The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border

"Very good," he answered; "you may be easy; I am warned."

"Now, if you think proper, I will recall my warriors; a longer conference between us might arouse their jealousy."

"Do so; I trust entirely to you."

"You will have no reason to repent it," Natah Otann replied, graciously.

While the chief went to join his companions, the Count walked up to the two white men.

"Well?" Bright-eye asked him, "have you obtained what you wanted from that man?"

"Perfectly," he answered; "I only wished to say a few words to him."

The hunter looked at him cunningly.

"I did not think him so easy," he said.

"Why so, my friend?"

"His reputation is great in the desert; I have known him for a very long period."

"Ah!" the young man said, not at all sorry to obtain some information about the man who perplexed him so greatly; "what reputation has he then?"

Bright-eye seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"Are you afraid to explain yourself clearly on that head?" the Count asked.

"I have no reason for that; on the contrary, with the exception of that day on which he wished to flay me alive – a slight mistake, which I pardon with my whole heart, – our relations have always been excellent."

"The more so," the Count said, with a laugh, "because you never met again, to my knowledge, till this day."

"That is what I meant to say. Look you – Natah Otann, between ourselves, is one of those Indians whom it is far more advantageous not to see: he is like the owl – his presence always forebodes evil."

"The deuce! You trouble me greatly by speaking so, Bright-eye."

"Suppose I had said nothing, then," he answered, quickly; "for my part, I should prefer to be silent."

"That is possible; but the little you have allowed to escape has, I confess, so awakened my curiosity, that I should not be sorry to learn more."

"Unfortunately, I know nothing."

"Still you spoke of his reputation – is that bad?"

"I did not say so," Bright-eye answered, with reserve. "You know, Mr. Edward, that Indian manners are very different from ours: what is bad to us is regarded very differently by Indians; and so – "

"So, I suppose," the Count interrupted, "Natah Otann has an execrable reputation."

"No, I assure you; that depends upon the way in which you look at matters."

"Good; and what is your personal opinion?"

"Oh, I, as you are aware, am only a poor fellow; still it seems to me as if this demon of an Indian is more crafty than his whole tribe; between ourselves, he is regarded as a sorcerer by his countrymen, who are frightfully afraid of him."

"Is that all?"

"Nearly."

"After that," the Count said, lightly, "as he has asked me to accompany him to his village, the few days we spend with him will enable us to study him at our ease."

The hunter gave a start of surprise.

"You will not do so, I trust, Sir?"

"I do not see what can prevent me."

"Yourself, Sir; who, I hope, will not walk, with your eyes open, into the lion's jaws."

"Will you explain – yes, or no?" the Count exclaimed with rising impatience.

"Oh, what is the use of explaining? – will what I say stop you? No, I am persuaded of that. You see, therefore, it is useless for me to say more; besides, it is too late – the chief is returning."

The Count made a movement of ill-humour, at once suppressed; but this movement did not escape Natah Otann, who at this moment appeared on the plateau. The young man walked toward him.

"Well?" he asked eagerly.

"My young men consent to do what our Paleface father desires; if he will mount his horse and follow us, he can convince himself that our intentions are loyal."

"I follow you, chief," the Count replied, making Ivon a sign to bring up his horse.

The Blackfeet welcomed the three hunters with unequivocal signs of joy.

"Forward!" the young man said.

Natah Otann raised his arm. At this signal the warriors drove in their knees, and the horses started like a hurricane. No one, who has not witnessed it, can form an idea of an Indian chase: nothing stops the Redskins – no obstacle is powerful enough to make them deviate from their course; they go in a straight line, rolling like a human whirlwind across the prairie crossing gulleys, ravines, and rocks, with dizzy rapidity. Natah Otann, the Count, and his two companions, were at the head of the cavalcade, closely followed by the warriors. All at once the chief checked his horse, shouting at the top of his voice —

"Halt!"

All obeyed, as if by enchantment: the horses stopped dead, and remained motionless, as if their feet were planted in the ground.

"Why stop?" the Count asked; "we had better push on."

"It is useless," the chief said, calmly; "let my Pale brother look before him."

