CHAPTER VI.
THE THREE GIFTS.
"The Black Partridge has served his white friends faithfully. Heshould now remember his own people, and rest his heart among them,"said the White Pelican as he rode homeward beside his chief, not manyhours after the massacre of the sandhills.
The elder warrior lifted his bowed head, and regarded his nephew insadness. His eyes had that far-away, dreamy look which was unusualamong his race and had given him, at times, a strange power over hisfellows. Because, unfortunately, the dreams were, after all, verypractical, and the silent visions were of things that might have beenaverted.
"The White Pelican, also, did well. He protected those whom he wishedto kill. He did it for my sake. It shall not be forgotten, though theeffort was useless. The end has begun."
The younger brave touched his fine horse impatiently, and the animalsprang forward a few paces. As he did so, the rider caught a gleam ofsomething white skimming along the horizon line, and wondered what itmight be. But he had set out to attend his chief and, curbing hismount by a strong pull, whirled about and rode back to the side ofBlack Partridge.
"What is the end that has begun, Man-Who-Cannot-Lie?"
"The downfall of our nations. They have been as the trees of theforest and the grasses of the prairie. The trees shall be felled andthe grasses shall be cut. The white man's hand shall accomplish both."
"For once, the Truth-Teller is mistaken. We will wrest our lands backfrom the grasp of the pale-faces. We will learn their arts and conquerthem with their own weapons. We will destroy their villages--few theyare and widely scattered. Pouf! This morning's work is but a show ofwhat is yet to come. As we did then, so we will do in the future. I,too, would go with my tribe to that other fort far beyond the GreatLake. I would help again to wipe away these usurpers from our homes,as I wipe--this, from my horse's flank. Only my promise to remain withmy chief and my kinsman prevents."
The youth had stooped and brushed a bit of grass bloom from theanimal's shining skin; and as he raised his head again he lookedinquiringly into the stern face of the other. Thus, indirectly, washe begging permission to join the contemplated raid upon anotherdistant garrison.
Black Partridge understood but ignored the silent petition. He hadother, higher plans for the White Pelican. He would himself train thecourageous youth to be as wise and diplomatic as he was brave. Whenthe training was over, he should be sent to that distant land wherethe Great Father of the white men dwelt, and should there make a pleafor the whole Indian race.
"Would not a man who saved all this"--sweeping his arm around towardevery point of the prairie--"to his people be better than one whokilled a half-dozen pale-faces yet lost his home?"
"Why--yes," said the other, regretfully. "But----"
"But it is the last chance. The time draws near when not an Indianwigwam will dot this grand plain. Already, in the talk of the whitemen, there is the plan forming to send us westward. Many a day'sjourney will lie between us and this beloved spot. Our canoes willsoon vanish from the Great Lake, and we shall cease to glide over ourbeautiful river. Hear me. It is fate. These people who have come tooust us from our birthright have been sent by the Great Spirit. It isHis will. We have had our one day of life and of possession. They areto have theirs. Who will come after them and destroy them? They----"
But the White Pelican could endure no more. The Black Partridge wasnot often in such a mood as this, stern and sombre though he mightsometimes be, nor had his prophecies so far an outlook. That theIndians should ever be driven entirely away by their white enemiesseemed a thing impossible to the stout-hearted young brave, and hespoke his mind freely.
"My father has had sorrow this day, and his eyes are too dim to seeclearly. Or he has eaten of the white man's food and it has turned hisbrain. Were it not for his dim eyesight, I would ask him to tell theWhite Pelican what that creature might be that darts and wheels andprances yonder"; and he pointed toward the western horizon.
Now there was a hidden taunt in the warrior's words. No man in thewhole Pottawatomie nation was reputed to have such clearness ofeyesight as the Black Partridge. The readiness with which he coulddistinguish objects so distant as to be invisible to other men hadpassed into a proverb among his neighbors, who believed that hisinward "visions" in some manner furthered this extraordinary outwardeyesight.
The chief flashed a scornful glance upon his attendant and, quitenaturally, toward the designated object. White Pelican saw his gazebecome intent and his indifference give way to amazement. Then, with acry of alarm, that was half incredulity, the Black Partridge wheeledand struck out swiftly toward the west.
"Ugh! It looked unusual, even to me, but my father has recognizedsomething beyond my guessing. He rides like the wind, yet his horsewas well spent an hour ago."
