The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border

"There's something behind it," he muttered to himself, "but I will watch, and that demon must be very cunning to cheat me."

The Count was affected by this generosity, which he was far from expecting.

"There, chief," he said, handing him the stipulated dollar, "now we are quits; but be assured that I will not be outdone by you."

Natah Otann bowed courteously.

"Now," the Count continued, "a last favour."

"Let my brother speak, he has the right to ask everything of me."

"Make peace with my old Bright-eye,"

"As my brother desires it," the chief said, "I will do so willingly; and, as a sign of reconciliation, I beg him to accept the dollar you have given me."

The hunter's first impulse was to decline it; but he thought better of it, took the dollar, and carefully placed it in his belt. Black knew not how to express his gratitude to the Count, who had really made him a landed proprietor; and the same day the American and his son chose the land on which the plantation should be established. The Count drew up on a leaf of his pocketbook a regular deed of sale, which was signed by himself, Bright-eye, and Ivon, as witnesses, by Black as purchaser, and at the foot of which Natah Otann drew the totem of his tribe, and an animal intended to represent a bear, which formed his speaking but most emblematical signature. The chief, had he pleased, could have signed like the rest, but he wished to hide from all the instruction he owed to the White Buffalo. Black preciously placed the deed between the leaves of his family bible, and said to the Count, while squeezing his hand hard enough to smash it —

"Remember that you have in John Black a man who will let his bones be broken for you, whenever you think proper."

Diana said nothing, but she gave the young man a look which paid him amply for what he had done for the family.

"Attention," Bright-eye said, in a whisper, the first time he found himself alone with Ivon; "from this day watch carefully over your master, for a terrible danger threatens him."

CHAPTER XII

THE SHE-WOLF OF THE PRAIRIES

About four or five hours after the various events we have described in the previous chapters, a horseman, mounted on a powerful steed, caparisoned in the Indian fashion, that is to say, bedizened with feathers, and painted of glaring colours, crossed a streamlet, and galloped over the prairies, proceeding in the direction of the Virgin forest, to which we have several times alluded. The rider, dressed in the war costume of the Blackfoot Indians, and whom it was easy to recognize as a chief by the eagle feather fastened over his right ear, incessantly bent over his horse's neck, and urged it to increased speed.

It was night, but an American night, full of sharp odours and mysterious sounds, with a dark blue sky, studded with an infinite number of dazzling stars; the moon profusely spread her silvery rays over the landscape, casting a deceitful brightness, which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects. All seemed to sleep on the prairies; the wind even hardly shook the umbrageous tops of the trees; the wild beasts, after drinking at the river, had returned to their hidden dens. The horseman alone moved on, gliding silently through the darkness; at times he raised his head, as if consulting the sky, then, after a seconds rest, he galloped onwards.

Many hours passed ere the horseman thought of stopping. At length he reached a spot where the trees were so interlaced by creepers which enfolded them, that a species of insurmountable wall suddenly prevented the rider's progress. After a moment's hesitation, and looking attentively around to discover a hole by which he could pass, seeing clearly that all attempts would be useless, he dismounted. He saw that he had arrived at a canebrake, or spot where a passage can only be made by fire or axe. The Indian chief fastened his horse to the trunk of a tree; left within its reach a stock of grass and climbing peas; then, certain that his horse would want for nothing during this long night, he began thinking of himself.

First he cut down with his bowie knife the bushes and plants which interfered with the encampment he wished to form; then he prepared, with all the stoicism of a prairie denizen, a fire of dry wood, in order to cook his supper, and keep off wild beasts, if anyone took it into his head to pay him a visit during his sleep. Among the wood he collected was a large quantity of what the Mexicans call palo mulato, or stinking wood; this he was careful to remove, for the pestiferous smell of that tree would have denounced his presence for miles round, and the Indian, judging from the precautions he took, seemed afraid of being discovered; in fact, the care with which he had placed sand-bags round his horse's hoofs, to dull the sound, sufficiently proved this.