The Count bent on his horse's neck.

"I can see nothing," he said.

"That is true," the Indian said; "I forgot that my brother has the eyes of the Palefaces; in a few minutes he will see."

The Blackfeet anxiously collected round their chief, whom they questioned with their glances. The latter, apparently impassive, looked straight ahead, distinguishing in the darkness objects invisible to all but himself. The Indians, however, had not long to wait, for some horsemen soon came up at full speed. When they arrived near Natah Otann's party, they stopped.

"What has happened?" the chief asked, sternly; "why are my sons running away thus? They are not warriors I see, but timid women."

The Indians bowed their heads with humility at this reproach, but made no answer. The chief continued – "Will no one inform us of what has happened – why my chosen warriors are flying like scattered antelopes – where is Long Horn?"

A warrior emerged from the ranks.

"Long Horn is dead," he said, sorrowfully.

"He was a wise and renowned warrior; he has gone to the happy hunting grounds to hunt with the upright warriors. As he is dead, why did not the Blackbird take the totem in his hand in his place?"

"Because the Blackbird is dead," the warrior answered, in the same tone.

Natah Otann frowned, and his brow was contracted by the effort he made to suppress his passion.

"Oh!" he said, bitterly, "the greathearts of the east have fought well; their rifles carry truly. The two best chiefs of the nation have fallen, but the Red Wolf still remained – why did he not avenge his brothers?"

"Because he has also fallen," the warrior said, in a mournful voice.

A shudder of anger ran through the ranks.

"Wah!" Natah Otann exclaimed, with grief, "what is he also dead?"

"No; but he is dangerously wounded."

After these words there was a silence. The chief looked around him, and then said —

"So; four Palefaces have held at bay two hundred Blackfeet warriors; killed and wounded their bravest chiefs, and those warriors have not taken their revenge. Ah! ah! what will the White Buffalo say when he hears that? He will give petticoats to my sons, and make them prepare food for the more courageous warriors, instead of sending them on the warpath."

"The camp of the Long Knives was in our power," the Indian replied, who had hitherto spoken for his comrades, "we already had them down with our knees on their chests, a portion of their cattle was carried off, and the scalps of the Palefaces were about to be attached to our girdles, when the Evil Genius suddenly appeared in their midst, and, by her mere appearance, changed the face of the combat."

The chief's face became still severer at this news, which his warriors received with unequivocal marks of terror.

"The 'Evil Genius!'" he said; "of whom is my brother speaking?"

"Of whom else can I speak to my father, save the Lying She-wolf of the Prairies??" the Indian said, in a low voice.

"Oh! oh!" Natah Otann answered, "did my brother see the She-wolf?"

"Yes; we assure our father," the Blackfeet shouted altogether, happy to clear themselves from the accusation of cowardice that weighed on them.

Natah Otann seemed to reflect for a moment.

"At what place are the cattle my brothers carried off from the Long Knives?" he asked.

"We have brought them with us," a warrior answered, "they are here."

"Good," Natah Otann continued, "let my brothers open their ears to hear the words the Great Spirit breathes unto me: – the Long Knives are protected by the She-wolf: our efforts would be useless, and my sons would not succeed in conquering them; I will make a great medicine to break the charm of the She-wolf when we return to our village, but till then we must be very cunning to deceive the She-wolf, and prevent her being on her guard. Will my sons follow the advice of an experienced chief?"

"Let my father utter his thoughts," a warrior answered, in the name of all, "he is very wise: we will do what he wishes: he will deceive the She-wolf better than we can."

"Good; my sons have spoken well. This is what we will do: – We will return to the camp of the Palefaces, and will restore them their beasts; the Palefaces, deceived by this friendly conduct, will no longer suspect us; when we have made the great medicine, we will then seize their camp and all it contains, and the Lying She-wolf will be unable to defend them. I have spoken; what do my sons think?"

"My father is very crafty," the warrior replied; "what he has said is very good, his sons will perform it."

