Les outlaws du Missouri. English

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XII.

  HOW THE THREE TRAVELLERS WENT TO GEORGE CLINTON'S.

  This terrible revelation fell like a thunderclap upon the fourpersonages who sat at table. There was for some minutes a silencecaused by perfect stupor.

  "You are indeed a sinister messenger, chief," said the old man,bitterly; "whence do you get this news?"

  "Perhaps you are mistaken," gasped the father.

  "Listen," said the chief, sadly, "and you shall hear what has passed ina few words."

  "First sit down and break bread," cried the old man; "we are friendsand relatives, and this awful catastrophe affects you as well as us."

  "You say truly," responded the young chief, seating himself.

  "Eat and drink," said the old man; "then we will talk."

  The meal continued, to the great astonishment of Oliver. He couldnot understand the calm and sang-froid of these four men in presenceof such an awful event. He was half inclined to accuse them even ofcoldness of heart.

  He knew nothing of that Indian etiquette, more severe than that of anyother country, which requires this apparent coldness. He soon, however,discovered how much he was mistaken, and how deeply all these brave andloyal hearts were wounded by the fatal incident.

  The repast was sad and gloomy. Nobody spoke. They ate as if it were aduty which must be done.

  After the hasty repast was over there was silence.

  "You have come, sir," said the old man, addressing Oliver, "at anunfortunate moment; pardon us if we seem rude and inhospitable. Butevil has fallen on us."

  "You told me, sir," replied the young man, "that I was to become amember of your family. Let me, then, share your sorrows as well as yourjoys. I feel more on the subject than you think, being Bright-eye'sbrother."

  "Thank you; you are one of us," said the old man.

  "You are my second son," cried the father.

  "I thank you, and hope to prove myself deserving."

  Everybody now rose from table, filled his pipe and lighted it, andthen, the repast having in the meantime been cleared away, seatedthemselves by the fire.

  "Chief," said the old man, "the time has come. We are ready to listento you with the deepest attention."

  Rising and bowing to all, the chief, who affected stoical gravity, butwho had great difficulty in controlling his voice, spoke--

  "Lagrenay's wife was never ill. Evening Dew was carried off by TomMitchell from the squatters."

  "Are you quite positive?" asked the grandfather.

  "I am positive. The news was brought to me just now by a courier inwhom I have every confidence. He saw all that happened without himselfbeing seen."

  A deep silence prevailed. None interrupted the old man.

  "Allow me," he said, "to speak frankly to you, chief. You are myrelative; I remember your birth, and love you."

  "My father is good, and knows I love him," replied the chief.

  "I know it; but pardon me if I speak very plainly. There is ahesitation in your words which alarms me excessively. I am sure youhave not told us all you think."

  The chief bowed his head.

  "I knew I was right," cried the old man; "you know far more than youchoose to say."

  "No skin covers my heart, my blood runs red and clear in my veins; theWacondah sees and judges me. Let my father explain himself frankly.I ought only to speak after him. His head is white with the snows ofwisdom. He is wise."

  "Good, Numank-Charake, you are a great brave, despite your youth. Soonyou will be renowned in council. I know the motives which shut yourmouth. You love her."

  The young man started.

  "Do not deny it," said the old man. "I know it, as does my son, and werejoice both of us. She will be happy with one who is both strong andbrave. Not knowing our sentiments towards you, you have nobly hesitatedto accuse a near relative. You have acted well. But time presses, andnot a moment is to be lost. We know our cousin as well, or perhapsbetter, than you do. We know also that falsehood never soiled yourlips. To keep further silence would be to commit a bad action--to makeyourself almost the accomplice of the ravishers. Speak out, then, likea man."

  "I obey," replied the young man, respectfully.

  "And hide nothing, I pray," added Francois Berger.

  "I will tell you everything," he said, "as you know my heart is givento Evening Dew. I love her; her love is my joy, her voice my happiness.On my return to the village, after my unfortunate expedition, EveningDew was no longer in her father's wigwam. I asked news of everybody; Ieven ventured to ask you. Your answer filled me with discouragement.I returned to my hut heartbroken with despair. My grandfather hadpity on me. Kouha-hande loves me, and spoke like a wise man. 'Go,' hesaid, 'find Bright-eye at the spot agreed on; he is the brother ofEvening Dew; he will grieve with you, and perhaps give you good advice.During his absence I will watch. If necessary, I will go to the hut ofthe white man on the Wind River. Adieu, my son, and may the Wacondahaccompany you,' I obeyed my father. I put on my travelling moccasins,took my gun, provisions, all that a hunter requires, and started. Butmy soul was sorrowful; a sad presentiment froze me to the marrow of mybones; Wacondah sent it."

  "Courage, child," said the old man, kindly. "Wacondah is powerful andjust; He tries those whom He loves."

  "Two hours ago I returned to the village of my nation. I was verysad and uneasy. Without a word I left my comrades and friends, andrushed to my wigwam. My father's father awaited me. He was gloomy andthoughtful, and rose as I entered. I guessed at once what I had toexpect. This is what I learned. Kouha-hande is a sachem whose words arenot to be doubted. For two days, hid in the thickets, he watched thehut of the squatter of the River of the Wind. The second day, beforethe rising of the moon, there was a sharp whistle near the habitation,and a man appeared. He was very pale, wore the costume of the hunterof the prairies, and carried a rifle. At the distance the sachem couldnot make out his features. Almost immediately, however, a second personappeared on the scene, coming from the inside of the hut, and this wasthe squatter himself."

  "Are you sure of what you say?" asked the old man.

