and foresight peculiar to his character.

About a mile from the point where the valley opened upon the plain, there was, at the base of the northern ridge, a curved and secluded verdant basin of turf, the entrance to which was so narrow and so well shaded by overhanging trees, that it was not visible from any distance, and could not be approached on any other side, owing to the precipitous height of the crags by which it was surrounded; on an elevated peak or promontory, immediately above the opening which led to this natural lawn, grew a number of thick, massive, dwarf cedars, from under the shade of which a clear–sighted man could command a view of the whole valley, and give early notice, to those encamped below, of the approach of danger. Having satisfied himself that by posting a watchman there he could secure himself against the unperceived attack of any foe, MahÉga left three of his most trustworthy men in charge of Olitipa, and having despatched the remainder of his party to kill buffalo, proceeded to make a careful scrutiny of the valley, in order to ascertain whether there were signs of Indians in the neighbourhood, and whether, in the event of his being compelled to shift his quarters, he could find any defile through which it might be practicable to effect a retreat.

For three whole days he pursued his search with unremitting toil, during which time he ascertained that there were no visible traces of Indians being near, and that three miles higher up the valley there was a transverse opening in the northern ridge, which led to another and a larger valley, through which flowed a river of considerable magnitude. In the mean time the Osages had not been idle, and although little pleased to perform menial services, such as are usually left to their women, they pitched the tent of Olitipa, with much taste, at the foot of a huge rock, and between two lofty pines; next to it they constructed, at a distance of only a few yards, a lodge for their chief, by stretching double piles of buffalo–hide over bent poles, cut after their fashion; and again, beyond that, they raised a larger and ruder skin lodge for themselves; the guitar, and the few moveables belonging to Prairie–bird were carefully piled in her tent; and, as a watch was stationed at the opening to the valley, she was free to wander as she pleased among the trees which bordered the edge of the lawn on which they were encamped.

“Surely,” said the maiden, casting her eyes upward to the beetling crags above, and then letting them rest upon the green turf at her feet, “if it be God’s pleasure that I should be a captive still, he has granted me, at least, the favour of a goodly prison wherein to dwell.”

She observed with gratitude the change that had taken place in the demeanour of MahÉga towards herself: so far from being harsh or violent, he was respectful in the highest degree; and, whether the change was owing to his fears, or to more creditable motives on the part of the Osage, she followed the advice tendered by the missionary, by treating him with courteous gentleness. Whenever he addressed her, it was in Delaware; and her perfect familiarity with that tongue rendered it easy for her to make such replies as the occasion might demand,—sometimes ambiguous, sometimes mysterious, but always such as were not calculated to irritate or offend his pride.

Venison and buffalo meat abounded in the Osage camp, the choicest morsels being always set apart for the use of Prairie–bird; and Lita gathered for her various kinds of berries, which are plentiful in that region, some of them resembling the gooseberry, the serviceberry, and others of excellent flavour; there was also found an esculent root, called by the Indians “o–ka–no–mi,” of a farinaceous quality, which the Comanche girl had often seen on her native plains, and from which, when she had beaten and pulverised it between two flat stones, she baked a kind of cake, that was by no means unpalatable.

The Osages had now been encamped nearly a week on this pleasant and sheltered spot, dividing their time between their two favourite occupations of hunting and smoking: neither had any fresh Indian trail been discovered, to arouse their suspicion or their watchfulness. Before retiring to rest, it was usual for MahÉga to come before the tent of Prairie–bird; and she, aware of the helplessness of her situation, came forth to meet him, receiving with guarded courtesy the fine compliments which he thought fit to pay her, and replying in a tone which, although not directly encouraging to his hopes, was calculated to soothe the irritation which her former treatment of him, and the recollection of his unsuccessful struggle with Reginald, had left upon his mind.

And here we may pause to observe how the strange contradictions that are found in the human character frequently produce a line of conduct which would, at first sight, appear irreconcilable with all probability, and yet which is in strict accordance with the secret workings of the wayward will by which it is directed. Thus MahÉga, when he first became smitten with the beauty of Prairie–bird in the Delaware camp, where she was surrounded by friends and protectors, wooed her with the rough impetuosity of his nature, and, finding his advances rejected, he resorted, as we have seen, to brutal violence, his passion being so much heightened by the obstacles which it encountered, that, in order to gratify it, he provoked that quarrel with the Delawares in which so much blood, both of his own people and of his allies, had been already shed. Now that he was triumphant, and felt secure of the person of his captive, a new and ardent desire had arisen within him,—a desire to compel her to love him. In this pursuit, also, his proud and haughty spirit led him to anticipate success; and thus, for a time, the darker and more malignant feelings of his bosom slumbered undisturbed.

