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The Prairie

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #6450 · 958,477 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Prairie

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: September 1, 2004 [eBook #6450]
                Most recently updated: June 21, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6450

Credits: Produced by Grant Macandrew, Jennifer Lee, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRAIRIE ***




Produced by Grant Macandrew, Jennifer Lee, and David Widger




The Prairie

by James Fenimore Cooper

Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION 
 Chapter I
 Chapter II
 Chapter III
 Chapter IV
 Chapter V
 Chapter VI
 Chapter VII
 Chapter VIII
 Chapter IX
 Chapter X
 Chapter XI
 Chapter XII
 Chapter XIII
 Chapter XIV
 Chapter XV
 Chapter XVI
 Chapter XVII
 Chapter XVIII
 Chapter XIX
 Chapter XX
 Chapter XXI
 Chapter XXII
 Chapter XXIII
 Chapter XXIV
 Chapter XXV
 Chapter XXVI
 Chapter XXVII
 Chapter XXVIII
 Chapter XXIX
 Chapter XXX
 Chapter XXXI
 Chapter XXXII
 Chapter XXXIII
 Chapter XXXIV




INTRODUCTION


“The Prairie” was the third in order of Fenimore Cooper’s
Leatherstocking Tales. Its first appearance was in the year 1827. The
idea of the story had suggested itself to him, we are told, before he
had finished its immediate forerunner, “The Last of the Mohicans.” He
chose entirely new scenes for it, “resolved to cross the Mississippi
and wander over the desolate wastes of the remote Western prairies.” He
had been taking every chance that came of making a personal
acquaintance with the Indian chiefs of the western tribes who were to
be encountered about this period on their way in the frequent Indian
embassies to Washington. “He saw much to command his admiration,” says
Mrs. Cooper, “in these wild braves... It was a matter of course that in
drawing Indian character he should dwell on the better traits of the
picture, rather than on the coarser and more revolting though more
common points. Like West, he could see the Apollo in the young Mohawk.”

When in July, 1826, Cooper landed in England with his wife and family,
he carried his Indian memories and associations with him. They crossed
to France, and ascended the Seine by steamboat, and then settled for a
time in Paris. Of their quarters there in the Rue St. Maur, Sarah
Fenimore Cooper writes:

“It was thoroughly French in character. There was a short, narrow,
gloomy lane or street, shut in between lofty dwelling houses, the lane
often dark, always filthy, without sidewalks, a gutter running through
the centre, over which, suspended from a rope, hung a dim oil lamp or
two—such was the Rue St. Maur, in the Faubourg St. Germain. It was a
gloomy approach certainly. But a tall _porte cochère_ opened, and
suddenly the whole scene changed. Within those high walls, so
forbidding in aspect, there lay charming gardens, gay with parterres of
flowers, and shaded by noble trees, not only those belonging to the
house itself, but those of other adjoining dwellings of the same
character—one looked over park-like grounds covering some acres. The
hotel itself, standing on the street, was old, and built on a grand
scale; it had been the home of a French ducal family in the time of
Louis XIV. The rooms on the two lower floors were imposing and
spacious; with ceilings of great height, gilded wainscoting and various
quaint little medallion pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses, and
other fancies of the time of Madame de Sevigne. Those little shepherds
were supposed to have looked down upon _la mère beauté_, and upon _la
plus jolie fille de France_ as she danced her incomparable minuets.
Those grand saloons were now devoted to the humble service of a school
for young ladies. But on the third floor, to which one ascended by a
fine stone stairway, broad and easy, with elaborate iron railings,
there was a more simple set of rooms, comfortably furnished, where the
American family were pleasantly provided for, in a home of their own.
Unwilling to separate from his children, who were placed at the school,
the traveller adopted this plan that he might be near them. One of the
rooms, overlooking the garden, and opening on a small terrace, became
his study. He was soon at work. In his writing-desk lay some chapters
of a new novel. The MS. had crossed the ocean with him, though but
little had been added to its pages during the wanderings of the English
and French journeys.”

When, some months later, the story appeared, its effect was immediate
on both sides the Atlantic. It is worth note that during his French
visit Cooper met Sir Walter Scott. Cooper was born at Burlington, New
Jersey, 15th Sept., 1789, and died at Cooperstown, New York (which took
its name from his father), 14th Sept., 1851.

The following is his literary record:

Precaution, 1820; The Spy, 1821; The Pioneers, 1823; The Pilot, 1823;
Lionel Lincoln, or the Leaguer of Boston, 1825; The Last of the
Mohicans, 1826; The Prairie, 1827; The Red Rover, 1828; Notions of the
Americans, 1828; The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish, 1829; The Water-witch,
1830; The Bravo, 1831; The Heidenmauer, or the Benedictines, 1832; The
Headsman, 1833; A Letter to his Countrymen, 1834; The Monikins, 1835;
Sketches of Switzerland, 1836; Gleanings in Europe: 1837; (England)
1837; (Italy) 1838; The American Democrat, 1838; Homeward Bound, 1838;
The Chronicles of Cooperstown, 1838; Home as Found (Eve Effingham),
1839; History of the U. S. Navy, 1839; The Pathfinder, or the Inland
Sea, 1840; Mercedes of Castile, 1841; The Deerslayer, or the First
Warpath, 1841; The Two Admirals, 1842; The Wing-and-Wing (Jack o
Lantern), 1842; The Battle of Lake Erie, or Answers to Messrs. Burges,
Duer and Mackenzie, 1843; The French Governess; or, The Embroidered
Handkerchief, 1843; Richard Dale, 1843; Wyandotte, 1843; Ned Myers, or
Life before the Mast, 1843; Afloat and Ashore (Miles Wallingford, Lucy
Hardinge), two series, 1844; Proceedings of the Naval Court-Martial in
the Case of Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, etc., 1844; Santanstoe, 1845;
The Chainbearer, 1846; Lives of Distinguished American Naval Officers,
1846; The Red Skins, 1846; The Crater (Marks Reef), 1847; Captain
Spike, or the Islets of the Gulf, 1848; Jack Tier, or the Florida
Reefs, 1848; The Oak Openings, or the Bee-Hunter, 1848; The Sea Lions,
1849; The Ways of the Hour, 1850.

Ernest Rhys, 1907




AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION


The geological formation of that portion of the American Union, which
lies between the Alleghanies and the Rocky Mountains, has given rise to
many ingenious theories. Virtually, the whole of this immense region is
a plain. For a distance extending nearly 1500 miles east and west, and
600 north and south, there is scarcely an elevation worthy to be called
a mountain. Even hills are not common; though a good deal of the face
of the country has more or less of that “rolling” character, which is
described in the opening pages of this work.

There is much reason to believe, that the territory which now composes
Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, and a large portion of the country
west of the Mississippi, lay formerly under water. The soil of all the
former states has the appearance of an alluvial deposit; and isolated
rocks have been found, of a nature and in situations which render it
difficult to refute the opinion that they have been transferred to
their present beds by floating ice. This theory assumes that the Great
Lakes were the deep pools of one immense body of fresh water, which lay
too low to be drained by the irruption that laid bare the land.

It will be remembered that the French, when masters of the Canadas and
Louisiana, claimed the whole of the territory in question. Their
hunters and advanced troops held the first communications with the
savage occupants, and the earliest written accounts we possess of these
vast regions, are from the pens of their missionaries. Many French
words have, consequently, become of local use in this quarter of
America, and not a few names given in that language have been
perpetuated. When the adventurers, who first penetrated these wilds,
met, in the centre of the forests, immense plains, covered with rich
verdure or rank grasses, they naturally gave them the appellation of
meadows. As the English succeeded the French, and found a peculiarity
of nature, differing from all they had yet seen on the continent,
already distinguished by a word that did not express any thing in their
own language, they left these natural meadows in possession of their
title of convention. In this manner has the word “Prairie” been adopted
into the English tongue.

The American prairies are of two kinds. Those which lie east of the
Mississippi are comparatively small, are exceedingly fertile, and are
always surrounded by forests. They are susceptible of high cultivation,
and are fast becoming settled. They abound in Ohio, Michigan, Illinois,
and Indiana. They labour under the disadvantages of a scarcity of wood
and water,—evils of a serious character, until art has had time to
supply the deficiencies of nature. As coal is said to abound in all
that region, and wells are generally successful, the enterprise of the
emigrants is gradually prevailing against these difficulties.

The second description of these natural meadows lies west of the
Mississippi, at a distance of a few hundred miles from that river, and
is called the Great Prairies. They resemble the steppes of Tartary more
than any other known portion of Christendom; being, in fact, a vast
country, incapable of sustaining a dense population, in the absence of
the two great necessaries already named. Rivers abound, it is true; but
this region is nearly destitute of brooks and the smaller water
courses, which tend so much to comfort and fertility.

The origin and date of the Great American Prairies form one of natures
most majestic mysteries. The general character of the United States, of
the Canadas, and of Mexico, is that of luxuriant fertility. It would be
difficult to find another portion of the world, of the same extent,
which has so little useless land as the inhabited parts of the American
Union. Most of the mountains are arable, and even the prairies, in this
section of the republic, are of deep alluvion. The same is true between
the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific. Between the two lies the broad
belt, of comparative desert, which is the scene of this tale, appearing
to interpose a barrier to the progress of the American people westward.

The Great Prairies appear to be the final gathering place of the red
men. The remnants of the Mohicans, and the Delawares, of the Creeks,
Choctaws, and Cherokees, are destined to fulfil their time on these
vast plains. The entire number of the Indians, within the Union, is
differently computed, at between one and three hundred thousand souls.
Most of them inhabit the country west of the Mississippi. At the period
of the tale, they dwelt in open hostility; national feuds passing from
generation to generation. The power of the republic has done much to
restore peace to these wild scenes, and it is now possible to travel in
security, where civilised man did not dare to pass unprotected
five-and-twenty years ago.

The reader, who has perused the two former works, of which this is the
natural successor, will recognise an old acquaintance in the principal
character of the story. We have here brought him to his end, and we
trust he will be permitted to slumber in the peace of the just.

J. F. Cooper Paris,
_June_ 1832




THE PRAIRIE




CHAPTER I


I pray thee, shepherd, if that love or gold,
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.
                    —As you like it.


Much was said and written, at the time, concerning the policy of adding
the vast regions of Louisiana, to the already immense and but
half-tenanted territories of the United States. As the warmth of
controversy however subsided, and party considerations gave place to
more liberal views, the wisdom of the measure began to be generally
conceded. It soon became apparent to the meanest capacity, that, while
nature had placed a barrier of desert to the extension of our
population in the west, the measure had made us the masters of a belt
of fertile country, which, in the revolutions of the day, might have
become the property of a rival nation. It gave us the sole command of
the great thoroughfare of the interior, and placed the countless tribes
of savages, who lay along our borders, entirely within our control; it
reconciled conflicting rights, and quieted national distrusts; it
opened a thousand avenues to the inland trade, and to the waters of the
Pacific; and, if ever time or necessity shall require a peaceful
division of this vast empire, it assures us of a neighbour that will
possess our language, our religion, our institutions, and it is also to
be hoped, our sense of political justice.

Although the purchase was made in 1803, the spring of the succeeding
year was permitted to open, before the official prudence of the
Spaniard, who held the province for his European master, admitted the
authority, or even of the entrance of its new proprietors. But the
forms of the transfer were no sooner completed, and the new government
acknowledged, than swarms of that restless people, which is ever found
hovering on the skirts of American society, plunged into the thickets
that fringed the right bank of the Mississippi, with the same careless
hardihood, as had already sustained so many of them in their toilsome
progress from the Atlantic states, to the eastern shores of the “father
of rivers.”[1]

Time was necessary to blend the numerous and affluent colonists of the
lower province with their new compatriots; but the thinner and more
humble population above, was almost immediately swallowed in the vortex
which attended the tide of instant emigration. The inroad from the east
was a new and sudden out-breaking of a people, who had endured a
momentary restraint, after having been rendered nearly resistless by
success. The toils and hazards of former undertakings were forgotten,
as these endless and unexplored regions, with all their fancied as well
as real advantages, were laid open to their enterprise. The
consequences were such as might easily have been anticipated, from so
tempting an offering, placed, as it was, before the eyes of a race long
trained in adventure and nurtured in difficulties.

Thousands of the elders, of what were then called the New States[2],
broke up from the enjoyment of their hard-earned indulgences, and were
to be seen leading long files of descendants, born and reared in the
forests of Ohio and Kentucky, deeper into the land, in quest of that
which might be termed, without the aid of poetry, their natural and
more congenial atmosphere. The distinguished and resolute forester who
first penetrated the wilds of the latter state, was of the number. This
adventurous and venerable patriarch was now seen making his last
remove; placing the “endless river” between him and the multitude his
own success had drawn around him, and seeking for the renewal of
enjoyments which were rendered worthless in his eyes, when trammelled
by the forms of human institutions.[3]

In the pursuit of adventures such as these, men are ordinarily governed
by their habits or deluded by their wishes. A few, led by the phantoms
of hope, and ambitious of sudden affluence, sought the mines of the
virgin territory; but by far the greater portion of the emigrants were
satisfied to establish themselves along the margins of the larger
water-courses, content with the rich returns that the generous,
alluvial, bottoms of the rivers never fail to bestow on the most
desultory industry. In this manner were communities formed with magical
rapidity; and most of those who witnessed the purchase of the empty
empire, have lived to see already a populous and sovereign state,
parcelled from its inhabitants, and received into the bosom of the
national Union, on terms of political equality.

The incidents and scenes which are connected with this legend, occurred
in the earliest periods of the enterprises which have led to so great
and so speedy a result.

The harvest of the first year of our possession had long been passed,
and the fading foliage of a few scattered trees was already beginning
to exhibit the hues and tints of autumn, when a train of wagons issued
from the bed of a dry rivulet, to pursue its course across the
undulating surface, of what, in the language of the country of which we
write, is called a “rolling prairie.” The vehicles, loaded with
household goods and implements of husbandry, the few straggling sheep
and cattle that were herded in the rear, and the rugged appearance and
careless mien of the sturdy men who loitered at the sides of the
lingering teams, united to announce a band of emigrants seeking for the
Elderado of the West. Contrary to the usual practice of the men of
their caste, this party had left the fertile bottoms of the low
country, and had found its way, by means only known to such
adventurers, across glen and torrent, over deep morasses and arid
wastes, to a point far beyond the usual limits of civilised
habitations. In their front were stretched those broad plains, which
extend, with so little diversity of character, to the bases of the
Rocky Mountains; and many long and dreary miles in their rear, foamed
the swift and turbid waters of La Platte.

The appearance of such a train, in that bleak and solitary place, was
rendered the more remarkable by the fact, that the surrounding country
offered so little, that was tempting to the cupidity of speculation,
and, if possible, still less that was flattering to the hopes of an
ordinary settler of new lands.

The meagre herbage of the prairie, promised nothing, in favour of a
hard and unyielding soil, over which the wheels of the vehicles rattled
as lightly as if they travelled on a beaten road; neither wagons nor
beasts making any deeper impression, than to mark that bruised and
withered grass, which the cattle plucked, from time to time, and as
often rejected, as food too sour, for even hunger to render palatable.

Whatever might be the final destination of these adventurers, or the
secret causes of their apparent security in so remote and unprotected a
situation, there was no visible sign of uneasiness, uncertainty, or
alarm, among them. Including both sexes, and every age, the number of
the party exceeded twenty.

At some little distance in front of the whole, marched the individual,
who, by his position and air, appeared to be the leader of the band. He
was a tall, sun-burnt, man, past the middle age, of a dull countenance
and listless manner. His frame appeared loose and flexible; but it was
vast, and in reality of prodigious power. It was, only at moments,
however, as some slight impediment opposed itself to his loitering
progress, that his person, which, in its ordinary gait seemed so
lounging and nerveless, displayed any of those energies, which lay
latent in his system, like the slumbering and unwieldy, but terrible,
strength of the elephant. The inferior lineaments of his countenance
were coarse, extended and vacant; while the superior, or those nobler
parts which are thought to affect the intellectual being, were low,
receding and mean.

The dress of this individual was a mixture of the coarsest vestments of
a husbandman with the leathern garments, that fashion as well as use,
had in some degree rendered necessary to one engaged in his present
pursuits. There was, however, a singular and wild display of prodigal
and ill judged ornaments, blended with his motley attire. In place of
the usual deer-skin belt, he wore around his body a tarnished silken
sash of the most gaudy colours; the buck-horn haft of his knife was
profusely decorated with plates of silver; the marten’s fur of his cap
was of a fineness and shadowing that a queen might covet; the buttons
of his rude and soiled blanket-coat were of the glittering coinage of
Mexico; the stock of his rifle was of beautiful mahogany, riveted and
banded with the same precious metal, and the trinkets of no less than
three worthless watches dangled from different parts of his person. In
addition to the pack and the rifle which were slung at his back,
together with the well filled, and carefully guarded pouch and horn, he
had carelessly cast a keen and bright wood-axe across his shoulder,
sustaining the weight of the whole with as much apparent ease, as if he
moved, unfettered in limb, and free from incumbrance.

A short distance in the rear of this man, came a group of youths very
similarly attired, and bearing sufficient resemblance to each other,
and to their leader, to distinguish them as the children of one family.
Though the youngest of their number could not much have passed the
period, that, in the nicer judgment of the law, is called the age of
discretion, he had proved himself so far worthy of his progenitors as
to have reared already his aspiring person to the standard height of
his race. There were one or two others, of different mould, whose
descriptions must however be referred to the regular course of the
narrative.

Of the females, there were but two who had arrived at womanhood; though
several white-headed, olive-skinned faces were peering out of the
foremost wagon of the train, with eyes of lively curiosity and
characteristic animation. The elder of the two adults, was the sallow
and wrinkled mother of most of the party, and the younger was a
sprightly, active, girl, of eighteen, who in figure, dress, and mien,
seemed to belong to a station in society several gradations above that
of any one of her visible associates. The second vehicle was covered
with a top of cloth so tightly drawn, as to conceal its contents, with
the nicest care. The remaining wagons were loaded with such rude
furniture and other personal effects, as might be supposed to belong to
one, ready at any moment to change his abode, without reference to
season or distance.

Perhaps there was little in this train, or in the appearance of its
proprietors, that is not daily to be encountered on the highways of
this changeable and moving country. But the solitary and peculiar
scenery, in which it was so unexpectedly exhibited, gave to the party a
marked character of wildness and adventure.

In the little valleys, which, in the regular formation of the land,
occurred at every mile of their progress, the view was bounded, on two
of the sides, by the gradual and low elevations, which gave name to the
description of prairie we have mentioned; while on the others, the
meagre prospect ran off in long, narrow, barren perspectives, but
slightly relieved by a pitiful show of coarse, though somewhat
luxuriant vegetation. From the summits of the swells, the eye became
fatigued with the sameness and chilling dreariness of the landscape.
The earth was not unlike the Ocean, when its restless waters are
heaving heavily, after the agitation and fury of the tempest have begun
to lessen. There was the same waving and regular surface, the same
absence of foreign objects, and the same boundless extent to the view.
Indeed so very striking was the resemblance between the water and the
land, that, however much the geologist might sneer at so simple a
theory, it would have been difficult for a poet not to have felt, that
the formation of the one had been produced by the subsiding dominion of
the other. Here and there a tall tree rose out of the bottoms,
stretching its naked branches abroad, like some solitary vessel; and,
to strengthen the delusion, far in the distance, appeared two or three
rounded thickets, looming in the misty horizon like islands resting on
the waters. It is unnecessary to warn the practised reader, that the
sameness of the surface, and the low stands of the spectators,
exaggerated the distances; but, as swell appeared after swell, and
island succeeded island, there was a disheartening assurance that long,
and seemingly interminable, tracts of territory must be passed, before
the wishes of the humblest agriculturist could be realised.

Still, the leader of the emigrants steadily pursued his way, with no
other guide than the sun, turning his back resolutely on the abodes of
civilisation, and plunging, at each step, more deeply if not
irretrievably, into the haunts of the barbarous and savage occupants of
the country. As the day drew nigher to a close, however, his mind,
which was, perhaps, incapable of maturing any connected system of
forethought, beyond that which related to the interests of the present
moment, became, in some slight degree, troubled with the care of
providing for the wants of the hours of darkness.