When the fire, so placed as not to be visible ten yards off, poured its pleasant column of flame into the air, the Indian took from his elk-skin pouch a little Indian wheat and pemmican, which he ate with considerable appetite, looking round continually in the surrounding gloom, and stopping to listen attentively to those noiseless sounds which by night trouble the imposing calmness of the desert, without any apparent cause. When his scanty meal was ended, the Indian filled his pipe with kinne-kinnick, and began smoking.

Still, in spite of his apparent calmness, the man was not easy; at times he took the pipe from his lips, looked up, and anxiously consulted the sky, through a break in the foliage above his head. At length he appeared to form an energetic resolution, and raising his fingers to his lips, imitated thrice, with rare perfection, the cry of the blue jay, that privileged bird that sings in the night; then he bent his body forward and listened, but nothing proved to him that his signal had been heard.

"Wait a while," he muttered.

And crouching again before the fire, into which he threw a handful of dry branches, he began smoking again. Several hours passed thus: at length the moon disappeared from the horizon, the cold became sharper, and the sky, in which the stars expired one after the other, was tinted with a rosy hue. The Indian, who had been slumbering for a while, suddenly shook himself, turned a suspicious glance around, and muttered hoarsely, —

"She cannot be far off."

And he again gave the signal. The last cry had scarce died out in the distance, when a roar was heard close by. The Indian, instead of being alarmed by this ill-omened sound, smiled, and said in a loud and firm voice, —

"You are welcome, She-wolf; you know it is I who am awaiting you here."

"Ah! you are there, then!" a voice answered.

A rustling of leaves was now heard in the bushes opposite the spot where the Indian was seated; the reeds and creepers were pulled back by a vigorous hand, and a woman appeared in the space left free. Before advancing, she thrust her head forward cautiously, and looked.

"I am alone," the Indian said; "you can approach without fear."

A smile played over the newcomer's lips at this answer, which she did not expect.

"I fear nothing," she said.

Before going further, we will give some indispensable details about this woman – vague, it is true, as we can only supply what the Indians said about her, but which will be useful to the reader in comprehending the facts that will follow. No one knew who she was, or whence she came. The period when she was first seen on the prairie was equally unknown. All was an inexplicable mystery connected with her. Though she spoke fluently, and with extreme purity, most of the prairie idioms, still certain words she at times used, and the colour of her skin, not so brown as that of the natives, caused the supposition that she belonged to another race from theirs. It was only a supposition, however, for her hatred of the Indians was too well known for the bravest among them ever to venture to see her sufficiently closely to render themselves certain on that head.

At times she disappeared for weeks, even for months, and it was impossible to discover her trail. Then she was suddenly seen again wandering about, talking to herself, marching nearly always by night, frequently accompanied by an idiotic and dumb dwarf, who followed her like a dog, and whom the Indians, in their credulous superstition, suspected strongly of being her familiar. This woman, ever gloomy and melancholy, with her wild looks and startling gestures, could not be accused of doing anyone harm, in spite of the general terror she inspired. Still, owing to the strange life she led, all the misfortunes that happened to the Indians, in war or hunting, were imputed to her. The Redskins considered her a wicked genius, and had given her the name of the Spirit of Evil. Hence the man who had come so far to see her must necessarily have been gifted with extraordinary courage, or some powerful reason impelled him to act as he was doing.

As this Blackfoot chief is destined to play a great part in this narrative, we will give his portrait in a few words. He was a man who had reached middle life, or about forty-five years. He was tall, well built, and admirably proportioned. His muscles, standing out like whipcord, denoted extraordinary vigour. He had an intelligent face; his features expressed cunning, while his eyes were rarely fixed on any object, but gave him an expression of craft and brutal cruelty, which inspired an unenviable repugnance towards him, if you took the trouble to study him carefully: but observers are rare in the desert, and with the Indians this chief enjoyed a great reputation, and was equally beloved for his tried courage and inexhaustible powers of speech, qualities highly esteemed by the Redskins.

"The night is still gloomy; my mother can approach," the Indian chief said.

"I am coming," the woman said, drily, as she advanced.

"I have been waiting a long while."

"I know it, but no matter."

"The road was long to come."

"I am here; speak!"

And she leaned against the stem of a tree, crossing her arms on her chest.

