They went away, repressing their rage with difficulty, but when going they brandished their tomahawks over their heads in sign of war. However, my words sank in their memory; for at the time of their departure two hundred of my men, prepared purposely, rose up with threatening aspect, rattling their weapons, and gave forth a shout of battle. That readiness made a deep impression on the wild warriors.
Some hours later Henry Simpson, who at his own instance had gone out to observe the embassy, returned, all panting, with news that a considerable division of Indians was approaching us.
I, knowing Indian ways perfectly, knew that those were mere threats, for the Indians, armed with bows made of hickory, were not in numbers sufficient to meet Kentucky rifles of long range. I said that to Lillian, wishing to quiet her, for she was trembling like a leaf; but all the others were sure that a battle was coming; the younger ones, whose warlike spirit was roused, wished for it eagerly.
In fact, we heard the howling of the redskins soon after; still, they kept at the distance of some gun-shots, as if seeking a favorable moment.
In our camp immense fires, replenished with cottonwood and willows, were burning all night; the men stood guard around the wagons; the women were singing psalms from fear; the mules, not driven out as usual to the night pasture, but confined behind the wagons, were braying and biting one another; the dogs, feeling the nearness of the Indians, were howling,—in a word, it was noisy and threatening throughout the camp. In brief moments of silence we heard the mournful and ominous howling of the Indian outposts, calling with the voices of coyotes.
About midnight the Indians tried to set fire to the prairie, but the damp grass of spring would not burn, though for some days not a raindrop had fallen on that region.
When riding around the camp-ground before daybreak I had a chance of seeing Lillian for a moment. I found her sleeping from weariness, with her head resting on the knees of Aunt Atkins, who, armed with a bowie-knife, had sworn to destroy the whole tribe, if one of them dared to come near her darling. As to me, I looked on that fair sleeping face with the love not only of a man, but almost of a mother, and I felt equally with Aunt Atkins that I would tear into pieces any one who would threaten my beloved. In her was my joy, in her my delight; beyond her I had nothing but endless wandering, tramping, and mishaps. Before my eyes I had the best proof of this: in the distance were the prairie, the rattle of weapons, the night on horseback, the struggle with predatory redskin murderers; nearer, right there before my face, was the quiet sleep of that dear one, so full of faith and trust in me, that my word alone had convinced her that there could be no attack, and she had fallen asleep as full of confidence as if under her father’s roof.
When I looked at those two pictures, I felt for the first time how that adventurous life without a morrow had wearied me, and I saw at once that I should find rest and satisfaction with her alone. “If only to California!” thought I, “if only to California! But the toils of the journey—merely one-half of which, and that half the easiest, is over—are evident already on that pallid face; but a beautiful rich country is waiting for us there, with its warm sky and eternal spring.” Thus meditating, I covered the feet of the sleeper with my buffalo-robe, so that the night cold might not harm her, and returned to the end of the camp.
It was time, for a thick mist had begun to rise from the river; the Indians might really take advantage of it and try their fortune. The fires were dimmed more and more, and grew pale. An hour later one man could not see another if ten paces distant. I gave command then to cry on the square every minute, and soon nothing was heard in that camp but the prolonged “All’s well!” which passed from mouth to mouth like the words of a litany.
But the Indian camp had grown perfectly still, as if its occupants were dumb. This began to alarm me. At the first dawn an immense weariness mastered us; God knows how many nights the majority of the men had passed without sleep,—besides, the fog, wonderfully penetrating, sent a chill and a shiver through all.