THE REMOTE STORAGE FLOWER OF THE PR A IRIE. BY GUSTAVE AIM ARE. AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE INDIAN SCOUT,” ‘‘THE TRAPPERS OF THE ARKANSA8,” “THE WHITE SCALPER,” “BORDER RIFLES,” “FREEBOOTERS,” “THE CHIEF OF THE AUCAS,” “THE TRAIL HUNTER,” “PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES,” “THE TRAPPER’S DAUGHTER,” “ GOLD FINDERS,” “THE TIGER SLAYER,” “THE INDIAN CHIEF,” ETC., ETC., ETC. Read the following from, Bentley's Miscellany. “ Gustave Aimard has written some dozen Indian tales, all interesting and all unlike. The great charm of hia stories is, indubitably, the vitality he manages to throw into them ; and he writes with such spirit that, while reading, you cannot but imagine that he is describing to you scenes of which he was an eye-witness. And Ibis was very probably the case, for Aimard’s life has been one which we defy the most practised romancer to out- romance. He has lived an age (for such an existence cannot be measured by years) among the savages. As adopted son of one of the most powerful Indian nations, he has fought, hunted, trapped by their side, and is thoroughly acquainted with their every ruse. But this is not all ; and fortunately for his readers, he has gone through every phase of desert life. He has been in turn squatter, hunter, trapper and miner, and has seen the mode of life of all adventurers who traverse the Indian deserts in every direction. Twice he was led to the stake of torture by the Apaches, and only saved by a miracle ; he wandered alone for upwards of a month on the great Del Norte desert ; he was a slave in one of the sacred cities of the Sun, and is probably the only Euro- pean who returned from those gloomy caverns, where the sacred fire of Montezuma is still kept burning, carefully tended by Vestals, as in ancient Rome ; he was a prisoner for a lengthened period with the cruel and treacherous Patagonians — in a word, there is not a portion of uncivilized America, North or South, which he has not traversed, with his rifle in hand, in defiance of the wild beasts and the still wilder and more dangerous inhabitants. His stories will be found to be superior to either those of Fennimore Cooper or Mayne Reid .” — See unabridged notice Of Gustave Aimard' 8 writings , from Bentley's Miscellany, commencing on page 13 of this volume. ID l)ilabdp 1) i a : T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS; 306 CHESTNUT STKEET. NEW BOOKS! 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Price Twelve cents. TANGARUA. A Poem. Cloth, price One Dollar. MAGIC CARDS. Price Twelve cents. Copies of either edition of any of the above works advertised on this page, will be sent to any person to any part of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the books they may wish, to the publishers, in a letter. Published and for sale by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. GUSTAVE AIMAKD’S WRITINGS. FROM BENTLEY’S MISCELLANY, r«id ~,a »*, r= i SS5 d venturous career • i g our llterature suf- )ut the few memonn * * ittal Maynl Lid, who has his readers by of Stands Ind whose novels are full of incident and vitality irs ha” d this field and have failed : in charity to them we wdl South to drive the Indians on the ilk^Supe” The^renchTad a viy celebrated de Bellamare better ^ known j h^ palS before the Aid,r is at once the French Mayne Held and Fennimore Coope guper i 0 r to those of both the above- simple reason. Although Cooper possessed nw \ " 7^4 14 GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WRITINGS. a great talent for inventing a story, the misfortune is, that the scene is laid within a very confined space : he deals with only the eastern tribes, those which the Yankee element came most into collision with ; and these tribes, inexorably, driven back before the white man, soon lost those salient points which distinguish the savage of the western prairies. The Tuscaroras and Delawares were not lords of the land after the landing of the first pale faces ; they contended inch by inch of their territory, it is true, but their opponents had the prestige of victory, and the tribes, deci- mated by whiskey and white diseases, had not the energy left to resist. If they formed a confederation, it was but limited in its extent, and fell to pieces from internal dissension. Cooper was, therefore, virtually right in calling one of his books “ The Last of the Mohicans,” even though the scattered fragments of that race still exist beyond the Mississippi. Mayne Eeid, on the other hand, acted wisely in laying the scene of his stories among the untamable tribes of the western prairies — the Pawnees, the Apaches, and the Camanches — that haughty race which calls itself “Queen of the Prairies,” and defies the white man. These tribes still lord it in the desert ; they are constantly at war with the pale faces, and during the “ Mexican moon” commit frightful ravages in Sonora and along the frontier. The degenerate descendants of Cortez are unable to resist them, and they spread desolation on their path. Villages, even towns, are burned, the crops are ruthlessly destroyed, and the women led into cap- tivity, to become the slaves of the red-skin warriors. Such men, though they be savages, supply a thrilling subject for the romance writer, and Mayne Reid did well in laying the scene of his Indian tales among them. Unfortunately, however, when you have read one of Captain Reid’s stories, you have read them all, for a marvellous likeness pervades them. The feeling cannot be overcome that, having exhausted his stock of per- sonal observation in his earlier works, he repeats himself, or is obliged to fall back on reading. Another great defect in these otherwise charming tales is the utter absence of plot : you have incidents piled on incidents, but the conclusion lies as plainly before you as the town you are travel- ing to on a Dutch road. It may be that Mayne Reid, having to write for a popular periodical, does not display that artistic finish of which we be- lieve him quite capable, and that, under different circumstances, he might produce works in every way satisfactory to his readers; but there is nothing more injurious, he should remember, to a popular author than the whispered “he is writing himself out,” from which some of our best writers are now suffering, simply because, having made a reputation, they do nothing on their side to support it. The case is very different, however, with the subject of our paper. Gustave Aimard has written some dozen Indian tales, all interesting and GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WRITINGS. 15 all unlike. The great charm of his stories is, indubitably, the vitality he manages to throw into them ; and he writes with such spirit, that, while reading, you cannot but imagine that he is describing to you scenes of which he was an eye-witness. And this was very probably the case, for Aimard’s life has been one which we defy the most practised romancer to out-romance. He has lived an age (for such an existence cannot be mea- sured by years) among the savages. As adopted son of one of the most powerful Indian nations, he has fought, hunted, trapped by their side, and is thoroughly acquainted with their every ruse. But this is not all; and fortunately for his readers, he has gone through every phase of desert life. He has been in turn squatter, hunter, trapper, and miner, and has seen the mode of life of all the adventurers who traverse the Indian deserts in every direction. Twice he was led to the stake of torture by the Apaches, and only saved by a miracle ; he wandered about alone for upwards of a month on the great Del Norte desert; he was a slave in one of the sacred cities of the Sun, and is probably the only European who returned alive from those gloomy caverns, where the sacred fire of Montezuma is still kept burning, carefully tended by the Yestals, as in ancient Rome ; he was a prisoner for a lengthened period with the cruel and treacherous Patagonians — in a word, there is not a portion of uncivi- lized America, North or South, which he has not traversed, with his good rifle in hand, in defiance of the wild beasts and the still wilder and more dangerous inhabitants. But even such a life as this would avail a man but little for literary pursuits, unless he possessed the gift of putting it in an attractive form, and this Gustave Aimard has in an eminent degree. He is endowed with all the qualities of a novelist, and while his works read so truthfully, they are of absorbing interest, owing to the clever way in which the author maintains the surprise, which is the great characteristic, even though an unworthy one, perhaps, of the successful novelist. With the first novel he produced on his return, “ The Grand Chief of the Aucas,” his reputation was established in France, and he has constantly marched to fresh tri- umphs. Nearly every month a fresh work is produced from his prolific pen ; and yet, though we have read them all with unabated interest, we have not found an instance where he has repeated them, excepting, of course, where he has found it necessary to describe Indian manners and customs, which do not vary. Many of his earlier works have reached the sixth edition, and we may safely say that he has a clientele in Paris greater than even Paul de Kock had in his palmiest days. It is no slight merit for a French author to achieve, that these works do not contain a single line which an English reader would wish away. M . Aimard is too truly a man to attempt corrupting the hearts and minds 16 GUST A YE AIMARD’S WRITINGS. of his readers by high-flown sentiment ; if we find fault with him at all, it is for investing his Indian characters with too much humanity, and endowing them ■with attributes which are generally the boast of civiliza- tion alone. But he is the best judge of such matters : he has made the Indian character the study of his life, and we may safely