But what seemed an accident on the part of Deerfoot was done with deliberate intent. He wearied of the idle circling, and, confident of his own ability to outwit his antagonist, he dropped his guard for the very purpose of drawing out the other. Hay-uta was so certain of his own triumph that he made the mistake which the skillful fighter never makes; he drew upon his own strength and self-poise by emitting a shout of exultation; but the downward sweeping arm clove vacancy only, and ere he could recover he was struck in the chest by the head of Deerfoot, who butted him with the force of a Japanese wrestler, sending the warrior several feet over on his back. The shock was so unexpected, as well as tremendous, that the knife flew from his hand, and he nearly fainted from sheer weakness.
Inasmuch as Deerfoot was able to butt him in that style, it will be admitted that it would have been equally easy for him to have buried his knife to the hilt in the body of his enemy, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he quietly picked up the weapon and held one in each hand, while the Sauk was entirely disarmed. The latter had been frightfully jarred. The blow in the stomach fairly lifted him off his feet and drove the wind from his lungs. He lay for a moment, with his lips compressed, his body griped with pain, and with no more ability to defend himself than an infant. He kept his black eyes fixed on the youthful conqueror while writhing, and the latter stood off several paces and calmly confronted him, as though viewing the natural phase of such a contest.
But the Sauk was quick to recover, and his old enmity seemed to blaze up with ten-fold intensity.
“The Shawanoe is a buffalo,” said he, from behind his gleaming paint; “he fights like the buffalo when his foe is stronger and braver than he.”
Deerfoot flung the knife of the warrior to him.
“The Shawanoe will fight as a buffalo no more; he will now use his knife; let the Sauk do what he can.”
A brave warrior could take no exception to this declaration, accompanied as it was by such significant action; but it cannot be conceived that the Sauk was free from misgiving, when knowing, as he did, that he held the position of contestant only through the grace of his youthful antagonist, who a moment before could have pierced his heart with his hunting knife.
Having displayed the character of a battering ram, Deerfoot now assumed another.
“The Sauk is afraid of Deerfoot; he dare not attack him until he stumbles; Deerfoot’s heart was oppressed with pity when he saw the fear of Hay-uta, and he stumbled that it might give Hay-uta the courage the Great Spirit did not give him.”
These were taunting words, but, convinced they were spoken with the purpose of disturbing his self-possession, the Sauk only compressed his lips the tighter, and held himself ready to seize the first chance that presented itself. His recent experience had taught him a lesson which he could not forget.
Bending his knees until he assumed a crouching posture, the Sank centered his burning gaze on the face of Deerfoot, drew back his lips until his white teeth showed like those of a wild cat, and uttered a tremulous, sibilant sound, as if he were a serpent ready to burst with venom.
If he meant to frighten Deerfoot he failed, for the mishap of the Sauk was too recent to allow such impression to be made. The figure of the crouching warrior was startling in its hideousness, but there was never a moment from the opening of the singular contest, when the young Shawanoe did not feel secure in his mastery of the situation.
The feinting and retreating went on several minutes longer, when all at once Deerfoot caught an expression, which the paint on the face of his antagonist could not hide, that showed he had resolved on forcing the fight to a conclusion. A couple of quick feints followed, and then Hay-uta leaped forward, meaning to force Deerfoot to the earth. Had the Shawanoe remained quiet, such would have been the result, but he was too supple to be entangled in that manner. He withdrew, so that when his enemy landed on the spot, he found himself still confronted by the defiant youth, who had recoiled but the single step necessary to escape the blow. Hay-uta, without a second’s pause, bounded toward him again, and brought down his right arm like a flash; but, as before, it cleft the empty air, and the youth confronted him with his shadowy smile and defiant expression.
Then, as if feeling he had retreated far enough, the Shawanoe advanced on his muscular foe, who drew back as if to brace himself for the assault. Deerfoot uttered no sound, but when he bounded lightly from the ground, Hay-uta knew the crisis had come; the trifling had ended.
The Shawanoe, when close enough to strike, made a dozen circular sweeps of his good left hand, as though he had rested it on the rim of a wheel that was spinning with bewildering swiftness. No eye could follow the knife in its circlings. There was one smooth gleam like the polished periphery of the “driver” of a locomotive.
The foes, as is always the case, looked straight in each other’s eyes, but every limb and portion of the body, being in the field of vision, was clearly seen. The peculiar act of Deerfoot produced the effect intended. The vision of Hay-uta became confused and dizzy, and before he could rally the Shawanoe struck his blow.
He could have killed the other as easily as he would have slain a bear, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he brought his fist down on the upper part of his right wrist with a quick violence, which, for the second time, knocked the knife from the grasp of the more sinewy warrior. So deftly was the trick done that the weapon of the Sauk flew a dozen feet straight up in the air, turning rapidly end over end and falling between the two.
If Hay-uta was subject to the will of Deerfoot a minute before, it will be seen that now he was helpless. He had been again disarmed, while the lithe youth still grasped his own weapon with the power to drive it home whenever he so willed.
