by Bret Harte
infelicitous and untimely crime, yet he could not make up his mindto his death. He paced the ground before his lodge in dishonorableincertitude. The small eyes of the submissive Wachita watched him withvague solicitude.
Toward morning he was struck by a shameful inspiration. He would creepunperceived to the victim's side, unloose his bonds, and bid him fly tothe Indian agency. There he was to inform Mrs. Dall that her husband'ssafety depended upon his absenting himself for a few days, but thatshe was to remain and communicate with Elijah. She would understandeverything, perhaps; at least she would know that the prisoner's releasewas to please her, but even if she did not, no harm would be done,a white man's life would be saved, and his real motive would not besuspected. He turned with feverish eagerness to the lodge. Wachita haddisappeared--probably to join the other women. It was well; she wouldnot suspect him.
The tree to which the doomed man was bound was, by custom, selectednearest the chief's lodge, within its sacred enclosure, with no otherprotection than that offered by its reserved seclusion and the outersemicircle of warriors' tents before it. To escape, the captive wouldtherefore have to pass beside the chief's lodge to the rear and descendthe hill toward the shore. Elijah would show him the way, and make itappear as if he had escaped unaided. As he glided into the shadow ofa group of pines, he could dimly discern the outline of the destinedvictim, secured against one of the larger trees in a sitting posture,with his head fallen forward on his breast as if in sleep. But at thesame moment another figure glided out from the shadow and approached thefatal tree. It was Wachita!
He stopped in amazement. But in another instant a flash of intelligencemade it clear. He remembered her vague uneasiness and solicitude at hisagitation, her sudden disappearance; she had fathomed his perplexity,as she had once before. Of her own accord she was going to release theprisoner! The knife to cut his cords glittered in her hand. Brave andfaithful animal!
He held his breath as he drew nearer. But, to his horror, the knifesuddenly flashed in the air and darted down, again and again, uponthe body of the helpless man. There was a convulsive struggle, but nooutcry, and the next moment the body hung limp and inert in its cords.Elijah would himself have fallen, half-fainting, against a tree, but,by a revulsion of feeling, came the quick revelation that the desperategirl had rightly solved the problem! She had done what he ought to havedone--and his loyalty and manhood were preserved. That convictionand the courage to act upon it--to have called the sleeping bravesto witness his sacrifice--would have saved him, but it was orderedotherwise.
As the girl rapidly passed him he threw out his hand and seized herwrist. "Who did you do this for?" he demanded.
"For you," she said, stupidly.
"And why?"
"Because you no kill him--you love his squaw."
"HIS squaw!" He staggered back. A terrible suspicion flashed upon him.He dashed Wachita aside and ran to the tree. It was the body of theIndian agent! Aboriginal justice had been satisfied. The warriorshad not caught the MURDERER, but, true to their idea of vicariousretribution, had determined upon the expiatory sacrifice of a life asvaluable and innocent as the one they had lost.
*****
"So the Gov'rment hev at last woke up and wiped out them cussed DiggerMinyos," said Snapshot Harry, as he laid down the newspaper, in thebrand-new saloon of the brand-new town of Redwood. "I see they'vestampeded both banks of the Minyo River, and sent off a lot to thereservation. I reckon the soldiers at Fort Cass got sick o' sentimentafter those hounds killed the Injun agent, and are beginning to agreewith us that the only 'good Injun' is a dead one."
"And it turns out that that wonderful chief, that them two packers usedto rave about, woz about as big a devil ez any, and tried to run offwith the agent's wife, only the warriors killed her. I'd like to knowwhat become of him. Some says he was killed, others allow that he gotaway. I've heerd tell that he was originally some kind of Methodistpreacher!--a kind o' saint that got a sort o' spiritooal holt on the oldsquaws and children."
"Why don't you ask old Skeesicks? I see he's back here ag'in--andgrubbin' along at a dollar a day on tailin's. He's been somewhere upnorth, they say."
"What, Skeesicks? that shiftless, o'n'ry cuss! You bet he wusn'tanywhere where there was danger of fighting. Why, you might as well hevsuspected HIM of being the big chief himself! There he comes--ask him."
And the laughter was so general that Elijah Martin--aliasSkeesicks--lounging shyly into the bar-room, joined in it weakly.