accept at his hands a picture which we may deem too flattering, but which, after all, may be explained by the many-sided phases human life assumes, to the skin that covers white, red, or black. If Mrs. Stowe was allowed to re- habilitate the negro in “ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” surely, no fault is to be found with Gustave Aimard because he manfully upholds the men with whom he spent so many years of his life, and whom he learnt to love and admire in spite of their faults, which are, after all, inherent in their nature. After the fashion of Fennimore Cooper, Aimard generally selects one hero, whom he accompanies through several volumes, although they are all complete in themselves, and require no elucidatory remarks. In one series, composed of “ The Tiger Slayer,” “ The Gold Finder,” and “ The In- dian Chief,” his hero is the unfortunate Count de Baousset Boulbon, who fell a victim to Mexican ill-faith in 1848, and was shot like a dog by the governor of Sonora. His hapless fate created a sensation throughout Europe at the time, but faded away in presence of the weird political events that occupied all minds in that eventful year. Had the count been successful, he would have ranked in history by the side of Cortez and Pizarro, and his exploit of taking the fortified town of Hermosello, at the head of scarce three hundred men, and with no guns, has hardly been surpassed in the history of modern warfare. Ho better hero for a ro- mance could have offered; and while M. Aimard has adhered rather closely to facts, he has interwoven a web of human interest by sundry love passages that take place between the count and the daughter of his great enemy, the governor of Sonora. Among all that is good, it is difficult to choose the best, but, in our opinion, “ The Flower of the Prairie,” and its sequel, the “ Indian Scout,” are the most successful of all M. Aimard’s Indian stories, possibly because they deal more with civilization than the rest of the tales do. Perhaps our readers will not object to a short analysis of the plot, which we trust will impel them to seek the book itself. In consequence of intrigues, Don Beal de los Montes is obliged to fly from Mexico, leaving his wife and daughter in charge of his brother, Don Estevan. The latter, who had concocted the intrigue in the hope of suc- ceeding to his brother’s wealth, forces the ladies into a convent, where the mother dies, and the daughter, Dona Luisa, is immured alive in the oubliettes. Fortunately for her, her young lover, Don Leo de Torres, hears of this, breaks into the convent, carries her and a companion, Dona GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WRITINGS. 17 Laura, off, and flies into the desert. So eager, however, is Don Estevan’s pursuit in order to destroy the last witness of his crime, that Don Leo is compelled to entrust the two ladies to Addick, an Apache chief, who conveys them to the City of the Sun, with the intention of never giving them up again. This Addick is a double rogue, and plays with both parties for his own profit. Under these circumstances, Bon-affut, the Eclaireur, or scout, makes his appearance, accompanied by another Cana- dian hunter, Balle-franche (the hero of a previous tale), and Eagle-head, a celebrated Camanche chief. Don Estevan is captured while arranging his villainy, and his brother, Don Mariano, arrives in the desert in time to accuse him before the terrible Court of Lynch Law. He is found guilty, and unceremoniously condemned to be buried alive, with his right hand free to clutch a pistol when he grows tired of his awful position. Don Mariano, however, relents, and gives Balle-franche the hint to liberate him. He does so at the last moment, and receives his reward by being knocked on the head by the ungrateful villain, who makes off with his horse and joins the Apaches, to whom he consents to surrender the two ’ladies, on condition that none of his enemies leave the desert alive. On hearing the news from Balle-franche that Don Estevan is free, the gambusinos break up their camp at once, and hasten off in the hope of realizing the ladies before Don Estevan reaches the city. The description of the march through the virgin forests is unique, and we would gladly quote illustrative passages, did our space permit. Suf- fice it to say that, after countless skirmishes with the Indians, they all arrive in sight of the Sacred City — to discover that the Apaches have reached it before them. At this moment Bon-affut appears as the Deus ex machina. Disguised as a medicine -man, and aided by Eagle-head, he manages to get into the Sacred City (the detailed description of which, by the way, is admirably done, and evidently by an eye-witness), and by stratagem, too long to describe, and would be spoiled in shortening, gets the ladies out. The Europeans fly, hotly pursued by the Indians, who are furious to avenge the sacrilege committed on their sacred ground, and the party at length enter Sonora to find the Indians before them, perpetrating the horrors of the Mexican Moon. They are beleaguered, and, after a frightful combat, are about to put an end to their lives, sooner than fall into the hands of their furious foes, when Eagle-head arrives at the head of the Camanches, and puts the Apaches to flight with immense slaughter. This outline, naturally bald as it is, will serve to show the strong human interest of the story, and the powerful way in which it is worked out. But it would be hopeless for us to attempt to furnish any idea of the scenes that fill up the volume, and the countless delicate touches the au- thor gives to bring out the Indian character in all its glory. We feel 18 GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WRITINGS. convinced that Eagle-head will find as many admirers as the last chief of the Mohicans, for he is quite as inexorable and chivalrous. The character of his squaw, Fleur d’Eglantine, is also most exquisitely drawn, and alto- gether the volume produces an effect on the reader which cannot be de scribed but must be felt. Whoever reads it on our recommendation, will, we feel assured, not be disappointed. In a political point of view, these Indian tales possess considerable in- terest, as coming from one who has carefully studied the question. It is very remarkable to find, in the nineteenth century, that the savages, once driven back thousands of miles from the frontier of civilization by the Spanish conquistador^ are gradually regaining their ground, and forcing the Mexicans to retire in their turn. Large districts, once covered by haciendas, have now been regained to the desert ; the presidios built to keep the invader at bay, have been ruined, and there is nothing to check the advance of the prairie Indians save their own desire to return home, after completing a successful raid, and enjoying the spoils. With the Americans advancing to the east and south, the savages on the west and north, Mexico must inevitably be swallowed up between them, and the great contest will commence. As to the result, M. Aimard feels sanguine, for he has a most hearty detestation of the Yankees, which would have gladdened the heart of Dr. Johnson, who so liked a good hater, but we are inclined to shake our heads in doubt. We concede all M. Aimard urges, that the prairie Indians have formed a grand confederation, and are under military organization (we wonder whether French adventurers have a hand in this), and we are fully aware how long the conquest of the Semi- noles, led by Osceola, took the Americans. But when such a country as Mexico was the stake, the whole of Yankeedom would take up arms. North and South would forget their quarrels for the prospect of annexing so fertile a territory, and we can hardly expect that a few thousand In- dians, however brave and well organized, could long withstand the com- bined efforts of the republic, that “ colossus with the feet of clay,” as Gustave Aimard terms it. But, putting this question aside, there is another and more cheerful aspect under which we may regard the great and deserved success of Aimard’s Indian tales. It indicates that the reign of frivolity and im- morality which has so long weighed down French literature is drawing to an end, and that a taste for healthier reading is being produced. That they are healthy reading we have already said ; that they are deeply interesting does not admit of a doubt ; and that they are decidedly the best of their sort is the opinion we entertain, and which we believe our readers will confirm when they have compared them with other works of the same nature offered them before. