The Prairie-Bird

by Sir Charles Augustus Murray

So saying, he stooped leisurely down, and fastened the laryette again to the iron pin from which it had been detached. Having secured the horse, he stood up again, and stepped coolly over several of the Osages stretched around the tent; and they, naturally mistaking him for one of their own party, composed themselves again to sleep. Thus he passed through the encampment, when he again threw himself upon the ground, and again succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the outposts, and in reaching safely the covert where he had left his rifle and his accoutrements.

The active spirit of Wingenund was not yet wearied of exertion. Seeing that the course taken by the Osages was westerly, he went forward in that direction, and having ascended an elevated height commanding a view of the adjoining valleys, he concealed himself with the intention of watching the enemy’s march.

On the following morning the Osages started at daybreak, and marched until noon, when Mahéga halted them, and put in execution the plan that he had formed for throwing off any pursuit that might be attempted. He had brought four horses from the Delaware encampment: of these he retained two for the use of Prairie–bird and her attendant, and ordered their hoofs to be covered with thick wrappers of bison–hide[47]; he selected also ten of the warriors, on whose courage and fidelity he could best depend; the remainder of the band he dismissed, under the conduct of Flying–arrow, with the remaining two horses laden with a portion of the Delaware spoils and trophies, desiring them to strike off to the northward, and, making a trail as distinct as possible, to return by a circuitous march to the Osage village. These orders were punctually obeyed, and Mahéga, having seen the larger moiety of his band start on their appointed route, led off his own small party in a southwesterly direction, through the hardest and roughest surface that the prairie afforded, where he rightly judged that their trail could with difficulty be followed, even by the lynx–eyed chief of the Delawares.

From his concealment in the distance, Wingenund observed the whole manœuvre: and having carefully noted the very spot where the two trails separated, he ran back to the deserted Lenapé village to carry out the plan that he had formed for the pursuit. On his way he gathered a score of pliant willow rods, and these lay at his feet when he stood in the attitude of deep meditation, described at the commencement of this chapter. He knew that if War–Eagle and his party returned in safety from their expedition, their steps would be directed at once to the spot on which he now stood, and his first care was to convey to them all the information necessary for their guidance. This he was enabled to do by marking with his knife on slips of elm–bark various figures and designs, which War–Eagle would easily understand. To describe these at length would be tedious, in a narrative such as the present; all readers who know anything of the history of the North American Indians being aware of their sagacity in the use of these rude hieroglyphics: it is sufficient here to state, that Wingenund was able to express, in a manner intelligible to his kinsman, that he himself marked the elm–bark, that Olitipa was prisoner to Mahéga, that the Osage trail was to the west; that it divided, the broad trail to the north being the wrong one; and that he would hang on the right one, and make more marks for War–Eagle to follow.

Having carefully noted these particulars, he stuck one of his rods into the ground, and fastened to the top of it his roll of elm–bark: then giving one more melancholy glance at the desolate scene around him, he gathered up his willow–twigs, and throwing himself again upon the Osage trail, never rested his weary limbs until the burnt grass, upon a spot where the party had cooked some bison–meat, assured him that he was on their track; then he laid himself under a neighbouring bush and slept soundly, trusting to his own sagacity for following the trail over the boundless prairie before him.

While these events were passing on the Missouri prairie, Paul Müller having been escorted to the settlements and set free by the Osages, pursued his way towards St. Louis, then the nucleus of Western trade, and the point whence all expeditions, whether of a warlike or commercial nature, were carried on in that region. He was walking slowly forward, revolving in his mind the melancholy changes that had taken place in the course of the last few weeks, the destruction of the Lenapé band, and the captivity of his beloved pupil, when he was overtaken by a sturdy and weather–beaten pedestrian, whose person and attire seemed to have been roughly handled of late, for his left arm was in a sling, various patches of plaster were on his face and forehead, his leggins were torn to rags, and the barrel of a rifle broken off from the stock was slung over his shoulder.

The missionary, turning round to greet his fellow–traveller with his accustomed courtesy, encountered a countenance which, notwithstanding its condition, he recognised as one that he had seen in the Delaware village.

“Bearskin, my good friend,” said he, holding out his hand, and grasping heartily the horny fist of the voyageur, “I am right glad to see you, although it seems that you have received some severe hurts; I feared you had fallen among the other victims of that terrible day.”

“I can’t deny that the day was rough enough,” replied Bearskin, looking down upon his wounded arm; “and the red–skin devils left only one other of my party besides myself alive: we contrived to beat off those who attacked our quarter, but when we found that Mahéga had broken in upon the rear, and had killed Mike Smith and his men, we made the best of our way to the woods: several were shot and scalped, two of us escaped: I received, as you see, a few ugly scratches, but my old carcase is accustomed to being battered, and a week will set it all to rights.”