The Prairie (Fiscle Part 3) Of 2 by J Fenimore Cooper (phonics reading books TXT) 📕

Stone. A Single Expression Of Subdued Anguish,  Which Had Made Its

Impression On A Brow That Had Rarely Before Contracted With Sorrow,

Alone Remained. It Was Never Removed,  In All The Changes Of Seasons,

Fortunes,  And Years,  Which,  In The Vicissitudes Of A Suffering,

Female,  Savage Life,  She Was Subsequently Doomed To Endure. As In The

Case Of A Premature Blight,  Let The Plant Quicken And Revive As It

May,  The Effects Of That Withering Touch Were Always Present.

Tachechana First Stripped Her Person Of Every Vestige Of Those Rude

But Highly Prized Ornaments,  Which The Liberality Of Her Husband Had

Been Wont To Lavish On Her,  And She Tendered Them Meekly,  And Without

A Murmur. As An Offering To The Superiority Of Inez. The Bracelets

Were Forced From Her Wrists,  The Complicated Mazes Of Beads From Her

Leggings,  And The Broad Silver Band From Her Brow. Then She Paused,

Long And Painfully. But It Would Seem,  That The Resolution,  She Had

Once Adopted,  Was Not To Be Conquered By The Lingering Emotions Of Any

Affection,  However Natural. The Boy Himself Was Next Laid At The Feet

Of Her Supposed Rival,  And Well Might The Self-Abased Wife Of The

Teton Believe That The Burden Of Her Sacrifice Was Now Full.

While Inez And Ellen Stood Regarding These Several Strange Movements

With Eyes Of Wonder,  A Low Soft Musical Voice Was Heard Saying In A

Language,  That To Them Was Unintelligible--

"A Strange Tongue Will Tell My Boy The Manner To Become A Man. He Will

Hear Sounds That Are New,  But He Will Learn Them,  And Forget The Voice

Of His Mother. It Is The Will Of The Wahcondah,  And A Sioux Girl

Should Not Complain. Speak To Him Softly,  For His Ears Are Very

Little; When He Is Big,  Your Words May Be Louder. Let Him Not Be A

Girl,  For Very Sad Is The Life Of A Woman. Teach Him To Keep His Eyes

On The Men. Show Him How To Strike Them That Do Him Wrong,  And Let Him

Never Forget To Return Blow For Blow. When He Goes To Hunt,  The Flower

Of The Pale-Faces," She Concluded,  Using In Bitterness The Metaphor

Which Had Been Supplied By The Imagination Of Her Truant Husband,

"Will Whisper Softly In His Ears That The Skin Of His Mother Was Red,

And That She Was Once The Fawn Of The Dahcotahs."

Tachechana Pressed A Kiss On The Lips Of Her Son,  And Withdrew To The

Farther Side Of The Lodge. Here She Drew Her Light Calico Robe Over

Her Head,  And Took Her Seat,  In Token Of Humility,  On The Naked Earth.

All Efforts,  To Attract Her Attention,  Were Fruitless. She Neither

Heard Remonstrances,  Nor Felt The Touch. Once Or Twice Her Voice Rose,

In A Sort Of Wailing Song,  From Beneath Her Quivering Mantle,  But It

Never Mounted Into The Wildness Of Savage Music. In This Manner She

Remained Unseen For Hours,  While Events Were Occurring Without The

Lodge,  Which Not Only Materially Changed The Complexion Of Her Own

Fortunes,  But Left A Lasting And Deep Impression On The Future

Movements Of The Wandering Sioux.

  I'll No Swaggerers: I Am In Good Name And Fame With The Very Best:

  --Shut The Door;--There Come No Swaggerers Here: I Have Not Lived

  All This While,  To Have Swaggering Now: Shut The Door,  I Pray You.

                                                   --Shakspeare.

Mahtoree Encountered,  At The Door Of His Lodge,  Ishmael,  Abiram,  And

Esther. The First Glance Of His Eye,  At The Countenance Of The Heavy-

Moulded Squatter,  Served To Tell The Cunning Teton,  That The

Treacherous Truce He Had Made,  With These Dupes Of His Superior

Sagacity,  Was In Some Danger Of A Violent Termination.

"Look You Here,  Old Grey-Beard," Said Ishmael,  Seizing The Trapper,

And Whirling Him Round As If He Had Been A Top; "That I Am Tired Of

Carrying On A Discourse With Fingers And Thumbs,  Instead Of A Tongue,

Ar' A Natural Fact; So You'll Play Linguister And Put My Words Into

Indian,  Without Much Caring Whether They Suit The Stomach Of A Red-

Skin Or Not."

"Say On,  Friend," Calmly Returned The Trapper; "They Shall Be Given As

Plainly As You Send Them."

"Friend!" Repeated The Squatter,  Eyeing The Other For An Instant,  With

An Expression Of Indefinable Meaning. "But It Is No More Than A Word,

And Sounds Break No Bones,  And Survey No Farms. Tell This Thieving

Sioux,  Then,  That I Come To Claim The Conditions Of Our Solemn

Bargain,  Made At The Foot Of The Rock."