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. BY GUSTAVE AIMARD. CHAPTER I. A HUNTING ENCAMPMENT. America is the land of prodigies ! Everything there assumes gigantic pro- portions, which startle the imagination and confound the reason. Mountains, rivers, lakes and streams, all are carved on a sublime pattern. There is a river of North America — not like the Danube, Rhine or Rhone, whose banks are covered with towns, plantations and time-worn castles ; whose sources and tributaries are mag- nificent streams, the waters of which, confined in a narrow bed, rush onwards as if impatient to lose themselves in the ocean — but deep and silent, wide as an arm of the sea, calm and severe in its grandeur, it pours majestically on- wards, its waters augmented by innum- erable streams, and lazily bathes the banks of a thousand isles which it has formed of its own sediment. These isles, covered with tall thickets, exhale a sharp or delicious perfume which the breeze bears far away. No- thing disturbs their solitude, save the gentle and plaintive appeal of the dove, or the hoarse and strident voice of the tiger, as it sports beneath the shade. At certain spots, trees that have fall- en through old age, or have been up- rooted by the hurricane, collect on its waters ; then, attached by creepers and concealed by mud, these fragments of forests become floating islands. Young shrubs take root upon them : the petu- na and nenuphar expand here and there their yellow roses : serpents, birds, and caimans come to sport and rest on these verdurous rafts, and are with them swallowed up in the ocean. This river has no name ! Others in the same zone are called Neobraska, Platte, Missouri ; but this is simply the Mecha Cheba, the old father of waters, the river before all ! the Mississippi, in a word ! Vast and incomprehensible as is infinity, full of secret terrors, like the Ganges and Irriwaddy, it is the type of fecundity, immensity, and eternity to the numerous Indian nations that in- habit its banks ! Three men were seated on the bank of the river, a little below its confluence with the Missouri, and were breakfast- ing on a slice of roast elk, while gaily chatting together. The spot where they were seated was remarkably picturesque. The bank of the river was formed of small mounds ( 19 ) 2C THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. enamelled with flowers. The strangers had selected for their halt the top of the highest mound, whence the eye em- braced a magnificent panorama. In the foreground, dense curtains of verdure which undulated with each breath of air ; on the islands, innumerable flocks of dark-winged flamingoes, perched on their long legs, plovers and cardinals fluttering from bough to bough, while numerous alligators lazily wallowed in the mud. Between the islands, the sil- very patches of water reflected the sun- beams. In the midst of these masses of coruscating light, fishes of every de- scription sported on the surface of the water, and traced sparkling furrows. Further back, as far as the eye could reach, the tops of the trees that border- ed the prairie, and whose dark green scarcely .-howed above the horizon. But the three men we have mention- ed seemed to trouble themselves very slightly about the natural beauties that surrounded them, as they were fully en- gaged in appeasing a true hunter’s appe- tite. Their meal, however, only lasted a few minutes, and when the last frag- ments had been devoured, one lighted his Indian pipe, the other took a cigar from his pocket. They then stretched themselves on the grass, and began di- gesting with that beatitude which char- acterizes smokers, while following with a languid eye the clouds of bluish smoke .that rose in long spirals with each mouthful they puffed forth. As for .the third man, he leant his back against a tree, crossed his arms on his chest, and went to sleep most prosaically. We will profit by this momentary repose .to present these persons to our readers and make them better acquaint- ed with each other. The first was a Canadian half-breed, of about fifty years of age, known by the name of “ Brighteye.” His life had been entire- ly spent on the prairie among the Indi- ans, all of whose tricks he was thorough- ly acquainted with. Like the majority of his countrymen he was very tall, more than six feet in height : his body was thin and angular ; his limbs were knotty, but covered with muscles bard as ropes ; his bony and yellow face had a remarkable expres- sion of frankness and joviality, and his little grey eyes sparkled with intelli- gence ; his prominent cheek bones, his nose bent over a w ide mouth supplied with long white teeth, and his rounded chin, made up a face which was most singular, and, at the same time, the most attractive that could be imagined. His dress differed in no respect from that of other woodrangers ; that is to say, it was a strange medley of Euro- pean and Indian fashions, generally ad- opted by all the white prairie hunters and trappers. His weapons consisted of a knife, a pair of pistoH, and an Am- erican rifle, now lying on the grass, but within reach of his hand. His companion was a man of thirty to thirty-two years of age at the most, but who appeared scarce twenty-five, tall, and well made. His blue eyes, limptd as a woman’s, the long, light curls that escaped beneath the edge of his Panama hat, and floated in disorder on his shoulders, the white- ness of his skin, which contrasted with the olive and brown complexion of the hunter, were sufficient evidence that he was not born in the hot climate of Am- erica. In fact, this young man was a French- man, Charles Edward de Beaulieu, and was descended from one of the oldest families in Brittany. But, under this slightly effeminate appearance, he con- cealed a lion’s courage which nothing could startle or even surprise. Skilled in all bodily exercises, he was also endowed with prodigious strength, and the debcate skin of his white and unstained hands, with their rosy nails, covered nerves of steel. The Count’s dress would reasonably have appeared extraordinary in a coun- try remote from civilization to any one who had leisure to examine it. He wore a hunting jacket of green cloth, of a French cut, and buttoned over his chest : yellow buckskin breeches, fast- ened by a waistbelt of varnished leath- er ; a cartridge-box and a hunting- knife in a bronzed steel sheath, and with an admirably chiselled hilt; while his legs were covered by long riding boots, coming up over the knee. Like his companion, he had laid his rifle on the THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 21 grass : his weapon, richly damascened, must have cost an enormous sum. The Count de Beaulieu, whose father followed the princes into exile and serv- ed them actively, first in Conde’s army and then in all the royalist plots that were incessantly formed during the Empire, was an ultra-Royalist. Left an orphan at an early age, and posses- sed of an immense fortune, he was nominated a lieutenant in the Gardes du Corps. After the fall of Charles X., the Count, whose career was broken up, was assailed by a fearful despondency, and an unenviable disregard for life fill- ed his heart. Europe became hateful to him, and he resolved to bid it an eternal farewell. After intrusting the management of his fortune to a confi- dential agent, the Count embarked for the United States, But American life, narrow, paltry and egotistic, was not made for him ; for the young man understood the Americans no better than they did him. His heart was ulcerated by the meanness and trickery he saw daily committed by the descendants of the Plymouth Brethren, so he one day resolved to bury himself in the depths of the coun- try, and visit those immense prairies whence the first lords of the soil had been driven by the cunning and treach- ery of their crafty despoilers. The count had brought with him from France an old servant of the family, whose progenitors, for many genera- tions, had uninterruptedly served the Beaulieus. Before embarking, the Count imparted his plans to Ivon Kergollec, leaving him at liberty to remain behind or follow ; the servant’s choice was not long, he simply replied that his master had the right to do what he pleased without consulting him, and as it was his duty to follow his master every- where, he should do so. Even then when the Count formed the resolve of visiting the prairies, and thought it right to tell his servant his resolution, the answer was still the same. Ivon was about forty-five years of age, and was a true type of the hardy, simple, and withal, crafty Breton peasant ; he was short and stumpy, but his well- knit limbs and wide chest denoted im- mense strength. His brick-colored face was illumined by. two small eyes, that sparkled with cleverness and flashed like carbuncles. Ivon, whose life had been spent lazily and calmly in the gilded halls of Beau- lieu House, had gradually assumed the regular habits of a nobleman’s lacquey; having had no occasion to prove his courage, he was completely ignorant of the possession of that quality, and, al- though, during the last few months he had been placed in many dangerous circumstances while following his mas- ter, he w'as still at the same point, that is to say, he completely doubted him- self, and had the innate conviction that he was as cowardly as a hare ; so noth- ing was more curious after a meeting with the Indians than to hear Ivon, who had been fighting like a lion and per- forming prodigies of valor, excuse him- self humbly to his master for having behaved so badly, as he was not used to fighting. It is needless to say that the Count excused him, while laughing heartily, and telling him as a consolation — for the poor fellow was very unhappy at this supposed cowardice — that the next time he would probably do better, and that he would gradually grow accustom- ed to this life, which was so different from that he had hitherto led. At this consolation the worthy man-servant would shake his head sorrowfully, and reply, with an accent of thorough con- viction : “ No, sir, I can never have any cour- age. I feel sure of it ; it is a sad truth, but I am a poltroon. I am only too well aware of it.” Ivon was dressed in a complete suit of livery, though, in regard to present circumstances, he was, like his compan- ions, armed to the teeth, and his rifle leant against the tree by his side. Three magnificent horses, full of fire and blood, hobbled a few paces from the hunters, were carelessly browsing on the climbing peas and tree-shoots. We have omitted to mention two pe- culiarities of the Count. The first was, that he always carried in his right eye a gold eyeglass, fastened round his neck by means of a black ribbon ; the sec- 22 THE FLOTYER OF THE PRAIRIE. Olid, that he continually wore kid gloves which, we confess, greatly to his annoy- ance, had now grown very dirty and torn. And now, by what strange combina- tion of # chance were these three men, so differing in birth, habits, and educa- tion, met together some five or six hun- dred leagues from any civilized abode, on the banks of a river, if not unknown, at any rate hitherto unexplored, seated amicably on the grass, sharing a break- fast which was