"What can I say, if my mother does not first question me?"

"That is true. Answer me then."

There was a silence, only troubled by the wind sighing in the leaves; after a few moments' reflection, the woman at length began, —

"Have you done what I ordered?"

"I have."

"Well?"

"My mother guessed rightly."

"Is it so?"

"All is preparing for action,"

"You are sure?"

"I was present at the council."

She smiled triumphantly.

"Where was the meeting place?"

"At the tree of life."

"Long ago?"

"The sun has set eight hours since."

"Good! What was resolved?"

"What you already know."

"The destruction of the whites?"

"Yes."

"When will the war signal be given?"

"The day is not yet fixed."

"Ah!" she said in a tone of regret.

"But it cannot be long," he added quickly.

"What makes you think so?"

"The Grizzly Bear is eager to finish."

"And I, too," the woman muttered in a low voice.

The conversation was again broken off. The woman paced up and down the clearing in thought. The chief followed her with his eyes, carefully examining her. All at once she stopped before him, and looked him In the face.

"You are devoted to me, chief?" she said.

"Do you doubt it?"

"Perhaps."

"Still, only a few hours ago, I gave you a decided proof of my devotion."

"What?"

"This!" he said, pointing to his left arm, which was wrapped in strips of bark.

"I do not understand you."

"You see I am wounded?"

"Well! what then?"

"The Redskins attacked the Palefaces some hours ago; they were scaling the barricade which protected their camp, when they suddenly retired on your appearance, by order of their chief, who was wounded, and thirsting for revenge."

"It is true."

"Good. And the chief who commanded the Redskins – does my mother know him?"

"No."

"It was I, the Red Wolf: does my mother still doubt?"

"The path on which I am walking is so gloomy," she replied sorrowfully; "the work I am accomplishing is so serious, and of such import to me, that at times I feel fear enter my heart, and doubt contract my chest, when I think I am alone, a poor weak woman, to wrestle with a giant. For long years I have been ripening the plan I wish to accomplish today; I have occupied my whole life to obtain the result I desire, and I fear failure at the moment of succeeding. Then, if I have no longer confidence in myself, can I trust a man whom self-interest may urge to betray, or at any rate abandon me at a moment."

The chief drew himself up on hearing these words; his eye flashed fire, and, with a gesture of wounded pride, he said, —

"Silence! my mother must not add a word. She insults at this moment a man who is most anxious to prove his truth to her: ingratitude is a white vice, gratitude a red virtue. My mother was ever kind to me; Red Wolf cannot count the occasions on which he owes his life to her. My mother's heart is ulcered by misfortune; solitude is an evil counsellor: my mother listens too much to the voices which whisper in her ear through the silence of night; she forgets the services she has rendered, only to remember the ingratitude she has sowed on her road. Red Wolf is devoted to her, he loves her; the She-wolf can place entire confidence in him, he is worthy of it."

"Dare I believe in these protestations? Can I put faith in these promises?" she muttered.

The chief continued passionately, —

"If the gratitude I have vowed to my mother is not enough, another and stronger tie attaches us, which must convince her of my sincerity."

"What is it?" she asked, looking fixedly at him.

"Hatred," he answered.

"That is true," she said, with a sinister burst of laughter. "You hate him too?"

"Yes; I hate him with all the strength of my soul: I hate him, because he has robbed me of the two things I held most to on earth, – the love of the woman I adored, and the power I coveted."

"But are you not a chief?" she said significantly.

"Yes!" he exclaimed proudly, "I am a chief, but my father was a sachem of the Kenhas; his son is brave, he is crafty, the scalps of numberless Palefaces dry before his lodge. Why then is Red Wolf only an inferior chief, instead of leading his men to battle as his father did?"

The woman seemed to take a delight in exciting the anger of the Indian, instead of calming it.

"Because doubtlessly," she said, "a wiser man than the Red Wolf has gained the votes of his brothers."

"Let my mother say that a greater rogue stole them from him, and her words will be true," he exclaimed violently. "Grizzly Bear is a Comanche dog, the son of an exile, received through favour into my tribe; his scalp will soon dry on the girdle of the Red Wolf."

