by John Fox
X
The green of the wilderness dulled and burst into the yellow of thebuckeye, the scarlet of maple, and the russet of oak. This glory in turndulled and the leaves, like petals of withered flowers, began to driftto the earth. Through the shower of them went Erskine and Firefly, whohad become as used to the wilds as to the smiling banks of the far-awayJames, for no longer did some strange scent make his nostrils quiver orsome strange sound point his beautiful ears and make him crouch andshudder, or some shadow or shaft of light make him shy and leap like adeer aside. And the two now were one in mutual affection and a mutualunderstanding that was uncanny. A brave picture the lad made of thoselone forerunners whose tent was the wilderness and whose goal was thePacific slope. From his coonskin cap the bushy tail hung like a plume;his deerskin hunting-shirt, made by old Mother Sanders, was beaded andfringed--fringed across the breast, at the wrists, and at the hem, andgirded by a belt from which the horned handle of a scalping-knife showedin front and the head of a tomahawk behind; his powder-horn swung underone shoulder and his bullet-pouch, wadding, flint, and steel under theother; his long rifle across his saddle-bow. And fringed too were hisbreeches and beaded were his moccasins. Dave had laughed at him as abackwoods dandy and then checked himself, so dignified was the boy andgrave; he was the son of a king again, and as such was on his way inanswer to the wish of a king. For food he carried only a little sack ofsalt, for his rifle would bring him meat and the forest would give himnuts and fruit. When the sun was nearing its highest, he "barked" asquirrel from the trunk of a beech; toward sunset a fat pheasantfluttered from the ground to a low limb and he shot its head off andcamped for the night. Hickory-nuts, walnuts, and chestnuts wereabundant. Persimmons and papaws were ripe, haws and huckleberries wereplentiful. There were wild cherries and even wild plums, and when hewished he could pluck a handful of wild grapes from a vine by the trailand munch them as he rode along. For something sweet he could go to thepod of the honey-locust.
On the second day he reached the broad buffalo trail that led to thesalt-licks and on to the river, and then memories came. He remembered aplace where the Indians had camped after they had captured himself andhis mother. In his mind was a faint picture of her sitting against atree and weeping and of an Indian striking her to make her stop and ofhimself leaping at the savage like a little wildcat, whereat the otherslaughed like children. Farther on, next day, was the spot where theIndians had separated them and he saw his mother no more. They told himthat she had been taken back to the whites, but he was told later thatthey had killed her because in their flight from the whites she washolding them back too much. Farther on was a spot where they had hurriedfrom the trail and thrust him into a hollow log, barring the exit withstones, and had left him for a day and a night.
On the fourth day he reached the river and swam it holding rifle andpowder-horn above his head. On the seventh he was nearing the villagewhere the sick chief lay, and when he caught sight of the teepees in alittle creek bottom, he fired his rifle, and putting Firefly into agallop and with right hand high swept into the village. Several buckshad caught up bow or rifle at the report of the gun and the clatter ofhoofs, but their hands relaxed when they saw his sign of peace. Thesquaws gathered and there were grunts of recognition and greeting whenthe boy pulled up in their midst. The flaps of the chief's tent partedand his foster-mother started toward him with a sudden stream of tearsand turned quickly back. The old chief's keen black eyes were waitingfor her and he spoke before she could open her lips:
"White Arrow! It is well. Here--at once!"
Erskine had swung from his horse and followed. The old chief measuredhim from head to foot slowly and his face grew content:
"Show me the horse!"
The boy threw back the flaps of the tent and with a gesture bade anIndian to lead Firefly to and fro. The horse even thrust his beautifulhead over his master's shoulder and looked within, snorting gently.Kahtoo waved dismissal:
"You must ride north soon to carry the white wampum and a peace talk.And when you go you must hurry back, for when the sun is highest on theday after you return, my spirit will pass."
And thereupon he turned his face and went back into sleep. Already hisfoster-mother had unsaddled and tethered Firefly and given him a feed ofcorn; and yet bucks, squaws, girls, and pappooses were still gatheredaround him, for some had not seen his like before, and of the rest nonefailed to feel the change that had taken place in him. Had the lad intruth come to win and make good his chieftainship, he could not havemade a better beginning, and there was not a maid in camp in whose eyesthere was not far more than curiosity--young as he was. Just beforesunset rifle-shots sounded in the distance--the hunters were comingin--and the accompanying whoops meant great success. Each of three buckscarried a deer over his shoulders, and foremost of the three was CrookedLightning, who barely paused when he saw Erskine, and then with aninsolent glare and grunt passed him and tossed his deer at the feet ofthe squaws. The boy's hand slipped toward the handle of his tomahawk,but some swift instinct kept him still. The savage must have had goodreason for such open defiance, for the lad began to feel that manyothers shared in his hostility and he began to wonder and speculate.
