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

Part 3 Chapter 18 Pg 5

Dismounting,  And Middleton And The Bee-Hunter Were Attending To Their

Comforts,  The Discourse Was Continued,  Sometimes In The Language Of

The Natives,  But Often,  As Paul And The Doctor Mingled Their Opinions

With The Two Principal Speakers,  In The English Tongue. There Was A

Keen And Subtle Trial Of Skill Between The Pawnee And The Trapper,  In

Which Each Endeavoured To Discover The Objects Of The Other,  Without

Betraying His Own Interest In The Investigation. As Might Be Expected,

When The Struggle Was Between Adversaries So Equal,  The Result Of The

Encounter Answered The Expectations Of Neither. The Latter Had Put All

The Interrogatories His Ingenuity And Practice Could Suggest,

Concerning The State Of The Tribe Of The Loups,  Their Crops,  Their

Store Of Provisions For The Ensuing Winter,  And Their Relations With

Their Different Warlike Neighbours Without Extorting Any Answer,

Which,  In The Slightest Degree,  Elucidated The Cause Of His Finding A

Solitary Warrior So Far From His People. On The Other Hand,  While The

Questions Of The Indian Were Far More Dignified And Delicate,  They

Were Equally Ingenious. He Commented On The State Of The Trade In

Peltries,  Spoke Of The Good Or Ill Success Of Many White Hunters,  Whom

He Had Either Encountered,  Or Heard Named,  And Even Alluded To The

Steady March,  Which The Nation Of His Great Father,  As He Cautiously

Termed The Government Of The States,  Was Making Towards The Hunting-

Grounds Of His Tribe. It Was Apparent,  However,  By The Singular

Mixture Of Interest,  Contempt,  And Indignation,  That Were Occasionally

Gleaming Through The Reserved Manner Of This Warrior,  That He Knew The

Strange People,  Who Were Thus Trespassing On His Native Rights,  Much

More By Report Than By Any Actual Intercourse. This Personal Ignorance

Of The Whites Was As Much Betrayed By The Manner In Which He Regarded

The Females,  As By The Brief,  But Energetic,  Expressions Which

Occasionally Escaped Him.

 

While Speaking To The Trapper He Suffered His Wandering Glances To

Stray Towards The Intellectual And Nearly Infantile Beauty Of Inez,  As

One Might Be Supposed To Gaze Upon The Loveliness Of An Ethereal

Being. It Was Very Evident That He Now Saw,  For The First Time,  One Of

Those Females,  Of Whom The Fathers Of His Tribe So Often Spoke,  And

Who Were Considered Of Such Rare Excellence As To Equal All That

Savage Ingenuity Could Imagine In The Way Of Loveliness. His

Observation Of Ellen Was Less Marked,  But Notwithstanding The Warlike

And Chastened Expression Of His Eye,  There Was Much Of The Homage,

Which Man Is Made To Pay To Woman,  Even In The More Cursory Look He

Sometimes Turned On Her Maturer And Perhaps More Animated Beauty. This

Admiration,  However,  Was So Tempered By His Habits,  And So Smothered

In The Pride Of A Warrior,  As Completely To Elude Every Eye But That

Of The Trapper,  Who Was Too Well Skilled In Indian Customs,  And Was

Too Well Instructed In The Importance Of Rightly Conceiving,  The

Character Of The Stranger,  To Let The Smallest Trait,  Or The Most

Trifling Of His Movements,  Escape Him. In The Mean Time,  The

Unconscious Ellen Herself Moved About The Feeble And Less Resolute

Inez,  With Her Accustomed Assiduity And Tenderness,  Exhibiting In Her

Frank Features Those Changing Emotions Of Joy And Regret Which

Occasionally Beset Her,  As Her Active Mind Dwelt On The Decided Step

She Had Just Taken,  With The Contending Doubts And Hopes,  And Possibly

With Some Of The Mental Vacillation,  That Was Natural To Her Situation

And Sex.

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Not So Paul; Conceiving Himself To Have Obtained The Two Things

Dearest To His Heart,  The Possession Of Ellen And A Triumph Over The

Sons Of Ishmael,  He Now Enacted His Part,  In The Business Of The

Moment,  With As Much Coolness As Though He Was Already Leading His

Willing Bride,  From Solemnising Their Nuptials Before A Border

Magistrate,  To The Security Of His Own Dwelling. He Had Hovered Around

The Moving Family,  During The Tedious Period Of Their Weary March,

Concealing Himself By Day,  And Seeking Interviews With His Betrothed

As Opportunities Offered,  In The Manner Already Described,  Until

Fortune And His Own Intrepidity Had United To Render Him Successful,

At The Very Moment When He Was Beginning To Despair,  And He Now Cared

Neither For Distance,  Nor Violence,  Nor Hardships. To His Sanguine

Fancy And Determined Resolution All The Rest Was Easily To Be

Achieved. Such Were His Feelings,  And Such In Truth They Seemed To Be.

With His Cap Cast On One Side,  And Whistling A Low Air,  He Thrashed

Among The Bushes,  In Order To Make A Place Suitable For The Females To

Repose On,  While,  From Time To Time,  He Cast An Approving Glance At

The Agile Form Of Ellen,  As She Tripped Past Him,  Engaged In Her Own

Share Of The Duty.

