CHAPTER VIII.
THE BETROTHAL.
Although the whites were the common enemy of the Sioux and Arapaho Indians at the time of which I write, a deadly feud existed between the two tribes, growing out of a dispute as to the rightful ownership of a section of territory—abounding with game—since named the Neutral Grounds. The Sioux hunted the Arapaho and the Arapaho hunted the Sioux with the same deadly intent that each hunted the white man.
Being equal in point of number, neither tribe would yield its claim, and it is thus that the opening of our story finds them arrayed against each other.
It is on the morning following the night of storm that we would lead the reader into a temporary encampment of the Arapaho Indians.
The encampment was well located upon a hillside, and surrounded on all sides by the forest. The lodges were arranged in rows or streets facing a small square. In the center of the square stood the council lodge, and that of the prophet. On each side of the prophet’s lodge stood a small one which bore evidence of having been lately placed there.
The storm had cleared away and there were few traces of it remaining in the Indian encampment. The sun was shining brightly, and a cool, pleasant breeze was drifting through the forest.
The Indians were astir quite early. Something of unusual occurrence prevailed in the encampment. The two small tents by the prophet’s lodge seemed to be the point of attraction.
Presently the door of the prophet’s lodge was thrust aside, and the great prophet made his appearance. He was a white man, and no other than Dick Sherwood, the handsome, villainous renegade.
From his lodge the prophet turned to the one at the right, which he entered without ceremony.
The interior of the little lodge was furnished with all the comfort and taste of savage wealth and ingenuity. The floor was covered with soft skins, the walls were hung with tapestry of ornamented buck-skin, while strands of wampum, strands of beads and shells, and curious figures carved from bone and wood adorned the walls and ceiling.
At one side, on a couch of furs, sat a beautiful white woman, from all appearances a captive, though her face wore no look of sadness nor grief. This woman was Madge, the daughter of Talbott Taft, the Indian trader.
“My pretty captive looks none the worse of her night’s exposure in the storm,” said Sherwood, as he entered her tent, with an air of mock politeness.
Madge looked up at the renegade and smiled scornfully.
“I am feeling quite well, and none the worse of my exposure,” she replied, in a defiant tone.
“I am glad to hear it, Miss Taft,” the villain replied; “perhaps we can come to some definite terms, as to the future. I think I will have no trouble in bringing that modest little violet, Clara Bryant, to a pleasant reconciliation.”
“Just so,” mockingly returned Madge.
The villain continued:
“However, Miss Taft, it is likely that you have great influence with Miss Bryant, and if you will go to her, and induce her—make her believe that her only salvation lies in her becoming my lawful wife, you will be set at liberty. If she will consent to marry me to-morrow, I will send for the missionary, Father Jules, and have him perform the ceremony. Then, with his certificate of our marriage in my pocket, my mission will be ended, and I will bid farewell to this heathen country and return to the East, the heir to a vast fortune. What say you?”
Madge smiled scornfully, yet strangely, as she replied:
“I will do any thing to get rid of your odious presence. I will lay your proposition before Clara, and then she can do as she sees fit. But were it me, I’d see you burning before I would submit to wed you.”
The renegade laughed long and loudly, then said:
“Remember, Miss Taft,”—laying a marked emphasis upon the “Miss”—“as I told you last night, as soon as Clara is my wife, and I have Father Jules’ certificate of our marriage in my pocket, she shall be set at liberty. As her husband, I will press no further claims upon her. All I want is something to show my right to—well, you know what—the Golden Horn estate.”
Madge arose to leave the lodge.
“I will go at once and see Clara,” she said.
“Then I will wait your return,” said Sherwood.
Madge went out into the little tent where Clara Bryant was a prisoner. She found the maiden weeping, with face pale and sorrowful.
“Oh, Clara!” cried Madge, “I have come to you with what I hope will be good news.”
Clara looked quickly up, a light of hope in her tearful eyes.
“Has he decided to set us free—to allow us to return home?” she asked.
“On certain conditions, dear Clara.”
“What are they?”
“That you, sweet Clara, become his wife.”
“Sherwood’s wife!” gasped Clara.
“Yes.”
“Never, never, Madge!” and there was a momentary flash of defiance in her eyes, but it soon died away.
“Listen, Clara,” said Madge, “the moment that you are wed to Sherwood, we will both be set at liberty. He has promised to force no claims upon you as your husband.”
“Then why does he wish to marry me?”
“Out of pure revenge. You know he is a desperate character, Clara.”
“Revenge upon me?”
“No; but upon Town. Farnesworth, whom he hates above all else upon earth, and whom he believes loves you.”
Madge looked closely into the face of her companion as she spoke, and saw a crimson flush mount to her cheeks.
“But, you know, Madge, that Town. does not love me.”
“Why should I know, Clara.”
“Because Town. loves you.”
“You surprise me, Clara; however, Sherwood believes that Town. loves you, and he has set his wicked heart on marrying you for revenge.”
“Oh, Madge! I wish I was as brave and fearless as you are, then I would know how to decide. You must advise me, Madge. Your judgment will dictate the proper course for me to pursue.”
Madge’s eyes shone brightly.
“Clara,” she said, softly, “although Dick Sherwood is a desperate character, I believe there is some honor about him; and I further believe that if you marry him, he will set us free. Of course, when we are free, we will declare your marriage a forced one, and that will make it null and void, though the wretch does not know it; so he will have no claim upon you after all, and it will be such a clever joke on him.”
Clara smiled sadly, and her lips quivered as, half in doubt, she asked:
“Then you advise me to marry him?”
“It is our only hope, Clara.”
“Then I must consent.”
“Then I will see him and tell him. If you agreed to his propositions, he said he would have the wedding take place to-morrow.”
Madge left the tent and returned to her own, where Sherwood was awaiting her.
“Well,” said the renegade, as she entered.
“It is all right,” returned Madge, and the shadow of a wicked smile hovered around her mouth.
Sherwood laughed one of his cold, devilish laughs.
Then he clapped his hands and cried:
“Vengeance! vengeance! my sweet Cecil, and a long life at the Golden Horn!”
And strange though it was, Madge clapped her hands and laughed too.
In a moment Sherwood continued:
“Yes, sweet Annette, my mission—my secret mission in the west will now be ended, and then for the Golden Horn! But, I must have one man’s life before I go, the life of Old Tumult, the hunter. I could never rest easy—not even in the grave—without revenge upon that giant. I know he is shut up on one of the Two Islands, if he and his young friend, Farnesworth, have not been washed away by the flood. Ha! ha! ha! that escape from the island last night with the two maidens was nicely made, fair Annette!”
The villain went on with his talk, like one speaking to himself, or an imaginary person. He seemed totally unconscious of Madge’s presence.
“You are surely out of your wits, great prophet of the Arapahoes,” said the trader’s daughter, sneeringly.
“No, no; only indulging in a bit of self-communion, Miss Taft,” he replied; “but, by the gods, I will have the life of Old Tumult! To-morrow Clara shall be my wife, and then for the Golden Horn and long life, my sweet Cecil!”
As the handsome villain concluded his wild soliloquy, he turned and went out of the lodge.
When she found herself alone, Madge threw herself upon the couch of skins, and burst into a fit of hysterical laughter which ended in an outburst of tears.
Dick Sherwood, burning with a desire for revenge upon Old Tumult, and conscious of his inability to cope with him in physical strength, selected five of the best warriors in the tribe and set off for Two Islands, determined to capture the old scout at all hazards, dead or alive. Besides, the warriors that accompanied him were stimulated by a handsome reward, offered by their chief, for the scalp of their most terrible enemy, Old Tumult, the hunter and scout.