There was something both of surprise and scorn in Wingenund’s countenance, as he replied, “Prairie–bird is kind to all—the young chiefs find wives among the daughters of the Delawares;—but the antelope mates not with the moose, though they feed on the same Prairie. The Great Spirit knows where the Prairie–bird was born! but her race is unknown to the wise men among the Tortoises.”
Reginald and his sister were equally at a loss to understand his meaning; both looked inquiringly at the guide, who was rubbing his ear, as if rather puzzled by the young Delaware’s answer. At length he said, “Why, Miss Lucy, you see, much of what the lad says is as plain to me as the sight on my rifle: for the tribes of the Lenapé are as well known to me as the totems of the Oggibeways. The Great nation is divided into three tribes:—the Minsi, or the Wolf–tribe (sometimes called also Puncsit, or round–foot); the Unalacticos, or the Turkey–tribe; and the Unamis, or the Tortoise–tribe. The last are considered the principal and most ancient; and as Wingenund’s family are of this band, he spoke just now of their wise men. But who, or what kin’ o’ crittur this Prairie–bird can be, would puzzle a Philadelphy lawyer to tell, let alone a poor hunter who knows little out of the line of his trade.”
“Then, Baptiste,” said Lucy, smiling; “your trade is a pretty extensive one, for I think you have more knowledge in your head on most subjects than half the lawyers and clerks in the territory.”
“There it is, Miss Lucy; you’re always a givin’ me a little dose of flattery, just as I give my patches a bit of grease to make the Doctor swallow his lead pills. You ladies think we’re all alike,—young sparks, and tough old chaps like me,—if you do but dip your fingers into the honey–pot, you know we shall lick them as soon as your backs are turned! But it is getting late,” he added, rising from his seat; “and I have much to say to this youth, who is already tired; with your leave, Miss, I will retire with him, and see that he has a comfortable sleeping quarter, and that he wants for nothing.”
“Pray do so,” said Lucy; “let him be treated as if he were one of our own family. I am sure, dear papa, such would be your wish,” she added, turning to her father.
“It is indeed, my child,” said the Colonel. “Wingenund, again I beg you to receive a father’s best thanks for your brave defence of his son.”
“It was nothing,” replied the boy modestly. “You are all good, too good to Wingenund; when he gets to the Far Prairie, he will tell the Prairie–bird and the Black Father to speak to the Great Spirit, that He may smile on my white father and on my brother; and,” he added, slowly raising his dark eloquent eyes to Lucy’s face, “that he may send down pleasant sunshine and refreshing dew on the Lily of Mooshanne.” So saying, he turned and left the room, accompanied by the guide.
“Well,” exclaimed the Colonel, as the youth disappeared, “they may call that lad a savage; but his feelings, ay, and his manners too, would put to shame those of many who think themselves fine gentlemen.”
“He is, indeed, a noble young fellow,” said Reginald, “and worthy to be the relative and pupil of my Indian brother. I would that you had seen him, father: you are in general rather sceptical as to the qualities of the red–skins. I think the War–Eagle would surprise you!”