ENEMIES, SEEN AND UNSEEN.
But the time passed on and the rumors died away, or ended in nothing more serious than had always disturbed the dwellers in that lonely land. Now and again a friendly, peace-loving chief would ride up to the door of the Sun Maid’s home, and, after a brief consultation she would put on her Indian attire and ride back with him across the prairies. As of old, she went with a heart full of love for her Indian friends, but it was not the undivided love that she had once been able to give them.
Over her beautiful features had settled the brooding look which wifehood and motherhood gives; and though she listened as attentively as of old and counselled as wisely, she could not for one moment forget the little children waiting for her by her own hearthside or the brave husband who was so often away on his long journeys to the north; and the keen intelligence of the red men perceived this.
“She is ours no longer,” said a venerable warrior, after one such visit. “She has taken to herself a pale-face, he who met her on the prairie in the morning light, and her heart has gone from her. It is the way of life. The old passes, the new comes to reign. We are her past. Her Dark-Eye is her present. Her papooses are her future. The parting draws near. She is still the Sun Maid, the White Spirit, the Unafraid. As far as the Great Spirit wills, she will be faithful to us; but now when she rides homeward from a visit to our lodge it is no longer at the easy pace of one whose life is all her own, but wildly, swiftly, following her heart which has leaped before.”
Each morning, nearly, as the Sun Maid ministered to her little ones or busied herself among the domestic duties of her simple home she would joyfully exclaim to Wahneenah:
“I don’t believe there was ever a woman in the world so happy as I am!” And the Indian foster-mother would gravely reply:
“Ask the Great Spirit that the peace may long continue.”
Till, on one especial day, the younger woman demanded:
“Well, why should it not, my Mother? It is now many weeks since I have been called to settle any little quarrel among our people. Surely they are learning wisdom fast. Do you know something? I intend that some of the squaws who are idle shall make my baby, Gaspar the Second, a little costume of our own tribe. It shall be all complete; as if he were a tiny chief himself, with his leggings and head-dress, and—yes, even a little bow and quiver. I’ll have it finished, maybe, before his father comes down from this last trip into the far-away woods. Oh! I shall be glad when my ‘brave’ can trust all his business of mining and fur-buying and lumbering to somebody else. I miss him so. But won’t he be pleased with our little lad in feathers and buckskin?”
Wahneenah’s dark eyes looked keenly at her daughter’s face.
“No, beloved; he will not be pleased. In his heart of hearts, the white chief was ever the red man’s enemy. Me he loves and a few more. But let the White Papoose” (Wahneenah still called her foster-child by the old love names of her childhood) “let the White Papoose hear and remember: the day is near when the Dark-Eye will choose between his friends and the friends of his wife. It is time to prepare. There is a distress coming which shall make of this Chicago a burying-ground. Our Dark-Eye has bought much land. He is always, always buying. Some day he will sell and the gold in his purse will be too heavy for one man’s carrying. But first the darkness, the blood, the death. Let him choose now a house of refuge for you and the little children; choose it where there are trees to shelter and water to refresh. Let him build there a tepee large enough for all your needs,—a wigwam, remember, not a house. Let him stock it well with food and clothing and the guns which protect.”
“Why, Other Mother! What has come over you? Such a dismal prophecy as that is worse than any which old Katasha ever breathed. Are you ill, Wahneenah, dearest?”
“There is no sickness in my flesh; yet in my heart is a misery that bows it to the earth. But I warn you. If you would find favor in the eyes of your brave, clothe not his son in the costume of the red man.”
Kitty was unaccountably depressed. Hitherto she had been able to laugh aside the sometimes sombre auguries of the chief’s sister; but now something in the woman’s manner made her believe that she knew more than she disclosed of some impending disaster. However, it was not in her nature, nor did she believe it right, that she should worry over vague suggestions. So she answered once more before quite dismissing the subject:
“Well, we were already discussing the comfort of having another home out in the forest, and Abel has suggested that we build it on the land which was his farm and which Gaspar has bought. We both liked that; to have our own children play where we played as children. I want my little ones to learn about the wild things of the woods, and the dear old Doctor is still alive to teach them. You will like it, too, Other Mother. When the days grow hot and long we will ride to the ‘Refuge’; and I think the wigwam idea is better, after all, than the house; though I do not know what my husband will decide.”
