The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border

"Come," he muttered, in a low voice, "I shall know nothing this night; the genius of evil protects those men; I will go into the cabin."

He turned a parting glance around, and prepared to start; but, at the same moment, a white shadow, gliding over the snow like a phantom, passed a short distance from him.

"What is that?" the Indian muttered, suddenly assailed by a superstitious terror. "Is the 'Virgin of the dark hours' wandering about the village? What terrible misfortune is menacing us then?"

The Indian bent forward, and, as if attracted by a superior power, followed with his eyes the strange apparition, whose white outline was already blending with the distant gloom.

"That creature is not walking," he said to himself, with terror; "she leaves no footfall on the snow. Is she a Genius hostile to the Blackfeet? There is a mystery about this which I must fathom."

The instinct of the spy heightening the curiosity of the Indian, the latter soon forgot his terror for a moment, and rushed boldly in pursuit of the phantom. After an interval of a few minutes, the shadow or spectre stopped, and looked around with evident indecision. The Indian, lest he might be discovered, had just time to hide himself behind the wall of a cabin; but a pale gleam of moonlight, emerging between two clouds, had, for a second, lighted up the face of the person he was pursuing.

"Prairie-Flower!" he muttered, suppressing with difficulty a cry of surprise.

In fact, that was the person thus wandering about in the darkness. After some hesitation, the maiden raised her head, and walked resolutely toward a cabin, the buffalo skin of which she lifted with a firm hand. She entered, and let the curtain fall behind her. The Indian bounded up to the cabin, walked round it, thrust his knife up to the hilt in the wall, turned it round twice or thrice, to enlarge the hole, and, placing his ear to it, listened. The most complete quiet continued to prevail in the village.

At the first step the young girl took in the lodge, a shadow suddenly rose before her, and a hand fell upon her shoulder; instinctively she recoiled.

"What do you want?" a menacing voice asked. This question was asked in French, which rendered it doubly unintelligible by the Indian girl.

"Answer! or I'll blow out your brains," the voice continued.

And the sharp sound produced by cocking a pistol could be heard.

"Wah!" the girl replied in her gentle, melodious voice, "I am a friend."

"It is evidently a woman," the first speaker growled, "but no matter, we must be prudent. What on earth does she want here?"

"Halloh!" Bright-eye suddenly shouted, aroused by this short altercation, "what's the matter there, what have you caught, Ivon?"

"My faith, I don't know; I believe it is a woman."

"Eh, eh," the hunter said, with a laugh, "let us have a look at that: don't let her escape."

"Don't be alarmed," the Breton replied, "I have hold of her."

Prairie-Flower remained motionless, not making the slightest effort to escape from the clutch of the man who held her. Bright-eye rose, felt his way to the fire, and began blowing it up. In a few minutes a bright flame burst forth, and illumined the interior of the lodge.

"Stay, stay," the hunter said, with surprise, "you are welcome, girl; what do you want here?"

The Indian maid blushed, and replied: —

"Prairie-Flower has come to visit her friends, the Palefaces."

"The hour is a strange one for a visit, my child," the Canadian continued, with an ironical smile; "but no matter," he added, turning to the Breton, "let her loose, Ivon; this enemy, if she is one, is not very dangerous."

The other obeyed with ill grace.

"Come to the fire, girl," the hunter said, "your limbs are frozen; when you have warmed yourself, you can tell us the cause of your presence here at this late hour."

Prairie-Flower smiled sadly, and sat down by the fire, Bright-eye taking a place by her side. The girl had with one glance surveyed the interior of the lodge, and perceived the Count sleeping tranquilly on a pile of furs. Bright-eye's whole life had been spent in the desert; he was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the Redskins, and knew that circumspection and prudence are their two guiding principles. That an Indian never attempts anything without having first calculated all the consequences, and that he never decides on doing a thing contrary to Indian habits, except from some pressing motive. The hunter, therefore, suspected that the object of the young girl's visit was important, though unable to read, beneath the mask of impassibility that covered her face, the motive that caused her to act.

The Redskins are not, like other men, easy to question; cunning and finesse obtain no advantage over these doubtful natives. The most skilful Old Bailey practitioner would get nothing out of them, but confess himself vanquished, after making an Indian undergo the closest cross-examination. If one of these shades of character were unknown to the hunter; hence he was careful not to let the girl suppose that he took any interest in her explanation.