One evening, when he had held his customary talk with Prairie–bird, he retired to his lodge, and the maiden to her tent, where she took up her long–neglected guitar, and ran her fingers carelessly through its strings. Lita sat by her side, braiding the front of a pair of mocassins with stained quills of the porcupine; and, although neither sigh nor tear betrayed her feelings, Prairie–bird, whose heart now led her intuitively to dive into that of her companion, saw that sad and busy thoughts were there: the Comanche girl, proud and reserved as she was with others, had been won, by the gentleness of her mistress, to entertain for her an attachment, that was now strengthened and cemented by the trials and dangers which they had shared together. It might, indeed, be supposed that, as both were now captives of the chief of another tribe, the relation of distress and servant had ceased; yet Lita seemed to think otherwise, and her attendance upon Prairie–bird was, if possible, more devoted than before.

“For whom are you ornamenting those mocassins, Lita?” inquired the latter, with a sad smile.

“For whom?” repeated Lita, casting up her dark eyes, and fixing them on her mistress as if she would read her soul. The tone in which the exclamation was uttered, and the look by which it was accompanied, assured Prairie–bird that her conjectures were well founded.

When the heart is full, one overflowing drop tells the contents of the golden chalice; and from the two words spoken by her companion, Olitipa gathered her meaning as well as if she had replied, “Is there any other being on earth but one for whom I can be braiding them?”

The voice of Prairie–bird trembled with a conscious fellow–feeling as she said, “Lita,—I ask not to know your secret, but I pray to the Great Spirit so to direct the steps of him for whom those mocassins are made, that he may receive them at your hands, and wear them for your sake!”

On hearing these words, a deep blush came over the face and neck of the Comanche girl; a word of kindness had touched a spring which, in her wild and wayward nature, would have been unmoved by fear or by violence, and she threw herself into the arms of Prairie–bird, giving vent to long–concealed emotions in a flood of tears.

Scarcely had she regained her composure and resumed her braiding, when the quick ear of Prairie–bird caught the sound of a low chirrup, like that of a grasshopper, close at the back of the tent: she remembered to have heard that signal before; the blood fled from her cheek, and she held her breath in agitated silence: again the sound was repeated, and Prairie–bird stole to the corner of the tent whence it proceeded, and stooping her head, said, in English, “If Wingenund is there, let him speak.”

“My sister!” whispered the soft voice of the youth in reply.

“’Tis he! ’tis my dear young brother himself!”

“Is all quiet, Prairie–bird?”

“All is quiet.”

“Then Wingenund will pull out one of these tent–pegs, and creep in below the canvass,—he has much to say to his sister.”

In spite of the emotion caused by her brother’s sudden appearance, and by the recollection that, if discovered, his life would certainly be forfeited, Prairie–bird retained sufficient presence of mind to continue passing her fingers through the chords of her guitar, in order to drown the noise made by Wingenund in removing the fastenings, and effecting his entrance below the tent. At length he stood before her; and, after gazing sadly, fondly, on his countenance for a few moments, she fell upon his neck and wept! The figure was indeed that of her favourite brother; but oh, how changed since she had last seen him! Cold, wet, sleepless nights, fatigue, and hunger, had all combined to wear and exhaust a frame which, although cast in nature’s fairest and most graceful mould, had not yet reached the enduring strength of manhood: his once gay attire was soiled and ragged, the mocassins on his feet were of undressed bison–hide, torn, and scarcely affording any protection against the stones and thorny plants with which that region abounds; his light bow, with a few arrows still hung at his back, and the hunting–knife at his girdle: this was all that remained of the gay accoutrements with which he had been adorned in the Osage village; yet, although the frame was emaciated, and the cheeks sunken, the proud lustre of his eye told of a spirit unquenched by suffering, and rising superior to the trials which had almost destroyed its earthly tenement. Prairie–bird longed to ask a hundred questions in a breath: how he had come? whether he had seen or learnt any thing of War–Eagle, and of Reginald? but affectionate compassion for her young brother’s sad condition overcoming every other feeling, she said to him, “Dear, dear Wingenund, you are wearied to death, sit by me and rest; you are starved, are you not?”

“Wingenund has not eaten for two days,” replied the youth, seating himself gently at his sister’s side.

Fortunately, more than half of the evening meal apportioned to Prairie–bird and Lita remained untouched in the tent, and the latter instantly set before the youth some well–cooked cakes and bison meat, luxuries such as had not passed his lips for many a day; and having also placed a vessel of water within his reach, she went, with the intuitive delicacy and sagacity of her sex, towards the opening of the tent, so as to afford Prairie–bird an opportunity of speaking unrestrainedly to her brother, and at the same time to secure them as far as possible against interruption. Wingenund, with all his heroic patience and self–denial, was a young half–starved Indian, and the delicacies set before him vanished in a few minutes, as if they had been placed before a famished wolf. Prairie–bird offered him a draught of water, adding, with an affectionate smile, “My brother, ’tis well that there is no more meat; a full meal is dangerous after so long a fast!”

