The Prairie Flower: A Tale of the Indian Border. Gustave AimardЧитать онлайн книгу.
Bright-eye answered, with that magnificent coolness which never deserted him, "do you fancy that I am already dead?"
"No, but my brother will be so in an hour."
"Bah!" the Canadian said, carelessly; "many things can happen within an hour."
Natah Otann withdrew, secretly admiring the intrepid countenance of his prisoner; but, after taking a few steps, he reflected, and returned to Bright-eye's side.
"Let my brother listen," he said, "a friend speaks to him."
"Go on, chief, I am all ears."
"My brother is a strong man; his heart is great," Natah Otann said; "he is a terrible warrior."
"You know something of that, chief, I fancy," the Canadian replied.
The sachem repressed a movement of anger.
"My brother's eye is infallible, his arm is sure," he went on.
"Tell me at once what you want to come to, chief, and don't waste your time in your Indian beating round the bush."
The chief smiled as he said, in a gentler voice, "Bright-eye is alone; his lodge is solitary. Why has not so great a warrior a companion?"
The hunter fixed a searching glance on the speaker.
"What does that concern you?" he said.
Natah Otann continued, —
"The nation of the Blackfeet is powerful; the young women of the Piekann tribe are fair."
The Canadian quickly interrupted him.
"Enough, chief," he said; "in spite of all your shiftings to reach your point, I have guessed your meaning; but I will never take an Indian girl to be my wife; so you can refrain from further offers, which will not have a satisfactory result."
Natah Otann frowned.
"Dog of the palefaces," he cried, stamping his foot angrily, "this night my young men will make war whistles of thy bones, and will drink the firewater out of thy skull."
With this terrible threat, the chief finally quitted the hunter, who regarded him depart with a shrug, and muttered, "The last word is not spoken yet; this is not the first time I have found myself in a desperate position, but I have escaped; there are no reasons why I should be less lucky today. Hum! this will serve me as a lesson: another time I will be more prudent."
In the meantime the chief had given orders to begin the punishment, and the preparations were rapidly made. Bright-eye followed all the movements of the Indians with a curious eye, as if he were a perfectly unconcerned witness.
"Yes, yes," he went on, "my fine fellows, I see you; you are preparing all the instruments for my torture; there is the green wood intended to smoke me like a ham; you are cutting the spikes you mean to run up under my nails. Eh, eh!" he added, with a perfect air of satisfaction; "you are going to begin with firing; let's see how skilful you are. Ah, what fun it is for you to have a white hunter to torture. The Lord knows what strange ideas may be passing through your Indian noddles; but I recommend you to make haste, or it is very possible I may escape."
During this monologue, twenty warriors, the most skilful of the tribe, had ranged themselves about one hundred yards from the prisoner; the firing commenced; the balls all struck within an inch of the hunter's head, who, at each shot, shook his head like a drowned sparrow, to the great delight of the spectators. This amusement had gone on for some twenty minutes, and would probably have continued much longer, so great was the fun it afforded the Blackfeet; when suddenly a horseman bounded into the centre of the clearing, dispersed the Indians in his way by heavy blows of his whip, and profiting by the stupor occasioned by his unexpected appearance, galloped up to the prisoner, got down, quickly cut the thongs that bound him, thrust a brace of pistols in his hand, and remounted. All this was done in less time than it has taken us to write it.
"By Tobias!" Bright-eye joyfully exclaimed, "I was quite sure I wasn't going to die this time."
The Indians are not the men to allow themselves to be long subdued by any feeling; the first moment of surprise past, they surrounded the horseman, shouting, gesticulating, and brandishing their weapons furiously.
"Come, make way there, you scoundrels," the newcomer shouted in a commanding voice, lashing violently at those who had the imprudence to come too near him. "Let us be off," he added, turning to the hunter.
"I wish for nothing better," the latter made answer; "but it does not seem easy."
"Bah! let us try it, at any rate," the stranger continued, carefully affixing his glass in his eye.
"We will," Bright-eye said cheerfully.
The stranger who had so providentially arrived, was the Count de Beaulieu, as our readers will probably have conjectured.
"Hilloh!" the Count shouted loudly, "come here, Ivon."
"Here I am, my lord," a voice answered from the forest; and a second horseman, leaping into the clearing, coolly ranged himself by the side of the first.
There was something strange in the group formed by these three stoical men in the midst of the hundreds of Indians yelling around them. The Count, with his glass in his eye, his haughty glance, and disdainful lip, was setting the hammer of his rifle. Bright-eye, with a pistol in each hand, was preparing to sell his life dearly, while the servant calmly awaited the order to charge the savages. The Indians, furious at the audacity of the white men, were preparing, with multitudinous yells and gestures, to take a prompt vengeance on the men who had so imprudently placed themselves in their power.
"These Indians are very ugly," the Count said; "now that you are free, my friend, we have nothing more to do here, so let us be off."
And he made a sign, as if to force a passage. The Blackfeet moved forward.
"Take care," Bright-eye shouted.
"Nonsense," the Count said, shrugging his shoulders, "can these scamps intend to bar the way?"
The hunter looked at him with the air of a man who does not know exactly if he has to do with a madman or a being endowed with reason, so extraordinary did this remark seem to him. The Count dug his spurs into his horse.
"Well," Bright-eye muttered, "he will be killed, but for all that he is a fine fellow: I will not leave him."
In truth it was a critical moment: the Indians, formed in close column, were preparing to make a desperate charge on the three men – a charge which would, probably, be decisive, for the Europeans, without shelter, and entirely exposed to the shots of their enemies, could not hope to escape. Still, that was not the Count's conviction. Not noticing the gestures and hostile cries of the Redskins, he advanced towards them, with his glass still in his eye. Since the Count's apparition, the Indian sachem, as if struck with stupor at the sight, had not made a move, but stood with his eyes fixed upon him, under the influence of extraordinary emotion. Suddenly, at the moment when the Blackfeet warriors were shouldering their guns, or fitting their arrows to the bows, Natah Otann seemed to form a resolution: he rushed forward, and raising his buffalo robe, —
"Stop!" he shouted, in a loud voice.
The Indians, obedient to their chiefs voice, immediately halted. The sachem took three steps, bowed respectfully before the Count, and said in a submissive voice: —
"My father must pardon his children, they did not know him: but my father is great, his power is immense, his goodness infinite: he will forget anything offensive in their conduct toward him."
Bright-eye, astonished at this harangue, translated it to the Count, honestly confessing that he did not understand what it meant.
"By Jove!" the Count replied, with a smile, "they are afraid."
"Hum!" the hunter muttered, "that is not so clear: it is something else; but no matter, it will be diamond cut diamond."
Then he turned to Natah Otann.
"The great pale chief," he said, "is satisfied with the respect his red children feel for him: he pardons them." Natah Otann made a movement of joy. The three men passed through the ranks of the Indians, and buried themselves in the forest, their