THE STORY THAT SUBDUED HIM.
BY MRS. HARRIET A. CHEEVER.
A man of towering form, straight as an arrow, with copper-colored skin, stood before a bit of looking-glass in a small wooden dwelling. The clearing about the little habitation indicated perseverance and thrift on the part of the owner. It had taken more than that—hard labor and an almost endless amount of patience had been required to bring this little portion of a “reservation” into its present condition.
The tawny man regarding himself in the bit of mirror was unmistakably a savage, and savage enough his regular features were as he addressed himself at that moment. He was decently and comfortably clothed, in garments coarse, but clean and not ill-fitting. But with an angry, scowling face, and quick, fierce movements, the young giant was throwing off his garments, growling in thick, guttural tones, “I kill, I shoot, I burn! Pale face shan’t push Indian any more; I take th’ warpath again, let pale face beware—him serpent!”
Ten minutes later, and he would never have passed for the same man first seen. His face was daubed with streaks of paint, making it hideous indeed. The broad wampum belt contained both bowie knife and pistol, while a coarse jacket and leggings of wolf-skin made the tall figure appear animal-like in its ungainly trappings.
But what wonder the slumbering savage nature was asserting itself! For two long years, Trapper Dan—he liked the name the white men had given him, successful hunter that he was—yes, for two years, Trapper Dan had worked and slaved, encouraged by really kind leaders, and with simple faith in the white man’s promises, he believed the plot of land he was cultivating so untiringly, and the rude but enduring little building would be his to keep forever. He was a bright man naturally, and grasped eagerly the offers made by the superior class of beings known to him as the pale faces.
But now, when things were working never so easily and prosperously, the reservation was to be broken up, or at least so meanly encroached upon, that Trapper Dan’s little mite of an estate was included in the reservation to be reserved no longer.
What wonder, we repeat, that the barbarous instincts of the man awoke in vengeful fury toward the unscrupulous destroyers of his peace and his home? For, after all, the holy instincts clustering about the idea of a home are easily understood and fostered even by the savage when once he can grasp its blessed meaning.
In hateful guise and with deadly weapons, the hunted trapper stole, forth under cover of the darkness, his poor heart thirsting for revenge. He realized vaguely that the Great Spirit would be displeased at his anger, but he stifled all that as he vaulted along toward the building where a great meeting was to be held.
A slight young man just entering on a missionary career had resolved that on this, his first night of addressing the Indians, he would tell them in the very plainest language possible the simple story of Jesus and His cross. Doubtless they had heard it many times before, but no matter, it should be told to-night mainly in words of one syllable, so that even the most untaught could understand its import.
Cowering close by one of the openings answering for windows was the unseen figure of Trapper Dan, his dark face and darker designs alike in hiding until the time for action should come. Once the people were engrossed in the speaker, he would shoot into the building and bring down more than one pale face on the platform, then he would hide again, only to pillage and burn later on in the night.
He did not wish to listen or hear anything that might be said by a despicable pale face, but when the young missionary, with heart on fire for very love of his theme, told of the innocent little baby, born in the far-off East, Dan became unconsciously interested in that baby. Then, in words, every one of which his hearers understood, the speaker told of the eager, intelligent boy, who lingered in the temple to ask questions of the wise old doctors.
Then the child became a man and did wondrous things, and for the needy, the poor, the blind, the sick, the sinning! In most touching accents he went on and told of the cruel return this dear child, this bright boy, this loving, helpful man received at the hands of those he had only helped and blessed. He came at last to the piteous scenes at the cross, and when he cried out: “And it was all for you, poor Indian, for you and me—for us all,” Trapper Dan was surprised to find the tears raining over his painted cheeks, and the anger and hatred was all gone from his poor heart. He lingered to hear the young preacher tell of the forgiveness of the Saviour towards his cruel enemies, then he turned away; and it was not a savage any longer, but a softened, forgiving man, who went back to the crude little home on the borders of the great solemn forest. He wanted now so much to forgive those who were wronging him, that early the next morning the land agent was surprised to see Trapper Dan walk into his office, and holding out a friendly hand, say bluntly: “I forgive all for the dear Jesus’ sake—he die for poor Indian. I give up home, give up land—um sorry, but I no harm pale face.”
Later the same day the missionary found Trapper Dan, and was amazed at the man’s gentle, forgiving spirit. A ferocious look had stolen for a moment into his face when telling of his labor and his wrongs, but it died out at the name of Jesus.
It transpired that the little home was not disturbed after all, and the missionary not long after remarked feelingly to the agent:
“Only give him a fair chance, only treat him like a man and a brother, treat him fairly and squarely, teach him Christ so he will know him for a Saviour, and I will answer for the Indian. He may appear the savage until taught better things, but he has the heart of a human being after all.”