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

"Softly,  Lad,  Softly. The Loups Are Famous For Their Horses,  And It Is

Often That You See A Warrior On The Prairies Far Better Mounted,  Than

A Congress-Man In The Settlements. But This,  Indeed,  Is A Beast That

None But A Powerful Chief Should Ride! The Saddle,  As You Rightly

Think,  Has Been Sit Upon In Its Day By A Great Spanish Captain,  Who

Has Lost It And His Life Together,  In Some Of The Battles Which This

People Often Fight Against The Southern Provinces. I Warrant Me,  I

Warrant Me,  The Youngster Is The Son Of A Great Chief; May Be Of The

Mighty Hard-Heart Himself!"

 

During This Rude Interruption To The Discourse,  The Young Pawnee

Manifested Neither Impatience Nor Displeasure; But When He Thought His

Beast Had Been The Subject Of Sufficient Comment,  He Very Coolly,  And

With The Air Of One Accustomed To Have His Will Respected,  Relieved

Paul Of The Bridle,  And Throwing The Reins On The Neck Of The Animal,

He Sprang Upon His Back,  With The Activity Of A Professor Of The

Equestrian Art. Nothing Could Be Finer Or Firmer Than The Seat Of The

Savage. The Highly Wrought And Cumbrous Saddle Was Evidently More For

Show Than Use. Indeed It Impeded Rather Than Aided The Action Of

Limbs,  Which Disdained To Seek Assistance,  Or Admit Of Restraint From

So Womanish Inventions As Stirrups. The Horse,  Which Immediately Began

To Prance,  Was,  Like Its Rider,  Wild And Untutored In All His Motions,

But While There Was So Little Of Art,  There Was All The Freedom And

Grace Of Nature In The Movements Of Both. The Animal Was Probably

Indebted To The Blood Of Araby For Its Excellence,  Through A Long

Pedigree,  That Embraced The Steed Of Mexico,  The Spanish Barb,  And The

Moorish Charger. The Rider,  In Obtaining His Steed From The Provinces

Of Central-America,  Had Also Obtained That Spirit And Grace In

Controlling Him,  Which Unite To Form The Most Intrepid And Perhaps The

Most Skilful Horseman In The World.

 

Notwithstanding This Sudden Occupation Of His Animal,  The Pawnee

Discovered No Hasty Wish To Depart. More At His Ease,  And Possibly

More Independent,  Now He Found Himself Secure Of The Means Of Retreat,

He Rode Back And Forth,  Eyeing The Different Individuals Of The Party

With Far Greater Freedom Than Before. But,  At Each Extremity Of His

Ride,  Just As The Sagacious Trapper Expected To See Him Profit By His

Advantage And Fly,  He Would Turn His Horse,  And Pass Over The Same

Ground,  Sometimes With The Rapidity Of The Flying Deer,  And At Others

More Slowly,  And With Greater Dignity Of Mien And Attitude. Anxious To

Ascertain Such Facts As Might Have An Influence On His Future

Movements,  The Old Man Determined To Invite Him To A Renewal Of Their

Conference. He Therefore Made A Gesture Expressive At The Same Time Of

His Wish To Resume The Interrupted Discourse,  And Of His Own Pacific

Intentions. The Quick Eye Of The Stranger Was Not Slow To Note The

Action,  But It Was Not Until A Sufficient Time Had Passed To Allow Him

To Debate The Prudence Of The Measure In His Own Mind,  That He Seemed

Willing To Trust Himself Again,  So Near A Party That Was So Much

Superior To Himself In Physical Power,  And Consequently One That Was

Able,  At Any Instant,  To Command His Life,  Or Control His Personal

Liberty. When He Did Approach Nigh Enough To Converse With Facility,

It Was With A Singular Mixture Of Haughtiness And Of Distrust.

 

"It Is Far To The Village Of The Loups," He Said,  Stretching His Arm

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In A Direction Contrary To That In Which,  The Trapper Well Knew,  The

Tribe Dwelt,  "And The Road Is Crooked. What Has The Big-Knife To Say?"

 

"Ay,  Crooked Enough!" Muttered The Old Man In English,  "If You Are To

Set Out On Your Journey By That Path,  But Not Half So Winding As The

Cunning Of An Indian's Mind. Say,  My Brother; Do The Chiefs Of The

Pawnees Love To See Strange Faces In Their Lodges?"

 

The Young Warrior Bent His Body Gracefully,  Though But Slightly,  Over

The Saddle-Bow,  As He Replied--

 

"When Have My People Forgotten To Give Food To The Stranger?"

 

"If I Lead My Daughters To The Doors Of The Loups,  Will The Women Take

Them By The Hand; And Will The Warriors Smoke With My Young Men?"

 

"The Country Of The Pale-Faces Is Behind Them. Why Do They Journey So

Far Towards The Setting Sun? Have They Lost The Path,  Or Are These The

Women Of The White Warriors,  That I Hear Are Wading Up The River Of

'The Troubled Waters?'"

 

"Neither. They,  Who Wade The Missouri,  Are The Warriors Of My Great

Father,  Who Has Sent Them On His Message; But We Are Peace-Runners.

The White Men And The Red Are Neighbours,  And They Wish To Be Friends.

--Do Not The Omahaws Visit The Loups,  When The Tomahawk Is Buried In

The Path Between The Two Nations?"

 

"The Omahaws Are Welcome."