"Patience!" the woman said in a hoarse voice. "Vengeance is a fruit which is only eaten ripe: the Red Wolf is a warrior; he can wait."

"Let my mother order," the Indian said, suddenly calmed; "her son will obey."

"Has the Red Wolf succeeded in obtaining the medicine which Prairie-Flower wears round her neck?"

The Indian bowed his head in confusion.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Prairie-Flower never leaves the White Buffalo; it is impossible to approach her."

The woman smiled ironically.

"What! did Red Wolf ever keep a promise?"

The Blackfoot shuddered with rage.

"I will have it," he cried, "even if I must use force in obtaining it."

"No," she replied; "cunning alone must be employed."

"I will have it," he repeated. "Before two days I will give it to my mother."

"No," she said quickly; "in two days is too soon. Let my son give it me on the fifth day of the new moon, which will begin within three days."

"Good; I swear it! My mother shall have the great medicine of Prairie-Flower."

"My son will bring it to me at the tree of the bear, near the great lodge of the Palefaces, two hours after sunset. I will await him there, and give him my final instructions."

"Red Wolf will be there."

"Till then, my son will carefully watch every movement of the Grizzly Bear; if he learns anything new, which appears to him important, my son will form on this very spot a pyramid of seven buffalo heads, and come back two hours after to wait for me. I shall have understood his signal, and will reply to his summons."

"Oche, my mother is powerful; it shall be done as she desires."

"My son has quite understood?"

"The words of my mother have fallen on the ears of a chief; his mind has received them."

"The sky on the horizon is covered with red bands, the sun will soon appear: let my brother return to his tribe; he must not arouse the suspicions of his enemy by his absence."

"I go; but before leaving my mother, whose wisdom has discovered all the schemes of the Palefaces, has she not made a great medicine to know if our enterprise will succeed, and if we shall conquer our enemy?"

At this moment a loud noise was heard in the canebrake, and a shrill whistle traversed the air; the Indian's horse laid hack its ears, made violent efforts to break the rope that fastened it, and trembled all over. The woman seized the chiefs arm firmly, and said in a gloomy voice, —

"Let my brother look!"

Red Wolf stifled a cry of surprise, and gazed, motionless and terrified, at the strange sight before him. A few paces off, a tiger cat and a rattlesnake were preparing for a contest. Their metallic eyeballs flashed, and seemed to emit flames. The tiger cat, crouching on a branch, with hair erect, was meowing and spitting, while closely following every move of its dangerous enemy, and awaiting the moment to attack it advantageously. The Crotalus, coiled up, and forming an enormous spiral, with its hideous head thrown back, whistled, as it balanced itself to the right and left, with a movement full of suppleness and grace, apparently trying to fascinate its enemy. But the latter did not allow it a long rest; it suddenly bounded on the serpent, which, however, moved nimbly on one side, and when the cat, after missing its leap, returned to the charge, gave it a fearful sting on the face.

The tiger cat uttered a yell of rage, and buried its long and sharp claws in the eyes of the serpent, which, however, wound round its enemy with a convulsive movement. Then the two rolled on the ground, hissing and howling, but unable to loose their hold. The struggle was long; they fought with extraordinary fury; but at length, the rings of the snake became unloosened, and its flaccid body lay motionless on the ground. The tiger cat escaped, with a meow of triumph, from the monster's terrible embrace, and bounded on a tree; but its strength was unequal to its will, and it could not reach the branch on which it wished to climb, but fell back exhausted on the ground. Then the ferocious animal, struggling with death and overcoming its agony, crouched back to the body of its enemy, and stood upon it. It then uttered a final yell of triumph, and fell, itself a corpse, by the side of the snake. The Indian had followed all the moving incidents of this cruel contest with ever-increasing interest.

"Well," he asked the unknown, "what does my mother say?"

She shook her head.

"Our triumph will cost us our life," she replied.

"What matters," the Red Wolf said, "so long as we conquer our enemies?"

