The young ones can take care of themselves, replied the chief somewhat sternly. We know not what Manitou thinks. It is our business to live as long as we can. If you cannot ride, mother, I will carry you. Often you have carried me when I could not ride.
It is difficult to guess why Whitewing dropped his poetical language, and spoke in this matter-of-fact and sharp manner. Great thoughts had been swelling in his bosom for some time past, and perchance he was affected by the suggestion that the cruel practice of deserting the aged was not altogether unknown in his tribe. It may be that the supposition of his being capable of such cruelty nettled him. At all events, he said nothing more except to tell his mother to be ready to start at once.
The old woman herself, who seemed to be relieved that her proposition was not favourably received, began to obey her sons directions by throwing a gay-coloured handkerchief over her head, and tying it under her chin. She then fastened her moccasins more securely on her feet, wrapped a woollen kerchief round her shoulders, and drew a large green blanket around her, strapping it to her person by means of a broad strip of deerskin. Having made these simple preparations for whatever journey lay before her, she warmed her withered old hands over the embers of the wood fire, and awaited her sons pleasure.
Meanwhile that son went outside to see the preparations for flight carried into effect.
Were all ready, said Little Tim, whom he met not far from the wigwam. Horses and dogs down in the hollow; Brighteyes an a lot o youngsters lookin after them. All you want now is to get hold o her, and be off; an the sooner the better, for Blackfoot warriors dont take long to get over scares an find out mistakes. But Im most troubled about the old woman. Shell niver be able to stand it.
To this Whitewing paid little attention. In truth, his mind seemed to be taken up with other thoughts, and his friend was not much surprised, having come, as we have seen, to the conclusion that the Indian was under a temporary spell for which woman was answerable.
Is my horse at hand? asked Whitewing.
Ay, down by the creek, all ready.
And my brothers horse?
Ready too, at the same place; but well want another good unfor her, you know, said Tim suggestively.
Let the horses be brought to my wigwam, returned Whitewing, either not understanding or disregarding the last remark.
The trapper was slightly puzzled, but, coming to the wise conclusion that his friend knew his own affairs best, and had, no doubt, made all needful preparations, he went off quietly to fetch the horses, while the Indian returned to the wigwam. In a few minutes Little Tim stood before the door, holding the bridles of the two horses.
Immediately afterwards a little Indian boy ran up with a third and somewhat superior horse, and halted beside him.
Ha! thats it at last. The horse for her, said the trapper to himself with some satisfaction; I knowed that Whitewing would have everything straighteven though he is in a raither stumped condition just now.
As he spoke, Brighteyes ran towards the wigwam, and looked in at the door. Next moment she went to the steed which Little Tim had, in his own mind, set aside for her, and vaulted into the saddle as a young deer might have done, had it taken to riding.
Of course Tim was greatly puzzled, and forced to admit a second time that he had over-estimated his own cleverness, and was again off the scent. Before his mind had a chance of being cleared up, the skin curtain of the wigwam was raised, and Whitewing stepped out with a bundle in his arms. He gave it to Little Tim to hold while he mounted his somewhat restive horse, and then the trapper became awarefrom certain squeaky sounds, and a pair of eyes that glittered among the folds of the bundle that he held the old woman in his arms!
I say, Whitewing, he said remonstratively, as he handed up the bundle, which the Indian received tenderly in his left arm, most of the camp has started. In quarter of an hour or so therell be none left. Dont ee think its about time to look after her?
Whitewing looked at the trapper with a perplexed expressiona look which did not quite depart after his friend had mounted, and was riding through the half-deserted camp beside him.
Now, Whitewing, said the trapper, with some decision of tone and manner, Im quite as able as you are to carry that old critter. If youll make her over to me, youll be better able to look after her, you know. Eh?
My brother speaks strangely to-day, replied the chief. His words are hidden from his Indian friend. What does he mean by her?
Well, well, now, ye are slow, answered Tim; I wouldnt ha believed that anything short o scalpin could ha took away yer wits like that. Why, of course I mean the woman ye said was dearer to ee than life.
That woman is here, replied the chief gravely, casting a brief glance down at the wrinkled old visage that nestled upon his breastmy mother.
Whew! whistled the trapper, opening his eyes very wide indeed. For the third time that day he was constrained to admit that he had been thrown completely off the scent, and that, in regard to cleverness, he was no better than a squawkin babby.
But Little Tim said never a word. Whatever his thoughts might have been after that, he kept them to himself, and, imitating his Indian brother, maintained profound silence as he galloped between him and Brighteyes over the rolling prairie.
Chapter Three.
The Massacre and the Chase
The sun was setting when Whitewing and his friend rode into Clearvale. The entrance to the valley was narrow, and for a short distance the road, or Indian track, wound among groups of trees and bushes which effectually concealed the village from their sight.
At this point in the ride Little Tim began to recover from the surprise at his own stupidity which had for so long a period of time reduced him to silence. Riding up alongside of Whitewing, who was a little in advance of the party, still bearing his mother in his arms, he accosted him thus
I say, Whitewing, the longer I know you, the more of a puzzle you are to me. I thowt Id got about at the bottom o all yer notions an ways by this time, but I find that Im mistaken.
As no question was asked, the red man deemed no reply needful, but the faintest symptom of a smile told the trapper that his remark was understood and appreciated.
One thing that throws me off the scent, continued Little Tim, is the way you Injins have got o holdin yer tongues, so that a feller cant make out what yer minds are after. Why dont you speak? why aint you more commoonicative?
The children of the prairie think that wisdom lies in silence, answered Whitewing gravely. They leave it to their women and white brothers to chatter out all their minds.
Humph! The children o the prairie aint complimentary to their white brothers, returned the trapper. Mayhap yer right. Some of us do talk a leetle too much. Its a way weve got o lettin off the steam. Im afeard Id bust sometimes if I didnt let my feelins off through my mouth. But your silent ways are apt to lead fellers off on wrong tracks when theres no need to. Didnt I think, now, that you was after a young woman as ye meant to take for a squawand after all it turned out to be your mother!