On reaching the crest of a swell that was a little higher than the
usual elevations, he lingered a minute, and cast a half curious eye, on
either hand, in quest of those well known signs, which might indicate a
place, where the three grand requisites of water, fuel and fodder were
to be obtained in conjunction.

It would seem that his search was fruitless; for after a few moments of
indolent and listless examination, he suffered his huge frame to
descend the gentle declivity, in the same sluggish manner that an over
fatted beast would have yielded to the downward pressure.

His example was silently followed by those who succeeded him, though
not until the young men had manifested much more of interest, if not of
concern in the brief enquiry, which each, in his turn, made on gaining
the same look-out. It was now evident, by the tardy movements both of
beasts and men, that the time of necessary rest was not far distant.
The matted grass of the lower land, presented obstacles which fatigue
began to render formidable, and the whip was becoming necessary to urge
the lingering teams to their labour. At this moment, when, with the
exception of the principal individual, a general lassitude was getting
the mastery of the travellers, and every eye was cast, by a sort of
common impulse, wistfully forward, the whole party was brought to a
halt, by a spectacle, as sudden as it was unexpected.

The sun had fallen below the crest of the nearest wave of the prairie,
leaving the usual rich and glowing train on its track. In the centre of
this flood of fiery light, a human form appeared, drawn against the
gilded background, as distinctly, and seemingly as palpable, as though
it would come within the grasp of any extended hand. The figure was
colossal; the attitude musing and melancholy, and the situation
directly in the route of the travellers. But imbedded, as it was, in
its setting of garish light, it was impossible to distinguish its just
proportions or true character.

The effect of such a spectacle was instantaneous and powerful. The man
in front of the emigrants came to a stand, and remained gazing at the
mysterious object, with a dull interest, that soon quickened into
superstitious awe. His sons, so soon as the first emotions of surprise
had a little abated, drew slowly around him, and, as they who governed
the teams gradually followed their example, the whole party was soon
condensed in one, silent, and wondering group. Notwithstanding the
impression of a supernatural agency was very general among the
travellers, the ticking of gun-locks was heard, and one or two of the
bolder youths cast their rifles forward, in readiness for service.

“Send the boys off to the right,” exclaimed the resolute wife and
mother, in a sharp, dissonant voice; “I warrant me, Asa, or Abner will
give some account of the creature!”

“It may be well enough, to try the rifle,” muttered a dull looking man,
whose features, both in outline and expression, bore no small
resemblance to the first speaker, and who loosened the stock of his
piece and brought it dexterously to the front, while delivering this
opinion; “the Pawnee Loups are said to be hunting by hundreds in the
plains; if so, they’ll never miss a single man from their tribe.”

“Stay!” exclaimed a soft toned, but alarmed female voice, which was
easily to be traced to the trembling lips of the younger of the two
women; “we are not altogether; it may be a friend!”

“Who is scouting, now?” demanded the father, scanning, at the same
time, the cluster of his stout sons, with a displeased and sullen eye.
“Put by the piece, put by the piece;” he continued, diverting the
other’s aim, with the finger of a giant, and with the air of one it
might be dangerous to deny. “My job is not yet ended; let us finish the
little that remains, in peace.”

The man, who had manifested so hostile an intention, appeared to
understand the other’s allusion, and suffered himself to be diverted
from his object. The sons turned their inquiring looks on the girl, who
had so eagerly spoken, to require an explanation; but, as if content
with the respite she had obtained for the stranger, she sunk back, in
her seat, and chose to affect a maidenly silence.

In the mean time, the hues of the heavens had often changed. In place
of the brightness, which had dazzled the eye, a gray and more sober
light had succeeded, and as the setting lost its brilliancy, the
proportions of the fanciful form became less exaggerated, and finally
distinct. Ashamed to hesitate, now that the truth was no longer
doubtful, the leader of the party resumed his journey, using the
precaution, as he ascended the slight acclivity, to release his own
rifle from the strap, and to cast it into a situation more convenient
for sudden use.

There was little apparent necessity, however, for such watchfulness.
From the moment when it had thus unaccountably appeared, as it were,
between the heavens and the earth, the stranger’s figure had neither
moved nor given the smallest evidence of hostility. Had he harboured
any such evil intention, the individual who now came plainly into view,
seemed but little qualified to execute them.

A frame that had endured the hardships of more than eighty seasons, was
not qualified to awaken apprehension, in the breast of one as powerful
as the emigrant. Notwithstanding his years, and his look of emaciation,
if not of suffering, there was that about this solitary being, however,
which said that time, and not disease, had laid his hand heavily on
him. His form had withered, but it was not wasted. The sinews and
muscles, which had once denoted great strength, though shrunken, were
still visible; and his whole figure had attained an appearance of
induration, which, if it were not for the well known frailty of
humanity, would have seemed to bid defiance to the further approaches
of decay. His dress was chiefly of skins, worn with the hair to the
weather; a pouch and horn were suspended from his shoulders; and he
leaned on a rifle of uncommon length, but which, like its owner,
exhibited the wear of long and hard service.

As the party drew nigher to this solitary being, and came within a
distance to be heard, a low growl issued from the grass at his feet,
and then, a tall, gaunt, toothless, hound, arose lazily from his lair,
and shaking himself, made some show of resisting the nearer approach of
the travellers.

“Down, Hector, down,” said his master, in a voice, that was a little
tremulous and hollow with age. “What have ye to do, pup, with men who
journey on their lawful callings?”

“Stranger, if you ar’ much acquainted in this country,” said the leader
of the emigrants, “can you tell a traveller where he may find
necessaries for the night?”

“Is the land filled on the other side of the Big River?” demanded the
old man, solemnly, and without appearing to hearken to the other’s
question; “or why do I see a sight, I had never thought to behold
again?”

“Why, there is country left, it is true, for such as have money, and
ar’ not particular in the choice,” returned the emigrant; “but to my
taste, it is getting crowdy. What may a man call the distance, from
this place to the nighest point on the main river?”

“A hunted deer could not cool his sides, in the Mississippi, without
travelling a weary five hundred miles.”

“And what may you name the district, hereaway?”

“By what name,” returned the old man, pointing significantly upward,
“would you call the spot, where you see yonder cloud?”

The emigrant looked at the other, like one who did not comprehend his
meaning, and who half suspected he was trifled with, but he contented
himself by saying—

“You ar’ but a new inhabitant, like myself, I reckon, stranger,
otherwise you would not be backward in helping a traveller to some
advice; words cost but little, and sometimes lead to friendships.”

“Advice is not a gift, but a debt that the old owe to the young. What
would you wish to know?”

“Where I may camp for the night. I’m no great difficulty maker, as to
bed and board; but, all old journeyers, like myself, know the virtue of
sweet water, and a good browse for the cattle.”

“Come then with me, and you shall be master of both; and little more is
it that I can offer on this hungry prairie.”

As the old man was speaking, he raised his heavy rifle to his shoulder,
with a facility a little remarkable for his years and appearance, and
without further words led the way over the acclivity to the adjacent
bottom.

 [1] The Mississippi is thus termed in several of the Indian languages.
 The reader will gain a more just idea of the importance of this
 stream, if he recalls to mind the fact, that the Missouri and the
 Mississippi are properly the same river. Their united lengths cannot
 be greatly short of four thousand miles.


 [2] All the states admitted to the American Union, since the
 revolution, are called New States, with the exception of Vermont: that
 had claims before the war; which were not, however, admitted until a
 later day.


 [3] Colonel Boon, the patriarch of Kentucky. This venerable and hardy
 pioneer of civilisation emigrated to an estate three hundred miles
 west of the Mississippi, in his ninety-second year, because he found a
 population of ten to the square mile, inconveniently crowded!




CHAPTER II


Up with my tent: here will I lie to-night,
But where, to-morrow?—Well, all’s one for that
                    —Richard the Third.


The travellers soon discovered the usual and unerring evidences that
the several articles necessary to their situation were not far distant.
A clear and gurgling spring burst out of the side of the declivity, and
joining its waters to those of other similar little fountains in its
vicinity, their united contributions formed a run, which was easily to
be traced, for miles along the prairie, by the scattering foliage and
verdure which occasionally grew within the influence of its moisture.
Hither, then, the stranger held his way, eagerly followed by the
willing teams, whose instinct gave them a prescience of refreshment and
rest.

On reaching what he deemed a suitable spot, the old man halted, and
with an enquiring look, he seemed to demand if it possessed the needed
conveniences. The leader of the emigrants cast his eyes,
understandingly, about him, and examined the place with the keenness of
one competent to judge of so nice a question, though in that dilatory
and heavy manner, which rarely permitted him to betray precipitation.

“Ay, this may do,” he said, satisfied with his scrutiny; “boys, you
have seen the last of the sun; be stirring.”

The young men manifested a characteristic obedience. The order, for
such in tone and manner it was, in truth, was received with respect;
but the utmost movement was the falling of an axe or two from the
shoulder to the ground, while their owners continued to regard the
place with listless and incurious eyes. In the mean time, the elder
traveller, as if familiar with the nature of the impulses by which his
children were governed, disencumbered himself of his pack and rifle,
and, assisted by the man already mentioned as disposed to appeal so
promptly to the rifle, he quietly proceeded to release the cattle from
the gears.

At length the eldest of the sons stepped heavily forward, and, without
any apparent effort, he buried his axe to the eye, in the soft body of
a cotton-wood tree. He stood, a moment, regarding the effect of the
blow, with that sort of contempt with which a giant might be supposed
to contemplate the puny resistance of a dwarf, and then flourishing the
implement above his head, with the grace and dexterity with which a
master of the art of offence would wield his nobler though less useful
weapon, he quickly severed the trunk of the tree, bringing its tall top
crashing to the earth in submission to his prowess. His companions
regarded the operation with indolent curiosity, until they saw the
prostrate trunk stretched on the ground, when, as if a signal for a
general attack had been given, they advanced in a body to the work, and
in a space of time, and with a neatness of execution that would have
astonished an ignorant spectator, they stripped a small but suitable
spot of its burden of forest, as effectually, and almost as promptly,
as if a whirlwind had passed along the place.

The stranger had been a silent but attentive observer of their
progress. As tree after tree came whistling down, he cast his eyes
upward at the vacancies they left in the heavens, with a melancholy
gaze, and finally turned away, muttering to himself with a bitter
smile, like one who disdained giving a more audible utterance to his
discontent. Pressing through the group of active and busy children, who
had already lighted a cheerful fire, the attention of the old man
became next fixed on the movements of the leader of the emigrants and
of his savage looking assistant.

These two had, already, liberated the cattle, which were eagerly
browsing the grateful and nutritious extremities of the fallen trees,
and were now employed about the wagon, which has been described as
having its contents concealed with so much apparent care.
Notwithstanding this particular conveyance appeared to be as silent,
and as tenantless as the rest of the vehicles, the men applied their
strength to its wheels, and rolled it apart from the others, to a dry
and elevated spot, near the edge of the thicket. Here they brought
certain poles, which had, seemingly, been long employed in such a
service, and fastening their larger ends firmly in the ground, the
smaller were attached to the hoops that supported the covering of the
wagon. Large folds of cloth were next drawn out of the vehicle, and
after being spread around the whole, were pegged to the earth in such a
manner as to form a tolerably capacious and an exceedingly convenient
tent. After surveying their work with inquisitive, and perhaps jealous
eyes, arranging a fold here, and driving a peg more firmly there, the
men once more applied their strength to the wagon, pulling it, by its
projecting tongue, from the centre of the canopy, until it appeared in
the open air, deprived of its covering, and destitute of any other
freight, than a few light articles of furniture. The latter were
immediately removed, by the traveller, into the tent with his own
hands, as though to enter it, were a privilege, to which even his bosom
companion was not entitled.

Curiosity is a passion that is rather quickened than destroyed by
seclusion, and the old inhabitant of the prairies did not view these
precautionary and mysterious movements, without experiencing some of
its impulses. He approached the tent, and was about to sever two of its
folds, with the very obvious intention of examining, more closely, into
the nature of its contents, when the man who had once already placed
his life in jeopardy, seized him by the arm, and with a rude exercise
of his strength threw him from the spot he had selected as the one most
convenient for his object.

“It’s an honest regulation, friend,” the fellow, drily observed, though
with an eye that threatened volumes, “and sometimes it is a safe one,
which says, mind your own business.”

“Men seldom bring any thing to be concealed into these deserts,”
returned the old man, as if willing, and yet a little ignorant how to
apologize for the liberty he had been about to take, “and I had hoped
no offence, in examining your comforts.”

“They seldom bring themselves, I reckon; though this has the look of an
old country, to my eye it seems not to be overly peopled.”

“The land is as aged as the rest of the works of the Lord, I believe;
but you say true, concerning its inhabitants. Many months have passed
since I have laid eyes on a face of my own colour, before your own. I
say again, friend, I meant no harm; I did not know, but there was
something behind the cloth, that might bring former days to my mind.”

As the stranger ended his simple explanation, he walked meekly away,
like one who felt the deepest sense of the right which every man has to
the quiet enjoyment of his own, without any troublesome interference on
the part of his neighbour; a wholesome and just principle that he had,
also, most probably imbibed from the habits of his secluded life. As he
passed towards the little encampment of the emigrants, for such the
place had now become, he heard the voice of the leader calling aloud,
in its hoarse tones, the name of—

“Ellen Wade.”

The girl who has been already introduced to the reader, and who was
occupied with the others of her sex around the fires, sprang willingly
forward at this summons; and, passing the stranger with the activity of
a young antelope, she was instantly lost behind the forbidden folds of
the tent. Neither her sudden disappearance, nor any of the arrangements
we have mentioned, seemed, however, to excite the smallest surprise
among the remainder of the party. The young men, who had already
completed their tasks with the axe, were all engaged after their
lounging and listless manner; some in bestowing equitable portions of
the fodder among the different animals; others in plying the heavy
pestle of a moveable homminy-mortar[4]; and one or two in wheeling the
remainder of the wagons aside, and arranging them in such a manner as
to form a sort of outwork for their otherwise defenceless bivouac.

These several duties were soon performed, and, as darkness now began to
conceal the objects on the surrounding prairie, the shrill-toned
termagant, whose voice since the halt had been diligently exercised
among her idle and drowsy offspring, announced, in tones that might
have been heard at a dangerous distance, that the evening meal waited
only for the approach of those who were to consume it. Whatever may be
the other qualities of a border man, he is seldom deficient in the
virtue of hospitality. The emigrant no sooner heard the sharp call of
his wife, than he cast his eyes about him in quest of the stranger, in
order to offer him the place of distinction, in the rude entertainment
to which they were so unceremoniously summoned.

“I thank you, friend,” the old man replied to the rough invitation to
take a seat nigh the smoking kettle; “you have my hearty thanks; but I
have eaten for the day, and am not one of them, who dig their graves
with their teeth. Well; as you wish it, I will take a place, for it is
long sin’ I have seen people of my colour, eating their daily bread.”

“You ar’ an old settler, in these districts, then?” the emigrant rather
remarked than enquired, with a mouth filled nearly to overflowing with
the delicious homminy, prepared by his skilful, though repulsive
spouse. “They told us below, we should find settlers something
thinnish, hereaway, and I must say, the report was mainly true; for,
unless, we count the Canada traders on the big river, you ar’ the first
white face I have met, in a good five hundred miles; that is
calculating according to your own reckoning.”

“Though I have spent some years, in this quarter, I can hardly be
called a settler, seeing that I have no regular abode, and seldom pass
more than a month, at a time, on the same range.”

“A hunter, I reckon?” the other continued, glancing his eyes aside, as
if to examine the equipments of his new acquaintance; “your fixen seem
none of the best, for such a calling.”

“They are old, and nearly ready to be laid aside, like their master,”
said the old man, regarding his rifle, with a look in which affection
and regret were singularly blended; “and I may say they are but little
needed, too. You are mistaken, friend, in calling me a hunter; I am
nothing better than a trapper.”[5]

“If you ar’ much of the one, I’m bold to say you ar’ something of the
other; for the two callings, go mainly together, in these districts.”

“To the shame of the man who is able to follow the first be it so
said!” returned the trapper, whom in future we shall choose to
designate by his pursuit; “for more than fifty years did I carry my
rifle in the wilderness, without so much as setting a snare for even a
bird that flies the heavens;—much less, a beast that has nothing but
legs, for its gifts.”

“I see but little difference whether a man gets his peltry by the rifle
or by the trap,” said the ill-looking companion of the emigrant, in his
rough manner. “The ’arth was made for our comfort; and, for that
matter, so ar’ its creatur’s.”

“You seem to have but little plunder,[6] stranger, for one who is far
abroad,” bluntly interrupted the emigrant, as if he had a reason for
wishing to change the conversation. “I hope you ar’ better off for
skins.”

“I make but little use of either,” the trapper quietly replied. “At my
time of life, food and clothing be all that is needed; and I have
little occasion for what you call plunder, unless it may be, now and
then, to barter for a horn of powder, or a bar of lead.”

“You ar’ not, then, of these parts by natur’, friend,” the emigrant
continued, having in his mind the exception which the other had taken
to the very equivocal word, which he himself, according to the custom
of the country, had used for “baggage,” or “effects.”

“I was born on the sea-shore, though most of my life has been passed in
the woods.”

The whole party now looked up at him, as men are apt to turn their eyes
on some unexpected object of general interest. One or two of the young
men repeated the words “sea-shore” and the woman tendered him one of
those civilities with which, uncouth as they were, she was little
accustomed to grace her hospitality, as if in deference to the
travelled dignity of her guest. After a long, and, seemingly, a
meditating silence, the emigrant, who had, however, seen no apparent
necessity to suspend the functions of his masticating powers, resumed
the discourse.

“It is a long road, as I have heard, from the waters of the west to the
shores of the main sea?”

“It is a weary path, indeed, friend; and much have I seen, and
something have I suffered, in journeying over it.”

“A man would see a good deal of hard travel in going its length!”

“Seventy and five years have I been upon the road; and there are not
half that number of leagues in the whole distance, after you leave the
Hudson, on which I have not tasted venison of my own killing. But this
is vain boasting. Of what use are former deeds, when time draws to an
end?”

“I once met a man that had boated on the river he names,” observed the
eldest son, speaking in a low tone of voice, like one who distrusted
his knowledge, and deemed it prudent to assume a becoming diffidence in
the presence of a man who had seen so much: “from his tell, it must be
a considerable stream, and deep enough for a keel-boat, from top to
bottom.”

“It is a wide and deep water-course, and many sightly towns are there
growing on its banks,” returned the trapper; “and yet it is but a brook
to the waters of the endless river.”

“I call nothing a stream that a man can travel round,” exclaimed the
ill-looking associate of the emigrant: “a real river must be crossed;
not headed, like a bear in a county hunt.”[7]

“Have you been far towards the sun-down, friend?” interrupted the
emigrant, as if he desired to keep his rough companion as much as
possible out of the discourse. “I find it is a wide tract of clearing,
this, into which I have fallen.”

“You may travel weeks, and you will see it the same. I often think the
Lord has placed this barren belt of prairie behind the States, to warn
men to what their folly may yet bring the land! Ay, weeks, if not
months, may you journey in these open fields, in which there is neither
dwelling nor habitation for man or beast. Even the savage animals
travel miles on miles to seek their dens; and yet the wind seldom blows
from the east, but I conceit the sound of axes, and the crash of
falling trees, are in my ears.”

As the old man spoke with the seriousness and dignity that age seldom
fails to communicate even to less striking sentiments, his auditors
were deeply attentive, and as silent as the grave. Indeed, the trapper
was left to renew the dialogue himself, which he soon did by asking a
question, in the indirect manner so much in use by the border
inhabitants.

“You found it no easy matter to ford the water-courses, and to make
your way so deep into the prairies, friend, with teams of horses and
herds of horned beasts?”

“I kept the left bank of the main river,” the emigrant replied, “until
I found the stream leading too much to the north, when we rafted
ourselves across without any great suffering. The women lost a fleece
or two from the next year’s shearing, and the girls have one cow less
to their dairy. Since then, we have done bravely, by bridging a creek
every day or two.”

“It is likely you will continue west, until you come to land more
suitable for a settlement?”

