top / University of California Berkeley SILVER-KNIFE; OR, of AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY DR. Jt H.rROBINSON M BOSTON: WILLIAM V. SPENCER, 128 WASHINGTON STREET. 1854. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by WILLIAM V. SPENCES, In the Clerk's Office of the Tistiict Court O T the I'istric'c of Massachusetts. STEREOTYPED BT HOBART & BOBBINS, NEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, BOSTON. PREFATORY REMARKS'. AFTER I had engaged to produce the following pages for the pub- lishers, I was somewhat at a loss for materiel. I had never travelled much in the West, and had seen but a very small portion of that country where I wished to lay the scenes of the work I contemplated preparing. I mentioned this fact to a friend. " I think I can assist you," he said. " I have no materiel of my own, although I have travelled in the Indian country. We got snagged, steaming down the Missouri, and I lost all my papers ; but I know a person who has a trunk full of the very matter you need. He is rather an eccentric individual, and whether he can be induced to part with his literary treasures, I cannot say. No harm can be done, however, by asking him, and I will make the experiment." I thanked my friend, and assured him he could do me no greater favor. The very next day, while, with pen in hand, I sat puzzling my brains, my door was opened, and a voluminous packet was laid on my table by a " gentleman from Africa." It proved to contain the papers of which my friend had spoken, and was accompanied by a note, although the writer was an utter stranger to me : " DEAR SIR : Mr. L. has informed me of the embarrassment under, which you labor in preparing a work representing life in the far West. Do not write fiction, when facts are so abundant and thrilling. Life on the prairies is so varied, so full of adventure, so redolent of danger, and, I may add, so startling, that fiction must necessarily fall short of reality. I speak from experience. " I'have been often importuned for the materiel which I now intrust to you ; but have steadily refused to let it go out of my possession. I part with it on the following conditions : " All matters pertaining to my private personal history, you shall let alone. I do not wish to go before the public as a t hero. I never liked notoriety. Whatever relates to the geography and history of the country, together with the habits, manners and customs, of the differ- ent tribes, and my adventures with them, are yours. I will not stop to assure you they are facts, because I never deal in fictions. " When you have gleaned what you wish from the mass of papers you will receive with this note, return them to me. M81713 IV PREFATORY REMARKS. " They accumulated during a lengthy sojourn among the Rocky Mountains, and on the Oregon trail. They have been my companions for many months of vicissitude and peril. Not one of them has been published. Hoping they may subserve your purpose, I remain your very obedient servant, J. T." In five minutes after reading the above note, I had the papers referred to scattered about my study, and found myself abundantly supplied with just the materiel I wanted. The MSS. proved, in fact, memoranda made at ditferent times during a pilgrimage of three years in the Indian country. But that which interested me most was the writer's personal history, the very thing he forbade me to touch, and I confess I was vexed at his fastidiousness. Why could he not permit me to use just as much, or just as little, of his materiel, as I wished ? Again I had recourse to my friend, and stated the case to him. " I will tell ybu what you shall do," he said, after a little reflection ; " go on, and make use of the papers precisely as you would if you had received no note with them. Before you get the work ready for publi- cation, J. T. will be on his way to Europe. As soon as the book is published, I will forward him a handsome copy of the same, bound in morocco, with a letter, in which I will apologize for you, and take 'all the blame on myself. By the time he gets home, his anger will be dissipated." Not without some compunctions of conscience, I adopted the advice of S.; and the following pages are the result. Whether a copy of the same in morocco, with the conciliatory epistle, will appease the justly excited indignation of J. T., is a matter which the future must decide. .1 have written the tale of Silver-Knife in the form of an autobiog- raphy, making the latter (J. T.) in some measure the hero of the story, using facts when admissible, and drawing upon the imagination when necessary. NOTE TO THE NEW EDITION. WHILE writing the following tale, the author did not entertain the idea that it would become so popular with the public, or meet with such singular success. Several editions, in a less readable form, were sold with astonishing rapidity, and the calls for the work since have been so numerous and continued, that, after a careful revision and some important additions, Silver-Knife has been reissued in its present neat style. Grateful for the uncommon favor with which this production has been received, the writer would express his thankful acknoAvledgments to the reader and the good-natured public. BOSTON, April, 1854. SILVER-KNIFE. CHAPTER .; i c i j t?,j i\ >> MY YOUTH. A >, A& oorn where the snows lie deep in winter, and where the winds blow cold from the hills in summer. I was not the child of idleness. I gathered strength from exertion, and my features were embrowned by exposure to the suns of the vary- ing seasons. I dwelt in a mountain home, faced the cold breath of the stormy north, and braved the blasts of icy winter. I toiled in the field, and wore the coarse garments of the simple rustic. Indolence could never be reckoned among my sins ; but I disliked exceedingly the monotonous life of tilling the soil. My whole nature revolted at the idea of wasting my youth and manhood upon a few paternal acres, yielding just enough for the actual wants of existence. My inclinations did not flow in that channel ; for I had marked out another course for myself. Every person could delve in the earth ; but there were some things which every person could, not do which few could accomplish deeds which required superior daring or supe- rior genius. I believed I possessed these requisites, and was therefore fitted by nature to perform what the great herd of mankind could not. I felt a proud and lofty satisfaction in nursing-and encouraging the idea. Time, whose foot is tireless, went on his way, placing 6 SILVER-KNIFE : additional years upon my shoulders, witnessing daily my in- creasing restlessness. My father, though indulgent, was a shrewd man. He had watched and studied me. He knew I WAS unfit for my present employment, and told me so. I rejoiced that he had made the discovery, hoping that it would lead to my emancipation from the farm ; and my hopes were not unfounded. He resolved I should have a profession, and very coolly informed me that he was about to send me away to study medicine. I was sqrpi-ised^aiKi rejoiced rejoiced that a change was offered; though, perhaps, bad I been permitted a choice, I might have decided on" soWethirig else. Medicine I had no great liking for at' *jhat 'ticao, refgardirg all doctors as solemn, conceited ( quacl5:. , jt havs since learned to love the study of medicine, if not the practice". My own inclinations, however, were not consulted. My respectable parent had decided that I should become a physician, and he was a man who could not be turned from his purpose when once resolved. I submitted, of course; and before a week elapsed my name was regularly entered with a physician. I pass over the details of my progress in the healing art. I left all com- petitors behind, and was soon as deep in the mysteries of " Cullen" and " Wistar " as any tyro could well be. I will now respectfully ask the reader to picture to him- self a tall, not bad-looking young man of twenty-two, with the omnipotent characters, " M.D." comfortably appended to his name, making it read Hartley Ferguson, M.D. But this addition did not seem to astonish the world in the least, and it moved along as usual, insensible, apparently, that my importance had been considerably enhanced. About two months after my advent as a Doctor of Medicine, receiving encouragement from a friend who resided in that portion of the country, I went to St. Louis with the intention of pursuing my profession. It was there that I formed an acquaintance with Baptiste Leroy, a personage destined to exercise a. strong influence upon my future career. Picture to yourself a man about six feet three inches in height, with eyes deep-set and piercing, hair, though origi- nally dark, plentifully sprinkled with gray, while the sharp features are wrinkled and weather-beaten. He has been a AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 7 hunter and trapper, for the last twenty years, and knows every inch of the trail from St. Louis to the head waters of the Missouri, as well as he knows his right hand. He has, however, of late years, acted frequently in the capacity of " guide " to parties of emigrants seeking homes in the far West. He is a man well acquainted with danger and hardship of every kind. He has a family at St. Louis, and.is at present recovering from the effects of a wound received in a foray with a war party of Sioux. He had been shot in the leg, and the ball had "never been extracted ; hence our acquaintance, for I was called upon to treat his wound. He bore the pain of the operation without flinching, and smiled grimly when I held up the bullet that had given him so much trouble. " That Redskin's eye never '11 run along the sights again," he said, coolly. " And why not ? " I asked as I drew the lips of the wound together, and thrust a surgeon's needle through the approxi- mated edges. * " He 's gone under," he replied. " What does that mean ? " "Killed, to be sure. I reckon you 's never up in the mountains ? " " You are right ; I never was. You killed the fellow, then ? " " Yes, and lifted his top-knot." " That is, you scalped him ? " " Sartin." " It strikes me scalping is a needless piece of barbarity." " It 's the custom up there." " And a savage one, too." " Go and live a while on the Oregon trail, and see. When you are among the Romans, you must do as the Romans do. I 'm a gettin' to be pretty considerable old now ; I 've trapped a good many beaver, and killed a great many buffalo, and starved on mule-meat as long as any other man, besides rubbing out a sprinklin' of Injins, a Despite all my philosophy, I felt excessively annoyed at the cool impudence of mf anonymous correspondent. He certainly had some knowledge of me ; that I could not doubt; one allusion of his had proved it. For a few minutes, I felt like making an assault and bat- tery on the first unlucky object that circumstances should throw in my way ; but such feelings soon subsided. I began to regard the letter as a thrust from some individual whom I had offended ; and, putting it in my pocket, thought but little more of it until I reached Westport. Great was my disappointment, on making inquiries at that place, to learn that the Leroys had gone ; and an old voyageur informed me they had started the day before towards the Kansas. They had a good outfit, and were amply provided with horses and mules, the latter being used to draw a baggage- wagon. The voyageur assured me it would be an easy thing to overtake them in a day, if tolerably well mounted. I hastened to make arrangements to follow the trail of my friends. It was not difficult to find a large, powerful horse, fit to bear the fortunes of a prince. He was a fine, coal-black, restless fellow. I named him Wyandot, in honor of his former owner, who was an Indian of the Wyandot nation. My steed proved, as the sequel will show, as good as he looked. Beside my double-barrelled rifle, I had brought an excellent pair of rifle-pistols and a revolver from St. Louis. I now procured a pocket-compass, and such other articles as I could well carry, and the nature of the case seemed to demand. I thought of purchasing two horses, one to be employed as a pack-horse ; but I renounced this idea upon reflection, believ- ing I should soon overtake Leroy, who had, in all probabil- ity, an ample supply of provisions, and would be glad of the acquisition to his strength : moreover, we should be passing 2 14 SILVER-KNIFE: t through a portion of the wilderness abounding in game. In order to make, my debut as a hunter and backwoodsman in appropriate style, I encased myself in dressed deerskin pants, a buckskin coat, and a Montero of most approved pattern. When mounted upon the impatient Wyandot, with my rifle slung across my back, my belt profusely ornamented with pistols and knives, and my valise, with other things, lashed to the crupper, I imagine I did not present a very pacific appearance. I attracted much admiration; lio doubt, from the mixed population of Westport, which, by the way, consisted of Span- iards, Frenchmen, Indians, Negroes, Half-breeds, and every shade of human nature, from the darkest to the whitest. Leaving the dirty log-cabins and huts, I spurred boldly forward on the trail. As I did so, I fancied I saw the same cloaked figure, the same moustached face, with the hat slouched over the eyes, that had appeared to me when the paper was thrust into my hand. I felt quite confident of it then ; but circumstances that have transpired since have put the matter beyond doubt. Whether I really heard a low, derisive laugh, as I passed him, or whether I imagined it, I am unable to decide. I galloped on, and when an abrupt turn hid me from view he was still standing there, like a bird of evil omen. I am not naturally superstitious, but the sight of that sin- ister form, fixed and statue-like, made me nervous for hours after. Following the Oregon route, I kept on toward the Kansas. I went forward at a round pace, not fearing but I should soon overtake my friends, and surprise them not a little. It was a bright, beautiful July morning, and a ride of half a day braced up rny nerves and restored my cheerfulness. CHAPTER IV. SILVER-KNIFE. I WAS not destined to be long without adventures. I should have been sorely disappointed had it been otherwise ; for, like the valorous knight of La Mancha, I had gone forth to seek them. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 The day passed without interruption. The sun was sink- ing lazily behind the distant hills. A feeling of loneliness began to steal over me. I was not yet upon the open prairie. My way thus far had been over a rugged and broken country, interspersed with shrubs and trees of various kinds. The trail now led through a thicket of birch and low pine. Con- trary to my expectations, I had reached the Kansas. A more gloomy situation cannot be imagined. I gave the rein to Wyandot, and dashed on as fast as possible ; but the way was treacherous, and I 'was glad to moderate my speed. The sun said his lingering " good-night," and darkness and clouds shut down upon his track. Wyandot suddenly stopped, and snuffed the air. I knew something was wrong. Quickly leaping from the saddle, I put my eyes as near the earth as possible ; I was off the trail. Knowing it would be folly to attempt finding it until morning, I began to look about me for the most eligible spot whereon to pass the night. But the ground was swampy and wet, and augured poorly for a com- fortable night's rest. Taking Wyandot by the bridle, I led him forward toward an eminence on my left, upon which grew a cluster of trees of large growth. The dumb animal pricked up his ears as I advanced, hung back upon the bridle, and manifested a decided aversion to that locality. As I proceeded, I saw smoke curl- ing up through the branches of the trees. " So we are to have neighbors," I said, patting the arching neck of Wyandot, " and perhaps we shan't like them." Fastening the horse to a tree, I undertook to reconnoiter in Indian style. Getting upon my hands and knees, I wormed myself forward with 4he greatest caution. After going on for some time in this painful posture, through a vista in the trees I was enabled to see a person cooking meat over a blazing fire. A closer scrutiny convinced me it was not a white man. His figure was indeed striking and noble, stately as Saul, tall as the cedars of Lebanon. He might have been forty years of age ; possibly younger. His dress seemed above the condition of his red brethren. He wore a tunic of deerskin dressed and white, fringed at the bottom and about the wrists. His leggins were of the same material. The moccasins were of a stouter fabric, and wrought. 16 SILVER-KNIFE I with the quills of the porcupine. His hair was arranged in a style less fantastic than common with his people. But his features were most remarkable ; lofty in their ex- pression, yet calm and self-possessed. But little time was allowed for further observation. I caught an imperfect view of a dusky figure beyond ; saw sev- eral arrows strike the noble-looking savage ; heard the report of a rifle, and a loud war-whoop. In an instant, several In- dians sprang from places of concealment, and attacked the lone warrior. Without a moment's hesitation, I caught a revolver from my belt, and, with as loud a shout as strength of lungs could afford, rushed to his assistance. Only those who have had experience in that way can tell the terrible effects of a revolver in a determined hand. Two strong bounds took me to the scene of action. Thrusting my " six-shooter " in the face of a grim savage in the act of strik- ing with a hatchet, I pulled. He went down without a cry. Finding himself so suddenly reinforced, the lone " brave " uttered a defiant war-whoop, and fought like Richard of the lion heart. And there was need, for there were only two to six. I also caught the noisy mania, and yelled like all the fiends. And now the revolver showed its qualities, and cracked three times in an incredibly short space, while as many of the enemy acknowledged its fatality by starting off on a spiritual tramp to the " Happy Hunting-grounds." The remaining three turned their wrath upon my hero, who, though he strug- gled manfully, was fast sinking from loss of blood. They approached him at three different points, and that moment would have been his last, had I not interfered in his behalf. Another of the painted rascals died in the act of striking his hunting-knife into the old warrior's shoulders. I shot him in the lungs ; he rolled over and over, bit the dust, and yelled horribly in the protracted death-struggle. The other two, seeing the fate of their companions, fled, but not unscathed. The crack of my pistol upon their track hastened their flight. The lone Indian and myself stood face to face, regarding each other with a degree of interest which the peculiar circum- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 stances of the case would well justify. He held out his hand ; I grasped it, and gave it a hearty shake. " Good! " he articulated, in a voice from which all traces of excitement had fled. And that was all he said. His tall figure swayed to and fro for an instant, like the lofty oak that clings tenaciously to its last fibre, while the axe is busy at its heart, and then totters to its fall. The next moment he lay senseless upon the earth. I has-* tened to examine his hurts. The most serious was a gun-shot wound in the breast, from which the blood streamed in dark- red torrents. I was prepared fbr just such an emergency. I had a small case of instruments in my pocket. It was not without a feeling of deep solicitude that I probed the wound. To my great satisfaction, it had not entered the lungs, but glanced upon the ribs, following their general course toward the spine. In two minutes I held the bullet in my hand. I then dressed the wound as well as cir- cumstances would permit, after which I wet his lips with brandy, and had the pleasure of seeing my patient revive. Taking a long draught from the bottle held to his mouth, he appeared wonderfully refreshed. Knowing I could do no more for him at present, I turned my attention to Wyandot. Finding an open spot where there was considerable feed, I made him fast, giving him rope enough to provide for his comfort by nipping the tender grass. When I returned, the red man was sleeping profoundly. Loss of blood had disposed him to rest. I put out the fire, for fear our enemies might return and shoot us by its light, an operation I had no great relish for. Wrapping my blanket around me, I sat down to keep watch through the dark night. In about three hours, upon looking at my patient, I found he was regarding me atten- tively. He thought it very singular, probably, that a white man should take so much interest in one of his race. His counte- nance indicated, however, that he was not wholly at a loss to account for it ; that he understood something of that great bond of sympathy which reaches through every grade of humanity. My case of instruments was lying on the ground near him. He pointed to it, saying the magical words, 18 SILVER-KNIFE : " Medicine man." I assented. " Good ! " was the deep response. I now proceeded to inquire how he felt, and whether he suffered much. He replied, in very good English : " Some pain here," putting his hand upon his side. " Shall be better when the sun rises. The red man is strong, and his Jjlood is good. The Happy Hunting-ground is a long way off. The Great Spirit has not spoken to Silver-Knife. When he speaks, the red warrior will go." " What tribe ? " I asked. " The Nez Perce. My lodge-fire burns far beyond the Big Blue ; and the young braves of Silver-Knife are there. I left the great hills to lead the pale-faces upon the trail. When the sun came up, this morning, I started for the home of my people. But the Shawnees are treacherous ;' they love blood, and hate the Nez Perces. Silver-Knife owes his life to the pale medicine man. He will not forget. White man's mem- ory is bad ; but the red man remembers forever." " My red brother has spoken well. There is no sin like ingratitude and a bad memory." Saying this, I produced a meerschaum, which I had brought with me, filled it in grave silence, took a long " pull," and, while exhaling the fragrant smoke, passed it to Silver-Knife. And thus we smoked the pipe of peace. " Who keeps the lodge-fire bright, in the absence of Silver- Knife ? " I asked. " The Morning Star and the Singing Bird," he replied. " Those are the daughters of my red brother ? " Silver-Knife nodded assent. " Has my red friend no squaw, and no sons ? " " He has both. They are upon the buffalo-hunt. Where is my white brother going ? " " Away to the big mountains to hunt, and to see the cus- toms of his red brothers." " Let my white brother turn back when the sun has risen, or he will lose his scalp. The red man is the enemy of the pale-face." " Is the pale-face a squaw, that he should fear to meet his enemies ? His heart is young and strong, and his scalp is safe. He will not turn back." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 19 " Good ! My brother has a big heart. Our great father will make him a war-chief." Having smoked our pipe, and it being the opinion of Silver- Knife that the two natives would not trouble us again, I spread my blanket upon the ground, and slept. In the dreams that followed, I saw the " Morning Star " and the " Singing Bird," fair as the daughters of Rechab, and dignified as the sons. CHAPTER V. THE PRAIRIES. IT was broad daylight when I awoke. The first object that met my gaze was Silver-Knife sitting by a blazing fire. At a short distance from him, suspended from the branch of a tree, were the scalps of the three Indians we had killed. He was regarding them with evident satisfaction while the morning's meal was cooking by the fire. I ate -with a good relish ; and Silver-Knife, despite his wounds, had lost nothing of his appetite. After smoking a while in silence, it was agreed that we should go forward in company. This arrangement was very agreeable to me, for several reasons. I found Wyandot rather restless, having cropped all the grass within reach. The horse of Silver-Knife was discovered at a short dis- tance, " hobbled " in true Indian style. It had fortunately escaped the rapacity of the Shawnee visitors. It was a very superior animal, in every way fit for a companion for Wyan- dot. We soon reached the Kansas, and had no difficulty in cross- ing upon a raft. We stopped at Fort Leavenworth only long enough to inquire about Leroy. He had passed there twenty- four hours previously, and I was doomed to disappointment once more. We met several Kansas Indians during the day, and en- camped at night by a small stream. We kept on for eight days without interruption, and reached the Platte river with- lO SILVER-KNIFE : out hearing anything of Leroy. I grew impatient. We had travelled rapidly, and must have passed them on the way. We were now, to the best of our judgment, about three hun- dred miles from Westport ; and I began to be sensible of the errpr of such precipitate travelling. I resolved to wait a day or two where we were, to give Leroy time to come up, providing I was correct in my con- jectures. To this Silver-Knife made no objections. We had s^en signs of J buffalo during the last day's ride, and were determined to have a hunt, and lay in a store of meat for future use. For security against the Pawnees and other roving bands of Indians, we constructed a camp of small cotton-woods. This could not have been accomplished without the aid of Silver-Knife's hatchet, and we were not a little proud of our rude dwelling, when completed. When this was done, Silver-Knife went forth to kill a buffalo, leaving me to guard the premises. "^Lt was near the night-time. On one hand a boundless prairie stretched away toward the setting sun, while a thick growth of cotton-wood was upon the other. I grew thoughtful. Where were the daughters of Leroy the restles Madeleine, and the calm Mary ? Perhaps they had already fallen vic- tims to savage cruelty. I shuddered at the thought, and felt that I could not remain in suspense much longer without being positively wretched. And why should I be wretched ? Sure enough ? What was Ma leleine Leroy to me ? Nothing, of course ; but, in common friendship, I felt it my duty to protect her, so far as it was in my power to exert any agency in her behalf. I caught Wyandot, and saddling him, mounted and galloped away over the prairie, without any fixed purpose. Perhaps I had a vague hope of meeting Leroy, but no thought of danger. Well mounted, and well armed, as I was, I felt myself equal to a dozen redskins in fair fight. I dashed on for about half an hour, when I saw a single horseman coming down upon me at a pace equal to my own. The cause of 'his haste was soon obvious. A score of ene- mies were in headlong pursuit. The pursuing party were gaining, their horses being in better plight. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. One, far in advance of the rest, was within twenty yards of the solitary rider, whom I was about giving up for lost, when he suddenly faced about, and I saw a puff of smoke curl up, while, at the same moment, the pursuer dropped from his horse. The pursued turned and spurred on, loading as he came. It was Silver-Knife. Wyandot reared and plunged, while his eyes shot fire. " He snuffed the battle afar off." I gave him the rein, but not the spur ; he was" too eager fo the fray to need that. I never felt so much of the mad demon in my blood before. With a snort and a bound, Wyandot sprang toward Silver-Knife. The hoofs of the noble animal spurned the ground, as if he disdained to touch it. " Good ! " exclaimed the brave old chief, as I thundered up to his side ; and then he quickly added, " Pawnees." " How many ? " I asked. " Twenty." " Then we will destroy half of them," said I, firmly. The old man looked in my face with a grim smile. iron rigidness of the muscles of the mouth told him that my purpose was fixed and dangerous. " The white devil is up," he muttered, while, at the same moment, he drew the driver from his rifle, turned iqtfMJMwp stirrups, and shot down the foremost of the enemy. " Another one will soon be in range," he added, coolly, ancH| sent home a ball. , I slackened my speed, and another did come within range, and never got out of it. - I aimed right between his wolfish- looking eyes, and when my rifle cracked the poor painted wretch leaped straight up from his horse, without a single sound to tell that the death agony was upon him. Quivering an instant like a galvanized corpse, he sank down upon the waving prairie grass, without a pulse of life or a nut-shell full of breath in his body. " There 's a scalp for you," I said to Silver-Knife, as another native bore rapidly down upon us. We were now likely to huve sharp work of it. The main body was close at hand, whooping and howling, as though the infernal regions had burst their bounds, and released their inmates. 