After a prolonged silence Moonlight whispered—
“Does Skipping Rabbit sleep?”
“No.”
“Is there not something in the great medicine-book that father speaks so much about which teaches that we should love our enemies?”
“I don’t know,” replied the little one. “Bounding Bull never taught that to me.”
Again there was silence, during which Moonlight hoped in a confused sort of way that the teaching might be true. Before she could come to a conclusion on the perplexing point both she and her little friend were in that mysterious region where the human body usually ceases to be troubled by the human mind.
When Bounding Bull and Little Tim found that the Blackfoot chief had escaped them, they experienced what is often termed among Christians a great trial of faith. They did not indeed express their thoughts in language, but they could not quite prevent their looks from betraying their feelings, while in their thoughts they felt sorely tempted to charge God with indifference to their feelings, and even with something like cruelty, in thus permitting the guilty to triumph and the innocent to suffer. The state of mind is not, indeed, unfamiliar to people who are supposed to enjoy higher culture than the inhabitants of the wilderness. Even Whitewing’s spirit was depressed for a time, and he could offer no consolation to the bereaved fathers, or find much comfort to himself; yet in the midst of all the mental darkness by which he was at that time surrounded, two sentences which the pale-face missionary had impressed on him gleamed forth now and then, like two flickering stars in a very black sky. The one was, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” the other, “He doeth all things well.” But he did not at that time try to point out the light to his companions.
Burning with rage, mingled somewhat with despair, the white hunter and the red chief returned home in hot haste, bent on collecting a force of men so strong that they would be enabled to go forth with the absolute certainty of rescuing their children, or of avenging them by sweeping the entire Blackfoot nation, root and branch, off the face of the earth; and adorning the garments of their braves with their scalp-locks for ages to come.
It may be easily believed that they did not waste time on the way. Desperate men cannot rest. To halt for a brief space in order to take food and sleep just sufficient to sustain them was all the relaxation they allowed themselves. This was, of course, simply a process of wearing out their strength, but they were very strong men, long inured to hardships, and did not easily wear out.
One night they sat round the camp fire, very weary, and in silence. The fire was low and exceedingly small. Indeed, they did not dare to venture on a large one while near the enemy’s country, and usually contented themselves with a supper of cold, uncooked pemmican. On this night, however, they were more fatigued than usual—perhaps depression of spirit had much to do with it—so they had kindled a fire and warmed their supper.