The Chief of the Ranges: A Tale of the Yukon

by H. A. Cody

Carefully Klitonda laid the unconscious man near the fire, and in a few words explained to his daughter his experience that afternoon.

"He is a white man, little one," he said in conclusion, "and for your mother's sake we must take good care of him."

Owindia needed no urging to arouse her to action. The sight of the quiet man lying before her with closed eyes and drawn white face, touched her heart with the deepest pity. He was a young man, tall and powerfully built, she could tell at a glance. Removing his fur-lined parka she at once began to chafe his cold numb hands. Then going to the kettle steaming near the fire, she brought a hot drink in a small cup, and with her father's aid forced some of the nourishing broth between the firmly-set teeth. Ere long the warmth of the fire and the drink he had taken revived the stranger. Opening his eyes he looked about him in a vacant manner. Then with a deep sigh he closed them again, and drifted off into a natural slumber.

After Klitonda had eaten his supper he donned his cap and mittens.

"I am going back for my sled, little one," he said. "I left it only a short distance away, so it will not take me long. It is not safe to leave it out there."

He did not notice the look of fear which leaped into his daughter's face at these words. She said nothing, however, but having watched her father leave the lodge she went back to her beaded-work. But her fingers were not busy now. She picked up the jacket, only to let it drop again into her lap. She found it impossible to keep her eyes away from the sleeping man. Who was he? she wondered, and what was he doing so far on this side of the mountains? His face was different from any she had ever seen, and his hair was not long, black and straight, but dark brown, and curling over his forehead. She had caught one glimpse of his eyes when he had opened them and looked vacantly around. She should like to see them again, to notice their colour. Then she drifted off into a world of fancy. Were all white people beyond the mountains of the rising sun like this one? How much he must know. Had he a home, and if so why did he leave it? Was someone waiting for him to return? How long would he stay at the lodge, and would he go away again, and she would never see him more?

Although the most beautiful flower of all the maidens in the Yukon region Owindia had never been wooed. There was not a brave in the whole land but longed to take her to his lodge as wife, and would have fought and even died for her sake. Her presence in any camp always caused a flutter of excitement, and a stirring of dusky hearts. How the striplings vied with one another in waiting upon her every want. And in their various games of wrestling, running and jumping, the victors always turned to the chief's daughter for signs of special favour. But Owindia favoured none of them. Although kind and friendly to all there was a barrier, a certain reserve, which always checked the most impetuous, and love-smitten braves, and kept them at a respectable distance.

Combined with her father's strong and independent spirit, there were her mother's powerful influence and careful teaching. Klitonda's dissatisfaction with the life of his people, and his yearning for nobler things sank deep in his daughter's soul. She knew what it meant to be an Ayana Indian wife. Had she not too often seen the life the women led? It was to be a mere drudge, to bear children, and to be an abject slave to her imperious lord and master. So much had her mother told her about the wonderful things beyond the great mountains of the rising sun that Owindia held the white race to be little less than divine. Was not her mother part white? she oftened reasoned with herself, and if she knew so much, and was so good what must the people be like who had all white blood in their veins?

Once her mother had playfully told her that a white brave would come for her, take her away, and she would see the marvellous things for herself. These words spoken so lightly had remained in Owindia's mind. How real the world of fancy and romance had become to her, and often she pictured her hero coming to meet her just as her mother had said.

For a while she forgot the storm and the dark night as she sat before the fire. Her eyes were looking straight before her, but they dwelt upon nothing near; they only saw things far off and rosy. A movement of the lodge flap to the right attracted her attention. How hard the wind was blowing, she thought, and she glanced around to be sure that the hanging was well secured at the top. It sometimes got loose if neglected. To-night no such thing must happen. The lodge must be kept warm on account of the sleeping man.