“He was a great friend to the whites,” replied Mrs. Lester, and dealt kindly and truly with them. An Indian had been killed by a white man, and his tribe demanded scalps to atone for this murder. Red Bird was sent to obtain the scalp of the white man, but he returned, saying he could find none.
Then came the cruel taunts of the revengeful savages; “Red Bird was no brave;” “he feared the pale-faces;” “he cared not to avenge the blood of one of their tribe.” “Red Bird must go again,” and this time not alone, but accompanied by cruel Indians, to watch his movements. Poor Red Bird had never met the pale-faces but with truth and kindness, and now a hundred voices clamored for their destruction; and these voices overpowered the still small voice within him.
Red Bird and his two companions entered a cabin, a little below Prairie du Chien, at noon-day. It was a peaceful family group, fearing no evil. The woman was washing near the window that looked toward the river; her husband was seated by the cradle of his sleeping child, while an old soldier sat near the door. The Indians asked for something to eat, and as the woman gave them some bread and milk, she saw an expression in their faces that led her to fly from the cabin to call for help. No help could reach the ill-fated occupants of the cabin. The tomahawk of the Indians rapidly descended; Red Bird scalped the husband and father, the second Indian the soldier, while the fair hair of the infant was dangling at the belt of the third savage, as he left the cabin.
“And what became of Red Bird?” asked Helen.
“He was taken by the United States officers, and brought to trial. Red Bird, sad and stately, drew himself up to his full height, and said that he had always been a friend of the white man, that he had never before injured them, and that he had been forced to this act of retaliation by the taunts of his tribe; that he thought they ought not to condemn him for a single offense.”
No. 666.
INDIANS KILLING A WHITE FAMILY.
“He was put in irons, an indignity that so wrought upon his lofty spirit, that he pined to death.”
“Look at that log-cabin on the bank,” said Norman; “perhaps that is the one Keokuk slept in one night.”
“Why did he go there?” asked Helen.