CHAPTER XVI
THE SIGN OF THE BROKEN FEATHER
When at length the ponies were brought to a halt, Rube was dragged tothe ground and left there, lying on his back, with his cramped armsbeneath him. He heard the muffled sounds of barking dogs andchattering squaws, and he judged that he had been brought into theIndians' encampment.
Presently he was turned over and his arms were set free, the tightbandage was taken from his eyes.
He sat up and gazed about him wonderingly, with dim sight and achingforehead.
For the first time in his life he was in an Indian village, surroundedby wigwams, all of them similar to Kiddie's teepee, only that his wascleaner and better made, and decorated with more care.
The village was pitched in the midst of a green valley, through whichran a narrow creek, bordered with willows. Horses and cattle grazed onthe neighbouring slopes, and an enclosed cornfield and well-beatentrails showed that the Indians lived here permanently.
Near to where he sat were two lodges larger than the rest. They weredecorated with many painted devices and trophies of the chase, and infront of each of them was a high totem pole from which grim-lookingscalp locks and skulls and bones were suspended. He conjectured thatone of these tents would be the chief's wigwam and the other theMedicine Lodge.
None of the Redskins took much notice of him, passing him with a mereglance, or making a remark in a tongue which he did not understand.
A young squaw approached, carrying water. Rube signed to her, askingfor a drink. She stopped and stooped to give him one. He then madefurther easily understood signs to show that he was very hungry. Shespoke to him, but he shook his head.
"Wish you c'd speak plain English," he said.
Then the squaw also began to talk in the sign language, and Rubegathered that she did not dare to bring food to a prisoner.Nevertheless, a little later she went past him and dropped within hisreach, as if by chance, a fragment of dry buffalo meat, which he atehungrily.
He was left alone for a long time. But he knew that he was beingwatched, and that it would be worse than useless for him to attempt toescape.
He saw the young Indian boys at their games of skill, or engaged incompetitions with the bow and arrow, horse racing, mounting anddismounting while their bare-backed ponies were at the gallop, throwingthe lariat, wrestling and running, and thus training to become bravesand warriors.
At about mid-day two of the scouts who had been among his captors cameup to him and signed to him to follow them. They led him across afoot-worn patch of grass towards the entrance of the Medicine Lodge,where they came to a halt, standing on guard over him.
Rube wondered what was going to happen; but, watching, he began tounderstand that the chief warriors and medicine men were within thelodge, and that some sort of court of justice was being held. Hefurther gathered from the picture-writing on the lodge that theseRedskins were of the Crow nation, and that the tribal name of theirchief was Falling Water.
When at length he was marched into the lodge he saw the councillorsseated on the floor in a half-circle round a small fire. All of themwore feathered war bonnets and had their faces painted.
Falling Water himself, a grim, wizen-featured old man, sat in themiddle, smoking a tobacco pipe that was shaped like a tomahawk andadorned with coloured beads and feathers. He looked at Rube long andsteadily, and then spoke to one of the scouts inquiringly.
Rube could only understand the answer by the gestures and signs thataccompanied it. From these and what followed he was able to make up acoherent outline of the offence of which he was being accused.
It appeared that a picket of scouts had been out on the mountainswatching for enemy spies. They had captured this one in the very actof spying upon them. He had been making signals, sending messages andanswering messages by sounds made with his lips. He carried a gun, andwas ready to use it upon them if they had not been too quick for them.And he was disguised. It was clear that he was an Indian--one of theirSioux enemies--who had tried to make himself look like a Paleface.Moreover, he wore the totem sign of his chief, who was the enemy ofFalling Water.
Rube was perplexed in his effort to understand this part of the scout'sevidence.
He was not surprised that he had been mistaken for a full-bloodedIndian. Was not his mother an Indian? And had not both he and Kiddiewhen they started on their camping trip dressed themselves in fringedbuckskins and designedly made themselves look as much as possible likeIndians?
He supposed that the scouts picketed on the heights had heard Kiddie'swhistle from afar and his own feeble attempt to respond. What puzzledhim most was the spokesman's declaration that he wore the totem sign ofhis chief. For so he understood the scout's gestures.