“Until I see reason to stop, or to turn ag’in,” the emigrant bluntly
answered, rising at the same time, and cutting short the dialogue by
the suddenness of the movement. His example was followed by the
trapper, as well as the rest of the party; and then, without much
deference to the presence of their guest, the travellers proceeded to
make their dispositions to pass the night. Several little bowers, or
rather huts, had already been formed of the tops of trees, blankets of
coarse country manufacture, and the skins of buffaloes, united without
much reference to any other object than temporary comfort. Into these
covers the children, with their mother, soon drew themselves, and
where, it is more than possible, they were all speedily lost in the
oblivion of sleep. Before the men, however, could seek their rest, they
had sundry little duties to perform; such as completing their works of
defence, carefully concealing the fires, replenishing the fodder of
their cattle, and setting the watch that was to protect the party, in
the approaching hours of night.

The former was effected by dragging the trunks of a few trees into the
intervals left by the wagons, and along the open space between the
vehicles and the thicket, on which, in military language, the
encampment would be said to have rested; thus forming a sort of
chevaux-de-frise on three sides of the position. Within these narrow
limits (with the exception of what the tent contained), both man and
beast were now collected; the latter being far too happy in resting
their weary limbs, to give any undue annoyance to their scarcely more
intelligent associates. Two of the young men took their rifles; and,
first renewing the priming, and examining the flints with the utmost
care, they proceeded, the one to the extreme right, and the other to
the left, of the encampment, where they posted themselves within the
shadows of the thicket; but in such positions as enabled each to
overlook a portion of the prairie.

The trapper loitered about the place, declining to share the straw of
the emigrant, until the whole arrangement was completed; and then,
without the ceremony of an adieu, he slowly retired from the spot.

It was now in the first watch of the night; and the pale, quivering,
and deceptive light, from a new moon, was playing over the endless
waves of the prairie, tipping the swells with gleams of brightness, and
leaving the interval land in deep shadow. Accustomed to scenes of
solitude like the present, the old man, as he left the encampment,
proceeded alone into the waste, like a bold vessel leaving its haven to
enter on the trackless field of the ocean. He appeared to move for some
time without object, or, indeed, without any apparent consciousness,
whither his limbs were carrying him. At length, on reaching the rise of
one of the undulations, he came to a stand; and, for the first time
since leaving the band, who had caused such a flood of reflections and
recollections to crowd upon his mind, the old man became aware of his
present situation. Throwing one end of his rifle to the earth, he stood
leaning on the other, again lost in deep contemplation for several
minutes, during which time his hound came and crouched at his feet. A
deep, menacing growl, from the faithful animal, first aroused him from
his musing.

“What now, dog?” he said, looking down at his companion, as if he
addressed a being of an intelligence equal to his own, and speaking in
a voice of great affection. “What is it, pup? ha! Hector; what is it
nosing, now? It won’t do, dog; it won’t do; the very fa’ns play in open
view of us, without minding so worn out curs, as you and I. Instinct is
their gift, Hector and, they have found out how little we are to be
feared, they have!”

The dog stretched his head upward, and responded to the words of his
master by a long and plaintive whine, which he even continued after he
had again buried his head in the grass, as if he held an intelligent
communication with one who so well knew how to interpret dumb
discourse.

“This is a manifest warning, Hector!” the trapper continued, dropping
his voice, to the tones of caution and looking warily about him. “What
is it, pup; speak plainer, dog; what is it?”

The hound had, however, already laid his nose to the earth, and was
silent; appearing to slumber. But the keen quick glances of his master,
soon caught a glimpse of a distant figure, which seemed, through the
deceptive light, floating along the very elevation on which he had
placed himself. Presently its proportions became more distinct, and
then an airy, female form appeared to hesitate, as if considering
whether it would be prudent to advance. Though the eyes of the dog were
now to be seen glancing in the rays of the moon, opening and shutting
lazily, he gave no further signs of displeasure.

“Come nigher; we are friends,” said the trapper, associating himself
with his companion by long use, and, probably, through the strength of
the secret tie that connected them together; “we are your friends; none
will harm you.”

Encouraged by the mild tones of his voice, and perhaps led on by the
earnestness of her purpose, the female approached, until she stood at
his side; when the old man perceived his visitor to be the young woman,
with whom the reader, has already become acquainted by the name of
“Ellen Wade.”

“I had thought you were gone,” she said, looking timidly and anxiously
around. “They said you were gone; and that we should never see you
again. I did not think it was you!”

“Men are no common objects in these empty fields,” returned the
trapper, “and I humbly hope, though I have so long consorted with the
beasts of the wilderness, that I have not yet lost the look of my
kind.”

“Oh! I knew you to be a man, and I thought I knew the whine of the
hound, too,” she answered hastily, as if willing to explain she knew
not what, and then checking herself, like one fearful of having already
said too much.

“I saw no dogs, among the teams of your father,” the trapper remarked.

“Father!” exclaimed the girl, feelingly, “I have no father! I had
nearly said no friend.”

The old man turned towards her, with a look of kindness and interest,
that was even more conciliating than the ordinary, upright, and
benevolent expression of his weather-beaten countenance.

“Why then do you venture in a place where none but the strong should
come?” he demanded. “Did you not know that, when you crossed the big
river, you left a friend behind you that is always bound to look to the
young and feeble, like yourself.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“The law—’tis bad to have it, but, I sometimes think, it is worse to be
entirely without it. Age and weakness have brought me to feel such
weakness, at times. Yes—yes, the law is needed, when such as have not
the gifts of strength and wisdom are to be taken care of. I hope, young
woman, if you have no father, you have at least a brother.”

The maiden felt the tacit reproach conveyed in this covert question,
and for a moment she remained in an embarrassed silence. But catching a
glimpse of the mild and serious features of her companion, as he
continued to gaze on her with a look of interest, she replied, firmly,
and in a manner that left no doubt she comprehended his meaning:

“Heaven forbid that any such as you have seen, should be a brother of
mine, or any thing else near or dear to me! But, tell me, do you then
actually live alone, in this desert district, old man; is there really
none here besides yourself?”

“There are hundreds, nay, thousands of the rightful owners of the
country, roving about the plains; but few of our own colour.”

“And have you then met none who are white, but us?” interrupted the
girl, like one too impatient to await the tardy explanations of age and
deliberation.

“Not in many days—Hush, Hector, hush,” he added in reply to a low, and
nearly inaudible, growl from his hound. “The dog scents mischief in the
wind! The black bears from the mountains sometimes make their way, even
lower than this. The pup is not apt to complain of the harmless game. I
am not so ready and true with the piece as I used-to-could-be, yet I
have struck even the fiercest animals of the prairie in my time; so,
you have little reason for fear, young woman.”

The girl raised her eyes, in that peculiar manner which is so often
practised by her sex, when they commence their glances, by examining
the earth at their feet, and terminate them by noting every thing
within the power of human vision; but she rather manifested the quality
of impatience, than any feeling of alarm.

A short bark from the dog, however, soon gave a new direction to the
looks of both, and then the real object of his second warning became
dimly visible.

 [4] Homminy, is a dish composed chiefly of cracked corn, or maize.


 [5] It is scarcely necessary to say, that this American word means one
 who takes his game in a trap. It is of general use on the frontiers.
 The beaver, an animal too sagacious to be easily killed, is oftener
 taken in this way than in any other.


 [6] The cant word for luggage in the western states of America is
 “plunder.” The term might easily mislead one as to the character of
 the people, who, notwithstanding their pleasant use of so expressive a
 word, are, like the inhabitants of all new settlements, hospitable and
 honest. Knavery of the description conveyed by “plunder,” is chiefly
 found in regions more civilised.


 [7] There is a practice, in the new countries, to assemble the men of
 a large district, sometimes of an entire county, to exterminate the
 beasts of prey. They form themselves into a circle of several miles in
 extent, and gradually draw nearer, killing all before them. The
 allusion is to this custom, in which the hunted beast is turned from
 one to another.




CHAPTER III


Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood, as any in Italy; and as
soon mov’d to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
                    —Romeo and Juliet.


Though the trapper manifested some surprise when he perceived that
another human figure was approaching him, and that, too, from a
direction opposite to the place where the emigrant had made his
encampment, it was with the steadiness of one long accustomed to scenes
of danger.

“This is a man,” he said; “and one who has white blood in his veins, or
his step would be lighter. It will be well to be ready for the worst,
as the half-and-halfs,[8] that one meets, in these distant districts,
are altogether more barbarous than the real savage.”

He raised his rifle while he spoke, and assured himself of the state of
its flint, as well as of the priming by manual examination. But his arm
was arrested, while in the act of throwing forward the muzzle of the
piece, by the eager and trembling hands of his companion.

“For God’s sake, be not too hasty,” she said; “it may be a friend—an
acquaintance—a neighbour!”

“A friend!” the old man repeated, deliberately releasing himself, at
the same time, from her grasp. “Friends are rare in any land, and less
in this, perhaps, than in another; and the neighbourhood is too thinly
settled to make it likely that he who comes towards us is even an
acquaintance.”

“But though a stranger, you would not seek his blood!”

The trapper earnestly regarded her anxious and frightened features, and
then he dropped the butt of his rifle on the ground, like one whose
purpose had undergone a sudden change.

“No,” he said, speaking rather to himself, than to his companion, “she
is right; blood is not to be spilt, to save the life of one so useless,
and so near his time. Let him come on; my skins, my traps, and even my
rifle shall be his, if he sees fit to demand them.”

“He will ask for neither:—he wants neither,” returned the girl; “if he
be an honest man, he will surely be content with his own, and ask for
nothing that is the property of another.”

The trapper had not time to express the surprise he felt at this
incoherent and contradictory language, for the man who was advancing,
was, already, within fifty feet of the place where they stood.—In the
mean time, Hector had not been an indifferent witness of what was
passing. At the sound of the distant footsteps, he had arisen, from his
warm bed at the feet of his master; and now, as the stranger appeared
in open view, he stalked slowly towards him, crouching to the earth
like a panther about to take his leap.

“Call in your dog,” said a firm, deep, manly voice, in tones of
friendship, rather than of menace; “I love a hound, and should be sorry
to do an injury to the animal.”

“You hear what is said about you, pup?” the trapper answered; “come
hither, fool. His growl and his bark are all that is left him now; you
may come on, friend; the hound is toothless.”

The stranger profited by the intelligence. He sprang eagerly forward,
and at the next instant stood at the side of Ellen Wade. After assuring
himself of the identity of the latter, by a hasty but keen glance, he
turned his attention, with a quickness and impatience, that proved the
interest he took in the result, to a similar examination of her
companion.

“From what cloud have you fallen, my good old man?” he said in a
careless, off-hand, heedless manner that seemed too natural to be
assumed: “or do you actually live, hereaway, in the prairies?”

“I have been long on earth, and never I hope nigher to heaven, than I
am at this moment,” returned the trapper; “my dwelling, if dwelling I
may be said to have, is not far distant. Now may I take the liberty
with you, that you are so willing to take with others? Whence do you
come, and where is your home?”

“Softly, softly; when I have done with my catechism, it will be time to
begin with yours. What sport is this, you follow by moonlight? You are
not dodging the buffaloes at such an hour!”

“I am, as you see, going from an encampment of travellers, which lies
over yonder swell in the land, to my own wigwam; in doing so, I wrong
no man.”

“All fair and true. And you got this young woman to show you the way,
because she knows it so well and you know so little about it yourself!”

“I met her, as I have met you, by accident. For ten tiresome years have
I dwelt on these open fields, and never, before to-night, have I found
human beings with white skins on them, at this hour. If my presence
here gives offence, I am sorry; and will go my way. It is more than
likely that when your young friend has told her story, you will be
better given to believe mine.

“Friend!” said the youth, lifting a cap of skins from his head, and
running his fingers leisurely through a dense mass of black and shaggy
locks, “if I have ever laid eyes on the girl before to-night, may I—”

“You’ve said enough, Paul,” interrupted the female, laying her hand on
his mouth, with a familiarity that gave something very like the lie
direct, to his intended asseveration. “Our secret will be safe, with
this honest old man. I know it by his looks, and kind words.”

“Our secret! Ellen, have you forgot—”

“Nothing. I have not forgotten any thing I should remember. But still I
say we are safe with this honest trapper.”

“Trapper! is he then a trapper? Give me your hand, father; our trades
should bring us acquainted.”

“There is little call for handicrafts in this region,” returned the
other, examining the athletic and active form of the youth, as he
leaned carelessly and not ungracefully, on his rifle; “the art of
taking the creatur’s of God, in traps and nets, is one that needs more
cunning than manhood; and yet am I brought to practise it, in my age!
But it would be quite as seemly, in one like you, to follow a pursuit
better becoming your years and courage.”

“I! I never took even a slinking mink or a paddling musk-rat in a cage;
though I admit having peppered a few of the dark-skin’d devils, when I
had much better have kept my powder in the horn and the lead in its
pouch. Not I, old man; nothing that crawls the earth is for my sport.”

“What then may you do for a living, friend? for little profit is to be
made in these districts, if a man denies himself his lawful right in
the beasts of the fields.”

“I deny myself nothing. If a bear crosses my path, he is soon the mere
ghost of Bruin. The deer begin to nose me; and as for the buffaloe, I
have kill’d more beef, old stranger, than the largest butcher in all
Kentuck.”

“You can shoot, then!” demanded the trapper, with a glow of latent
fire, glimmering about his eyes; “is your hand true, and your look
quick?”

“The first is like a steel trap, and the last nimbler than a buck-shot.
I wish it was hot noon, now, grand’ther; and that there was an acre or
two of your white swans or of black feathered ducks going south, over
our heads; you or Ellen, here, might set your heart on the finest in
the flock, and my character against a horn of powder, that the bird
would be hanging head downwards, in five minutes, and that too, with a
single ball. I scorn a shot-gun! No man can say, he ever knew me carry
one, a rod.”

“The lad has good in him! I see it plainly by his manner;” said the
trapper, turning to Ellen with an encouraging air; “I will take it on
myself to say, that you are not unwise in meeting him, as you do. Tell
me, lad; did you ever strike a leaping buck atwixt the antlers? Hector;
quiet, pup; quiet. The very name of venison quickens the blood of the
cur;—did you ever take an animal in that fashion, on the long leap?”

“You might just as well ask me, did you ever eat? There is no fashion,
old stranger, that a deer has not been touched by my hand, unless it
was when asleep.”

“Ay, ay; you have a long and a happy-ay, and an honest life afore you!
I am old, and I suppose I might also say, worn out and useless; but, if
it was given me to choose my time, and place, again,—as such things are
not and ought not ever to be given to the will of man—though if such a
gift was to be given me, I would say, twenty and the wilderness! But,
tell me; how do you part with the peltry?”

“With my pelts! I never took a skin from a buck, nor a quill from a
goose, in my life! I knock them over, now and then, for a meal, and
sometimes to keep my finger true to the touch; but when hunger is
satisfied, the prairie wolves get the remainder. No—no—I keep to my
calling; which pays me better, than all the fur I could sell on the
other side of the big river.”

The old man appeared to ponder a little; but shaking his head he soon
continued—

“I know of but one business that can be followed here with profit—”

He was interrupted by the youth, who raised a small cup of tin, which
dangled at his neck before the other’s eyes, and springing its lid, the
delicious odour of the finest flavoured honey, diffused itself over the
organs of the trapper.

“A bee hunter!” observed the latter, with a readiness that proved he
understood the nature of the occupation, though not without some little
surprise at discovering one of the other’s spirited mien engaged in so
humble a pursuit. “It pays well in the skirts of the settlements, but I
should call it a doubtful trade, in the more open districts.”

“You think a tree is wanting for a swarm to settle in! But I know
differently; and so I have stretched out a few hundred miles farther
west than common, to taste your honey. And, now, I have bated your
curiosity, stranger, you will just move aside, while I tell the
remainder of my story to this young woman.”

“It is not necessary, I’m sure it is not necessary, that he should
leave us,” said Ellen, with a haste that implied some little
consciousness of the singularity if not of the impropriety of the
request. “You can have nothing to say that the whole world might not
hear.”

“No! well, may I be stung to death by drones, if I understand the
buzzings of a woman’s mind! For my part, Ellen, I care for nothing nor
any body; and am just as ready to go down to the place where your
uncle, if uncle you can call one, who I’ll swear is no relation, has
hoppled his teams, and tell the old man my mind now, as I shall be a
year hence. You have only to say a single word, and the thing is done;
let him like it or not.”

“You are ever so hasty and so rash, Paul Hover, that I seldom know when
I am safe with you. How can you, who know the danger of our being seen
together, speak of going before my uncle and his sons?”

“Has he done that of which he has reason to be ashamed?” demanded the
trapper, who had not moved an inch from the place he first occupied.

“Heaven forbid! But there are reasons, why he should not be seen, just
now, that could do him no harm if known; but which may not yet be told.
And, so, if you will wait, father, near yonder willow bush, until I
have heard what Paul can possibly have to say, I shall be sure to come
and wish you a good night, before I return to the camp.”

The trapper drew slowly aside, as if satisfied with the somewhat
incoherent reason Ellen had given why he should retire. When completely
out of ear shot of the earnest and hurried dialogue, that instantly
commenced between the two he had left, the old man again paused, and
patiently awaited the moment when he might renew his conversation with
beings in whom he felt a growing interest, no less from the mysterious
character of their intercourse, than from a natural sympathy in the
welfare of a pair so young, and who, as in the simplicity of his heart
he was also fain to believe, were also so deserving. He was accompanied
by his indolent, but attached dog, who once more made his bed at the
feet of his master, and soon lay slumbering as usual, with his head
nearly buried in the dense fog of the prairie grass.

It was a spectacle so unusual to see the human form amid the solitude
in which he dwelt, that the trapper bent his eyes on the dim figures of
his new acquaintances, with sensations to which he had long been a
stranger. Their presence awakened recollections and emotions, to which
his sturdy but honest nature had latterly paid but little homage, and
his thoughts began to wander over the varied scenes of a life of
hardships, that had been strangely blended with scenes of wild and
peculiar enjoyment. The train taken by his thoughts had, already,
conducted him, in imagination, far into an ideal world, when he was,
once more suddenly, recalled to the reality of his situation, by the
movements of the faithful hound.

The dog, who, in submission to his years and infirmities, had
manifested such a decided propensity to sleep, now arose, and stalked
from out the shadow cast by the tall person of his master, and looked
abroad into the prairie, as if his instinct apprised him of the
presence of still another visitor. Then, seemingly content with his
examination, he returned to his comfortable post and disposed of his
weary limbs, with the deliberation and care of one who was no novice in
the art of self-preservation.

“What; again, Hector!” said the trapper in a soothing voice, which he
had the caution, however, to utter in an under tone; “what is it, dog?
tell it all to his master, pup; what is it?”

Hector answered with another growl, but was content to continue in his
lair. These were evidences of intelligence and distrust, to which one
as practised as the trapper could not turn an inattentive ear. He again
spoke to the dog, encouraging him to watchfulness, by a low guarded
whistle. The animal however, as if conscious of having, already,
discharged his duty, obstinately refused to raise his head from the
grass.

“A hint from such a friend is far better than man’s advice!” muttered
the trapper, as he slowly moved towards the couple who were yet, too
earnestly and abstractedly, engaged in their own discourse, to notice
his approach; “and none but a conceited settler would hear it and not
respect it, as he ought. Children,” he added, when nigh enough to
address his companions, “we are not alone in these dreary fields; there
are others stirring, and, therefore, to the shame of our kind, be it
said, danger is nigh.”

“If one of the lazy sons of Skirting Ishmael is prowling out of his
camp to-night,” said the young bee-hunter, with great vivacity, and in
tones that might easily have been excited to a menace, “he may have an
end put to his journey sooner than either he or his father is
dreaming!”

“My life on it, they are all with the teams,” hurriedly answered the
girl. “I saw the whole of them asleep, myself, except the two on watch;
and their natures have greatly changed, if they, too, are not both
dreaming of a turkey hunt, or a court-house fight, at this very
moment.”

“Some beast, with a strong scent, has passed between the wind and the
hound, father, and it makes him uneasy; or, perhaps, he too is
dreaming. I had a pup of my own, in Kentuck, that would start upon a
long chase from a deep sleep; and all upon the fancy of some dream. Go
to him, and pinch his ear, that the beast may feel the life within
him.”

“Not so—not so,” returned the trapper, shaking his head as one who
better understood the qualities of his dog.—“Youth sleeps, ay, and
dreams too; but age is awake and watchful. The pup is never false with
his nose, and long experience tells me to heed his warnings.”