more than frugal % We can explain this to the reader by curso- rily describing a scene that occurred on the prairie about six months prior to the beginning of our narrative. Brighteye was a determined man, who, with the exception of the time he served the Hudson’s Bay Company, had always hunted and trapped alone, despi- sing the Indians too much to fear them, and finding in braving them that delight which the courageous man experiences, when, alone and beneath the eye of Heaven, he struggles, confiding in his own resources, against a terrible and un- known danger. The Indians knew and feared him for many a long year. Many times they had come in collision with him, and they had nearly always been compelled to retreat, leaving several of their men on the field. Hence they had sworn against the hunter one of those hearty Indian hatreds which noth- ing can satiate save the punishment of the man who is the object of it. But as they knew w ith what sort of a man they had to deal, and did not care to increase the number of the victims he had already sacrificed, they resolved to await, with the peculiar patience cha- racteristic of their race, the propitious moment for seizing their foe, and till then confine themselves to carefully watch ng all his movements, so as not to lose the favorable opportunity when it presented itself. Brighteye at this moment was hunt- ing on the banks of the Missouri. — Knowing himself watched, and instinct- ively suspecting a trap, he took all the precautions suggested to him by his in- ventive mind and the deep knowledge he possessed of Indian tricks. One day, v\hile exploring the banks of the river, he fancied he noticed, a slight distance ahead of him, an almost imperceptible movement in the thick brushwood. He stopped ; lay down, and began crawl- ing gently in the direction of the thick- et. Suddenly the forest seemed agita- ted to its most unexplored depths. A swarm of Indians rose from the earth, leaped from the trees, or rushed from behind rocks ; the hunter, literally bur- ied beneath ihe mass of his enemies, w as reduced to a stale of powerlessness before he could make an attempt to de- fi-nd himself. Brighteye was disarmed in a twink- ling ; then a chief walked up to him, and, holding out his hand, said coldly : “ Let my brother rise ; the redskin warriors are waiting for him.” “ Gooi, good,” the hunter growled ; “ all is not over yet, Indian, and I shall have my revenge.” The chief smiled. “ My brother is like the mocking- bird,” he said ironically ; “ he speaks too much.” Brighteye bit his lips, to keep back the insult that rose to them ; he got up and followed his victors. He was a prisoner to the Piekanns, the most war- like tribe of the Blackfeet ; and the chief who had taken him was his perso- nal enemy. The chief’s name was Natah Otann (the Grizzly Bear). He was a man of five-and-twenty at most, with a fine, in- telligent face, bearing the imprint of honesty. His tall figure, well-propor- tioned limbs, the grace of his move- ments, and his martial aspect, rendered him a remarkable man. His long black hair, carefully parted, fell in disorder on bis shoulders ; like all the renowned warriors of his tribe, he wore on the back of his head an ermine skin, and round his neck bear’s claws mingled with buffalo teeth, a very dear and highly honored ornament among the Indians. Ilis shirt of buffalo hide, with short sleeves, was decorated round the neck with a species of collar of red cloth, ornamented with fringe and por- cupine quills ; the seams of the gar- ment were embroidered with hair taken from scalps, the whole relieved by small bands of ermine skin. His moccasins, THE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. 23 of different colors, were loaded with very elegant embroidery, while his buf- falo hide robe was painted inside with a number of clumsy designs, intended to depict the young warrior’s achieve- ments. Natah Otann held in his right hand a fan made of a single eagle’s wing, and, suspended round the wrist from the same hand by a thong, the short han- dled long-lashed whip peculiar to the prairie Indians ; on his back hung his bow and arrows in a quiver of a jaguar’s skin ; at his waist a bullet-bag, his pow- der-flask, his long hunting-knife, and his club. His shield hung on his left hip, while his gun lay across the neck of his horse, which wore a magnificent panther skin for a saddle. The appear- ance of this savage child of the woods, whose cloak and long plumes fluttered in the wind, curveting on a steed as un- tamed as himself, had something about it striking, and, at the same time, grand. Natah Otann was the first sachem of his tribe. He made the hunter a sign to mount a horse one of the warriors held by the bridle, and the whole party proceeded at a gallop towards the camp ol the tribe. They rode onward in si- lence, and the chief seemed to pay no attention to his prisoner. The latter — free in appearance, and mounted on an excellent horse — made not the slightest attempt to escape ; at a glance he had calculated his position ; he saw that the Indians did not lose sight of him, and that he should be immediately recap- tured if he attempted flight. The Pie- kanns had formed their camp on the slope of a wooded hill. For two days they seem to have forgotten their pris- oner, to whom they never once spoke. On the evening of the second day, Brighteye was carelessly walking about and smoking his pipe, when Natah Otann approached him. “ Is m} brother ready?” he asked him. “For what ?” the hunter said, stop- ping and pouring forth a volume of smoke. “ To die,” the chief continued, lacon- ically. “ Quite.” “ Good ; my brother will die to mor- row.” “ Do you think so ?” the hunter re- plied with great coolness. The Indian looked at him for a mo- ment in amazement ; then he repeated, “ My brother will die to morrow.” “ I heard you perfectly well, chief,” the Canadian said, with a smile ; “ and 1 repeat again, Do you believe it ?” “ Let my brother look,” the sachem said, with a significant gesture. The hunter raised his head. “ Bah !” he said carelessly ; “ I see that all the preparations are made, and carefully so; but what does that prove? I am not dead yet, I suppose ?” “ No, but my brother will soon be so.” “We shall see to-morrow,” Bright- eye answered, shrugging his shoulders. And leaving the astonished chief, he lay down at the foot of a tree and fell asleep. His sleep was so real, that the Indians were obliged to wake him the next morning at daybreak. The Cana- dian opened his eyes, yawned two or three times, as if going to put his jaw out, and got up. The redskins led him to the post of torture, to which he was firmly lastened. “ Well !” Natah Otann said, with a grin ; “ what does my brother think at present ?” “ Eh !” Brighteye answered, with that magnificent coolness which neyer deserted him ; “ do you fancy that I am already dead ?” “ No ; but my brother will be in an hour.” “ Bah !” the Canadian said, carelessly; “ many things can happen withii> an hour.” Natah Otann withdrew, secretly ad- miring the intrepid couutenance 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 start of an- ger. 24 TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “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 about the bush.” The chief smiled as he said, in a gen- tler voice, “ Brighteye is alone, his ] odge is solitary. Why has not so great a warrior a companion 1 ?” 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 pow- erful ; the young women of the Pie- kann tribe are fair.” The Canadian quickly interrupted him. “ Enough, chief,” he said ; “ in spite of all your shiftings to reach your point, 1 have guessed your meaning ; but l will never take an Indian girl to be my wife ; so you can refrain from further offers, which will not have a sat- isfactory result.” Natah Otann frowned. “ Dog of the pale faces,” he cried, stamping his foot madly, “this night my young men will make war-whistles of thy bones, and will drink the fire-water out of thy skull.” With this terrible threat, the chief finally quitted the hunter, who observ- ed him depart with a shrug, and mut- tered, “The last word is not spoken' yet ; this is not the first time 1 have found myself in a desperate position, but I have escaped ; there are no rea- sons why I should be less lucky to- day. Humph ! this will seive 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. Brighteye followed all the movements of the Indians with a curious eye, as if he were a perfectly unconcerned wit- ness. “ 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 intend -*d 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 skillful 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 In- dian noddles; but I recommend you to make haste, or it is very possible 1 may escape.” During this monologue, twenty war- riors, the most skillful of the tribe, had ranged themselves about one hundred yards from the prisoner ; the firing commenced ; the balls all struck with- in an inch of the hunter’s head, who, at each shot, shook his head like a drown- ing 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 unex- pected 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. “ Burn me !” Brighteye joyfully ex- claimed, “ I was quite sure 1 wasn’t to die this time.” The Indians are not the men to allow themselves to be subdued by any feel- ing ; the first moment of surprise past, they surrounded the horseman, shout- ing, gesticulating, and brandishing their weapons furiously. “ Come, make way, there, you scoun- drels,” the new-comer shouted in a commanding voice, lashing violently at those who had the imprudence lo come too near him. “Let us be off,” he added, turning to the hunter. “ I wish for nothing better,” the lat- ter made answer ; “ but it does not seem easy.” “ Bah ! let us try it, at any rate,” the stranger continued, carefully fixing his glass in his eye. “ We will,” Brighteye said, cheer- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 25 The stranger who had so providen- tially arrived was the Count de Beau- lieu, as our readers will probably have conjectured. “ Iliiloh !” the Count shouted loudly, “ come here, Ivon.” “ Here I am, my lord,” a voice an- swered from the forest ; and a second horseman, leaping into the clearing, ooolly 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 multitudin- ous yells and gestures, to take a prompt vengeance on the men who had so im- prudently 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 for- ward. “ Take care,” Brighteye shouted. “ Nonsense,” the Count said, shrug- ging 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 exact- ly if he has to do with a madman or a being endowed with reason, so extraor- dinary did this remark seem to him. The Count dug his spurs into his horse. “ Well ” Brighteye 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 whites, without shelter, and entirely exposed to the shots of their enemies, could not hope to escape. 