Story 1—Chapter XVIII.
Rising Cloud.
“Silenza!” said the half-breed warningly, hearing Black Harry talking rather loudly and threatening what he would do in case a hair of the poor boy was injured,—“Silenza! Señors must go soft, or Sioux hear mens speak!”
This happened just as they started, and from that moment not a word was further spoken amongst the party, the men preserving a solemn silence and marching one after the other in single file, Moose and Noah Webster leading the way, and tracking the course of the Indians like sleuth-hounds, seeing traces of the passage of those of whom they were in pursuit in places where, as in the rocky bottom of a dry ravine they presently came across, no footprints were perceptible like as they were when the trail led through the prairie-grass, in a manner most unaccountable both to Mr Rawlings and the young engineer.
On and on, mile after mile, went the gallant little band, at one time treading downward towards some bottom or valley, at another their route lying upwards along some ascending plateau, until the afternoon grew dusky and night approached, when they had travelled over a considerable distance of ground from their starting-point.
The prairie still stretched before them, the fringe of trees on the horizon which Ernest Wilton had perceived some hours before still far off, but much nearer
than they were then, although, as he saw now, they certainly could not indicate the banks of the Missouri, as he had then thought; while between this distant bank of timber, that stood out here under the shades of evening more strongly against the sky line, were sundry little timbered islands as it were amidst the vast ocean of spreading plain on which they were.
As it got darker, the half-breed, who was unacquainted with Wolf’s sagacity, that equalled his own in following a trail, made them understand that they must give up the pursuit until the morning light, or moon, should it not be obscured, enabled the trail to be deciphered; but Wolf’s master showing him what to do, and a sort of leash being attached to the dog so that he should not go too fast on the scent and be lost sight of in the gathering gloom, the expedition started on again, after a brief halt, as untiringly as ever.
“Ugh!” ejaculated Moose, when they had continued their quest through the darkness with Wolf’s aid for about an hour, more or less—“Hist! Light yonder! Stay here, I go see!” and he disappeared from amongst them, while the others halted on the spot, from whence they could faintly perceive the glimmer of firelight shining amidst trees in front of them: so they were evidently near one of those little wooded islands they had observed in the distance.
After an absence which seemed unconscionably long to those who remained behind, the half-breed returned, and from what he said Mr Rawlings divided the band into two portions, one of which he ordered to follow Moose, whose object was to take the Indians in the rear, while the main body attacked them in front, thus causing them to surrender probably at the display of their overwhelming numbers, the two parties acting together by a concerted signal, without any recourse to their weapons, which would most likely endanger the life of poor Sailor Bill whom they had come to save.
All proceeded satisfactorily up to a certain point.
The half of the band that accompanied Moose stole forward, skirting round the trees so as to get the Indians in a line between themselves and Mr Rawlings’ party; and presently the solitary note of the melancholy whip-poor-will was heard from amidst the trees, to warn the others that Moose and his companions were in position, and they were to close in nearer to the Indian camp before the half-breed should give the second intimation that it was time for the final rush.
Black Harry’s indiscretion, however, at this juncture spoilt Moose’s plan of surprising the Indians and effecting their object without bloodshed. As they approached nearer the light that glimmered from amid the trees, they could see that three Indians were seated round it, while close adjoining them was poor Sailor Bill lashed tightly to a tree, like a poor lamb that was to be slaughtered in some butcher’s shop.
The sight was too much for the unthinking but gallant seaman, so, despite Mr Rawlings’ strict injunctions to the contrary, he levelled his rifle and fired point-blank into the group of Indians huddled over the fire.
The savages started up with a yell of alarm; and, seizing their arms hurriedly, one of them darted towards the motionless figure of Sailor Bill with an uplifted hatchet in his hand.
At that moment Mr Rawlings, seeing the imminent jeopardy of the boy, fired, and the Indian’s arm fell as if broken by the bullet, the hatchet dropping from his hand; in another second, however, the savage picked up the weapon again and would have brained Sailor Bill, being in the act of hurling it at him with a malignant aim, when Wolf, who had stolen forward at the first outburst, dashed at the Indian’s throat with a low growl of vengeance, and brought him to the ground.
