EAGLE HEAD.
Eagle Head was a chief as prudent as he was determined; he knew he had everything to fear from the Americans, if he did not succeed in completely concealing his trail.
Hence, after the surprise he had effected against the new establishment of the whites, upon the banks of the great Canadian river, he neglected nothing to secure his troop from the terrible reprisals which threatened them.
It is scarcely possible to form an idea of the talent displayed by the Indians when the object is to conceal their trail.
Twenty times do they repass the same place, entangling, as it were, the traces of their passage in each other, in such a manner that they end by becoming inextricable; neglecting no accident of the ground, marching in each other's footsteps to conceal their number, following for whole days the course of rivulets, frequently with the water up to their waist, carrying their precautions and patience so far as ever to efface with their hands, and, so to speak, step by step the vestiges which might denounce them to the keen, interested eyes of their enemies.
The tribe of the Serpent, to which the warriors commanded by Eagle Head belonged, had entered the prairies nearly five hundred warriors strong, in order to hunt the buffalo, and give battle to the Pawnees and Sioux, with whom they were continually at war.
It was Eagle Head's object, as soon as his campaign should be over, to join his brothers immediately, in order to place in safety the booty gained by the capture of the village, and to take part in a grand expedition which his tribe was preparing against the white trappers and half-breeds spread over the prairies, whom the Indians, with reason, considered as implacable enemies.
Notwithstanding the extreme precaution displayed by the chief, the detachment had marched rapidly.
On the evening of the sixth day that had passed away since the destruction of the fort, the Comanches halted on the banks of a little river without a name, as is the case sometimes in these wilds, and prepared to encamp for the night.
Nothing is more simple than the encamping of Indians upon the warpath.
The horses are hobbled, that they may not stray away; if the savages do not fear a surprise, they kindle a fire; if the contrary, everyone manages to get a little food and rest as well as he can.
Since their departure from the fort, no indication had given the Comanches reason to think they were pursued or watched, and their scouts had discovered no suspicious track. They were at but a short distance from the camp of their tribe,—their security was complete.
Eagle Head ordered a fire to be lit, and himself posted sentinels to watch over the safety of all.
When he had taken these prudent measures, the chief placed his back against an ebony tree, took his calumet, and ordered the old man and the Spanish woman to be brought before him.
When they appeared, Eagle Head saluted the old man cordially, and offered him his calumet, a mark of kindness which the old man accepted, carefully preparing himself for the questions which the Indian was, doubtless, about to put to him.
As he expected, after a silence of a few moments, the latter spoke.
"Does my brother find himself comfortable with the redskins?" asked he.
"I should be wrong to complain, chief," the Spaniard replied; "since I have been with you I have been treated very kindly."
"My brother is a friend," the Comanche said, emphatically.
The old man bowed.
"We are at length in our own hunting grounds," the chief continued; "my brother, the White Head, is fatigued with a long life; he is better at the counsel fire than on horseback, hunting the elk or the buffalo—what does my brother wish?"
"Chief," the Spaniard replied, "your words are true; there was a time when, like every other child of the prairies, I passed whole days in hunting upon a fiery unbroken mustang; my strength has disappeared, my members have lost their elasticity, and my eye its infallibility; I am worth nothing now in an expedition, however short it may be."
"Good!" the Indian replied, imperturbably, blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils; "let my brother tell his friend what he wishes, and it shall be done."
"I thank you, chief, and I will profit by your kindness; I should be happy if you would consent to furnish me with means of gaining, without being disturbed, some establishment of men of my own colour, where I might pass in peace the few days I have yet to live."
"Eh! why should I not do it? Nothing is more easy; as soon as we have rejoined the tribe, since my brother is not willing to dwell with us, his desires shall be satisfied."
There was a moment of silence. The old man, believing the conversation terminated, prepared to retire; with a gesture, the chief ordered him to remain.
After a few instants, the Indian shook the ashes out of his pipe, passed the shank of it through his belt, and fixing upon the Spaniard a glance marked by a strange expression, he said, in a sad voice,—
"My brother is happy, although he has seen many winters, he does not walk alone in the path of life."
"What does the chief mean?" the old man asked; "I do not understand."
"My brother has a family," the Comanche replied.
"Alas! my brother is deceived; I am alone in this world."
"What does my brother say? Has he not his mate?" A sad smile passed over the pale lips of the old man.
"No," he said, after a moment's pause; "I have no mate."
"What is that woman to him, then?" said the chief, with feigned surprise, and pointing to the Spanish woman, who stood pensive and silent by the side of the old man.
"That woman is my mistress."
"Wah! Can it be that my brother is a slave?" said the Comanche, with an ill-omened smile.
"No," the old man replied haughtily! "I am not the slave of that woman, I am her devoted servant."
"Wah!" said the chief, shaking his head, and reflecting deeply upon this reply.
But the words of the Spaniard were unintelligible to the Indian; the distinction was too subtle for him to seize it. At the end of two or three minutes he shook his head, and gave up the endeavour to solve the, to him, incomprehensible problem.
