CHAPTER IX. The Medicine Works Wonders
Cyrus was a captive now. There was no mistake about that. The only thing he could do was to lie down and wait as patiently as he could until daylight came. The rope with which he was bound was very painful to him, but Cyrus knew it would be worse than useless to ask his sentry to loosen it. The savages knew too much for that. They had had some bitter experience with the trappers of the mountains in granting them the free use of their hands, and they did not mean to be caught that way any more.
It must have been about two o'clock when Cyrus was captured, and he thought he had never known the time to pass so slowly as did the hours that intervened before the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east; for they told him that something was to be done with him very speedily. During those hours he was often compelled to change his position on account of his bonds, but the savage never once changed his. If he had been a marble man he could not have sat more motionless; but all the time his eyes were fastened upon his captive as if he meant that not a sign from him should escape his notice. Finally the flap of the door was drawn further aside, and an Indian's face appeared. He wanted to see whom they had captured, but he said not a word to Cyrus or his watcher. Presently other faces appeared, until Cyrus thought that the whole camp of the Sioux was astir.
Daylight came on apace, and then Cyrus began to take some note of the things in the lodge in which he was confined, and found to his surprise that he was in no danger of stepping on slumbering inmates. With the exception of himself and the sentinel who was keeping watch over him, the tepee was as empty as it was when it was put up. It was probably intended as a sort of prison for anybody who might be captured by the Sioux, but up to this time Cyrus had the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only one who had seen the inside of it.
"And if I could have my way I am the last one who will see how it looks," said Cyrus to himself. "No doubt they expected to capture a good many more. Somehow I don't feel as safe by having Guy Preston's letter about me as I did by having that scrap of sage brush that the Indian gave me. Well, if it doesn't effect my release it surely would not effect Guy's, if he were here in my place."
It must have been nine o'clock before anyone came near him again, and all the while he was in agony through his bonds which seemed to hurt him more the longer he was tied up with them. But they could not make him forget his stomach, which was clamoring loudly for something nourishing. He had not eaten anything since dinner the day before, and even a hard-tack he thought would prove very acceptable. While he was thinking about it, two Indians came to the door of the tepee, and they came in a hurry as though they were after something. They exchanged a few words with his sentry—they were spoken so low that Cyrus did not fully comprehend them—and then one of them seized Cyrus by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The first thing he did was to untie the prisoner's bonds; and when Cyrus felt his arms at liberty he stretched them out with an exclamation which testified to the delight he felt.
"If I just had you two here alone, how quick I would end you up," said he, to himself. "I will bet you could not catch me in a fair race. They are going to take my clothes also," he added, when one of the Indians proceeded to take off his hunting shirt. "Does that mean that I am to get ready for the stake?"
It certainly looked that way, but Cyrus never uttered a word out loud. He submitted to the disrobing as quietly as he could, and even assisted them when something about his clothes bothered them; and in two minutes more he was stripped clean. But he noticed two things, filled as he was with other matters, and standing in fear of the torture which seemed to be not far distant: the savages, when they came into possession of his various articles of wardrobe, were careful to look into all the pockets. Not one escaped their vigilance. His pipe, his knife, and tobacco, and various other trinkets, which men have about them, were quickly taken by his captors, until finally a grunt from one of them announced the finding of Winged Arrow's letter,—the one he had received from his father. The grunt speedily brought his sentry to his feet, and he leaned over the shoulders of the others and stared hard at the drawings. Not a word was said to Cyrus as to how he came by the papers, but they exchanged several incoherent expressions, which no doubt were perfectly understood among themselves, but which were Greek to the captive. At last they seemed to have come to an agreement regarding something, for one of them started off at a keen run, while the other went on examining his clothes. When he pulled off one of the moccasins the bogus dispatch dropped out.
