The Prairie (Fiscle Part 3) Of 2 by J Fenimore Cooper (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📖

Part 3 Chapter 18 Pg 1

        My Visor Is Philemon's Roof; Within The House Is Jove.

                                                   --Shakspeare.

 

The Trapper,  Who Had Meditated No Violence,  Dropped His Rifle Again,

And Laughing At The Success Of His Experiment,  With Great Seeming

Self-Complacency,  He Drew The Astounded Gaze Of The Naturalist From

The Person Of The Savage To Himself,  By Saying--

 

"The Imps Will Lie For Hours,  Like Sleeping Alligators,  Brooding Their

Deviltries In Dreams And Other Craftiness,  Until Such Time As They See

Some Real Danger Is At Hand,  And Then They Look To Themselves The Same

As Other Mortals. But This Is A Scouter In His War-Paint! There Should

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Be More Of His Tribe At No Great Distance. Let Us Draw The Truth Out

Of Him; For An Unlucky War-Party May Prove More Dangerous To Us Than A

Visit From The Whole Family Of The Squatter."

 

"It Is Truly A Desperate And A Dangerous Species!" Said The Doctor,

Relieving His Amazement By A Breath That Seemed To Exhaust His Lungs

Of Air; "A Violent Race,  And One That It Is Difficult To Define Or

Class,  Within The Usual Boundaries Of Definitions. Speak To Him,

Therefore; But Let Thy Words Be Strong In Amity."

 

The Old Man Cast A Keen Eye On Every Side Of Him,  To Ascertain The

Important Particular Whether The Stranger Was Supported By Any

Associates,  And Then Making The Usual Signs Of Peace,  By Exhibiting

The Palm Of His Naked Hand,  He Boldly Advanced. In The Mean Time,  The

Indian Betrayed No Evidence Of Uneasiness. He Suffered The Trapper To

Draw Nigh,  Maintaining By His Own Mien And Attitude A Striking Air Of

Dignity And Fearlessness. Perhaps The Wary Warrior Also Knew That,

Owing To The Difference In Their Weapons,  He Should Be Placed More On

An Equality,  By Being Brought Nearer To The Strangers.

 

As A Description Of This Individual May Furnish Some Idea Of The

Personal Appearance Of A Whole Race,  It May Be Well To Detain The

Narrative,  In Order To Present It To The Reader,  In Our Hasty And

Imperfect Manner. Would The Truant Eyes Of Alston Or Greenough Turn,

But For A Time,  From Their Gaze At The Models Of Antiquity,  To

Contemplate This Wronged And Humbled People,  Little Would Be Left For

Such Inferior Artists As Ourselves To Delineate.

 

The Indian In Question Was In Every Particular A Warrior Of Fine

Stature And Admirable Proportions. As He Cast Aside His Mask,  Composed

Of Such Party-Coloured Leaves,  As He Had Hurriedly Collected,  His

Countenance Appeared In All The Gravity,  The Dignity,  And,  It May Be

Added,  In The Terror Of His Profession. The Outlines Of His Lineaments

Were Strikingly Noble,  And Nearly Approaching To Roman,  Though The

Secondary Features Of His Face Were Slightly Marked With The Well-

Known Traces Of His Asiatic Origin. The Peculiar Tint Of The Skin,

Which In Itself Is So Well Designed To Aid The Effect Of A Martial

Expression,  Had Received An Additional Aspect Of Wild Ferocity From

The Colours Of The War-Paint. But,  As If He Disdained The Usual

Artifices Of His People,  He Bore None Of Those Strange And Horrid

Devices,  With Which The Children Of The Forest Are Accustomed,  Like

The More Civilised Heroes Of The Moustache,  To Back Their Reputation

For Courage,  Contenting Himself With A Broad And Deep Shadowing Of

Black,  That Served As A Sufficient And An Admirable Foil To The

Brighter Gleamings Of His Native Swarthiness. His Head Was As Usual

Shaved To The Crown,  Where A Large And Gallant Scalp-Lock Seemed To

Challenge The Grasp Of His Enemies. The Ornaments That Were Ordinarily

Pendant From The Cartilages Of His Ears Had Been Removed,  On Account

Of His Present Pursuit. His Body,  Notwithstanding The Lateness Of The

Season,  Was Nearly Naked,  And The Portion Which Was Clad Bore A

Vestment No Warmer Than A Light Robe Of The Finest Dressed Deer-Skin,

Beautifully Stained With The Rude Design Of Some Daring Exploit,  And

Which Was Carelessly Worn,  As If More In Pride Than From Any Unmanly

Regard To Comfort. His Leggings Were Of Bright Scarlet Cloth,  The Only

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Evidence About His Person That He Had Held Communion With The Traders

Of The Pale-Faces. But As If To Furnish Some Offset To This Solitary

Submission To A Womanish Vanity,  They Were Fearfully Fringed,  From The

Gartered Knee To The Bottom Of The Moccasin,  With The Hair Of Human

Scalps. He Leaned Lightly With One Hand On A Short Hickory Bow,  While

The Other Rather Touched Than Sought Support,  From The Long,  Delicate

Handle Of An Ashen Lance. A Quiver Made Of The Cougar Skin,  From Which

The Tail Of The Animal Depended,  As A Characteristic Ornament,  Was

Slung At His Back,  And A Shield Of Hides,  Quaintly Emblazoned With

Another Of His Warlike Deeds,  Was Suspended From His Neck By A Thong

Of Sinews.