“Did you ever run him upon the trail of carrion?”

“Why, I must say, that the ravenous beasts have sometimes tempted me to
let him loose, for they are as greedy as men, after the venison, in its
season; but then I knew the reason of the dog, would tell him the
object!—No—no, Hector is an animal known in the ways of man, and will
never strike a false trail when a true one is to be followed!”

“Ay, ay, the secret is out! you have run the hound on the track of a
wolf, and his nose has a better memory than his master!” said the
bee-hunter, laughing.

“I have seen the creatur’ sleep for hours, with pack after pack, in
open view. A wolf might eat out of his tray without a snarl, unless
there was a scarcity; then, indeed, Hector would be apt to claim his
own.”

“There are panthers down from the mountains; I saw one make a leap at a
sick deer, as the sun was setting. Go; go you back to the dog, and tell
him the truth, father; in a minute, I—”

He was interrupted by a long, loud, and piteous howl from the hound,
which rose on the air of the evening, like the wailing of some spirit
of the place, and passed off into the prairie, in cadences that rose
and fell, like its own undulating surface. The trapper was impressively
silent, listening intently. Even the reckless bee-hunter, was struck
with the wailing wildness of the sounds. After a short pause the former
whistled the dog to his side, and turning to his companions he said
with the seriousness, which, in his opinion, the occasion demanded—

“They who think man enjoys all the knowledge of the creatur’s of God,
will live to be disappointed, if they reach, as I have done, the age of
fourscore years. I will not take upon myself to say what mischief is
brewing, nor will I vouch that, even, the hound himself knows so much;
but that evil is nigh, and that wisdom invites us to avoid it, I have
heard from the mouth of one who never lies. I did think, the pup had
become unused to the footsteps of man, and that your presence made him
uneasy; but his nose has been on a long scent the whole evening, and
what I mistook as a notice of your coming, has been intended for
something more serious. If the advice of an old man is, then, worth
hearkening to, children, you will quickly go different ways to your
places of shelter and safety.”

“If I quit Ellen, at such a moment,” exclaimed the youth, “may I—”

“You’ve said enough!” the girl interrupted, by again interposing a band
that might, both by its delicacy and colour, have graced a far more
elevated station in life; “my time is out; and we must part, at all
events—so good night, Paul—father—good night.”

“Hist!” said the youth, seizing her arm, as she was in the very act of
tripping from his side—“Hist! do you hear nothing? There are buffaloes
playing their pranks, at no great distance—That sound beats the earth
like a herd of the mad scampering devils!”

His two companions listened, as people in their situation would be apt
to lend their faculties to discover the meaning of any doubtful noises,
especially, when heard after so many and such startling warnings. The
unusual sounds were unequivocally though still faintly audible. The
youth and his female companion had made several hurried, and
vacillating conjectures concerning their nature, when a current of the
night air brought the rush of trampling footsteps, too sensibly, to
their ears, to render mistake any longer possible.

“I am right!” said the bee-hunter; “a panther is driving a herd before
him; or may be, there is a battle among the beasts.”

“Your ears are cheats,” returned the old man, who, from the moment his
own organs had been able to catch the distant sounds, stood like a
statue made to represent deep attention:—“the leaps are too long for
the buffaloe, and too regular for terror. Hist! now they are in a
bottom where the grass is high, and the sound is deadened! Ay, there
they go on the hard earth! And now they come up the swell, dead upon
us; they will be here afore you can find a cover!”

“Come, Ellen,” cried the youth, seizing his companion by the hand, “let
us make a trial for the encampment.”

“Too late! too late!” exclaimed the trapper, “for the creatur’s are in
open view; and a bloody band of accursed Siouxes they are, by their
thieving look, and the random fashion in which they ride!”

“Siouxes or devils, they shall find us men!” said the bee-hunter, with
a mien as fierce as if he led a party of superior strength, and of a
courage equal to his own.—“You have a piece, old man, and will pull a
trigger in behalf of a helpless, Christian girl!”

“Down, down into the grass—down with ye both,” whispered the trapper,
intimating to them to turn aside to the tall weeds, which grew, in a
denser body than common, near the place where they stood. “You’ve not
the time to fly, nor the numbers to fight, foolish boy. Down into the
grass, if you prize the young woman, or value the gift of life!”

His remonstrance, seconded, as it was, by a prompt and energetic
action, did not fail to produce the submission to his order, which the
occasion seemed, indeed, imperiously to require. The moon had fallen
behind a sheet of thin, fleecy, clouds, which skirted the horizon,
leaving just enough of its faint and fluctuating light, to render
objects visible, dimly revealing their forms and proportions. The
trapper, by exercising that species of influence, over his companions,
which experience and decision usually assert, in cases of emergency,
had effectually succeeded in concealing them in the grass, and by the
aid of the feeble rays of the luminary, he was enabled to scan the
disorderly party which was riding, like so many madmen, directly upon
them.

A band of beings, who resembled demons rather than men, sporting in
their nightly revels across the bleak plain, was in truth approaching,
at a fearful rate, and in a direction to leave little hope that some
one among them, at least, would not pass over the spot where the
trapper and his companions lay. At intervals, the clattering of hoofs
was borne along by the night wind, quite audibly in their front, and
then, again, their progress through the fog of the autumnal grass, was
swift and silent; adding to the unearthly appearance of the spectacle.
The trapper, who had called in his hound, and bidden him crouch at his
side, now kneeled in the cover also, and kept a keen and watchful eye
on the route of the band, soothing the fears of the girl, and
restraining the impatience of the youth, in the same breath.

“If there’s one, there’s thirty of the miscreants!” he said, in a sort
of episode to his whispered comments. “Ay, ay; they are edging towards
the river—Peace, pup—peace—no, here they come this way again—the
thieves don’t seem to know their own errand! If there were just six of
us, lad, what a beautiful ambushment we might make upon them, from this
very spot—it won’t do, it won’t do, boy; keep yourself closer, or your
head will be seen—besides, I’m not altogether strong in the opinion it
would be lawful, as they have done us no harm.—There they bend again to
the river—no; here they come up the swell—now is the moment to be as
still, as if the breath had done its duty and departed the body.”

The old man sunk into the grass while he was speaking, as if the final
separation to which he alluded, had, in his own case, actually
occurred, and, at the next instant, a band of wild horsemen whirled by
them, with the noiseless rapidity in which it might be imagined a troop
of spectres would pass. The dark and fleeting forms were already
vanished, when the trapper ventured again to raise his head to a level
with the tops of the bending herbage, motioning at the same time, to
his companions to maintain their positions and their silence.

“They are going down the swell, towards the encampment,” he continued,
in his former guarded tones; “no, they halt in the bottom, and are
clustering together like deer, in council. By the Lord, they are
turning again, and we are not yet done with the reptiles!”

Once more he sought his friendly cover, and at the next instant the
dark troop were to be seen riding, in a disorderly manner, on the very
summit of the little elevation on which the trapper and his companions
lay. It was now soon apparent that they had returned to avail
themselves of the height of the ground, in order to examine the dim
horizon.

Some dismounted, while others rode to and fro, like men engaged in a
local enquiry of much interest. Happily, for the hidden party, the
grass in which they were concealed, not only served to skreen them from
the eyes of the savages, but opposed an obstacle to prevent their
horses, which were no less rude and untrained than their riders, from
trampling on them, in their irregular and wild paces.

At length an athletic and dark looking Indian, who, by his air of
authority, would seem to be the leader, summoned his chiefs about him,
to a consultation, which was held mounted. This body was collected on
the very margin of that mass of herbage in which the trapper and his
companions were hid. As the young man looked up and saw the fierce
aspect of the group, which was increasing at each instant by the
accession of some countenance and figure, apparently more forbidding
than any which had preceded it, he drew his rifle, by a very natural
impulse, from beneath him, and commenced putting it in a state for
service. The female, at his side, buried her face in the grass, by a
feeling that was, possibly, quite as natural to her sex and habits,
leaving him to follow the impulses of his hot blood; but his aged and
more prudent adviser, whispered, sternly, in his ear—

“The tick of the lock is as well known to the knaves, as the blast of a
trumpet to a soldier! lay down the piece—lay down the piece—should the
moon touch the barrel, it could not fail to be seen by the devils,
whose eyes are keener than the blackest snake’s! The smallest motion,
now, would be sure to bring an arrow among us.”

The bee-hunter so far obeyed as to continue immovable and silent. But
there was still sufficient light to convince his companion, by the
contracted brow and threatening eye of the young man, that a discovery
would not bestow a bloodless victory on the savages. Finding his advice
disregarded, the trapper took his measures accordingly, and awaited the
result with a resignation and calmness that were characteristic of the
individual.

In the mean time, the Siouxes (for the sagacity of the old man was not
deceived in the character of his dangerous neighbours) had terminated
their council, and were again dispersed along the ridge of land as if
they sought some hidden object.

“The imps have heard the hound!” whispered the trapper, “and their ears
are too true to be cheated in the distance. Keep close, lad, keep
close; down with your head to the very earth, like a dog that sleeps.”

“Let us rather take to our feet, and trust to manhood,” returned his
impatient companion.

He would have proceeded; but feeling a hand laid rudely on his
shoulder, he turned his eyes upward, and beheld the dark and savage
countenance of an Indian gleaming full upon him. Notwithstanding the
surprise and the disadvantage of his attitude, the youth was not
disposed to become a captive so easily. Quicker than the flash of his
own gun he sprang upon his feet, and was throttling his opponent with a
power that would soon have terminated the contest, when he felt the
arms of the trapper thrown round his body, confining his exertions by a
strength very little inferior to his own. Before he had time to
reproach his comrade for this apparent treachery, a dozen Siouxes were
around them, and the whole party were compelled to yield themselves as
prisoners.

 [8] Half-breeds; men born of Indian women by white fathers. This race
 has much of the depravity of civilisation without the virtues of the
 savage.




CHAPTER IV


—With much more dismay,
I view the fight, than those that make the fray.
                    —Merchant of Venice.


The unfortunate bee-hunter and his companions had become the captives
of a people, who might, without exaggeration, be called the Ishmaelites
of the American deserts. From time immemorial, the hands of the Siouxes
had been turned against their neighbours of the prairies, and even at
this day, when the influence and authority of a civilised government
are beginning to be felt around them, they are considered a treacherous
and dangerous race. At the period of our tale, the case was far worse;
few white men trusting themselves in the remote and unprotected regions
where so false a tribe was known to dwell.

Notwithstanding the peaceable submission of the trapper, he was quite
aware of the character of the band into whose hands he had fallen. It
would have been difficult, however, for the nicest judge to have
determined whether fear, policy, or resignation formed the secret
motive of the old man, in permitting himself to be plundered as he did,
without a murmur. So far from opposing any remonstrance to the rude and
violent manner in which his conquerors performed the customary office,
he even anticipated their cupidity, by tendering to the chiefs such
articles as he thought might prove the most acceptable. On the other
hand Paul Hover, who had been literally a conquered man, manifested the
strongest repugnance to submit to the violent liberties that were taken
with his person and property. He even gave several exceedingly
unequivocal demonstrations of his displeasure during the summary
process, and would, more than once, have broken out in open and
desperate resistance, but for the admonitions and entreaties of the
trembling girl, who clung to his side, in a manner so dependent, as to
show the youth, that her hopes were now placed, no less on his
discretion, than on his disposition to serve her.

The Indians had, however, no sooner deprived the captives of their arms
and ammunition, and stripped them of a few articles of dress of little
use, and perhaps of less value, than they appeared disposed to grant
them a respite. Business of greater moment pressed on their hands, and
required their attention. Another consultation of the chiefs was
convened, and it was apparent, by the earnest and vehement manner of
the few who spoke, that the warriors conceived their success as yet to
be far from complete.

“It will be well,” whispered the trapper, who knew enough of the
language he heard to comprehend perfectly the subject of the
discussion, “if the travellers who lie near the willow brake are not
awoke out of their sleep by a visit from these miscreants. They are too
cunning to believe that a woman of the ‘pale-faces’ is to be found so
far from the settlements, without having a white man’s inventions and
comforts at hand.”

“If they will carry the tribe of wandering Ishmael to the Rocky
Mountains,” said the young bee-hunter, laughing in his vexation with a
sort of bitter merriment, “I may forgive the rascals.”

“Paul! Paul!” exclaimed his companion in a tone of reproach, “you
forget all! Think of the dreadful consequences!”

“Ay, it was thinking of what you call consequences, Ellen, that
prevented me from putting the matter, at once, to yonder red-devil, and
making it a real knock-down and drag-out! Old trapper, the sin of this
cowardly business lies on your shoulders! But it is no more than your
daily calling, I reckon, to take men, as well as beasts, in snares.”

“I implore you, Paul, to be calm—to be patient.”

“Well, since it is your wish, Ellen,” returned the youth, endeavouring
to swallow his spleen, “I will make the trial; though, as you ought to
know, it is part of the religion of a Kentuckian to fret himself a
little at a mischance.”

“I fear your friends in the other bottom will not escape the eyes of
the imps!” continued the trapper, as coolly as though he had not heard
a syllable of the intervening discourse. “They scent plunder; and it
would be as hard to drive a hound from his game, as to throw the
varmints from its trail.”

“Is there nothing to be done?” asked Ellen, in an imploring manner,
which proved the sincerity of her concern.

“It would be an easy matter to call out, in so loud a voice as to make
old Ishmael dream that the wolves were among his flock,” Paul replied;
“I can make myself heard a mile in these open fields, and his camp is
but a short quarter from us.”

“And get knocked on the head for your pains,” returned the trapper.
“No, no; cunning must match cunning, or the hounds will murder the
whole family.”

“Murder! no—no murder. Ishmael loves travel so well, there would be no
harm in his having a look at the other sea, but the old fellow is in a
bad condition to take the long journey! I would try a lock myself
before he should be quite murdered.”

“His party is strong in number, and well armed; do you think it will
fight?”

“Look here, old trapper: few men love Ishmael Bush and his seven
sledge-hammer sons less than one Paul Hover; but I scorn to slander
even a Tennessee shotgun. There is as much of the true stand-up courage
among them, as there is in any family that was ever raised in Kentuck,
itself. They are a long-sided and a double-jointed breed; and let me
tell you, that he who takes the measure of one of them on the ground,
must be a workman at a hug.”

“Hist! The savages have done their talk, and are about to set their
accursed devices in motion. Let us be patient; something may yet offer
in favour of your friends.”

“Friends! call none of the race a friend of mine, trapper, if you have
the smallest regard for my affection! What I say in their favour is
less from love than honesty.”

“I did not know but the young woman was of the kin,” returned the
other, a little drily—“but no offence should be taken, where none was
intended.”

The mouth of Paul was again stopped by the hand of Ellen, who took on
herself to reply, in her conciliating tones: “we should be all of a
family, when it is in our power to serve each other. We depend entirely
on your experience, honest old man, to discover the means to apprise
our friends of their danger.”

“There will be a real time of it,” muttered the bee-hunter, laughing,
“if the boys get at work, in good earnest, with these red skins!”

He was interrupted by a general movement which took place among the
band. The Indians dismounted to a man, giving their horses in charge to
three or four of the party, who were also intrusted with the safe
keeping of the prisoners. They then formed themselves in a circle
around a warrior, who appeared to possess the chief authority; and at a
given signal the whole array moved slowly and cautiously from the
centre in straight and consequently in diverging lines. Most of their
dark forms were soon blended with the brown covering of the prairie;
though the captives, who watched the slightest movement of their
enemies with vigilant eyes, were now and then enabled to discern a
human figure, drawn against the horizon, as some one, more eager than
the rest, rose to his greatest height in order to extend the limits of
his view. But it was not long before even these fugitive glimpses of
the moving, and constantly increasing circle, were lost, and
uncertainty and conjecture were added to apprehension. In this manner
passed many anxious and weary minutes, during the close of which the
listeners expected at each moment to hear the whoop of the assailants
and the shrieks of the assailed, rising together on the stillness of
the night. But it would seem, that the search which was so evidently
making, was without a sufficient object; for at the expiration of half
an hour the different individuals of the band began to return singly,
gloomy and sullen, like men who were disappointed.

“Our time is at hand,” observed the trapper, who noted the smallest
incident, or the slightest indication of hostility among the savages:
“we are now to be questioned; and if I know any thing of the policy of
our case, I should say it would be wise to choose one among us to hold
the discourse, in order that our testimony may agree. And furthermore,
if an opinion from one as old and as worthless as a hunter of
fourscore, is to be regarded, I would just venture to say, that man
should be the one most skilled in the natur’ of an Indian, and that he
should also know something of their language.—Are you acquainted with
the tongue of the Siouxes, friend?”

“Swarm your own hive,” returned the discontented bee-hunter. “You are
good at buzzing, old trapper, if you are good at nothing else.”

“’Tis the gift of youth to be rash and heady,” the trapper calmly
retorted. “The day has been, boy, when my blood was like your own, too
swift and too hot to run quietly in my veins. But what will it profit
to talk of silly risks and foolish acts at this time of life! A grey
head should cover a brain of reason, and not the tongue of a boaster.”

“True, true,” whispered Ellen; “and we have other things to attend to
now! Here comes the Indian to put his questions.”

The girl, whose apprehensions had quickened her senses, was not
deceived. She was yet speaking when a tall, half naked savage,
approached the spot where they stood, and after examining the whole
party as closely as the dim light permitted, for more than a minute in
perfect stillness, he gave the usual salutation in the harsh and
guttural tones of his own language. The trapper replied as well as he
could, which it seems was sufficiently well to be understood. In order
to escape the imputation of pedantry we shall render the substance,
and, so far as it is possible, the form of the dialogue that succeeded,
into the English tongue.

“Have the pale-faces eaten their own buffaloes, and taken the skins
from all their own beavers,” continued the savage, allowing the usual
moment of decorum to elapse, after the words of greeting, before he
again spoke, “that they come to count how many are left among the
Pawnees?”

“Some of us are here to buy, and some to sell,” returned the trapper;
“but none will follow, if they hear it is not safe to come nigh the
lodge of a Sioux.”

“The Siouxes are thieves, and they live among the snow; why do we talk
of a people who are so far, when we are in the country of the Pawnees?”

“If the Pawnees are the owners of this land, then white and red are
here by equal right.”

“Have not the pale-faces stolen enough from the red men, that you come
so far to carry a lie? I have said that this is a hunting-ground of my
tribe.”

“My right to be here is equal to your own,” the trapper rejoined, with
undisturbed coolness; “I do not speak as I might—it is better to be
silent. The Pawnees and the white men are brothers, but a Sioux dare
not show his face in the village of the Loups.”

“The Dahcotahs are men!” exclaimed the savage, fiercely; forgetting in
his anger to maintain the character he had assumed, and using the
appellation of which his nation was most proud; “the Dahcotahs have no
fear! Speak; what brings you so far from the villages of the
pale-faces?”

“I have seen the sun rise and set on many councils, and have heard the
words of wise men. Let your chiefs come, and my mouth shall not be
shut.”

“I am a great chief!” said the savage, affecting an air of offended
dignity. “Do you take me for an Assiniboine? Weucha is a warrior often
named, and much believed!”

“Am I a fool not to know a burnt-wood Teton?” demanded the trapper,
with a steadiness that did great credit to his nerves. “Go; it is dark,
and you do not see that my head is grey!”

The Indian now appeared convinced that he had adopted too shallow an
artifice to deceive one so practised as the man he addressed, and he
was deliberating what fiction he should next invent, in order to obtain
his real object, when a slight commotion among the band put an end at
once to all his schemes. Casting his eyes behind him, as if fearful of
a speedy interruption, he said, in tones much less pretending than
those he had first resorted to—

“Give Weucha the milk of the Long-knives, and he will sing your name in
the ears of the great men of his tribe.”

“Go,” repeated the trapper, motioning him away, with strong disgust.
“Your young men are speaking of Mahtoree. My words are for the ears of
a chief.”

The savage cast a look at the other, which, notwithstanding the dim
light, was sufficiently indicative of implacable hostility. He then
stole away among his fellows, anxious to conceal the counterfeit he had
attempted to practise, no less than the treachery he had contemplated
against a fair division of the spoils, from the man named by the
trapper, whom he now also knew to be approaching, by the manner in
which his name passed from one to another, in the band. He had hardly
disappeared before a warrior of powerful frame advanced out of the dark
circle, and placed himself before the captives, with that high and
proud bearing for which a distinguished Indian chief is ever so
remarkable. He was followed by all the party, who arranged themselves
around his person, in a deep and respectful silence.

