These terms having been written down by Reginald, he read them slowly one after the other, Wingenund repeating them to Besha, and he again translating them to White–bull, who nodded his approbation as they were successively recapitulated; after which Reginald and Ethelston, having signed their names in pencil, desired Besha and White–bull to affix their mark.
The former did so without hesitation; but the latter made all kinds of excuses, and looked extremely puzzled, whispering his doubts and fears to his interpreter, who, being a reckless fellow, and having seen more of the world, could scarce forbear laughing in his face.
In truth, the Crow chief, though brave and daring in the field, was not above the superstitions current in his tribe, and he entertained a kind of vague notion that, by putting his mark upon the paper, he brought himself under the power of the white man’s medicine.
Nevertheless, he was at length persuaded, and drew upon the paper, with a hand not unskilful, the broad forehead and projecting horns of a bison’s head, which design represented his consent to the treaty.
No sooner was the business concluded than the presents were brought forth, and distributed according to the terms prescribed, Reginald adding for the chief a hair–brush, in the back of which a small mirror was set. Never had such a curiosity been seen in the Crow country, and White–bull turned it over and over in his hand, contemplating it and himself in it with undisguised satisfaction, while Pierre whispered to Baptiste, “If Madame Bending–willow is in favour, she will have it before to–morrow.”
The Crows now took their leave, amid many protestations of friendship on both sides, and returned with all speed towards their own encampment, White–bull’s mind being divided between delight at the possession of his brush, and dread at the mysterious dangers he might have incurred by putting his mark upon the white man’s paper.
The departure of their wild allies left the party at the camp leisure to return to their ordinary avocations, and to the sad recollection of their chief’s condition; indeed, a very short time elapsed before he sent a message by Paul Müller, desiring that they would all come to him without delay.
The tone of deep yet composed sadness in which it was delivered, announced to most of those who heard it that War–Eagle was drawing near to his end; and Reginald, passing his arm within that of Wingenund, whispered to him, as he went, such words of sympathy as he thought most like to soothe and console him.
“Dear Netis,” replied the youth, in a tone of the deepest melancholy, “you are very good, but there is no happiness more for Wingenund!”
“Say not so, my young brother; you are still in the early spring of life, and I hope, when these present sorrows are past, you will yet enjoy a long and happy day of summer.”