Regardless of his own recent eagerness to be at Muck-otey-pokee, andrelating the day's doings to an admiring circle of stay-at-homes, theyoung brave followed his leader. In a brief time they came up with awild, high-spirited white horse, which rushed frantically from pointto point in the vain hope of shaking from its back a burden to whichit was not used.
"Souls of my ancestors! It is--the Snowbird!"
"It is the Sun Maid!" returned Black Partridge.
But for all his straining vision, White Pelican could not make outthat it was indeed that wonderful child who was wrapped and bundled inthe long blanket and lashed to the Snowbird's back by many thongs ofleather. Not until, by one dexterous swoop of his horsehair rope, thechief collared the terrified mare and brought her to her knees.
"Cut the straps. Set the child free."
The brave promptly obeyed; while the chief, holding the strugglingmare with one hand, carefully drew the Sun Maid from her swathingblanket and laid her across his shoulder. Her little figure hung limpand relaxed where it was placed, and he saw that she had fainted.
SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID. _Page 68._]
"Take her to that row of alder bushes yonder. There should be waterthere. I'll finish what has been begun, and prove whether this is abeast bewitched, or only a vicious mare that needs a master."
The White Pelican would have preferred the horse-breaking to acting aschild's nurse to this uncanny small maiden who had ridden a creaturenone other in his tribe would have attempted. But he did as he wasbidden and laid the little one down in the cooling shade of thealders. Then he put the water on her face and forced a few dropsbetween her parted lips. After that he fixed all his attention on theefforts of Black Partridge to bring into subjection the unbroken mare.
However, the efforts were neither very severe nor long continued. Likemany another, the Snowbird had received a worse name than shedeserved, and she had already been well wearied by her wild gallop onthe prairie. She had done her best to throw and kill the child whichOsceolo had bound upon her back, but she had only succeeded intightening the bands and exhausting both herself and her unconsciousrider. More than that, Black Partridge had a will stronger than hersand it conquered.
"Well, I did ride a long, long way, didn't I? Feather-man, did you putKitty on the nice cool grass? Will you give Kitty another drink ofwater? I guess I'm pretty tired, ain't I?"
These words recalled the White Pelican's attention to his charge.
"Ugh! It's a wonder you're alive."
"Is it? I rode till I got so sleepy I couldn't see. The sky keptwhirling and whirling, and the sun did come right down into my face.And I got so twisted up I couldn't breathe. I guess--I guess I don'tmuch love that Osceolo. He said it would be fun, and it was--a while.But he didn't come, too, and--I'm glad I'm here now. Who's thatwalking? Oh! my own Black Partridge, the nicest Feather-man there is!"
The Sun Maid sat up and lifted her arms to be taken, while shebestowed upon the chief one of her sweetest smiles. But he received itgravely, and regarded the child in her new Indian dress with criticalscrutiny. Who had thus clothed her he could not surmise, for too shorta time had elapsed since he had taken her to his village for hissister to prepare thes
e well-fitting garments. Finally, superstitionbegan to influence him also, as it had influenced the weaker-mindedpeople at Muck-otey-pokee, as he spoke to the White Pelican, ratherthan to the child.
"Place her upon the Snowbird. They belong to each other, though I knownot how they found one another."
"Osceolo," answered the younger brave, tersely.
"Humph! Then there's more of black spirits than white in this affair.However, I have spoken. Place the Sun Maid on the Snowbird's back."
Kitty would have objected and strongly; but there was something sounusually stern in the elder warrior's face and so full of hatred inthat of the younger that she was bewildered and wisely kept silence.
Having made a comfortable saddle out of the long blanket, they seatedher again upon the white mare's back, and each on either side, theyled her slowly toward Muck-otey-pokee. But the little one had againfallen asleep long before they reached it, and now there could havebeen no gentler mount for so helpless a rider than this suddenly tamedWhite Snowbird.
At the entrance to the village Wahneenah met them. She had again puton her mourning garb, and her hair was unplaited, while the lines ofher face had deepened perceptibly. She had lamented to Katasha:
"The Great Spirit sent me back my lost ones in the form of the SunMaid, and because of my own carelessness and sternness He has recalledher. Now is our separation complete, and not even in the Unknown Landshall I find them again."