Falling Water was apparently dissatisfied, for he closely questionedthe witness, whose answer, partly in the Crow tongue and partly inpantomime, threw a flood of light upon Rube's perplexity.
Plucking a feather from his own headdress, the scout pinched the quilland bent it over, holding it in position on Rube's head.
This, then, was the totem sign of his supposed chief. And he, RubeCarter, was believed by these Crow Indians to be a spy of their enemyBroken Feather!
He did not know that one of the medicine men had questioned him in thetongue of the Sioux, which, if he were indeed one of Broken Feather'stribe, he ought to have understood. His failure to answer was takenfor stubbornness, a sure evidence of his guilt.
Falling Water spoke, holding up a cautioning finger to impose attentionto his words. Rube guessed by his serious judicial manner that he waspassing a sentence of punishment upon him.
"It's a pity none o' you c'n understand plain, straight-forwardEnglish," he protested. "I c'd explain in a jiffy."
"Eh?" cried the medicine man who had addressed him in the Sioux, "youc'n speak English yourself, can you, young 'un?"
Rube looked across at him in astonishment. Surely he was not anIndian, speaking like this! He was an old, old man with a wrinkledface, white hair, and a matted white beard and dim blue eyes. In dressand manner, however, he was very little different from his companions.
"It's the only language that I c'n speak," said Rube.
"Barrin' your own," winked the medicine man. "But you're not the onlyone of your tribe that can speak English. Broken Feather himself's adab hand at it, so I hear. A clever scoundrel is Broken Feather.Togged you out like a Paleface and sent you into this reservation tospy around and find out how many braves and warriors we've got, howmany war-horses we possess, and how far it's safe for him to come outon the war-trail against us. Well, young 'un, you're caught at it, andyou've got to take the consequences, which is as much as to say thatyou're going to be tortured to death. You asked for plain English, andnow you've got it. Quit!"
"But you haven't let me explain," Rube objected hotly.
The old man closed his dim blue eyes and drew his red blanket closerabout his shoulders.
"No explanations needed," he grunted.
At a sign from the chief, the scouts dragged Rube forcibly away, andagain tied his hands.
They took him into an empty teepee and there bound his legs togetherand mounted a guard outside so that he could not possibly escape.
No food and no drink were given to him during the rest of the long,weary, monotonous day. He watched a shaft of sunlight moving slowlyacross the earthen floor of the wigwam until it became a thin streakand then faded.
At dusk a new guard entered--two powerful young Indians withgrotesquely painted faces. They loosened the bonds about his legs, butdid so only that he might walk as they led him out into a lane brokenthrough a dense crowd of excited braves and squaws and curiouschildren, waiting to witness his torture.
He saw Falling Water with his medicine men and principal warriors intheir full war-paint seated in a group in the midst of an open circleof the expectant people. Drums were being beaten, weird Indian songswere being chanted, braves wearing hideous masks were dancing round ablazi
ng fire.
In the middle of the wide ring was the charred stump of a tree, and tothis Rube was led. When he came closer, he saw a procession of youthsmarch up, each carrying a large load of faggots. Following them cameIndians armed with spears, scalping-knives, bows and arrows, andformidable clubs.
Rube began to feel exceedingly limp. He was trembling from head tofoot, though as yet he only guessed at the ominous meaning of thesepreparations.
Suddenly he was seized from behind and thrust bodily towards the grimexecution tree. He struggled, but was overpowered. A blow on the headmade his brain reel, and all the strength of his resistance went out ofhim.
When he came to himself again he found that he was bound by ropes tothe tree, and that flames were licking at his feet and legs, while bythe light of the fire and through the mist of smoke he saw hideousfigures of red men dancing round him, menacing him with their spearsand knives and tomahawks.
The fire nipped his shins, the ropes were cutting into his flesh, thesparks and smoke were choking him.
"Kiddie! Kiddie!" he cried aloud in his anguish of body and mind.
And then, from immediately behind him, there came a calm, steady voice--
"All right, Rube; all right. I'm here."
Never, never, though he should live to be a hundred, could Rube Carterforget those magical, unexpected words, coming to him as they did inthe most awful moment of his young life!