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 sa- chem, 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. Sud- denly, at the moment when the Black- feet warriors were shouldering their guns, or fitting their arrows to the bows, Natali 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 chief’s voice, immediately halted. The sachem took three steps, bow'ed respectfully be- fore 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 good- ness is infinite : he will forget anything offensive in their conduct toward him.” Brighteye astonished at this harangue, translated it to the Count, honestly con- fessing 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 retreat being in no way impeded. “Ouf !” Brighteye said, so soon as he found himself in safety, “ I’m well out of that ; but,” he added, shaking his head, “ there is something extraordinary about the matter which I cannot fath- om.” “ Now, my friend,” the count said to him, “ you are free to go whither you please.” The hunter thought for an instant. “ Bah !” he replied, after a few mo- ments had passed, “ 1 owe you my life. 26 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRTE. Although I do not know you, you strike me as a good fellow.” “ You flatter me,” the Count remark- ed, smiling. “ My faith, no : f say what I think. Jf you are agreeable we will stay to- gether, at any rate until I have acquit- ted the debt I owe you by saving your life in my turn.” The Count offered him his hand. “ Thanks, my friend,” he said, much moved ; “ 1 accept your offer.” “ That is settled, then,” the hunter joyfully exclaimed, as he pressed the offered hand. Brighteye, at first attached to the Count by gratitude, soon felt quite a paternal affection for him. But he un- derstood no more than the first day, the you' g man’s behavior, for he acted un- der all circumstances as if he were in France, and, by his rashness, universal- ly foiled the hunter’s Indian experience. This was carried so far, that the Cana- dian, superstitious like all primitive na- tures, soon grew into the persuasion that the Count’s life was protected by a charm, so many times had he seen him emerge victoriously from positions in which any one else would have infalli- bly succumbed. At length, nothing appeared to him impossible with such a companion, and the most extraordinary propositions the Count made him seemed perfectly feas- ible, the more so as success crowned all their enterprises by some incomprehen- sible charm, and in a way contrary to all foresight. The Indians, by a strict agreement, had given up all contests ■with them, and even avoided any con- tact : if they perceived them at any time, all the red men, whatever tribe they might belong to, treated the Count with the utmost deference, and address- ed him with an expression of terror mingled with love, the explanation of which the hunter sought in vain, for none of the Indians could or would give it. This state of things had lasted for six months up to the moment when we saw the three men breakfasting on the banks of the Mississippi. We will now take up our story again at the point where we left it, terminating our explanation, which was indispensable for the right comprehension of what follows. CHAPTER II. A TRAIL DISCOVERED. Our friends would probably have re- mained for a long time plunged in their present state of beatitude, had not a slight sound in the river suddenly re- called them to the exigencies of their position. “ What’s that ?” the Count said, flip- ping off the ash from his cigar. Brighteye glided among the shrubs, looked for a moment, and then calmly returned to his seat. “ Nothing,” he said ; “ two alligators sporting in the mud.” “ Ah !” the Count said. There was a moment’s silence, during which the hunter mentally calculated the length of the shadow of the trees on the ground. “ It is past mid-day,” he said. “ You think so,” the young man ro marked. “ No ; I am sure of it, sir Count.” “ Confound you ! you are at it again,” the young man said with a smile. “ I have told you to call me by my Christ- ian name ; but if you do not like that, call me like the Indians.” “ Nay !” the hunter objected. “ What is the name they gave me, Brighteye. I have forgotten.” “ Oh ! I should not like, sir ” “ Eh V “ Edward, I meant to say.” “ Come, that is better,” the young man remarked laughingly ; “ but I must beg of you to repeat the nick- name.” “ They call you ‘ Glass-eye.’ ” “ Oh, yes ! that’s it ;” the Count con- tinued his laugh. “ Only Indians could have such an idea as that.” “ Oh !” Brighteye went on, “ the In- . dians are not what you suppose them ; they are as crafty as the demon.” “ Come, stop that, Brighteye ; I al- ways suspected you of having a weak- ness for the redskins.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ How can you say that, when I am their obstinate enemy, and have been fighting them for the last forty ^ears “ That is the very reason that makes you defend them.” “ How so ?” the hunter said, astonish- ed at this conclusion, which he was far from expecting. “ For a very simple reason. No one likes to contend with enemies unworthy of him, and it is quite natural you should try to elevate those against whom you have been fighting for forty years.” The hunter shook his head. “Mr. Edward,” he said, with a thoughtful air, “ the red men are people whom it takes many a long year to know. They possess at once the craft of the opossum, the prudence of the serpent, and the courage of the cougar. A few years hence you will not despise them as you do now.” “ My good fellow,” the Count object- ed, “ I hope I shall have left the prai- ries within a year. I am yearning for a civilized life. I want Paris, with its opera and balls. No, no ; the desert does not suit me.” The hunter shook his head a second time. Then he continued with a mourn- ful accent, which struck the young man, and as if rather speaking to himself than replying to the Count’s remarks : “ Yes, yes ; that is the way with Eu- ropeans : when they arrive on the prai- ries, they regret civilized life, and the desert is only gradually appreciated ; but when a man has breathed the odors of the savannah, when during long nights he has listened to the rustling of the wind in the virgin forests — when he has admired that proud landscape which owes nothing to art, where the hand of God is imprinted at each step with in- effaceable characters : when he has gazed on the glorious scenes that rise in succession before him — then he begins bv degrees to love this unknown world, so full of mysteries and strange inci- dents, his eyes are opened to the truth, and he repudiates the falsehoods of civ- ilization. At such a moment he expe- riences emotions full of secret charms, and recognizing no other master save that God, in whose presence he feels 2 so small, he forgets everything to lead a nomadic life, and remains in the des- ert, because there alone he feels free, happy — a man, in a word ! Ah, sir, whatever you may say, whatever you may do, the desert now holds you : you have tasted its joys and its griefs ; it will not allow you to depart so easily — you will not see France again so spee- dily — the desert will retain you in spite of yourself.” The young man had listened, with an emotion for which he could not account, to this long harangue. In his heart he recognize i, through the hunter’s exag- geration, the justice of his reasoning, and felt startled at being compelled to allow him to be in the right. Not know- ing what to reply, or feeling that he was beaten, the Count suddenly turned the conversation. “ Humph !” he began, “ I think you said it was past twelve V’ “ About a quarter past,” the hunter answered. The Count consulted his watch. “ Quite right,” he said. “ Oh !” the hunter continued, point- ing to the sun, “ that is the only true clock; it never goes too fast or too slow, for Heaven regulates it.” The youi.g man bowed his head af- firmatively. “ VVe will start,” he said. “ For what good at this moment T” the Canadian asked. “We have no- thing pressing before us.” “That is true ; but are you sure we have not lost our way “ Lost our way !” the hunter exclaim- ed, with a start of surprise, almost of anger ; “ no, no, it is impossible. I guarantee that within a week we shall be on Lake Itasca.” “ The Mississippi really runs from that lake ?” “Yes ; for in spite of what is assert- ed, the Missouri is only the principal branch of that river : the savans would have done better to assure themselves of the fact, ere they declared that the Mississippi and Missouri are two sepa- rate rivers.” “ What would you have, Brighteye the Count said, laughingly. “ Savans are the same in all countries ; being 28 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. naturally indolent, they rely on one an- other, and hence the infinity of absur- dities they put in circulation with the most astounding coolness.’’ “ The Indians are never mistaken.” “ That is true ; but then the Indians are not savans,” “ No ; they see for themselves and only assert what they are sure of.” “ That is what I meant to say,” the Count replied. “ If you will listen to me, Mr. Ed- ward, we '' ill remain here a few hours longer to let the great heat pass off, and when the sun is going down we will start again.” “ Very good ; let us rest then. Ivon appeal s to be thoroughly of our opinion, for he has not stirred.” The Count had risen ; before sitting down again, he mechanically cast a glance on the immense plain which lay so calmly and majestically at his feet. “ Eh !”he suddenly exclaimed, “ what is that down there ? — look, Rrighteye.” The hunter rose and looked in the di- rection indicated by the Count. “ Well ! do you see nothing V 1 the young man remarked. Brighteye, with his hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun, looked attentively without re- plying. “ Well,” the Count said, at the expira- tion o' a moment. “ We are no longer alone,” the hun- ter answered ; “ there are men down there.” “ How, men ? We have seen no In- dian trail.” “ 1 did not say they were Indians.” “ Hum ! I suppose at this distance it would be rather difficult to decide who they are.” Brighteye smiled. “ You always judge from your knowl- edge obtained in the civilized world, Mr. Edward,” he answered. “ Which means — V 1 the young man said, intensely piqued at the observa- tion. “ That you are always wrong.” “ Hang it, my friend ! you will allow me to observe, all individuality apart, that it is impossible at this distance to recognize anybody. Especially when nothing can be distinguished, save a lit- tle white smoke.” “ Is not that enough 1 Do you be- lieve that all smoke is alike.” “That is rather a subtle distinction : and I confess that to me all smoke is alike.” “That’s where the error is,” the Ca- nadian continued with great coolness, “ and when you have spent a few years on the prairie you wi;l not be deceived.” The Count looked at him attentively, convinced that he was laughing at him ; but the other continued with the utmost calmness : “ What we notice down there is neith- er the fire of Indians nor of hunters, but is kindled by white men not yet accustomed to a desert life.” “ Perhaps you will have the goodness to explain.” “ I will do so, and you will soon al- low that I am correct. Listen, Mr. Edward, for this is important to know.” “I am listening, my good fellow.” “ You are not ignorant,” the hunter continued unmoved ly, “ that what is called the desert is largely populated.” “ True, l am not,” the young man said, smiling. “ Well, but the enemies most to be shunned on the prairies are not wild beasts, but men ; Indians and whites know this so well that they as soon as possible apply themselves to destroying marks of their passing and conceal their presence.” “ I admit that.” “Very well ; when Indians or whites are obliged to kindle a fire, whether to cook food or to keep off cold, they se- lect with the utmost care the fuel they need to burn, and take the precaution to never employ other than dry wood. v “ I don’t see why that more than any other.” “ You shall see,” the hunter returned. “ Dry wood only gives forth a light bluish smoke, which is easily confound- ed with the sky and is at a slight dis- tance invisible, while green wo d, being damp, sends forth a thick, white vapor which from afar signals the whereabouts of those that lit the fire. Hence why, at a glance at yonder smoke, I told you just now that the people down there THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 29 were whites, and strangers to the wil- derness, else they would have used proper fuel.” “ By Jove !” the young man exclaim- ed, “ that is curious, and I would like to be completely sure.” “ What do you want to do ?” “ Why, go to find out who they are who have lit that fire.” “ Why disturb yourself, when I have said so ?” “ I ought not, but what I do is for my personal satisfaction ; since we have lived together, you have told me sto- ries, so out-of-the-way, my friend, that I would not be sorry for once to make sure myself.” And without listening to the Canadi- an’s remarks, the young man roused up his servant. “ What do you want, my lord V’ the latter asked, rubbing his eyes. “The horses — be quick, Ivon !” The Breton rose and bridled them. The Count sprang into the saddle, the hunter did likewise, shaking hi^ head, and all three rode down the hill at a brisk trot. “You will see, Mr. Edward,” Bright- eye said, “ that I was right.” “ I ask nothing better, still I want to be satisfied that you were.” “ All right, if you must have it so, but let me go ahead — we don’t know what game we may scare up, and it’s always good to have a scout out.” The speaker took the lead of the lit- tle party. The fire which the count had discov- ered from the hill-top, was not so close as he fancied it ; the hunter was com- pelled to unceasingly make turnings in the tall grass to avoid the clumps of saplings and masses of thick brush which every instant barred the way — which still more lengthened the distance — so it took nearly two hours to reach the spot they were proceeding to. When they finally had approached the fire which had so puzzled the Count de Beaulieu, the Canadian reined in, making a sign for his followers to imi- tate him, which was obeyed. Brighteye dismounted, handed his bridle to Ivon, and, taking his rifle in his right hand, said : “ I go to explore.” “ Go on,” the young man laconically replied. The Count de Beaulieu was a man of tried courage, but since he had travelled the prairies, had learnt one thing ; that courage without prudence is madness against foes who never act without stratagem and treachery on their side ; hence, gradually dropping his chivalric notions, he began to adopt the border tactics, knowing very well that in an ambush the advantage nearly always is his who first discovers his opponent. The Count patiently awaited the re- turn of his friend, who had silently gli- ded among the bushes and had disap- peared in the direction of the fire. Ilis watch was not protracted. In short, about an hour after, the sap- lings were bent aside, and Brighteye ap- peared at a point opposite to that from which he had started. The veteran woodsman had been somewhat alarmed by the sight of that distant fire which the Count had descried fror.~. the hill-top. When he had found himself alone, he had put into practice this axiom : — “ the shortest way across is the longest way around” — the truth of which is proved often in the untracked wilds of the West. He had made a long circuit in order to come upon the tracks of the people he wished to observe, and by them calculate pretty closely what sort of folks they were. In the wilderness, the meeting most dreaded is one with a fellow being. Ev- ery stranger is an enemy, so the cus- tomary salutations are exchanged at a distance with rifles ready to be aimed and finger on the trigger. With that keen eyesight which his life had given him, Brighteye had caught sight of a broad line along which the grass was down-trodden and cut up, marking without fail the path by w hich the strangers had proceeded. The hunter, stooping to prevent being himself discovered above the grass, ere long reached a space through which ran two parallel ruts, about four feet apart, their end one way lost in a forest a lit- tle way off. After halting a moment to recove! 30 THE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. breath, the Canadian grounded his piece and began seriously studying the deep- ly impressed prints on the soil. His scrutiny lasted, say ten minutes, when he lifted up his face with a smile upon it, shouldered his rifle and quietly regained the place where he had left his companions, without giving himself the pains to go on to the fire. The brief examination had been enough to teach him all he had wanted to learn. “ Well, Brighteye, what news ?” the Count inquired on seeing him. “ The lighters of the fire we saw,’’ the hunter responded, “ are American settlers, pioneers who mean to build a cabin in the untrodden wilds. It is a family of four men, two women, with a wagon holding their heavy effects, and with a good herd of cattle.” “ To horse, brave Brighteye ! let us give the bold settlers the welcome to the free lands.” The hunter stood thoughtful and with- out stirring, leaning on his rifle. “ Well,” the Count resumed, “ did you not hear me, friend “ Yes. Mr. Edward, I heard you, but among their footsteps I discovered oth- ers which looked suspicious, and I would like, before approaching their camping- ground, to scout in the neighborhood.” “ What kind of steps do you speak of, friend ?” the Count quickly asked. “ Hum !” the hunter said, “ you are aware that, rightly or wrongly, the red men assert to be lords of the prairies, and never submit to white men’s pres- ence.” “ 1 should say they w T ere right ; ever since the discovery of America, the whites have gradually driven them from their territory and crowded them back from the frontier : they are only defend- ing their last standing-ground.” “ Well, Mr. Edward, I am too of that way of thinking. Hunters and redskins ought to keep these regions to them- selves — with a brush between them ev- ery now and then — and let no cabins be put up, or towns be started anywhere here. However, that is not what 1 in- tended to say : 1 saw by certain tokens that on the trail of the little party fol- low an Indian band, w hich likely enough is on the alert for a chance to massacre them.” “The deuce !” the young man exclai- med, “this is serious — of course you warned the party of the danger threat- ening them V’ “ Not a bit of it ! I never spoke to them — let alone saw them.” “ What — did not see them 1” “No. the moment 1 found the Indian signs, I hastened to return to hold coun- cil with you.” “ Very well, but, then, if you did not go to their camp, how