And, drawing his knife, he began skinning the catamount. The woman looked at his operations for a while; then making him a parting sign, she re-entered the canebrake, where she was speedily lost to view. An hour later, the Indian chief, laden with the cat's head and the snake's skin, started off toward his village at full gallop. An ironical smile played around his lips; he needed no excuse to explain his absence, for the spoils he brought with him proved that he had spent the night in hunting.

CHAPTER XIII

THE INDIAN VILLAGE

Now that the exigencies of our story compel us to enter into closer relations with the Prairie Indians, we will introduce to the reader the primitive population of that territory, generally called Blackfoot Indians. The Blackfeet formed, at the period when this history occurred, a powerful nation, divided into three tribes, speaking the same language. First, the tribe of the Siksekai, or Blackfeet proper; next, the Kenhas, or Blood Indians; and lastly, the Piékanns. This nation, when the three tribes were united, could bring under arms nearly eight thousand warriors, which enables us to estimate the population at twenty-five thousand souls. But, at the present day, smallpox has decimated these Indians, and reduced them to a very much smaller number. The Blackfeet traverse the prairies adjoining the Rocky Mountains, sometimes even scaling those mountains between the three forks of the Missouri, called Gallatin, Jefferson, and Madison rivers. The Piékanns, however, go as far as Marine river, to trade with the American Fur Company; they also barter with the Hudson's Bay Society, and even with the Mexicans of Santa Fé. This nation, continually at war with the whites, whom they attack whenever they have the chance, are very little known, but greatly feared, especially for their skill in stealing horses, and, more than that, for their notorious cruelty and bad faith. As we have to deal principally with the Kenhas, we will occupy ourselves more particularly with that tribe. The following is the origin of the name "Blood Indians," given to the Kenhas: —

Before the Blackfeet were divided, they happened one day to be encamped a short distance from seven or eight tents of the Sassi Indians. A quarrel arose between them about a woman carried off by the Sassis, in spite of the opposition of the Piékanns, and the Kenhas resolved to kill all their neighbours, a project which they carried out with extraordinary ferocity and cruelty. In the middle of the night they attacked the tents of the Sassis, and massacred them all during their sleep, without sparing even women, children, or old men; they scalped their victims, and regained their tents, after daubing their faces and hands with blood.

The Piékanns reproached them for this act of barbarity; a quarrel ensued, which speedily degenerated into a combat, in consequence of which the three Blackfoot tribes separated. The Kenhas then received the name of Blood Indians, which they still retain, and feel a pride in it, saying that no one insults them with impunity. The Kenhas are the most active and indomitable of the Blackfeet: they have always displayed more sanguinary and rapacious instincts than the other members of their nation, especially than the Piékanns, who are justly regarded as comparatively gentle and humane.

As the three Blackfoot tribes generally live far apart, Natah Otann must have acted with great skill, and displayed great patience, ere he succeeded in making them join, and consent to march under the same banner. At every moment he was constrained to employ all the resources suggested by his fertile mind, and evince great diplomacy, in order to prevent a rupture, which was always imminent between these men, whom no tie attached, and whose pride revolted at the least appearance of humiliation.

After the events which occurred at the pioneer's camp, Natah Otann resolved to lead the Count de Beaulieu and his comrades to the chief summer village of the Kenhas, situated at no great distance from Fort Mackenzie, one of the principal depôts of the American Fur Company. The Kenhas had constructed this village only a year previously, and their vicinity at first alarmed the Americans; but the conduct of the Indians had ever been so loyal – apparently, at least, in their transactions with the white men – that the latter, at length, did not trouble themselves about their Redskin neighbours, except to buy their furs, sell them whisky, and visit their village when they wanted some amusement.

After selling Black an immense territory for a dollar, Natah Otann reminded the young man of his promise to visit his tribe, and the Count, though secretly vexed at the obligation he Was under of accepting an invitation which bore a great likeness to a command, still yielded, and followed the chief, after bidding farewell to the pioneers. Black, with his hand resting on the trigger of his rifle, looked after the Kenha horsemen, who, according to their custom, galloped across the prairie, when a rider turned back, and came up to the American's camp. The pioneer recognised, with some surprise, Bright-eye, who stopped before him.