“Before the days grow long, the ‘Refuge’ must be finished, and the earlier the better. It is rightly named, my daughter, and the time is ripe.”
Ere many hours had passed, and most unexpectedly to his wife, Gaspar returned. In the first happiness of welcoming him she did not observe that his face was stern and troubled; but she did notice, when bedtime came, that he did what had never before been done in their home: he locked or bolted the doors and stoutly barred the heavy wooden shutters. He had also brought Osceolo with him, from Abel’s tavern, and had peremptorily bidden the Indian to “Lie there!” pointing to a heap of skins on the floor beside the fire.
Toward morning Kitty woke. To her utter amazement, she saw in her living room her Gaspar and Osceolo engaged in what seemed a battle to the death. Then she sprang up and ran toward them, but her husband motioned her back.
OSCEOLO AND GASPAR. Page [276].
“Leave him to me. I’ll fix him so that he’ll do no more mischief for the present.”
“But, Gaspar! What is it?”
“Treachery, as usual. Get into your clothes, my girl, and call Wahneenah. Let the children be dressed,—warmly, for the air is cool and we may have to leave suddenly.”
“What is it?”
“An outbreak! The settlers are flocking into the Fort in droves. Black Hawk and his followers have come too close for comfort. This miserable fellow has been tampering with the stores. He couldn’t get at the ammunition, but he’s done all the evil he could. I caught him hobnobbing with a low Sac; a spy, I think. There. He’s bound, and now I’ll fasten him in the wood-shed. He knows too much about this town to be left in freedom.”
Yet, after all, they did not have to flee from home, as Gaspar had feared, though the Sun Maid put on her peace dress and unbound her glorious hair, ready at any moment to ride forth and meet the Indians and to try her powers of promoting good-feeling. The Snowbird stood saddled for many days: yet it was only upon errands of hospitality and charity that he was needed.
Gaspar, however, was always in the saddle. When he was not riding far afield, scouting the movements of the Black Hawk forces, he was searching the countryside for provisions and himself guiding the wagons that brought in the scant supplies. One evening he returned more cheerful than he had seemed for many days and exclaimed as he tossed aside his cap:
“This has been a good trip, for two reasons.”
“What are they, dear?”
“Starvation is staved off for a while and the Indians are evidently in grave doubts of their own success in this horrid war.”
“Starvation, Gaspar? Has it been as bad as that?”
“Pretty close to it. But I’ve found a couple of men who had about a hundred and fifty head of cattle, and they’ve driven them here into the stockade. As long as they last, we shall manage. The other good thing is—that the Black Hawks are sacrificing to the Evil Spirit.”
“They are! That shows they are hopeless of their own success.”
“Certainly very doubtful of it. It is the dog immolation. I saw one instance myself and met a man who had come from the southwest. He has passed them at intervals of a day’s journey; always the same sort. The wretched little dog, fastened just above the ground, the nose pointing straight this way and the fire beneath.”
“Oh, Gaspar, it’s dreadful!”
“That they are discouraged? Kit, you don’t mean that?”
“No. No, no! You know better. But that they are such—such heathen!”
Another voice broke in upon them:
“Heathen! Heathen, you say? Well, if ever you was right in your life, you’re right now. I never saw such folks. Here I’ve been cookin’ and cooking till I’m done clean through myself; and in there’s come another lot, just as hungry as t’others. Dear me, dear me! Why in the name of common sense couldn’t I have stayed back there in the woods, and not come trapesing to Chicago to turn head slave for a lot of folks that act as if I’d ought to be grateful for the chance to kill myself a-waitin’ on them. And say, Gaspar Keith, have you heard the news? When did you get home?”
It was Mercy, of course, who had rushed excitedly into the house, yet had been able to rattle off a string of sentences that fairly took her hearers’ breath away, if not her own.