“The earth is very large,” the chief commenced, after a pause of that
true dignity which his counterfeit had so miserably affected; “why can
the children of my great white father never find room on it?”

“Some among them have heard that their friends in the prairies are in
want of many things,” returned the trapper; “and they have come to see
if it be true. Some want, in their turns, what the red men are willing
to sell, and they come to make their friends rich, with powder and
blankets.”

“Do traders cross the big river with empty hands?”

“Our hands are empty because your young men thought we were tired, and
they have lightened us of our load. They were mistaken; I am old, but I
am still strong.”

“It cannot be. Your load has fallen in the prairies. Show my young men
the place, that they may pick it up before the Pawnees find it.”

“The path to the spot is crooked, and it is night. The hour is come for
sleep,” said the trapper, with perfect composure. “Bid your warriors go
over yonder hill; there is water and there is wood; let them light
their fires and sleep with warm feet. When the sun comes again I will
speak to you.”

A low murmur, but one that was clearly indicative of dissatisfaction,
passed among the attentive listeners, and served to inform the old man
that he had not been sufficiently wary in proposing a measure that he
intended should notify the travellers in the brake of the presence of
their dangerous neighbours. Mahtoree, however, without betraying, in
the slightest degree, the excitement which was so strongly exhibited by
his companions, continued the discourse in the same lofty manner as
before.

“I know that my friend is rich,” he said; “that he has many warriors
not far off, and that horses are plentier with him, than dogs among the
red-skins.”

“You see my warriors, and my horses.”

“What! has the woman the feet of a Dahcotah, that she can walk for
thirty nights in the prairies, and not fall! I know the red men of the
woods make long marches on foot, but we, who live where the eye cannot
see from one lodge to another, love our horses.”

The trapper now hesitated, in his turn. He was perfectly aware that
deception, if detected, might prove dangerous; and, for one of his
pursuits and character, he was strongly troubled with an
unaccommodating regard for the truth. But, recollecting that he
controlled the fate of others as well as of himself, he determined to
let things take their course, and to permit the Dahcotah chief to
deceive himself if he would.

“The women of the Siouxes and of the white men are not of the same
wigwam,” he answered evasively. “Would a Teton warrior make his wife
greater than himself? I know he would not; and yet my ears have heard
that there are lands where the councils are held by squaws.”

Another slight movement in the dark circle apprised the trapper that
his declaration was not received without surprise, if entirely without
distrust. The chief alone seemed unmoved; nor was he disposed to relax
from the loftiness and high dignity of his air.

“My white fathers who live on the great lakes have declared,” he said,
“that their brothers towards the rising sun are not men; and now I know
they did not lie! Go—what is a nation whose chief is a squaw! Are you
the dog and not the husband of this woman?”

“I am neither. Never did I see her face before this day. She came into
the prairies because they had told her a great and generous nation
called the Dahcotahs lived there, and she wished to look on men. The
women of the pale-faces, like the women of the Siouxes, open their eyes
to see things that are new; but she is poor, like myself, and she will
want corn and buffaloes, if you take away the little that she and her
friend still have.”

“My ears listen to many wicked lies!” exclaimed the Teton warrior, in a
voice so stern that it startled even his red auditors. “Am I a woman?
Has not a Dahcotah eyes? Tell me, white hunter; who are the men of your
colour, that sleep near the fallen trees?”

As he spoke, the indignant chief pointed in the direction of Ishmael’s
encampment, leaving the trapper no reason to doubt, that the superior
industry and sagacity of this man had effected a discovery, which had
eluded the search of the rest of his party. Notwithstanding his regret
at an event that might prove fatal to the sleepers, and some little
vexation at having been so completely outwitted, in the dialogue just
related, the old man continued to maintain his air of inflexible
composure.

“It may be true,” he answered, “that white men are sleeping in the
prairie. If my brother says it, it is true; but what men thus trust to
the generosity of the Tetons, I cannot tell. If there be strangers
asleep, send your young men to wake them up, and let them say why they
are here; every pale-face has a tongue.” The chief shook his head with
a wild and fierce smile, answering abruptly, as he turned away to put
an end to the conference—

“The Dahcotahs are a wise race, and Mahtoree is their chief! He will
not call to the strangers, that they may rise and speak to him with
their carabines. He will whisper softly in their ears. When this is
done, let the men of their own colour come and awake them!”

As he uttered these words, and turned on his heel, a low and approving
laugh passed around the dark circle, which instantly broke its order
and followed him to a little distance from the stand of the captives,
where those who might presume to mingle opinions with so great a
warrior again gathered about him in consultation. Weucha profited by
the occasion to renew his importunities; but the trapper, who had
discovered how great a counterfeit he was, shook him off in
displeasure. An end was, however, more effectually put to the annoyance
of this malignant savage, by a mandate for the whole party, including
men and beasts, to change their positions. The movement was made in
dead silence, and with an order that would have done credit to more
enlightened beings. A halt, however, was soon made; and when the
captives had time to look about them, they found they were in view of
the low, dark outline of the copse, near which lay the slumbering party
of Ishmael.

Here another short but grave and deliberative consultation was held.

The beasts, which seemed trained to such covert and silent attacks,
were once more placed under the care of keepers, who, as before, were
charged with the duty of watching the prisoners. The mind of the
trapper was in no degree relieved from the uneasiness which was, at
each instant, getting a stronger possession of him, when he found
Weucha was placed nearest to his own person, and, as it appeared by the
air of triumph and authority he assumed, at the head of the guard also.
The savage, however, who doubtless had his secret instructions, was
content, for the present, with making a significant gesture with his
tomahawk, which menaced death to Ellen. After admonishing in this
expressive manner his male captives of the fate that would instantly
attend their female companion, on the slightest alarm proceeding from
any of the party, he was content to maintain a rigid silence. This
unexpected forbearance, on the part of Weucha, enabled the trapper and
his two associates to give their undivided attention to the little that
might be seen of the interesting movements which were passing in their
front.

Mahtoree took the entire disposition of the arrangements on himself. He
pointed out the precise situation he wished each individual to occupy,
like one intimately acquainted with the qualifications of his
respective followers, and he was obeyed with the deference and
promptitude with which an Indian warrior is wont to submit to the
instructions of his chief, in moments of trial. Some he despatched to
the right, and others to the left. Each man departed with the noiseless
and quick step peculiar to the race, until all had assumed their
allotted stations, with the exception of two chosen warriors, who
remained nigh the person of their leader. When the rest had
disappeared, Mahtoree turned to these select companions, and intimated
by a sign that the critical moment had arrived, when the enterprise he
contemplated was to be put in execution.

Each man laid aside the light fowling-piece, which, under the name of a
carabine, he carried in virtue of his rank; and divesting himself of
every article of exterior or heavy clothing, he stood resembling a dark
and fierce looking statue, in the attitude, and nearly in the garb, of
nature. Mahtoree assured himself of the right position of his tomahawk,
felt that his knife was secure in its sheath of skin, tightened his
girdle of wampum and saw that the lacing of his fringed and ornamental
leggings was secure, and likely to offer no impediment to his
exertions. Thus prepared at all points, and ready for his desperate
undertaking, the Teton gave the signal to proceed.

The three advanced in a line with the encampment of the travellers,
until, in the dim light by which they were seen, their dusky forms were
nearly lost to the eyes of the prisoners. Here they paused, looking
around them like men who deliberate and ponder long on the consequences
before they take a desperate leap. Then sinking together, they became
lost in the grass of the prairie.

It is not difficult to imagine the distress and anxiety of the
different spectators of these threatening movements. Whatever might be
the reasons of Ellen for entertaining no strong attachment to the
family in which she has first been seen by the reader, the feelings of
her sex, and, perhaps, some lingering seeds of kindness, predominated.
More than once she felt tempted to brave the awful and instant danger
that awaited such an offence, and to raise her feeble, and, in truth,
impotent voice in warning. So strong, indeed, and so very natural was
the inclination, that she would most probably have put it in execution,
but for the often repeated though whispered remonstrances of Paul
Hover. In the breast of the young bee-hunter himself, there was a
singular union of emotions. His first and chiefest solicitude was
certainly in behalf of his gentle and dependent companion; but the
sense of her danger was mingled, in the breast of the reckless
woodsman, with a consciousness of a high and wild, and by no means an
unpleasant, excitement. Though united to the emigrants by ties still
less binding than those of Ellen, he longed to hear the crack of their
rifles, and, had occasion offered, he would gladly have been among the
first to rush to their rescue. There were, in truth, moments when he
felt in his turn an impulse, that was nearly resistless, to spring
forward and awake the unconscious sleepers; but a glance at Ellen would
serve to recall his tottering prudence, and to admonish him of the
consequences. The trapper alone remained calm and observant, as if
nothing that involved his personal comfort or safety had occurred. His
ever-moving, vigilant eyes, watched the smallest change, with the
composure of one too long inured to scenes of danger to be easily
moved, and with an expression of cool determination which denoted the
intention he actually harboured, of profiting by the smallest oversight
on the part of the captors.

In the mean time the Teton warriors had not been idle. Profiting by the
high fog which grew in the bottoms, they had wormed their way through
the matted grass, like so many treacherous serpents stealing on their
prey, until the point was gained, where an extraordinary caution became
necessary to their further advance. Mahtoree, alone, had occasionally
elevated his dark, grim countenance above the herbage, straining his
eye-balls to penetrate the gloom which skirted the border of the brake.
In these momentary glances he gained sufficient knowledge, added to
that he had obtained in his former search, to be the perfect master of
the position of his intended victims, though he was still profoundly
ignorant of their numbers, and of their means of defence.

His efforts to possess himself of the requisite knowledge concerning
these two latter and essential points were, however, completely baffled
by the stillness of the camp, which lay in a quiet as deep as if it
were literally a place of the dead. Too wary and distrustful to rely,
in circumstances of so much doubt, on the discretion of any less firm
and crafty than himself, the Dahcotah bade his companions remain where
they lay, and pursued the adventure alone.

The progress of Mahtoree was now slow, and to one less accustomed to
such a species of exercise, it would have proved painfully laborious.
But the advance of the wily snake itself is not more certain or
noiseless than was his approach. He drew his form, foot by foot,
through the bending grass, pausing at each movement to catch the
smallest sound that might betray any knowledge, on the part of the
travellers, of his proximity. He succeeded, at length, in dragging
himself out of the sickly light of the moon, into the shadows of the
brake, where not only his own dark person was much less liable to be
seen, but where the surrounding objects became more distinctly visible
to his keen and active glances.

Here the Teton paused long and warily to make his observations, before
he ventured further. His position enabled him to bring the whole
encampment, with its tent, wagons, and lodges, into a dark but clearly
marked profile; furnishing a clue by which the practised warrior was
led to a tolerably accurate estimate of the force he was about to
encounter. Still an unnatural silence pervaded the spot, as if men
suppressed even the quiet breathings of sleep, in order to render the
appearance of their confidence more evident. The chief bent his head to
the earth, and listened intently. He was about to raise it again, in
disappointment, when the long drawn and trembling respiration of one
who slumbered imperfectly met his ear. The Indian was too well skilled
in all the means of deception to become himself the victim of any
common artifice. He knew the sound to be natural, by its peculiar
quivering, and he hesitated no longer.

A man of nerves less tried than those of the fierce and conquering
Mahtoree would have been keenly sensible of all the hazard he incurred.
The reputation of those hardy and powerful white adventurers, who so
often penetrated the wilds inhabited by his people, was well known to
him; but while he drew nigher, with the respect and caution that a
brave enemy never fails to inspire, it was with the vindictive
animosity of a red man, jealous and resentful of the inroads of the
stranger.

Turning from the line of his former route, the Teton dragged himself
directly towards the margin of the thicket. When this material object
was effected in safety, he arose to his seat, and took a better survey
of his situation. A single moment served to apprise him of the place
where the unsuspecting traveller lay. The reader will readily
anticipate that the savage had succeeded in gaining a dangerous
proximity to one of those slothful sons of Ishmael, who were deputed to
watch over the isolated encampment of the travellers.

When certain that he was undiscovered, the Dahcotah raised his person
again, and bending forward, he moved his dark visage above the face of
the sleeper, in that sort of wanton and subtle manner with which the
reptile is seen to play about its victim before it strikes. Satisfied
at length, not only of the condition but of the character of the
stranger, Mahtoree was in the act of withdrawing his head, when a
slight movement of the sleeper announced the symptoms of reviving
consciousness. The savage seized the knife which hung at his girdle,
and in an instant it was poised above the breast of the young emigrant.
Then changing his purpose, with an action as rapid as his own flashing
thoughts, he sunk back behind the trunk of the fallen tree against
which the other reclined, and lay in its shadow, as dark, as
motionless, and apparently as insensible as the wood itself.

The slothful sentinel opened his heavy eyes, and gazing upward for a
moment at the hazy heavens, he made an extraordinary exertion, and
raised his powerful frame from the support of the log. Then he looked
about him, with an air of something like watchfulness, suffering his
dull glances to run over the misty objects of the encampment until they
finally settled on the distant and dim field of the open prairie.
Meeting with nothing more attractive than the same faint outlines of
swell and interval, which every where rose before his drowsy eyes, he
changed his position so as completely to turn his back on his dangerous
neighbour, and suffered his person to sink sluggishly down into its
former recumbent attitude. A long, and, on the part of the Teton, an
anxious and painful silence succeeded, before the deep breathing of the
traveller again announced that he was indulging in his slumbers. The
savage was, however, far too jealous of a counterfeit to trust to the
first appearance of sleep. But the fatigues of a day of unusual toil
lay too heavy on the sentinel to leave the other long in doubt. Still
the motion with which Mahtoree again raised himself to his knees was so
noiseless and guarded, that even a vigilant observer might have
hesitated to believe he stirred. The change was, however, at length
effected, and the Dahcotah chief then bent again over his enemy,
without having produced a noise louder than that of the cotton-wood
leaf which fluttered at his side in the currents of the passing air.

Mahtoree now felt himself master of the sleeper’s fate. At the same
time that he scanned the vast proportions and athletic limbs of the
youth, in that sort of admiration which physical excellence seldom
fails to excite in the breast of a savage, he coolly prepared to
extinguish the principle of vitality which could alone render them
formidable. After making himself sure of the seat of life, by gently
removing the folds of the intervening cloth, he raised his keen weapon,
and was about to unite his strength and skill in the impending blow,
when the young man threw his brawny arm carelessly backward, exhibiting
in the action the vast volume of its muscles.

The sagacious and wary Teton paused. It struck his acute faculties that
sleep was less dangerous to him, at that moment, than even death itself
might prove. The smallest noise, the agony of struggling, with which
such a frame would probably relinquish its hold of life, suggested
themselves to his rapid thoughts, and were all present to his
experienced senses. He looked back into the encampment, turned his head
into the thicket, and glanced his glowing eyes abroad into the wild and
silent prairies. Bending once more over the respited victim, he assured
himself that he was sleeping heavily, and then abandoned his immediate
purpose in obedience alone to the suggestions of a more crafty policy.

The retreat of Mahtoree was as still and guarded as had been his
approach. He now took the direction of the encampment, stealing along
the margin of the brake, as a cover into which he might easily plunge
at the smallest alarm. The drapery of the solitary hut attracted his
notice in passing. After examining the whole of its exterior, and
listening with painful intensity, in order to gather counsel from his
ears, the savage ventured to raise the cloth at the bottom, and to
thrust his dark visage beneath. It might have been a minute before the
Teton chief drew back, and seated himself with the whole of his form
without the linen tenement. Here he sat, seemingly brooding over his
discovery, for many moments, in rigid inaction. Then he resumed his
crouching attitude, and once more projected his visage beyond the
covering of the tent. His second visit to the interior was longer, and,
if possible, more ominous than the first. But it had, like every thing
else, its termination, and the savage again withdrew his glaring eyes
from the secrets of the place.

Mahtoree had drawn his person many yards from the spot, in his slow
progress towards the cluster of objects which pointed out the centre of
the position, before he again stopped. He made another pause, and
looked back at the solitary little dwelling he had left, as if doubtful
whether he should not return. But the chevaux-de-frise of branches now
lay within reach of his arm, and the very appearance of precaution it
presented, as it announced the value of the effects it encircled,
tempted his cupidity, and induced him to proceed.

The passage of the savage, through the tender and brittle limbs of the
cotton-wood, could be likened only to the sinuous and noiseless winding
of the reptiles which he imitated. When he had effected his object, and
had taken an instant to become acquainted with the nature of the
localities within the enclosure, the Teton used the precaution to open
a way through which he might make a swift retreat. Then raising himself
on his feet, he stalked through the encampment, like the master of
evil, seeking whom and what he should first devote to his fell
purposes. He had already ascertained the contents of the lodge in which
were collected the woman and her young children, and had passed several
gigantic frames, stretched on different piles of brush, which happily
for him lay in unconscious helplessness, when he reached the spot
occupied by Ishmael in person. It could not escape the sagacity of one
like Mahtoree, that he had now within his power the principal man among
the travellers. He stood long hovering above the recumbent and
Herculean form of the emigrant, keenly debating in his own mind the
chances of his enterprise, and the most effectual means of reaping its
richest harvest.

He sheathed the knife, which, under the hasty and burning impulse of
his thoughts, he had been tempted to draw, and was passing on, when
Ishmael turned in his lair, and demanded roughly who was moving before
his half-opened eyes. Nothing short of the readiness and cunning of a
savage could have evaded the crisis. Imitating the gruff tones and
nearly unintelligible sounds he heard, Mahtoree threw his body heavily
on the earth, and appeared to dispose himself to sleep. Though the
whole movement was seen by Ishmael, in a sort of stupid observation,
the artifice was too bold and too admirably executed to fail. The
drowsy father closed his eyes, and slept heavily, with this treacherous
inmate in the very bosom of his family.

It was necessary for the Teton to maintain the position he had taken,
for many long and weary minutes, in order to make sure that he was no
longer watched. Though his body lay so motionless, his active mind was
not idle. He profited by the delay to mature a plan which he intended
should put the whole encampment, including both its effects and their
proprietors, entirely at his mercy. The instant he could do so with
safety, the indefatigable savage was again in motion. He took his way
towards the slight pen which contained the domestic animals, worming
himself along the ground in his former subtle and guarded manner.

The first animal he encountered among the beasts occasioned a long and
hazardous delay. The weary creature, perhaps conscious, through its
secret instinct, that in the endless wastes of the prairies its surest
protector was to be found in man, was so exceedingly docile as quietly
to submit to the close examination it was doomed to undergo. The hand
of the wandering Teton passed over the downy coat, the meek
countenance, and the slender limbs of the gentle creature, with
untiring curiosity; but he finally abandoned the prize, as useless in
his predatory expeditions, and offering too little temptation to the
appetite. As soon, however, as he found himself among the beasts of
burden, his gratification was extreme, and it was with difficulty that
he restrained the customary ejaculations of pleasure that were more
than once on the point of bursting from his lips. Here he lost sight of
the hazards by which he had gained access to his dangerous position;
and the watchfulness of the wary and long practised warrior was
momentarily forgotten in the exultation of the savage.




CHAPTER V


Why, worthy father, what have we to lose?
—The law
Protects us not. Then why should we be tender
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us!
Play judge and executioner.
                    —Cymbeline.


While the Teton thus enacted his subtle and characteristic part, not a
sound broke the stillness of the surrounding prairie. The whole band
lay at their several posts, waiting, with the well-known patience of
the natives, for the signal which was to summon them to action. To the
eyes of the anxious spectators who occupied the little eminence,
already described as the position of the captives, the scene presented
the broad, solemn view of a waste, dimly lighted by the glimmering rays
of a clouded moon. The place of the encampment was marked by a gloom
deeper than that which faintly shadowed out the courses of the bottoms,
and here and there a brighter streak tinged the rolling summits of the
ridges. As for the rest, it was the deep, imposing quiet of a desert.

But to those who so well knew how much was brooding beneath this mantle
of stillness and night, it was a scene of high and wild excitement.
Their anxiety gradually increased, as minute after minute passed away,
and not the smallest sound of life arose out of the calm and darkness
which enveloped the brake. The breathing of Paul grew louder and
deeper, and more than once Ellen trembled at she knew not what, as she
felt the quivering of his active frame, while she leaned dependently on
his arm for support.