  "Kouha-hande knew him," replied the chief.

  "Go on," gloomily remarked old Berger.

  "The two men approached each other, spoke for a long time in a lowtone, and then separated, after exchanging one phrase, which thesachem heard distinctly. This phrase, which seemed to summarise theirconversation, was--"

  "'You swear upon your honour that she will be quite safe and respectedin every way,' said the squatter."

  "'As if she were my own sister or daughter, I swear unto you,' repliedthe hunter."

  "The two men then parted. That was all. Two hours passed away. Justabout the time when the blue jay begins its first song, the sachem, whohad remained still in his hiding place, his eye and ear on the strain,heard a noise approaching rapidly, like that of a number of peoplewho, fearing no surprise, thought it useless to take any precautions.They soon came in sight. They were no less than thirty palefaces, armedwith rifles. They surrounded the hut and attacked it on all sides."

  "The squatter and his servants defended themselves like people taken bysurprise--that is, feebly."

  "The assailants soon entered the hut. My grandfather now heard a greattumult inside. But he was alone, could do no good, and thereforeremained in his hiding place. At the end of an hour the men came out,escorting a fainting female, who was wrapped in a frazada. Satisfiedwith the result of their expedition, they went off without even closingthe doors behind them. Kouha-hande waited some little time, and then,convinced that the assailants had departed, went into the wigwam."

  "All was in disorder. The furniture was overthrown and broken; thesquatter, his wife, and servants, tied and gagged, lay on the floor.The sachem hastened to stir up the fire, then he lighted some torches,after which he set all the people at liberty. Even then for some timethey were unable to move or speak."

  "The squatter's wife wept, wrung her hands, and bitterly reproached herhusband with his cowardice, whi
ch had been the cause of the abductionof her niece."

  "And what did he say?" asked Berger.

  "Nothing," said the chief; "he was overwhelmed, appeared struck bystupor, remaining utterly motionless. Presently he seemed to recoverhis spirits. Kouha-hande then offered to start in pursuit of theravishers, but the squatter refused, alleging that the trail wasno doubt by this time so cleverly concealed as to render pursuitimpossible. He left the punishment of the villains in the hands ofGod. The sachem, seeing plainly that he was not wanted, went away. ButKouha-hande was determined to reach to the bottom of the dark scheme;instead of returning to his village, he followed the abductors."

  "These, having apparently no fear of pursuit, had left ample tracesof their passage in the forest, and took not the slightest precautionto conceal their route in a straight line through the forest. It leddirect to the Missouri. The sachem at once saw through the whole thing.These hunters, the sachem declared, could only be the redoubtableoutlaws commanded by the extraordinary chief before whom all trembled,white and red, in the prairie."

  "Tom Mitchell," groaned the old man.

  "Himself," said the chief. "The sachem, after exploring the two banksof the river for many miles, came back to the village of his nation,and told me what he had seen. This is my story. Have I well said?"

  "You have," cried Francois Berger; "but let me speak. I am the onlyone person in fault. I should never have separated from my daughter.It is my duty to go in search of her. I will find her or perish in theattempt."

  He attempted to rise, but Oliver checked him.

  "Pardon me, sir," he said, gently, "if I interfere in so delicate andgrave a matter. The friendship I bear your son, the cordial way inwhich you have received me, compel me to feel as if I were personallyconcerned in the matter. May I therefore be allowed to speak a fewwords?"

  "Speak," said the old hunter.

  "Sir," replied the young man, modestly, "I have listened to every wordas recorded by the chief, and I believe every word as recorded by him.It appears to me, therefore, in examining the facts, that the attackof the hunters, arranged with the squatter himself, his repugnance andrefusal to pursue them, point either to treachery or a strange mystery,which it would be wise to clear up."

  "Unfortunately," said the old man, "we share your opinion. Thetreachery is too flagrant to be doubted."

  "You believe in treachery," urged Oliver.

  "Base and cowardly treachery," cried Berger, striking the table.

  "Be assured, then," continued Oliver, "and you will be a better judgeof the correctness of my opinion than I am, your enemies, whoever theymay be, have spies around you, spies employed to watch your movements,and to report them at once. You Will not have been ten minutes on thetrail of the ravishers ere they would be on your track."

  "Quite true," said the old man; "what is to be done?"

  "A very simple thing, and one which I am very much surprised you havenot thought of before. We have only reached the village two hours ago;I, as a stranger, am unknown to anybody, nobody troubles himself in anyway about me. Whither I go matters to no one. With your permission,at nightfall I will start in company with Bright-eye. If our earlydeparture is noticed, we can easily give some reason. It is you whoare watched, and no one else. None, knowing the indomitable energy ofyour character, will believe that you have allowed anyone else to go insearch of your daughter. We shall be three men, two of whom know thedesert well. The trail of one man is easy to follow, but not of threewary hunters ever on their guard, at all events, without the spies bediscovered and killed. This is my opinion, and, frankly, I think itgood."

  "You have spoken well," repeated the grandfather; "what you say isjust. We are proud to have you for a friend, and we thank you. It isnot necessary to reflect long without owning you are right. It would befolly to contest the matter, my son, and I, therefore, gladly confideto you the task of finding our child. Go, as you propose, this eveningat the setting of the moon, my grandson, the chief, and yourself."

  "And you will succeed," said the father.

  "I hope so, sir," responded the Frenchman; "rely upon it, I shall doall I can for my new sister."

  "My son was fortunate to meet you. God bless you all."

  The two young people simply thanked Oliver by looks. It was eleveno'clock at night when they started, without being noticed. We alreadyknow how they met the outlaw.