Natah Otann cast a glance of triumph at the Count de Beaulieu, who admired the skill with which the chief, while appearing to reprimand the Indians for the ill success of their enterprise, and evincing the greatest wrath against the Americans, had succeeded in a few minutes in inducing them to carry out his secret wishes.

"Oh! oh!" the Count murmured, aside, "this Indian is no common man, he deserves studying."

Still, a moment of tumult had followed the chief's words. The Blackfeet, recovered from the panic and terror which had made them fly with the feet of gazelles, to escape speedily from the ruined camp, where they had experienced so rude a defeat, had got off their horses, and were engaged, some in laying on their wounds chewed leaves of the oregano, others in collecting the cattle and horses which they had stolen from the Palefaces, and which were scattered about.

"Who is this Lying She-wolf of the Prairies, who inspires such horror in these men?" the Count asked Bright-eye.

"No one knows her," the hunter answered, in a low voice, "she is a woman whose mysterious life has hitherto foiled the most careful attempts at investigation: she does no harm to any but the Indians, whose implacable foe she appears to be: the Redskins affirm that she is invulnerable, that bullets and arrows rebound from her without doing her any injury. I have often seen her, though I have had no opportunity of speaking with her. I believe her to be mad, for I have seen her perform some of the wildest freaks at some moments, though at others she appears in full possession of her senses: in a word, she is an incomprehensible being, who leads an extraordinary life in the heart of the prairies."

"Is she alone?"

"Always."

"You excite my curiosity to the highest degree," the Count said; "no one, I suppose, could give me any information about this woman?"

"One person could do so, if he cared to speak."

"Who's that?"

"Natah Otann," the hunter said, in a low voice.

"That is strange," the Count muttered; "what can there be in common between him and this woman?"

Bright-eye only answered by a significant glance.

The conversation was broken off, and at the chief's order the Blackfeet remounted their horses.

"Forwards!" Natah Otann said, taking the head of the column again with the Count and his companions.

The whole troop set out at a gallop in the direction of the American camp, taking the cattle in their midst.

CHAPTER VIII

THE EXILE

We are compelled, for the proper comprehension of the facts that will follow, to break off our story for a moment, in order to describe a strange adventure which happened on the Western Prairies some thirty odd years before our story opens.

The Indians, whom people insist so wrongly, in our opinion, in regarding as savages, have certain customs which display a thorough knowledge of the human heart. The Comanches, who appear to remember that in old times they enjoyed a far advanced civilization, have retained the largest amount of those customs which are, certainly, stamped with originality.

One day in the month of February, which they call the Moon of the Arriving Eagles, and in the year 1795 or 1796, a village of the Red Cow tribe was in a state of extraordinary agitation. The hachesto, or public speaker, mounted on the roof of a lodge, summoned the warriors for the seventh hour of the day to the village square, near the ark of the first man, where a grand council would be held. The warriors asked each other in vain the purport of this unforeseen meeting, but no one could tell them: the hachesto himself was ignorant, and they were obliged to await the hour of assembling, although the comments and suppositions still went on to a great extent.

The Redskins, whom badly-informed authors represent to us as cold, silent men, are, on the contrary, very gay, and remarkable gossips when together. What has caused the contrary supposition is, that in their relations with white men the Indians are, in the first place, checked by the difficulties of the language – equally insurmountable, by the way, for both parties – and next by the distrust which every American native feels towards Europeans, whoever they may be, owing to the inveterate hatred that separates the two races.

During our lengthened residence among Indian tribes we often had opportunities for noticing what mistakes are made with respect to the Redskins. During their long evening gossips in the villages, or the hunting expeditions, there was a rolling fire of jokes and witticisms, often lasting whole hours, to the great delight of the audience, who laughed that hearty Indian laugh, without care or afterthought, which cleaves the mouth to the ears, and draws tears of delight, – a laugh which, for metallic resonance, can only be compared with that of negroes, though the former is far more spiritual than the latter, whose notes have ever something bestial about them.