"Now you have something that will do your heart good," muttered Cyrus. "Why don't you run off with that? They have left my clothes here on the ground—"
But Cyrus was a little too hasty in coming to this conclusion. The finding of the bogus dispatch, of course, created another series of grunts, which ended a good deal as the first one did. The other captor seized the paper and disappeared with it, but before he went he gathered up the clothes and carried them away also. That was too much for Cyrus, and he sat down on the ground and thought about it, while the sentry returned to his seat by the door.
Half an hour passed, during which Cyrus's mind was in a state of confusion. This treatment was very different from any he had received while a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and he had been one four times when nothing but the stake seemed to be waiting for him. Twice was he rescued by soldiers; a third time he was saved by an old squaw who somehow got it into her head that Cyrus resembled her son who had been killed by the whites; and the fourth time that bunch of sage brush brought about his release. Now it was that letter of Winged Arrow; and he confessed that his chances were slim indeed. It is true that he was very young in years to be the hero of all these adventures, but those among the mountain men with whom he was best acquainted declared that he had been in skirmishes enough to fill out three or four books. Like the Medicine Man among the different tribes, who runs all sorts of risks to make his followers believe that he has found the proper "thing" at last which will turn all the white man's bullets away from him, Cyrus took every risk in time of war that anybody could take and live. He was foremost in all the Indian fights and was one of Colonel Carrington's favorite scouts. When everyone else failed he called upon Cyrus, and Cyrus had never been found wanting. All men who live among the Indians soon fall into their ways, and every one of them believed that Cyrus had discovered some "medicine" that brought him safely out of any danger he might get into.
At the end of half an hour, another faint step was heard outside the tepee, the flap was thrown further open and this time Winged Arrow appeared. Cyrus recognized him on the instant from the description that Guy Preston had given him, and the first thought that passed through his mind was that he had never seen a finer-looking Indian. His face wore a scowl which did not in any way add to his appearance, and he did not pay any attention to his keeper at all. In his hands he carried all of Cyrus's clothing which he threw toward the prisoner with the muttered exclamation:—
"I suppose these things belong to you. Put them on."
Cyrus was fully as surprised as Guy Preston to hear himself addressed in perfect English by an Indian in his war clothing, but he lost no time in obeying instructions. When he came to his hunting shirt he carelessly grasped it under the right arm, and a thrill shot through him when he felt the dispatch there as he had left it. The bogus dispatch, the one that was intended for the Indians to read, was gone.
"Now you look more like yourself," said Winged Arrow, as he turned about and beckoned to some one behind him, "I guess something to eat would not do you any harm, would it?"
An Indian girl came into the tepee and laid Cyrus's breakfast before him on the ground, and quickly went out again. Winged Arrow calmly seated himself on the ground. Cyrus did the same, and while he was busy with the viands which Winged Arrow had provided for him, he kept one eye fixed upon the young Indian as if he hoped to see something in his face which would give him a faint glimpse of what the future had in store for him; but Winged Arrow's features were as unmoved as if he had no secret to communicate. The provisions did not trouble him much, for it was not as hearty a breakfast as some he had eaten at the Fort, although the grub there was getting scarce since the Sioux had shut them in from all the world—a joint of beef which had once been warmed, but was now cold, a chunk of Indian bread which had doubtless been cut out of some "parfleche" repository and a cup of cold water formed the substance of his breakfast. But it was better than nothing, and finally it had all disappeared except the bones.
"Now I am ready for anything you have to propose," said Cyrus. "What do you fellows intend to do with me?"
"You belong to me and so I am going to set you free," said Winged Arrow, as if he were talking of something that did not interest Cyrus in the least. "It was the worst thing I ever heard of, getting you free, for our people have all something against you."
"I don't see how they make that out," replied Cyrus, feeling in his pockets for his pipe. "You can't point to a single thing that ever I did that injured you in the least. I have let more than one chance go by that I have had of sending your people to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and have let them get off scot-free when I might have had a scalp to take with me as well as not."
"But something is always happening to take you away from us," said Winged Arrow, "and what do you suppose it was that saved your life this time?"
"Was it that letter that you gave to Guy Preston?"