With a nod of the head, Bright-eye soon gave Ivon the order to go to sleep again, which he did immediately. The girl was sitting by the fire, warming herself mechanically, while every now and then taking a side glance at the hunter. But the latter had lit his pipe, and, nearly concealed by the dense cloud of smoke that surrounded him, appeared completely absorbed in his agreeable occupation. The two remained thus face to face nearly half an hour, and did not exchange a word; at length Bright-eye shook out the ash on his left thumbnail, put his pipe in his belt, and rose. Prairie-Flower followed his every movement, without appearing to attach any importance to it; she saw him collect furs, carry them to a dark corner of the lodge, where he spread them so as to form a species of bed; then, when he fancied it was soft enough, he threw a coverlid over it, and returned to the fire.

"My Pale brother has prepared a bed," Prairie-Flower said, laying her hand on his arm, just as he was about to draw out his pipe again.

"Yes," he replied.

"Why four beds for three persons?"

Bright-eye looked at her with a perfectly natural amazement.

"Are we not four?" he said.

"I only see the two Pale hunters and my brother – for whom is the last bed?"

"For my sister, Prairie-Flower, I suppose; has she not come to ask hospitality of her Pale brothers?"

The girl shook her head.

"The women of my tribe," she said, with an accent of wounded pride, "have their cabins for sleeping, and do not pass the night in the lodges of the warriors."

Bright-eye bowed respectfully.

"I am mistaken," he said; "I did not wish to vex my sister; but on seeing her enter my lodge so late, I supposed she came to ask hospitality."

The girl smiled with finesse.

"My brother is a great warrior of the Palefaces," she said; "his head is grey; he is very cunning; why does he pretend not to know the reason that brings Prairie-Flower to his lodge?"

"Because I am really ignorant of it," he replied; "how should I know it?"

The Indian girl turned towards the place where the young man was sleeping, and said, with a charming pout —

"Glass-eye knows all: he would have told my brother the hunter."

"I cannot deny," the hunter said, boldly, "that Glass-eye knows many things, but in this matter he has been dumb."

"Is that true?" she asked, quickly.

"Why should I deny it? Prairie-Flower is not an enemy to us."

"No, I am a friend: let my brother open his ears."

"Speak."

"Glass-eye is powerful."

"So it is said," the hunter replied, evasively, too honest to stoop to a lie.

"The elders of the tribe regard him as a genius superior to other men, arranging events as he pleases, and able, if he will, to change the course of the future."

"Who says so?"

"Everybody."

The hunter shook his head, and pressing the girl's dainty hands in his own, he said, simply —

"You are deceived, child; Glass-eye is only a man like the others; the power you have been told of does not exist: I know not for what reason the chiefs of your nation have spread this absurd report; but it is a falsehood, which I must not allow to go further."

"No, White Buffalo is the wisest sachem of the Blackfeet; he possesses all the knowledge of his fathers on the other side of the Great Saltlake, he cannot err. Did he not announce, long ago, Glass-eye's arrival among us?"

"That is possible; although I cannot guess how he knew it, as only three days ago we were quite ignorant that we were coming to this village."

The maiden smiled triumphantly.

"White Buffalo knows all," she said; "besides, for many thousand moons the sorcerers of the nation have announced the coming of a man exactly like Glass-eye: his apparition was so truly predicted, that his arrival surprised nobody, as all expected him."

The hunter recognized the inutility of contending any longer against a conviction so deeply rooted in the young girl's heart.

"Good," he replied; "White Buffalo is a very wise sachem. What is there he does not know?"

"Nothing! Did he not predict that Glass-eye would place himself at the head of the Redskin warriors, and deliver them from the Palefaces of the East?"

"It is true," the hunter said, though he did not know a word of what the girl was revealing to him; but he now began to suspect a vast plot formed by the Indians, and he naturally desired to know more. Prairie-Flower looked at him with an expression of simple joy.

"My brother sees that I know all," she said.

"That is true," he answered; "my sister is better informed than I supposed; now she can explain to me, without fear, the service she desires from Glass-eye."

The girl took a long glance at the young man, who was still sleeping.