Quickly the feast was prepared and the boy ate apart--his foster-motherbringing him food--but he could hear the story of the day's hunting andthe allusions to the prowess of Crooked Lightning's son, Black Wolf, whowas Erskine's age, and he knew they were but slurs against himself. Whenthe dance began his mother pointed toward it, meaning that he shouldtake part, but he shook his head--and his thoughts went backward to hisfriends at the fort and on back to the big house on the James, to Harryand Hugh--and Barbara; and he wondered what they would think if theycould see him there; could see the gluttonous feast and those nakedsavages stamping around the fire with barbaric grunts and cries to thethumping of a drum. Where did he belong?
Fresh wood was thrown on the fire, and as its light leaped upward thelad saw an aged Indian emerge from one of two tents that sat apart on alittle rise--saw him lift both hands toward the stars for a moment andthen return within.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"The new prophet," said his mother. "He has been but one moon here andhas much power over our young men."
An armful of pine fagots was tossed on the blaze, and in a whiter leapof light he saw the face of a woman at the other tent--saw her face andfor a moment met her eyes before she shrank back--and neither face noreyes belonged to an Indian. Startled, he caught his mother by the wristand all but cried out:
"And that?" The old woman hesitated and scowled:
"A paleface. Kahtoo bought her and adopted her but"--the old woman gave alittle guttural cluck of triumph--"she dies to-morrow. Kahtoo will burnher."
"Burn her?" burst out the boy.
"The palefaces have killed many of Kahtoo's kin!"
A little later when he was passing near the white woman's tent a girlsat in front of it pounding corn in a mortar. She looked up at him and,staring, smiled. She had the skin of the half-breed, and he stopped,startled by that fact and her beauty--and went quickly on. At oldKahtoo's lodge he could not help turning to look at her again, and thistime she rose quickly and slipped within the tent. He turned to find hisfoster-mother watching him.
"Who is that girl?" The old woman looked displeased.
"Daughter of the white woman."
"Does she know?"
"Neither knows."
"What is her name?"
"Early Morn."
Early Morn and daughter of the white woman--he would like to know more ofthose two, and he half turned, but the old Indian woman caught him bythe arm:
"Do not go there--you will only make more trouble."
He followed the flash of her eyes to the edge of the firelight where ayoung Indian stood watching and scowling:
"Who is that?"
"Black Wolf, son of Crooked Lightning."
"Ah!" thought Erskine.
Within the old chief called faintly and the Indian
woman motioned thelad to go within. The old man's dim eyes had a new fire.
"Talk!" he commanded and motioned to the ground, but the lad did notsquat Indian fashion, but stood straight with arms folded, and the chiefknew that a conflict was coming. Narrowly he watched White Arrow's faceand bearing--uneasily felt the strange new power of him.
"I have been with my own people," said the lad simply, "the palefaceswho have come over the big mountains and have built forts and plantedcorn, and they were kind to me. I went over those mountains, on and onalmost to the big waters. I found my kin. They are many and strong andrich. They have big houses of stone such as I had never seen nor heardof and they plant more corn than all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They,too, were kind to me. I came because you had been kind and because youwere sick and because you had sent for me, and to keep my word.
"I have seen Crooked Lightning. His heart is bad. I have seen the newprophet. I do not like him. And I have seen the white woman that you areto burn to-morrow." The lad stopped. His every word had been of defenseor indictment and more than once the old chief's eyes shifted uneasily.
"Why did you leave us?"
"To see my people and because of Crooked Lightning and his brother."
"You fought us."
"Only the brother, and I killed him." The dauntless mien of the boy, hissteady eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the old man. The ladmust take his place as chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner:
"I told you I would come when the leaves fell and I am here. Why isCrooked Lightning here? Why is the new prophet? Who is the woman? Whathas she done that she must die? What is the peace talk you wish me tocarry north?"
The old man hesitated long with closed eyes. When he opened them thefire was gone and they were dim again.
"The story of the prophet and Crooked Lightning is too long," he saidwearily. "I will tell to-morrow. The woman must die because her peoplehave slain mine. Besides, she is growing blind and is a trouble. Youcarry the white wampum to a council. The Shawnees may join the Britishagainst our enemies--the palefaces."
"I will wait," said the lad. "I will carry the white wampum. If you waragainst the paleface on this side of the mountain--I am your enemy. Ifyou war with the British against them all--I am your enemy. And the womanmust not die."
"I have spoken," said the old man.
"_I_ have spoken," said the boy. He turned to lie down and went tosleep. The old man sat on, staring out at the stars.
Just outside the tent a figure slipped away as noiselessly as a snake.When it rose and emerged from the shadows the firelight showed themalignant, triumphant face of Crooked Lightning.