22 SILVER-KNIFE : I now spurred forward as fast as I could, to gain time to load once more before they got too near for rifle practice. Before I had sent home another charge, Silver-Knife fired for the third time, and' the unearthly yell that followed told with what effect. It did not prove so dead a shot as mine ; for when I turned in the stirrup to let drive again, an Indian was rolling about as though he did n't care but little how much he beat down the tall grass. " I shot him in that way to scare the rest," said Silver- Knife, who was the coolest Indian in fight that I ever saw during all my experience among the Rocky Mountains. Several of our pursuers were armed with rifles, and bullets began to whistle about our ears. One gigantic fellow was preparing to fire as I cast my eye over the prairie in search of another victim. MUd not feel like adopting Silver-Knife's style of killing ; anclso thought I would learn from actual experiment whether ijajy large friend's os frontis was bullet proof. But I under- shot ; the ball took effect in the centre of his proboscis. He tried to utter the war-cry of his people, dropped his gun, threw up his arms, and fell back over his horse's tail. That was the last I saw of that Indian. Indian is a coward so long as he sees a loaded rifle ore him ; but the moment it is discharged witnesses a com- plete transformation in the animal, he becomes as brave as the bravest. It was so in this case. I had held three or four in check with my rifle before I fired, but the instant they heard the discharge they rushed toward me, yelling horribly, with up-lifted hatchets. I felt a sort of unnatural joy in thinking of the surprise that was in reserve for them. The first one that was near enough acknowledged the superiority of "revolvers " by tip- ping out of his saddle in a very ungentlemanly manner. And now the others thought they were sure of me, seeing me, as they believed, holding out and menacing them with an empty pistol, and they laughed in savage scorn. A stout, black-looking fellow, with a profusion of bears' claws strung about his neck, several scalps at his belt, and more profusely bedevilled than any of his companions, thought it would be a good plan to impale me upon his long spear, and thus make me an example to all other pale-faces. r t- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 23 I did not approve of such a procedure, not wishing to be spitted like a turkey for a Thanksgiving festival. Because he had cherished such an unknightly thought, I passed instantly over to the stomach-and-lung-shooting system of Silver-Knife, and let him have it through the sternum, just below his neck- lace of bear-claws. How he howled and tore up the grass ! He was floundering there when I was too far away to see him, or offer a word of consolation. The third came to a dead halt. He never went forwa again, if I except a lofty tumble over his horse's head. There was now a temporary cessation of hostilities. The Indians, seeing the fate of so many of their warriors, held back and huddled together on a little eminence, like sheep. They were probably holding a council. I looked about for Silver-Knife ; he was scalping the dead. This edifying employment was soon completed, for an Indian will rid an enemy of his hair in an incredibly short time. I was differently engaged reloading my three empty barrels. " They 're about to charge upon us," said Silver-Knife. " I don't feel very strong sore from wounds better run for it, and get 'em scattered about the prairie." This was very good advice, and we scampered away as fast as our horses would carry us ; and that was at a dashing rate, for Wyandot was in good condition, and the chief's horse was not blown. There are many things which a man of action and.adventure meets with which are exceedingly hard to describe. In a particular manner is this true of the adventurer in the Rocky Mountains. For instance, it is difficult to convey a correct or definite idea of a dozen savages, mounted on fleet horses with- out 'saddles, and many without bridles, mad with repulse, eager for vengeance, and bedaubed wickedly with war-paint. To be fully impressed with the wildness of such a spectacle, one must see with his own eyes. Mere ink-drops cannot picture the scene ; it is exciting, madly exciting. Our enemies were again in motion. If they had been indebted to shouting and howling for their motive power, they would have been victors in the race. When a savage can do nothing else, he can yell bravely. 24 SILVER-KNIFE : The result of all this racing was what Silver-Knife had predicted and wished ; our foes were soon scattered over the plain, although they kept as near together as they could : but some were better mounted, and left their less lucky compan- ions in the rear. We reached our camp of cotton-woods in safety, while the savages drew up at the distance of about three hundred and fifty or four hundred yards, to devise means for dislodging us. Our horses were taken into camp, and we prepared to act on the defensive. "'I think I will try a shot at one of those fellows while they are taking counsel together," I said. " Too far," replied Silver-Knife. Ball won't hold up shoot the ground." " I '11 decide that," I answered ; and, stepping into the open air, rested my rifle upon the limb of a scrubby birch. The Indians laughed in derision, and one of them expressed his urnitigated contempt by some very insulting pantomine. " You don't know the mettle of a Yankee rifle, my gentle- man," I muttered, as I took a steady aim at the " brave " who had figured so .conspicuously in dumb show. I fired, and never saw a pair of heels fly up into the air any quicker than did his. His astonishment could not have been greater had he been struck down by some electric agency ; at least, that was my opinion at the time, and I still retain a vivid impres- sion of it. Had he practised ground and lofty tumbling all his life, he could not have gone through a series of gymnastic exercises with greater expedition. The aerial part of the performance soon ended, and he finished the whole by a few spasmodic kicks, as he lay prone on his back. " They did n't expect that," said Silver-Knife, laconically. " They think you one grand medicine." " What do you think they will do? " I asked. " If they get courage enough, they will charge upon us ; if not, they will wait till dark and try to surprise us." The opinion of the Nez Perce seemed prophetic, for, with one startling whoop, they all tore away and were soon out of sight. The last streak of daylight faded from the darkening west, as the last of the painted figures swept from view. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 25 CHAPTER VI. A REUNION. A FEELING of sadness stole over me as I gazed on the track of the departing foe. My philosophical speculations in regard to their claims to an immortal soul were interrupted by hearing the sound of a woodman's axe. " White man," said Silver-Knife. " How can you tell ? " I asked. " White man strikes heavy and regular; axe bigger than Indian hatchet." The sounds were close at hand. Desirous of knowing who was camping near us, I led forth Wyandot, and trotted away in the direction whence they came. A great burden of anxiety was lifted from my mind when I saw Basil cutting vigorously into a tree, and a baggage- wagon drawn up a short distance in the rear. He seized his rifle when he heard the unexpected tramp of a horse ; but dropped it in sheer amazement when he saw who came. " Well, I reckon the gals '11 be glad to see you," he said, giving my hand a hearty shake. " It beats all ! " " How are your father and mother ? " I asked, rather awkwardly. " They 're well enough; why don't you ask how the gals are ? " " How do your sisters do, then, and how do they bear the fatigues of the journey ? " "First rate; they like it a heap; mention your name every day. Come, let 's find 'em." With a trepidation for which I was at a loss to account, I followed Basil. " Go, and surprise 'em," he added, pointing to two figures reclining upon the grass at a short distance. Before they had any warning of my approach, I stood confronting them. " Hartley Ferguson ! " cried both, with a start of astonish- ment. " The same," I replied, bowing with mock formality. " Did you expect me, ? " 4 3 26 SILVER-KNIFE : Madeleine blushed. " I cannot say that I ever expected to meet you again," she murmured. At that moment we were joined by Leroy and his wife, and I was obliged to relinquish the hands of the girls for theirs. " Turned adventurer, at last," said Leroy, " I always thought that you were of that make. We are glad to see you." " And we shall not consent for you to leave us," added Madge. After asking and answering questions for some time, I related the principal events of my journey, and invited them to share my camp, for greater security against the savages. " I thought the Pawnees were getting civilized. I always know'd the creturs would steal, and were too lazy to work, but they have n't given me much trouble lately. You can't trust 'em, though. They 're desperate deceitful and cunning." In half an hour we were all safely at camp. Felling some more cotton-woods, we made a shelter for the horses and mules. This precaution was rendered necessary by the prox- imity of the Indians. When we had strengthened our position as much as possible by every expedient which the experience of Leroy or Silver- Knife could suggest, we sat down to a cup of coffee and a roast of buffalo-meat with a good appetite. Leroy and Basil were soon on the best of terms with the Nez Perce chief. They had met before. It struck me that they were fitly mated : well armed and fed, they would be of themselves a host, and might travel the whole Indian territory in comparative safety. Both had a very accurate knowledge of the predatory and vicious habits of the dwellers in the wilderness. The noble figure of Silver-Knife, his frank and open expression, native dignity of bearing, and the honest, hardy features, and tall, sinewy frame of Baptiste Leroy, could not fail to produce a favorable impression upon the thoughtful observer. Quite a change had taken place in the external appearance of the girls since last I saw them at St. Louis. > Over their ordinary dresses were tunics of soft, white deer- skin, dressed by a skilful hand. They wore Indian moccasins ornamented very beautifully with porcupine-quills. Instead AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 27 of bonnets, gypsy hats were tied beneath the chin with ribbon. They were cheerful and smiling ; and their appearance was interesting as well as novel. My coming had put them all in good humor. There was only one damper upon our enjoy- ment, and that was the fear of another visit from the Indians. " I know the disposition of the varmints well," said Leroy, while he proceeded to put his weapons in order. " They won't let us rest long, you may depend on 't. They burn to avenge the death of their companions. We must keep a sharp look- out, or some on us will go under afore morning." " Long Rifle" (it was thus Leroy was known among many of the Indian tribes) "has spoken well. The red-men will not rub the war-paint from their faces. Their young men have fallen, and their scalps hang in the wigwam of my white brother. They will come for blood before the sun rises. Silver-Knife has spoken. Let the young medicine man speak." " My red brother is wise. He follows the war-path of his enemies, and returns with many scalps. He can hunt the buffalo, trap the beaver, and teach his young men to bend the bow. He hath spoken well," I answered. As soon as the evening meal was despatched, the fire was extinguished. Silver-Knife and Leroy were in earnest council together for some time ; the latter looked serious. When they had ceased speaking, Silver-Knife took his rifle, tightened his belt, and walked quietly away. " Where is he going ? " I asked of Baptiste. " To reconnoitre. If there are any varmints round, he '11 find 'em. Nobody can follow a trail, or read Injin signs, like that old Nez Perce chief." " He is brave, too," I remarked. " None bolder. As a general thing, I an't fond o' copper- skins : the best of 'em will steal your horse and take your scalp ; but he 's an exception. There 's somethin' kind o' human-like in his countenance. I 'd trust that heathen Ingin as soon as I would some white men, and a heap sooner." " He '11 go under to-night, if he an't careful," said Basil. "He and Ferguson have made tearing work with the two-legged animals, and they an't the most forgetful cattle in the world." " That Nez Perce was n't born to be rubbed out in that way. He '11 die like a human .cretur, in his wigwam. That's "AX SILVER-KNIFE : my belief. Now, Hartley, you and the women-folks can go to sleep as soon as you please, and Basil and I will watch. If there 's any trouble, you '11 be likely to hear on V To this I objected. I resolved to watch also. I was too much interested in the safety of Madeleine and Mary to lie down quietly to my dreams. And now, for the first time, I noticed they were both armed. A pistol and a dagger graced the belts that encircled their waists. From the daughters I glanced to the mother ; she wore the same weapons. ' " The garison is well armed," I said, with a smile. " Of course," answered Madeleine. " You do not expect, do you, that we are such useless dolls that we cannot make even a show of resistance ? Shame upon the girl who has not spirit enough to strike a blow in defence of those she loves, and for the safety of her own person ! " "Very well spoken," I replied. " Perhaps I may act well, too, in a moment of danger. Females are not cowards. If they grow pale, or sometimes faint, it is not for themselves ; it is for those they love." " Who taught you such chivalric sentiments ? " I asked, still smiling. " Why should you ask such a question, Hartley Ferguson ? Nature taught me the feelings I have attempted to express in words. Don't blaspheme your own perception of right and wrong, of high and low, by affecting not to understand me." " I do both understand and admire," I replied. " I can picture a woman endowed with the high qualities you have spoken of, and something more than a doll. I have never cherished the opinion that females are deficient either in moral or physical courage. But we are the slaves of habit ; circumstances govern, and make us what we are. We natur- ally conform to those influences by which we find ourselves surrounded." " Those sentiments are more worthy of you." " Now, tell me, how have you fared thus far, on your way to the promised land ? " " Quite as well as we could expect, and perhaps better than we deserve. We have been menaced with danger in one or two instances; but our lucky planet has prevailed. This morning we met half a dozen Sioux, whose movements excited AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 29 the suspicion of my father. He said they were too glad to see us, and that mischief was probably intended. One of the number, Basil affirmed, looked like a white man, despite his paint and Indian finery." When Madeleine spoke of a white man,jl could not help thinking of my moustached friend at St. Louis and Westport. Perhaps he would do as he threatened. It would be an easy thing, for a person disposed to mischief, to dog our footsteps. The present of a few beads or knives, or a few yards of gaudy ribbon and cloth, would be a sufficient inducement for the Indians, or half-breeds, to become his emissaries. There was nothing very exaggerated in such an idea. Some reckless libertine might have seen Madeleine, and loved her, if the word love can be employed in such a connection without profaning it. She would reject his overtures, of course. Angry at rebuff, he would seek some means of retaliation. I resolved to question Basil in regard to the supposed white man. I sought him; but he was gone, and had not been missed. I expressed fears for his safety. If Leroy felt any apprehensions, he did not express them, but smoked his pipe in silence. After a time, he condescended to remark that the lad probably knew what he was about ; but, at the same time, ap- peared uneasy. " Everything is ordered by Providence, and can't be changed," he went on to say. " Such as are for the sword, to the svffu'd ; such as are for famine, to famine ; and such as are for captivity, to captivity. Thus saith the scripter." This, I dare say, was excellent philosophy, and very Chris- tian-like, but under the circumstances was not very consoling. Several hours of the solemn night wore away. A few straggling stars came out, to shed an imperfect light upon the scene. They reminded me of those faint hopes which dawn upon our darkest prospects. Their silvery, delicate beams were just sufficient to reveal to each an indistinct and dreamy outline of the other. All were wakeful and anxious. The tall form of Leroy stood fixed and motionless by the camp-door. His right hand rested upon the muzzle of his long and deadly rifle. It had been his favorite for 'many years ; 3* 30 SILVER-KNIFE : it was his friend, his companion ; he had proved it. Next to his wife and children, that weapon was dear to him. It had been with him in hours of danger; it had thinned the ranks of his enemies ; had brought down the buffalo, the elk, the antelope, when he was perishing with hunger. What could supply the place of the rifle? Nothing. Without it he could not pursue the wandering life of which he was so deeply enamored. CHAPTER VII. AN EVENTFUL NIGHT. SUDDENLY a lofty figure darkened the door. It was Silver- Knife. Any signs ? " asked Leroy, in a low voice. 'Yes." ; Where ? " Away toward the sunset." How many ? " Perhaps twenty -five, perhaps thirty." How soon before they '11 be down upon us, do you think ? " ; In half an hour you will hear their war-cry, and see the paint upon their faces." " Well, let 'em come. There won't many go back again. This bit of old iron '11 speak a word to 'em they don't like. You may put it down as sartin that they won't stay long arter they 've found out old Ironsides is here"." By " old Ironsides" he meant his rifle, which he had named, very appropriately, as he believed, after the ship Constitution, upon the theme of whose exploits he was sometimes very eloquent. "I an't the man that loves to kill human creturs, because life 's precious, and they may n't be prepared exactly for the change : but when I rub out one o' them painted heathen, I don't feel as though I 'd committed a crime, that's sartin. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 31 * . But, Silver-Knife, you ari't like the rest of 'em. I can hail you as a feller-cretur. You 're what I call a true man, and I 'm the old hoss what would stick by ye to the last. Here 's my hand on V Silver-Knife took the proffered hand, and shook it gravely. Then, after a pause, said : " There are pleasant lands beyond the big hills. They abound with game. The Indian's corn and the white man's grain will grow there. The Great Spirit has given those fertile valleys and wide prairies to the Nez Perces. They find it -a goodly place to dwell in. There is room enough for my white brother. He shall go there and fulfil his days in peace. His wife, and his son, and the Pale Lilies, shall go with him ; and the great medicine man shall not tarry behind. My people will give them the hand of friendship. They will build lodges for them near the pleas- ant hunting-grounds. The colds of winter shall not freeze them, and the suns of summer shall not burn them. There is wood to make the lodge-fire bright, and grateful arbors formed by the branches of trees, to ward off the fervid suns of summer. When they are hungry, they can go forth and hunt ; when they are thirsty, they can drink from the running streams. What says Long Rifle, and the pale medicine man ? " For a time we were silent, touched with the magnanimity of the chief. A smile played over the features of Madeleine. Even the calm Mary gathered a spark of enthusiasm from the war-chief. Old Baptiste Leroy passed the back of his rough hand across his face, as if to brush away the clouds and make his vision clearer. " Long Rifle has heard the words of his red brother. They have sounded to him like the pdeasant murmuring of waters when one is thirsty," answered Leroy. " Silver-Knife has a great heart. The heart of Long Rifle says, Go to the pleas- ant lands. Let the others speak." " I love the counsels of the war-chief," said Madge. " I will follow him beyond the big hills." " Good," said Madeleine, with comic gravity, while she held out her hand to the chief. " The Pale Lilies will go with him. Their lodge-fire shall burn near his. I give you my hand, henceforth we are friends." Silver-Knife laid the fair hand of Madeleine upon his heart. 32 SILVER-KNIFE . " The daughter of Long Rifle is comely. The heart of her red brother is toward her. The Morning Star and the Singing Bird shall welcome the Pale Lilies. Women speak better than the rough war-chief." " The Morning Star and the Pale Lily shall sing together," I added. " You are perverting Scripture," answered Madeleine, archly. " But you have not said you shall go with us be- yond the hills." She stood very near me I could fcel her breath on my cheek while she spoke. I could not resist taking her hand, and pressing it in mine. "I shall not leave you I will go with you, wherever it- may be your destiny to wander." My voice was low and deep ; for the words were not " the words of poor, common courtesy," which are such a " very mockery." The little hand seemed to shrink and wither as it lay in mine; and the next moment it was withdrawn. What did it mean ? Years of life appeared to be placed upon my head in a moment of time. I was moody and dissatisfied. All anxiety in regard to surrounding danger faded away, as a minor consideration. Mary stole cautiously to my side, and said she feared for the safety of Basil. Silver-Knife warned us to silence and watchfulness. Leroy had been observing some moving object for the last few minutes, which proved to be the object of our solic- itude Basil. He crept in with the noiseless tread of an Indian. He had news for us ; a party of savages were creep- ing slowly toward the camp on our right. We now disposed ourselve's about the camp according to the advice of Leroy. Our cotton-woods had been so arranged, one upon the other, that rude loop-holes had been left for an emergency. We thrust our rifles through these upon each side of the camp, Leroy and myself being upon that where the attack was first expected. We had not been long in this belligerent attitude when my companion solicited my attention, by a touch upon the arm. He directed my gaze with his finger. At no great dis- tance I could plainly see some object in motion. It did not AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 33 require much stretch, of imagination to determine it an In- dian brave. His movements were as stealthy as a cat's, proving him an adept. " He expects to find us sleeping," whispered Baptiste. The scout was soon within a few yards of the camp. Seeing that all was dark and still, he grew bolder, arose to his feet, and advanced. Imitating Silver-Knife and Leroy, we stretched ourselves upon the ground and feigned sleep ; but the lids were not quite closed, for all felt the necessity of sleeping with one eye open. It would seem that the scout was bent on a piece of bra- vado. With noiseless tread, he came to the camp door and looked in. The tall, gaunt figure stood there nearly a minute. Per- haps he thought seriously of coming in, and taking a scalp, and thus immortalizing his name. It was not very light within, and I do not imagine he could tell our numbers accu- rately. He stalked away, at length, as silently as he came. " Good ! " exclaimed Silver-Knife, with that peculiar gut- tural sound that characterizes his race. " He will soon be back with more," said Leroy, in answer to my look of inquiry. " They will come up boldly, thinking to surprise and slay us without resistance ; but old Ironsides '11 have a word to say about that. They '11 come down upon us on this side. Don 't fire fc'jfl they get close to the muzzles of our rifles. Don't waste any powder let every shot tell. Aim at the eyes. Gak, keep back there, out o' the way of the balls. Them varmints don't stand for shooting women, or children either. Now, let every one shut his mouth, and keep i his tongue between his teeth." We were well prepared for an enemy, armed to the teeth, beside being fortified. I had a double-barrelled rifle, a revolver, and a brace of cAmmon pistols. The latter I lent to Silver- Knife, as he needed them more than myself. Leroy had regular horse-pistols of astonishing calibre, and they had seen service as well as old Ironsides. This was not all. He had two double-barrelled shot-guns, carefully loaded with ball. I felt but little anxiety in regard to the result, for five times our number could not well dislodge us. 34 SILVER-KNIFE : 4r What Leroy had predicted proved sooth. First, the spy showed his painted visage, and then another and another of his brethren, until we could not count them. There never was a finer opportunity for an effective shot. As they advanced they covered just enough ground to allov each of us to single out his victim. They came on in silence. There was no misgiving, no hesi- tation, no doubts in their minds in regard to the results* They considered us sure game had already counted our scalps. Soon were they undeceived. When they were so near that the whites of their eyes were visible, we fired. It was truly a deadly volley, followed by a shriek of agony, and a prolonged cry of rage and disappointment. J dis- charged both my barrels simultaneously, and have good reason to suppose they took effect. To our consternation, the cries of the savages were met by answering yells upon the opposite quarter. We sprang to meet them. A volley from our pistols and the smooth-bores repulsed them. It was now one continued scene of attack and repulse. Wherever a copper visage revealed itself, a rifle- ball found its owner. They attempted to five the prairie grass, and the wood upon our left, but both were too green to burn. It was a fortunate circumstance, for it would have driven us from our covert, when we should have been exposed to a destructive volley. The females did not fail to perform their share in the night's exploits. They reloaded our empty weapons with a coolness and dexterity worthy of emulation. After the first onset the enemy took shelter in the cotton- woods, from whence they poured upon us a continual shower of balls ; but we were protected by our little fort-, upon which the harmless lead kept pattering incessantly. In their several attempts to storm us, they were glad to scamper back to the shelter of the trees. " Old Ironsides " was fearfully busy. When that cracked, a fiercer yell rang out upon the night air. " I told you they know'd this bit of iron," said Baptiste, wiping the burnt powder from the pan. "They've been ac- quainted with it goin' on twenty years, and they know its voice as well as I know Madge's. It's spoken to a heap oil AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 35 'em, and the heathen creturs are ready to jump e'enamost out o' their skins when they hear it. I 've made longer shots with old Ironsides than has ever been made on the prairies afore or since. I can fetch down a buffalo at four hundred yards ; but when it comes to them red Injuns, I pepper 'em at six. I can crease one on 'em two - hundred yards further than I can a buffalo or a wild hoss. But three hundred yards is about the right thing, as it gives a feller a chance to dis- play a little more science like. I shoot 'em in the eye at that distance, and the gentile creturs don't like that style of finishin'. It 's