Toward the decline of day, the hour selected for the meeting, the village square presented a most animated appearance. The warriors, women, children, and dogs, those inseparable guests of the Redskins, pressed round a large circle left empty in the centre for the council fire, near which the principal chiefs of the nation crouched ceremoniously. At a sign from an old sachem whose hair, white as silver, fell in a cloud on his shoulders, the pipe bearer brought in the great calumet, the stem of which he presented to each chief in turn, while holding the bowl in the palm of his hand. When all the chiefs had smoked, the pipe bearer turned the calumet to the four cardinal points, while murmuring mysterious words which no one heard; then he emptied the ash into the fire, saying aloud, —

"Chiefs, warriors, women, and children of the Red Cow, your sachems are assembled to judge a very grave question; pray to the Master of Life to inspire them with wise words."

Then the pipe bearer, after bowing respectfully to the chiefs, withdrew, taking the calumet with him. The council began, and, at a sign from the aged sachem, a chief rose, and bowing, took the word: —

"Venerated sachems, chiefs, and warriors of my nation," he said, in a loud voice, "the mission with which I am entrusted is painful to my heart: listen to me indulgently, be not governed by passion; but let justice alone preside over the severe decree which you will, perhaps, be compelled to pronounce. The mission which I am entrusted with is painful, I repeat; it fills my heart with sadness: I am compelled to accuse before you two renowned chiefs belonging to two illustrious families, who have, with equal claims, deserved well of the nation on many occasions by rendering it signal services; these chiefs, as I must name them before you, are the Bounding Panther, and the Sparrow Hawk."

On hearing these names, so well known and justly esteemed, pronounced, a shudder of astonishment and pain ran though the crowd. But, at a sign from the oldest chief, silence was almost immediately re-established, and the chief continued —

"How is it that a cloud has suddenly passed over the mind of these two warriors, and tarnished their intellect to such an extent, that these two men, who so long loved one another as brothers, whose friendship was cited among the nation, have suddenly become implacable enemies, so that, when they see each other, their eyes flash lightning, and their hands seek their weapons to commit murder? No one can say; no one knows it; these chiefs, when interrogated by the sachems, maintained an obstinate silence, instead of revealing the causes of their cruel enmity, which brings trouble and desolation on the tribe. Such a scandal must not last longer; tolerating it would be giving a pernicious example to our children! Sachems, chiefs, and warriors, in the name of justice, I demand that these irreconcilable enemies should be eternally banished from the tribe this very evening at sunset. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"

The chief sat down amid a mournful silence in this assembly of nearly two thousand people; the beating of their sorrow-laden hearts might almost be heard, such sustained attention did each one give to the words pronounced in the council.

"Has any chief any observation to offer on the accusation which has just been brought?" the old sachem said, in a weak voice, which was, however, perfectly heard in every part of the square. A member of the council rose.

"I take the word," he said, "not to refute Tiger Cat's accusation, for unfortunately all he has said is most scrupulously correct; far from exaggerating facts, he has, with that goodness and wisdom which reside in him, weakened the odiousness of that hatred; I only wish to offer a remark to my brothers. The chiefs are guilty, that is only too fully proved; a longer discussion on that point would be tedious; but, as Tiger Cat himself told us, with that loyalty which distinguishes him, these two men are renowned chiefs, chosen warriors, and they have rendered the nation signal services; we all love and cherish them for different reasons; let us be severe, but not cruel; let us not drive them from among us as unclean creatures; before striking, let us make one more attempt to reconcile them; this last step, taken in the presence of the whole nation, will, doubtlessly, touch their hearts, and we shall have the happiness of keeping two illustrious chiefs. If they remain deaf to our prayers, if our observations do not obtain the success we desire, then, as the case will be without a remedy, let us be implacable; put an end to this scandal which has lasted too long, and, as Tiger Cat asked, drive them for ever from our nation, which they dishonour. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"

After bowing to the sachems, the chief resumed his seat in the midst of a murmur of satisfaction, produced by his hearty language. Although these two speeches were contained in the programme of the ceremony, and everyone knew what the result of the meeting would be, the unreconciled chiefs had so much sympathy among the nation, that many persons still hoped they would be reconciled at the last moment, when they saw themselves on the point of being banished. The strangest thing connected with the hatred between the two men was, that the reason of it was completely unknown, and no one knew how to account for it. When silence was restored, the oldest sachem, after a consultation with his colleagues in a low voice, took the word.

