CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
A FEAT A LA TELL.
All eyes were turned upon the strange Indian. During the scenedescribed he has stood silent, and calmly looking on. His eye nowwanders over the ground, apparently in search of an object.
A small convolvulus, known as the prairie gourd, is lying at his feet.It is globe-shaped, about the size of an orange, and not unlike one incolour. He stoops and takes it up. He seems to examine it with greatcare, balancing it upon his hand, as though he were calculating itsweight.
What does he intend to do with this? Will he fling it up, and send hisbullet through it in the air? What else?
His motions are watched in silence. Nearly all the scalp-hunters, sixtyor seventy, are on the ground. Seguin only, with the doctor and a fewmen, is engaged some distance off, pitching a tent. Garey stands uponone side, slightly elated with his triumph, but not without feelings ofapprehension that he may yet be beaten. Old Rube has gone back to thefire, and is roasting another rib.
The gourd seems to satisfy the Indian, for whatever purpose he intendsit. A long piece of bone, the thigh joint of the war-eagle, hangssuspended over his breast. It is curiously carved, and pierced withholes like a musical instrument. It is one.
He places this to his lips, covering the holes, with his fingers. Hesounds three notes, oddly inflected, but loud and sharp. He drops theinstrument again, and stands looking eastward into the woods. The eyesof all present are bent in the same direction. The hunters, influencedby a mysterious curiosity, remain silent, or speak only in lowmutterings.
Like an echo, the three notes are answered by a similar signal! It isevident that the Indian has a comrade in the woods, yet not one of theband seems to know aught of him or his comrade. Yes, one does. It isRube.
"Look'ee hyur, boyees!" cries he, squinting over his shoulders; "I'llstake this rib against a griskin o' poor bull that 'ee'll see theputtiest gal as 'ee ever set yur eyes on."
There is no reply; we are gazing too intently for the expected arrival.
A rustling is heard, as of someone parting the bushes, the tread of alight foot, the snapping of twigs. A bright object appears among theleaves. Someone is coming through the underwood. It is a woman.
It is an Indian girl, attired in a singular and picturesque costume.
She steps out of the bushes, and comes boldly towards the crowd. Alleyes are turned upon her with looks of wonder and admiration. We scanher face and figure and her striking attire.
She is dressed not unlike the Indian himself, and there is resemblancein other respects. The tunic worn by the girl is of finer materials; offawn-skin. It is richly trimmed, and worked with split quills, stainedto a variety of bright colours. It hangs to the middle of the thighs,ending in a fringe-work of shells, that tinkle as she moves.
Her limbs are wrapped in leggings of scarlet cloth, fringed like thetunic, and reaching to the ankles where they meet the flaps of hermoccasins. These last are white, embroidered with stained quills, andfitting closely to her small feet.
A belt of wampum closes the tunic on her waist, exhibiting the globulardevelopments of a full-grown bosom and the undulating outlines of awomanly person. Her headdress is similar to that worn by her companion,but smaller and lighter; and her hair, like his, hangs loosely down,reaching almost to the ground! Her neck, throat, and part of her bosomare nude, and clustered over with bead-strings of various colours.
The expression of her countenance is high and noble. Her eye isoblique. The lips meet with a double curve, and the throat is full androunded. Her complexion is Indian; but a crimson hue, strugglingthrough the brown upon her cheek, gives that pictured expression to hercountenance which may be observed in the quadroon of the West Indies.
She is a girl, though full-grown and boldly developed: a type of healthand savage beauty.
As she approaches, the men murmur their admiration. There are heartsbeating under hunting-shirts that rarely deign to dream of the charms ofwoman.
I am struck at this moment with the appearance of the young trapperGarey. His face has fallen, the blood has forsaken his cheeks, his lipsare white and compressed, and dark rings have formed round his eyes.They express anger, but there is still another meaning in them.
Is it jealousy? Yes!
He has stepped behind one of his comrades, as if he did not wish to beseen. One hand is playing involuntarily with the handle of his knife.The other grasps the barrel of his gun, as though he would crush itbetween his fingers!
The girl comes up. The Indian hands her the gourd, muttering some wordsin an unknown tongue--unknown, at least, to me. She takes it withoutmaking any reply, and walks off towards the spot where Rube had stood,which has been pointed out to her by her companion.
