The Prairie Chief by Robert Michael Ballantyne (best ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

missionary, with her face bowed upon her knees. She was not bound, but a savage stood near to watch her. Whitewing's old mother sat or rather crouched, close to her.

What had already passed Rushing River of course could only guess. Of what followed his ears and eyes took note.

"You look very brave just now," said the Blackfoot leader, "but I will make you change your looks before I take your scalps to dry in the Blackfoot wigwams."

"You had better take our lives at once," said Big Tim fiercely, "else we will begin to think that we have had the mischance to fall into the hands of cowardly squaws."

"Wah!" exclaimed Bounding Bull, with a nod of assent as he directed a look of scorn at his adversary.

"Tush, tush, boy," said Little Tim to his son reprovingly, in an undertone. "It ill becomes a man with white blood in his veins, an' who calls hisself a Christian, to go boastin' like an or'nary savage. I thowt I had thrashed that out of 'ee when ye was a small boy."

"Daddy," remonstrated Big Tim, "is not Softswan sittin' there at his marcy?"

"No, lad, no. We are at the marcy of the Lord, an' His marcies are everlastin'."

A faint smile flickered on the lips of the missionary at that moment, and, opening his eyes, he said solemnly--

"My son, hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise Him who is the health of thy countenance and thy God."

The savage leader was for the moment startled by the words, uttered in his own language, by one whom he had thought to be dead, but recovering himself quickly, he said--

"Your trust will be vain, for you are now in my power, and I only spare you long enough to tell you that a Blackfoot brave has just met us, who brings us the good news of what our great Blackfoot chief did when he crept into the camp of Bounding Bull and carried away his little daughter from under his very nose, and also the daughter of Leetil Tim. Wah! Did I not say that I would make you change your looks?"

The savage was so far right that this reference to their great loss was a terrible stab, and produced considerable change of expression on the faces of the captives; but with a great effort Bounding Bull resumed his look of contempt and said that what was news to the Blackfoot leader was no news to him, and that not many days would pass before his warriors would pay a visit to the Blackfoot nation.

"That may be so," retorted the savage, "but they shall not be led by Bounding Bull, for his last hour has come."

So saying, the Blackfoot raised his tomahawk, and advanced to the chief, who drew himself up, and returned his glare of hate with a smile of contempt. Softswan sprang up with a shriek, and would have flung herself between them, but was held back by the savage who guarded her. At that moment the back door of the hut flew open, and Rushing River stood in the midst of them.

One word from him sent all the savages crestfallen out of the hut. He followed them. Returning alone a few seconds later, he passed the astonished captives, and, kneeling down by the couch of the missionary, said, in tones that were too low to be heard by the others--

"Does my white father remember Rushing River?"

The missionary opened his eyes with a puzzled look of inquiry, and gazed at the Indian's face.

"Rushing River was but a boy," continued the chief, "when the pale-face preacher came to the camp of the Blackfeet."

A gleam of intelligence seemed to shoot from the eyes of the dying man.

"Yes, yes," he said faintly; "I remember."

"My father," continued the chief, "spoke to Rushing River about his sins--about the Great Manitou; about Jesus, the Saviour of all men, and about the Great Spirit. Rushing River did not believe then--he could not--but the Great Spirit must have been whispering to him since, for he believes _now_."

A look of quiet joy settled on the preacher's face while the chief spoke.

Rousing himself with an effort, he said, as he turned a glance towards the captives--

"If you truly love Jesus, let these go free."

The chief had to bend down to catch the feebly-spoken words. Rising instantly, he drew his knife, went to Little Tim, and cut the thongs that bound him. Then he cut those of Big Tim and Whitewing, and lastly those of Bounding Bull.

He had scarcely completed the latter act when his old enemy suddenly snatched the knife out of his hand, caught him by the right arm with a vice-like grasp, and pointed the weapon at his heart.

"Bounding Bull," he said fiercely, "knows not the meaning of all this, but he knows that his child is in the Blackfoot camp, and that Rushing River is at his mercy."

No effort did Rushing River make to avert the impending blow, but stood perfectly still, and, with a look of simple gravity, said--

"Skipping Rabbit is not in the Blackfoot camp. She is now in the camp of her kindred; and Moonlight," he added, turning a glance on Little Tim, "is safe."

"Your face looks truthful and your tone sounds honest, Rushing River," said Little Tim, "but the Blackfeet are clever at deceiving, and the chief is our bitter foe. What surety have we that he is not telling lies? Rushing River knows well he has only to give a signal and his red reptiles will swarm in on us, all unarmed as we are, and take our scalps."

