So light were, meanwhile, the feet of the girl, or so heavy the eyes of her ancient guardians, that none dreamed of the secret intercourse; and even when the condition of the former could no longer be concealed, strange to say, the medicine-men overlooked the proximity of the handsome captive, and concluded their evil-divinity willed to bestow on their nation one of his own offspring, who might in time assume the place proffered to the obstinate Ta-his-ka. But when the infant proved to be a girl, they were at a loss to determine whether their hero was to be born of this squaw, when arrived at woman’s years, or whether by the preference shown to the present wife above all precedent, it was his wish to protract her existence.
While they still debated the matter, an end was put to their discussions in rather a startling manner; maternal affection and love for the chief from whom she had been parted some weeks, got the better of prudence, and in the act of bearing the infant to her husband, (for the marriage rites are simple enough in the Great West,) a cry from the former at last aroused the duennas, and the whole was as clear as day even to their purblind eyes.
What a commotion was then in the village! the old witches were immediately put to death, and the unfortunate three reserved only until preparations for their torture could be made on a scale equivalent to the crime. All apathy had suddenly disappeared from the noble face of the Sioux chief, his voice was found, and dauntlessly acknowledging his child, offered to lead them against whomsoever they desired, if they would give him the Ka-morse for a squaw. But the tide had now turned as strongly against him as it had formerly flowed in his favor, and his proposal was received with rage and horror. They both bound his limbs, and surrounded the hut to which he was removed with a circle of braves who slept as near to one another as might be reached with the arm; but the White-buffalo was now at bay, and resistless as of old. In spite of these precautions, on the second morning after the discovery, one of the warriors was found stiff, with a knife in his heart, and despoiled of his weapons, two others at the entrance of the medicine-lodge as effectually silenced, and the two squaws who had been bound, one on each side of the young mother, strangled in their sleep, the cords cut, and their captive flown; in short, Ta-his-ka had gnawed through, or found means of severing his bonds, and after liberating his wife and child, had carried them off on his own horse, deliberately selected. Such a feat astounded the Pawnees, but quietly recovering from their stupor, every horse was bestrode, and the whole body of warriors gave chase; the trail of the fugitives being easily found and pursued. After many hours of vain pursuit, however, and when they had found time to consider the hopelessness of recapturing on the open prairie a warrior noted for his own craft and endurance, as well as the wonderful strength and size of his steed, they resolved to refrain from farther pursuit, but to send after the fugitives an enemy, which, with the high southern wind then blowing, must overtake them before the sun went down—a terrible messenger on the prairies, indeed—fire.
It was already past mid-day and Ta-his-ka had repeatedly turned his face to speak encouraging words to the young wife, while with covert uneasiness he watched the volumes of pale smoke rolling up from the line of horizon far behind, and now that they had entered one of those vast luxuriant bottoms so dreaded, even by the Indians, in autumn, although nothing but the sky overhead could be perceived, through the parted tops of the tall grass and reeds, it was no longer to be hidden even from the terrified Ka-Morse, that a dimness had spread above not occasioned by clouds, and that the scent of fire grew every moment less faint and uncertain. The bottom lands to which I have referred as so pregnant with danger during conflagrations on the prairies, can scarcely be called such, as they extend for leagues, and are not to the eye sensibly lower than the greater portion of the surrounding plain; yet that there is some depression may be deduced from the frequent humidity of the soil, and the wild luxuriance of the grass, rising to the height of eight or ten feet, and matted together about the stalks with innumerable pea-vines, from which causes a horseman can pursue no other route than the trails made by the files of buffaloes, and as these are often tortuous and winding in the last degree, it sometimes occurs that Indians or traders have found themselves enclosed between these combustible hedges, turning in every direction, when the whirlwind of fire behind would leave them little prospect of escape in a straight line and on the open prairie. And in this imminent risk must we leave the fugitives, and allow Jean, now that he comes into the simple narrative as an actor, to continue the story in his own words as nearly as I can recall them.
“Voilà!” cried Jean, standing up in his stirrups and reaching as high as he could with the hand, from which he had let fall his rein, “de grass was tall comme ça, oh, vere tall, and I could see not’ing mais smoke, smoke, and hear de rattlin’ terrible ven de fire leap into de canebrake like de—what you call?—volley ob de ten thousands mousquets. Den de little deer and de big deer, and de bears, and de painters, was all runnin’ deir best to save deir hide from scorchin; and de prairie-hens drop down and rise up and drop down agen—and it was all like one big oven! Mais—hola! j’ai oublié de buffalo, which was more worse dan all—he bellow and tear along on dis hand and on dat—je la confesse, I was vere much afraid dat a big bull would choose de trail I was in, and punce mon cheval in de hind part wid his horn!
“Presently, I look behind—ah, miséricorde! de grass was carry by de win’ en avant, all in de blaze, and w’ere it fall, it was one new fire immédiatement! Den I say to myself, Ah, Jean Moreau, mon brave, you will be roast alive, and dere is no help for it—and de beautiful skins will be lost in dis dam fire! mais, at de word, something say, not loud out, but softly—‘Quelle sottise! why you not pray, eh? better dan curse!’ Eh bien, good, I say—I will pray! Mais, I have not any prayers! Enfin, je remembre—je dis in de voice haute, ‘Malbrouc s’en va’t’en querre;’ and—what do I see? Oh, quelle joie—de grass not so high, and in de front a short hill! I gallop up—I am on de pieds—I am strike a light—I blow vere softly, den more hard—de grass is in one blaze—de win’ take de fire—de black spot is dere w’ere I stan, and—I am save! Den I feel de heart vere light, I smile at myself—I smile at de horse, I rub my hand, and walk about—eh bien, I was vere comfortàble! Presently I look; oh, misericorde! voila—voila de diable—misericorde! and I run to hide, for I was vere much scare; but dere was no place to hide. Den I look agen, and it was not de diable, mais one Ingen vere burn, and on de face in de grass. I make haste, I pull him out ob de fire—dere was one leetle drop in de canteen—ah, ha! dat bring back de life.
“Mais w’en de life was com’, he would have lose it immèdiatement, if I had not hold on to de horse. ‘Hola!’ I say, ‘you burn your own self, but you not roast mon cheval—non, non!’
“Den he look at me hard, and strike his breast, and talk in Ingen.
“‘Hist! de chief and his squaw and little one saw de fire yonder. Look! de prairie lies black, and de chief is here, but de squaw and little one are in de belly of de chief’s horse!’
“‘What is dat?’ I cry, bien surpris. ‘Dans son ventre! oh sacre! malheur—quel diable of a horse! Mais, what for you let him eat up your squaw, eh?’