"Good!" he said, darting an ironical glance through his half-closed eyelids; "the woman shall go with my brother."
"That is what I always intended," the Spaniard replied.
The aged woman, who to this moment had preserved a prudent silence, judged it was now time to take part in the conversation.
"I am thankful to the chief," she said; "but since he is good enough to take interest in our welfare, will he permit me to ask him a favour?"
"Let my mother speak; my ears are open."
"I have a son who is a great white hunter; he must at this moment be in the prairie; perhaps, if my brother would consent to keep us a few days longer with him, it would be possible to meet with him; under his protection we should have nothing to fear."
At these imprudent words the Spaniard made a gesture of terror.
"Señorita!" he said sharply in his native language, "take care lest——"
"Silence!" the Indian interrupted in an angry tone; "why does my white brother speak before me in an unknown tongue? Does he fear I should understand his words?"
"Oh, chief!" said the Spaniard, in a tone of denial.
"Let my brother, then, allow my palefaced mother to speak; she is speaking to a chief."
The old man was silent, but a sad presentiment weighed upon his heart.
The Comanche chief knew perfectly well to whom he was speaking; he was playing with the two Spaniards, as a cat does with a mouse; but, allowing none of his impressions to appear, he turned towards the woman, and bowing with that instinctive courtesy which distinguishes the Indians, said in a mild voice, and with a sympathetic smile,—
"Oh! oh! the son of my mother is a great hunter, is he? So much the better."
The heart of the poor woman dilated with joy.
"Yes," she said, with emotion, "he is one of the bravest trappers on the Western prairies."
"Wah!" said the chief, in a still more amiable manner, "this renowned warrior must have a name respected through the prairies?"
The Spaniard suffered a martyrdom; held in awe by the eye of the Comanche, he did not know how to warn his mistress not to pronounce the name of her son.
"His name is well known," said the woman.
"Oh!" the old man cried eagerly, "all women are thus; with them all their sons are heroes: this one, although an excellent young man, is no better than others; certes, his name has never reached my brother."
"How does my brother know that?" said the Indian, with a sardonic smile.
"I suppose so," the old man replied; "or, at least, if by chance my brother has heard it pronounced, it must long ago have escaped his memory, and does not merit being recalled to it. If my brother will permit us, we will retire; the day has been fatiguing; the hour of repose is come."
"In an instant," said the Comanche quietly; and turning to the woman, "What is the name of the warrior of the palefaces?" he asked, in a peremptory tone.
But the old lady, placed upon her guard by the intervention of her servant, with whose prudence and devotion she was well acquainted, made no answer, conscious that she had committed a fault, and not knowing how to remedy it.
"Does not my mother hear me?" said the chief.
"Of what use would it be to repeat to you a name which, according to all probability, is unknown to you, and which cannot interest you? If my brother will permit me, I will retire."
"No; not before my mother has told me the name of her son, the great warrior," said the Comanche, knitting his brow and stamping his foot with ill-restrained anger.
The old Spaniard saw an end must be put to this; his determination was formed in a second.
"My brother is a great chief," he said, "although his hair is still brown, his wisdom is immense. I am his friend, and am sure he would not abuse the chance that has delivered into his hands the mother of his enemy: the name of that woman's son is Loyal Heart."
"Wah!" said Eagle Head, with a sinister smile, "I knew that well enough: why have the palefaces two hearts and two tongues? and why do they always seek to deceive the redskins?"
"We have not sought to deceive you, chief."
"I say you have. Since you have been with us, you have been treated as children of the tribe. I have saved your life!"
"That is true."
"Very well," he resumed, with an ironical smile, "I will prove to you that Indians do not forget, and that they know how to render good for evil. These wounds that you see me bear, who inflicted them? Loyal Heart! We are enemies; his mother is in my power; I could at once tie her to the stake of torture; it is my right to do so."
The two Spaniards hung their heads.
"The law of the prairies is an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Listen to me well, Old Oak. In remembrance of our ancient friendship, I grant you a respite. Tomorrow at sunrise, you shall set out in search of Loyal Heart; if, within four days, he does not come to deliver himself up into my hands, his mother shall perish; my young men shall burn her alive at the stake of blood, and my brothers shall make war whistles of her bones. Begone! I have spoken!"
The old man eagerly implored mercy. He threw himself on his knees before the chief; but the vindictive Indian spurned him with his foot, and turned away.
"Oh! madam," the old man murmured, in despair, "you are lost!"
"But be sure, Eusebio," the mother replied, choking with tears, "be sure not to bring back my son! Of what consequence is my death! Alas! has not my life already been long enough?"
The old servant cast a glance of admiration at his mistress.
"Ever the same!" he said affectionately.
"Does not the life of a mother belong to her child?" she said, with a cry which seemed to come from her very heart.
The old people sank, overwhelmed with grief, at the foot of a tree, and passed the night in praying to God.
Eagle Head did not appear to have an idea of this despair.