Jack Among the Indians; Or, A Boy's Summer on the Buffalo Plains

by George Bird Grinnell

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the valley of a stream, and instead of camping in the broad open bottom, which offered a good place to picket the horses, Hugh rode up the stream to where the valley was dotted with frequent clumps of willows, and riding in among these, halted at the edge of a thick clump, midway between the stream and the bluffs.

"Let's unsaddle here," he said, "and tie up the horses among these willows; they ain't so likely to be seen, if anybody happens to look into the creek bed. We'll just build a little fire here, and cook, and then put it right out. I don't want to make no smoke if I can help it."

The loads of the horses and the camp were well concealed, and after the animals had drunk, they tied them rather short to the clumps of brush, intending to move them from time to time to fresh grass.

Although the sun was low now, it was still intensely hot; and down in the bottom, shut in by the bluffs, there was no air stirring. The willow brush, too, cut off what little wind blew up or down the creek, and Jack felt as if he were almost choked. They cooked and ate, and after they had done that, Hugh said, "I'm going up this ravine, back of camp, to get on a hill and take a look. You'd better stay here and watch the horses. Don't move around much, and if you see anybody, just keep out of sight all you can. Of course if anybody tries to take any of the horses, why you'll have to shoot, but I don't expect you'll see no one. I'll be back here pretty quick." Putting his pipe in his pocket, Hugh picked up his gun and disappeared in the willows, and Jack sat and sweltered in the heat.

Presently, he thought he would go down to the brook and get a drink; so he walked down there, and stood on a little gravelly beach, over which the water poured with a cool, merry rattle. In the stream there were little fish, and as his shadow fell upon it, they darted in all directions, in great alarm. He drank of the water, but it was not so cool as it looked, and then he wet his hands and his wrists and his head. This gave him some relief, and he thought he would take off his clothes and wet his body all over in a pool a foot or two deep, at the foot of the ripple. He put his gun down at the edge of the willows, quickly stripped off his clothes, stepped into the pool, and lay down in it. This was delicious. In a moment he forgot how hot he had been just before, and the water almost reminded him of the morning's ride through the snow storm. Still, as soon as he raised his body out of the stream he was warm enough again. After ducking under two or three times, he happened to look toward his clothes, and as he did so his heart almost stopped beating.

Standing by his clothing and gun, was a tall half-naked man with a robe hanging from his waist and an eagle feather tied in his head. He stood leaning on his gun and looked at Jack with a broad grin of triumph, which showed his white teeth. He did not have the long straight hair of an Indian; it was crisp and curled tight to his head, and his skin was not brown, but was black; in fact, he looked like a negro. All this Jack saw, but he had no time to reason about it. He realised only the one thing, that the man was standing over his gun and cartridge belt, while he was naked and unarmed. Jack cast a glance over his shoulder, with a half formed idea of running away, but in this direction there was no hope, for standing on the opposite bank of the stream, and within a few yards of him was an Indian. About this one, there could be no mistake; his brown trunk was naked, crossed by a belt which held a quiver, the feathered arrows projecting above his left shoulder; on either side of his face, his long hair hung down in braids, and in his right hand he carelessly held a bow and a sheaf of arrows. Crossing his body, over the right shoulder and under the left arm, was a coil of raw hide rope. Jack was surrounded. There was no escape.

Jack did not know what to do. He had never before felt so utterly helpless. He wished he had stayed at camp as Hugh had told him to, but it was all so quick that he was conscious of nothing except a horrible sinking of the heart, and this feeling that he was helpless. These men could kill or capture him. He could make no resistance. Before he had time to think, the man standing by his clothes raised his open right hand above his head, and moved it toward Jack, at the same time saying: "Keep quiet, don't be scared, sonny, you ain't agoin' to be hurt. I want to talk to you."

The sound of these words, spoken in English, gave Jack a tremendous sense of relief; it didn't seem that any one that spoke so good naturedly could wish to harm him. At that moment the Indian behind him called across to the other, and two or three sentences were exchanged between them. Then the negro, for such he proved to be, called out, "Come ashore, sonny, and put your clothes on. Don't be scared, you won't get hurt. I'll just move your gun a little, though, so it won't be in your way and then we'll talk." Saying this, he moved the gun and cartridge belt a few yards from the pile of clothing, and standing between Jack and his weapons, motioned towards the clothes which Jack began to put on. Then he said, "Where ye goin'?"