“That’s a very pleasant way of appropriation,” said Ernest Wilton, under his voice, to Mr Rawlings. “But what’s that he says, about fighting the palefaces?”
“I thought there was peace between the red man and the children of the Great Father at Washington?” said Mr Rawlings, alluding to the current legend in frontier life that all the settlers out west are the progeny of the President of the United States for the time being.
“No peace long,” said the Sioux chief defiantly, a savage smile lighting up his expressive features. “Hatchet dug up already. War soon—in ’nother moon.”
“Well, that’s a pleasant prospect to look forward to!” said Ernest, in a half-serious, half-comic way, as he usually regarded most things. “But what’s to be done with these fellows now? Sailor Bill is none the worse for his temporary captivity, and I suppose Seth will be all right in a few days, after his wounds get better. I suppose we shall have to let them go?”
“Yes,” said Mr Rawlings; “but I must consult Noah Webster first.”
After consultation with that worthy, it was determined that the whole party should take advantage of the Indians’ bivouac and remain there till the morning, when they would have had a good rest; but the Indians must be kept bound, and one taken with them on the back track next day until they had accomplished half their return journey home, when he would be released, and sent back free to unloose his comrades. This, Noah Webster said, was the only course they could adopt in order to avoid any treachery with the redskins, Noah saying that he would not trust them farther than he could see them, and laughing at Mr Rawlings’ idea of releasing them at once on parole.
“Why, if yer did so,” said he, “none of us would ever git back to Minturne Creek to tell the tale!”
Accordingly, Noah’s plan was adopted. The little band that had accomplished Sailor Bill’s rescue so satisfactorily, rested after their labours till the morning, when, leaving two of the Indians bound to trees in a similar way as they had discovered poor Seth’s protégé, they started back for the camp, taking with them the chief, Rising Cloud, whom they did not release until they reached the spot where the original row had occurred, where the chief had his arms unpinioned and was told he might go and free his companions.
The Indian did not take a very affectionate farewell of his escort. As Mr Rawlings and Ernest untied his hands and told him he might go, he pointed first towards the sky, then towards the east from whence they had just come, and then in the direction where Minturne Creek lay.
“Yes, white man master now! Rising Cloud go home to his tribe; but by-and-by he come back again with a thousand warriors at his back, and wipe out the white men, robbers of the red man’s land. Yes, by the Manitou of the palefaces Rising Cloud swears it!”