The last act of Deerfoot accomplished its purpose. Hay-uta at first was self-confident; again, he was hopeful; but the latter time he was disarmed, his confidence vanished. He saw that much as he had despised the youth whose life he sought, he was his inferior in every respect. He was no match for him in a fight, nor could he approach him in his peerless woodcraft. The question of supremacy was settled forever.
Slowly recoiling a couple of steps, he folded his arms, and, with a dignity that was touching, said, in a slow, deliberate voice, with his softened gaze fixed on the countenance of his conqueror:
“Hay-uta is a dog whose teeth have fallen out; he can fight no more; he is ashamed to go back to his people; the son of a pale face who is there, when he learns the truth, will point his finger at him and laugh; Hay-uta cannot go to his lodge; let Deerfoot bury his knife in his heart!”
“Deerfoot seeks not the life of Hay-uta; had he wished it, he could have had it long ago; but Deerfoot is a Christian; he will do Hay-uta no harm.”
CHAPTER XXII.
AN ABORIGINAL SERMON.
If Hay-uta the Sauk had been astonished by the action of his youthful conqueror, he was now more astonished by his words; but the former in a measure prepared him for the latter, and he saw why it was the remarkable warrior had refused to take his life when the opportunity had been his, and when too he knew that he whom he was fighting would show him no mercy.
Hay-uta, like many of his people, had listened to the words of the missionaries—those strange people who underwent hunger, thirst, and suffering that they might preach the Word of Life to those who had never heard of that wonderful Being that died to save a lost world, and who taught that forgiveness, kindness, and love were the duty of every one. Hay-uta, I say, had listened to the words of those people, but only to turn away with a scornful smile, for he was sure the creed was one to which the American Indian could never give his faith.
The red man remembered that those priests and missionaries called themselves Christians, and lo! the most skillful warrior upon whom he had ever looked, now stood before him and declared that he too was a Christian. Not only that, but he proved it by his works, for he refused to tear the reeking scalp from the head of his enemy, when that enemy was vanquished!
Once more Deerfoot picked the knif
e of Hay-uta from the ground and handed it (the point toward himself) to the Sauk. The latter accepted it and pushed it back in place behind the girdle that spanned his waist. Then at a signal from Deerfoot he recovered his rifle and tomahawk, as Deerfoot did his hatchet and bow and quiver. Without a word, the two walked the short distance to camp, Hay-uta slightly in the lead.
The camp was of the simplest character, consisting of a pile of sticks, leaves, and branches which served as a couch, beside furnishing fuel for the fire when he cooked his food. A long, heavy blanket was partly folded and lying on the heap of branches, where it had served as a pillow for the warrior, who was different from most of his people in using that artificial help to slumber.
The water, which is such a necessity for parties halting in the wilderness, was obtained from a tiny stream that trickled down the rocks just beyond, after which it sank out of sight in the mountain to reappear at some point far removed. The wood and undergrowth that surrounded the camp of the Sauk were very close and dense, so that the view in every direction was shut off, unless one should climb the tallest tree and take his survey from that perch.
When Hay-uta halted in front of his camp-fire he turned about and extended his hand to Deerfoot.
“Will Deerfoot tell Hay-uta about the Great Spirit of the white man?”
“He is the Great Spirit of the red man as well as of the white,” replied the Shawanoe, seating himself on the ground, where he was opposite the Sauk, who slowly resumed his seat on the pile of sticks and branches. “He loves all his children—him with the face of the night, the Miami, the Huron, the Shawanoe, the Delaware, the Sauk and Fox, the white man, and all those who live far beyond the great water which rolls against the shores of our land. He loves them all, and He hides his face with grief when he sees them quarrel and try to kill each other. If His children will do as He tells them to do, they will be happy in this world and in the hunting grounds where they shall live forever.”
Hay-uta remembered that this agreed with what he had heard the missionaries say, but he recalled also that there was something more.
“Where does the Great Spirit that Deerfoot tells me about live?”
The Shawanoe pointed reverently upward.
“Far beyond the clouds, the sun, and the stars; He lives there, and there all shall go who do His will. A long time ago, before the white men came across the great water, He sent His Son from Heaven to earth; the Son went about doing good, and died, to save those He loved from sorrow and death.”
“Deerfoot tells me what the Great Spirit says to him; how does he hear the Great Spirit speak?”
Without changing his half-reclining posture, the Shawanoe drew forth his small Bible from the inner pocket of his hunting shirt, the other watching with amazement the action. Opening the sacred volume, he read in his low, musical voice:
“‘Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
“‘Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
“‘Blessed are the peace-makers: for they shall be called the children of God.
“‘Ye have heard that it has been said, thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy:
“‘But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”
Deerfoot read these extracts from the Sermon on the Mount, with which he was so familiar that he could have repeated it all without looking at the printed page. Then raising his eyes to the wondering face of Hay-uta, he added:
“Let my brother listen, for these are the words of the Great Spirit, which he speaks to all his children; if they will obey, there shall be no unhappiness in the world:
“‘Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.’”
The Sauk warrior was never so stirred in all his life. He had seen white men read from books, and he held a misty idea of how it was done, but he never knew one of his own race who could interpret the meaning of the curious figures made by some incomprehensible means on paper.