“Don’t kill them!” shouted Mr Rawlings, in a voice that made itself heard above the mêlée; and after a brief struggle, the two remaining Indians were secured and firmly bound, although it took all Black Harry’s strength to overcome the one he grappled, who turned out to be the chief of the party, while the one Wolf had brought down suffered terribly from the grip of the dog on his throat.
After all had cooled down from the contest, which had lasted some little time, Mr Rawlings directed Moose to ask the Indian chief—who, the half-breed said, was a leading warrior of the Sioux tribe, rejoicing in the sounding title of “Rising Cloud,”—why he had attacked an innocent settler and miner like Seth Allport, and stolen away the boy that was with him?
The Indian, however, did not seem to require the services of an interpreter, for he answered Mr Rawlings as if he thoroughly comprehended the gist of the question Moose was deputed to ask him.
“Paleface lie!” he said angrily, in broken English, which he mastered much better indeed than the half-breed did in his half-Spanish patter. “Rising Cloud was hunting on the lands of his tribe when tall paleface hunter shoot him as if he were a beast of the forest. The red man isn’t a dog to be trodden on, so he gave the paleface a lesson, to remind him Rising Cloud could have killed him if he had willed it.”
“But why steal the boy?” asked Mr Rawlings, thinking that perhaps the Indian had some right on his side in assailing Seth after he had fired at him first.
“Boy jump at Rising Cloud like grizzly bear. Boy grow up fine warrior. Rising Cloud take him to his wigwam to make him big Sioux chief by-and-by and fight the paleface dogs.”
“That’s a very pleasant way of appropriation,” said Ernest Wilton, under his voice, to Mr Rawlings. “But what’s that he says, about fighting the palefaces?”
“I thought there was peace between the red man and the children of the Great Father at Washington?” said Mr Rawlings, alluding to the current legend in frontier life that all the settlers out west are the progeny of the President of the United States for the time being.
“No peace long,” said the Sioux chief defiantly, a savage smile lighting up his expressive features. “Hatchet dug up already. War soon—in ’nother moon.”
“Well, that’s a pleasant prospect to look forward to!” said Ernest, in a half-serious, half-comic way, as he usually regarded most things. “But what’s to be done with these fellows now? Sailor Bill is none the worse for his temporary captivity, and I suppose Seth will be all right in a few days, after his wounds get better. I suppose we shall have to let them go?”
“Yes,” said Mr Rawlings; “but I must consult Noah Webster first.”
After consultation with that worthy, it was determined that the whole party should take advantage of the Indians’ bivouac and remain there till the morning, when they would have had a good rest; but the Indians must be kept bound, and one taken with them on the back track next day until they had accomplished half their return journey home, when he would be released, and sent back free to unloose his comrades. This, Noah Webster said, was the only course they could adopt in order to avoid any treachery with the redskins, Noah saying that he would not trust them farther than he could see them, and laughing at Mr Rawlings’ idea of releasing them at once on parole.
“Why, if yer did so,” said he, “none of us would ever git back to Minturne Creek to tell the tale!”
Accordingly, Noah’s plan was adopted. The little band that had accomplished Sailor Bill’s rescue so satisfactorily, rested after their labours till the morning, when, leaving two of the Indians bound to trees in a similar way as they had discovered poor Seth’s protégé, they started back for the camp, taking with them the chief, Rising Cloud, whom they did not release until they reached the spot where the original row had occurred, where the chief had his arms unpinioned and was told he might go and free his companions.
The Indian did not take a very affectionate farewell of his escort. As Mr Rawlings and Ernest untied his hands and told him he might go, he pointed first towards the sky, then towards the east from whence they had just come, and then in the direction where Minturne Creek lay.
“Yes, white man master now! Rising Cloud go home to his tribe; but by-and-by he come back again with a thousand warriors at his back, and wipe out the white men, robbers of the red man’s land. Yes, by the Manitou of the palefaces Rising Cloud swears it!”
And the Indian spat on the ground with a savage gesture as he spoke.