CHAPTER IV.
THE PROPHET’S CHILD
A wild place among the hills, on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. At the base of a cliff is a rude hut, forming the entrance to a cave in the rock. A plateau before the cliff commands a view of broken hills and ravines, becoming less rugged as they descend and finally melting into the wide expanse of prairie that stretches endlessly toward the east.
Among these hills and ravines a fearful scene is being acted. A party of Arapaho Indians have been surprised by a band of Crows, who have attacked them with such vigor that they are flying in all directions, pursued by their bloodthirsty and vindictive adversaries. The air resounds with shouts and yells, with screams and shrieks; blood is scattered plentifully upon the hills, and the ravines are filled with horror.
From the plateau in front of the hut two persons are gazing at the terrible sight below them. One is an old Indian with bent form and white hair. A blanket is wrapped around him, and his countenance expresses the deepest distress. The other is a girl of the same tribe, tall and graceful, much lighter in color than the Arapahoes, with long and wavy hair, and with beautiful features. She stands as if spell-bound, and watches the carnage with eyes full of fear and anxiety.
“Come, my child,” said the old man. “Our enemies are victorious, and we must fly.”
“Is it really you, my father?” she asked, turning upon him with a look of wonder. “I thought you had gone to the spirit-land.”
“I had; but my people were in danger, and I returned.”
“Can you do nothing to help them? Many of them have been killed, and the rest are flying in all directions. What Indians are those who are pursuing them?”
“They are Crows. See, Dove-eye; they are coming up the hill toward us. We shall be killed if we remain here. Come; we must seek a hiding-place.”
Seizing the girl by the hand, he hurried her along the plateau, to a rift that led up into the mountain. This they ascended with difficulty, until they reached another level space, covered with clumps of pine and cedar.
“Remain here, my child,” said the old man as he led her into the cover of the trees. “I must go and see what becomes of our people, and what the Crows are doing. Do not stir until I return.”
He was absent fully half an hour, during which time Dove-eye was filled with anxiety. Her friends the Arapahoes were being slaughtered by their merciless foes, and she could still hear from her elevated position the yells and shrieks of the victors and the vanquished. But this was not all. There was a white man below whom she had saved from death at the hands of the Arapahoes, and toward whom her feelings were such as had never before been excited in her breast. She had concealed him in a hole in the cliff and he was lying there, wounded and helpless, an easy prey to any foe who should discover his hiding-place.
When the old man returned, he was greatly excited, and was trembling from fear and exhaustion.
“Come, my child,” he said. “We are not safe here. We must seek another hiding-place. We must go up further into the mountains.”
“Sit down and rest yourself,” replied Dove-eye. “We can not be seen here. You are so tired that you can hardly stand.”
“There is no time for rest. The Crows are everywhere in the hills, searching for our friends who have escaped them. If they see our trail, we will soon be discovered.”
“Where is the white man? Where is Silverspur? I am afraid that they may find him and kill him.”
“They have already found him, and he is dead.”
“Dead! Are you sure, my father?”
“I saw him dragged out and struck down with a tomahawk.”
“Were they Crows who killed him, or Arapahoes?”
“They were Crows.”
The girl was a picture of despair. She sat still, as if she had been turned into stone, gazing into vacancy. Then her cheeks flushed, and a wild and fierce light blazed in her dark eyes. The fires of hatred and vengeance had been kindled in her breast.
“I must see him, my father,” she said, quietly. “Perhaps he is only wounded.”
“Do you think the Crows would leave him alive? I tell you he is dead.”
“I must see him.”
“The Crows would kill you, also.”
“I am not afraid of the Crows. If he is dead, they will let me bury him.”
“Has the mind of Dove-eye been taken from her? If the Crows should not kill you, they would carry you away, and I would never see you again. You promised me, Dove-eye, if I would save the life of the white man, that you would never leave me while I lived.”
“It is true, my father; but he is dead.”
“I saved his life, as I promised to do. He was not killed by the Arapahoes, but by the Crows.”
“The word of Dove-eye is sacred. I will go with you.”