The shallow honesty, as well as the besetting infirmity of Weucha, have
already been exhibited. The reader, therefore, will not be surprised to
learn that he was the first to forget the regulations he had himself
imposed. It was at the precise moment when we left Mahtoree yielding to
his nearly ungovernable delight, as he surveyed the number and quality
of Ishmael’s beasts of burden, that the man he had selected to watch
his captives chose to indulge in the malignant pleasure of tormenting
those it was his duty to protect. Bending his head nigh the ear of the
trapper, the savage rather muttered than whispered—

“If the Tetons lose their great chief by the hands of the
Long-knives[9], old shall die as well as young!”

“Life is the gift of the Wahcondah,” was the unmoved reply. “The
burnt-wood warrior must submit to his laws, as well as his other
children. Men only die when he chooses; and no Dahcotah can change the
hour.”

“Look!” returned the savage, thrusting the blade of his knife before
the face of his captive. “Weucha is the Wahcondah of a dog.”

The old man raised his eyes to the fierce visage of his keeper, and,
for a moment, a gleam of honest and powerful disgust shot from their
deep cells; but it instantly passed away, leaving in its place an
expression of commiseration, if not of sorrow.

“Why should one made in the real image of God suffer his natur’ to be
provoked by a mere effigy of reason?” he said in English, and in tones
much louder than those in which Weucha had chosen to pitch the
conversation. The latter profited by the unintentional offence of his
captive, and, seizing him by the thin, grey locks, that fell from
beneath his cap, was on the point of passing the blade of his knife in
malignant triumph around their roots, when a long, shrill yell rent the
air, and was instantly echoed from the surrounding waste, as if a
thousand demons opened their throats in common at the summons. Weucha
relinquished his grasp, and uttered a cry of exultation.

“Now!” shouted Paul, unable to control his impatience any longer, “now,
old Ishmael, is the time to show the native blood of Kentucky! Fire
low, boys—level into the swales, for the red skins are settling to the
very earth!”

His voice was, however, lost, or rather unheeded, in the midst of the
shrieks, shouts, and yells that were, by this time, bursting from fifty
mouths on every side of him. The guards still maintained their posts at
the side of the captives, but it was with that sort of difficulty with
which steeds are restrained at the starting-post, when expecting the
signal to commence the trial of speed. They tossed their arms wildly in
the air, leaping up and down more like exulting children than sober
men, and continued to utter the most frantic cries.

In the midst of this tumultuous disorder a rushing sound was heard,
similar to that which might be expected to precede the passage of a
flight of buffaloes, and then came the flocks and cattle of Ishmael in
one confused and frightened drove.

“They have robbed the squatter of his beasts!” said the attentive
trapper. “The reptiles have left him as hoofless as a beaver!” He was
yet speaking, when the whole body of the terrified animals rose the
little acclivity, and swept by the place where he stood, followed by a
band of dusky and demon-like looking figures, who pressed madly on
their rear.

The impulse was communicated to the Teton horses, long accustomed to
sympathise in the untutored passions of their owners, and it was with
difficulty that the keepers were enabled to restrain their impatience.
At this moment, when all eyes were directed to the passing whirlwind of
men and beasts, the trapper caught the knife from the hands of his
inattentive keeper, with a power that his age would have seemed to
contradict, and, at a single blow, severed the thong of hide which
connected the whole of the drove. The wild animals snorted with joy and
terror, and tearing the earth with their heels, they dashed away into
the broad prairies, in a dozen different directions.

Weucha turned upon his assailant with the ferocity and agility of a
tiger. He felt for the weapon of which he had been so suddenly
deprived, fumbled with impotent haste for the handle of his tomahawk,
and at the same moment glanced his eyes after the flying cattle, with
the longings of a Western Indian. The struggle between thirst for
vengeance and cupidity was severe but short. The latter quickly
predominated in the bosom of one whose passions were proverbially
grovelling; and scarcely a moment intervened between the flight of the
animals and the swift pursuit of the guards. The trapper had continued
calmly facing his foe, during the instant of suspense that succeeded
his hardy act; and now that Weucha was seen following his companions,
he pointed after the dark train, saying, with his deep and nearly
inaudible laugh—

“Red-natur’ is red-natur’, let it show itself on a prairie, or in a
forest! A knock on the head would be the smallest reward to him who
should take such a liberty with a Christian sentinel; but there goes
the Teton after his horses as if he thought two legs as good as four in
such a race! And yet the imps will have every hoof of them afore the
day sets in, because it’s reason ag’in instinct. Poor reason, I allow;
but still there is a great deal of the man in an Indian. Ah’s me! your
Delawares were the redskins of which America might boast; but few and
scattered is that mighty people, now! Well! the traveller may just make
his pitch where he is; he has plenty of water, though natur’ has
cheated him of the pleasure of stripping the ’arth of its lawful trees.
He has seen the last of his four-footed creatures, or I am but little
skilled in Sioux cunning.”

“Had we not better join the party of Ishmael?” said the bee-hunter.
“There will be a regular fight about this matter, or the old fellow has
suddenly grown chicken-hearted.”

“No—no—no,” hastily exclaimed Ellen.

She was stopped by the trapper, who laid his hand gently on her mouth,
as he answered—

“Hist—hist!—the sound of voices might bring us into danger. Is your
friend,” he added, turning to Paul, “a man of spirit enough?”

“Don’t call the squatter a friend of mine!” interrupted the youth. “I
never yet harboured with one who could not show hand and zeal for the
land which fed him.”

“Well—well. Let it then be acquaintance. Is he a man to maintain his
own, stoutly by dint of powder and lead?”

“His own! ay, and that which is not his own, too! Can you tell me, old
trapper, who held the rifle that did the deed for the sheriff’s deputy,
that thought to rout the unlawful settlers who had gathered nigh the
Buffaloe lick in old Kentucky? I had lined a beautiful swarm that very
day into the hollow of a dead beech, and there lay the people’s officer
at its roots, with a hole directly through the ‘grace of God;’ which he
carried in his jacket pocket covering his heart, as if he thought a bit
of sheepskin was a breastplate against a squatter’s bullet! Now, Ellen,
you needn’t be troubled for it never strictly was brought home to him;
and there were fifty others who had pitched in that neighbourhood with
just the same authority from the law.”

The poor girl shuddered, struggling powerfully to suppress the sigh
which arose in spite of her efforts, as if from the very bottom of her
heart.

Thoroughly satisfied that he understood the character of the emigrants,
by the short but comprehensive description conveyed in Paul’s reply,
the old man raised no further question concerning the readiness of
Ishmael to revenge his wrongs, but rather followed the train of thought
which was suggested to his experience, by the occasion.

“Each one knows the ties which bind him to his fellow-creatures best,”
he answered. “Though it is greatly to be mourned that colour, and
property, and tongue, and l’arning should make so wide a difference in
those who, after all, are but the children of one father! Howsomever,”
he continued, by a transition not a little characteristic of the
pursuits and feelings of the man, “as this is a business in which there
is much more likelihood of a fight than need for a sermon, it is best
to be prepared for what may follow.—Hush! there is a movement below; it
is an equal chance that we are seen.”

“The family is stirring,” cried Ellen, with a tremor that announced
nearly as much terror at the approach of her friends, as she had before
manifested at the presence of her enemies. “Go, Paul, leave me. You, at
least, must not be seen!”

“If I leave you, Ellen, in this desert before I see you safe in the
care of old Ishmael, at least, may I never hear the hum of another bee,
or, what is worse, fail in sight to line him to his hive!”

“You forget this good old man. He will not leave me. Though I am sure,
Paul, we have parted before, where there has been more of a desert than
this.”

“Never! These Indians may come whooping back, and then where are you!
Half way to the Rocky Mountains before a man can fairly strike the line
of your flight. What think you, old trapper? How long may it be before
these Tetons, as you call them, will be coming for the rest of old
Ishmael’s goods and chattels?”

“No fear of them,” returned the old man, laughing in his own peculiar
and silent manner; “I warrant me the devils will be scampering after
their beasts these six hours yet! Listen! you may hear them in the
willow bottoms at this very moment; ay, your real Sioux cattle will run
like so many long-legged elks. Hist! crouch again into the grass, down
with ye both; as I’m a miserable piece of clay, I heard the ticking of
a gunlock!”

The trapper did not allow his companions time to hesitate, but dragging
them both after him, he nearly buried his own person in the fog of the
prairie, while he was speaking. It was fortunate that the senses of the
aged hunter remained so acute, and that he had lost none of his
readiness of action. The three were scarcely bowed to the ground, when
their ears were saluted with the well-known, sharp, short, reports of
the western rifle, and instantly, the whizzing of the ragged lead was
heard, buzzing within dangerous proximity of their heads.

“Well done, young chips! well done, old block!” whispered Paul, whose
spirits no danger nor situation could entirely depress. “As pretty a
volley, as one would wish to bear on the wrong end of a rifle! What
d’ye say, trapper! here is likely to be a three-cornered war. Shall I
give ’em as good as they send?”

“Give them nothing but fair words,” returned the other, hastily, “or
you are both lost.”

“I’m not certain it would much mend the matter, if I were to speak with
my tongue instead of the piece,” said Paul, in a tone half jocular half
bitter.

“For the sake of heaven, do not let them hear you!” cried Ellen. “Go,
Paul, go; you can easily quit us now!”

Several shots in quick succession, each sending its dangerous
messenger, still nearer than the preceding discharge, cut short her
speech, no less in prudence than in terror.

“This must end,” said the trapper, rising with the dignity of one bent
only on the importance of his object. “I know not what need ye may
have, children, to fear those you should both love and honour, but
something must be done to save your lives. A few hours more or less can
never be missed from the time of one who has already numbered so many
days; therefore I will advance. Here is a clear space around you.
Profit by it as you need, and may God bless and prosper each of you, as
ye deserve!”

Without waiting for any reply, the trapper walked boldly down the
declivity in his front, taking the direction of the encampment, neither
quickening his pace in trepidation, nor suffering it to be retarded by
fear. The light of the moon fell brighter for a moment on his tall,
gaunt, form, and served to warn the emigrants of his approach.
Indifferent, however to this unfavourable circumstance, he held his
way, silently and steadily towards the copse, until a threatening voice
met him with a challenge of—

“Who comes; friend or foe?”

“Friend,” was the reply; “one who has lived too long to disturb the
close of life with quarrels.”

“But not so long as to forget the tricks of his youth,” said Ishmael,
rearing his huge frame from beneath the slight covering of a low bush,
and meeting the trapper, face to face; “old man, you have brought this
tribe of red devils upon us, and to-morrow you will be sharing the
booty.”

“What have you lost?” calmly demanded the trapper.

“Eight as good mares as ever travelled in gears, besides a foal that is
worth thirty of the brightest Mexicans that bear the face of the King
of Spain. Then the woman has not a cloven hoof for her dairy, or her
loom, and I believe even the grunters, foot sore as they be, are
ploughing the prairie. And now, stranger,” he added, dropping the butt
of his rifle on the hard earth, with a violence and clatter that would
have intimidated one less firm than the man he addressed, “how many of
these creatures may fall to your lot?”

“Horses have I never craved, nor even used; though few have journeyed
over more of the wide lands of America than myself, old and feeble as I
seem. But little use is there for a horse among the hills and woods of
York—that is, as York was, but as I greatly fear York is no longer—as
for woollen covering and cow’s milk, I covet no such womanly fashions!
The beasts of the field give me food and raiment. No, I crave no cloth
better than the skin of a deer, nor any meat richer than his flesh.”

The sincere manner of the trapper, as he uttered this simple
vindication, was not entirely thrown away on the emigrant, whose dull
nature was gradually quickening into a flame, that might speedily have
burst forth with dangerous violence. He listened like one who doubted,
not entirely convinced: and he muttered between his teeth the
denunciation, with which a moment before he intended to precede the
summary vengeance he had certainly meditated.

“This is brave talking,” he at length grumbled; “but to my judgment,
too lawyer-like, for a straight forward, fair-weather, and foul-weather
hunter.”

“I claim to be no better than a trapper,” the other meekly answered.

“Hunter or trapper—there is little difference. I have come, old man,
into these districts because I found the law sitting too tight upon me,
and am not over fond of neighbours who can’t settle a dispute without
troubling a justice and twelve men; but I didn’t come to be robb’d of
my plunder, and then to say thank’ee to the man who did it!”

“He, who ventures far into the prairies, must abide by the ways of its
owners.”

“Owners!” echoed the squatter, “I am as rightful an owner of the land I
stand on, as any governor in the States! Can you tell me, stranger,
where the law or the reason, is to be found, which says that one man
shall have a section, or a town, or perhaps a county to his use, and
another have to beg for earth to make his grave in? This is not nature,
and I deny that it is law. That is, your legal law.”

“I cannot say that you are wrong,” returned the trapper, whose opinions
on this important topic, though drawn from very different premises,
were in singular accordance with those of his companion, “and I have
often thought and said as much, when and where I have believed my voice
could be heard. But your beasts are stolen by them who claim to be
masters of all they find in the deserts.”

“They had better not dispute that matter with a man who knows better,”
said the other in a portentous voice, though it seemed deep and
sluggish as he who spoke.

“I call myself a fair trader, and one who gives to his chaps as good as
he receives. You saw the Indians?”

“I did—they held me a prisoner, while they stole into your camp.”

“It would have been more like a white man and a Christian, to have let
me known as much in better season,” retorted Ishmael, casting another
ominous sidelong glance at the trapper, as if still meditating evil. “I
am not much given to call every man, I fall in with, cousin, but colour
should be something, when Christians meet in such a place as this. But
what is done, is done, and cannot be mended, by words. Come out of your
ambush, boys; here is no one but the old man: he has eaten of my bread,
and should be our friend; though there is such good reason to suspect
him of harbouring with our enemies.”

The trapper made no reply to the harsh suspicion which the other did
not scruple to utter without the smallest delicacy, notwithstanding the
explanations and denials to which he had just listened. The summons of
the unnurtured squatter brought an immediate accession to their party.
Four or five of his sons made their appearance from beneath as many
covers, where they had been posted under the impression that the
figures they had seen, on the swell of the prairie, were a part of the
Sioux band. As each man approached, and dropped his rifle into the
hollow of his arm, he cast an indolent but enquiring glance at the
stranger, though neither of them expressed the least curiosity to know
whence he had come or why he was there. This forbearance, however,
proceeded only in part, from the sluggishness of their common temper;
for long and frequent experience in scenes of a similar character, had
taught them the virtue of discretion. The trapper endured their sullen
scrutiny with the steadiness of one as practised as themselves, and
with the entire composure of innocence. Content with the momentary
examination he had made, the eldest of the group, who was in truth the
delinquent sentinel by whose remissness the wily Mahtoree had so well
profited, turned towards his father and said bluntly—

“If this man is all that is left of the party I saw on the upland,
yonder, we haven’t altogether thrown away our ammunition.”

“Asa, you are right,” said the father, turning suddenly on the trapper,
a lost idea being recalled by the hint of his son. “How is it,
stranger; there were three of you, just now, or there is no virtue in
moonlight?”

“If you had seen the Tetons racing across the prairies, like so many
black-looking evil ones, on the heels of your cattle, my friend, it
would have been an easy matter to have fancied them a thousand.”

“Ay, for a town bred boy, or a skeary woman; though for that matter,
there is old Esther; she has no more fear of a red-skin than of a
suckling cub, or of a wolf pup. I’ll warrant ye, had your thievish
devils made their push by the light of the sun, the good woman would
have been smartly at work among them, and the Siouxes would have found
she was not given to part with her cheese and her butter without a
price. But there’ll come a time, stranger, right soon, when justice
will have its dues, and that too, without the help of what is called
the law. We ar’ of a slow breed, it may be said, and it is often said,
of us; but slow is sure; and there ar’ few men living, who can say they
ever struck a blow, that they did not get one as hard in return, from
Ishmael Bush.”

“Then has Ishmael Bush followed the instinct of the beasts rather than
the principle which ought to belong to his kind,” returned the stubborn
trapper. “I have struck many a blow myself, but never have I felt the
same ease of mind that of right belongs to a man who follows his
reason, after slaying even a fawn when there was no call for his meat
or hide, as I have felt at leaving a Mingo unburied in the woods, when
following the trade of open and honest warfare.”

“What, you have been a soldier, have you, trapper! I made a forage or
two among the Cherokees, when I was a lad myself; and I followed Mad
Anthony,[10] one season, through the beeches; but there was altogether
too much tatooing and regulating among his troops for me; so I left him
without calling on the paymaster to settle my arrearages. Though, as
Esther afterwards boasted, she had made such use of the pay-ticket,
that the States gained no great sum, by the oversight. You have heard
of such a man as mad Anthony, if you tarried long among the soldiers.”

“I fou’t my last battle, as I hope, under his orders,” returned the
trapper, a gleam of sunshine shooting from his dim eyes, as if the
event was recollected with pleasure, and then a sudden shade of sorrow
succeeding, as though he felt a secret admonition against dwelling on
the violent scenes in which he had so often been an actor. “I was
passing from the States on the sea-shore into these far regions, when I
cross’d the trail of his army, and I fell in, on his rear, just as a
looker-on; but when they got to blows, the crack of my rifle was heard
among the rest, though to my shame it may be said, I never knew the
right of the quarrel as well as a man of threescore and ten should know
the reason of his acts afore he takes mortal life, which is a gift he
never can return!”

“Come, stranger,” said the emigrant, his rugged nature a good deal
softened when he found that they had fought on the same side in the
wild warfare of the west, “it is of small account, what may be the
ground-work of the disturbance, when it’s a Christian ag’in a savage.
We shall hear more of this horse-stealing to-morrow; to-night we can do
no wiser or safer thing than to sleep.”

So saying, Ishmael deliberately led the way back towards his rifled
encampment, and ushered the man, whose life a few minutes before had
been in real jeopardy from his resentment, into the presence of his
family. Here, with a very few words of explanation, mingled with scarce
but ominous denunciations against the plunderers, he made his wife
acquainted with the state of things on the prairie, and announced his
own determination to compensate himself for his broken rest, by
devoting the remainder of the night to sleep.

The trapper gave his ready assent to the measure, and adjusted his
gaunt form on the pile of brush that was offered him, with as much
composure as a sovereign could resign himself to sleep, in the security
of his capital and surrounded by his armed protectors. The old man did
not close his eyes, however, until he had assured himself that Ellen
Wade was among the females of the family, and that her relation, or
lover, whichever he might be, had observed the caution of keeping
himself out of view: after which he slept, though with the peculiar
watchfulness of one long accustomed to vigilance, even in the hours of
deepest night.

 [9] The whites are so called by the Indians, from their swords.


 [10] Anthony Wayne, a Pennsylvanian distinguished in the war of the
 revolution, and subsequently against the Indians of the west, for his
 daring as a general, by which he gained from his followers the title
 of Mad Anthony. General Wayne was the son of the person mentioned in
 the life of West as commanding the regiment which excited his military
 ardour.




CHAPTER VI


He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,
As it were too peregrinate, as I may call it.
                    —Shakespeare.


The Anglo-American is apt to boast, and not without reason, that his
nation may claim a descent more truly honourable than that of any other
people whose history is to be credited. Whatever might have been the
weaknesses of the original colonists, their virtues have rarely been
disputed. If they were superstitious, they were sincerely pious, and,
consequently, honest. The descendants of these simple and single-minded
provincials have been content to reject the ordinary and artificial
means by which honours have been perpetuated in families, and have
substituted a standard which brings the individual himself to the
ordeal of the public estimation, paying as little deference as may be
to those who have gone before him. This forbearance, self-denial, or
common sense, or by whatever term it may be thought proper to
distinguish the measure, has subjected the nation to the imputation of
having an ignoble origin. Were it worth the enquiry, it would be found
that more than a just proportion of the renowned names of the
mother-country are, at this hour, to be found in her ci-devant
colonies; and it is a fact well known to the few who have wasted
sufficient time to become the masters of so unimportant a subject, that
the direct descendants of many a failing line, which the policy of
England has seen fit to sustain by collateral supporters, are now
discharging the simple duties of citizens in the bosom of this
republic. The hive has remained stationary, and they who flutter around
the venerable straw are wont to claim the empty distinction of
antiquity, regardless alike of the frailty of their tenement and of the
enjoyments of the numerous and vigorous swarms that are culling the
fresher sweets of a virgin world. But as this is a subject which
belongs rather to the politician and historian than to the humble
narrator of the homebred incidents we are about to reveal, we must
confine our reflections to such matters as have an immediate relation
to the subject of the tale.