"Prairie-Flower is suffering," she said, in a low and trembling voice; "a cloud has passed over her mind and obscured it."

"Prairie-Flower is sixteen," the old hunter answered, with a smile; "a new feeling is awakened in her; a little bird is singing in her heart; she listens unconsciously to the harmonious notes of those strains which she does not yet understand."

"It is true," the maiden murmured, suddenly growing pensive; "my heart is sad. Is, then, love a suffering?"

"Child," the hunter answered, with a melancholy accent, "creatures are thus made by the Master of Life. All sensation is suffering. Joy, carried to an excess, becomes pain; you love without knowing it; loving is suffering."

"No," she said, with a gesture of terror, "no, I do not love, at least not; in the way you say. I have come, on the contrary, to seek your protection from a man who loves me, whose love frightens me, and for whom I shall never feel aught but gratitude."

"You are quite certain, poor child, that such is the feeling you experience for that man?"

She bowed assent. Without saying anything further, Bright-eye rose.

"Where are you going?" she asked, quickly.

The hunter turned to her.

"In all that you have told me, child," he answered, "there are things so important, that I must without delay arouse my friend, that he may listen to you in his turn, and, if it be possible, come to your aid."

"Do so," she said, mournfully, and let her head sink on her breast. The hunter went up to the young man, and bending over him, touched him gently on the shoulder. The Count awoke at once.

"What is it? What do you want?" he said, rising and seizing his weapons, with the promptness that a man constantly exposed to danger so soon acquires.

"Nothing that need frighten you, Mr. Edward. That young girl wishes to speak to you."

The Count followed the direction in which the hunter pointed, and his glance met that of the maiden. It was like an electric shock; she tottered, laid her hand on her heart, and blushed. The Frenchman rushed toward her.

"What is the matter? What can I do to help you?" he asked.

Just as she was about to reply, the curtain was lifted; a man bounded suddenly over Ivon, and reached the centre of the hut. It was the spy; the Breton suddenly aroused, flung himself on him, but the Indian held him back with a firm hand.

"Look out!" he said.

"Red Wolf!" the girl exclaimed, joyfully, as she stepped before him; "lower your weapons, it is a friend."

"Speak!" the Count said, as he returned the pistol to his belt.

The Indian had made no attempt to defend himself; he awaited stoically the moment to explain himself.

"Natah Otann is coming," he said to the maiden.

"Oh! I am lost if he find me here."

"What do I care for the fellow?" the Count said, haughtily.

"Prudence," Bright-eye interposed; "are you a friend, Redskin?"

"Ask Prairie-Flower," he answered, disdainfully.

"Good; then you have come to save her?"

"Yes."

"You have a way?"

"I have."

"I don't understand anything about it," Ivon said to himself, aside, quite confounded by all he saw; "what a night!"

"Make haste!" said the Count.

"Neither Prairie-Flower nor myself must be seen here," the Red Wolf continued; "Natah Otann is my enemy; there is deadly war between us. Throw all those furs on the girl."

Prairie-Flower, crouching in a corner, soon disappeared beneath the skins piled over her.

"Hum! it is a good idea," Bright-eye muttered: "and what are you going to do?"

"Look!"

Red Wolf leaned against the buffalo hides that acted as door, and concealed himself amid their folds. Hardly had all this been done, ere Natah Otann appeared on the threshold.

"What! up already?" he said, in surprise, turning a suspicious glance around him.

Red Wolf profited by this movement to go out unseen by the Chief.

"I am come to receive your orders for the hunt," Natah Otann resumed.

CHAPTER XVII

FORT MACKENZIE

Fort Mackenzie, built in 1832 by Major Mitchell, Chief Agent to the North American Fur Company, stands like a menacing sentry, about one hundred and twenty paces from the north bank of the Missouri, and seventy miles from the Rocky Mountains, in the midst of a level plain, protected by a chain of hills running from north to south. The fort is built on the system of all the outposts of civilization in the western provinces; it forms a perfect square, each side being about forty-five feet in length: a ditch, eight fathoms in depth and about the same in width; two substantial blockhouses; and twenty guns – such are the defensive elements of this fortress. The buildings contained in the enceinte are low, with narrow windows, in which parchment is substituted for glass. The roofs are flat, and covered with turf. The gateways of the fort are solid, and lined with iron. In the middle of a small square, in the centre of the fort, rises a mast, from which floats the star-spangled banner of the United States, while two guns are stationed at the foot of the mast. The plain surrounding Fort Mackenzie is covered with grass, rarely more than three feet high. This plain is almost constantly invaded by Indian tribes, that come to traffic with the Americans, especially the Blackfeet, Assiniboins, Mandans, Flatheads, Gros-ventres, Crows, and Koutnikés.

