CHAPTER VIII.
WAR–EAGLE AND REGINALD, WITH THEIR PARTY, PURSUE THE DAHCOTAHS.
We left Reginald, and War–Eagle’s party, in pursuit of the marauding band of Sioux horse–stealers. They continued their toilsome march with unabated speed until nightfall, when the trail was no longer distinguishable: they then halted, and while they ate a scanty supper, the mounted Delawares, who had been sent forward, returned, bringing with them two wearied horses which had escaped, in the hurried flight, from their captors.
War–Eagle, summoning Baptiste to his side, questioned the young man closely as to the appearance and direction of the trail. From their answers he learnt that its course was northward, but that it bore gradually towards the east, especially after a brief halt, which the Sioux had made for refreshment; a gleam shot athwart the dusky features of the young chief at this intelligence, but he made no observation, and contented himself with asking the opinion of his more experienced companion.
The guide, taking off his hunting–cap, allowed the evening breeze to play through the grisly hairs which were scattered, not too plentifully, on his weather–beaten forehead, as if his reflective powers might thence derive refreshment; but, apparently, the expedient was not, at least on this occasion, rewarded with success; for, after meditating in silence for a few seconds, he shook his head and owned that he saw no clue to the intentions of the party whom they were pursuing. The young chief had his eye still bent upon the ground, seemingly employed in observing a large rent, which the day’s march had made in his mocassin; but the woodsman read in the lines of his intelligent countenance that the mind was busily engaged in following a connected train of thought.
After allowing a few minutes to pass in silence, the guide, addressing his companion, said, “Can War–Eagle see the Dahcotah path? It is hid from the eyes of Grande–Hàche.”
“The night is dark, and the eyes cannot see the trail; but the wolf finds his way to the wounded bison, and the blue dove keeps her course to her nest in the mountain. The Great Spirit has not made the Lenapé warrior more ignorant than the bird, or the brute; War–Eagle knows the path of the Dahcotah dogs.” He then bent down towards the ear of Baptiste, and whispered to him long and earnestly in the Delaware tongue.
“Capote–bleu! but the boy is right,” exclaimed the guide, in his own mixed dialect; “the dogs have only taken this northern start to mislead us; they are not making for the Missouri river, but intend to double back and join their village, now lying to the eastward of us. The boy is right; my brain must be getting as worn–out as my hunting–shirt, or I should have understood their drift. I see his plan is to be in cash[42] for them on their return. Well, if he can make sure of his game, I will say that he’s fit to be a war–chief, for these Sioux have a long start, and the village must be many miles to the right.”