rayther my opinion, if you should go out and turn over some of the varmints in the morning, you'd find a hole in their greasy featurs right where an eye ought to be. That 's my mark. I 'm sure to make it in the day-time, and they know it. I never knew but one chap that could do that, and that was an old hoss from Texas, and he 'd do it every time. He said there was a heap o' fun in it. He come all the way up here to practise, and thought no more of rubbin' i out a heathen tha'n yOu would of knockin' down a turkey- buzzard." When the first beam of daylight reddened the west, with a loud whoop the savages left us. They had gained nothing in the encounter ; but, on the contrary, lost many of their num- bers. They had carried away but few of their dead, and we found them stark and stiff, scattered in all directions. The Bpy laid on his face near the camp. " I '11 wager my traps that that Injun cretur is shot in the eye," said Leroy. With his foot Basil turned him over. It was even so ; the ball had entered the organ of vision, and found its way out the back of the head. His exit had been sudden and easy. Many Christians die harder deaths than did that poor Indian. Silver-Knife relieved him of his scalp with remarkable dex- terity ; and that interesting operation he performed for sev- eral that morning. " Does no good," he said, in a moralizing way, " but it 's the custom of my people. Old habits strong. Red men can't get civilized all at once, as the pale medicine man thinks." We did not think proper to move forward that day, as we might fall into an ambush. Those with us were precious, and 36 SILVER-KNIFE : we did not wish to expose them unnecessarily. I would have faced death any day for Madeleine, although I felt there was an insuperable barrier between us. What that barrier was, I knew not ; but I feared the worst that she could not regard me as other than a friend. Nothing had been said of love, it is true ; but she could not help knowing that she was more to me than a friend. But my friendship was not selfish. I felt as deep solicitude for her safety as I should have done had she lavished upon me all the wealth of her affections. "We ventured out but little during the day. Basil brought in a finger that had evidently been shot off during the skir- mish. Silver-Knife examined it. " That grew upon a white man's hand," he said, passing it to Leroy, with a shake of the head. The old guide scrutinized it closely. " That bit o' human flesh never come off o' one of them Injun creturs. It growed on as white a hand as mine, or the doctor's. Pity it had n't been his renegade head. I 'd kinder like to bring old Ironsides to bear on him once. If the truth was known, I've an idee he an't much better than them copper-skin individooals, nor hardly so good." It was now my turn to look. It was indubitably a white man's property. But what was he doing with the Indians ? This was a question which would bear several construc- tions. To me it was another link in the chain of evidence I had been collecting of a lurking enemy. If my thoughts and suspicions were tending to the right point, every step we took in the Indian country would be attended with some new danger. I felt the need of counsel. Silver-Knife was cautious and discreet. I took him aside, read him the letter, and told him my sus- picions. I did not forget the fact that Basil had seen, or thought he had seen, a white man with a party of warriors, which, taken in conjunction with the letter, the man I had seen at Westport, and the severed finger, tended to make out quite a case. The war-chief heard me without interruption. . After a long silence he shook his head gravely, and said, " White man very bad. He loves the Pale Lily. Let the pale medicine man beware. If serpents went upright, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 37 we could see them ; but they crawl in the grass, and no sound gives warning of their approach. Very dangerous is the snake in the grass." In the afternoon Silver-Knife went out to reconnoitre. The night closed in before he returned. He had seen no enemies. The hours of darkness passed unmolested, and we were on the " winding way " early in the morning. I will not dwell with tedious minuteness upon every step of our march. It would tax the patience of the reader too severely. After six days' travel from our camp of cotton- woods, we reached the North Fork of Platte river. Nothing worthy of notice occurred during this time. It was now the 20th of July. Upon looking over my papers, I found the following in my diary : " July 20th. I have now sojourned twenty days in the wilderness. And for what ? I cannot tell. Danger lurks in every step, and yet I go on, and cannot turn back. " Is Madeleine Leroy the magnet that attracts me hither ? No, it cannot be. But she is very comely to look upon ; yes, more than comely beautiful. And there is music in her voice, too. When she speaks, I wish to hear no other sound. There is a restless light in her eye which flashes out at times like sunlight. I am always near her never tire of riding at her side. She is a skilful horsewoman, and never looks more graceful than when in the saddle. A charming girl on horseback is a pleasant sight, and dangerous also. " 21st. I must think no more of Madeleine. I must fly from her. It is dangerous to linger longer at her side ; but I am happy only there ; yet I talk more with the placid Mary than with her. I feel a reserve in her presence, which in- creases daily. There is a native dignity about her that awes me. I believe I really blush in her presence. I cannot ap- proach the subject nearest my heart. "22d. This is unmanly. I was never abashed in the presence of ladies of the highest refinement. I do not tremble to meet an enemy ; and yet am awkward and silent beside this child of nature this demi-savage. * * * * * " Silver-Knife is still with us. He is the noblest specimen of his race. He says we are now in the Sioux country. We travel with great weariness. This morning I saw a horse- man far away in the distance. He has hovered about us 4 38 SILVER-KNIFE : ever since. My telescope tells me he is not an Indian. He seems an accomplished horseman, and is well mounted. What can he be doing alone in this hostile region ? I cannot imagine." ^^^^^^^^^ Upon the afternoon of the 23d the horseman mentioned in the diary was seen slowly approaching. As he advanced, he was an object of much interest. He maintained his seat in the saddle with ease and dignity. In person he was some- what above the ordinary size. His expression was grave to moodiness. His features could not justly be called hand- some ; but they were noble, notwithstanding the deepened color which the prairie suns had lent. In his dress there was no attempt at gaudiness or show. If he had any peculiarity in this respect, he went to the opposite extreme. His buck-skin frock was without any pretensions to orna- ment; but it had strength and durability. The same will apply to his deer-skin breeches, and moccasins. His head was covered by a light foraging-cap. A rifle, the workman- ship of which proved it a costly one, was slung across his back. He wore side-arms also, according to the custom of the back- woodsmen. The animal which bore him was of an iron-gray olor, of the largest proportions, and obviously a steed of spirit and bottom. There was something like hauteur in his manner when he returned our salutations, and I felt that he was a proud, moody man. He seemed startled when he perceived there were females with us, and I thought his eyes rested longer upon Madeleine and Mary than was absolutely necessary. My brow contracted. Perhaps he noticed it, for his finely- chiselled lips curled as if in scorn. Wyandot evidently ex- cited his admiration, for he proved a connoisseur in horse- flesh. " Where is your camp, stranger ? " asked Leroy. " Where the night finds me," he answered. " Where 's your companions ? " " I have none." " I reckon you don't mean to tell this old hoss that you 're all alone among these heathen creturs." " I meant as I said, sir. I have no companions, a brave man needs none." " Good ! " exclaimed Silver-Knife. " The white brother has a big heart." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 39 " What keeps you from being shot by the varmints ? " asked Leroy. " He who keeps the universe. During the time I have been a pilgrim in these wilds, I have learned wisdom by ex- perience. I seldom pass a night very near the trail left by emigrants and adventurers. The Indian naturally looks for his human game there. I seek haunts untrodden. When I lie down for the night in places of peril, I kindle no fire, unless it is very cold. Many prefer comfort, to safety, and are scalped by the light of their own fire. I do not, but am no coward ; no man dare call me such. I value life but lightly, and it would cost me scarcely a regret to relinquish it ; but I would not die by the knife of a savage." This* was said in a voice neither condesending nor haughty, but quiet. If Leroy had been a man of any pretensions, he would not have said so much. I read enough of his nature to know that. " Have you been long a wanderer in this wilderness ?"" I interrogated. The sound of my voice seemed to awaken him from a dream. For a moment his eyes dwelt upon my face in earnest scrutiny, and then that inexplicable change in his expression passed away, leaving his visage stern, dark and moody, as before. I had to repeat the question before he appeared to hear it. " Longer than I care to name," he replied. " You are well acquainted, then, with the vicissitudes of an adventurer's life." " I am, doubtless." " And this life has its charms for you ? " '.' Quite as many, probably, as the desert had for Ishmael, or as the land of Nod for Cain. No matter where, or in what, I find the elements of my happiness. It pleased me to come here, I came." I understood well the hint contained in this rejoinder ; but I was not disposed to let him off thus. " You had no particular object in quitting the haunts of civilization, and coming hither ? " I said, looking him steadily in the face. " Yes, I had an object in coming here. You will ask me next what that object was." 40 SILVER-KNIFE I " That is the very point toward which I was verging," I answered. " And that is the very thing I shall not tell you," replied he, firmly. " Were I, in turn, to ask you all the questions you have put to me with so much ease and assurance, what import- ant facts should I become the possessor of ? " he added, after a little hesitation, and in rather a sneering tone. " You would learn, sir, that you are in the society of a gentleman ; that his name is Hartley Ferguson ; and, further- more, that he is on a tour to the Rocky Mountains." " And for what ? " exclaimed the stranger, with more inter- est than he had hitherto exhibited. " That is a subject upon which I cannot be very explicit." " For the good reason that you don't know, yourself," re- torted the stranger. " Exactly. But perhaps you can tell me," I said, ironi- cally. " Yes, I could tell you more of your own heart than you dream of, and of your objects also. But I will not. Go and see how you '11 prosper. Imagine, if you will, that no one can penetrate your motives (if you have any) ; that you have no enemies, no obstacles to overcome ; that the future is spread out smooth before you, like this prairie." The stranger said this in a more serious tone. " I like the ' plain language.' I was never good at enig- mas. I am too well taught to allow any person to gain an ascendency over me by mysticism, and the assumption of knowledge which cannot in the nature of things be his," I re- joined. The stranger's face grew darker. The heavy brows gathered a deeper frown. " Young man, you don't know what you are saying, or whom you are addressing. I am not in the humor for jesting, arid I seldom jest ; badinage will do for fools, but not for men. I have said nothing but what you have provoked me to say ; and, I will add, nothing but the truth. I did not question you you questioned me ; and now you coolly denounce me as a pretender an impostor." He paused. Then, drawing his fine figure erect in the sad- dle, and fixing his eyes sternly upon me, added, in a deep voice, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 4J "Look at me ; scan me from head to foot do I look like the miserable charlatan you have called me? Can you read impostor in a single line of my face ? If you say you can, you utter a vile calumny. Do you suppose a man created in God's image, gifted with a living soul, and breathing the free air of these vast plains, prairies and mountains, could be- come the petty pretender you have represented me to be ? " The bold, noble bearing of the man, his dignified yet im- petuous language, all combined 4o produce an effect in his favor. " I confess," I answered, " that you have the seeming of a man of honor ; and, were it not for the knowledge you have assumed to possess in regard to myself, I would make your quarrel my own against any odds." " Well, we will not bandy words. It is of little moment to me that you believe, or disbelieve ; but with you it is not so. It is important for you to believe what I tell you; that is, if I see fit to tell you anything. I said I knew more of you than you dreamed. I do. Whether the knowledge I possess will be of any use to you, let the future reveal. I do not wish to alarm you, but " " I am not alarmed." The stranger bit his lips, and proceeded, " I do not wish to alarm you, but there is danger near, the nature of which is unknown to you. I doubt if you have a knowledge even of its existence. I fear I am speaking to faithless ears ; but time determines all things, let it decide this. I shall see you again. We shall meet often often when least expected by you. Perhaps you will lay aside a portion of your pride, and feel that you need me. Whether I am a friend to you or an enemy, I shall not tell. Be assured I am one or the other. I am an earnest man. I' am either hot or cold. Upon any subject worthy of my thoughts, I am never indifferent. There are but very few things in this world which I meddle with. I am not within the pale of the world you have just left. I care nothing about it, because I am cut off therefrom, and don't wish to mingle with it again. I ask no questions in regard to the lives of other people, and wish them to observe the same silence in relation to myself. I think I render myself intel- ligible. I warn you to look to your safety, and the safety of 4* 42 SILVER-KNIFE : those with you. We part now. You will not have time to forget me before we meet again." The stranger bowed, and before I had well recovered from the surprise occasioned by his words, he was far away. On the evening of the 23d, the following was written in my journal : v " Evening. "We are encamped on the North Fork of the Platte. On one side the prairies, with their countless acres, stretch out like the open sea. The winds come creeping softly over them to play solemn dirges in the low pines and the stunted oaks that grow by the water. The music is low and wailing, and fills my heart with memories of the olden time. I am dreary, restless, and my thoughts are incoherent ; they wander away, and then return, return to Madeleine Leroy. Yes, my heart is full of Madeleine. I can conceal it no longer from myself; but I will not write the word that trem- bles in the ink-drop upon my pen. For the present let it be unwritten. It is enough that it is written in my heart. "But this stranger! Who is he whence came he, and what is he to me ? This is another mystery ! Who may say it shall not make another chapter in my history ? But this is absurd ; my curiosity is too easily aroused. I am growing weak, credulous . But I will forget. The human will is omnipotent (so they say), and I will away my memory. "He said something of danger. I must look to it; no evil must come upon these maidens. Would that I had questioned him, as oracular as he seemed. But I was too proud to do that. To-night I must be wakeful. Yonder I see the object of my solicitude ; she smiles, she beckons to me, and I go." *ifc ****** The evening passed pleasantly in the society of Madeleine. A portion of her reserve appeared to have been dissipated. I was also more like my true self than usual. I tried hard to make myself agreeable, and succeeded. I did not take her hand, for I remembered how she withdrew it, and how it shrank and trembled in mine. As I sat by the fire, I noticed Silver-Knife sitting by him- self. His countenance was gloomy and sad. I touched him upon the arm, but he did not heed me. " The thoughts of the war-chief are away in the big hills, with the Morning Star and the Singing Bird," I said. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 43 " The pale medicine man is wrong. The thoughts of the red chieftain are here. He has read the signs of the Great Spirit. The howl of the prairie-wolf tells* him of danger near." " The prairie-wolf howls because he is hungry. Why should the heart of my brother be heavy ? " I said, in reply. 11 The medicine man is young. He is fresh upon the prairies. He cannot interpret the signs which are plain to the red man. Not so with Silver-Knife. He has dwelt in the wilderness from infancy to age. He knows when the prairie-wolf speaks of an enemy, or when the boding owl tells of disaster. 'T is thus the Great Spirit reveals himself to his red children. He speaks to the white man in written books. The Indian cannot read the books, and He makes himself known to him in a different way. He has a lan- guage for all people. He talks with them through things familiar ; and in this he shows his wisdom." " It may be thus. I will not presume to say how the Great Spirit shall communicate with his red children. He knows best how to speak to the different tribes and kindreds of the earth," I answered. " The prairie-wolf has told the war-chief that an enemy is lurking near. The cry of the boding owl has warned him of trouble. This is why his heart is heavy." The Indians have many such superstitions as these, and I did not try to shake his belief in omens, knowing it was use- less ; and, truth to tell, I was a little tinctured with that leaven myself. Pondering upon these things, I wrapped myself in my blanket, and, placing my saddle for a pillow, resolved to be wakeful. I remember keeping my eyes open for a time, and gazing upon the stars ; finally, the stars seemed to twinkle dimly, and go out like an exhausted candle. Then the figure of Silver-Knife sitting by the blaze appeared to grow indistinct and fantastic, until it was a dark, undefined object, having no outlines but darkness. I remember being aroused from a pleasant dream by the discharge of fire-arms, and loud shouts. I have a confused recollection of springing to my feet, of a terrible shock, and nothing more. When the dark, dense shadows rolled back 44 SILVER-KNIFE : '-. from the brain, the sun was shining. My obscured sight grew clear. I put my hand to my head. My hair was satu- rated with blood.' I raised myself slowly to a sitting posture, and looked about me. No person was in sight. I was alone. Scattered around me were tokens of fight an arrow-head, a hatchet, a splintered ramrod, a pistol broken from the stock, and a savage stark and stiff. With a vague idea of the calamity that had befallen me, I arose to my feet. The baggage-wagon was where I last saw it, but most of its valuables were gone. One of the mules I saw grazing at a short distance, and, a little further, Wyan- dot. Where were my friends ? was the query that pressed itself upon me with overwhelming force. Alas ! the answer was but too evident. I threw myself upon the earth, and a full sense of my wretchedness and desolation came home to my soul. All my buoyancy of spirit, all my hopes of the far-stretching future, all the freshness and elasticity of youth, seemed gone. I begged for tears, but they would not come. O, no ! I could not weep, though my eye-balls were burning. There is solace in tears, though it be unmanly to weep. The breezes that floated in wscvy undulations over the green prairie-grass came like accusing spirits, to mock me with the utter hollowness of all human expectations. The nutter of the leaves, as they turned themselves joyously toward the smiling sun, was to me as the last note of a funeral dirge, which tells us we shall see the face of the loved no more. The monotonous dash of the waters, in their pilgrimage to the sea and the haun4s of civilization, told me that I also was to be a wanderer, seeking the rest I was never to find. I heard the birds sing in the branches of the pines ; but there was no more melody in their notes. The breath of the balmy West, laden with the perfume of the fern, the wild sage, and the thousand flowers, was no longer grateful to my nostrils. The senses were closed against every gentle artifice of nature to beguile me of grief. I was only alive to one consciousness that of having lost something which had be- come so dear to me that I could not exist without it. I was selfish I confess it. My thoughts, my fears, my agony, wore only for Madeleine. Even the good Mary was forgotten in the greater solicitude which I felt for her sister. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 4*> CHAPTER VIII. WICKLIFFE. I AROSE and looked to the sky. The sun had performed three hours of his diurnal journey. I had given way to un- manly weakness, and sat down to lament, when I should have girded my loins for action. I went down to the river's bank, drank deeply of its cool waters, and washed the red stains from my matted hair. My thoughts took a more natural tone. Something tangible in relation to what I ought to do stood out before me. I "now looked about for something to strengthen and invig- orate my outward man ; not that I felt the gnawings of ap- petite, but because I had a purpose to fulfil, arid wished for strength to accomplish it. I found enough dried buffalo to answer my purpose, and, having swallowed with some effort -my simple fare, I was sit- ting upon the earth indulging yet one moment longer in the luxury of sorrow, when a sound caused me to look up. The stranger, whom I haid met and parted with the night before, stood near. He was holding his horse by the bridle, having approached unheeded. " I told you we should meet again before you had time to forget me," he said, calmly. A sudden thought crossed my brain, and I acted upon it as suddenly. Approaching the unknown, I laid my hand quietly upon his shoulder ; but my quietness was significant of a fixed purpose. With my right hand I pointed to the smouldering camp-fire, and the deserted camp. " Do you know aught of this ? " I asked, looking him sternly in the eye, while my voice was thick and hoarse with contending emotions. " I see what you see," he answered. " Do not evade me. To-day I am not in a mood to be trifled with. It would have answered yesterday, but it will not now. Your language of last eve leads me to suspect you." 46 SILVER-KNIFE : " Of what ? " asked the unknown, in the same unmoved tone. " Of foul play," I answered, tightening my grasp upon his shoulder. " In short, that I incited the Indians to attack and scalp your friends, I suppose you mean," he added. " I do mean that." " Then you wrong me, for I did not." There might have been something of bitterness in the man- ner in which he uttered this, but there was also much of earnestness, and something else which I could not understand at the time. With an exclamation of contempt, I pushed him from me, and turned away. " Stay ! " said the unknown. I paused. " What do you intend to do ? " he asked. " You say you understand my movements ; why do you ask ? You are the very man, of all other men, who ought to know all about it," I retorted, with a sneer ; but he stood calm and quiet. " You probably intend to find the Indian trail and follow it. Did you ever follow an Indian trail ? " " No, I never did," I answered, mechanically. " How, then, can you expect to succeed ? " This was by no means an unreasonable question, and I made no reply. "Arid, providing you should follow the trail, and come up with the Indians, what would you do then ? " the stranger continued. ^ I was still silent. "You would probably be killed and scalped before you had time to say your prayers." " What would you have me do ? " I asked, doggedly. " I would have you be a man. Be prudent, cool, resolute, and by no means refuse the help of a strong arm and a_ prac- tised eye." " Where shall I find the strong arm and the practised eye, you speak of?" " Both are here," replied the stranger, pointing to himself. " But I care not to trust you. I am suspicious of you. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 47 Where the intention is good, there need be no mystery. I hate mystery." " No matter if you do. Get your horse and prepare to go on the long and dangerous trail. '*> " Then you really intend to bear me company ? " "I do, although it is likely to prove a thankless piece of business. See ! your fine animal* is grazing quietly yonder, arid the sun is far up. Remember, every moment spent in inaction is a moment lost." " First tell me your name," I replied. " Wickliffe ; you may know me by that name. Now get your horse." I am naturally a reflective person. The storms which crush the spirit, and bow the stout heart, pass quickly over, leaving me calm as a statue, and unflinching as iron. Could one look into my soul, he would still find traces of the tem- pest ; but upon the brow, and in the eye, he would discover no sign. It was thus with me at that crisis. The sudden evil jjiat had befallen me and my friends had prostrated- me at firet, but two hours of reflection restored my manhood. I was strong, if not hopeful, and I will not say I was not even hopeful ; for hope clings to one in every extremity. I was now ready to act, as well as think. It was evident (to me) that the catastrophe had been brought about, not by the. Indians solely, but by the instiga- tion of a white man. I had several reasons for this belief. If it had been the work of savages alone, my friends would have been killed, and scalped on the spot; or, at least, such would have been the fate of some of them. The females possibly might have been spared, but that was extremely doubtful, as they did not scruple to imbrue their hands in the blood of both sexes. Where were Silver-Knife, Leroy, and Basil ? If they were slain, where were their bodies ? If they were living, why did they desert me ? The Indians might have commenced the attack so suddenly that the females had been captured before a blow had been struck, and I had been awakened by the first alarm. My friends, seeing me fall, and supposing I had already departed on the trail of death, pursued the flying foe 48 SILVER-KNIFE : to rescue the captives. All this looked reasonable. I felt quite sure the whole affair had been planned and executed by a white man, with a view to get Madeleine and Mary into his power. A white man had undoubtedly participated in the other night attack, as the severed finger would attest. The next query that arose was, who is Wickliffe ? Can he be trusted ? If he had not had the usual number of digits, I should have said no ; but he was not deficient in that particular. Although there was something about the man which marked him superior to deceit, I resolved to watch him. Wickliffe looked like a true man, and I could not but confess it to myself. Influenced by motives which I could not fathom, he had volunteered to guide me on the Indian trail a very difficult and dangerous mission. He took the lead, as if he was to be the principal actor, as a matter of course. The trail, at first, it required no gr&yt sagacity to find, for the imprint of horses' feet upon the prai- rie-grass was very legible, bearing away to the right of the Platte. Our progress was not very rapid, as Wickliffe had to dis- mount often, and lead his horse by the bridle, in order to be certain that we were on the trail. . " Some of your friends are on the trail, for a certainty," said he, as he examined attentively the horse-tracks. " Hew can you tell ? " I asked. " By the iron hoofs," he replied. I examined the ground, and the imprint of a horse-shoe was distinctly visible. " It is evident, at any rate," added Wickliffe, " that your friends' horses have gone this way, whether they were in the saddles or not. But it is my impression that they went of their own accord, and as free men ; for in many places I notice that the iron tracks are not on the trail, as they would naturally be had they been prisoners. Instead of following its windings, they take a straight course, and come upon it at the next sweep. No person but an old trapper could do that, or, rather, would run the risk of doing it, for one inexpe- rienced might lose the trail altogether." 