The young savage took the letter out of his bosom and gave it to Cyrus, who took it and stowed it away in one of his pockets.
"Now that letter can answer one more purpose," said Winged Arrow. "Any man who is captured after that will lose his life."
"How do you make that out?"
"I promised my father," began Winged Arrow.
"By the way, who is your father?" said Cyrus. "He must be a man of considerable standing in the tribe or else you would not be permitted to meet a man between the lines, or to hold a chat with me now."
"He is a Medicine Man," replied the young Indian. "If there is a fight here you will see him in the foremost ranks. He has a medicine which he believes will render him impervious to the white man's bullets. You do not believe in such things, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Cyrus, earnestly. "One of your people gave me such medicine, which afterward saved my life."
"What was it?" asked Winged Arrow, becoming interested.
"A handful of sage brush wrapped up in a piece of buckskin. I don't see why you fellows can't have some medicine of that kind as well as some others. What did you promise your father?"
"That I would join him and help fight for the lands which the whites are trying to cheat us out of, provided he would give me the choice of saving two white men who might chance to fall into our hands. I had an eye on that black horse which that Lieutenant rides—What did you say his name was?"
"Guy Preston; and he is just the best white fellow that ever lived."
"I am not saying anything about that. I had an eye on him ever since you left Fort Robinson, and yesterday I chanced to meet him outside the lines. I told him that the letter would save his life, but now he has gone and given it up to you. I kept my promise, although I had a hard time of it. If that letter comes into our camp on another man, it will save his life too; but that is all."
"Don't you think you are in big business to help the Indians to clean out the whites?" said Cyrus, who did not know what else to say.
"You must have seen Guy Preston down there at the Fort, and he told you all I had to say on that point," replied Winged Arrow with a scowl. "Of course I shall help the Indians clean out the whites. This is our country; no one else has any claim upon it, and we are bound to wipe them out or die with weapons in our hands. Say," said the Indian, almost in a whisper, "I read your bogus dispatch, but the other is safe where it belongs."
"What other?" asked Cyrus, startled in spite of himself.
"The one you have got in your hunting shirt. I put my hand on it, but did not dare take it out. If I had, and had read it to Red Cloud, that letter would not have saved you."
"What did that bogus dispatch do?" inquired Cyrus, drawing a long breath of relief. The savages had had the genuine dispatch in their hands and it had been saved to him through Winged Arrow, who had so much at stake. He had never heard anything like it before, and his admiration for the young Indian was almost unbounded. He believed now more firmly than he had before that there were some traits in the savage character with which the white men were entirely unacquainted.
"It did not do much," replied Winged Arrow. "Red Cloud sent off a band of scouts to see if the dispatch told the truth, but he did not believe that any living man could have gotten through our cloud of warriors with news to the Fort. I repeat that I did not dare take out that other dispatch, for that told the truth; and you would have been tied out to the stake now."
"Well, I am glad it is no worse," said Cyrus. "You may fall into the hands of some of our people some day——"
"Well, when I do it will be when I am dead," returned Winged Arrow emphatically. "You can't help me then. But here come the braves to take you back to the Fort. Give Guy my kindest regards and tell him to keep that letter about his own person. It will save one more and that is all."
A party of warriors rode up at this moment, one of them carrying Cyrus's Winchester which he gave into his hands. He stopped for a moment to shake hands with Winged Arrow, but the latter stood with his hands behind him, which Cyrus took as a sign that no hand shaking was to be allowed; so he touched his hat to the young savage, and, following the motions of one of the Indians, started off toward the Fort. Not a thing was said to him during their long walk until they arrived at the top of the swell, from which they could see the palisades. One glance was enough to show him that the vigilant soldiers were on the watch. He saw a commotion in the Fort, occasioned by the men hurrying to their quarters, which was a gentle hint to the savages that they had come close enough.
"There are your friends," said one who had evidently talked English to him the night before, "Go home."
Cyrus renewed his efforts at hand shaking, but the Indians turned their horses and retreated behind the hill.