She reaches the tree, and halts in front of it, facing round as thetrapper had done.
There was something so dramatic, so theatrical, in the whole proceeding,that up to the present time we had all stood waiting for the_denouement_ in silence. Now we knew what it was to be, and the menbegan to talk.
"He's a-goin' to shoot the gourd from the hand of the gal," suggested ahunter.
"No great shot, after all," added another; and indeed this was thesilent opinion of most on the ground.
"Wagh! it don't beat Garey if he diz hit it," exclaimed a third.
What was our amazement at seeing the girl fling off her plumed bonnet,place the gourd upon her head, fold her arms over her bosom, andstanding fronting us as calm and immobile as if she had been carved uponthe tree!
There was a murmur in the crowd. The Indian was raising his rifle totake aim, when a man rushed forward to prevent him. It was Garey!
"No, yer don't! No!" cried he, clutching the levelled rifle; "she'sdeceived me, that's plain, but I won't see the gal that once loved me,or said she did, in the trap that a-way. No! Bill Garey ain't a-goin'to stand by and see it."
"What is this?" shouted the Indian, in a voice of thunder. "Who daresto interrupt me?"
"I dares," replied Garey. "She's yourn now, I suppose. You may takeher whar ye like; and take this too," continued he, tearing off theembroidered pipe-case, and flinging it at the Indian's feet; "but ye'renot a-goin' to shoot her down whiles I stand by."
"By what right do you interrupt me? My sister is not afraid, and--"
"Your sister!"
"Yes, my sister."
"And is yon gal your sister?" eagerly inquired Garey, his manner and theexpression of his countenance all at once changing.
"She is. I have said she is."
"And are you El Sol?"
"I am."
"I ask your pardon; but--"
"I pardon you. Let me proceed!"
"Oh, sir, do not. No! no! She is your sister, and I know you have theright, but thar's no needcessity. I have heerd of your shootin'. Igive in; you kin beat me. For God's sake, do not risk it; as you carefor her, do not!"
"There is no risk. I will show you."
"No, no! If you must, then, let me! I will hold it. Oh, let me!"stammered the hunter, in tones of entreaty.
"Hollo, Billee! What's the dratted rumpus?" cried Rube, coming up."Hang it, man! let's see the shot. I've heern o' it afore. Don't beskeert, ye fool! he'll do it like a breeze; he will!"
And as the old trapper said this he caught his comrade by the arm, andswung him round out of the Indian's way.
The girl, during all this, had stood still, seemingly not knowing thecause of the interruption. Garey's back was turned to her, and thedistance, with two years of separation, doubtless prevented her fromrecognising him.
Before Garey could turn to interpose himself, the rifle was at theIndian's shoulder and levelled. His finger was on the trigger, and hiseyes glanced through the sights. It was too late to interfere. Anyattempt at that might bring about the dreaded result. The hunter, as heturned, saw this, and halting in his tracks, stood straining and silent.
It was a moment of terrible suspense to all of us--a mo
ment of intenseemotion. The silence was profound. Every breath seemed suspended;every eye was fixed on the yellow object, not larger, I have said, thanan orange. Oh, God! will the shot never come?
It came. The flash, the crack, the stream of fire, the wild hurrah, theforward rush, were all simultaneous things. We saw the shivered globefly off. The girl was still upon her feet; she was safe!
I ran with the rest. The smoke for a moment blinded me. I heard theshrill notes of the Indian whistle. I looked before me. The girl haddisappeared.
We ran to the spot where she had stood. We heard a rustling in theunderwood, a departing footstep. We knew it was she; but guided by aninstinct of delicacy, and a knowledge that it would be contrary to thewish of her brother, no one followed her.
We found the fragments of the calabash strewed over the ground. Wefound the leaden mark upon them. The bullet itself was buried in thebark of the tree, and one of the hunters commenced digging it out withthe point of his bowie.
When we turned to go back we saw that the Indian had walked away, andnow stood chatting easily and familiarly with Seguin.
As we re-entered the camp-ground I observed Garey stoop and pick up ashining object. It was the _gage d'amour_, which he carefullyreadjusted around his neck in its wonted position.
From his look and the manner in which he handled it, it was plain thathe now regarded that souvenir with more reverence than ever.