 

As The Trapper Approached,  This Warrior Maintained His Calm Upright

Attitude,  Discovering Neither An Eagerness To Ascertain The Character

Of Those Who Advanced Upon Him,  Nor The Smallest Wish To Avoid A

Scrutiny In His Own Person. An Eye,  That Was Darker And More Shining

Than That Of The Stag,  Was Incessantly Glancing,  However,  From One To

Another Of The Stranger Party,  Seemingly Never Knowing Rest For An

Instant.

 

"Is My Brother Far From His Village?" Demanded The Old Man,  In The

Pawnee Language,  After Examining The Paint,  And Those Other Little

Signs By Which A Practised Eye Knows The Tribe Of The Warrior He

Encounters In The American Deserts,  With The Same Readiness,  And By

The Same Sort Of Mysterious Observation,  As That By Which The Seaman

Knows The Distant Sail.

 

"It Is Farther To The Towns Of The Big-Knives," Was The Laconic Reply.

 

"Why Is A Pawnee-Loup So Far From The Fork Of His Own River,  Without A

Horse To Journey On,  And In A Spot Empty As This?"

 

"Can The Women And Children Of A Pale-Face Live Without The Meat Of

The Bison? There Was Hunger In My Lodge."

 

"My Brother Is Very Young To Be Already The Master Of A Lodge,"

Returned The Trapper,  Looking Steadily Into The Unmoved Countenance Of

The Youthful Warrior; "But I Dare Say He Is Brave,  And That Many A

Chief Has Offered Him His Daughters For Wives. But He Has Been

Mistaken," Pointing To The Arrow,  Which Was Dangling From The Hand

That Held The Bow,  "In Bringing A Loose And Barbed Arrow-Head To Kill

The Buffaloe. Do The Pawnees Wish The Wounds They Give Their Game To

Rankle?"

 

"It Is Good To Be Ready For The Sioux. Though Not In Sight,  A Bush May

Hide Him."

 

"The Man Is A Living Proof Of The Truth Of His Words," Muttered The

Trapper In English,  "And A Close-Jointed And Gallant Looking Lad He

Is; But Far Too Young For A Chief Of Any Importance. It Is Wise,

However,  To Speak Him Fair,  For A Single Arm Thrown Into Either Party,

If We Come To Blows With The Squatter And His Brood,  May Turn The Day.

You See My Children Are Weary," He Continued In The Dialect Of The

Prairies,  Pointing,  As He Spoke,  To The Rest Of The Party,  Who,  By

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This Time,  Were Also Approaching. "We Wish To Camp And Eat. Does My

Brother Claim This Spot?"

 

"The Runners From The People On The Big-River,  Tell Us That Your

Nation Have Traded With The Tawney-Faces Who Live Beyond The Salt-

Lake,  And That The Prairies Are Now The Hunting Grounds Of The Big-

Knives!"

 

"It Is True,  As I Hear,  Also,  From The Hunters And Trappers On La

Platte. Though It Is With The Frenchers,  And Not With The Men Who

Claim To Own The Mexicos,  That My People Have Bargained."

 

"And Warriors Are Going Up The Long-River,  To See That They Have Not

Been Cheated,  In What They Have Bought?"

 

"Ay,  That Is Partly True,  Too,  I Fear; And It Will Not Be Long Before

An Accursed Band Of Choppers And Loggers Will Be Following On Their

Heels,  To Humble The Wilderness Which Lies So Broad And Rich On The

Western Banks Of The Mississippi,  And Then The Land Will Be A Peopled

Desert,  From The Shores Of The Main Sea To The Foot Of The Rocky

Mountains; Fill'd With All The Abominations And Craft Of Man,  And

Stript Of The Comforts And Loveliness It Received From The Hands Of

The Lord!"

 

"And Where Were The Chiefs Of The Pawnee-Loups,  When This Bargain Was

Made?" Suddenly Demanded The Youthful Warrior,  A Look Of Startling

Fierceness Gleaming,  At The Same Instant,  Athwart His Dark Visage. "Is

A Nation To Be Sold Like The Skin Of A Beaver?"

 

"Right Enough--Right Enough,  And Where Were Truth And Honesty,  Also?

But Might Is Right,  According To The Fashions Of The 'Arth; And What

The Strong Choose To Do,  The Weak Must Call Justice. If The Law Of The

Wahcondah Was As Much Hearkened To,  Pawnee,  As The Laws Of The Long-

Knives,  Your Right To The Prairies Would Be As Good As That Of The

Greatest Chief In The Settlements To The House Which Covers His Head."

 

"The Skin Of The Traveller Is White," Said The Young Native,  Laying A

Finger Impressively On The Hard And Wrinkled Hand Of The Trapper.

"Does His Heart Say One Thing And His Tongue Another?"

 

"The Wahcondah Of A White Man Has Ears,  And He Shuts Them To A Lie.

Look At My Head; It Is Like A Frosted Pine,  And Must Soon Be Laid In

The Ground. Why Then Should I Wish To Meet The Great Spirit,  Face To

Face,  While His Countenance Is Dark Upon Me."

 

The Pawnee Gracefully Threw His Shield Over One Shoulder,  And Placing

A Hand On His Chest,  He Bent His Head,  In Deference To The Grey Locks

Exhibited By The Trapper; After Which His Eye Became More Steady,  And

His Countenance Less Fierce. Still He Maintained Every Appearance Of A

Distrust And Watchfulness That Were Rather Tempered And Subdued,  Than

Forgotten. When This Equivocal Species Of Amity Was Established

Between The Warrior Of The Prairies And The Experienced Old Trapper,

The Latter Proceeded To Give His Directions To Paul,  Concerning The

Arrangements Of The Contemplated Halt. While Inez And Ellen Were