The Indians displayed a repugnance in allowing the white men to settle in their domains, and the first agent the Fur Company sent to them had a narrow escape with life. It was only by dint of patience and cunning that they succeeded in concluding with the tribes a treaty of peace and barter, which the latter were disposed, indeed, to break, through the slightest pretext. Thus the Americans were always on the watch, considering themselves in a perpetual state of siege. It still happened at times, in spite of the Indians' protestations of amity, that some engagé or trapper of the Company was brought to the fort scalped and murdered, and they were obliged, through policy, to refrain from taking vengeance for such murders, which, however, were becoming rare. The Indians, with their greedy instincts, at length understood that it was better to live in good intelligence with the Palefaces, who supplied them with abundant provisions, spirits, and money, in exchange for their furs.

In 1834, Fort Mackenzie was commanded by Major Melville, a man of great experience, who had spent nearly his whole life among the Indians, either fighting or trafficking with them, so that he was thoroughly versed in all their habits and tricks. General Jackson, in whose army he had served, put great reliance in his courage, skill, and experience. Major Melville combined with uncommon moral energy rare physical strength; he was the very man to keep in check the fierce tribes with which he had to deal, and to command the trappers and hunters in the Company's service, thorough ruffians, only understanding the logic of the rifle and the bowie knife; he based his authority on inflexible severity and an irreproachable justice, which had contributed greatly to maintain the good relations between the inhabitants of the fort and their crafty friends. Peace, with the exception of the mutual distrust that was its basis, appeared for some few years past to be solidly established between the Palefaces and the Redskins. The Indians camped annually before the fort, and generally exchanged their peltry for spirits, clothes, gunpowder, &c. The seventy men who formed the garrison had gradually relaxed their usual precautions, for they felt so confident of having induced the Indians to renounce their plundering inclinations by kind treatment and concessions. Such was the respective positions of the whites and the Redskins on the day when the exigencies of our story take us to Fort Mackenzie.

The scenery round the fort is exquisite and charmingly varied. On the day after that in which the events we have described took place in the Kenha village, a leather canoe, manned by only one rower, descended the Elk river, in the direction of the American fort. After following the numerous bends of the stream, the canoe at length entered the Missouri, and coasted the northern bank, studded with magnificent prairies at least thirty miles in depth, on which countless herds of buffaloes, antelopes, and bighorns were grazing, which, with ears erect and startled eyes, watched the silent boat pass with gloomy dissatisfaction. But the person, man or woman, in the boat seemed too anxious to reach the destination, to waste any time in firing at these animals, which it would have been easy to do.

With his eyes imperturbably fixed ahead, and bowed over the paddles, the rower redoubled his energy the nearer he approached the fort, uttering at times hoarse exclamations of anger and impatience, though never checking the speed of the boat. At length an "ah!" of satisfaction escaped his lips on turning one of the numberless bends of the river: a magnificent scene was suddenly displayed before him.

Gentle slopes, with varied summits, some rounded, others flat, of a pleasant green colour, occupied the centre of the picture. In the foreground were tall forests of poplars of a vivid green, and willow trees on the banks of the river, which meandered through a prairie to which the twilight had given a deep olive hue. A little further on, on the top of a grassy mound, stood Fort Mackenzie, where the handsome flag of the United States floated in the breeze, gilded by the parting beams of the setting sun; while on one side an Indian camp, on the other, herds of horses, tranquilly grazing, animated the majestic tranquillity of the scene.