He did not ask himself just then how it had been possible for Kiddie tofind him and to penetrate the crowd of excited Indians unnoticed andunhindered. All that he thought of was that Kiddie was here to rescuehim from the torturing death from which there had seemed to be nofaintest hope of escape.
But even yet escape had not been achieved.
The rising flames were scorching his legs, the flying sparks werestinging his face and neck, the resinous smoke of the pine wood wasstifling him, and the madly-gesticulating Redskins were prodding at himwith their long spears and striking at him with their tomahawks to seehow nearly they could hit him without yet touching him. They prolongedthe process of cruelty to increase his mental suffering; but the delaygave Kiddie his chance.
"Cut the rope, Kiddie--cut the rope!" Rube cried, not knowing thatKiddie's sharp knife had already done its work.
Hardly had he spoken, when a strong arm was flung round him, and he waslifted bodily backward beyond reach of the flames and the menacingweapons of torture. His brain reeled as the supporting arm waswithdrawn; he stumbled and sank to the ground.
In his stupor he heard a wild yell from the Redskins robbed of theirvictim. His eyes nipped painfully, but by the light of the leapingflames he could distinguish Kiddie standing at bay above him, with arevolver in each outstretched hand swinging threateningly from side toside as the Indians made a rush towards him.
Believing that Kiddie's life was now in imminent peril, Rube managed toscramble to his knees. He felt instinctively for his gun, forgettingthat it had been taken from him.
But Kiddie was not shooting. Were his pistols empty? Rube wondered.He saw the crowd of Redskins fall back with lowered weapons and sullenlooks and hoarse grunts of disappointment.
"Best put them guns out of sight now," Rube heard some one advise. Heturned and saw the English-speaking medicine man standing at Kiddie'sside. "You've managed all right up to now," the same voice continued."Boy's not much harmed, by the look of him. You pulled him out just intime, though. Another minute and they'd have been at him like a packof wolves. Hold hard while I go forward and explain to 'em."
He strode off and harangued the Indians in a loud voice of command.
"Who is he, Kiddie?" Rube was curious to know. "Who and what is he?"
"A man of the name of Simon Sprott," Kiddie told him. "Used to be afriend of Gid Birkenshaw's years ago, when Gid was a lone trapper inColorado."
"Then he ain't a Crow Injun?"
"Well, he is and he isn't," returned Kiddie, helping the boy to hisfeet. "When Gid knew him at first he was just an Englishman, come outWest on a trip of adventure. Then he got mussin' around with theRedskins, married a squaw, and took the blanket. They made him achief, calling him Short Nose, and when he became too old to lead thebraves on the war trail they made him a boss medicine-man. That'sabout all I know of him. I ran up against him when I was sneakin' intothe village on your track, and it was him that put me wise about whatthey were doin' to you. I guess you'd a narrow squeak, eh?"
"I just had." Rube nodded. "But all the time I kinder felt as you'dturn up, somehow. I gotter 'normous faith in you, Kiddie. I was plumbcertain you'd foller on my tracks, though I didn't blaze no trail."
"You blazed it quite enough for me, Rube," Kiddie averred. "I didn'tfool around any, searchin' for your dead body at the foot of the cliffsin Lone Wolf Canyon. The sight of the eagles in flight and, afterwards,the signs of Injuns told me all I needed to know. Say, you didn't makean extra good witness for the defence, else you'd have made 'emunderstand that you weren't the enemy spy they took you for. Pity younever mentioned the name of Gideon Birkenshaw, or of Buckskin Jack, oreven of your own father. Simon Sprott would sure have tumbled to yourinnocence."
"Dare say," acknowledged Rube. "But how in thunder was I ter know asany of 'em c'd understand English? Simon Sprott never let on that hewas anythin' but a pure Injun until after I was condemned."
"You ain't hurt any, I hope?" Kiddie inquired.
"Nope. Shins are some scorched. Moccasins an' leggin's are spoilt,an' my eyes are nippin'. Oh, an' they've took my six-shooter, Kiddie.D'you reckon we c'n get it back?"
"Very likely," said Kiddie. "I'll ask Si Sprott. Here he is comin'back."