"My young men are beyond hearing," returned the chief. "I have sent them away. My breast is open to the knife in the hand of Bounding Bull. I am no longer an enemy, but a follower of Jesus, and the preacher has told us that He is the Prince of peace."

At this the prairie chief stepped forward.

"Friends," he said, "my heart is glad this day, for I am sure that you may trust the word of Rushing River. Something of his change of mind I have heard of in the course of my wanderings, but I had not been sure that there was truth in the report till now."

Still Bounding Bull maintained his grasp on his old foe, and held the knife in readiness, so that if there should be any sudden attempt at rescue, he, at least, should not escape.

The two Tims, Little and Big, although moved by Whitewing's remarks, were clearly not quite convinced. They seemed uncertain how to view the matter, and were still hesitating when Rushing River again spoke.

"The pale-faces," he said, "do not seem to be so trustful as the red men. I have put myself in your power, yet you do not believe me. Why, then, does not Bounding Bull strike his ancient enemy? His great opportunity has come. His squaws are waiting in his wigwam fur the scalp of Rushing River."

For the first time in his life Bounding Bull was rendered incapable of action. In all his extensive experience of Indian warfare he had never been placed in such a predicament. If he had been an out-and-out heathen, he would have known what to do, and would have done it at once--he would have gratified revenge. Had Rushing River been an out-and-out heathen, he never would have given him the chance he now possessed of wreaking his vengeance. Then the thought of Skipping Rabbit filled his heart with tender anxiety, and confused his judgment still more. It was very perplexing! But Rushing River brought the perplexity to an end by saying--

"If you wish for further proof that Rushing River tells no lies, Moonlight will give it. Let her come forward."

Little Tim was beginning to think that the Blackfoot chief was, as he expressed it, somewhat "off his head," when Moonlight ran into the room, and seized him with her wonted energy round the neck.

"Yes, father, it's all true. I am safe, as you see, and happy."

"An' Skippin' Rabbit?" said Little Tim.

"Is in her own wigwam by this time."

As she spoke in the Indian tongue, Bounding Bull understood her. He at once let go his hold of his old foe. Returning the knife to him, he grasped his right hand after the manner of the pale-faces, and said--

"My brother."

By this time Eaglenose and Umqua had appeared upon the scene, and added their testimony to that of their chief. While they were still engaged in explanation, a low wail from Softswan turned their attention to the corner where the preacher lay.

The prairie chief glided to the side of his old friend, and kneeled by the couch. The others clustered round in solemn silence. They guessed too surely what had drawn forth the girl's wail. The old man lay, with his thin white locks scattered on the pillow, his hands clasped as if in prayer, and with eyes nearly closed, but the lips moved not. His days of prayer and striving on this earth were over, and his eternity of praise and glory had begun.

We might here, appropriately enough, close our record of the prairie chief and the preacher, but we feel loath to leave them without a few parting words, for the good work which the preacher had begun was carried on, not only by Whitewing, but, as far as example went--and that was a long way--by Little and Big Tim and their respective wives, and Bounding Bull, as well as by many of their kindred.

After the preacher's remains had been laid in the grave at the foot of a pine-tree in that far western wilderness, Little Tim, with his son and Indian friends, followed Bounding Bull to his camp, where one of the very first persons they saw was Skipping Rabbit engaged in violently agitating the limbs of her jumping-jack, to the ineffable delight of Eaglenose.

Soon after, diplomatic negotiations were entered into between the tribe of Bounding Bull and the Blackfeet, resulting in a treaty of peace which bid fair to be a lasting treaty, at least as lasting as most other human treaties ever are. The pipe of peace was solemnly smoked, the war-hatchet was not less solemnly buried, and a feast on a gigantic scale, was much more solemnly held.

Another result was that Rushing River and Moonlight were married--not after the simple Indian fashion, but with the assistance of a real pale-faced missionary, who was brought from a distance of nearly three hundred miles, from a pale-face pioneer settlement, for the express purpose of tying that knot along with several other knots of the same kind, and doing what in him lay to establish and strengthen the good work which the old preacher had begun.

Years passed away, and a fur-trading establishment was sent into those western regions, which gradually attracted round it a group of Indians, who not only bartered skins with the traders, but kept them constantly supplied with meat. Among the most active hunters of this group were our friends Little and Big Tim, Bounding Bull, Rushing River, and Eaglenose. Sometimes these hunted singly, sometimes in couples, not unfrequently all together, for they were a