It was impossible that he should grasp the height and depth of that sublime utterance, which is of itself the very essence of the Christian religion; but they were as clear as sunlight to Deerfoot, who had pondered them many a time since he sat at the feet of good Mrs. Preston, who presented him with the Word of Life.
Closing the Book and putting it away, he proceeded to preach his sermon to the Sauk warrior. Deerfoot assumed the sitting position, and used both hands in his frequent gestures. Hay-uta reclined on his side, supporting himself on one elbow, while he fixed his eyes on his teacher and drank in every word.
“The Great Spirit made all people—the white, the red, the black man, and him whose face is the color of the breast of Deerfoot’s hunting shirtfor there are men whose skins are yellow, and others who are brown. He wishes them to live like brothers, but they do not. More of the pale faces are evil than good; they use the red men ill, and the red man loves to fight his enemies, but they grieve the Great Spirit. Let Hay-uta pray to the Great Spirit; let him never lie down or rise without talking to Him; let him stay his hand when it would strike a blow in anger; let him forgive his foes; let him seek to do the will of the Great Spirit, and a sweet peace shall fill his heart, such as he never knew before. Let my brother do that; let him tell the good news to his friends; let him listen to the words of the missionaries and talk to his people.
“The father of Deerfoot was a chief of the Shawanoes, who loved to fight; Deerfoot when a child was a wildcat in his hate of his enemies and of the pale faces; but the Great Spirit whispered in his ear, and he became another being. It was the Great Spirit who told him just now that danger threatened him. Hay-uta knows that Deerfoot could have slain him had he wished to do so; but he never wished him ill; he first showed him he was his master, that Hay-uta might listen to his words; will my brother forget what Deerfoot has said to him?”
Every being, whether groping in the night of barbarism or walled in by the skepticism of an advanced civilization, has felt at one time or another, an irrestrainable longing to draw aside the veil which shuts out the great hereafter, and solve the mystery of the life that is to come. Many a time is the heart stirred to its uttermost depths by the chastening hand of affliction, or when gazing on the glories of the stars and firmament, or when listening to the meanings of the vast deep, the soft sighing of the winds in the forest, or the lisping prayer of infancy. No proof of the immortality of the soul can equal that of its very yearning for immortality, and dim, strange, half-heard whisperings of the Beyond become voices more convincing than all the scientific scoffing and brilliant ridicule of those whose learning carries them beyond the trusting faith of childhood, and stops just short of the grandeur of the light of perfect knowledge.
When Deerfoot addressed his question to the Sauk warrior, the latter did not answer, but continued gazing into his face as though he heard not the words, and his thoughts were far away. The Shawanoe was wise enough to suspect the truth, and refrained from repeating the question. He, too, held his peace, and for several minutes the strange scene lasted. The two Indians looked at each other without speaking.
Meanwhile the afternoon was drawing to a close, and darkness was creeping through the forest. The camp-fire had burned so low that it gave out no light, and the figures of the warriors began to grow indistinct.
Deerfoot felt that he had sowed the seed, and he had only to wait for it to bear fruit. He arose, and stepping closer to the fire, stirred it until it gave forth a flame which lit up the surrounding gloom. Still Hay-uta remained motionless and silent.
Perhaps it has not escaped the notice of the reader that when the Sauk stood with folded arms before his conqueror, and asked him to bury his knife in his heart, he said that the son of the pale face would point the finger of scorn at him. Deerfoot noticed the curious words, and he felt that the moment had come when he should
learn their full meaning.
“Where is the village of my brother?” he asked in his gentle way.
The Sauk aroused himself and slowly rose to his feet. Glancing through the firelight at his questioner, he pointed to the west.
“Two suns’ journey away is the home of Hay-uta. There are his squaw and pappoose. He left them two suns ago to hunt for the scalps of his enemies; but he will hunt no more; he will go home, and on his way will think of the words that Deerfoot has said to him.”
“It is well he should do so; but my brother spoke of the son of the pale face. Why is he in the village of the Sauks?”
“He was brought there in the last moon; the Sauks found two pale faces in the woods.”
“Where is the other?”
“Some of the Sauks took him by another path; Hay-uta knows not where he is.”
“Was harm done him?”
“Hay-uta cannot answer.”
“Tell me of the pale face that is in the village of the Sauks with my brother.”
The warrior, assisted by the questions of Deerfoot, who kept down the deep interest he felt, told all he knew. When he had finished, as the reader may well suspect, Deerfoot was sure he had gained most important knowledge. He was satisfied beyond all doubt that the prisoner in the village of the Sauks was Jack Carleton, whom he had set out to find, and for whom he feared he would have to hunt for many moons before learning whether he was alive or dead.
Suddenly the Sauk rose to his feet and stood in the attitude of listening, as though he had caught some signal. Deerfoot knew he was mistaken, for had it been otherwise, he too would have noticed it.
“Hay-uta bids his brother good bye,” was the abrupt exclamation of the warrior, who caught up his blanket and, without another word, passed from sight in the wood, leaving the astonished Deerfoot alone.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 195