But Kitty was at her side at once, tenderly removing the great sun-bonnet from the hot gray head and offering a fan of turkey wings, gayly decorated with Indian embroideries of beads and weavings.
“No, Kit. No, you needn’t. Not while I know myself; there ain’t never no more red man’s tomfoolery going to be around me! Take that there Indian contraption away. I’d rather have a decent, honest cabbage-leaf any day. I’m beat out. My, ain’t it hot!”
“Yes, dear, it is awfully hot. Sit here in the doorway, in this big chair, and get what little breeze there is. Here’s another fan, which I made myself; plain, good Yankee manufacture. Try that. Then, when you get cooled off, tell us your ‘news.’”
“Cooled off? That I sha’n’t never be no more; not while I’ve got to cook for all creation.”
“Mother Mercy, Mother Mercy! You are a puzzler. You won’t let the people go anywhere else than to your house as long as there’s room to squeeze another body in; and——”
“Ain’t it the tavern?”
“Of course. But people who keep taverns usually take pay for entertaining their guests.”
“Gaspar Keith! You say that to me, after the raisin’ I gave you? The idee! When not a blessed soul of the lot has got a cent to bless himself with.”
“But I have cents, plenty of them; and I want you to let me bear this expense for you. I insist upon it.”
“Well, lad, I always did think you was a little too sharp after the money. But I didn’t ’low you’d begrudge folks their blessings, too.”
“Blessings? Aren’t you complaining about so much hard work, and haven’t you the right? I know that no private family has cared for so many as you have, and——”
“Oh, do drop that! I tell you I ain’t a private family; I’m a tavern. Oh! I don’t know what I am nor what I’m sayin’. I—I reckon I’m clean beat and tuckered out.”
“So you are, dear. But rest and I’ll make you a cup of tea. If you leave those people to themselves and they get hungry again they’ll cook for themselves. They’ll have to. But to a good many of these refugees this is a sort of picnic business. They have left their homes, it’s true; but they haven’t seen so many human faces in years and——”
“They haven’t had such a good time! I noticed that. They seemed as bright as children at a frolic. Well, we ought to help them get what fun they can out of so serious a matter,” commented Gaspar.
“Serious! I should say so. That’s what sent me here. Abel, he was on the wharf, and he says the ships are coming down the lake full of soldiers; and what with them and the folks already here and only a hundred and fifty head to feed ’em with, and some of these refugees eat as much as ary parson I ever saw, and the old Doctor trying to preach to ’em, sayin’ it’s the best opportunity—my land! The way some folks can get sweet out of bitter is a disgrace, I declare. And as for that Ossy, the dirty scamp, he’s broke more dishes, washing them, than I’ve got left. And I run over to see if you’d let me have ary dish you’ve got, or shall I give ’em their stuff right in their hands? And how long have I got to go on watchin’ that wild Osceolo? I wish you’d take him back and shut him up in your wood-shed again.”
“But, Mother Mercy, it was you who begged his release. And I’m sure it’s better for him in your kitchen, working, than lying idle in an empty building, plotting mischief. Hello, here’s Abel. And he seems as excited as—as you were,” said Gaspar.
“Glory to government, youngsters! The military is coming! The General’s in sight! Now hooray! We’ll show them pesky red-skins a thing or two. If they ain’t wiped clean out of existence this time my name’s Jack Robinson. Say, Kit, don’t look so solemn. Likely they’ll know enough to give up licked without getting shot; and they’re nothin’ but Indians, any how.”
The Sun Maid came softly across and held up her little son to be admired. Her face was grave and her lips silent. All this talk of war and bloodshed was awful to her gentle heart, that was torn and distracted with grief for both her white and her red-faced friends.
But there was only grim satisfaction on the countenance of her young husband; and he turned to Abel, demanding:
“Are you sure that this good news is true? Are the soldiers coming? Who saw them?”
“I myself, through the commandant’s spy-glass. They’re aboard the ships, and I could almost hear the tune of Yankee Doodle. They’re bound to rout the enemy like chain lightning. Hooray!”
The soldiers were coming indeed; but alas! an enemy was coming with them far more deadly than the Indians they meant to conquer.