9 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 49 This was cheering news to me. If Silver-Knife, Leroy, or Basil, or all of them, were in pursuit of the victorious party, I had much to hope. In that case, cunning and ability were happily united. Few backwoodsmen could hope to 'suc- ceed where they had failed. We traversed the wide prairie during the day, and encamped upon it when it became too dark to see the trail. Our preparations for camping did not require much time. We gathered a few dry limbs, kindled a fire, ate our hunter's fare, and wrapped ourselves in our blankets. Our beasts fared better than ourselves, for the grass was abundant. A night on the open prairie is lonely enough under ordi- nary circumstances, but in the situation in which I was placed it was rendered doubly so. The hours rolled solemnly away, and sleep refused to visit my eyelids. The one idea of Madeleine in danger was ever present with me. I pictured her in every variety of suffering. I saw her in the power of savages, toil-worn and bleeding. I saw her dragged forth for the torture. I saw the lurid flames licking up her blood. And then I beheld her in the power of a disap- pointed and remorseless libertine, perhaps the very person I had seen at St. Louis and Westport. You can easily imagine, with all these fancies crowding through my brain, my dreams were few. About two o'clock I sank into one of those slumbers in which the mind loses but half its consciousness. I was aroused by Wickliffe, who shook me by the shoulder. " You have been groaning in your sleep for the last hour," he said. " Th^ sun is rising. It is time we were on the way." Our breakfast of buffalo-meat was soon despatched. A smart ride of three hours took us off the prairie into a coun- try broken by hills and ravines, studded with oak, cotton- woods, birch, and walnuts. The difficulties of the trail now commenced. The Indians had probably covered their horses' feet with buffalo-skins; and the iron hoofs of my friends' animals could be no longer seen. We were now at fault. The trail lost its individuality, and scattered in all directions. This was a device of the In- dians to avoid pursuit. 5 50 SILVER-KNIFE : " Your friends lost the trail here, or adopted the Indian plan, and wrapped their horses' feet in. buffalo-skins," said Wickliffe, who never appeared at a loss to account for every- thing he saw. It was now that he evinced his deep knowledge of Indian character. No object escaped his attention. A stone displaced, a spire of grass trodden down, a bent twig, were sufficient to mark the trail. But at first, with me, these things passed unnoticed. By noon we reached a spot where the Indians had evidently camped. " I think they must be a war-party of Crows," said my companion. " The place which they selected for their lodge, and the manner of building a fire, makes me pretty certain on this point. If I am right in my conjectures, their course is towards the Big Horn river." The cautions of the pursued party increased at every step. About four o'clock in the afternoon, after toiling up a long hill, we descended into a deep valley, traversed by a brook of considerable width. The trail had been growing fainter for the last hour,. and we now lost it altogether. For a moment Wickliffe was at a loss ; but when he per- ceived the brook his countenance cleared up. " Ah ! I see how it is," he said. " They have taken to the water." He now informed me that this was a stratagem frequently adopted by war-parties to baffle pursuit, and that they often walked in the bed of a brook, or shallow stream, several miles, being careful not to disturb the stones or weeds at the bottom, or splash the water upon the banks. I had read of such things, but did not really think they wote true, now I was convinced. Wickliffe directed me to cross, and follow upon the oppo- site bank, while he went forward upon the other. By ob- serving the signs, we hoped to discover when the trail left the bed of the brook. We dismounted, led our horses, and walked on in silence for an hour, without finding any signs of a trail. Wickliffe now crossed the brook. " Here is grass," he said. " Our beasts are hungry. Let them feed here, and I will go forward while you watch them." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 51 CHAPTER IX. A PANTHER. I HOBBLED the horses, and sat down beneath a sycamore, while Wickliffe went on. I was very weary, and my eyes were heavy for want of sleep. The monotonous murmur of the brook, the leaves sighing in the sc^ft wind, the birds sing- ing in the trees, soothed my senses, and lulled me into a slumber. What a pity that, when the overwrought mind thus forgets its burden of misery, the spell could not last forever that the weary soul might sleep out the years of its eternity with- out one interval of waking ! Why had it not been appointed that when the worldly struggle is over, the aching lids should close in death, as the tired child drops its playthings and falls to sleep in some sunny spot. Why must we feel " The sickness, the nausea, The pitiless pain," and that " Horrible, horrible throbbing " 7 I have thought of it nights and nights, and wondered why a living, breatljlpg creature, called man, was invoked into life to writhe and die like a wretched worm. From my deep sleep I was aroused by a noise at my side. Upon opening my eyes, the two horses were crowding close to me, as if for protection, while they trembled in every joint. I looked about me, but could see no cause for alarm, and concluded they had been frightened by some animal whije feeding at a distance, and had not yet recovered their spirit. The sun had just settled away behind the blue ridges of the distant Sierra, and the time of twilight had come ; and a soft, dreamy, mellow twilight it was. it was to me just what I had pictured an Italian sunset. But little time was allowed me to please myself with such an illusion, for my 6 J SILVER-KNIFE : attention was again called to the strange conduct of the horses. They pressed as near me as possible, while their expanded nostrils, glowing eyes, trembling limbs, and low neighs, attested extremest fear. I now began to be sensible there must be a cause for such demonstrations, and mechanically followed the direction of their fixed eyes with mine. Heavens ! I saw a sight which sent the blood tingling through my veins as if it had been commingled with atoms of ice. Standing upon a branch of a large sycamore which gfew on the opposite side of the brook, was one of those animals so dreaded by all, and so terrible to Indians, a panther, large as a tiger, fierce as a hyena. It will be impossible for me to forget the sensations that overpowered me at that moment, though they were not of a nature to explain and dilate upon. The eyes met my gaze like two living coals set in a seal of darkness, and emitted burning sparks. I saw the hissing jaws open, and a tongue like a heated iron thrust out. There was that peculiar fury and malignity leaping from the cat-like visage that tells of a purpose too fixed and deadly to be diverted or delayed. I tried to summon all my firmness, to look back his hate without flinching. The power of my eye appeared to arrest him in the act of springing. He turned and walked back and forth on the limb, with quick, nervous, restless motions, lashing his sides with his long tail, and uttering low, threatening growls. At length he came out on the limb toward me as far as possible, and stood still, save a slight wavy mjtion of the tail, and a quivering of the lips. I knew enough 01 the nature of the animal to be aware that he was preparing to spring upon me. It was a fearful moment, and the poor dumb Wyandot participated keenly in the intense interest thereof; but the panther did not make the fearful leap. He turned and walked back once more on the limb, as if on purpose to tan- talize and keep me in horrible suspense. After this act of bravado, he assumed his former attitude, looking more threat- ening, if possible, than before. His back was gracefully curved, and every hair Appeared to stand erect, while he grad- ually and slowly settled back upon his haunches. I knew what that meant, and brought my double-barrelled rifle delib- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 53 erately to my shoulder. There was a single white spot upon his breast. It was a beautiful niark, and I levelled the " sights " down to it with a calm hand. 1 fired, and the next instant was prostrated by a huge, hairy body, which came against me like a gigantic ball. With loud snorts, the horses ran away as fast as their hobbles would permit. Though somewhat stunned, and confused by the shock, I gathered myself up as quickly as possible. The panther lay at my feet in the last spasm of death. I was standing beside the quivering mass of flesh when Wickliffe made his appearance. " That was well done,"" he remarked, in his usual unmoved manner. " You exhibited nerve worthy of an old trapper." " What makes you think so ? " I asked coolly, quietly blow- ing the smoke from the empty barrel, as though nothing more than ordinary had happened. " Because I saw it all. My rifle has been levelled on that animal for the last three minutes. If you had not fired when you did, I should have saved you the trouble. The panther is the most fearful animal on the prairies, save a Camanche or a Blackfoot," replied Wickliffe. Upon measuring the animal with my ramrod, he was found to be about thirteen feet from the tip of the snout to the end of the tail. Wickliffe assured me it was one of the largest-sized Ameri- can panthers. " Well, what success ? " I asked. " Have you found the trail ? " " No, but Lijhave killed a buffalo, and brought away his hump in triumph ; so, with your consent, we will kindle a fire, and test our gastronomic powers." We soon piled a heap of fagots, and a cheerful blaze leaped up. I ate with a better appetite than I had felt for the two preceding days; for a buffalo hump is a delicious morsel for a hungry man. Wickliffe was more companionable than usual. A portion of the chilling reserve which had characterized him hitherto seemed forgotten ; but he was still digmified v mysterious, and That was one thing I had against him he was too self- ^ possessed. It was annoying, and gave me a feeling of infe- * 5* 54 SILVER-KNIFE I riority, to see a man so calm and self-reliant on all occasions. It appeared like one's setting himself up for more than he was worth. But that night Wickliffe was modified and mellowed down to something like an equality; and that, too, without any effort. In short, nothing, apparently, cost him an effort. I was desirous of knowing more of him ; what brought him to the desert; whence he came ; who he was; what he had been, &c. ; but such questions he evaded, and considered im- pertinent. What on earth could induce him to take such an interest in me ? for in me he obviously did take an interest. Though he had not declared himself my friend, I no longer felt sus- picious or fearful of him. His actions had done more to reassure me than his words ; for of words, those playthings so cheap with everybody else, he was chary. " I wonder you neyer took to a profession," I remarked, as we sat by the blazing fire. " What are professions ? " he said, with a sneer. " They are solemn lies. The majority of professional men are mis- erable quacks. An honest man among them is a black sheep in the flock. It is so with the three learned professions Medicine, Divinity, Law. All stuff the profession of an honest man is worth them all." " Remember, sir, that I am a professional man," I rejoined, with some asperity. " Know that J am something of a professional man also, or at least was ; but I disclaim the whole of it now, and hourly strive to forget what I learned years ag^" " And wherefore ? " I asked. " I could tell you," he replied, contracting his brows darkly, " but what would it avail. Medical students are vampires ; they have no fixed principles of right ; they do not respect the dead. Go into those horrible shops of human butchery, and see what I have seen ; go and see miserable tricks played upon the dead; go and see them insulted, till their dead hands seem ready to lift up and protest against the living ; go and hear the remouseless gibes, obscene jests and revmngs, 1 that are poured forth daily in those festering shambles." "You forget that I have been through the mill," I re- torted, with a forced laugh. " You wanted nerve, man. You AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 55 would never have answered for a resurrectkmst. The first touch of the cold human clod would have sent you shuddering away," I added. " Not so, sir," he replied, sharply. " To my everlasting regret, I once performed that most terrible of all midnight operations the raising of a body. I was not afraid ; I never was afraid of the dead. I can take hold of a dead man's hand as calmly as I can take yours. If there was not a higher and holier principle involved, I could unearth a hu- man body as calmly as I can eat my supper. But there is something that whispers to the inward consciousness, and says, ' Let the dead rest.' I have heard it ever since, and cannot turn therefrom." " Tell me the story. It will serve to beguile the long night hours before us. Anything is better than bad dreams." " I will," he answered, " in the hope that it may forever deter you from such practices. Do not think I take a pleas- ure in telling you ; it is anything, everything but that. Like Cardenio, I cannot bear interruption ; therefore do not say a word after I commence." It was quite dark ; for the moon and stars shone dimly. A deep stillness settled down upon the woody wilds, broken only at long intervals by the distant bark of the prairie-wolf. The bright fire burned fitfully, and, leaping upward in forked jets, seemed feeding upon air; but, as the fagots tUat^ gave it life crumbled and grew smaller and smaller, it took a steadier and more solemn mood, and varied as Wicklifie's story varied. CHAPTER X. WICKLIFFE'S ADVENTURE. " I WAITED several days for a dark, rainy night," said Wick- liffe. " But no dark, rainy night came. The sun set without a cloud. The moon came up serene and beautiful, and shone down upon the new-made grave. The girl had slept longer than Lazarus; for she had been shrouded and earthed a 56 SILVEE-KNIFE : week. I knew well where she lay ; I saw them when they placed her there, and flung the clods upon her ; and after- ward I saw them go there at mild eventide to weep. The mound had been raised with great care. Green turf had been cut, and laid over it, with mechanical nicety. Love could do no more than this; for the weepers were poor. Affection would have reared a column of marble, but poverty sternly forbade it. The name of the sleeper was written only in tears, and her memory embalmed only in loving hearts. " I was thirsting for knowledge. My sharp scalpels had never tasted human gore ; I had never imbrued my fingers in human mortality. I longed to look into the organs of mind, to trace aqueducts of the heart wherein courses the subtle principle of animal life, and examine the infinitude of nervous expansion and ramification. I had waited long for an oppor- tunity, and struggled with my better nature. An ' oppor- tunity ' was now offered. " It had been whispered to me that she was wasting away, and dying. The thought flashed through my mind with the rapidity of lightning the thought which some will call fiendish -to wrest her from the grave when she was given over to the worm. The suggestion seemed too cool and delib- erate, and I strove to banish it ; but it was in vain. I found myself almost involuntarily maturing and carrying out the idea. At first there was something terrible in it. It was too much like waiting for Death, and encouraging him to a deed which he was in no haste to acccomplish. At length the idea became familiar. I inquired daily of the villagers if she was dead. . " The struggle was over at length. The spirit went back to its origin, and the earth to its kindred clods. " The slow, solemn pealing of the bells startled me. I seemed to have had some agency in the death of the girl. There was something reproachful in the woe-begone appearance of the humble mourners as they passed me with their stricken heads low bent. I followed the funeral cortege. I saw the body lowered to "what they destined to be its final resting- place. " The prayers said for the poor are brief; and those were. The mourners tottered away from the sound of the falling earth, more crushed in appearance than before. I was ready AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 57 to forego niy purpose ; for those sobs and those tears were directed at me. " An hour over * Wistar ' and ' Bell ' restored me to my- self and my purpose. But time did not favor me. I wanted, as I have said, a dark night ; for the church-yard was in the heart of the village, and I could not perform the deed with- out a mantle of darkness around me. " Several times it clouded up in the morning, and I nattered myself that a favorable night would set in. But no ; the clouds lifted, the fine misty rain ceased to distil, and the sun went down leaving a clear sky and starry nights ; and the benign moon still looked upon the new-made grave. For a week the shrouded girl waited for the worm. " The seventh night was propitious. Dark clouds coursed across the heavens, and a drizzling rain came down. With the necessary implements for exhuming the body, I awaited the hour of midnight in my office. Various emotions filled my bosom, as I paced impatiently up and down, and across my room. Melancholy sounds crept through the keyhole. Chilly gusts of wind sighed fitfully through the window-case- ments, and made spiteful dashes at my lamp. The fire burned with a sort of moody solemnity, and made uncouth shadows upon the wall, which danced about like living things. " I tried to sleep in an arm-chair until the hour arrived ; but I heard the clock tell all the hours, and, though I closed my eyes, the shadows on the wall flitted before me, while my ears were open to the dirges the wind seemed singing for the departing minutes. " I was conscious of mysterious influences, hitherto unfelt, unknown, and unfeared. " Reason came to my aid. I thought of the course I had marked out for myself, the great arcana of science which it was mine to explore ; and strove to brush away the illu- sion I had conjured into life, as I would brush away cob- webs. " The clock struck twelve, at last, and I made preparations to go forth. First I drew on a large overcoat (borrowed for the occasion), which covered me from head to heel. Through the handle of the spade I passed a handkerchief, which was made fast about my neck. Over this' I buttoned the capacious coat, which effectually concealed it from view. Then taking 58 SILVER-KNIFE : a chisel and mallet in my hand, and a large coffee-sack under my arm, I opened the door and stepped out into the dark midnight. The gusty breath of the dreary storm met me with a mysterious chilliness, as if to warn me back. " Slouching my hat over my eyes, and grasping my imple- ments tighter, I directed my steps to the grave-yard. I crossed a long bridge, keeping assiduously in the middle, in- stead of on the walks at the sides, for fear the wind, in a sudden fit of anger, might lift me up and dash me down into the tumbling waters beneath. " A thousand whimsical and exaggerated ideas and fears rushed into my brain at once, to deter me from the contem- plated deed; but I was nerved up to it. My thirst for knowledge liad become a mania, an impulse capable of bearing down anything in its way. " My own footfall upon the bridge had an indescribably hol- low, sepulchral sound, something like the first clods falling upon a coffin in mid-winter, when the ground is frozen. I quickened my pace, and felt relieved when I could no longer hear the sullen roar of the waters, and the solemn echoes. No lights were gleaming in the streets, and none from the windows, save where friends kept untiring vigils by the sick. The whole village, as I caught dim and shadowy outlines thereof, took on the air and aspect of some ancient burial- place. I looked about me for the ghouls and gnomes that flit mournfully about uncanny places. "As I neared the last home of mortality, I felt a sickly coldness at my heart, as though an icy hand had been laid thereupon, checking its free and healthful motions. I passed the old church where prayers had been said over the girl be- fore they laid her away to sleep. In fancy I heard the sub- dued tone of the man of Grod, and saw the bereaved ones pressing close to the coffin as they came out. " Without pausing, I clambered over the gate which opens only at the approach of death. When would it make space for me to enter ? The Maker of the world only could an- swer, and He was silent ; for why should He commune with the earthly born ? " I stood among the graves I who hoped one day for a peaceful grave. How dismal that night was! what awful whispers came on the wings of the wind ! I groped along cautiously, stumbling over the graves. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 59 ^ Strange sensations are experienced in walking among the graves at midnight an ^indefinable creeping of the flesh, which it is utterly out of my power to describe. Few have the coolness and courage equal to the nameless terrors of such a situation. " I fell upon a mound, and, by a rapid operation of the mind, measured it, and knew it to be precisely my own extended length. There was something revolting in the consciousness that my length corresponded with that of the grave. I sprang from the wet ground as though a deadly serpent had fastened his fangs upon me. " 1 stood beside her grave, at last. I knew it by the new turf that had been laid thereon. " It was the year's Autumn. The earth was slightly stiffened with frost which the misty rain had not yet thawed. This circumstance was against me, for the cut and approximated edges of the turf were frosted together, and could not be re- placed so as to assume their present appearance, and would not until cold nights had again exerted their influence. " I hesitated ; but it was for a moment only. Throwing off or, more properly, striving to the superstitious fears that assailed me, as I threw off my overcoat, I strove to im- agine myself as calm as the marble monuments about me, or as those who slept beneath them. " Upon my knees, and bending over the grave until my face nearly touched the earth, I examined it as well as the intense darkness would permit. A flat stone, vertically placed, marked the head. With my hands I carefully removed the turf about t one-third the length of the grave. Fortunately, the sods clung together so tenaciously that the piece was not broken, but retained its peculiar and original form. " Grasping the spade with a kind of desperation, I forced it into the ground with my foot. How loud the harsh, grating noise sounded ! How it jarred upon my nerves ! I threw out spadeful after spadeful, until out of breath. Reeking with perspiration, I paused to rest. As I stood there a large mas- tiff, belonging to one of the nearest dwellings, came out, and putting his fore-paws upon the fence, barked and howled furiously. He was large enough to tear me limb from limb, and the idea occurred to me that such was his intention. " But I had met the fellow several times in the village, and 60 SILVER-KNIFE : he had always recognized me with a good-natured leer of the eye, a friendly wag of the tail, and a manifest desire to cul- tivate my friendship ; what, then, ailed the dumb creature, and why such demonstrations of hostility? " Did he know I had no business there ? It would seem so, for he .kept up such a fierce bavking and growling that I be- gan to fear for the safety of my enterprise. I sat down upon the grave and remained perfectly motionless, in a frame of mind which no living creature could envy not even the dog who bayed at me. "After what appeared an interminable age of suspense, the savage mastiff ceased his noise. Congratulating myself there- upon, I recommenced operations with an energy almost super- human. "An agonizing fear of discovery, and its terrible conse- quences, together with a feverish wish to succeed, and certain unaccountable, nameless terrors, were sufficient incentives to such exertions. Imprisonment and disgrace would be the inevitable results of detection. I knew all this ; and what a blow it would be for me ! But, happily, it was very dark. At that moment I looked up, and, to my consternation, the rain had ceased to fall; the clouds had lifted, and the round, full moon was looking down upon the grave I stood in. I dropped the spade in sheer vexation and alarm. A score of the villagers might look out of their windows and see my operations. My ruin seemed inevitable. What should I do ? Should I steal from the grave-yard and leave my work unfin- ished, or should I risk all by staying to accomplish it ? " I quickly decided on the latter course. The very desper- ateness of the undertaking gave me strength, ana an irresist- ible desire to succeed. My nerves grew firm, and my mind became calm. I weighed all the chances for and against me, and looked the danger in the face without flinching. If I succeeded, exhumed a body in the middle of a populous village on such a night, within a stone's cast of a dozen dwellings, I should accomplish a deed of daring no other person would have thought of. I grasped the spade, and worked as I have never done before or since, save on one occasion, when I worked for life at a pump, with a sinking ship beneath me. " I had soon heaped the cold, damp earth all around me. A AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 61 nauseous odor, oozing through the porous earth, came from a neighboring grave, the occupant of which had been longer with the worm and winding-sheet. 