could you tell that they were Americans, six in number, four males and six females — in short, how could you give such precise information !” “Oh, very easily,” the hunter simply replied, “ the face of the country is a book, written wholly by the hand of Heaven, and to th •. man able to read it, none of its secrets are secret — a few minutes’ look at the marks told me all.” The Count de Beaulieu rivetted on the speaker an astonished gaze ; though more than six months living in the wild- erness, he could not yet understand that never mistaking guess-work with which the hunter found out things, to him dead letter. “But,” he said, “ may not the Indians whose traces you saw, be harmless hun- ters ?” Brighteye shook his head. “ There are no harmless hunters among the Indians, especially when they are on the trail of white men. These Indians belong to three plunder- ing tribes which I am surprised to see united ; they doubtlessly meditate an extraordinary expedition, in which the massacre of these emigrants will be one of the least interesting episodes'?” “ Who are these Indians ? Do you think they are numerous?” The hunter reflected for a moment. “The party I discovered is probably only the vanguard of a more numerous band,” he answered ; “ as far as I could judge, there was not more than forty ; but the redskin warriors march with the speed of the antelope, and they can hardly ever be counted; the party is composed of Comanches, B.ackfeet and THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 31 Sioux ; that is to say, the three most warlike tribes in the prairie.” “ Hum !” the Count remarked, af er a moment’s reflection, “ if these demons really mean to attack the Americans, as everything leads us to suppose, the poor fellows appear to be in an awk- ward position.” “ Unless a miracle occur, they are lost,” the hunter said, concisely. “ What is to be done — how to warn them ?” “ Mr. Edward, take care what you are going to do.” “ Still we cannot allow men of our own color to be murdered almost in our presence ; that would be cowardly.” “ Yes ; but it would be astounding folly to join them ; reflect that there are only three of us.” “ I know it,” the young man said, thoughtfully, “ still I would never con- sent to abandon these poor people with- out trying to defend them.” “ Stay, there is only one thing to be done, and perhaps heaven will come to our aid.” “ Come, be brief, my friend, time presses.” “In all probability, the Indians have not yet discovered our trail, although they must be a short distance from us. Let us, then, return to the spot* where we breakfasted, and which commands the entire prairie. The Indians never attack their enemy before four in the morning ; so soon as they attempt their attack on the emigrants, we will fall on their rear; surprised at the sudden aid given the Americans, it is possible they will fly, for the darkness will prevent them counting us, and they will never suppose that three men were so mad as to make an attack upon them.” “By Jove!” the Count said, laugh ing, “ that is a good idea of yours, Brighteye, and such as I expected from so brave a hunter as yourself ; let us hurry back to our observatory, so as to be ready for every event.” The Canadian leaped on his horse, and the three men retraced their steps. But according to his custom, Brighteye, who was apparently a sworn foe to a straight line, made them describe an infinite numb, r of turnings, to throw out any person whom accident brought on their track. They arrived at the top of the hill just at the moment the sun was disap- pearing beneath the horizon. The evening breeze was rising, and beginning to agitate the tops of the great trees with mysterious murmurs. The howling of the tigers and cougars was already mingled with the lowing of the elks and buffaloes, and the sharp yelping of the red wolves, whose dusky outlines appeared here and there on the river bank. The sky grew more and more gloomy, and the stars began dot- ting the vault of heaven. The three hunters sat down careless- ly on the top of a hill, at the same spot they had left a few hours previously with the intention of never returning, and made preparations for supper,— preparations which did not take long, for prudence imperiously ordered them not to make a fire, which would have at once revealed their presence to the un- seen eyes which were, at the moment, probably surveying the desert in every direction. While eating a few mouthfuls of pemmican, they kept their eyes fixed on the camp of the emigrants, whose fire was perfectly visible in the night. “ Oh, Lord !” Brighteye said, “ those people are ignorant of the first law of the desert, else they would guard sure- ly against making a fire which the In- dians can see for ten leagues round.” “ Bah ! that beacon will guide us where to go to their aid,” the Count said. “ Heaven grant that it be not in vain.” The meal over, the hunter invited the Count and his servant to sleep for a few hours. “ For the present,” he said, “ we have nothing to fear ; let me keep a watch for all, as my eyes are accustom- ed to see in the darkness.” The Count did not a' low the invita- tion to be repeated ; he rolled himself in his cloak, and lay down on the ground. Two minutes later himself and Ivon were sleeping the sleep of the righteous. Brighteye took his seat against the trunk of a tree, and lit a 32 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. pipe to soothe the weariness of his night watch. All at once, he bent his body forward, placed his ear to the ground, and seemed to be listening attentively. His practiced ear had heard a sound at first imperceptible, but which seemed to be drawing nearer gradually. The hunter silently cocked his rifle, and waited. At the expiration of about a quarter of an hour there was a slight rustling in the thicket, the branches parted, and a man made his appear- ance. This man was Natah Otann, the sa- chem of the Piekanns. CHAPTER III. THE EMIGRANTS. When he went out on the trail, the hunter’s old experience did not deceive him ; and the traces he had followed up were really those of an emigrant family. As it is destined to play a certain part in our story we will introduce it to the reader, and explain, as briefly as pos- s ble, by what chain of events it was at this moment encamped on the prairies of the Upper Mississippi, or, to speak like the learned, on the banks of the Missouri. The history of one emigrant is that of the mass. All are people who, bur- dened by a numerous family, find a difficulty in rendering their children in- dependent, either through the bad quality of the land they cultivate, or because, in proportion as the population increases, the land, in the course of a few years, gains an excessive value. The Mississippi has become during the last few years the highway of the world. Every vessel that enters on its waters brings the new establishment the means of supplying themselves, either by barter or for money, with the chief commodities of existence. Thus the ex- plorers have spread along both banks of the river, which have become the high- ways of emigration, by the prospect they offer the pioneers of possessing fine estates, and holding them a number of years, without the troublesome process of paying rent. The word “country,” in ihe sense we attach to it in Europe, does not exist for the North American. He is not, like our rustics, attached, from father to son, to the soil which has been the cradle of his family. He is only at- tached to the land by what it may bring him in ; but when it is exhausted by too large a crop, and the colonist has tried in vain to restore its primitive fertility, his mind is speedily made up. He dis- poses of things too troublesome or ex- pensive to transport; only keeps what is absolutely necessary, as servants, horses, and domestic utensils ; says good-bye to his neighbors, who press his hand as if the journey he is about to undertake is the simplest matter in the world, and at daybreak, on a fine spring morning, he gaily sets out, turning a parting and careless glance at that country where he and his family have lived so long. His thoughts are already directed forward ; the past no longer exists for him, the future alone smiles on him and sustains his courage. Nothing is so simple, primitive, and at the same time picturesque, as the departure of a family of pioneers. The horses are attached to the wagons, al- ready laden with the bed furniture and the younger children, while on the other side are fastened the spinning-wheels, and swaying behind, a skin filled with tallow and pitch. The axes are laid in the bottom of the cart, and cauldrons and pots roll about pell-mell in the horses’ trough ; the tents and provisions are securely fastened under the vehicle, suspended by ropes. Such is the move- able estate of the emigrant. The eldest son, or a servant, bestrides the first horse, the pioneer’s wife sits on the other. The emigrant and his sons, with shouldered rifles, walk round the wagon, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, followed by their dogs, touching up the oxen and watching over the common safety. Thus they set out, travelling by short stages through unexplored countries and along frightful roads, which they are generally compelled themselves to make ; braving cold and heat, rain and snow, striving against Indians and wild beasts, seeing at each spot almost in- THE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. 