When The Trapper Had Rendered His Meaning Into The Sioux Language,

Mahtoree Demanded,  With An Air Of Surprise--

"Is My Brother Cold? Buffaloe Skins Are Plenty. Is He Hungry? Let My

Young Men Carry Venison Into His Lodges."

The Squatter Elevated His Clenched Fist In A Menacing Manner,  And

Struck It With Violence On The Palm Of His Open Hand,  By Way Of

Confirming His Determination,  As He Answered--

"Tell The Deceitful Liar,  I Have Not Come Like A Beggar To Pick His

Bones,  But Like A Freeman Asking For His Own; And Have It I Will. And,

Moreover,  Tell Him I Claim That You,  Too,  Miserable Sinner As You Ar',

Should Be Given Up To Justice. There's No Mistake. My Prisoner,  My

Niece,  And You. I Demand The Three At His Hands,  According To A Sworn

Agreement."

The Immovable Old Man Smiled,  With An Expression Of Singular

Intelligence,  As He Answered--

"Friend Squatter,  You Ask What Few Men Would Be Willing To Grant. You

Would First Cut The Tongue From Mouth Of The Teton,  And Then The Heart

From His Bosom."

"It Is Little That Ishmael Bush Regards,  Who Or What Is Damaged In

Claiming His Own. But Put You The Questions In Straight-Going Indian,

And When You Speak Of Yourself,  Make Such A Sign As A White Man Will

Understand,  In Order That I May Know There Is No Foul Play."

The Trapper Laughed In His Silent Fashion,  And Muttered A Few Words To

Himself Before He Addressed The Chief--

"Let The Dahcotah Open His Ears Very Wide," He Said 'That Big Words

May Have Room To Enter. His Friend The Big-Knife Comes With An Empty

Hand,  And He Says That The Teton Must Fill It."

"Wagh! Mahtoree Is A Rich Chief. He Is Master Of The Prairies."

"He Must Give The Dark-Hair."

The Brow Of The Chief Contracted In An Ominous Frown,  That Threatened

Instant Destruction To The Audacious Squatter; But As Suddenly

Recollecting His Policy,  He Craftily Replied--

"A Girl Is Too Light For The Hand Of Such A Brave. I Will Fill It With

Buffaloes."

"He Says He Has Need Of The Light-Hair,  Too; Who Has His Blood In Her

Veins."

"She Shall Be The Wife Of Mahtoree; Then The Long-Knife Will Be The

Father Of A Chief."

"And Me," Continued The Trapper,  Making One Of Those Expressive Signs,

By Which The Natives Communicate,  With Nearly The Same Facility As

With Their Tongues,  And Turning To The Squatter At The Same Time,  In

Order That The Latter Might See He Dealt Fairly By Him; "He Asks For A

Miserable And Worn-Out Trapper."

The Dahcotah Threw His Arm Over The Shoulder Of The Old Man,  With An

Air Of Great Affection,  Before He Replied To This Third And Last

Demand.

"My Friend Is Old," He Said,  "And Cannot Travel Far. He Will Stay With

The Tetons,  That They May Learn Wisdom From His Words. What Sioux Has

A Tongue Like My Father? No; Let His Words Be Very Soft,  But Let Them

Be Very Clear. Mahtoree Will Give Skins And Buffaloes. He Will Give

The Young Men Of The Pale-Faces Wives,  But He Cannot Give Away Any Who

Live In His Own Lodge."

Perfectly Satisfied,  Himself,  With This Laconic Reply,  The Chief Was

Moving Towards His Expecting Counsellors,  When Suddenly Returning,  He

Interrupted The Translation Of The Trapper By Adding--

"Tell The Great Buffaloe" (A Name By Which The Tetons Had Already

Christened Ishmael),  "That Mahtoree Has A Hand Which Is Always Open.

See," He Added,  Pointing To The Hard And Wrinkled Visage Of The

Attentive Esther,  "His Wife Is Too Old,  For So Great A Chief. Let Him

Put Her Out Of His Lodge. Mahtoree Loves Him As A Brother. He Is His

Brother. He Shall Have The Youngest Wife Of The Teton. Tachechana,  The

Pride Of The Sioux Girls,  Shall Cook His Venison,  And Many Braves Will

Look At Him With Longing Minds. Go,  A Dahcotah Is Generous."

The Singular Coolness,  With Which The Teton Concluded This Audacious

Proposal,  Confounded Even The Practised Trapper. He Stared After The

Retiring Form Of The Indian,  With An Astonishment He Did Not Care To

Conceal,  Nor Did He Renew His Attempt At Interpretation. Until The

Person Of Mahtoree Was Blended With The Cluster Of Warriors,  Who Had

So Long,  And With So Characteristic Patience,  Awaited His Return.

"The Teton Chief Has Spoken Very Plainly," The Old Man Continued; "He

Will Not Give You The Lady,  To Whom The Lord In Heaven Knows You Have