0, wha't a sickly savor of mortality ! Poor human nature, to what vileness dost thou sink at last ! "A sound indescribably hollow and disagreeable assured me that my spade had struck upon the coffin. I scraped it bare as far as the lid turned back. Friends had taken their last look of the dead face by means of that same lid. " This done, I commenced cutting thrpugh with the chisel and mallet ; but here another difficulty excited my alarm my blows might attract too much attention, and lead to my detection. To avoid this, I wrapped my handkerchief about the mallet, which deadened the resonance of the blows. This expedient answered my expectation. In a short time I had effected my object, and removed the movable portion of the lid. I involuntarily started as I caught a glimpse of the winding-sheet the dress of Death. " But a more terrible sensation crept over me when, stoop- ing, I put my hand into the coffin, and laid it upon the cold, cold face of the dead girl. Merciful Father ! would my body ever become as icy in its coldness ? " With a half-expressed wish that God would pardon what I was doing, I wound my fingers into the long black hair, lifted her head from her hard pillow, and dragged her forth. The aperture I had made was small, and it required all my strength to wrest the body from the grave. Once I thought I should not succeed ; but, throwing my arms about the corpse, I wrenched it away with a sudden effort. " I laid her down by the desecrated grave, and the quiet moon and the twinkling stars threw their pale beams upon the wasted face. How white and ghastly it was, with the con- trasted hair lying disordered upon the cheeks ! " Conscience-smitten and awe-struck, I stood irresolute, and gazed upon her who came forth ' bound in her grave- clothes,' though not as Lazarus. But it was no time for nice reflections. Thrusting the body into the sack, I turned my attention to other matters. The grave was to be re-filled, and all traces of my work obliterated. Adjusting the lid as well as I could, I threw back the earth as fast and with as little noise as possible. I was not long in accomplishing 6 62 SILVER-KNIFE : this ; then, laying aside the spade, I scraped up the loose earth with my hands, and replaced the turf I had removed, with the greatest care. This part of the transaction required patience and coolness, and the exercise of no little ingenuity. It was accomplished at length, and I breathed easier. I ex- amined what was so recently a grave from every point, and .straightened up the grass I had trodden down. " I had still a dangerous part of the business to perform carry the subject through the village upon my back. Put- ting on the overcoat which had answered rny purpose so well, I arranged my implements as* at first, and then, lifting that strange burden, threw it across my shoulders. "How heavy mortality is! how the living flesh shrinks from it ! I have carried many burdens, but never one like that. It was thin and wasted too ; but the laws of gravita- tion seemed to act upon it in a wonderful degree. I asked myself with a shudder if the * spirits that walk in darkness,' and the vampires that suck up human gore, were not seated on my shoulders, to weigh down and tantalize me. " That load of mortality chilled me ; and I constantly changed its position, the sensation was so unpleasant. " Once, when I stumbled and came near dropping it, by some cantraip art ' the bony arms appeared to grasp and cling to me. I instinctively quickened my pace, as for fear the uncatnny beings who had power jthere at midnight, and who had been beholding my work, and menacing me, would not permit me finally to escape. " I reached the bridge without interruption. To my alarm, I saw a man pacing back and forth upon it like a sen- tinel. Laying down the ' subject,' and crouching by it, I observed him for some time. Once he came within ten feet of me, and I was obliged to lie flat upon my back, and mo- tionless as stone. " When nearest, I recognized him. It was S , an ac- quaintance, who had evidently had his suspicions excited by some of my movements, probably by seeing a fire in my ofiice so late. Perhaps the fellow saw me go toward the grave-yard, and was congratulating himself in the idea of a grand discovery, and a fright. "Now, as good luck would have it, there was another bridge, about a quarter of a mile below, by which I could AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 63 reach my office. When S turned on his heel and walked from me, I availed myself of the opportunity to walk off toward the other bridge. " A cold sweat stood on my forehead when I reached my office, and I felt a weary ache in iny eyes. I deposited the body in a box prepared for the occasion. Strange sensations came over me as I stood there alone with the dead, in the dim lamp-light. " Often since that night, in the illusions of dreams, and the delirium of fever, the vision of that pale, wasted face, and the dishevelled waves of contrasted hair, has been present with me. I could not forget them ; they were always at my pillow, ever pictured on the field of mental vision. I have seen her everywhere. Yesterday I met her in the street; last night I saw her in dreams; and I shall to- night. She never speaks ; but her look tells me, You have broken my rest.' " I never meet those who wept for her, when I can avoid it. I shun them as I shun my enemies. They are my ene- mies, and their presence seems to accuse me of some crime. One of those who went to the grave, * to weep there,' had her eyes, and her face, and I never look at her. I feel reproved, guilty, unhappy, when she is near. " But I will dwell no longer upon this picture. I will not write of the weary, dreary nights I spent over that poor body. Deeply the features became engraved upon my memory. For many weeks I was alone with her and the scalpel. I sacrificed my best feelings to my thirst for knowledge ; I hardened myself to the work ; but I shall never do it again never wrest the dead from the ' still house,' where loving hearts have laid them. I will not say it is a crime ; but it is revolting. " When I sleep, like Lazarus, in the ' cave ' of death, and the ' great stone ' (which is affection) is rolled up to its mouth, let me rest there with my sleep unbroken, save by the bright dreams which eternity may reveal." I was silent for a moment after Wickliffe had ceased. " And you renounced the profession of medicine," I said, at length. "I did, and have never taken a scalpel in my hand since. 64 SILVER-KNIFE : I am sick of the traffic in human bodies. I wish to think and hear of it no more. Never mention it again to me, especially within hearing of an Indian." "And why not before an Indian ? " " They would shun me as they would the pestilence that walketh in darkness. They dread and hate a man who has violated a grave." " This," added Wickliffe, after a pause, " you may con- sider rather a melancholy story, and, if you do not yet feel disposed to sleep, I will relate another, of a different char- acter. I signified that I should like to hear, being too restless to think of slumber. Having heaped fresh fagots on the fire, Wickliffe proceeded as follows in the next chapter. CHAPTER XI. A BEAR STORY. " I WAS once," he resumed, " encamped in a deep and thickly-wooded dell, near the head waters of Ice river. On either side, high mountains reared thteir cloud-defying heads. Large rivers and small streams with difficulty found their way into a more open' and less broken country, through lonely passes and rocky ravines, known and accessible only to the forest-born, or the daring foot of the hardy free-trapper. "I had wandered many weeks in that wild and savage re- gion, dared its gloomiest solitudes, and scaled its loftiest cliffs. I had not turned aside for red men and beasts of prey, and had met both. " Hitherto game had been abundant, and I had not found it difficult to supply all the demands of appetite ; but for the past few days I had seen no signs of buffalo, or other game, and, as I seldom prepared anything for future use, I began to be in want of the common necessaries of life. My ammuni- tion was also exhausted, the last charge of powder and ball being then in my rifle. I was far from any civilized beings AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. OO who could or would supply my wants, .Fort Walla- Walla being the nearest trading-post. " To a man who felt himself bound to the earth by strong and endearing ties, this would have been certainly a dismal prospect; and even to me, as misanthropically as flowed my blood, it was far from cheering. "But I am not a man to be discouraged when aught depends on my own exertions; difficulty and danger give me strength, and my position must indeed be perilous when I cannot modify the adverse circumstances by which I am surrounded. " I resolved to meet boldly the difficulties which now pre- sented themselves. " Without food I could not lead the wandering life that suited my mood, and without ammunition how was I to pro- cure the flesh of the buffalo, the deer, or the mountain sheep ? "Already I felt the gnawing tooth of hunger, for I had fasted twelve hours, and during that time travelled many miles over prairies, across hills, and through lonely gorges in the mountains. My faithful steed, exhausted and covered with foam, was feeding near me, in not much better plight than myself ; but his troubles would soon be over, for the banks of the river were green with grass of a luxuriant growth. " My horse turned loose to help himself, my arrangements for camping were ' soon made ; for I had learned from the free-trappers, as well as by experience, that the most simple preparations were the best in a country where white men are considered lawful prey. "The slight shelter, designed more for protection against the night-dews than for anything else, being completed, I shoul- dered my rifle arid walked away in quest of game. "It was one of those mild, still days in August; when there is not a breath of wind afloat. The sun was at that point in the heavens which indicates that but an hour more of day- light remains. " With considerable difficulty, for I was weak with long fasting, I clambered from the bottom of the dell, and gained the higher lands that hemmed it in. From the elevation which I had now attained little could be seen save the rough sides of the Blue Mountains, the summits of which w,ere lost 66 SILVER-KNIFE : in clouds. Look upward which way I would, naught but wild mountain scenery met my view; while down below me were valleys, gorges, running rivers, and ravines. " The Bannecks, Eutaws, Shoshonies, Skynses, Flatheads, Nez JPerces, and occasionally predatory hordes of Blackfeet, frequented these sterile regions as hunting-grounds. Here also came the white trappers, during certain months, to take peltries. " Woe to those so unfortunate as to be surprised by the Blackfeet warriors ! and they sometimes were, in spite of all their vigilance. " I strained my eyes in every direction, but saw no signs of game. I put my ear to the ground and listened ; the neigh of the elk, and the lowing of the buffalo, I heard not. Dis- appointed in my expectations, I began to ascend the mountain at the base of which I was standing, in the hope of getting a shot at a species of mountain sheep called the Big-horn, or ahsahta, which frequent those latitudes. "As I was urging my way upward, a deep, threatening growl arrested my steps. I had reached a small spur of the mountain covered with a stunted growth of shrubbery, with here and there a small pine or sycamore, to relieve the mo- notony. I glanced warily about me to learn whence the men- acing sound proceeded. I could see nothing to excite alarm. I made a few steps forward, when my ears were hailed a second time by the same ominous growl, and it was nearer and more distinct than before. I knew it did not proceed from a wolf, for wolves are cowardly, and run at the first ap- proach of danger. The animal that flies not from the pres- ence of man is to be dealt with with caution. Directly before ,me was a birch of considerable size. I stepped a few paces to the right, in order too look beyond it. "As little as I cared for life, and as worthless as the world seemed, a feeling of dread crept over me as I perceived, full in my path, at about the distance of twenty yards, a grizzly bear of enormous growth. He stood in a defiant attitude, and greeted me with a growl of still fiercer meaning. I had presence of mind enough to meet his eye boldly, without any signs of shrinking. He regarded me with a cool, inquisitive look, by no means satisfactory; and, putting forth a large, red tongue, tasted my flesh and blood in perspective. My posi- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 67 tion was a most embarrassing one. To fly would be folly, to fire would be the signal for my destruction ; for what is a single rifle-ball in the shaggy hide of a grizzly bear ? My only safety, then, was in maintaining my ground, and looking Bruin out of countenance certainly a very discouraging and unpromising task, in this case. "A movement on the part of my antagonist called back my attention to him, and, as my eyes wandered to meet his once more, they fell upon a painted face, and eyes that glittered like a serpent's. I comprehended the extent of my danger at once. The red visage was that of a savage, but of what tribe I could not then determine ; nor did it matter much, so long as it was obvious that his presence boded no good. " If I escaped the teeth of Bruin, I was doubtless fated to fall by the hand of the Indian. Here was indeed a dilemma which required much coolness and considerable philosophy. To be eaten by the beast was at variance with all my notions of ' coming to an end,' and to be scalped by a savage was equally repugnant to my feelings; for I had a mortal aver-- sion to those free-born rovers, of whatever name. In my deal- ing with the red-skins, I had experienced but little save treachery and deceit ; although, in one or two instances, I had been befriended by the Shoshonies and Skynses. To deter- mine what course to pursue was the work of a few seconds only. I resolved to" give the savage the benefit of my last charge, and take my chance with the bear, let the conse- quences be what they would. I raised my rifle slowly and levelled it at Bruin, who testified his disapprobation of the act by a threatening display of teeth, and sundry ill-natured snarls. " During this movement I was careful to keep my eye on the Indian, who, perceiving that I was about to fire, stretched his long neck from behind the tree that concealed the greater part of his body, to watch the result, anticipating, unques- tionably, rare diversion. In his eagerness to see the sport, he stepped entirely from his hiding-place. 'Now was the favorable moment. Wheeling suddenly, I brought my rifle to bear upon him, and fired. "The Indian staggered a few steps, and fell. "The bear reared savagely upon his hinder feet, opened his mouth to a frightful width, and emitted a .long, angry growl. 68 SILVER-KNIFE 1 " Dropping my rifle before the smoke had ceased curling from the barrel, I grasped the lower branches of the tree which I have alluded to, and climbed with such vigor that I was soon perched upon the highest limbs capable of sustaining my weight. " This demonstration on my part put Bruin in a towering passion. Two or three clumsy bounds took him to the foot of the tree, the bark of which he tore off with his teeth, while with his sharp claws he dug up the earth, and sent the dirt rattling among the leaves. " I began to congratulate myself on my lucky manoeuvre, while Bruin attempted to climb the pine. This put a new face on the aspect of things, and I ceased to glory in my good fortune. But my enemy was a little out of his sphere at this business. He was too heavy and clumsy an animal to climb a tree, like the common black bear ; and the limbs would have prevented his ascent, even if he had sufficient agility to climb at all. So, after making himself ridiculous for some ten minutes by his awkward exertions, he desisted, and laid himself quietly down, like a dog, beneath the tree, as much as to say, I 'm in no particular hurry ; I can eat you just as well in the morning, and I dare say my appetite will be better.' " I now considered myself in a state of siege, and never was a poor fellow in a worse condition to sustain a siege than I. I had neither food nor water, and if my adversary kept his ground, I should eventually be obliged to capitulate, and, in fact, surrender unconditionally, trusting wholly to the mag- nanimity of my conqueror. " I disposed of myself as well as I could amid the boughs, expecting it would be my lot to pass the night there. The rays of the setting sun gilded but faintly the mountain peaks. The owl had already commenced his nightly hootings, arid t'ie dismal notes of the wolf went echoing through the darken- ing gorges. The stillness of the air was broken by gentle winds from the west, that put the leaves in motion, .-md made a mournful sighing through the trees. These sounds, coupled with my own unpleasant situation, awoke no comfort- ing reflections. " 13ut all these things were disregarded by the besieging parly He seemed measuring my size and weight, and calcu- * AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 69 lating how long I might last with careful economy, providing he took late breakfasts and hearty dinners. Not sympathiz- ing greatly with the gastromancy of Bruin, I turned my eyes toward the spot where the Indian had fallen. From my ele- vated position I could see him distinctly. The wound had not proved mortal, and, with much exertion, he had succeeded in raising himself from the ground, and getting upon his hands and knees. Strange as it may seem, the 'grizzly' did not look toward him, or honor him with any attention. " With a slow and difficult motion he dragged himself along, the blood oozing from a wound in his chest at every effort. The object of this movement was soon obvious. Near the foot of the tree where he had been concealed lay his gun, and he was working himself gradually towards it. " What if he should have life and strength enough to reach it ? Would he shoot me or the bear ? Having a knowledge of Indian character, it required but little shrewdness to de- termine this somewhat important question. He would follow my example leave Bruin unmolested, and shoot me as I had shot squirrels in my boyhood. " I had a good opportunity to observe the motions of the wounded savage, and I did so with feverish interest. Every inch of ground he went over cost him a pang. Fierce hate and intense pain were expressed upon his face with an energy I shall never forget. Once he paused, and the agony that shook his stalwart frame, I flattered myself, was the last struggle of his robust heart with death ; but it was not so. Resting upon his knees, with tremulous hands he unloosed the girdle at his loins, brought it upward over his chest, and drew it tight over the wound, to stay the bleeding. " There was something sublime, yet terrible, in the strength with which he conquered his pain to perform this operation, in order to treasure each sand of life for an act of vengeance. At first he seemed a little faint from the effect of this rude application ; but the momentary sickness and dizziness of the brain, produced by the sudden stanching of the blood, passed away, and he appeared stronger and more dangerous than before. " Lost to everything but the thought of vengeance and the torture of his wound, with his burning eyes fixed intently upon his charged weapon, he wormed himself along and * 70 SILVER-KNIFE : reached it. He threw back the lock, took off the old cap, and replaced it by another ; this done, he attempted to lift the gun to his shoulder, but he could not ; his hands were too weak and unsteady to hold it. " The disappointment consequent upon this discovery was terrible, and he gnashed his teeth in the fury of his rage. He now worked his way close to the root of the tree, dragging his gun after him by the muzzle. When he had reached the spot that suited best his purpose, he stretched himself on the ground upon his face, and with considerable labor placed the barrel of his piece upon a small limb about two feet from the root of the tree. " His grim features, despite the pain he suffered, lighted up with fiendish joy. . I endeavored to screen my body behind the trunk of the pine, but it was impossible to protect one part without exposing another. I had already fastened my- self to a stout limb by means of a leather strap I wore about my waist, so that, if I were mortally or dangerously wounded, I should not fall and bfe torn in pieces by my choleric friend beneath. All I could do now was to ' stand fire ' as best I could. " The idea of a tumble of some twenty feet, and the recep- tion I was likely to meet with after my advent, filled me with emotions far from enviable, and such as I sincerely hope you may never experience. I like a joke as well as any man, and can give and take one with considerable grace ; but to be shot like a barn-yard fowl by an Indian, whom I had considered ' as good as dead,' and then to be eaten (without sauce) by an ill-tempered beast whom I had never seen before, struck me as being a very beggarly, absurd, and scurvy joke. To suppose that my mother had reared me for such an end was an insult to my better feelings arid my pride ! But a truce to pleasantry on a subject like this. " I felt that my hour had come, and saw no possible means of averting my fate. I saw the Indian adjust his piece most carefully, and take deliberate aim. I looked to see no more ; but screened my head as well as I was able behind the tree. A moment of breathless silence followed. The wind seemed to die away, and the owl and wolf ceased their clamor. The Indian fired ; the bark and splinters flew about my head, and the ball grazed my right temple. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 71 " I was not so ungrateful and sick of life as to be unthankful for this escape, and J doubt not but I uttered some words of heart-felt thanksgiving. " Relieved of a dreadful anxiety, I turned my attention once more toward the savage. He was glaring at me with the malignancy of tne fallen one himself, and, with a trembling and eager hand, commenced reloading. " The sun had set, and pale twilight prevailed. I now hoped that it would be too dark for him to see me before he finished the to him painful and laborious task of charging his gun ; or that his fast-wasting energies would fail altogether before he had accomplished that object. " Old Bruin had started up at the sound of the discharge, uttered a few discontented growls, and then quietly resumed his former watchful attitude. " The shadows of night fell rapidly ; but through the dark- ening atmosphere I plainly saw the persevering Indian pour the powder into his brawny palm, and thence into his piece, then place a ball upon the muzzle and attempt to drive it down with the 'driver; ' but his strength did not seem equal to the task, and when the dense darkness finally hid him from view, he was still laboring, with the feeble remnant of his powers, to send the bullet ' home.' " The night that ensued was to me a long and cheerless one. Sleep I did not wish to ; but before morning my drowsy eye- lids closed, and my imagination ran wild in dreams, not much preferable to a waking state. " It was broad day-light when I awoke. Bruin was no longer in sight, and had probably thrown up the siege. The Indian's gun, ball-pouch and powder-horn, were lying on the ground ; but I looked for his body in vain. I reconnoitred carefully, fearing the absence of the beseiging party might be merely a ruse de guerre ; but, seeing nothing to justify this suspicion, I descended. I found my rifle -where I had dropped it after firing my last charge. I now walked to the spot where the savage had fallen. His gun, which proved to be a smooth-bored rifle, lay upon the earth with the rammer in the barrel, and the ball about one-third of the way down. The powder-horn and ball-pouch I took possession of without cere- mony, believing they would be more useful to me than to their former owner, whose lifeless body I doubted not, I should find 72 SILVER-KNIFE : in the vicinity, unless he had been dragged away by the bear. " Loading my rifle, I followed the blood-spots which marked the way he had gone. I was somewhat surprised, after going some distance, at not finding him. He had evidently crept away on his hands and knees; for the leaves were stained with blood. I kept on, and traced him until I reached the Fourche de Glace, or Ice river, a distance of half a mile, when nothing more could be discovered. He had doubtless thrown himself into the water, in order that I might not be permitted the triumph of seeing his body." Wickliffe "having finished his story, I wrapped myself in my blanket, and soon slept. CHAPTER XII. A NEW CHARACTER. WHEN I awoke, Wickliffe was standing near, regarding me with an expression so singular, that I could not but observe it. The habitual frown had softened down into sadness, and traces of emotion were visible upon his face. He turned quickly away when he perceived I was conscious of his scrutiny, and his usual sternness returned. " Then he is not a -man of iron," I exclaimed to myself. " He lias his moments of relenting and human weakness. But why that strange look why that softening of the hardened lines upon the brow ? " I asked these questions, but there was no person but my- self to answer them. That I could not do, and the mystery remained. My journal of the 20th has the following note : " To-day we have followed the trail with much difficulty. It has required all the sagacity of my new friend to distin- guish it at all. The savages have scarcely disturbed one blade of grass in their flight. " Wickliffe seems dubious, and thinks we may be nearer the war-party than we really imagine ; but I am not back- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 73 woodsman enough to determine. My heart is full of the image of Madeleine. How madly I have loved her without being conscious of it ! I know now why I came hither. I did not understand my own impulses ; but now all is plain as sun- light. " It was the magic of her voice and her eye that attracted me ; and I still hear and see them. The voice speaks to me at night in dreams, and, though soft as the tones of the harp, it tells me I am pursuing a phantom a vision that will fade. I take her hand in mine as on that night when hope was present with me, and sunny thoughts had life ; but it shrirks from me again, and I feel desolate as a leafless forest. Strange the human heart takes its sunshine from the eyes and smiles of another ! strange there is no such thing as happi- ness in the abstract ! " I am impatient of this slow march ; it is but a snail's pace at best, and I cannot brook it. I sometimes imagine that Wickliffe is lagging on purpose that he does not mean I shall rescue Madeleine. " Once I was on the point of telling him so ; but I met those calm eyes of his, and forgot my purpose. He smiled too, as if divining my thoughts." On the night of the 26th we built our fire at the base of a long ridge of hills. We had strained every nerve to get for- ward, but probably had not travelled over twenty miles that day. Being so well mounted, and having no baggage to en- cumber us, we could have made twice that distance, had we given ourselves no trouble about the trail. Scarcely had our fire begun to blaze, when a visitor unex- pectedly made his appearance. He came stalking up to us, with his rifle on his shoulder, with a swagger and a noncha- lance worthy of a prize-fighter. His figure is worthy of some description. In stature he was very short, but was amply indemnified for that oversight in nature by thickness. His shoulders and chest were remark- able for breadth. His head was set upon said shoulders without regard to neck ; and, probably, a trapper in that wild country could get along just as well without a neck. He was certainly a greasy, hairy-looking specimen of human flesh. He wore a greasy fur cap, a greasy buck-skin coat, greasy leggins, greasy moc- 74 SILVER-KNIFE : casins, to which you may add a greasy mouth and beard, and, in short, greasy everything. He was just the man to subsist on raw flesh ; and, when necessitated, could eat an Indian without salt. Such, at least, was the impression his appearance was calculated to make. The rifle which he carried had the same greasy look in which he luxuriated was Very heavy, and of the largest calibre ; it would carry a half-ounce ball. His hunting-knife was very long, and its edge was sharp enough, no doubt. " Wah ! " he articulated, bringing the breech of his rifle violently to the ground, and peering at us through his shaggy eye-brows ; then added immediately, " Any grub ? " Wickliffe signified that we had, and produced a portion of the buffalo he had shot the night previous. The adipose man seated himself coolly by the fire, cut a stick from a fagot, and sharpened the end. Slicing off a monstrous piece of the meat, he thrust the stick into it, and held it over the blaze, with great apparent satisfaction, and perfect self-possession. When about half done, or, to speak more to the point, when about warmed through, he commenced eating it voraciously, without a word. The secret of his greasiness was soon evi- dent. When he had satisfied, in some degree, the demands of his gastric region, he began to show premonitory symptoms of so- ciability, by wiping his mouth with his coat-sleeve, and sundry startling yawns. "How are you, white folks?" he said, looking at us with the air of a man who suddenly and unexpectedly finds him- self better. Wickliffe assured him that we were in the enjoyment of good health, which fact seemed to relieve him very much. " Got any of the weed ? " he asked. " Don't use it much, but always carry it," replied Wick- liffe, offering a generous quantity of the filthy drug. " That 's said like a Christian," replied the greasy man, pro- ceeding in silence to fill a villanous-looking pipe. " How 's peltries ? " " Don't know care nothing about peltries," said Wick- liffe. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 75 "Ugh!" Here a vast column of smoke curled out of the greasy man's mouth. " How is bufferlers ? " " Care nothing about buffalo. " More smoke. " Sent out into these parts by Government ? " " Care nothing about Government, either. " How 's Injins ? " " Can't find them am on the trail." " Been stealin' ? " "Yes." " Horses and mules ? " " No, women." " Old women ? " " No, very young." " Harnsum ? " " As handsome as ever the sun shone on." " Gon-sarn their red skins ! " cried the stranger, grasping his rifle in one hand, and his ruffianly knife in the other. " May I be trodden to death by wild bufferlers, if some of "em don't lose their fakilties for that before the Injin corn gets growed ! Young and harnsum gals ! Confound the red nig- gers ! If it had been old women, whose sands was e'namost run out, it would seemed a little kinder different like ; but young gals is another thing. Them 's jest my feelin's. Con- cam 'em ! " " You speak like a philosopher," replied Wickliffe. " You 're sure they 're young gals ? " continued the trapper, without heeding the remark of Wickliffe. " I know it," said Wickliffe. " My dander's risin' like a yeast cake; and them sort is so scarce here, too. I don't know but I shall exterminate the whole race o' painted niggers from the face of the airth. I have been vegetatin' in these diggins a little more than a long time, and I reckon I 've'rubbed out more on 'em nor I have bufferlers, and bufferlers are mighty plenty hereabouts. You can't scarcely stir a step without startin' more nor less. A good sprinklin' of the varmints in this here region call me the ' Grizzly Bear,' and I reckon they 'IP call me more nor that afore they see the last on me, unless I stick my toes up sooner than I kalkilates." 76 SILVER-KNIFE : " What does he mean by sticking his toes up ? " I whispered to Wickliffe. " Dying," he replied. " It is a cant phrase often used by such people." Perceiving the " Grizzly Bear," though rough in exterior, was a man to*be trusted, I related to him all that had hap- pened to my friends and myself. His interest increased when he heard the name of Leroy. " I 've knowed that man for these dozen years. His heart 's bigger than a bufferler's. It'll jest about break up his con- stertution to lose his gals in that unchristian way. Now, I 'm a rough man and a great sinner ; but I an't intirely without nateral feelin'. I know that my ways an't altergether pleas- in' and perlite, and all that ; and I am a great deal like a wild Injin, that 's a fact ; and there is considerable grease and stuff of that natur' on my huntin'-shirt ; but may -be there is a leetle good left in me yet. When I sees a feller-cretur in distress, or knows he 's in distress, there an't a man on the trail that would put out his hand to help him quicker nor I would, although I says it myself, when perhaps I hadn't oughter. I would n't valley sendin' a half-ounce ball through sev'ral of the nateral varmin of this uncultivated sile, for old acquaintance' sake." " Which way are you from ? " asked my friend. " From the nor' -west." " Seen any signs of Indians, or whites either, in that direc- tion?" " Reckon I have. I crossed the trail of some of my color no longer ago than this mornin'. Yesterday I see one of the varmin, an' if he had n't a-taken himself out o' range mighty sudden, he 'd been likely to have lost his fakilties his mem'ry in perticerler. And, come to think on 't, I picked up this bit of cloth and put it in my pocket, because it looked kinder femernine like." Here the trapper produced a small strip of stuff, of a cu- rious fabric, which I recognized as being a piece of a dress I had seen Madeleine wear. I snatched it hurriedly from the hand of the stranger, and would have pressed it to my lips, had I not seen the eyes of Wickliffe fastened upon me. " Prehaps you 's in a great hurry to git that piece of figured AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 77 stuff, mister ; you an't a goin' to swaller it, I presume." And then he added, addressing himself to Wickliffe, " I hope he does n't altars take things in that onharnsum way. I '11 bet all my peltries that that youngster 's got a hankering arter the gal as used to wear that strip of stuff." " A pretty strong one too, old fellow," rejoined my friend. " Where did you find this ? " I asked. " Away in that direction, about half a day's travel," an- swered the trapper, pointing to the north-west. " That is to say, about half a day's journey for Camanche." " Camanche is your horse, I suppose ? " "Yes, I call him Camanche, because he used to belong to a Camanche brave, who suddenly lost his fakilties and tumbled off his back. Fine animal tougher nor a bufferler swifter nor an antelope. If I whistle, he '11 leave his grass and come directly. It 's my opinion you don't often catch a free trapper without a hoss." " Take us to the spot where you found this piece of stuff, and I will reward you handsomely," I said. For the space of a minute the trapper smoked away fiercely, without reply. " Prehaps you don't know me," he said, at length, " and prehaps you don't want to. A great many people in this world judge a person by the way he looks outside. If he 's got on an old coat, and leggins rather the worse for wear, they set him down as nobody ; but, on the contrary, if he looks slick and nice, they say he 's somebody. But that an't my way. I don't mind how a man looks, providin' allers he 's all right inside. It 's the intarnal arrangement that makes the man. That 's my religion ; and it 's a kind o' religion which you think I don't know nothin' about. I don't believe in hiring a chap to do his duty ; and it kinder goes agin the grain to have a person offer to reward me harnsumly for tryin' to rescue a feller-cretur from the savages, especially when that feller-cretur is a femernine. Them 's my feelin's." I perceived at once I had made a great mistake. Instead of the unfeeling and unprincipled man I had expected to find hidden in those soiled and unseemly garments, I had stumbled upon a real diamond, though rough and unpolished. How we deceive ourselves by judging by appearances ! I hastened to repair my error. 7* 78 SILVER-KNIFE : "Pardon me, my friend," I said; "I have done you some injustice. As you say, it is not right to judge one by the cut of his coat, or the quality of its material. I perceive that your heart is precisely where it ought to be. The senti- ments you have uttered are worthy the proudest potentate." " I don't know nothin' of potentates ; I should n't know one from a pertater ; but I do know somethin' about nateral honesty, and the nateral religion of the heart. So, don't talk no more about hirin' me to go arter Leroy's darters, that are dearer to him nor alf the world beside. I '11 stake all I 'in worth, and that an't much, that there an't an hour in the day when his heart an't ready to break ; and he stands six feet and two inches in his stockin's." " Enough here's my hand. We will be on the trail be- fore the morrow's sun has shone upon it five minutes." " Here 's a hand on that, and prehaps it an't a very smooth one ; but it 's seen real sarvice in its time, notwithstanding and is allers ready to grow rougher in a good cause." CHAPTER XIII. THE UNKNOWN. MY journal of the 27th discourses as follows : " The strange trapper has kept us company all day. His name is Sutler, and he is perfectly at home in these wilds. Wickliffe seems to puzzle him, and he is obviously at a loss what to make of him. It is quite evident he did not expect that a person who appeared so much a gentleman as Wick- liffe possessed such an accurate knowledge of the country and Indian practices. He had thought to find a man fresh upon the prairies, whereas Wickliffe is not. When we set out this morning, Sutler took the lead, and issued his orders like an old general ; now, things begin to change their aspect ; he consults Wickliffe, and gives his opinion with more caution. " Sutler has designated the spot where he found the piece AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 70 of stuff. Both he and Wickliffe affirm that there are two trails, which occasionally intersect each other. One of them, we believe, must have been made by our friends ; and to me there is joy in the thought. To-morrow we are resolved to follow what we suppose to be the white trail. " Wickliffe is calm and distant, as usual. Nothing appears to work any change in him ; he is either above the common whims of mankind, or scorns to acknowledge them. " How inexplicable are some men ! how deep is the study of human character ! But Wickliffe is one of those characters which baffle study. I have considered him from every point, and from every altitude of my intellect, and he is an enigma still. " My impatience to get forward increases hourly. I mur- mur at the darkness of night, because it retards our progress. But I suppose we must eat and sleep, and pur weary beasts must rest ; yet it is hard to lose a moment when so much is at stake. " It is twilight ; we have taken our evening meal. I feel an irresistible desire to be alone, where I can think freely, without the searching eyes of Wickliffe being fastened upon me. I shall take my rifle and walk quietly away." A few stars twinkled in the skies, as I walked slowly from the camp, and the moon came up lazily, lending a softer hue to the night. Leaving the ravine where our fire blazed, I ascended a long hill, which, rising in gentle swells, attained, at last, a consid- erable altitude. The black walnut, the poplar and the maple, grew in clusters upon its sides ; but a liberal growth had been denied them, for the soil was not favorable to their full de- velopment, or the prevalent fires of that region had scathed them. I did not pause in my walk until I had attained the sum- mit of the hill. With a feeling of freedom, for which I am at a loss te account, I stood there alone in that solitude. I could now commune with myself, undisturbed by the strange gaze of Wickliffe. But why should I commune with myself? What new hope should I teach my heart to feel ? What un- known philosophy could I gather from the breath of the mountain air ? Could I think of Madeleine more calmly, 80 SILVER-KNIFE : with less distraction, with more stoicism ? Would my spirit feel more of the " touch of joy," or less of the agony of woe ? I turned my fevered eyes upon the newly-risen moon, which, as it lifted itself from the prairie, seemed rising from the bed of the ocean. There is something tranquillizing in the influ- ence of the moon," when it looks down upon us with its full, round face. A whisper is borne upon the mild, mellow rays of its light, which bids the earth-wanderer be calm. Like the spirit which answers prayer, its voice is audible in every land. It is heard by the dweller upon the prairies, as well as by the inhabitant of the crowded city. In that moment of dreaminess, I strove to bow my head and be calm. And then I strove to think of Madeleine as one dead, and lost to me forever. But it is very hard to give up those we love, even when hope has waned until it has ceased to cast a shadow upon our pathway. It costs the heart a bitter pang to part with the loved, even with the hope of meeting again ; but when there is little hope of a re- union, and the fate of the darling object is a mystery deep and painful, how much is that bitterness enhanced ! In that struggle to forget, my spirit turned to Madeleine, as the mag- net to the pole. The idea which I had nursed and encouraged had grown too strong to combat with. "With a sigh I averted my eyes, and the revery passed. As my gaze sank down and rested upon the broad, open prairie, stretching out from the base of the hill, extending I knew not how far, I saw a slender, white column of smoke spring up, and mount against the sky ; and soon a bright blaze leaped after it, and shadowy human figures were visible. In the state of mind I was then in, I knew no such word as danger ; I had forgotten it ; my thoughts were raised infinitely above it. I scorned the thought of peril ; was as careless of the future as I was dissatisfied with the past. With feelings like these, I threw my rifle across my arm, descended the hill, and stalked moodily toward the dim outlines of the men, re- vealed by the light of the fire. My movements were silent, like the ghosts of the departed, when they flit among the graves at midnight. No inadvertent step gave warning of my propinquity : and, at the distance of a few yards, I stood erect, and looked into the faces of the strangers. There were two one an Indian, but the other belied his garb, and was not. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 81 t I knew his features they were too deeply impressed upon memory to be forgotten, however much they were changed with paint and Indian finery ; it was the same sinister face I had seen at St. Louis and Westport, though shorn of its hair. For a moment I stood stupefied with this strange and unlooked-for discovery. My first impulse was to raise my rifle and shoot him through the head, and I never had a steadier hand than when I brought the sights to bear upon his frontal bone ; but I changed my purpose, even when my finger was upon the trigger. What should I gain by killing him, was the question that pressed itself home upon my conscience, and stayed my hand. Nothing, and perhaps I may lose much, was the answer which reason gave. A knowledge of his movements would benefit me more than his death ; a single moment's reflection convinced me of this, and I brought my rifle once more to the hollow of my flexed arm, with an inward regret that I could not carry my first impulse into execution. His right hand was wrapped in a cloth ; and, if I had doubted before in regard to the severed finger, I doubted no longer. The lurking enemy, the author of my misfortunes, was before me, without question. With a strong effort, I walked away to a considerable distance from the fire, and traced, as well as I was able by moonlight, the fol- lowing lines upon a blank leaf in my pocket-book. " Unmanly schemer ! your movements are watched ; you cannot stir a step without the knowledge of one who only de- lays your punishment for purposes of his own. Do not think to escape, or flatter yourself with success. You know what this means, and why you deserve to die. When you lay down you may be sure that the pull of a trigger may send you to your last account. An unerring barrel has been levelled at your head this very night, and may be at the precise moment when you are reading these lines. I could have slain you much easier than I have sent you this note of warning; but your time is not yet it will come sooner than you will be ready ; let that suffice ; so lie down and sleep calmly to-night, if you can." Tearing out the leaf on which I had written these lines, I fastened it to a small stone with a strip of my handkerchief. When I had done this, I retraced my steps noiselessly to my first position near the unknown, and, bending forward, cast the stone so that it fell at his feet. 82 SILVER-KNIFE : With an exclamation of surprise, both seized their weap- ons ; but the white man's eye had caught sight of the paper. Casting a suspicious glance around him, he stooped, took it from the ground, and commenced reading the lines. A change came over him as he read ; he was no longer the swaggering ruffian of a few minutes ago. He seemed to shrink and grow smaller as he held the bit of paper in his hand; appeared stupefied, uncertain, and undecided; cast hurried, nervous glances around, as if expecting a shot from an unknown agency. Once or twice, apparently, he was upon the point of rushing away to meet or shun the danger, and then the hazard and folly of such a step restrained him. Thus tossed with fear and uncertainty, he threw himself down with his face to the earth, and felt, probably, what the guilty only can feel. Satisfied with what I had done, I was walking toward the spot where blazed the fire of my friends, when the tall figure of Wickliffe suddenly stood beside me. " You here ? " I asked, with a start of surprise. " Yes, I am everywhere. What did you write on that paper ? " " You saw me, then ? " " Of course I saw you ; what is there I do not see ? " I repeated to him what I had written. " That will do very well ; if he is a coward, he will suffer more to-night than if you had shot him through the head, as you thought of doing in the first instance." " How long have you been here ? " I asked. " As long as you ; what course do you think of pursuing in relation to the white man and the Indian ? " " That is a subject which I have not fully considered. I crave your advice. The former knows more of the fate of my friends than we do, I have no doubt. He is the man who gave me the letter at St. Louis, of which I have spoken." " Since you have asked my advice, I will give it. Shoot the red-skin, and take the white man alive. If he knows aught of the Leroys, we can wring it from him by fair means 'or foul." " I don't greatly like the idea of destroying the poor In- dian," I replied. " He is but an instrument in the hands of a designing man, and we can expect nothing better of him. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. S3 What would the death of that miserable wanderer avail? Nothing ; it would be like slaying the starving wolf merely because he is a wolf, and not something better." " Not so," replied Wickliffe. " If he escapes through our mercy, or inability to capture him, he will bring scores of his tribe upon us before we have accomplished our object. If he dies on the spot, no word goes to his people of his end or our movements ; and we have only one prisoner to look after, in- stead of two. Indians are proverbially a slippery race ; cold lead only can keep them from getting through one's fingers." " I think we can manage them both," I answered. " With Sutler's assistance, it will be an easy matter to make them prisoners." "Well, let it be so," rejoined Wickliffe. At that moment we were joined by Sutler, who had also seen the fire. I explained to him the condition of things as well as I could ; but it was with difficulty I could restrain Imni from shooting the Indian. " There was such a good ^chance, and it was so much like an act o' mercy." " t After further deliberation, we decided to forego, for the present, the idea of capturing them, and, instead thereof, follow and watch their movements so long as we could do so successfully. This was more in accordance with my views, for I believed it presented a better prospect of success, and I wished to play with the guilty fears of the unknown. It would give me a stern joy to be near him by night and by day, and be a witness of his ceaseless, corroding vigils, his sleepless anxiety. Having formed this resolution, Sutler took it upon himself to find and dispose of their horses. They were found hobbled at no great distance. They suffered themselves to be approached without difficulty, and were soon in our possession. This was no wanton act; the safety and success of our plans required it. Were the objects of- our suspicion permitted to retain their horses, they might elude us ; but on foot we could follow them. Sutler wrapped the feet of the captured animals in buffalo skins, and rode them away to a considerable distance. Wick- liffe and myself stationed ourselves in a growth of sycamores at the base of the hill I have mentioned, to watch the move- ments of the parties by turns, until morning. The unknown and his red friend were greatly mortified at 84 SILVER-KNIFE : the discovery of the loss of their horses. Knowing it would be vain to spend much time in looking for them, they struck off in a north-westerly direction, toward, the White-Earth river. We followed them at a safe distance for two days, while Sutler kept in the rear with the animals. A portion of this time they kept the trail, which we had been tracing with so much trouble ; and at other times they left and crossed it again, after several hours. My journal of the 29th reads as follows : " For the last forty-eight hours we have traced the foot- steps of the unknown with untiring assiduity ; he has not been an hour from our sight. It is evident that he suffers ; his manner is ever restless, and his eyes wander contin- ually over the prairies and hills, as if in momentary ex- pectation of meeting misfortune. He is never at ease, is nervously impatient to get forward, feels that he .is watched, his steps dogged by those who wish him no good, makes no , fire at night, and would no doubt travel otmnBj the hours of darkness if his strength would permit. He is' probably straining every nerve to overtake his Indian accom- plices. * * * * * *;.,,,* * " We have again crossed what we believe to be the Trail of Leroy and Silver-Knife. What a piece of good fortune it would be to overtake them ! " I still dwell upon the memory of Madeleine, and cannot cease to hope ; but what can she be to me, even if we suc- ceed in wresting her from the power of these wild men of the wilderness ? In vain do I strive to teach my heart a new philosophy. There is no philosophy for the affections ; they are as uncontrollable as the winds. Those sick of life, or too old to enjoy, may talk of philosophy, but not the young and hopeful. " 30th. As soon as it was light this morning, we discov- ered that the Crow (the white man's companion) had given us the slip. Wickliffe looked disappointed and serious, and said it boded no good. I suggested the propriety of pursu- ing him on horseback, and trying to cut him off; but Wickliflfe shook his head, and remarked that he was far beyond our reach. To-night we are resolved to make a prisoner of the unknown, as nothing is likely to be gained by putting* it off longer. The disappearance of the Indian causes us much unea- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 85 siness. We consider our position a very critical one. If the Crow camp is not at a great distance, we shall have visitors before long. My ill-timed clemency has endangered our whole enterprise. I am ready to shoot myself for my folly. What can we do with this white man, if we deprive him of liberty ? He will only be an incumbrance ; but we may at least learn the fate of the Leroy family, though even that is doubtful. ******** " We have crossed the White-Earth river, and are repos- ing upon its bank. This is the third river we have crossed since leaving the Platte. What will be the end of these wan- derings? * * " I have been low-spirited all day f my mind is filled with foreboding ; evil is near I feel it ; every whisper in the air assures me of it. Perhaps my end is near, and these are but premonitory flashes of what shall be ; but what does it matter where I fall ? There is a time and a season for all things, saith the preacher. If there is a time to laugh and be merry, there is a time also to die. Who is ready for that season? Is it thou, of woman born? Then lie down in the without a murmur, and let the worm cover thee. Alas ! ugh tired of earth, we turn with no eager eye to heaven. * * * * * * * * * ' Man is naturally superstitious ; hears and sees things which never were and never will be ; terrifies himself with a thought, and pleases himself with a shadow, which has no substance. Why, then, should I seize these vagrant fancies, and fasten them upon paper? I cannot tell. * * . * One hour later. This unaccountable depression of spirit still continues ; it is very singular ; for I was never a man of dark thoughts. As for marvellousness, I have but a small share ; and reverence is smaller, I fear, than it ought to be; but every person has, unquestionably, his moments of weakness, and these are mine. I have read of the strongest minds believing in premonitory flashes. ^ * # ^ I shall give my papers to Wicklifle, that they may be forwarded to my friends, should anything befall me ; he will sneer at the idea, no doubt ; he is too cold to be superstitious too proud to acknowledge it if he is. j* * * * The unknown is a prisoner at last, is silent and sullen. No threats can wring 8 86 SILVER-KNIFE : from him any knowledge of the Leroys. He is a man of powerful frame, and struggled fiercely when seized. He is by no means fresh upon the prairies. I have seen his wounded hand, and one finger is indeed gone. If he knows aught of Madeleine, he shall divulge it, by heaven ! I cannot and will not bear this uncertainty much longer. I hope he may not tempt my mood too much, for I wish not to have the blood of a fellow-creature upon my hands without good cause. I dare not trust myself to question him, for fear my impetuosity may get the better of my prudence. Let me remember it is a terrible thing to dismiss a human soul from its clay tenement to its God ; because there is no repentance in the grave, and the spirit shall return no more." # ' # # # # # * # # I intrusted my papers and other valuables to Wickliffe ; and all for the forebodings mentioned in my journal. He re- ceived them more graciously than I had expected, although it was obvious to me that he felt no little contempt for the proceeding. " You will probably think this a piece of folly," I fc- marked, as I handed them to him. " Far from it," he answered. " This is not the first trans- action I have known of the kind." " Tell me about it," I said. " There is but little to tell. 1 was hunting in the vicinity of the Blackfeet country, with an old guide by the name of Williams. He had been a dweller in the wilderness for many years, and possessed an accurate knowledge of woodcraft and savage habits. He had just enough of the French blood in him to make him gay under every kind of privation. His spirits never flagged, and his good humor could not be out- done. But one afternoon his gayety vanished of a sudden ; his brow grew thoughtful, and his face became serious in its expression. The song and the joke no longer passed his lips. I could scarcely suppress a smile at his woe-begone visage. " ' What is the matter now ? ' I asked. " * I don't know exactly,' he replied, * but I kinder think I'm wanted.' " Wanted where ? ' AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 87 " 'Up there,' he answered, pointing solemnly to the skies. " ' Going to die, you mean ?' "'I feel something in here' (putting his hand to his breast) that kinder tells me I shan't trap a great many more beaver. I reckon as how I 'm bound to another sort o' huntin'-ground, where the streams are flowin' with the waters o' life. But it 's doubtful to me whether I taste o' them delicious waters. They warn't made for the like o' me. You know I 've been a wicked, swearin' man, carin' for nobody, although it may be nobody cared for me. I never had much trainin'. My father was somethin' of a Frenchman, and my mother was an out-an'-out squaw, and p'rhaps they won't expect much from such a cast-a-way child o' natur.' " * Nonsense ! ' I said ; * nothing but a fit of the blues. Cheer up, now. A buffalo hump will set you all right.' " ' We have eat a good many bufferler humps in our time ; but we shan't never eat no more of 'em together. In course, I may be wrong, and these feelin's may wear off; but I don't believe they will. I Ve got a few things in my pocket which I want you to take, and, if anything happens, they a3 yourn. Here's a few bank-notes, and some other things, which would n't be any good to me, if I should get my quietus from one o' them savagerous critters.' " To please the old trapper, I took his bank-notes, &c., think- ing it was but the cloud of a moment. " One hour from that time we stood on the summit of a hill. The guide was leaning on his rifle, looking mournfully at the setting sun. I saw him wipe an unusual moisture from hie eye, and cross himself. He seemed in the act of turning to speak, when the sharp report of a rifle rang out upon the air. The guide tottered, smiled, fell, and died without a struggle. .1 bent over him an instant, but there was no sign of life, and I attended to my own safety by hastening from the scene. His scalp hung that night, no doubt, in the lodge of a Black- foot brave." This tale had a contrary effect from what might have been expected. It aroused my pride ; for it appeared to me that he had devised the story on purpose to play upon my fears. " I will take back my papers," I said, coolly, as soon as he had finished. " 0, no ! " he replied, quietly, " I want to read them, by b5 SILVER-KNIFE : and by. I have no doubt but they give a fair and unpreju- diced history of your progress in the Indian country." " Well, keep them ; but my mood has changed, and I care nothing about it. I am subject tp the blues ; but they are gone now, and I am all right. To prove my words, I am go- ing to take a stroll up the river." " No, don't do that ! " he said, earnestly. " I expect we are in a dangerous neighborhood, and none too safe when all together." " I am no coward, Wickliffe, and I really don't intend to run into danger. But, since you have told me that story, I shall go out, merely to show you I do not heed it." Whistling a favorite air, I shouldered my rifle and marched leisurely away. Though I was thus calm outwardly, I was not easy at heart. Thus far I had not been very successful in my exertions to rescue the maiden Madeleine. I had fol- lowed the trail for a number of days, and was now no nearer my object than at first, and perhaps further from it ; for the escape of the Crow would warn the marauders of pursuit, when they would either send out a war-party. to exterminate us, or take good care that we should not effect our purpose. What now could be done ? We had taken what we be- lieved to be the party most deeply implicated in the transac- tion ; but what should we do with him ? He was sullen, and refused to give us any information. The letter, which I had good reason to believe he had written, was still in my posses- sion. As I thought of the threats and taunts contained therein, and the malignity with which he had dogged our foot- steps to do us evil, my passions rose to an ungovernable height. I felt my heart beating tumultuously, and the veins swelling like cords upon my forehead. My eyes were burning, and my face was hot and fevered. I stalked back, and stood be- fore the unknown with a scowl of defiance upon my brow. For a moment I contemplated him, and then motioned Wick- liffe and Sutler to withdraw. They did so. " We are alone," I said, sternly, drawing a pistol from my belt. " There are a thousand miles of wilderness between us and the marks of civilization. If a human being perish here, what bird will fly with the news, over the woods and over the wilds, to call for retribution ? " AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. O\) I paused to give my words time to take effect. The man's cheeks grew pale ; he knew I was dangerous. " I have a few questions to ask, and your life depends on the answers you make," I continued. " What are you called ? " "^0, you want an introduction," he replied, rallying, and putting as good a face upon the matter as possible. " What are you called ? " I repeated, in the same tone. " Well, if you insist on knowing me, my name shall be Burrill, at your service." " Let it be Burrill, then ; perhaps in an hour hence you won't need a name." " But you surely don't mean to assassinate me ? 