Part 18 (1/2)
”So I took him southward and one moon ago I left him at the trading post above the mouth of the Wak-pah-s.h.i.+ka (Bad River), which is called Fort La Framboise. Then I sped back to bear my part in the battle against your army.”
”What?” exclaimed Al, in great excitement, stepping close to Te-o-kun-ko as the scout interpreted his last sentences, ”You took him to Fort La Framboise? He is there now?”
The Indian inclined his head slowly.
”Yes,” he replied, ”if he has not already gone to the southward.”
Al pressed his hand to his brow. His mind was in a whirl of bewilderment.
”Tommy at Fort La Framboise, and I here!” he exclaimed aloud, but speaking only to himself. ”What shall I do now?” Then another idea occurred to him. ”How do I know this is true?” he demanded, bold beyond discretion in his anxiety and satisfied, anyway, that he and his companions would be killed at the end of the interview. ”Perhaps you still have him; perhaps he is dead.”
But the Indian ignored the reflection upon his honesty.
”I tell you the truth, Al Briscoe,” he a.s.serted, solemnly.
He spoke Al's full name always, as if it were one word, as he doubtless thought it was. Then he lifted the necklace of bear's claws hanging around his neck and held it toward Al. At the bottom of it, between the two largest claws, was fastened a small ring of chased gold, its surface much worn, which Al instantly recognized as Tommy's.
”This he gave to me when I left him at Fort La Framboise,” said he, ”as a keepsake and a promise. And the promise was that he would come back some day, either to stay or to visit us, who are his Sioux kindred.”
”So?” replied Al. He was beginning to realize dimly that Tommy must have had some very good reasons for his attachment to this magnificent warrior and his family, for he could hardly doubt longer the truth of what Te-o-kun-ko was telling him. The circ.u.mstances under which they were speaking together were not such as to tempt the Indian to deceit or apologies; for he was certainly master of the situation, and could either seize or kill Al and those with him whenever he wished. There was a moment's silence. Then Te-o-kun-ko stepped back and laid his rifle across his arm.
”You may go now, Al Briscoe,” he said; ”you and those with you.”
”What?” cried Al, who had dared expect nothing but death. ”You are going to spare our lives?”
”You may go in peace,” responded the Sioux. ”I do it for the sake of Pah-ta-ustah. Tell him so when you see him.”
He stopped a moment, as if seeking words in which to express some oppressive thought. Then he went on,
”Your brother, Al Briscoe, knows not that his father is dead. I lacked ever the heart to tell him. But when you do so, tell him, likewise, that I, Te-o-kun-ko, have none of his blood on my hands. I fired no shot on that day at the place where you lived, though I did enough in all the time we were killing and burning along the Minnesota. My thoughts were on fire with the madness of slaughter, as were those of all who were there. Since then my mind has cleared and I know that the things which we did to the whites in Minnesota were bad; bad clear through. But we have been paying for them ever since; we are paying now, and is not the price even yet great enough? You have killed two, yes, four, of our men and women and children, for every one that we slew over there. You have burned our lodges and our robes and our winter meat; we shall starve and freeze in the time of snows which is soon to come. But it is the price, and we are paying.”
A sudden impulse, mingled of admiration, grat.i.tude and pity, seized Al toward this strange savage, so proud and yet so humble; so cold and yet so generous. He stepped forward and held out his hand.
”Will you not come in with us, Te-o-kun-ko?” he asked, ”and make your peace with the Great Father? Why fight any longer? Can you not see that it is hopeless; that the red men can never prevail against the power and the numbers of the whites?”
The chief ignored the friendly, outstretched hand, but he looked at Al frankly, even though defiantly. ”No, Al Briscoe,” he made answer, firmly. ”You and I are enemies. And while my people have strength left to fight the white men, we will be enemies. I know that what you say is true, though many of my people will not yet believe it. The whites will conquer in the end and take from us the last of this, our great, free, beautiful land to which they have no right except the right of being strong enough. But at least the Indian can fight to the end and die as a warrior should, with his face toward his foes, while his soul goes up in the battle smoke to the Happy Hunting Grounds of Wakon Tonka (the Great Spirit). No, Al Briscoe, I have no friend among the white men save only Pah-ta-ustah, your brother. Go quickly, for when you are on the prairie once more, I shall hold back my braves no longer, and you will be killed if you delay or come back. Go!”
”Come on,” said Al in a low tone to his companions. They turned and walked rapidly along the base of the b.u.t.te toward the narrow valley west of it. As they pa.s.sed its farther side, Al looked back. Te-o-kun-ko still stood as they had left him, a shadowy figure in the gathering dusk, regarding them with haughty attention, his rifle across his left arm. Only now his right hand was raised in a restraining gesture against his followers, who were crowding up behind him, c.o.c.king their guns and cursing in tones which grew rapidly louder and more threatening as they looked after their escaping victims.
Pa.s.sing behind an angle of rock, Al exclaimed,
”Run! He can't hold them much longer!”
The three dashed across the narrow valley at top speed and almost as rapidly scrambled up the steep slope to the prairie, where they encountered the two cavalrymen, pale and excited.
”Good G.o.d, where have you been?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed one of the soldiers. ”We thought you were killed or captured. There hasn't been a shot for twenty minutes.”
”No, but there will be in about twenty seconds,” Al responded. ”Come, come! Keep running.”
Away they went toward the camp, hastened by a chorus of fierce war whoops from the valley and then by the patter of shots as a number of Te-o-kun-ko's warriors came over the edge of the prairie a hundred yards behind and raced after them. The bullets, however, sang harmlessly by and in a moment half a hundred of their own men, hearing the firing, came running to their rescue; whereupon the Sioux gave up the chase and fell back into the Bad Lands as night descended.