 

"And The Yanktons,  And The Burnt-Wood Tetons,  Who Live In The Elbow Of

The River,  'With Muddy Water,' Do They Not Come Into The Lodges Of The

Loups And Smoke?"

 

"The Tetons Are Liars!" Exclaimed The Other. "They Dare Not Shut Their

Eyes In The Night. No; They Sleep In The Sun. See," He Added,  Pointing

With Fierce Triumph To The Frightful Ornaments Of His Leggings,  "Their

Scalps Are So Plenty,  That The Pawnees Tread On Them! Go; Let A Sioux

Live In Banks Of Snow; The Plains And Buffaloes Are For Men!"

 

"Ah! The Secret Is Out," Said The Trapper To Middleton,  Who Was An

Attentive,  Because A Deeply Interested,  Observer Of What Was Passing.

"This Good-Looking Young Indian Is Scouting On The Track Of The

Siouxes--You May See It By His Arrow-Heads,  And His Paint; Ay,  And By

His Eye,  Too; For A Red-Skin Lets His Natur' Follow The Business He Is

On,  Be It For Peace,  Or Be It For War,--Quiet,  Hector,  Quiet. Have You

Never Scented A Pawnee Afore,  Pup?--Keep Down,  Dog--Keep Down--My

Brother Is Right. The Siouxes Are Thieves. Men Of All Colours And

Nations Say It Of Them,  And Say It Truly. But The People From The

Rising Sun Are Not Siouxes,  And They Wish To Visit The Lodges Of The

Loups."

 

"The Head Of My Brother Is White," Returned The Pawnee,  Throwing One

Of Those Glances At The Trapper,  Which Were So Remarkably Expressive

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Of Distrust,  Intelligence,  And Pride,  And Then Pointing,  As He

Continued,  Towards The Eastern Horizon,  "And His Eyes Have Looked On

Many Things--Can He Tell Me The Name Of What He Sees Yonder--Is It A

Buffaloe?"

 

"It Looks More Like A Cloud,  Peeping Above The Skirt Of The Plain With

The Sunshine Lighting Its Edges. It Is The Smoke Of The Heavens."

 

"It Is A Hill Of The Earth,  And On Its Top Are The Lodges Of Pale-

Faces! Let The Women Of My Brother Wash Their Feet Among The People Of

Their Own Colour."

 

"The Eyes Of A Pawnee Are Good,  If He Can See A White-Skin So Far."

 

The Indian Turned Slowly Towards The Speaker,  And After A Pause Of A

Moment He Sternly Demanded--

 

"Can My Brother Hunt?"

 

"Alas! I Claim To Be No Better Than A Miserable Trapper!"

 

"When The Plain Is Covered With The Buffaloes,  Can He See Them?"

 

"No Doubt,  No Doubt--It Is Far Easier To See Than To Take A Scampering

Bull."

 

"And When The Birds Are Flying From The Cold,  And The Clouds Are Black

With Their Feathers,  Can He See Them Too?"

 

"Ay,  Ay,  It Is Not Hard To Find A Duck,  Or A Goose,  When Millions Are

Darkening The Heavens."

 

"When The Snow Falls,  And Covers The Lodges Of The Long-Knives,  Can

The Stranger See Flakes In The Air?"

 

"My Eyes Are None Of The Best Now," Returned The Old Man A Little

Resentfully,  "But The Time Has Been When I Had A Name For My Sight!"

 

"The Red-Skins Find The Big-Knives As Easily As The Strangers See The

Buffaloe,  Or The Travelling Birds,  Or The Falling Snow. Your Warriors

Think The Master Of Life Has Made The Whole Earth White. They Are

Mistaken. They Are Pale,  And It Is Their Own Faces That They See. Go!

A Pawnee Is Not Blind,  That He Need Look Long For Your People!"

 

The Warrior Suddenly Paused,  And Bent His Face Aside,  Like One Who

Listened With All His Faculties Absorbed In The Act. Then Turning The

Head Of His Horse,  He Rode To The Nearest Angle Of The Thicket,  And

Looked Intently Across The Bleak Prairie,  In A Direction Opposite To

The Side On Which The Party Stood. Returning Slowly From This

Unaccountable,  And To His Observers,  Startling Procedure,  He Riveted

His Eyes On Inez,  And Paced Back And Forth Several Times,  With The Air

Of One Who Maintained A Warm Struggle On Some Difficult Point,  In The

Recesses Of His Own Thoughts. He Had Drawn The Reins Of His Impatient

Steed,  And Was Seemingly About To Speak,  When His Head Again Sunk On

Part 3 Chapter 18 Pg 11

His Chest,  And He Resumed His Former Attitude Of Attention. Galloping

Like A Deer,  To The Place Of His Former Observations,  He Rode For A

Moment Swiftly,  In Short And Rapid Circles,  As If Still Uncertain Of

His Course,  And Then Darted Away,  Like A Bird That Had Been Fluttering

Around Its Nest Before It Takes A Distant Flight. After Scouring The

Plain For A Minute,  He Was Lost To The Eye Behind A Swell Of The Land.

 

The Hounds,  Who Had Also Manifested Great Uneasiness For Some Time,

Followed Him For A Little Distance,  And Then Terminated Their Chase By

Seating Themselves On The Ground,  And Raising Their Usual Low,

Whining,  And Warning Howls.

 

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