0, no, you are facetious you intend it as an excellent joke ; but jokes lose their edge, you know, when carried too far ; and the law, you know the LAW " " Don't waste your breath before the time ; you will want it all before long ; and breath is precious sometimes, especially toward the close of one's life." I drew the crumpled letter from my pocket, and held it be- fore his eyes. "A very fair specimen of chirography," he said, at length, with affected composure ; but his voice trembled. " Did you write this ? " I resumed, emphasizing the words deeply. " Why, really, sir, you are inquisitive and impertinent withal," he rejoined, with the same desperate effort at calm- ness. I cocked the pistol, and held it about six inches from his head. " I shall not repeat the question," I said. " If you do not answer, and answer truly, you die on the spot. Don't lie to me, for I do not wish your blood on my hands." I know I must have been a fearful object as I stood before him, with my flushed face, my set teeth, compressed lips, flash- ing eyes, and veins like knotted whip-cords. " I don't deny an agency in that ; but, my dear sir, it was all a joke a mere joke, nothing but a joke " " I have another question to ask, of the utmost importance ; and I charge you, as you value life and the repose of your immortal soul, don't hesitate to tell me correctly. But first look at this dissevered member ; it is the one you lost." 90 SILVER-KNIFE : I had preserved the finger in a small bottle of brandy, and now produced it. The effect upon him was obvious. His face gathered a deeper pallidness, and his bravado spirit seemed stricken down and humbled. He perceived that I had a chain of evidence against him, and that a flat and unqualified denial of all knowledge of the Leroys would do no good, and might be productive of the worst of consequences. " Where is Madeleine Leroy ? " He hesitated, and trembled from head to foot. " You are a devil ! " he muttered. " Yes ! I am at this moment ; and have some of the devil's own work on my hands. You perceive, I presume, that this dangerous weapon is cocked and levelled at your right eye. A slight pull of the trigger it is a hair-trigger, and my finger is on it, and I am rather nervous would send a leaden messenger crashing through your head." " This is too cool and blood-thirsty ! " cried Burrill, shut- ting his eyes, horrified at the prospect of death. " Take away that devil's plaything !" " I shall not repeat a question three times ; you know what I require. This minute is yours ; the next shall be mine." " Your question is too hard. What should I know of the persons you name ? " " Remember the letter, and the threats it contains. You do not deny the authorship of that. This weapon, you see, is very near the least carelessness " " Hold ! stay your hand. The two maidens are unharmed ; they are now with my friends." " Who are your friends ? " " The Crows and I saved their lives. They would have been slain immedi " " No lies ! no lies ! " I cried, stamping furiously upon the ground. " Let me read from your letter. Listen ! ' Your hope shall be like the deceitful mirage which tantalizes the thirsty traveller upon the desert waste with the hope of water.' And again : ' You have not sufficient stamina to contend with that influence which will continually be exerted against you.' I know that ' influence,' and have felt it, and you shall learn if I have strength to struggle with it. Whither have the savages gone with the maidens ? make a clean breast." " That I know not. Ask something that I know." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 91 " Harkee, Burrill ! Hear you tlie howl of the wolf that prowls about the camp ? It is hungry for blood ; its gaunt frame is pinched with famine ; it eats human flesh. Were you left dead here to-night, there would not be two joints of your frame together by to-morrow's sun." " Horrible ! " " Very true ; but you have forgotten to tell me where your Crow friends have gone ? " " To the Black Hills, son of Satan ! now release me." " Release your spirit, perhaps ; but not your body. What was the fate of Leroy ? " " He perished I could not save him." " You save him ! Cease to blaspheme the truth. So the wolf saves the lamb, and the hawk the chicken ; so the vul- ture scorns carrion, and feeds upon the choicest dainties ; so the fox forgets his cunning, and the snake to crawl upon its belly on the ground." I laughed savagely, and my laughter seemed to terrify him. " I believe you are deceiving me about Leroy," I continued. " If you are, remember you are in my power, and, if I dis- cover your duplicity by any circumstances which the future may develop " " I tell you, he perished." " Well, let it be that he perished all must perish. What was your object in abducting the maidens ? " " I deny the charge." He was sitting upright upon the earth, for his bands did not permit him to assume a standing position. " Take that for your hypocrisy ! " I shouted, and dealt him a stunning blow upon the head, which laid him senseless upon the ground. 92 SILVER-KNIFE : CHAPTER XIV. CAPTIVITY. As I walked away and left him, I saw a purple stream welling from his temples. I passed Wickliffe and Sutler without a word, for it may be easily imagined that I was not in a mood for words. They saw my excited manner, and suf- fered me to go my way without question. I felt the need of cool air, for it seemed hot and suffocating where Burrill was, as if he had rendered it so by his presence. I believe the breath of one villain will create an atmosphere foul enough to sicken a dozen honest men. I met the balmy winds that came sighing down the river, and they were as grateful to my burn- ing brow as a bath of cold water to him upon whom the fever-demon has laid his scorching fingers. Just before me was a high bluff, one of many such. Upon the water side it arose perpendicularly to the height of thirty or forty feet. It resembled those rocky headlands I have seen upon tjie sea-shore. I mounted to the top of this bluff, and seated myself where I could look down into the waters of the White-Earth. I sat there and watched the stars as they came out, one by one, to gem the diadem of night, and my brain teemed with thought. As I listened to the voice of Nature, while she spoke through the winds, and the birds, and the running waters, I grew calmer. Aided by the gentle moon and her satellites, I took out my tablets and wrote, or attempted to write, lines like the following. I cannot recall them, word for word, because they were lost ; and, indited at that hour, could have been scarcely intelligible if preserved; but the overtasked mind seeks anything for employment. " I have been angry it may be, cruel; but what I have doije was for the sake of Madeleine. I have solved the mystery at last, and the ruffian's name is Burrill. I shall compel him to lead us to the maidens. He begins to know me for what I really am. The wicked are ever craven-spirited. ^ ^ ^ Madeleine is unharmed. It is possible I may see her again. * * * But why these forebodings? I thought they had passed, and given place to more manly impulses. *'* * It is hard to tell what new mood I may take. The imagina- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 93 tion is a wayward thing. Perhaps I shall become a disciple of Don Quixote, and believe in enchantment and other ex- travagances. ^ ^ ^ I need sleep, and this relapse into the dismals may owe its origin to that. * *= * Very mild is the night. The air is cool and balmy, and the breezes seem to chide me for my moodiness. The nightingale is sing- ing his song, and the waters flash and sparkle far down below me. * $? * Has Burrill seen and spoken to Madeleine ? Has he insulted her with offers of love ? Why was he away from her ? Time perhaps will show. Good angels defend the restless Madeleine and the calm Mary ! May the time when I can strike a blow for her " I was interrupted a hand was laid upon my shoulder. I sprang to my feet a painted warrior stood beside me. " White man walk woods," he said, meaning that I was his prisoner, and should go with him. For a reply I planted a blow between his eyes that stretched him upon the ground. But that was only the commencement of my trouble ; another was upon me before I had time to recover myself. He was a strong fellow, and I was likely to have *fhe worst of it. I had incautiously left my hunting-knife, and now felt the want of it bitterly ; for I perceived the Indian was trying to get his from his belt. Resolving not to die alone and unavenged, I concentrated all my physical powers, and, lifting him in my arms, leaped from the bluff, and we went whirling down the dizzy height. I had no thought but death I did not expect to escape ; but the waters proved deeper than I had thought. I arose to the surface after a terrible plunge, still held by the nervous arm of the Indian. Grasp- ing him firmly by the throat, I held his head under until his hands relaxed their hold, and the limbs straightened out; , then pushed him from me and swam to the shore, faint and exhausted. Meanwhile the brave upon the bluff had recov- ered from the stunning blow I had dealt him, and now sent forth his shrill war-whoop, which was answered from the adjacent wood by a hundred savage throats. My rifle and revolvers, also, had carelessly been left at the encampment. I had only a brace of common duelling-pistols in my belt, and" they were now rendered useless by their recent drenching. If I could not fight, I must run ; and so I made the attempt, but it was only an attempt, for I was hemmed in on every 94 SILVER-KNIFE : side. Despairing of escape in that way, I threw myself down upon the earth among a growth of ferns and reeds, in the hope that I might happily be overlooked. I had scarcely assumed that position when I heard the terrible voice of Burrill, and felt my case was indeed a pre- carious and hopeless one. The Indians had released him un- questionably, and he was inciting them .to vengeance. I reproached myself bitterly that I had not slain him on the spot, and that through my means his Crow friend had been suffered to escape to bring his people to destrSy us. They came very near, and I heard them pass on every side. I was in an agony of suspense, and prayed fervently that my fate might be decided quickly. Not the least painful thought was, what will become of the Leroy family, in case of my capture ? Once the tide of dusky figures rolled away in another direc- tion ; but it speedily swept back again. And Burrill came also, foaming with rage, exhorting the Crows to activity, and to look behind every tree, and beat every bush. Several times he passed so near my hiding-place that I could have touched him with a yard-stick, or dashed my pistols in his face with but a slight exertion of the arm. I will not assert that I was entirely composed ; or that I did not feel a sickly, painful anxiety in regard to the result. I should have been something more than human not to have experienced sensa- tions of a character extremely unpleasant, and bordering on the horrible. The knight of La Mancha himself, although a very proper and valorous knight, had he been placed in just such a situa- tion, would have envied the low estate of Panza during the blanket-tossing, or the discipline of the pack-staves. I do not think I am a coward. I never acted the part of one in positions of danger, and I have braved death more than once ; but, as I lay there amid the ferns and reeds, and heard the cries and footsteps of the wild sons of the wilderness, the per- spiration rolled from my face in great drops. Lying there like a dog was a different thing from facing the enemy like a man, and having the question of life and death resolved at bnce. Suspense makes the boldest heart tremble, and the certainty that follows is a relief, let that certainty be of what- ever character it may. I had a presentiment, after I heard his voice, that Bur- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 95 rill would be the man to discover me ; nor was I mis- taken. He approached the spot where I lay, and his eyes gleamed upon me like a basilisk's. I did not give him time* to commence an attack, but, leaping from the earth, knocked him down with a pistol, and ran for dear life. I should have done very well had I continued running ; but unfortunately I ran against a Crow warrior, and a rough-and-tumble engage- ment took place, during which we both rolled over and over an infinitude of times. I succeeded finally in getting him beneath me, and freed myself from him by dashing his head against a stone several times with all my strength, which I have reason to believe deranged his mental faculties more than several touches of the nightmare ! As I continued my flight, I saw Wickliffe and Sutler in the distance fighting like lions ; and they were not alone. I heard the crack of a rifle that sounded like old " Ironsides, '" and a war-cry that reminded me of Silver-Knife ; but in that moment of excitement J was by no means sure I was right in my conjectures ; j c tfce bare possibility of being right gave me a thrill of pli .sure. Alas ! I was not destined to join them. A blow i\ om a tomahawk laid me low. I know little of what followed im- mediately ; there was a period of darkness without ao 7 / dark- ness within. The world, and all I had Jknown, or felt, or feared, were lost in that darkness. JKhen my ^oas once more became connected, I was lying jf^f my bad I felt a painful sensation about my wrists and ankles, aiU perceived that I was bound hand and foot. The sound of conflict had nearly ceased, though a random shot occasional 1 / told that it was still going on at a distance. I was not ,ione; a Crow warrior stood near me, with weapons in his h*,nds. His vigils were quite useless, for I was bound so thoroughly there was but little prospect of escape. He was soori joined by others. My feet were unbound, and I was ordered to march. There was no alternative but to obey, and I followed my captors. We had not proceeded far before Burrill made his appear- ance ; and p, most unwelcome appearance it was. He wore an expression that boded no good. I did not deign to n'otice him, and gave no sign that I. know he was near. The dark scowl upon his face gave place to a derisive laugh as he approached. 96 SILVER-KNIFE : " Well, Ferguson, you are on your last march ! " he saiG- triumphantly. I scorned to answer him. " You will never walk over this ground again. Every step takes you nearer to your grave. Let me quote a little to you. 'If a man die here, in this wilderness, what bird will fly to call for retribution ? ' Is n't that poetical ? " I made no reply. " You said something about wolves which I cannot remem- ber ; but you may rest assured they will not eat so much as a joint of your frame. Do you understand that ? " He paused for an answer. " Silent are you silent as an Indian ? I shall teach you to speak. What think you of Madeleine Leroy ? " I was still mute, although my blood boiled to hear him speak the name of Madeleine. RL " Would you take Mary for Madeleine ? Jacob took Leah for Rachel, you know. I should be willing to make almost any sacrifice for you, we are such good friends." I longed to strike him upon the- mouth; but I could not; my hands were bound. " What would you like to have done with your ashes, Mr. Ferguson ? Anything I can do for you, in their final dispo- sition, will give me pleasure. What kind of fagots should you prefer for your funeral pile ? Some have a choice ; one prefers hard wood, another soft, a third pitch-pine, and a fourth birch-bark. Shall be happy to oblige you have a great assortment of combustibles." He paused again. " Perhaps you leave all these matters to me, and trust to my experience and better judgment; you couldn't do better. I shall not fail to attend to these little preliminaries, like a faithful friend." Another silence. " I suppose you know you are not alone in disgrace ? Tha sight of a friend will raise your spirits, no doubt ; and here he comes." I turned suddenly at these words, and my eyes rested upon the noble figure of Silver-Knife. He was a little in the rear, and bound like myself. He was singing his death-song in a clear, ringing voice. It had a wild and startling effect AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 97 upon me. He told of the exploits of his fathers ; of his people ; of his own, and the vengeance his tribe would take upon their eriemies. In substance it was something like the lines which follow, though it was much more prolix.^ "Wabuma! Wabuma! the warrior shall die; 'Tis the voice of Monedo, He speaks from on high; The form that is lofty in dust shall be laid Monkonawon hears it, and is not afraid: Though the form that is lofty in dust shall be laid. " Minno Monedo! he will not delay, The soul of the chieftain entreats not to stay; Like the eagle unconquered his spirit shall soar, And defy them till malice can torture no more : And his spirit untamed like the eagle shall soar. " Go look in his wigwam, and see if you know The scalps that once grew on the head of the Crow; He tore them away ere the life-blood was cold, From the heads of the young, and the heads of the old: Ere the blood in their bodies was thickened and cold. " Your warriors and chieftains like squaws he has slain, Ye never shall see them in battle again; And long shall the living remember to tell The deeds of Monkonawon ever he fell : Your people shall ever remember to tell. "0 Minno Monedo! he looks unto thee; Sustain through the torture, whatever it be; Give courage and strength to the soul of the Brave, And glory and sunshine shall rest on his grave: Give firmness and strength to the heart of the Brave. " His young men shall come in the strength of their might, Pursue you by day, and surprise you by night; Not one shall escape, not a chieftain shall live, For Monkonawon's warriors never forgive : And none shall escape not a warrior shall live." * The term wabuma signifies, Behold thou, or, Attend thou. Monedo t as most persons know, signifies God or Spirit. Monkonawon is an abbre- viation and corruption of the hero's Indian name. Minno, means good. 9 9 SILVER-KNIFE : CHAPTER XV. DOOMED. THREE hours' march took us to the Crow encampment. During that time I had exchanged no words with Silver- Knife. He had manifested no surprise at seeing me, and noticed me only by a slight movement of the "head. Our entry into the camp was hailed with a terrible clamor by the women and children. Insults of every kind were offered us. Squaws reviled us, and naked children made wry faces. We were firmly secured in the lodge of one of the chiefs, and it was a ^consolation to have my fellow-prisoner near. He bore his misfortunes with truer Indian dignity. In the na- tive pride of his character, he soared far above the malice of his captors. A warrior was stationed near the door of the lodge, and we were left to our reflections for the remainder of the night. Once, Burrill looked in to see if all was secure, and went away apparently highly satisfied with what he had seen. I now had an opportunity to converse with Silver- Knife. " What know you of my friends, and how came you hith- er ? " I asked, quickly. " The maidens beloved by the pale medicine man are prisoners." " Where are Leroy and Basil ? " " They have been on the trail of the Crows, and the war- chief has been with them." " Why did you leave me ?." "We thought the medicine man was dead. Our hearts were heavy ; but we could not stay. The Crows were bearing away in triumph the wife and daughters of Long Rifle. To do good to the living, we left the dead, wishing him a pleas- ant journey to the happy hunting-grounds. We have dogged the footsteps of our enemies ever since. To-night they attacked your camp. We heard the sound of firing. We hastened to your assistance, and heard news of you. They told us you were in danger, and perhaps at that moment a prisoner. We fought desperately. Many of the enemy fell ; but there AN AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 99 were too many to contend with. "We retreated step by step, fighting as we went. I was at last overpowered and taken prisoner. My hours are numbered ; the red warrior will die." " You' will not die alone. I shall perish with you. These demons are merciless ; they will burn us. And, even were they disposed to mercy, that white fiend would change their mood." " Bad man is the snake in the grass. He is the child of Machintto, the bad spirit, But you must die like a man. Do not shrink from the smoke when it stifles, or the fire when it burns. Sing your death-song, and tell of the war- riors you have slain. Let them not call my white friend a squaw. You have been brave in battle. The mighty in war have fallen before you. Death is a journey to a better land. The tortures of a day will be forgotten in the happy hunting-grounds. We shall not die there, neither shall we make war any more with our enemies. Nobody weeps there ; and all faces shine with happiness. The fields are very green, and the trees never grow old and wither. The game abounds, and we shall pursue it through a country very beautiful and - pleasant, whose delightful verdure is eternal. We shall not stumble upon the graves of our fathers in hunting, for there are no graves there. No sun shines there, for the smiles of Monedo will give us light. Sparkling rivers are there, whose waters impart everlasting youth and freshness. Who would not dwell in that country ? We will journey together to the pleasant land, where the shadows of our fathers are." " But Madeleine ! Who will pluck her away from the hand of the destroyer ? How can I die and leave her in danger ? " " Monedo is the father of the helpless and innocent. He will make her his care. Perhaps he will take her by the hand and lead her from her enemies, or you may meet her in the hunting-grounds of our fathers. Do I not leave children ? Do I ask who shall care for the Morning Star and the Sing- ing Bird ? They are very dear to the red man's heart ; but he fears not to trust them with the Master of Life," " It is hard for the young to die before they have scarcely tasted the cup of life." " It is better to die young than to die old ; for the old grow doting and foolish, and are remembered as children. The loo SILVER-KNIFE : young man passes away in his strength, and is remembered as one comely and brave. The aged are like the old and with- ered trunk, fit only to lie down in the dust. They shake and tremble at every breath that blows. The young man is like the young sapling, whose fibres are tough and strong. He can die with more courage, and leave a great name. His people mourn his loss, and youthful maidens shed tears to his memory." This was good Indian philosophy, but it consoled me but little. I was not so much afraid of death, as the man- ner of dying. I could go forth and be shot; I could lay my head upon a block, and have it cut off at a blow; but who, save an Indian, could brook the thought of being burned ? Where is the man whose nerves are strung of the right material for such a hellish ordeal ? Do you know him ? can you point him out ? have you seen him ? And this is not even the merciful burning which the martyrs had ; but the slow, the thrice slow torture of the slow fire, aided, abetted and aggravated, ten thousand fold, by savage arts and devices. Good heavens ! how can human flesh brook the living fire ? Would to God that what is called life were nothing more substantial than a dream. I would barter all my hopes of the future, all my ideas of a heaven, for the certainty that life were an idea only an idea : something like the light, airy, misty clouds that rest for a single instant upon the disc of the moon. ^ ^ ^= And I must die. Solemn thought. Let me repeat the words; let me dwell upon them well. I must die ! And what then ? What comes after death ? Is it judgment, or is it ' the cold rottenness of the grave ? I wonder if the doctrine of life hereafter is a truth, real and awful ! My mother thought so ; she prayed too. And I shall never be- hold her again, never gaze upon the brow whereon the light and the shadow have rested by turns. My exit will write an- other line there, where the cloud shall linger forever. * * Is Wickliffe a believer ? or does he reject such things as airy nothings ? The views of the strong-minded man must be worth something. And yet what can they be worth to a dying man ? Can an arm of flesh sustain me ? Alas ! no. Where, then, shall I turn my despairing eyes ? Is there hope in the Cross ? Is there peace in the smiles of the Nazarene ? But AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.' 101 I have spurned Christ. I b'ave Aof; ma&^rin) t^fii&ii of' ray counsels; and God has not been in my thoughts". ' And thitf is j another of the inconsistencies of the creature called man. The Christians hang, and the Indians burn. Which is the most dreadful? How horrible it must be to see a human creature fastened to an upright post, and burned to ashes ! If it be horrible to see, how much worse must it be to suffer ! And yet helpless women have been burned, for God's sake, by professing Christians. But it is a different thing to die for one's religion ; for God is with the martyr. What has been may be again ; and in the hour trial even I may suffer like a ?nan, if not like a Christian. *y?