"Let the Bounding Panther and the Sparrowhawk be introduced to our presence."

At the two opposite corners of the square, the crowd parted like overripe fruit, and left a passage for a small band of warriors, in the centre of which the two accused men walked. When they met, they remained perfectly calm, a slight arching of the eyebrows being the only sign of emotion they displayed. They were each about twenty-five years of age, well built, and active, and of martial aspect. They wore their grand costume and war paint, but their weapons were carried by their respective friends. They presented themselves before the council with great respect and modesty, which the assembly approved of heartily. After looking at them with a glance at once sorrowful and benevolent, the eldest sachem rose with an effort, and, supported by two of his colleagues, who held him under the arms, he at length spoke in a weak voice.

"Warriors, my beloved children," he said, "from the spot where you stood you heard the accusation brought against you; what have you to say in your defence? – are those words true? do you really entertain this irreconcilable hatred to each other? Speak."

The two chiefs bowed their heads silently. The sachem continued —

"My cherished children, I was already very old, when your mother, a child, whose birth I also saw, brought you into the world. I was the first to teach you the use of those weapons, which later became so terrible in your vigorous hands. Now that I am about to sleep the eternal sleep, only to wake again in the happy hunting grounds, give me a supreme consolation which will make me the happiest of men, and repay me for all the sorrow you have caused me. Come, children, you are young and adventurous, love alone ought to find a place in your hearts; hatred is a passion belonging to a ripe age, it does not become youth; offer one another those honest hands, embrace, like the two brothers you are, and let all be eternally forgotten between you. I implore you, my children; you cannot resist the prayers of an old man so near the tomb as I am."

There was a moment of supreme anxiety in the crowd; all waited with panting hearts for what was about to happen. The two chiefs directed a tender glance at the old sachem, who regarded them with tears in his eyes, then turned towards each other; their lips trembled, as if they wished to speak; a nervous tremor agitated their bodies, but no sound passed their lips; their arms remained inert by their sides.

"Answer," the old man continued, "yes or no. You must; I command it."

"No," they replied together, in a hoarse though firm voice.

The sachem drew himself up.

"It is well," he said. "As no generous feeling remains in your hearts, as hatred has eaten them up entirely, and you are no longer men but monsters, listen to the irrevocable sentence which your sachems, your equals, your relations, and friends pronounce upon you. The nation rejects you from its bosom; you are no longer children of our tribe. Fire and water are refused you on the hunting ground of your nation, we no longer know you. Chiefs who answer for you with their heads will lead you twenty-five leagues from the village; you, Bounding Panther, in a southern, and you, Sparrowhawk, in a northern direction; you are forbidden, under penalty of death, ever to set your foot again on the territory of your nation; each of you will take one of these arrows, painted of diverse colours, which will serve as a passport with the tribes through which you pass. Seek a nation to adopt you, for henceforth you have neither country nor family. Go, accursed ones! these arrows are the last presents you will receive from your brothers. Go, and may the Master of Life soften your tiger hearts! As for us, we know you no more. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"

The old man sat down again in the midst of general emotion; he veiled his face with the skirt of his buffalo robe, and wept. The two chiefs tottered away like drunken men, led to opposite corners of the square by their friends. They passed through the ranks of their countrymen, bowed down by the maledictions showered on them as they passed.

At the extremity of the village, horses were awaiting them. They galloped off, still followed by their escort. When each arrived at the spot where he was to be left, the warriors dismounted, threw their arms on the ground, and went off at full speed. Not a word had been uttered during the long ride, which lasted fourteen hours.

We will follow the Sparrowhawk: as for the Bounding Panther, no one ever knew what became of him; his traces were so completely lost, that it was impossible to find them again. The Sparrowhawk was a man of tried courage and energy; still, finding himself alone, abandoned by all those he had loved, a momentary feeling of discouragement and cold rage almost turned him mad. But his pride soon revolted, he wrestled with his sorrow, and after allowing his horse to take its necessary rest, he set out boldly.