The Chief of the Ranges: A Tale of the Yukon

by H. A. Cody

"The Chilcats are cowards," he said. "They are six to one. They sneak up like dogs. They are afraid to fight. They know the strength of the chief of the Ayana, and fear him when bound. They tremble as they look upon him. Their hearts are the same as jack-rabbits. Bah!"

"Let Klitonda talk," replied one. "The Chilcats care not what he says. He will do more than talk when he is taken before the chief's son. He will not sneer then. He calls the Chilcats dogs, but remember dogs can bite. But, come, it's time to be on the way, for a long trail lies ahead."

Klitonda's bow, hunting-axe, and sharp knife were taken from him. He was not surprised at this, for it was only natural that they should disarm such a noted antagonist. Only about the token arrows did he feel anxious. He had dropped them by his side as he stooped to drink, and in the struggle and excitement which ensued the Chilcats had not noticed them. If they remained there the Ayana Indians might find them, and come to his assistance. There was only a very slight possibility of their being found by the right persons. It was his only hope, however, and he felt somewhat relieved when at last they left the place and the arrows remained undisturbed where they had been dropped.

The Chilcats took special care that their prisoner should not escape. They were armed with guns, which had been supplied by the white traders along the coast. They were proud of these weapons, and by means of them they believed they were almost more than a match for the Interior Indians. In all their unscrupulous barter with the Ayana they would never trade a musket for any price no matter how tempting. It was their policy to confine the defeated people strictly to their primitive weapons, as less formidable in case of an uprising.

Klitonda walked in advance, and even if his hands had been free he would have had no chance whatsoever of evading the watchfulness of his captors. The Chilcats wished to take their prisoner back to camp alive. But rather than lose him they would not have hesitated to shoot him down. And this Klitonda well knew. The Chilcats had a number of old scores to settle with him, and shooting would be too easy a death. They had other choice punishments in reserve for this Ayana chieftain. Klitonda made no effort to escape. He walked more like a conqueror than a bound prisoner. Proudly he carried his head like some monarch of the forest. They might curb his body, but not his defiant spirit. He strode along at such a rapid pace that his captors found it difficult at times to keep up with him. He did not seem to mind the heat nor the flies now, for he had other things of a more serious nature to trouble him. He was thinking of the wreck of all his plans, and what would become of the white men, and his own people. That the former could hold out for any length of time against the overwhelming numbers of Chilcats he could scarcely believe. Their Post would be destroyed, and they themselves most likely killed. And what would become of Owindia? Who would protect her? There was little wonder that at such thoughts Klitonda should fiercely strain at the gripping thongs. Oh, to be free once more! With hands unloosed he would face the whole Chilcat horde. He did not fear death, if he could meet it in the midst of his enemies, with hunting axe in hand. But to be bound like a cur, and to endure all the insults which would be heaped upon him, with an ignominious death in the end, were like gall and wormwood to the proud chief.

Thus all through that hot afternoon they sped on their way. The sun sank low in the west, and at length disappeared behind the trees. The air became cooler, and the innumerable flies ceased their pitiless torture. The trailing light of day hung lingeringly over the land until night at length rose slowly up from forest and valley, and folded her in its diaphanous mantle. The narrow trail became lost in the deepening gloom, and the wayfarers were forced to depend upon the sense of touch rather than sight to guide them forward. Their progress became slower, and the Chilcats crowded closer to their prisoner, fearful lest they should lose him in the darkness. No stars were visible, for thick clouds had drifted in from the coast, and a plaintive wind began to moan among the trees. But steadily they pressed onward, until at length a light pierced the murky gloom straight ahead. Then the Chilcats paused, while one of them lifted up his voice, and gave a succession of short shrill calls. Soon an answer came speeding back, so without further hesitation they hurried onward out of the night toward the cheerful fire.

To Klitonda the place seemed alive with Indians crowding around the genial blaze, for the night was now chilly. They were evidently preparing to leave, for their guns were lying near, while their hunting axes and sharp knives were in their places. They were a hardy, formidable band of warriors which met Klitonda's gaze. One glance was sufficient for him to interpret the purpose of their preparations. The Post was the object of their attack, and the dark night would stand them in good stead. For themselves they had no fear. The Ayana Indians they held in such contempt, that they did not think them worthy of consideration. Instead of prowling about the Chilcat camp they believed that they were hurrying off to their mountain fastnesses. As for the white men they were not so sure. They, accordingly, had several braves lying in ambush watching the Post, who would hurry back with the news should the white traders sally forth for a night attack. The Chilcats, therefore, felt no immediate danger, and were laughing and chatting about the fire as Klitonda drew near.

At once considerable excitement ensued at the presence of the outcast chief. Forgotten for a time was the contemplated raid upon the Post, and all turned their attention to the prisoner standing in their midst.

Klitonda uttered not a word, but gazed calmly upon his enemies. He noted their leader, the chief's son, and a slight curl of contempt flickered about the corners of his mouth as he watched him. He was smaller than the ordinary Chilcat, fat, and possessed of a weak, sensual face. Stupidity and arrogance were plainly stamped upon his features. So this was the creature who made war upon the Ayana, and demanded Owindia for his wife. Better, so Klitonda thought, that his daughter should be dead than to live with such a brute. He was surprised, too, at the deference paid to him by his men, and how implicitly those around the fire obeyed his slightest word. This leader was evidently fond of pow-wows, when he could give vent to his oratorical powers.

"Bamba is pleased to see Klitonda, chief of the Ayana," he began, turning to the captive. "But where is his daughter? Why is she not here too?"