**X%*^% The dark shadows of night lifted and rolled away into eter- nity. The red sun came up in a blaze of fire, and looked down upon the great wilderness. There was a stir and confu- sion in the camp of the red men ; they were gathering around the council-fire of the great chief. A grave matter was to be decided, a question of life and death. Captives of import- ance had been taken, and now was the hour of doom. In solemn silence, the chiefs and principal warriors took their seats upon the earth. The old men spoke first. My fate was soon decided. A chief with gray hair made a speech of some length, which was interpreted to me by Silver-Knife. " Warriors," he said, " does any of you know whether the white man has a country of his own ? If he has a country, and hunting-grounds, why does he come to take our game, and kill our people ? Why does he not stay at home, and hunt, and slay his awn people ? I will tell you ; it is because he is not willing the red men should live. He wishes to kill them all, and possess their lands. I have heard it said that the pale-faces came across the Big Water in large canoes, and that our people used them well, and smoked the pipe of peace with them. But they forgot this kindness, and presently be- gan to kill them. They drove back the red men from their hunting-grounds, and took possession of their land. The white man and the Indian cannot live together. The latter dies, while the first lives and prospers. We soon shall have no place to dwell in. Our country will be taken from us, and our fathers' graves will be defiled. 9* 1 02 SAL f RR-KNIFE : " The palo-faces we^e born our enemies. We must slay them ^wherever Ve fitfcl' titam^ l They show us no mercy, and we will show none to them. They say they came to trade with us, and that the Great Father has sent us good wishes. But what do we know of ttie Great Father, and what do we care for good wishes ? We want hunting-knives and guns. We have never seen the Great Father, and the tales they tell of his power may be all fictions, to frighten Indians. " When they come to trade, they bring us articles of no value ; and they cheat us, and tell us lies. If their Great Father is like themselves, we don't want to know him, for he would drink fire-water, and get drunk. Such a great chief would look bad drunk, and would not be fit to rule Indians. This pale-face is one of our enemies. He came out, like the rest of them, to fight, and kill us, and make us drunk with his fire- water, so that we should act like beasts, and not like men. "We will kill him, and there will be one ravenous bird the less to buzz about our ears. The blood of the Crows he has slain calls for vengeance. They will not rest well in their graves till he is dead. Let him die like a dog, or any vile thing that should be trodden on." This address was received with much enthusiasm and ap- plause. It accorded well with Indian notions of justice. An- other chief arose and said, " He had listened to the words of the wise and eloquent chief, and they were just and good. Let the pale-face perish to-morrow. He has come to us, no doubt, with lies and fire- water, and his thoughts are -evil toward us. He has slain two of our warriors. Let him sing his death-song, and die." Burrill,, during this time, sat in silence. He was dressed after the fashion of a chief of distinction. He had given no sign of emotion during the harangues of the chiefs, save an occasional exclamation, like " It is good ! It is just ! " He now arose slowly to his feet, and fixed his serpent eyes upon me. I met his cold, revengeful gaze with a smile of scorn. Yes, I would have smiled, had I been assured it would have been the last indication of contempt ever wreathed upon my lips. I felt a nameless, desperate pleasure in looking back his hate with no sign of unmanly shrinking. They might have AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 103 torn my flesh with hot pincers, and wrung from me no cry of agony. He averted his eyes, disconcerted ; and then, as if ashamed, turned them upon me again. But there was that in mine that made him quail. Perhaps I looked as I did when I stood before him with a pistol levelled at his head. His self-control was now put to the test, for passions ungovern- able were struggling within him. At that moment he wished for the strength of the lion, that he might fall upon and tear me limb from limb. As for me, my strength grew with the occasion, and a strange, almost breathless calmness pervaded my soul. I could defy him defy any, every thing. I saw the eyes of Silver-Knife fixed upon me in admiration and pride, silch as a father might feel for a son ; while a smile, strange in its placidity, trembled upon his lips, and lent a light unearthly to his lofty features. Burrill spoke. " I have listened to the words of the fathers of my adopted people, and they have fallen upon nay ears like dew upon the herbs, or rain upon the grass. I have gathered wisdom from the motion of their lips, for they have grown wise by experience and age. " The war-chiefs have spoken truly of the pale-faces. Their voices have been to me like the voice of Monedo. The whites were once my people. I dwelt with them many moons. But when I grew old, I learned they were bad. I heard them tell lies to the Indians, and saw them make them drunken with fire-water. My heart grew bitter against them. I would not dwell in their lodges. I reproached them for their wickedness, and, shaking the dust off my feet for a testimony against them, went out from among them. I wandered solitary and sad in the wilderness, because I could find no people after my heart. Then I heard of the great Crow nation", and knew that they were those I was destined to dwell with in peace. 1 came to you. We smoked the calumet of peace together, and the smoke went down- to the earth, and up to heaven, in token we called on both to witness our good faith. We hunted and dwelt together. When I told you of the pale maiden whom I had set my heart upon, your warriors bade me go and get her, and make a wife of her. Then I went to her land afar off, and beheld her face again. 104 SILVER-KNIFE : " Monedo favored me, and she journeyed into the wilder- ness with her friends. This pale-face came with her, for he thought to take her away from me, and make her mistress of his own lodge. I warned him to keep away ; but he heeded me not. At length your warriors came, and we took the pale flower away, and she arid her relations are with us now. " I was wounded and sick, and I told your warriors to hasten on with the captives, and I would follow as fast as my strength would permit. I did, and behold, this son of Machinito came upon me at night to do me evil. He dogged my footsteps, with other pale-faces whom he happened to find. They made me a prisoner, and menaced me with death. Again your war- riors came and saved me. You are a great people I hope you will live forever. You say the white man must die, and you are wise ; he deserves to die. But, before he dies, let him witness my espousal with the white maiden. We shall see whether he will bear it like a warrior, or like a squaw. What say the great war-chiefs ? " A murmur of approbation ran along the circle of braves. And now my fate was sealed. There was no longer a doubt. I was to die, and by fire. But this was not all ; I was to behold the ruin of Madeleine first, as a terrible pre- lude to the flames. This was the work of Burrill, and it staggered me like a blow from a strong hand ; I heard a ringing sound in my ears, and felt a horrible faintness and sickness in my brain. Was it for this that I had been reserved to witness th'e desecra- tion of the idol I had set up in the most sacred place in my soul, to worship ? Was it for this I had been a pilgrim in the wilds ? Was it for this that I had followed the footsteps of that girl ? An espousal ! 0, mockery ! 0, blasphemy ! I will burst these bands. I will trample down my tormentors to the dust. I Hush! be quiet, my thoughts! back, madness ! The eyes of the fiend Burrill are fixed exultingly upon me, and I would not have him read my agony for a world. '*******%%. Silver-Knife is doomed also doomed to the stake and the flame. But he heeds it not. His thoughts appear to be somewhere else. ^ * * The council is broken up ; but I still hear the voice of Burrill ; it comes to me like an echo from the bottomless pit. How dare the wretch speak of AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 105 espousing a pure woman ? ^ * * Is it possible Heaven will suffer such injustice and cruelty? Shall Madeleine be sacrificed ? I can familiarize myself with the idea of death ; but I cannot with that ; it is a drop more than I can bear, and not go mad. " Bound with thongs of deerskin, we awaited the morrow, that we might die. No hope of rescue ; the encampment was full of warriors. The day rolled away, and I tried to reconcile myself to death. I thought of my sins, and prayed that God in his infinite mercy would forgive. I knew it was the eleventh hour ; but even that hour is not hopeless, and very few think seriously of death before that time. I thought of the words of Holy Writ, and regretted I had not made them oftener my prayer : "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." But men seldom number their days. They rather make it a point to think them limitless. When they feel the touch of the hand that is never warm and welcome, the appalling thought occurs for the first time that they must die, and pass into utter darkness. Dark is the grave, but light, bright is the doctrine of the resurrection to the believer. The night drew on ; the last night. The words stunned and paralyzed me. The last night the very last upon this side of the vast and terrible boundary which is a dread mys- tery to the living. To-morrow night the moon and stars will shine upon my ashes. Hartley Ferguson will be swept from the face of the earth as completely as if he had never inhaled the breath of life. What, then? Speak! ye who have gone before, speak from the tomb, from your rottenness and corruption, and tell me what ye have seen, 'what ye have felt, what ye have suffered, what ye have enjoyed ! Speak, I adjure you ! Speak, for it cannot violate your fealty to the Imperishable. He will permit this much to one about to die I know, I feel that He will. Still ye are silent, gods, angels, saints, spirits, all ! I rave I wander ; and the soul of the untutored Indian is calm. 106 SILVER-KNIFE : CHAPTER XVI. REDEEMED. THE sun was setting, when a warrior looked into the lodge where we were secured. I thought little of the circumstance, for many had looked in upon us during the day. I did not heed him, for -I was endeavoring to fix my thoughts upon heaven, from which they had wandered from childhood. He advanced to the middle of the lodge, and stood like a statue of stone. I gave him no attention. Silver-Knife was chanting solemnly portions of his death-song. The intruder uttered a low, guttural sound. I raised my eyes. A figure, tall and majestic, stood near, with folded arms. Could I credit my senses ? or was I mad ? The face and form of Wickliffe were before me calm, quiet, unruffled, self-pos- sessed ; the same inexplicable being I had met so strangely on the prairies, who had attached himself to my interest in such a mysterious manner. I did not cry qut, for my thoughts came quickly, and taught me how to act. An un- guarded exclamation might have endangered my friend. In externals, , Wickliffe was an Indian. The robe of skins, the leggins, the moccasins, the paint upon the face, the hair, and even the expression, were all in keeping with that character. He held up his finger in token of silence. " At midnight expect me. You shall not die. I will save you ! " he said in a whisper, laid his finger once more upon his lips, waved his hand, and glided from the lodge. ! what a welcome visitor was that man of mystery ! The words rang in my ears a thousand, thousand times "You shall not die; I will save you." My breath came, my heart beat once more. "At midnight expect me." Heavenly Father, I thank thee ! Thou hast not forgotten me in my low estate. I exchanged glances with Silver-Knife. Our very looks spoke spoke of life, of happiness. No, I could scarcely think of happiness ; that could be found only in the smiles of Madeleine.. 'My fellow-prisoner might be happy ; but not I. The time was past when such ideas filled my heart ; the AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 107 shadow of Madeleine no longer fell thereon. Why should I rejoice at the hope of deliverance, when she was still in deadly peril ? Wretch that I was, to forget her an instant in my selfishness! As if I could find pleasure in freedom, or a delight anywhere without her. ^ ^ ^ ^ And I to escape, and leave her in the power of Burrill. But stay ! I am too fast. I may not escape. Wickliffe may be discov- ered and fail ; and the consequence of that failure will be will be death. Hours and minutes are long when great events hang upon them. When they decide the question of living or dying, each second has a gray hair for the temples and a wrinkle for the face. Burrill came in the evening, taunted and re- viled me. He pictured the happiness of himself and Made- leine. He spoke of her as loving him, and scorning me. I remembered the evening when I had taken her hand, and how she withdrew it ; and deemed, for the moment, that Burrill spoke the truth, and no lie. He talked of his lodge, and her as the light of it. He knew his words wrung my soul with a strong agony, and he dwelt long on the picture so hateful to my contemplation. After that he spoke of the stake, the fagot, and the fire. I could not resent I could but hear him. I shut my eyes and let him talk on. When he had ceased through want of words, I spoke to him for the first time since I had been in his power. I mastered myself, and spoke calmly also; yes, calmly, for the WILL is omnipotent when it awakes, and shakes itself like a lion, and clothes itself in strength. " Burrill, I will speak to you, perhaps for the last time. I am, it appears, very near death ; and I will speak as a dying MAN, and not as a dying CHRISTIAN. Hear me and tremble, for cowards always tremble at the truth. I am now so near my dissolution that my words must be to you like the words of inspiration, and as such you may regard them." My voice was very deep and solemn, for I meant to in- timidate and awe him. He was startled at my manner. " Burrill, you are a villain, and a murderer. You have be- trayed the innocent, as Judas Iscariot betrayed his Master. The price of blood is upon your hands. To-morrow-night it will cry from the ground where my ashes repose, and you will hear the cry. You will never sleep soundly after that. 108 SILVER-KNIFE : That cry will be ever in your ear, louder than ten-fold thun- der ; and I also will be near you. You shall see me scorched and blackened, as I soon shall be. The spectacle will be too terrible for you ; it will fill you with horror. The time shall come, if this deed be done, when you would give all your hopes of salvation to bid me live. I will haunt you till I drive you mad ; but I doubt if you ever live to go mad, for something speaks within me, and tells me your end is near. God will not suffer you to live long to pollute the air. You will pass away in darkness and in blood. Eternal justice will overtake and hurl you to the dust to the pit to hell itself! I warn you, I warn you by God above, and Satan beneath, not to wrong Madeleine Leroy, or her gentle sister." The ruffian shuddered, and grew pale. " I will not rest until I have scathed your' scoundrel heart with the eternal fires. I will fill your veins with! the hissing poison of remorse. I will follow you in dark places ; I will terrify you with a burning hand that never shall " " Hold ! hold ! or I shall slay you on the spot ! " he cried, and rushed from me, as if the curses I had invoked were already taking effect. "A small heart has the snake in the grass," said Silver- Knife. " ' The wicked flee when no man pursueth,' " I replied. A minute had not elapsed before Burrill appeared again at the door of the lodge, and shook his clenched hand at me. " What do you think of the white stranger who promised us deliverance ? " I asked of Silver-Knife. " He had the look of one who would come to us through fire and water. There was decision in his movements, the pride of the eagle in his eye, the firmness of an Indian upon his lips. He is brave." " Then you have met him before ? " "I have ; and who can see and forget him ? He scorns danger ; he laughs in the face of death." " Where have you seen him ? " " I have seen him upon the hills, and in the valleys ; on the prairies, and on the high mountains ; and he was always the same. If I told him of danger, he smiled ; if I told him to fly, he frowned. He is too proud to tell his thoughts to strangers, especially to the Indian. The Indians know and AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 109 fear him; they never seek they shun him. Yet he has influence with some of the Indian tribes; but he scorns to exert it." " Such is Wickliffe," I answered. " You have described him well. But he has a heart a soul ; I respect I love him. He has been near to save me in the hour of peril ; he has hovered about like an angel of beneficence to shield and bless me. I know not why it is thus. I cannot fathom him ; he is too deep for me ; and I have kept my eyes open at night to ponder and weigh his actions. Yes, he will come come to snatch us from death." ^ Perhaps he loves Madeleine ! Why have I not thought of this before ? He saw her, and a single glance was enough. But no ! away with, the thought ; it is folly, it is ingrati- tude, and the heart's foul madness. To doubt Wickliffe, to accuse him of selfishness, is baseness. * * * 'Tis dark now. ^ ^ ^ Several hours of the solemn night have gone. It must be near midnight. * ^ * How can he come? * ^ * They will discover him no human being can save us, and I shall be obliged to witness the sacrifice on the morrow. * ^ ^ Burrill and Madeleine! what mockery ! * * * It is past -midnight I know it must be the night has been terribly long. ^ * * I am not ready to die ! I am unfitted entirely ; this forlorn hope has destroyed me. Perhaps I might have died like a man, if I had not hoped for escape. It is the certainty that makes a. man prepare himself. * * * No, he won't come. * * * I shall perish. Silver-Knife is calm. He says it lacks an hour of midnight. * ^ * I can't believe it. The day already begins to streak the horizon. =fc $? % The light will soon stream in at the door of the lodge. * * * The sun will be up, and I shall catch a glimpse of my last sunrise. ^ ^ ^ And yet Silver-Knife tells me it is not midnight. He must be mad ; this terrible suspense has turned and unsettled his mind. I don't wonder ; my own brain is unsteady, and strange faces go dancing before my eyes. * ^ # I should like to look upon the stars once more ; but that cannot be. I may see them before I die to-morrow night, possibly. * # ^ And Madeleine ! I would I could see her for a moment one miserable moment. ^ ^ ^ Be firm, my heart 10 110 SILVER-KNIFE : be firm ! I must not die like a woman let me remember I am a man, and my spirit should be unconquerable. * ^ * I knew he would not come. ^ ^ ^ He has forgotten his . One of the skins of which the lodge was composed was lifted, and Wickliffe glided in. Silently he severed our bands with hrs hunting-knife, and put arms into our hands. How my heart bounded with joy when I felt my " revolvers " once more at my side, and my limbs free ! Our deliverer beckoned us to follow, lifted again the skin, and glided from the lodge as silently as he came. We imitated his movements, and stood once more in the open air, armed and free. With a start of alarm, I saw half-naked figures stretched sleeping upon the ground. We held our breath as if the very motion of it would awaken them, and walked un- challenged and unnoticed away. In a few seconds we were in a dense thicket. I saw several dark forms approaching, and laid my finger upon the trigger of my revolver. But that caution was useless ; they were my friends, tried and true. I should have recognized the tall form of Leroy in any place. His friend and companion, old Ironsides, was by his side. He looked grim and forbidding. I shook him silently and fer- vently by the hand, and then greeted Sutler and Basil in like manner, for those persons were indeed present. I felt thankful for my escape. Kneeling down beneath .the moon and stars, and bowing my head in my hands, I poured out my gratitude in the ear of the Almighty. Yes, I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving, and wept tears of gratitude. When I arose, the heads of all present were t bared, and tears trembled on the lids of Leroy. "And now for Madeleine ! " I exclaimed. " What would you do ? " asked Leroy. "Save her, or perish," I replied, sternly. " I 'm going on that sarvice myself," he answered. "And I also," added Wckliffe. "And I," said Sutler. "And I shall not stay behind," said Basil. "Two's enough," continued Leroy. "More would en- danger the whole affair. And if we don't succeed, why, I am sure, two's enough to die by the hands o' them heathen creters." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Ill " Them 's my feelin's," said Sutler, " and I '11 be the man as '11 go into the camp of the Philistians." " No, that I shall not permit ; if there is danger, I will dare it. Death by torture is horrible ; but I do not fear to die fighting like a man, and in a good cause," I added. " We have no time to waste," said Wicklifie. " The Crows will soon discover the loss of their prisoners, and then adieu to the thought of rescuing the family of Leroy for the present. I am expecting every instant to hear the sound of hellish clamor from the encampment. What we do, let us do quickly." " The man of the big heart has spoken well," said Silver- Knife, who had hitherto been silent. "I am an Indian ; I have been reared in the wilderness, and know well the habits of the red men. I am best fitted to perform the dangerous business you talk of. Let the pale medicine man have his way ; he is brave and trusty. We will enter the enemy's lodge together, and his knife shall sunder the bands of the prisoners like flax. The Big Heart, and the Long Rifle, and the others, shall be near to help us, in case of a surprise. Has the Indian chief spoken wisely ? " " There is wisdom in the words of our red brother," re- plied Wicklifie. " We will not disregard them ; but it is necessary that I should go and lead the way. I know the lodge where the captives languish." "Let it be so, and God prosper you ! " said Leroy, fervently. " But first you must put on the Indian toggery, and paint." In five minutes I was transformed, so far as externals went, into a Crow warrior. My hair was drawn to the top of my head tight, and tied with a string ; after which it was orna- mented profusely with feathers. My face was painted by Silver-Knife in the most approved style. When this was done, a robe of skins was thrown over my shoulders, and my toilet was soon completed. 112 SILVER-KNIFE : CHAPTER XVII. BURRILL AND MADELEINE. SILENCE rested upon the Crow village. The moon and the stars were shining brightly in heaven, to light the wanderer upon earth. With steps that made no echo, we traversed the borders of the wood that skirted the encampment. The lodge was at the extremity of the village. Wickliffe pointed it out to us. " Now imitate me," said the war-chief, leading the way. Stooping until his tall figure was nearly double, he gradually and noiselessly advanced. Like a fox exerting his cunning to baffle his prey, like the panther that gives no warning of his approach, like the ser- pent creeping in the dank weeds, we neared the unsuspecting foe. We were very near the object of our hopes and fears. The guide beckoned us to stop. We did so, and he went forward and put his ear against the lodge. No enemy was in sight. We had approached the lodge in the rear, and, if a Crow kept guard, it was upon the other side. After a little pause, Silver-Knife motioned us to approach. We went forward, and stood by his side. Voices came to our ears from within. One was the voice of Burrill : could I hear it anywhere upon the face of the wide earth, and not re- cognize it ? I had heard him speak but a few times, and yet every note, every intonation of his voice, was graven upon my memory, as by the hand of the* Master of Life. It was to the mind what branding the flesh with a hot iron would be to the body ; it had left its mark, to endure forever. Thus the tones and features of some men become obnoxious. Had I met him under any circumstances, I could not have loved him. I should have repulsed and drawn myself away from him. . We were natural enemies. We could not have been friends. I do not judge always by the face, and indeed, did I not see the face at all, I should either like or dislike ; for the presence of a human being invariably affects mo agreeably or disagreeably, and makes me a friend or other- wise, as the case may be. Animate bodies, like inanimate ones, act upon each other. The good exert a good influence, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 113 if they do not speak ; tind the bad, if they are dumb, exert a bad influence. The human soul, like mercury, is affected by whatever approaches it ; but it affects, also, whatever it ap- proaches. In the presence of some people, my heart is hard and stern, and I feel no love or sympathy with my kind ; in the society of others, I change, and a thousand bright thoughts have birth, and I feel like blessing the whole world. The guide pointed to a small opening in the lodge. I looked in. By the light of a smouldering fire I saw four persons Madeleine, Mary, Madge, and Burrill. The latter was standing in his usual attitude, his arms folded upon his chest, and his chin resting almost upon his breast. The cap- tives were seated upon the ground. The mother held a hand of each. *' Then you are still obstinate," said Burrill. " I reject your conditions," replied Madeleine. " Have you considered well the subject ? Are you prepared for the results? " added Burrill. " Considered ! No ! It needs no consideration," she re- torted, rising to her feet with grace and dignity. " Such a subject is beneath my -consideration. Trouble me no more ; I am resolved. I am a Leroy; you cannot change me." As she stood there and stretched out her hand, I saw a string of dressed deer-skin depending from her wrist ; her hands had been bound, and the bands were loosened for the occasion. Even Burrill, perhaps, was ashamed to stand in the presence of a woman he had disgraced by bonds. You know that Ferguson is a prisoner," he continued. I do, if a tongue like yours can be trusted." He dies to-morrow." You wish to intimidate me ! " cried Madeleine. Your lover dies to-morrow ; it is thus decreed by the chiefs and warriors. Think you they will retract, and show mercy ? Is it in the nature of a Crow to be merciful ? " " Did you speak of mercy ? Stop, and let the wolves that howl in the desert talk of gentleness, and the hyena of kind- ness. Stop, and let every vile thing talk of goodness, and every mean thing of greatness." " I have not told you all yet," added Burrill, calmly. " Can you save him ? " " I can." 10* 114 ^ SILVER-KNIFE I " And will you ? " "No." " Then the curses of heaven will fall upon you ! ' ; ex- claimed Madeleine, wildly. " You can save him," answered Burrill. " How ? Tell me, and I will forgive the wrong you have done cease to remember my sufferings even strive to be your friend," she cried, vehemently. " Become my wife." " No, that may not be." " Then Ferguson dies ! " She drew up her figure, folded her arms upon her heaving breast, and was silent. " I have not told you how he will die." "Speak!" " By fire." " In the name of mercy, let not this thing be ! I will kneel, I will sue as a s^ject sues to a king, I will be your slave ; but your wife, never ! " " Madeleine, I love you as one loves his own hand, or his own eyes. Your foolish obstinacy ^drives me to the last extremity." Madeleine sank sobbing upon her knees, and hid her face in her mother's bosom. " Hush, child ! be calm, be strong ! Our Heavenly Father lives. His arm is not shortened, that he cannot save, nor his ear heavy, that he cannot hear," said Madge. "" Do not despair; trust in him. Deliverance may be near. When has been the time that he hath not tempered the wind to the .shorn lamb, or when have the righteous been forsaken ? Even now there is a whisper of hope in my heart, soft, gentle, as the sweet south-west." Madeleine was silent. " My children," continued Madge, " God led the Israelites forty years through the wilderness, a