“It is enough,” replied the youth; “Wingenund is well now.”

“Tell me, then, how you have followed to this distant region, and whether you have seen any thing of War–Eagle, and of—his friends?”

“Wingenund has seen none,” he replied; “nothing except the trail of MahÉga, and that he would have followed to the big salt lake, or to death.”

“But how has it been possible for you to pursue the trail undiscovered, to find food, and to avoid strange Indians on the path?”

“Wingenund kept far behind the Washashee; their eyes could not reach him; he has left on every day’s trail marks that War–Eagle will know; they will speak to him as plainly as my sister’s Medicine–book tells her the Great Spirit’s will. He will come soon, and his friends with him.”

“But my brother has not told me how he procured food on this toilsome journey?”

“When the LenapÉ’s heart is full he thinks little of food,” replied the youth proudly. He added, in a more subdued tone: “It was not easy to find meat, for the Washashee had driven the bison from their path, and Wingenund could not leave their trail. Twice he has met bad Indians, who tried to kill him.”

“And how did he escape them, being without a horse?” inquired Prairie–bird.

“They were too many for him to fight, and he ran from them; but being weak with hunger, one AricarÁ overtook him by the waters of the Arkansas. Wingenund shot him, and, plunging into the river, dived; and the others never found him; but Wingenund lost his rifle, and since then he has eaten only roots and fruit.”

The simple narrative of the hardships and sufferings which her young brother had undergone for her sake, and which his emaciated appearance attested but too well, brought fresh tears to the eyes of Prairie–bird; but she checked them as well as she was able, and said, “Tell me yet one more thing; how have you been able to reach this spot unperceived by the Osage watchmen?”

“Wingenund saw from far the camp chosen by MahÉga; he saw that he could not approach it in front; but the rocks behind are rough and high; he made a rope of bark and grass, climbed up the height, and let himself down from a pine–tree above the tent; but in case he should be discovered and killed by the Osages, he has left an arrow where War–Eagle is sure to find it, and the arrow will show him where to come.”

“Dear, dear Wingenund, you are indeed a brother,” said the maiden, deeply moved by the mingled foresight, patience, and devotion that he had evinced. “You are, indeed, a worthy son of the ancient people.”

Here she was interrupted by a shrill cry; Lita was at the same instant thrown rudely aside by MahÉga, who rushed into the tent, followed by two of his warriors. Wingenund sprang to his feet; but ere he could draw the knife from his girdle he was seized by the Osages, and his arms pinioned behind his back.

Dark and louring was the frown which the angry chief cast upon his prisoner. The Delaware youth quailed not before it; the hour of trial had arrived, and the haughty spirit rising within him, triumphed over all that he had undergone; all that he knew he had yet to undergo. He drew himself to the full height of his graceful figure; and fixing his bright keen eye full upon MahÉga, awaited his fate in silence.

“Has the cunning antelope of the Delawares run so far to see the den of the Black Wolf?” demanded the chief, with a contemptuous sneer. “Has the buffalo bull sent the calf on a path that he was afraid to tread himself? Have the LenapÉ girls sent one of their number to carry wood and water for the Washashee warriors?”

MahÉga paused; and on finding that his cowardly and brutal jeers called forth no reply, nor changed a muscle on the haughty countenance before him, his anger grew more ungovernable, and he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, “If the cur–dog will not bark, the whip, and the knife, and the fire shall find him a tongue! If he wishes not to be torn in pieces on the spot, let him say what brought him to the Osage camp, and where he has left War–Eagle and his pale–faced friends!”

Neither to the threats nor the inquiries of MahÉga did Wingenund deign to make any reply, and the enraged chief struck him across the face with the heavy bull–hide whip suspended from his wrist[52]; the blow was given with such force that it laid open the youth’s cheek, and a stream of blood poured from the cut. At the sight of this unmanly outrage, the self–control of Prairie–bird almost gave way; but a look from her brother recalled her to herself, and checked the impulse which would have led to the utterance of entreaty mingled with indignant reproach.

“Speak not, my sister,” said the hero boy in the Delaware tongue; “speak not to the cowardly Washashee wolf! Waste not your breath on one who has only courage to strike when his enemy’s hands are tied!”

MahÉga fixed his eyes upon the maiden, and a sudden thought lighted up his countenance with a gleam of malignant triumph. Approaching close to her, he said in a stern low whisper, “To–morrow, before the sun goes down, Olitipa becomes the bride of MahÉga, or that boy is burnt at a slow fire with such tortures as the LenapÉ never thought of in dreams!” So saying, he ordered the prisoner to be carefully guarded, and left the tent.