Part 37 (2/2)
”Yes, but are they friendly or hostile?”
The question seemed to them absurd, but they answered very civilly that it was a signal of some sort which could only be interpreted by Indians, and that they had no doubt that it meant some sort of mischief to us.
”Men,” I said quietly, ”you are wrong. That stone leaning upon a tree is a friendly message to me from a body of our Oneida scouts.”
They stared incredulously.
”I will prove it,” said I. ”Jack, go you to that stone. On the under side you will find a number of white marks made with paint. I can not tell you how many, but the number will indicate the number of Oneidas who are scouting for us ahead.”
Utterly unconvinced, yet politely obedient, the blond giant strode off across the road, picked up the great stone as though it were a pompion, turned it over, uttered an exclamation, and bore it back to us.
”You see,” I said, ”twenty Oneida scouts will join us about two o'clock this afternoon if we travel at the same rate that we are traveling.
This white circle traced here represents the sun; the straight line the meridian. Calculating roughly, I should set the time of meeting at two o'clock. Now, Jack, take the stone to the stream yonder and scrub off the paint with moss and gun-oil, then drop the stone into the water.
And you, Tim Murphy, go quietly among the men and caution them not to fire on a friendly Oneida. That is all, lads. We march in a few moments.”
The effect upon the rangers was amusing; their kindly airs of good-natured protection vanished; Mount gazed wildly at me; Tim Murphy, perfectly convinced yet unable to utter a word, saluted and marched off, while Elerson and the Weasel stood open-mouthed, fingering their rifles until the men began to fall in silently, and I put up Elsin and mounted my roan, motioning Murphy and Jack Mount to my stirrups.
”Small wonder I read such signs,” I said. ”I am an Oneida chief, an ensign, and a sachem. Come freely to me when signs of the Iroquois puzzle you. It would not have been very wise to open fire on our own scouts.”
It seemed strange to them--it seemed strange to me--that I should be instructing the two most accomplished foresters in America. Yet it is ever the old story; all else they could read that sky and earth, land and water, tree and rock held imprinted for savant eyes, but they could not read the simple signs and symbols by which the painted men of the woods conversed with one another. Pride, contempt for the savage--these two weaknesses stood in their way. And no doubt, now, they consoled themselves with the thought that a dead Iroquois, friendly or otherwise, was no very great calamity. This was a danger, but I did not choose to make it worse by harping on it.
About two o'clock a ranger of the advanced guard came running back to say that some two score Iroquois, stripped and painted for war, were making signs of amity from the edge of the forest in front of us.
I heard Mount grunt and Murphy swearing softly under his breath as I rode forward, with a nod to Elsin.
”Now you will see some friends of my boyhood,” I said gaily, unlacing the front of my hunting-s.h.i.+rt as I rode, and laying it open to the wind.
”Carus!” she exclaimed, ”what is that blue mark on your breast?”
”Only a wolf,” I said, laughing. ”Now you shall see how we Oneidas meet and greet after many years! Look, Elsin! See that Indian standing there with his gun laid on his blanket? The three rangers have taken to cover. There they stand, watching that Oneida like three tree-cats.”
As I cantered up and drew bridle Elerson called out that there were twenty savages in the thicket ahead, and to be certain that I was not mistaken.
The tall Oneida looked calmly up at me; his glittering eyes fell upon my naked breast, and, as he looked, his dark face lighted, and he stretched out both hands.
”Onehda!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.
I leaned from my saddle, holding his powerful hands in a close clasp.
”Little Otter! Is it you, my younger brother? Is it really you?” I repeated again and again, while his brilliant eyes seemed to devour my face, and his sinewy grip tightened spasmodically.
”What happiness, Onehda!” he said, in his softly sonorous Oneida dialect. ”What happiness for the young men--and the sachems--and the women and children, too, Onehda. It is well that you return to us--to the few of us who are left. Koue!”
And now the Oneidas were coming out of the willows, crowding up around my horse, and I heard everywhere my name p.r.o.nounced, and everywhere outstretched hands sought mine, and painted faces were lifted to mine--even the blackened visage of the war-party's executioner relaxing into the merriest of smiles.
”Onehda,” he said, ”do you remember that feast when you were raised up?”
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