Lives of Famous Indian Chiefs / From Cofachiqui, the Indian Princess, and Powhatan; down to and including Chief Joseph and Geronimo. Also an answer, from the latest research, of the query, Whence came the Indian? Together with a number of thrillingly interesting Indian stories and anecdotes from history

by Norman B. Wood

The door of the room they occupied was left wide open, so that the Indian was in full view. Would the tall warrior, who had gained entrance to their home under pretense of being weary and hungry, attempt to murder them himself, or would he, when he thought the family sound asleep, unbar the door to admit his confederates to assist him in his bloody work? The husband and wife said nothing to each other regarding their fears, but the necessity of remaining awake was fully understood and agreed upon between them.

The bed upon which Spicer and his wife lay was without the circle of the firelight, and in heavy shadow; and their faces were not discernible in the gloom. They breathed deeply to deceive the Indian, whom they believed to be as wakeful as they themselves, although he lay perfectly still for an hour. At the end of that time he raised himself upon his elbow and listened. All was silent, and he sat upright, and again listened as before. No sound disturbed the silence but the deep breathing of the sleeping children in the loft above him and the regular respiration of Spicer and his wife, who were watching the Indian with mingled feelings of anger and alarm, for now his evil intention seemed about to be made known. Rising to his feet, the Indian stepped as swiftly and softly as a panther to the corner where his weapons were piled.

"Shall I shoot him in his tracks?" thought Spicer, whose hand was now upon his gun. "No, I can't shoot a man in my own house whose back is toward me, but if he draws the bolt of the outside door, or makes a motion to attack us, he will find me ready."

By this time the savage had reached the corner, and stood silently listening to see if he had awakened any one. Satisfied that he had not, he took up his glittering scalping-knife. Mrs. Spicer shuddered as he passed his fingers across the edge of the blade to assure himself of its keenness. Already she seemed to feel the cold steel upon her naked flesh. She touched her husband's hand as if to urge him to shoot. He gave her hand a reassuring pressure, and grasped his gun, awaiting the Indian's onslaught.

The savage, however, seemed in no haste, and instead of turning toward the door of the cabin, or the room in which Spicer and his wife lay, he quietly stole toward the opposite corner of the room. Surprised and puzzled, Spicer and his wife watched the Indian's mysterious movements, which in another minute explained themselves.

Reaching the corner where the venison hung, he took it down, and laying it upon the floor, deftly cut off a piece weighing a pound or two, and then made his way back to the fire and placed it on the embers. Carefully wiping his scalping-knife and placing it again with his weapons, he sat down before the fire, watching his meat cook, and, when it was done to his satisfaction, he devoured it with much apparent relish, and lay down again and was soon sleeping the sleep of the weary.

Indians as a rule (especially those around the great fresh-water lakes) dislike salt and pepper, and Mrs. Spicer had so seasoned the venison she cooked for her guest that it was unpalatable, and with innate delicacy he attempted to conceal the fact that it was not done to his liking by slipping it into his pouch. Both Spicer and his wife knew in an instant that this was the case, when the Indian, unconscious how near his dislike for pepper and salt had brought him to death sat down to watch his venison broil. Their minds at ease, they too, were soon peacefully sleeping.

Afterward, when the Indian, who came season after season to visit Spicer and his family, learned enough English to speak quite well, he told them that upon the occasion of his first visit to their cabin he had lost his trail, and had been guided to their door by the light from the window. He had left his father, who was too tired to travel farther, in an abandoned hunting-hut they found in the woods, and had given him his blanket. The other rifle was his father's, and the next morning he went back to him, and the two found their trail and went onward to their village.

Every spring and autumn the Indian, who called himself "Heno," which is the Wyandot for "Thunder," used to call at the cabin of the Spicer's with gifts of game and skins, and when the settler, upon one of these visits, told him of the hour of terror he spent watching his movements the first night of their acquaintance, Heno, who was a merry fellow in spite of his looks, chuckled softly to himself, the humor of the situation evidently striking him forcibly.