Although the citizen of the United States may claim so just an
ancestry, he is far from being exempt from the penalties of his fallen
race. Like causes are well known to produce like effects. That tribute,
which it would seem nations must ever pay, by way of a weary probation,
around the shrine of Ceres, before they can be indulged in her fullest
favours, is in some measure exacted in America, from the descendant
instead of the ancestor. The march of civilisation with us, has a
strong analogy to that of all coming events, which are known “to cast
their shadows before.” The gradations of society, from that state which
is called refined to that which approaches as near barbarity as
connection with an intelligent people will readily allow, are to be
traced from the bosom of the States, where wealth, luxury and the arts
are beginning to seat themselves, to those distant, and ever-receding
borders which mark the skirts, and announce the approach, of the
nation, as moving mists precede the signs of day.

Here, and here only, is to be found that widely spread, though far from
numerous class, which may be at all likened to those who have paved the
way for the intellectual progress of nations, in the old world. The
resemblance between the American borderer and his European prototype is
singular, though not always uniform. Both might be called without
restraint; the one being above, the other beyond the reach of the
law—brave, because they were inured to dangers—proud, because they were
independent, and vindictive, because each was the avenger of his own
wrongs. It would be unjust to the borderer to pursue the parallel much
farther. He is irreligious, because he has inherited the knowledge that
religion does not exist in forms, and his reason rejects mockery. He is
not a knight, because he has not the power to bestow distinctions; and
he has not the power, because he is the offspring and not the parent of
a system. In what manner these several qualities are exhibited, in some
of the most strongly marked of the latter class, will be seen in the
course of the ensuing narrative.

Ishmael Bush had passed the whole of a life of more than fifty years on
the skirts of society. He boasted that he had never dwelt where he
might not safely fell every tree he could view from his own threshold;
that the law had rarely been known to enter his clearing, and that his
ears had never willingly admitted the sound of a church bell. His
exertions seldom exceeded his wants, which were peculiar to his class,
and rarely failed of being supplied. He had no respect for any learning
except that of the leech; because he was ignorant of the application of
any other intelligence than such as met the senses. His deference to
this particular branch of science had induced him to listen to the
application of a medical man, whose thirst for natural history had led
him to the desire of profiting by the migratory propensities of the
squatter. This gentleman he had cordially received into his family, or
rather under his protection, and they had journeyed together, thus far
through the prairies, in perfect harmony: Ishmael often felicitating
his wife on the possession of a companion, who would be so serviceable
in their new abode, wherever it might chance to be, until the family
were thoroughly “acclimated.” The pursuits of the naturalist frequently
led him, however, for days at a time, from the direct line of the route
of the squatter, who rarely seemed to have any other guide than the
sun. Most men would have deemed themselves fortunate to have been
absent on the perilous occasion of the Sioux inroad, as was Obed Bat,
(or as he was fond of hearing himself called, Battius,) M.D. and fellow
of several cis-Atlantic learned societies—the adventurous gentleman in
question.

Although the sluggish nature of Ishmael was not actually awakened, it
was sorely pricked by the liberties which had just been taken with his
property. He slept, however, for it was the hour he had allotted to
that refreshment, and because he knew how impotent any exertions to
recover his effects must prove in the darkness of midnight. He also
knew the danger of his present situation too well to hazard what was
left in pursuit of that which was lost. Much as the inhabitants of the
prairies were known to love horses, their attachment to many other
articles, still in the possession of the travellers, was equally well
understood. It was a common artifice to scatter the herds, and to
profit by the confusion. But Mahtoree had, as it would seem in this
particular undervalued the acuteness of the man he had assailed. The
phlegm with which the squatter learned his loss, has already been seen,
and it now remains to exhibit the results of his more matured
determinations.

Though the encampment contained many an eye that was long unclosed, and
many an ear that listened greedily to catch the faintest evidence of
any new alarm, it lay in deep quiet during the remainder of the night.
Silence and fatigue finally performed their accustomed offices, and
before the morning all but the sentinels were again buried in sleep.
How well these indolent watchers discharged their duties, after the
assault, has never been known, inasmuch as nothing occurred to confirm
or to disprove their subsequent vigilance.

Just as day, however, began to dawn, and a grey light was falling from
the heavens, on the dusky objects of the plain, the half startled,
anxious, and yet blooming countenance of Ellen Wade was reared above
the confused mass of children, among whom she had clustered on her
stolen return to the camp. Arising warily she stepped lightly across
the recumbent bodies, and proceeded with the same caution to the utmost
limits of the defences of Ishmael. Here she listened, as if she doubted
the propriety of venturing further. The pause was only momentary,
however; and long before the drowsy eyes of the sentinel, who
overlooked the spot where she stood, had time to catch a glimpse of her
active form, it had glided along the bottom, and stood on the summit of
the nearest eminence.

Ellen now listened intently anxious to catch some other sound, than the
breathing of the morning air, which faintly rustled the herbage at her
feet. She was about to turn in disappointment from the enquiry, when
the tread of human feet making their way through the matted grass met
her ear. Springing eagerly forward, she soon beheld the outlines of a
figure advancing up the eminence, on the side opposite to the camp. She
had already uttered the name of Paul, and was beginning to speak in the
hurried and eager voice with which female affection is apt to greet a
friend, when, drawing back, the disappointed girl closed her salutation
by coldly adding—“I did not expect, Doctor, to meet you at this unusual
hour.”

“All hours and all seasons are alike, my good Ellen, to the genuine
lover of nature,”—returned a small, slightly made, but exceedingly
active man, dressed in an odd mixture of cloth and skins, a little past
the middle age, and who advanced directly to her side, with the
familiarity of an old acquaintance; “and he who does not know how to
find things to admire by this grey light, is ignorant of a large
portion of the blessings he enjoys.”

“Very true,” said Ellen, suddenly recollecting the necessity of
accounting for her own appearance abroad at that unseasonable hour; “I
know many who think the earth has a pleasanter look in the night, than
when seen by the brightest sunshine.”

“Ah! Their organs of sight must be too convex! But the man who wishes
to study the active habits of the feline race, or the variety, albinos,
must, indeed, be stirring at this hour. I dare say, there are men who
prefer even looking at objects by twilight, for the simple reason, that
they see better at that time of the day.”

“And is this the cause why you are so much abroad in the night?”

“I am abroad at night, my good girl, because the earth in its diurnal
revolutions leaves the light of the sun but half the time on any given
meridian, and because what I have to do cannot be performed in twelve
or fifteen consecutive hours. Now have I been off two days from the
family, in search of a plant, that is known to exist on the tributaries
of La Platte, without seeing even a blade of grass that is not already
enumerated and classed.”

“You have been unfortunate, Doctor, but—”

“Unfortunate!” echoed the little man, sideling nigher to his companion,
and producing his tablets with an air in which exultation struggled,
strangely, with an affectation of self-abasement. “No, no, Ellen, I am
any thing but unfortunate. Unless, indeed, a man may be so called,
whose fortune is made, whose fame may be said to be established for
ever, whose name will go down to posterity with that of Buffon—Buffon!
a mere compiler: one who flourishes on the foundation of other men’s
labours. No; pari passu with Solander, who bought his knowledge with
pain and privations!”

“Have you discovered a mine, Doctor Bat?”

“More than a mine; a treasure coined, and fit for instant use,
girl.—Listen! I was making the angle necessary to intersect the line of
your uncle’s march, after my fruitless search, when I heard sounds like
the explosion produced by fire arms—”

“Yes,” exclaimed Ellen, eagerly, “we had an alarm—”

“And thought I was lost,” continued the man of science too much bent on
his own ideas, to understand her interruption. “Little danger of that!
I made my own base, knew the length of the perpendicular by
calculation, and to draw the hypothenuse had nothing to do but to work
my angle. I supposed the guns were fired for my benefit, and changed my
course for the sounds—not that I think the sense more accurate, or even
as accurate as a mathematical calculation, but I feared that some of
the children might need my services.”

“They are all happily—”

“Listen,” interrupted the other, already forgetting his affected
anxiety for his patients, in the greater importance of the present
subject. “I had crossed a large tract of prairie—for sound is conveyed
far where there is little obstruction—when I heard the trampling of
feet, as if bisons were beating the earth. Then I caught a distant view
of a herd of quadrupeds, rushing up and down the swells—animals, which
would have still remained unknown and undescribed, had it not been for
a most felicitous accident! One, and he a noble specimen of the whole!
was running a little apart from the rest. The herd made an inclination
in my direction, in which the solitary animal coincided, and this
brought him within fifty yards of the spot where I stood. I profited by
the opportunity, and by the aid of steel and taper, I wrote his
description on the spot. I would have given a thousand dollars, Ellen,
for a single shot from the rifle of one of the boys!”

“You carry a pistol, Doctor, why didn’t you use it?” said the half
inattentive girl, anxiously examining the prairie, but still lingering
where she stood, quite willing to be detained.

“Ay, but it carries nothing but the most minute particles of lead,
adapted to the destruction of the larger insects and reptiles. No, I
did better than to attempt waging a war, in which I could not be the
victor. I recorded the event; noting each particular with the precision
necessary to science. You shall hear, Ellen; for you are a good and
improving girl, and by retaining what you learn in this way, may yet be
of great service to learning, should any accident occur to me. Indeed,
my worthy Ellen, mine is a pursuit, which has its dangers as well as
that of the warrior. This very night,” he continued, glancing his eye
behind him, “this awful night, has the principle of life, itself, been
in great danger of extinction!”

“By what?”

“By the monster I have discovered. It approached me often, and ever as
I receded, it continued to advance. I believe nothing but the little
lamp, I carried, was my protector. I kept it between us, whilst I
wrote, making it serve the double purpose of luminary and shield. But
you shall hear the character of the beast, and you may then judge of
the risks we promoters of science run in behalf of mankind.”

The naturalist raised his tablets to the heavens, and disposed himself
to read as well as he could, by the dim light they yet shed upon the
plain; premising with saying—

“Listen, girl, and you shall hear, with what a treasure it has been my
happy lot to enrich the pages of natural history!”

“Is it then a creature of your forming?” said Ellen, turning away from
her fruitless examination, with a sudden lighting of her sprightly blue
eyes, that showed she knew how to play with the foible of her learned
companion.

“Is the power to give life to inanimate matter the gift of man? I would
it were! You should speedily see a Historia Naturalis Americana, that
would put the sneering imitators of the Frenchman, De Buffon, to shame!
A great improvement might be made in the formation of all quadrupeds;
especially those in which velocity is a virtue. Two of the inferior
limbs should be on the principle of the lever; wheels, perhaps, as they
are now formed; though I have not yet determined whether the
improvement might be better applied to the anterior or posterior
members, inasmuch as I am yet to learn whether dragging or shoving
requires the greatest muscular exertion. A natural exudation of the
animal might assist in overcoming the friction, and a powerful momentum
be obtained. But all this is hopeless—at least for the present!”—he
added, raising his tablets again to the light, and reading aloud; “Oct.
6, 1805. that’s merely the date, which I dare say you know better than
I—Mem. _Quadruped;_ seen by star-light, and by the aid of a
pocket-lamp, in the prairies of North America—see Journal for Latitude
and Meridian. Genus—unknown; therefore named after the discoverer, and
from the happy coincidence of being seen in the evening—_Vespertilio
Horribilis, Americanus. Dimensions_ (by estimation)—_greatest length_,
eleven feet; _height_, six feet; _head_, erect; _nostrils_, expansive;
_eyes_, expressive and fierce; _teeth_, serrated and abundant; _tail_,
horizontal, waving, and slightly feline; _feet_, large and hairy;
_talons_, long, curvated, dangerous; _ears_, inconspicuous; _horns_,
elongated, diverging, and formidable; _colour_, plumbeous-ashy, with
fiery spots; _voice_, sonorous, martial, and appalling; _habits_,
gregarious, carnivorous, fierce, and fearless. There,” exclaimed Obed,
when he had ended this sententious but comprehensive description,
“there is an animal, which will be likely to dispute with the lion his
title to be called the king of the beasts!”

“I know not the meaning of all you have said, Doctor Battius,” returned
the quick-witted girl, who understood the weakness of the philosopher,
and often indulged him with a title he loved so well to hear; “but I
shall think it dangerous to venture far from the camp, if such monsters
are prowling over the prairies.”

“You may well call it prowling,” returned the naturalist, nestling
still closer to her side, and dropping his voice to such low and
undignified tones of confidence, as conveyed a meaning still more
pointed than he had intended. “I have never before experienced such a
trial of the nervous system; there was a moment, I acknowledge, when
the _fortiter in re_ faltered before so terrible an enemy; but the love
of natural science bore me up, and brought me off in triumph!”

“You speak a language so different from that we use in Tennessee,” said
Ellen, struggling to conceal her laughter, “that I hardly know whether
I understand your meaning. If I am right, you wish to say you were
chicken-hearted.”

“An absurd simile drawn from an ignorance of the formation of the
biped. The heart of a chicken has a just proportion to its other
organs, and the domestic fowl is, in a state of nature, a gallant bird.
Ellen,” he added, with a countenance so solemn as to produce an
impression on the attentive girl, “I was pursued, hunted, and in a
danger that I scorn to dwell on—what’s that?”

Ellen started; for the earnestness and simple sincerity of her
companion’s manner had produced a certain degree of credulity, even on
her buoyant mind. Looking in the direction indicated by the Doctor, she
beheld, in fact, a beast coursing over the prairie, and making a
straight and rapid approach to the very spot they occupied. The day was
not yet sufficiently advanced to enable her to distinguish its form and
character, though enough was discernible to induce her to imagine it a
fierce and savage animal.

“It comes! it comes!” exclaimed the Doctor, fumbling, by a sort of
instinct, for his tablets, while he fairly tottered on his feet under
the powerful efforts he made to maintain his ground. “Now, Ellen, has
fortune given me an opportunity to correct the errors made by
star-light,—hold,—ashy-plumbeous,—no ears,—horns, excessive.” His voice
and hand were both arrested by a roar, or rather a shriek from the
beast, that was sufficiently terrific to appal even a stouter heart
than that of the naturalist. The cries of the animal passed over the
prairie in strange cadences, and then succeeded a deep and solemn
silence, that was only broken by an uncontrolled fit of merriment from
the more musical voice of Ellen Wade. In the mean time the naturalist
stood like a statue of amazement, permitting a well-grown ass, against
whose approach he no longer offered his boasted shield of light, to
smell about his person, without comment or hinderance.

“It is your own ass,” cried Ellen, the instant she found breath for
words; “your own patient, hard working, hack!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes from the beast to the speaker, and from the
speaker to the beast; but gave no audible expression of his wonder.

“Do you refuse to know an animal that has laboured so long in your
service?” continued the laughing girl. “A beast, that I have heard you
say a thousand times, has served you well, and whom you loved like a
brother!”

“Asinus Domesticus!” ejaculated the Doctor, drawing his breath like one
who had been near suffocation. “There is no doubt of the genus; and I
will always maintain that the animal is not of the species, equus. This
is undeniably Asinus himself, Ellen Wade; but this is not the
Vespertilio Horribilis of the prairies! Very different animals, I can
assure you, young woman, and differently characterized in every
important particular. That, carnivorous,” he continued, glancing his
eye at the open page of his tablets; “this, granivorous; habits,
fierce, dangerous; habits, patient, abstemious; ears, inconspicuous;
ears, elongated; horns, diverging, &c., horns, none!”

He was interrupted by another burst of merriment from Ellen, which
served, in some measure, to recall him to his recollection.

“The image of the Vespertilio was on the retina,” the astounded
enquirer into the secrets of nature observed, in a manner that seemed a
little apologetic, “and I was silly enough to mistake my own faithful
beast for the monster. Though even now I greatly marvel to see this
animal running at large!”

Ellen then proceeded to explain the history of the attack and its
results. She described, with an accuracy that might have raised
suspicions of her own movements in the mind of one less simple than her
auditor, the manner in which the beasts burst out of the encampment,
and the headlong speed with which they had dispersed themselves over
the open plain. Although she forebore to say as much in terms, she so
managed as to present before the eyes of her listener the strong
probability of his having mistaken the frightened drove for savage
beasts, and then terminated her account by a lamentation for their
loss, and some very natural remarks on the helpless condition in which
it had left the family. The naturalist listened in silent wonder,
neither interrupting her narrative nor suffering a single exclamation
of surprise to escape him. The keen-eyed girl, however, saw that as she
proceeded, the important leaf was torn from the tablets, in a manner
which showed that their owner had got rid of his delusion at the same
instant. From that moment the world has heard no more of the
Vespertilio Horribilis Americanus, and the natural sciences have
irretrievably lost an important link in that great animated chain which
is said to connect earth and heaven, and in which man is thought to be
so familiarly complicated with the monkey.

When Dr. Bat was put in full possession of all the circumstances of the
inroad, his concern immediately took a different direction. He had left
sundry folios, and certain boxes well stored with botanical specimens
and defunct animals, under the good keeping of Ishmael, and it
immediately struck his acute mind, that marauders as subtle as the
Siouxes would never neglect the opportunity to despoil him of these
treasures. Nothing that Ellen could say to the contrary served to
appease his apprehensions, and, consequently, they separated; he to
relieve his doubts and fears together, and she to glide, as swiftly and
silently as she had just before passed it, into the still and solitary
tent.




CHAPTER VII


What! fifty of my followers, at a clap!
                    —Lear.


The day had now fairly opened on the seemingly interminable waste of
the prairie. The entrance of Obed at such a moment into the camp,
accompanied as it was by vociferous lamentations over his anticipated
loss, did not fail to rouse the drowsy family of the squatter. Ishmael
and his sons, together with the forbidding looking brother of his wife,
were all speedily afoot; and then, as the sun began to shed his light
on the place, they became gradually apprised of the extent of their
loss.

Ishmael looked round upon the motionless and heavily loaded vehicles
with his teeth firmly compressed, cast a glance at the amazed and
helpless group of children, which clustered around their sullen but
desponding mother, and walked out upon the open land, as if he found
the air of the encampment too confined. He was followed by several of
the men, who were attentive observers, watching the dark expression of
his eye as the index of their own future movements. The whole proceeded
in profound and moody silence to the summit of the nearest swell,
whence they could command an almost boundless view of the naked plains.
Here nothing was visible but a solitary buffaloe, that gleaned a meagre
subsistence from the decaying herbage, at no great distance, and the
ass of the physician, who profited by his freedom to enjoy a meal
richer than common.

“Yonder is one of the creatures left by the villains to mock us,” said
Ishmael, glancing his eye towards the latter, “and that the meanest of
the stock. This is a hard country to make a crop in, boys; and yet food
must be found to fill many hungry mouths!”

“The rifle is better than the hoe, in such a place as this,” returned
the eldest of his sons, kicking the hard and thirsty soil on which he
stood, with an air of contempt. “It is good for such as they who make
their dinner better on beggars’ beans than on homminy. A crow would
shed tears if obliged by its errand to fly across the district.”

“What say you, trapper?” returned the father, showing the slight
impression his powerful heel had made on the compact earth, and
laughing with frightful ferocity. “Is this the quality of land a man
would choose who never troubles the county clerk with title deeds?”

“There is richer soil in the bottoms,” returned the old man calmly,
“and you have passed millions of acres to get to this dreary spot,
where he who loves to till the ’arth might have received bushels in
return for pints, and that too at the cost of no very grievous labour.
If you have come in search of land, you have journeyed hundreds of
miles too far, or as many leagues too little.”

“There is then a better choice towards the other Ocean?” demanded the
squatter, pointing in the direction of the Pacific.

“There is, and I have seen it all,” was the answer of the other, who
dropped his rifle to the earth, and stood leaning on its barrel, like
one who recalled the scenes he had witnessed with melancholy pleasure.
“I have seen the waters of the two seas! On one of them was I born, and
raised to be a lad like yonder tumbling boy. America has grown, my men,
since the days of my youth, to be a country larger than I once had
thought the world itself to be. Near seventy years I dwelt in York,
province and state together:—you’ve been in York, ’tis like?”

“Not I—not I; I never visited the towns; but often have heard the place
you speak of named. ’Tis a wide clearing there, I reckon.”