The old man and the girl sought and found a refuge further up the mountain from the search of the pursuing Crows. They came down, in a nearly famished condition, when the scattered Arapahoes returned; but they did not remain long in that locality, as the remnant of the band to which they were attached removed toward the south. After the expiration of several months they came back to the scene of their disastrous defeat, and Dove-eye and the old man again occupied the lodge at the foot of the cliff.
The girl passed her time in mourning the loss of the white man who had become so dear to her. This occupation caused her to grow thin and pale, and might have caused her death, if she had not been diverted from it by another trouble. The old man, who had never recovered from the effects of his fright and exhaustion at the time of the attack of the Crows, sickened and died.
Dove-eye, who had known him as a great medicine man, whose influence in his tribe was almost unbounded, was puzzled as well as grieved, when she saw him lying there, pale and cold, with glassy eyes, hollow cheeks and dropped under-jaw, to all appearance a corpse.
He had been subject to trances—had been in the habit of falling into a sleep which, whether real or counterfeit, closely resembled death. He knew when these spells were coming on, and it had been his custom to notify the tribe that on such an occasion, at a certain hour in the morning, he would go to the spirit-land, and that he would return at noon. The warriors would solemnly come to visit him and look upon him as he lay in this trance, satisfying themselves that he was really dead. After noon they would again come, when they would find him alive, and would listen to the messages which he had brought from the other world. By this mysterious power the old man maintained his ascendancy over the tribe. His word was law, and his advice was always heeded.
It was possible, Dove-eye thought, that he might then be on one of his journeys to the spirit-world. He had sent no announcement of his intentions to the tribe; but he might have forgotten to do so. She said nothing, but waited to see whether he would rise at his usual hour. Noon came, and he remained motionless and cold. The evening passed, and night came on, without bringing any change. The next morning there was no alteration in him, except for the worse, and Dove-eye was convinced that he was dead.
She then felt that she had sustained a great loss, and thought seriously about her future. If the old man had not adopted her, and retained her as his companion, she would have been compelled to share the lodge of some warrior, with one or two other squaws. Now that her protector was gone she would be sought by many, and would be unable to resist their importunities.
In her desperation she hit upon an expedient, which, if it should prove successful, would enable her to retain her independence, and would gratify the vengeance that had so long slumbered in her heart.
A negro slave of the tribe named Jose, who had been captured in Texas or Mexico, had long been the servant of the medicine-man, and was devoted to Dove-eye. With his assistance she buried the body of the old man, swearing him to secrecy concerning the burial.
She then went to the village, and called together the old men, whom she informed that their Big Medicine had gone to the spirit-land, and that he would return when six moons had passed.
This announcement filled them with surprise and sorrow; but their credulity was not shaken. Dove-eye had often brought them messages from the old man, and they were prepared to believe whatever she might say.
She went on to tell them that the Great Spirit was angry with them because they had not punished the Crows for their unprovoked attack, by which so many Arapahoes had been slain. The old man had advised them to go on the war-path against the Crows, and to continue fighting them until ample vengeance should be taken for that massacre. He had also commanded her to assume the garb and weapons of a warrior, and to accompany all expeditions that should be sent against the Crows.
Dove-eye waited with great anxiety to learn what would be the effect of her communication. It was received in silence, and she was ordered to retire until the old men should have deliberated over it. After the lapse of an hour she was admitted to the council-lodge, and Black Horse, the head chief, acquainted her with the result of the deliberation.
“It is well,” he said. “The Big Medicine has left us, to be gone a long time, and our hearts are sad. Never before, when he has gone to the spirit-land, has he remained so long away from his people. But we are not lost without him; for he has sent us a message, and has left us advice. His words have always been good words, and Dove-eye has never lied to us. We will go upon the war-path against the Crows, and Dove-eye shall be among the warriors. The young men must not look upon her.”
The season of mourning followed, for the old medicine-man, who was believed to be dead for the space of six moons, and then the whole strength of the tribe was employed in expeditions against the Crows. Dove-eye, arrayed and armed as a brave, was an honored member of every war-party, and acted her part with such skill and bravery as to command the approval of the whole tribe. When the braves rehearsed their exploits, she was always allowed to tell her own, and her achievements did not fall far behind those of the most renowned warriors. With every blow she struck, she believed that she was avenging the death of Silverspur.