Days of dark delirium to the bereaved man followed. His body became a wreck and his mind a chaos. Wild shapes flitted through his brain, and fever parched up the springs of life. With body and brain thus terribly wrung—thus strained to an unnatural tension, the wonder was that he survived the shock of that cruel loss. But life had many stern duties for him—lessons to be learned—battles to be fought—deeds of daring to be done.
Breathing, but unconscious—dead to all around him, he lingered for weeks on the parting ridge between time and eternity; then came days of rest, of sweet, unthinking repose. Mind and body both slept, and, refreshed, he awoke, weak, very weak, but sane. A month of careful nursing followed, and his mind became bright, though somewhat chastened in its fiery impetuosity—his figure resumed its erect poise and grace of motion—stern determination took the place of vacillating purpose. He was once more a man! But that house could no longer be his home. The serpent had left its trail over every thing there. He must seek a new life.
His course was soon adopted and his plans completed. He left his estate to the care of a tried friend. But even then, some lingering of the love he had sternly banished from his soul flashed up again for an instant, and he secured a competency to the woman, who, rock-like, had shipwrecked his last hopes. From the elk-horns on which it had so long rested, he took down the very rifle his grandfather had carried when he went on the Indian trail—took the wampum belts, and pouch, and tomahawk and knife—arrayed himself in the same well-worn hunting-dress—flung upon his horse the trappings of a gens du lac, and turned his back upon civilization, to seek in the wild prairie forgetfulness of self. The home he sought was in the wigwams of the Dacotahs.
CHAPTER V.
THE PRISONER OF THE DACOTAHS.
On a gently-sloping bank, which fell greenly to one of the many streams that empty into the north fork of the Platte, the Dacotahs had erected their encampment. On the rich sward, and in the shade of clustering trees, the wigwams had been hastily erected, and the business of savage life commenced its course. The fires of the morning were just beginning to send up white puffs and blue curls of smoke, that floated among the forest-branches in a thousand fanciful wreaths, at which the painted warriors gazed dreamily as they smoked in silent idleness around the encampment. Half-clad children tumbled on the grass or rolled in and out into the stream, rioting in the waves like water-dogs, and shouting out their animal joy, till the whole prairie rung with it.
Outside the camp, snarling curs fought over the already well-picked bones, or slunk off yelping, when punished for their constant thefts. In the background, horses browsed luxuriantly on the tender foliage of the trees which surrounded the little prairie with a belt of arching greenness.
Through the openings of these trees, hunters could be seen in groups, returning from the woods laden with game. The wigwams were built in a large circle, apart from a lodge of superior dimensions that stood in the center, and yet, in a way, guarding it. This lodge was gaudily decorated, and the painted buffalo-skins which covered it were fastened closely to the ground.
Every thing about this lodge was silent as night; there was no noise from within, no sign that it was inhabited Not a curve of smoke came from its cone-like top. Not a child played near it: so closely was it guarded, that a savage footstep dared not venture within speaking distance of it. Yet how still the lodge was—you would have thought it a habitation of the dead.
The Black Eagle came from his night rendezvous and entered the encampment, not with his usual savage pomp, but quite alone, and stealthily, as if he would gladly have escaped observation. It was not fear or modesty, but crafty cunning which rendered him so cautious. The gold which he had received weighed him down with anxiety. His treachery in holding the secret negotiation he well knew would, if once known, destroy his popularity with the tribe. Besides this, it would enforce a division of the spoils.
To place this gold in a safe hiding-place had been his first object; compared to this, the safety of his prisoner had sunk into a secondary consideration. More than once, in his rapid march toward the Dacotah camping-ground, he had resolved to bury his treasure in some rocky gorge, or hide it in the crevices of some unfrequented cañon, or sink it deep in some swift-running stream. But avarice, the master demon passion of his nature, forbade this. So long as possible, he yearned to detain the gold in his own personal keeping. Thus, he brought it with him to the tribe, and crept like a thief stealthily into the camp where he had a right to command.