The canoe drew nearer and nearer to the bank, and at last, when arrived under the protection of the guns, was run gently ashore. The individual occupying it then leaped on the sand, and it was easy to see that it was a woman. It was the mysterious being to whom the Indians gave the name of the She-wolf of the Prairies, and who has already appeared twice in this story. She had altered her dress. Although still resembling that of the Indians in texture, as it was composed of elk and buffalo skins sown together, it varied from it in shape; and if, at the first glance, it was difficult to recognize the sex of the person wearing it, it was easy to perceive that it was a white, through the simplicity, cleanliness, and, above all, the amplitude of the folds carefully draped round the strange being hidden in these garments.

After leaving the canoe, the She-wolf fastened it securely to a large stone, and without paying further attention to it, walked hastily in the direction of the fort. It was about six in the evening; the barter with the Indians was over, and they were returning, laughing and singing, to their tents of buffalo hide; while the engagés, after collecting the horses, led them back slowly to the fort. The sun was setting behind the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, casting a purple gleam, over the heavens. Gradually, as the planet of day sank in the distant horizon, gloom took possession of the earth. The songs of the Indians, the shouts of the engagés, the neighing of the horses, and the barking of the dogs, formed one of those singular concerts which in these remote regions impress on the mind a feeling of melancholy reflection. The She-wolf reached the gate of the fort at the moment when the last engagé had entered, after driving in the laggards of his troop.

At these frontier posts, where momentary vigilance is necessary to foil the treachery constantly lurking in the shadows, sentinels especially appointed to survey the gloomy and solitary prairies, that stretch out for miles around their garrisons, stand watching day and night with their eyes fixed on space, ready to signalize the least unusual movement, either on the part of animals or of men, in the vast solitudes they survey. The She-wolf's canoe had been detected more than six hours before, all its movements carefully watched, and when the She-wolf, after fastening her boat up, presented herself at the gate of the fort, she found it closed and carefully bolted; not because she personally caused the garrison any alarm, but because the order was that no one should enter the fort after sunset, except for overpowering reasons.

The She-wolf repressed with difficulty a gesture of annoyance at finding herself thus exposed to spend the night in the open air; not that she feared the hardship, but because she knew the importance of her news, and desired no delay. She did not allow herself to be defeated, however, but stooped, picked up a stone, and struck the gate twice. A wicket immediately opened, and two eyes glistened through the opening it left.

"Who's there?" a rough voice asked.

"A friend," the She-wolf replied.

"Hum; that's very vague at this hour of the night," the voice continued, with a grin that augured ill for the success of the mediation the She-wolf had commenced.

"Who are you?"

"A woman, and a white woman too, as you can see by my dress and accent."

"It may be, but the night is dark, and it is impossible for me to see you: so if you have no better reasons to give, good night, and go your ways; tomorrow we will meet again at sunrise."

And the speaker prepared to close the wicket, but the She-wolf checked him with a firm hand.

"One moment," she said.

"What's up now?" the other remarked, ill-temperedly; "I cannot pass the night in listening to you."

"I only want to ask you one question, and one favour."

"Plague take it!" the man went on; "well, you are going on at a fine rate; that's nothing, eh? Well; let me hear it; that binds me to nothing."

"Is Major Melville in the fort at this moment?"

"Perhaps."

"Answer, yes or no."

"Well, yes; what then?"

The She-wolf gave a sigh of satisfaction, hurriedly drew a ring from her right hand, and passing it through the wicket to the unknown speaker, said —

"Carry that ring to the Major; I will wait for your answer here."

"Mind what you are about; the Commandant does not like to be disturbed for nothing."

"Do as I tell you. I answer for the rest."

"That's a poor bail," the other growled; "but no matter – I'll risk it. Wait."

The wicket closed. The She-wolf seated herself on the side of the moat, and with elbows resting on her knees, buried her head in her hands. By this time night had completely set in; in the distance, the fires lighted up by the Indians on the prairies shone like lighthouses through the gloom; the evening breeze soughed hoarsely through the tops of the trees, and the howls of the wild beasts were mingled at intervals with the strident laughter of the Indians. Not a star sparkled in the sky, which was black as ink; nature seemed covered with a cerecloth; all presaged an approaching storm. The She-wolf waited, motionless, as one of those patient sphynxes which have watched for thousands of years at the entrance of the Egyptian temples. A quarter of an hour elapsed, then a sound of bolts was heard, and the gates of the fort slightly opened. The She-wolf sprung up, as if moved by a spring.