But the One-Who-Knows had answered, impatiently:
"Leave be. Whatever is must happen. The child is safe. Nothing canharm her. Has she not the three gifts? The White Necklace from theshore of the Sea-without-end?[1] The White Bow from the eternal north?and the White Snowbird, into which entered the white soul of ablameless virgin? Have I not clothed her with the garb of our people?You are a fool, Wahneenah. Go hide in your wigwam, and keep silence."
[Footnote 1: Pacific Ocean.]
This was good advice, but Wahneenah couldn't take it. She was toohuman, too motherly, and under all her superstition, too sure of theSun Maid's real flesh-and-blood existence to be easily comforted. Soshe went, instead, to the outskirts of the settlement to watch forwhat might be coming of good or ill. And so she came all the sooner tofind her lost darling, and she vowed within herself that never again,so long as her own life should last, would she lose sight of thatprecious golden head.
"My Girl-Child! My White Papoose, Beloved! Found again! But how couldyou?"
"I did get runned away with myself this time, nice Other Mother. Don'tlook at Kitty that way. Kitty is very hungry. Nice Black PartridgeFeather-man did find me, riding and riding and riding. The prettySnowbird had lots of wings, I guess, for she flew and flew and flew.But I didn't see Osceolo. He couldn't have come, could he? I thoughthe was coming, too, when he clapped his hands and shooed me off sofast. Where is he?"
That was what several were desirous to learn. The affair had turnedout much better than might have been expected, but there would be aday of reckoning for the village torment when he and its chief shouldchance to meet.
Knowing this, Osceolo remained in hiding for some time. Until, indeed,his curiosity got the better of his discretion. This happened when theMan-Who-Kills came stealing to his retreat and begged his assistance.
"I want you to take my white boy-captive and lead him to the tepee ofthe Woman-Who-Mourns. My wife Sorah will not have him in her wigwam.She says that from the moment that other white child, the Sun Maid,came to the lodge of Wahneenah, there has been trouble without end,even though all the three charms against evil have been bestowed uponher. There are no charms for this dark boy, but there's always troubleenough (where Sorah is). He's so worn and unhappy, he'll make noobjection, but will follow like a dog. He neither speaks nor sleepsnor eats. I have no use for a fool, I. You do it, Osceolo, and you'llsee what I will give you in reward! Also, if the Woman-Who-Mourns haslost the Sun Maid, maybe this Dark-Eye will be a better stayer."
"But what will you give me, Man-Who-Kills? I--I think I'd rather notmeddle any more with the family of my chief."
"Ugh! Are a coward, eh? Never mind. There are other lads atMuck-otey-pokee, and plenty of plunder in my wigwam."
"All right. Come along, Dark-Eye. Might as well be Dark-Brow, too, forhe looks like a night without stars. What will you do with his horse,Man-Who-Kills?"
"Let you ride it for me, sometimes."
"I can do it"; and without further delay, leading the utterly passiveand disheartened Gaspar, the Indian lad set off for Wahneenah's home.The captive had no expectation of anything but the most dreadful fate,and his tired brain reeled at the remembrance of what he might yetundergo. Yet, what use to resist?
Meanwhile, Osceolo, confident that all the braves whom he need fearwere still absent from the village, started his charge along the trailat a rapid pace, and reached the wigwam of the Woman-Who-Mourns atthe very moment when Black Partridge, White Pelican, and the Sun Maidcame riding to it from the prairie.
She was alive, then! She was, in truth, a "spirit"! Hismischievousness had had no power to harm her, she was exempt from anyill that might befall another, she had come back to--How could such aninnocent-appearing creature punish one who had so misled her?
He had no time to guess. For the child had caught sight of the stupidlad he was leading, and with a cry of ecstacy had sprung from theSnowbird and landed plump upon the prisoner's shoulders.
"Gaspar! My Gaspar, my Gaspar! Mine, mine, mine!"
It was a transformation scene. The white boy had staggered underthe unexpected assault of his old playmate, but he had instantlyrecognized her. With a cry as full of joy as her own, he claspedher close, and showered his kisses on her upturned face.
"Kitty! why, Kitty! You aren't dead, then? You are not hurt? And wethought--oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"
Clinging to each other, they slipped to the ground, too absorbed inthemselves to notice anything else; while Osceolo watched them inalmost equal absorption.
But he was roused sooner than they. A hand fell on his shoulder. Ahand whose touch could be as gentle as a woman's, but was now like asteel band crushing the very bones.
"Osceolo!"
"Yes, Black Partridge," quavered the terrified lad.
"You will come to my tepee. Alone!"