The Dog Crusoe and his Master by Robert Michael Ballantyne (best books for students to read .txt) 📕

their sides. Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the herd was laid low.

It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably waged without damage to the savages. Many were the wounds and bruises received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives were lost.

"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless look's the best at all times. Don't look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do, don't use yer arms. Follow me."

Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain.

The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears. Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard or two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly. So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were thrown almost on their haunches.

The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a tall powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed, a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he regarded as intruders on the hunting grounds of his fathers, and the peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety.

"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true," said the savage, when Joe paused, "but he does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the great mountains, and say, `There we will stop.' But even there they will not stop. They are never satisfied, Mahtawa knows them well."

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere he was aware, plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe said in a deep, quiet voice--

"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded.

"We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. "We have come with a message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The same Manitou [the Indian name for God] watches over both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me to say, `Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of peace!'"

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said, sternly--

"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see--they are not shut. Are not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.

"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp," returned Joe; "San-it-sa-rish is wise and will understand this. These are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said,--What message shall we take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

"The hunting field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces will go with us to our village."

Of course Joe was only too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness.

"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are thieves."

The chief frowned angrily.

"The Pawnees are true--they are not thieves. They choose to _look_ at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be returned."

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the Indians towards their camp. On the way they met hundreds of women and children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The men, considering that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues of the chase.

As they rode along Dick Varley observed that some of the "braves," as Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust.

"Ah! boy, you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone. "Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that same yerself some day."

"Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said Dick with a laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the Red-skins do it, Joe Blunt."


CHAPTER EIGHT.


DICK AND HIS FRIENDS VISIT THE INDIANS AND SEE MANY WONDERS--CRUSOE, TOO, EXPERIENCES A FEW SURPRISES AND TEACHES INDIAN DOGS A LESSON--AN INDIAN DANDY--A FOOT-RACE.

The Pawnee village, at which they soon arrived, was situated in the midst of a most interesting and picturesque scene.

It occupied an extensive plain which sloped gently down to a creek, [In America small rivers or riverlets are termed "creeks"] whose winding course was marked by a broken line of wood, here and there interspersed with a fine clump of trees, between the trunks of which the blue waters of the lake sparkled in the distance. Hundreds of tents or "lodges" of buffalo skins covered the ground, and thousand of Indians--men, women, and children--moved about the busy scene. Some were sitting in their lodges, lazily smoking their pipes. But these were chiefly old and infirm veterans, for all the young men had gone to the hunt which we have just described. The women were stooping over their fires, busily preparing maize and meat for their husbands and brothers, while myriads of little brown and naked children romped about everywhere, filling the air with their yells and screams, which were only equalled, if not surpassed, by the yelping dogs that seemed innumerable.

Far as the eye could reach were seen scattered herds of horses. These were tended by little boys who were totally destitute of clothing, and who seemed to enjoy with infinite zest the pastime of shooting-practice with little bows and arrows. No wonder that these Indians become expert bowmen. There were urchins there, scarce two feet high, with round bullets of bodies and short spindle-shanks, who could knock blackbirds off the trees at every shot, and cut the heads of the taller flowers with perfect certainty! There was much need, too, for the utmost proficiency they could attain, for the very existence of the Indian tribes of the prairies depends on their success in hunting the buffalo.

There are hundreds and thousands of North American savages who would undoubtedly perish and their tribes become extinct if the buffaloes were to leave the prairies or die out. Yet, although animals are absolutely essential to their existence, they pursue and slay them with improvident recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them merely for the sake of the sport, the tongues, and the marrow-bones. In the bloody hunt described in the last chapter, however, the slaughter of so many was not wanton, because the village that had to be supplied with food was large, and, just previous to the hunt, they had been living on somewhat reduced allowance. Even the blackbirds, shot by the brown-bodied urchins before mentioned, had been thankfully put into the pot. Thus precarious is the supply of food among the Red-men, who on one day are starving, and the next are revelling in superabundance.

But to return to our story. At one end of this village the creek sprang over a ledge of rock in a low cascade and opened out into a beautiful lake, the bosom of which was studded with small islands. Here were thousands of those smaller species of wild water-fowl which were either too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the noise of the camp. And here, too, dozens of children were sporting on the beach or paddling about in their light bark canoes.

"Isn't it strange," remarked Dick to Henri, as they passed among the tents towards the centre of the village, "isn't it strange that them Injuns should be so fond o' fightin' when they've got all they can want--a fine country, lots o' buffalo, an' as far as I can see, happy homes?"

"Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment. But dey do more love war to peace. Dey loves to be excited, I s'pose."

"Humph! One would think the hunt we seed a little agone would be excitement enough. But, I say, that must be the chief's tent, by the look o't."

Dick was right; the horsemen pulled up and dismounted opposite the principal chief's tent, which was a larger and more elegant structure than the others. Meanwhile an immense concourse of women, children, and dogs gathered round the strangers, and, while the latter yelped their dislike to white