The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border. Gustave Aimard
that is all."
"Oh, gracious me! I do not know why, but I was afraid lest some misfortune had happened."
"On the contrary; we are quieter than we have been for a long time."
"How so, father?" Diana asked, thrusting her charming face from under the canvas which concealed her.
"Those rascally Indians, who frightened us so much, my darling Diana, have at length made up their minds to leave us; we have not seen a single one during the whole day."
"Oh, all the better!" the girl said quickly, as she clapped her dainty palms together; "I confess that I am not brave, and those frightful Red men caused me terrible alarm."
"Well, you will not see them again, I hope," John Black said, gaily; though while giving his daughter this assurance to appease her fears, he did not believe a word he uttered. "Now," he added, "have, the goodness to get down, so that we may unload the wagon."
"Unload the wagon," the old lady remarked, "why so?
"It is just possible," the husband answered, anxious not to reveal the real reason, "that we may remain here a few days, in order to rest the cattle."
"Ah, very good," she said; and she got out, followed by her daughter.
The two ladies had scarce set foot on ground, ere the men began unloading the wagon. This task lasted nearly an hour. Sam had time enough to lead the cattle to water, and collect them on the top of the hill.
"Are we going to camp, then?" Mrs. Black asked.
"Yes," her husband answered.
"Come, Diana," the old lady said.
The two women packed up some kitchen utensils, and clomb the hill, where, after lighting the fire, they began preparing supper. So soon as the cart was unloaded, the two labouring men, aided by William, pushed it behind, while John Black, at the head of the team, began flogging the horses. The incline was rather steep, but owing to the vigour of the horses and the impatience of the men, who at each step laid rollers behind the wheels, the wagon at last reached the top. The rest was as nothing, and within an hour the camp was arranged as follows.
The emigrants formed, with the bales and trees they felled, a large circle, in the midst of which the cattle were tied up, and then put up a tent for the two women. When this was effected, John Black cast a glance of satisfaction around. His family were temporarily protected from a coup de main – thanks to the manner in which the bales and trees were arranged, and the party were enabled to fire from under cover on any enemy that might attack them, and defend themselves a long time successfully.
The sun had set for more than an hour before these various preparations were completed, and supper was ready. The Americans seated themselves in a circle round the fire, and ate with the appetite of men accustomed to danger – an appetite which the greatest alarm cannot deprive them of. After the meal, John Black offered up a prayer, as he did every evening before going to rest; the others standing, with uncovered heads, listened attentively to the prayer, and when it was completed, the two ladies entered the hut prepared for them.
"And now," Black said, "let us keep a careful watch the night is dark, the moon rises late, and you are aware that the Indians choose the morning, the moment when sleep is deepest, to attack their enemies."
The fire was covered, so that its light should not reveal the exact position of the camp; and the two servants lay down side by side on the grass, where they soon fell asleep: while father and son, standing at either extremity of the camp, watched over the common safety.
CHAPTER IV
THE GRIZZLY BEAR
All was calm in the prairie; not a sound disturbed the silence of the desert. On the sudden appearance of the Indian, whatever the emotion Bright-eye might feel, it was impossible for Natah Otann to perceive anything: the hunter's face remained calm, and not a muscle moved.
"Ah!" he said, "the sachem of the Piékanns is welcome: does he come as a friend or an enemy?"
"Natah Otann comes to sit by the fire of the palefaces, and smoke the calumet with them," the chief replied, casting a searching glance around him.
"Good: if the chief will wait a moment, I will light the fire."
"Bright-eye can light it, the chief will wait: he has come to talk with the palefaces, and the conversation will be long."
The Canadian looked fixedly at the Redskin; but the Indian was impassive like himself, and it was impossible to read anything on his features. The hunter collected a few handfuls of dry wood, struck a light, and soon a bright flame sprung up, and illumined the mount. The Indian drew near the fire, took his calumet from his girdle, and began grimly smoking. Bright-eye not wishing to remain in any way behindhand, imitated his every movement with perfectly feigned indifference, and the two men sat for several moments puffing clouds of smoke at each other. Natah Otann at length broke the silence.
"The pale hunter is a warrior," he said; "why does he try to hide himself like the water rat?"
Bright-eye did not consider it advisable to reply to this insinuation, and continued smoking philosophically, while casting a side-glance at his questioner.
"The Blackfeet have the eye of the eagle," Natah Otann continued, "their piercing eyes see all that happens on the prairie."
The Canadian made a sign of assent, but did not yet reply; the chief continued: —
"Natah Otann has seen the trail of his friends the palefaces, his heart quivered with pleasure in his breast, and he has come to meet them."
Bright-eye slowly removed his pipe from his lips, and turning towards the Indian, examined him carefully for an instant, and then answered —
"I repeat to my brother that he is welcome: I know that he is a great chief, and am happy to see him."
"Wah!" the Indian said, with a cunning smile: "is my brother so satisfied as he says at my presence?"
"Why not, chief?"
"My brother is angry still that the Blackfeet fastened him to the stake of torture."
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and coldly answered: —
"Nonsense, chief! why do you fancy I am angry with you or your nation? war is war; I have no reproaches to make to you. You wished to kill me, I escaped; so we are quits."
"Good: does my brother speak the truth? has he really forgotten?" the chief asked with some vivacity.
"Why not?" the Canadian answered cautiously. "I have not a forked tongue, the words my mouth utters come from my heart: I have not forgotten the treatment you made me undergo, I should lie if I said so: but I have forgiven it."
"Ochi! my brother is a greatheart: he is generous."
"No: I am merely a man who knows Indian customs, that is all: you did no more and no less than all the Redskins do under similar circumstances: I cannot be angry with you for having acted according to your nature."
There was a silence; the two men went on smoking. The Indian was the first to interrupt it.
"Then my brother is a friend," he said.
"And you?" the hunter asked, answering one question by another.
The chief rose with a gesture full of majesty, and threw back the folds of his buffalo robe.
"Would an enemy come like this?" he asked, in a gentle voice.
The Canadian could not repress a movement of surprise; the Blackfoot was unarmed, his girdle was empty: he had not even his scalping knife, – that weapon from which the Indians part so unwillingly. Bright-eye offered him his hand.
"Shake hands, chief," he said to him. "You are a man of heart: now speak, I am listening to you: and, in the first place, will you have a draught of firewater?"
"The firewater is an evil counsellor," the chief replied, with a smile; "it makes the Indians mad: Natah Otann does not drink it."
"Come, come, I see that I was mistaken with regard to you, chief; that pleases me: speak, my ears are open."
"What