 

"And So The Wolf-Tribe Of The Pawnees Have Buried The Hatchet With

Their Neighbours,  The Konzas?" Said The Trapper,  Pursuing A Discourse

Which He Had Scarcely Permitted To Flag,  Though It Had Been

Occasionally Interrupted By The Different Directions With Which He

Occasionally Saw Fit To Interrupt It. (The Reader Will Remember That,

While He Spoke To The Native Warrior In His Own Tongue,  He Necessarily

Addressed His White Companions In English.) "The Loups And The Light-

Fac'd Red-Skins Are Again Friends. Doctor,  That Is A Tribe Of Which

I'll Engage You've Often Read,  And Of Which Many A Round Lie Has Been

Whispered In The Ears Of The Ignorant People,  Who Live In The

Settlements. There Was A Story Of A Nation Of Welshers,  That Liv'd

Hereaway In The Prairies,  And How They Came Into The Land Afore The

Uneasy Minded Man,  Who First Let In The Christians To Rob The Heathens

Of Their Inheritance,  Had Ever Dreamt That The Sun Set On A Country As

Big As That It Rose From. And How They Knew The White Ways,  And Spoke

With White Tongues,  And A Thousand Other Follies And Idle Conceits."

 

"Have I Not Heard Of Them?" Exclaimed The Naturalist,  Dropping A Piece

Of Jerked Bison's Meat,  Which He Was Rather Roughly Discussing,  At The

Moment. "I Should Be Greatly Ignorant Not To Have Often Dwelt With

Delight On So Beautiful A Theory,  And One Which So Triumphantly

Establishes Two Positions,  Which I Have Often Maintained Are

Unanswerable,  Even Without Such Living Testimony In Their Favour--Viz.

That This Continent Can Claim A More Remote Affinity With Civilisation

Than The Time Of Columbus,  And That Colour Is The Fruit Of Climate And

Condition,  And Not A Regulation Of Nature. Propound The Latter

Question To This Indian Gentleman,  Venerable Hunter; He Is Of A

Reddish Tint Himself,  And His Opinion May Be Said To Make Us Masters

Of The Two Sides Of The Disputed Point."

 

"Do You Think A Pawnee Is A Reader Of Books,  And A Believer Of Printed

Lies,  Like The Idlers In The Towns?" Retorted The Old Man,  Laughing.

"But It May Be As Well To Humour The Likings Of The Man,  Which,  After

Part 3 Chapter 18 Pg 7

All,  It Is Quite Possible Are Neither More Nor Less Than His Natural

Gift,  And Therefore To Be Followed,  Although They May Be Pitied. What

Does My Brother Think? All Whom He Sees Here Have Pale Skins,  But The

Pawnee Warriors Are Red; Does He Believe That Man Changes With The

Season,  And That The Son Is Not Like His Father?"

 

The Young Warrior Regarded His Interrogator For A Moment With A Steady

And Deliberating Eye; Then Raising His Finger Upward,  He Answered With

Dignity--

 

"The Wahcondah Pours The Rain From His Clouds; When He Speaks,  He

Shakes The Lulls; And The Fire,  Which Scorches The Trees,  Is The Anger

Of His Eye; But He Fashioned His Children With Care And Thought. What

He Has Thus Made,  Never Alters!"

 

"Ay,  'Tis In The Reason Of Natur' That It Should Be So,  Doctor,"

Continued The Trapper,  When He Had Interpreted This Answer To The

Disappointed Naturalist. "The Pawnees Are A Wise And A Great People,

And I'll Engage They Abound In Many A Wholesome And Honest Tradition.

The Hunters And Trappers,  That I Sometimes See,  Speak Of A Great

Warrior Of Your Race."

 

"My Tribe Are Not Women. A Brave Is No Stranger In My Village."

 

"Ay; But He,  They Speak Of Most,  Is A Chief Far Beyond The Renown Of

Common Warriors,  And One That Might Have Done Credit To That Once

Mighty But Now Fallen People,  The Delawares Of The Hills."

 

"Such A Warrior Should Have A Name?"

 

"They Call Him Hard-Heart,  From The Stoutness Of His Resolution; And

Well Is He Named,  If All I Have Heard Of His Deeds Be True."

 

The Stranger Cast A Glance,  Which Seemed To Read The Guileless Soul Of

The Old Man,  As He Demanded--

 

"Has The Pale-Face Seen The Partisan Of My People?"

 

"Never. It Is Not With Me Now,  As It Used To Be Some Forty Years Ago,

When Warfare And Bloodshed Were My Calling And My Gifts!"

 

A Loud Shout From The Reckless Paul Interrupted His Speech,  And At The

Next Moment The Bee-Hunter Appeared,  Leading An Indian War-Horse From

The Side Of The Thicket Opposite To The One Occupied By The Party.

 

"Here Is A Beast For A Red-Skin To Straddle!" He Cried,  As He Made The

Animal Go Through Some Of Its Wild Paces. "There's Not A Brigadier In

All Kentucky That Can Call Himself Master Of So Sleek And Well-Jointed

A Nag! A Spanish Saddle Too,  Like A Grandee Of The Mexicos! And Look

At The Mane And Tail,  Braided And Platted Down With Little Silver

Balls,  As If It Were Ellen Herself Getting Her Shining Hair Ready For

A Dance,  Or A Husking Frolic! Isn't This A Real Trotter,  Old Trapper,

To Eat Out Of The Manger Of A Savage?"

 

Part 3 Chapter 18 Pg 8