“Too wide! too wide! They scourge the very ’arth with their axes. Such
hills and hunting-grounds as I have seen stripped of the gifts of the
Lord, without remorse or shame! I tarried till the mouths of my hounds
were deafened by the blows of the chopper, and then I came west in
search of quiet. It was a grievous journey that I made; a grievous toil
to pass through falling timber and to breathe the thick air of smoky
clearings, week after week, as I did! ’Tis a far country too, that
state of York from this!”

“It lies ag’in the outer edge of old Kentuck, I reckon; though what the
distance may be I never knew.”

“A gull would have to fan a thousand miles of air to find the eastern
sea. And yet it is no mighty reach to hunt across, when shade and game
are plenty! The time has been when I followed the deer in the mountains
of the Delaware and Hudson, and took the beaver on the streams of the
upper lakes in the same season, but my eye was quick and certain at
that day, and my limbs were like the legs of a moose! The dam of
Hector,” dropping his look kindly to the aged hound that crouched at
his feet, “was then a pup, and apt to open on the game the moment she
struck the scent. She gave me a deal of trouble, that slut, she did!”

“Your hound is old, stranger, and a rap on the head would prove a mercy
to the beast.”

“The dog is like his master,” returned the trapper, without appearing
to heed the brutal advice the other gave, “and will number his days,
when his work amongst the game is over, and not before. To my eye
things seem ordered to meet each other in this creation. ’Tis not the
swiftest running deer that always throws off the hounds, nor the
biggest arm that holds the truest rifle. Look around you, men; what
will the Yankee Choppers say, when they have cut their path from the
eastern to the western waters, and find that a hand, which can lay the
’arth bare at a blow, has been here and swept the country, in very
mockery of their wickedness. They will turn on their tracks like a fox
that doubles, and then the rank smell of their own footsteps will show
them the madness of their waste. Howsomever, these are thoughts that
are more likely to rise in him who has seen the folly of eighty
seasons, than to teach wisdom to men still bent on the pleasures of
their kind! You have need, yet, of a stirring time, if you think to
escape the craft and hatred of the burnt-wood Indians. They claim to be
the lawful owners of this country, and seldom leave a white more than
the skin he boasts of, when once they get the power, as they always
have the will, to do him harm.”

“Old man,” said Ishmael sternly, “to which people do you belong? You
have the colour and speech of a Christian, while it seems that your
heart is with the redskins.”

“To me there is little difference in nations. The people I loved most
are scattered as the sands of the dry river-beds fly before the fall
hurricanes, and life is too short to make use and custom with
strangers, as one can do with such as he has dwelt amongst for years.
Still am I a man without the cross of Indian blood; and what is due
from a warrior to his nation, is owing by me to the people of the
States; though little need have they, with their militia and their
armed boats, of help from a single arm of fourscore.”

“Since you own your kin, I may ask a simple question. Where are the
Siouxes who have stolen my cattle?”

“Where is the herd of buffaloes, which was chased by the panther across
this plain, no later than the morning of yesterday? It is as hard—”

“Friend,” said Dr. Battius, who had hitherto been an attentive
listener, but who now felt a sudden impulse to mingle in the discourse,
“I am grieved when I find a venator or hunter, of your experience and
observation, following the current of vulgar error. The animal you
describe is in truth a species of the bos ferus, (or bos sylvestris, as
he has been happily called by the poets,) but, though of close
affinity, it is altogether distinct from the common bubulus. Bison is
the better word; and I would suggest the necessity of adopting it in
future, when you shall have occasion to allude to the species.”

“Bison or buffaloe, it makes but little matter. The creatur’ is the
same, call it by what name you will, and—”

“Pardon me, venerable venator; as classification is the very soul of
the natural sciences, the animal or vegetable must, of necessity, be
characterised by the peculiarities of its species, which is always
indicated by the name—”

“Friend,” said the trapper, a little positively, “would the tail of a
beaver make the worse dinner for calling it a mink; or could you eat of
the wolf, with relish, because some bookish man had given it the name
of venison?”

As these questions were put with no little earnestness and some spirit,
there was every probability that a hot discussion would have succeeded
between two men, of whom one was so purely practical and the other so
much given to theory, had not Ishmael seen fit to terminate the
dispute, by bringing into view a subject that was much more important
to his own immediate interests.

“Beavers’ tails and minks’ flesh may do to talk about before a maple
fire and a quiet hearth,” interrupted the squatter, without the
smallest deference to the interested feelings of the disputants; “but
something more than foreign words, or words of any sort, is now needed.
Tell me, trapper, where are your Siouxes skulking?”

“It would be as easy to tell you the colours of the hawk that is
floating beneath yonder white cloud! When a red-skin strikes his blow,
he is not apt to wait until he is paid for the evil deed in lead.”

“Will the beggarly savages believe they have enough, when they find
themselves master of all the stock?”

“Natur’ is much the same, let it be covered by what skin it may. Do you
ever find your longings after riches less when you have made a good
crop, than before you were master of a kernel of corn? If you do, you
differ from what the experience of a long life tells me is the common
cravings of man.”

“Speak plainly, old stranger,” said the squatter, striking the butt of
his rifle heavily on the earth, his dull capacity finding no pleasure
in a discourse that was conducted in so obscure allusions; “I have
asked a simple question, and one I know well that you can answer.”

“You are right, you are right. I can answer, for I have too often seen
the disposition of my kind to mistake it, when evil is stirring. When
the Siouxes have gathered in the beasts, and have made sure that you
are not upon their heels, they will be back nibbling like hungry wolves
to take the bait they have left or it may be, they’ll show the temper
of the great bears, that are found at the falls of the Long River, and
strike at once with the paw, without stopping to nose their prey.”

“You have then seen the animals you mention!” exclaimed Dr. Battius,
who had now been thrown out of the conversation quite as long as his
impatience could well brook, and who approached the subject with his
tablets ready opened, as a book of reference. “Can you tell me if what
you encountered was of the species, ursus horribilis—with the ears,
rounded—front, arquated—eyes—destitute of the remarkable supplemental
lid—with six incisores, one false, and four perfect molares—”

“Trapper, go on, for we are engaged in reasonable discourse,”
interrupted Ishmael; “you believe we shall see more of the robbers.”

“Nay—nay—I do not call them robbers, for it is the usage of their
people, and what may be called the prairie law.”

“I have come five hundred miles to find a place where no man can ding
the words of the law in my ears,” said Ishmael, fiercely, “and I am not
in a humour to stand quietly at a bar, while a red-skin sits in
judgment. I tell you, trapper, if another Sioux is seen prowling around
my camp, wherever it may be, he shall feel the contents of old
Kentuck,” slapping his rifle, in a manner that could not be easily
misconstrued, “though he wore the medal of Washington,[11] himself. I
call the man a robber who takes that which is not his own.”

“The Teton, and the Pawnee, and the Konza, and men of a dozen other
tribes, claim to own these naked fields.”

“Natur’ gives them the lie in their teeth. The air, the water, and the
ground, are free gifts to man, and no one has the power to portion them
out in parcels. Man must drink, and breathe, and walk,—and therefore
each has a right to his share of ’arth. Why do not the surveyors of the
States set their compasses and run their lines over our heads as well
as beneath our feet? Why do they not cover their shining sheep-skins
with big words, giving to the landholder, or perhaps he should be
called air holder, so many rods of heaven, with the use of such a star
for a boundary-mark, and such a cloud to turn a mill?”

As the squatter uttered his wild conceit, he laughed from the very
bottom of his chest, in scorn. The deriding but frightful merriment
passed from the mouth of one of his ponderous sons to that of the
other, until it had made the circuit of the whole family.

“Come, trapper,” continued Ishmael, in a tone of better humour, like a
man who feels that he has triumphed, “neither of us, I reckon, has ever
had much to do with title-deeds, or county clerks, or blazed trees;
therefore we will not waste words on fooleries. You ar’ a man that has
tarried long in this clearing, and now I ask your opinion, face to
face, without fear or favour, if you had the lead in my business, what
would you do?”

The old man hesitated, and seemed to give the required advice with deep
reluctance. As every eye, however, was fastened on him, and whichever
way he turned his face, he encountered a look riveted on the lineaments
of his own working countenance, he answered in a low, melancholy, tone—

“I have seen too much mortal blood poured out in empty quarrels, to
wish ever to hear an angry rifle again. Ten weary years have I
sojourned alone on these naked plains, waiting for my hour, and not a
blow have I struck ag’in an enemy more humanised than the grizzly
bear.”

“Ursus horribilis,” muttered the Doctor.

The speaker paused at the sound of the other’s voice, but perceiving it
was no more than a sort of mental ejaculation, he continued in the same
strain—

“More humanised than the grizzly hear, or the panther of the Rocky
Mountains; unless the beaver, which is a wise and knowing animal, may
be so reckoned. What would I advise? Even the female buffaloe will
fight for her young!”

“It never then shall be said, that Ishmael Bush has less kindness for
his children than the bear for her cubs!”

“And yet this is but a naked spot for a dozen men to make head in,
ag’in five hundred.”

“Ay, it is so,” returned the squatter, glancing his eye towards his
humble camp; “but something might be done, with the wagons and the
cotton-wood.”

The trapper shook his head incredulously, and pointed across the
rolling plain in the direction of the west, as he answered—

“A rifle would send a bullet from these hills into your very
sleeping-cabins; nay, arrows from the thicket in your rear would keep
you all burrowed, like so many prairie dogs: it wouldn’t do, it
wouldn’t do. Three long miles from this spot is a place, where as I
have often thought in passing across the desert, a stand might be made
for days and weeks together, if there were hearts and hands ready to
engage in the bloody work.”

Another low, deriding laugh passed among the young men, announcing, in
a manner sufficiently intelligible, their readiness to undertake a task
even more arduous. The squatter himself eagerly seized the hint which
had been so reluctantly extorted from the trapper, who by some singular
process of reasoning had evidently persuaded himself that it was his
duty to be strictly neutral. A few direct and pertinent enquiries
served to obtain the little additional information that was necessary,
in order to make the contemplated movement, and then Ishmael, who was,
on emergencies, as terrifically energetic, as he was sluggish in
common, set about effecting his object without delay.

Notwithstanding the industry and zeal of all engaged, the task was one
of great labour and difficulty. The loaded vehicles were to be drawn by
hand across a wide distance of plain without track or guide of any
sort, except that which the trapper furnished by communicating his
knowledge of the cardinal points of the compass. In accomplishing this
object, the gigantic strength of the men was taxed to the utmost, nor
were the females or the children spared a heavy proportion of the toil.
While the sons distributed themselves about the heavily loaded wagons,
and drew them by main strength up the neighbouring swell, their mother
and Ellen, surrounded by the amazed group of little ones, followed
slowly in the rear, bending under the weight of such different articles
as were suited to their several strengths.

Ishmael himself superintended and directed the whole, occasionally
applying his colossal shoulder to some lagging vehicle, until he saw
that the chief difficulty, that of gaining the level of their intended
route, was accomplished. Then he pointed out the required course,
cautioning his sons to proceed in such a manner that they should not
lose the advantage they had with so much labour obtained, and beckoning
to the brother of his wife, they returned together to the empty camp.

Throughout the whole of this movement, which occupied an hour of time,
the trapper had stood apart, leaning on his rifle, with the aged hound
slumbering at his feet, a silent but attentive observer of all that
passed. Occasionally, a smile lighted his hard, muscular, but wasted
features, like a gleam of sunshine flitting across a ragged ruin, and
betrayed the momentary pleasure he found in witnessing from time to
time the vast power the youths discovered. Then, as the train drew
slowly up the ascent, a cloud of thought and sorrow threw all into the
shade again, leaving the expression of his countenance in its usual
state of quiet melancholy. As vehicle after vehicle left the place of
the encampment, he noted the change, with increasing attention; seldom
failing to cast an enquiring look at the little neglected tent, which,
with its proper wagon, still remained as before, solitary and
apparently forgotten. The summons of Ishmael to his gloomy associate
had, however, as it would now seem, this hitherto neglected portion of
his effects for its object.

First casting a cautious and suspicious glance on every side of him,
the squatter and his companion advanced to the little wagon, and caused
it to enter within the folds of the cloth, much in the manner that it
had been extricated the preceding evening. They both then disappeared
behind the drapery, and many moments of suspense succeeded, during
which the old man, secretly urged by a burning desire to know the
meaning of so much mystery, insensibly drew nigh to the place, until he
stood within a few yards of the proscribed spot. The agitation of the
cloth betrayed the nature of the occupation of those whom it concealed,
though their work was conducted in rigid silence. It would appear that
long practice had made each of the two acquainted with his particular
duty; for neither sign nor direction of any sort was necessary from
Ishmael, in order to apprise his surly associate of the manner in which
he was to proceed. In less time than has been consummated in relating
it, the interior portion of the arrangement was completed, when the men
re-appeared without the tent. Too busy with his occupation to heed the
presence of the trapper, Ishmael began to release the folds of the
cloth from the ground, and to dispose of them in such a manner around
the vehicle, as to form a sweeping train to the new form the little
pavilion had now assumed. The arched roof trembled with the occasional
movement of the light vehicle which, it was now apparent, once more
supported its secret burden. Just as the work was ended the scowling
eye of Ishmael’s assistant caught a glimpse of the figure of the
attentive observer of their movements. Dropping the shaft, which he had
already lifted from the ground preparatory to occupying the place that
was usually filled by an animal less reasoning and perhaps less
dangerous than himself, he bluntly exclaimed—

“I am a fool, as you often say! But look for yourself: if that man is
not an enemy, I will disgrace father and mother, call myself an Indian,
and go hunt with the Siouxes!”

The cloud, as it is about to discharge the subtle lightning, is not
more dark nor threatening, than the look with which Ishmael greeted the
intruder. He turned his head on every side of him, as if seeking some
engine sufficiently terrible to annihilate the offending trapper at a
blow; and then, possibly recollecting the further occasion he might
have for his counsel, he forced himself to say, with an appearance of
moderation that nearly choked him—

“Stranger, I did believe this prying into the concerns of others was
the business of women in the towns and settlements, and not the manner
in which men, who are used to live where each has room for himself,
deal with the secrets of their neighbours. To what lawyer or sheriff do
you calculate to sell your news?”

“I hold but little discourse except with one and then chiefly of my own
affairs,” returned the old man, without the least observable
apprehension, and pointing imposingly upward; “a Judge; and Judge of
all. Little does he need knowledge from my hands, and but little will
your wish to keep any thing secret from him profit you, even in this
desert.”

The mounting tempers of his unnurtured listeners were rebuked by the
simple, solemn manner of the trapper. Ishmael stood sullen and
thoughtful; while his companion stole a furtive and involuntary glance
at the placid sky, which spread so wide and blue above his head, as if
he expected to see the Almighty eye itself beaming from the heavenly
vault. But impressions of a serious character are seldom lasting on
minds long indulged in forgetfulness. The hesitation of the squatter
was consequently of short duration. The language, however, as well as
the firm and collected air of the speaker, were the means of preventing
much subsequent abuse, if not violence.

“It would be showing more of the kindness of a friend and comrade,”
Ishmael returned, in a tone sufficiently sullen to betray his humour,
though it was no longer threatening, “had your shoulder been put to the
wheel of one of yonder wagons, instead of edging itself in here, where
none are wanted but such as are invited.”

“I can put the little strength that is left me,” returned the trapper,
“to this, as well as to another of your loads.”

“Do you take us for boys!” exclaimed Ishmael, laughing, half in
ferocity and half in derision, applying his powerful strength at the
same time to the little vehicle, which rolled over the grass with as
much seeming facility as if it were drawn by its usual team.

The trapper paused, and followed the departing wagon with his eye,
marvelling greatly as to the nature of its concealed contents, until it
had also gained the summit of the eminence, and in its turn disappeared
behind the swell of the land. Then he turned to gaze at the desolation
of the scene around him. The absence of human forms would have scarce
created a sensation in the bosom of one so long accustomed to solitude,
had not the site of the deserted camp furnished such strong memorials
of its recent visitors, and as the old man was quick to detect, of
their waste also. He cast his eye upwards, with a shake of the head, at
the vacant spot in the heavens which had so lately been filled by the
branches of those trees that now lay stripped of their verdure,
worthless and deserted logs, at his feet.

“Ay,” he muttered to himself, “I might have know’d it—I might have
know’d it! Often have I seen the same before; and yet I brought them to
the spot myself, and have now sent them to the only neighbourhood of
their kind within many long leagues of the spot where I stand. This is
man’s wish, and pride, and waste, and sinfulness! He tames the beasts
of the field to feed his idle wants; and, having robbed the brutes of
their natural food, he teaches them to strip the ’arth of its trees to
quiet their hunger.”

A rustling in the low bushes which still grew, for some distance, along
the swale that formed the thicket on which the camp of Ishmael had
rested, caught his ear, at the moment, and cut short the soliloquy. The
habits of so many years, spent in the wilderness, caused the old man to
bring his rifle to a poise, with something like the activity and
promptitude of his youth; but, suddenly recovering his recollection, he
dropped it into the hollow of his arm again, and resumed his air of
melancholy resignation.

“Come forth, come forth!” he said aloud: “be ye bird, or be ye beast,
ye are safe from these old hands. I have eaten and I have drunk: why
should I take life, when my wants call for no sacrifice? It will not be
long afore the birds will peck at eyes that shall not see them, and
perhaps light on my very bones; for if things like these are only made
to perish, why am I to expect to live for ever? Come forth, come forth;
you are safe from harm at these weak hands.”

“Thank you for the good word, old trapper!” cried Paul Hover, springing
actively forward from his place of concealment. “There was an air about
you, when you threw forward the muzzle of the piece, that I did not
like; for it seemed to say that you were master of all the rest of the
motions.”

“You are right, you are right!” cried the trapper, laughing with inward
self-complacency at the recollection of his former skill. “The day has
been when few men knew the virtues of a long rifle, like this I carry,
better than myself, old and useless as I now seem. You are right, young
man; and the time was, when it was dangerous to move a leaf within
ear-shot of my stand; or,” he added, dropping his voice, and looking
serious, “for a Red Mingo to show an eyeball from his ambushment. You
have heard of the Red Mingos?”

“I have heard of minks,” said Paul, taking the old man by the arm, and
gently urging him towards the thicket as he spoke; while, at the same
time, he cast quick and uneasy glances behind him, in order to make
sure he was not observed. “Of your common black minks; but none of any
other colour.”

“Lord! Lord!” continued the trapper, shaking his head, and still
laughing, in his deep but quiet manner; “the boy mistakes a brute for a
man! Though, a Mingo is little better than a beast; or, for that
matter, he is worse, when rum and opportunity are placed before his
eyes. There was that accursed Huron, from the upper lakes, that I
knocked from his perch among the rocks in the hills, back of the Hori—”

His voice was lost in the thicket, into which he had suffered himself
to be led by Paul while speaking, too much occupied by thoughts which
dwelt on scenes and acts that had taken place half a century earlier in
the history of the country, to offer the smallest resistance.

 [11] The American government creates chiefs among the western tribes,
 and decorates them with silver medals bearing the impression of the
 different presidents. That of Washington is the most prized.




CHAPTER VIII


Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That
dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy,
doting, foolish young knave in his helm.
                    —Troilus and Cressida.


It is necessary, in order that the thread of the narrative should not
be spun to a length which might fatigue the reader, that he should
imagine a week to have intervened between the scene with which the
preceding chapter closed and the events with which it is our intention
to resume its relation in this. The season was on the point of changing
its character; the verdure of summer giving place more rapidly to the
brown and party-coloured livery of the fall.[12] The heavens were
clothed in driving clouds, piled in vast masses one above the other,
which whirled violently in the gusts; opening, occasionally, to admit
transient glimpses of the bright and glorious sight of the heavens,
dwelling in a magnificence by far too grand and durable to be disturbed
by the fitful efforts of the lower world. Beneath, the wind swept
across the wild and naked prairies, with a violence that is seldom
witnessed in any section of the continent less open. It would have been
easy to have imagined, in the ages of fable, that the god of the winds
had permitted his subordinate agents to escape from their den, and that
they now rioted, in wantonness, across wastes, where neither tree, nor
work of man, nor mountain, nor obstacle of any sort, opposed itself to
their gambols.

Though nakedness might, as usual, be given as the pervading char

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