33 surmountable difficulties rising before them ; but nothing stops the emigrants, no peril can check them, no impos- sibility discourage them. They march on thus for who.e months, keeping in- tact in their heart < that faith in their luck which nothing shakes, until they at length reach a site which offers them those conditions of comfort which they have sought so long. But, alas ! how many families that have left the cities of America full of hope and courage have disappeared, leaving no other trace of their passage of the prairie than their whitened bones and scattered furniture. The Indians, ever on the watch at the entrance of the desert, attack the caravans, mercilessly massacre the pioneers, and carry off into slavery their wives and daughters, avenging themselves on the emigrants for the atrocities to which they have been victims during so many centuries, and continuing, to their own profit, that war of extermination which the white men inaugurated on their landing in America, and which, since that period, has gone on uninterruptedly. John Black belonged to that class of emigrants we have just described. One day, about four months previously, he quitted his house, which was falling to ruins, and loading the little he possessed j on a cart, he set out, followed by his family, consisting of his wife, his daugh- ter, his son, and two men servants who had consented to follow his fortunes. Since that period they had not stopped. They had marched boldly forward, cut- ting their way by the help of their axes through the virgin forests, and deter- mined on traversing the desert, until they found a spot favorable for the establishment of a new household. At the period when our story takes place, emigration was much rarer than it is at present, when, owing to the re- cent discovery of auriferous strata in California and on the Frazer River, an emigration fever has seized on the masses with such intensity, that the old world is growing more and more de- populated, to the profit of the new. Gold is a magnet whose strength at- tracts, without distinction, young or old, men or women, by the hope, too often deceived, of acquiring in a little tirrm, at the cost of some slight fatigue, a for- tune ; which, however, rarely compen- sates for the labor undergone in its collection. It was, therefore, unusual boldness on the part of John Black thus to venture without any possible aid into a country hitherto utterly unexplored, and of which the Indians were masters. Mr. Black was born in Virginia: he was a man of about fifty, of middle height, but strongly built, and gifted with un- common vigor; and, although his fea- tures were very ordinary, his face had a rare expression of firmness and reso- lution. His wife, ten years younger than himself, was a gentle and holy creature, on whose brow fatigue and alarm had long before formed deep furrows, be- neath which, however, a keen observer could have still detected traces of no ordinary beauty. William Black, the emigrant’s son, was a species of giant of more than six feet in height, aged two-and -twenty, of Herculean build, and whose jolly, plump face, surrounded by thick tufts of hair of a more than sandy hue, breathed frankness and joviality. Diana, his sister, formed a complete contrast with him. She was a little creature, scarce sixteen years of age, with eyes of a deep blue like the sky; apparently frail and delicate, with a dreamy brow and laughing mouth, which belonged both to woman and angel ; and whose strange beauty seduced at the first glance and subjugated at the first word that fell from her rosy lips. Diana was the idol of the family — the cherished idol, that every one adored, and who, by a word or a glance, could command the obedience of the rude natures that surrounded her, and who only seemed to live that they might satisfy her slightest caprices. Sam and James, the two laborers, were worthy Kentucky rustics, of extra- ordinary strength, and who concealed a great amount of cunning beneath their simple and even slightly silly aspect. These two young fellows, one of whom was twenty-six, the other hardly thbty, had grown up in John Black’s house, 34 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. and had vowed to him an unbounded devotion, of which they had furnished proofs several times since the journey began. When John left his house to go in search of a more fertile country, he pro- posed to these two men to leave him, not wishing to expose them to the dan- gers of the precarious life which was about to begin for himself; but both shook their heads negatively, replying to all that was said to them, that it was their duty to follow their master, no matter whither he went, and they were ready to accompany him to the end of the world. The emigrant had been obliged to yield to a determination so clearly ex- pressed, and replied, that as matters were so, they might follow him. Hence these two honest laborers were not re- garded as servants, but as friends, and treated in accordance. In truth, there is nothing like a common danger to draw people together ; and during the last four months John Black’s family had been exposed to dangers innumera- ble. The emigrant took with him a rather large number of beasts, which caused the caravan, despite all the precautions taken, to leave such a wide trail, as ren- dered an Indian attack possible at any moment. Still, up to the present time, w hen we pay them a visit, no serious danger had really menaced them. At times they were exposed to rather smart alarms ; but the Indians had al- ways kept at a respectable distance, and limited themselves to demonstrations, hostile it is true, but never followed by any results. During the first week of their march, the emigrants, but little versed in the mode of life of the redskins, who inces- eessantly prowled round the party, had been afflicted with the most exaggerated tears, expecting every moment to be at- tacked by these ferocious enemies, about whom they had heard stories which might make the bravest tremble ; but, as so frequently happens, they had grown used to this perpetual threat of the Indians, and, while taking the strict- est precautions for their safety, they had learned almost to deride the dangers which they had so much feared at the outset, and felt convinced that their calm and resolute attitude had produced an effect on the redskins, and that the latter would not venture to come into collision with them. Still, on this day a vague restlessness had seized on the party : they had a sort of secret foreboding that a great danger menaced them. The Indians, who, as we have said, usually accompa- nied them out of reach of gunshot, had all at once become invisible. Since their start from their last camping- ground, they had not seen a single one, though they instinctively suspected that, if ihe Indians w’ere invisible, they were not the less present, and possibly in lar- ger numbers than before. Thus the day passed, sorrowfully and silently for the emigrants : they marched side by side, eye and ear on the watch, with their fin- gers on the trigger, not daring to impart Hieir mutu.il fears, but (to use a Span- ish expression ) aaving their oeards >n their shoulders, like men expecting to be attacked at any moment. Still, the day passed without the slightest incident occurring to corroborate their apprehen- sions. At sunset, the caravan was at the foot of one of those numerous mounds to which we have already alluded, and so large a number of which border the banks of the river at this spot. John Black made a sign to his son, who drove the cart, to stop, get down and join him: while the two females looked around them restlessly, the four men, assem- a few paces in the rear, were engaged in a whispered conversation. “ Boys,” Mr. Black said to his atten- tive companions, “the day is ended, the sun is descending behind the mountains over there, it is time to think about the night’s rest. Our beasts are fatigued ; we ourselves need to collect our strength for our morrow’s labor ; I think, though open to correction, that we should do well to profit by the short time lei t us.” “ Yes,” James answered, “ we have in front of us a hillock, on the top of which it would be easy for us to take up our quarters.” “ And which,” William interrupted him, “ we could convert into an almost impregnable fortress in a few hours.” * D TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 35 “ We should have a har 1 job in set- ting the wagon up the hill,” the father said, shaking his head. “Nonsense,” Sam objected, “ not so much as you suppose, Mister Black ; a little trouble, and we can manage it.” “ Flow so ?” “ Why,” the servant replied, “ we need only unload the wagon.” “ That’s true ; when it’s empty, it will be easy to get it to the top of the hill.” “Stay,” William observed, “do you think, father, that it is really necessary to take all that trouble ? a night is soon spent, and 1 fancy we should do well to remain where we are : the position is an excellent one ; it is only a few paces to the river bank and we can lead our oxen to water.” “No; we must not remain here, the place is too open, and we should have no shelter if the Indians attacked us.” “ The Indians !” the young man said, with a laugh ; “ why, we have not seen a single one the whole day.” “Yes; what you say, William, is correct, the redskins have disappeared ; but shall I tell you my real thoughts? It is really this disappearance, which I do not understand, that troubles me.” “ Why so, father ?” “ Because, if they are hiding, they are preparing some ambuscade, a id do not wish us to know the direction where they are.” “ Come, father, do you really believe that ?” the young man remarked in a lig.A tone. “ I am convinced of it,” the emigrant said earnestly. The two servants bowed their heads in affirmation. “ You will pardon me, father, if I do not share your opinion,” the young man continued. “ For my own part, on the other hand, I feel certain that these red devils, who have been following us so long, have eventually understood that they could gain nothing from us but bullets, and, like prudent men, have given up following us further.” “ No, no; you are mistaken, son, it is not so.” “ Lookye, father,” the young man continued, with a certain amount of ex- citement, ‘allow me to make an obser vation which, I think, will bring you over to my way of thinking.” “ Do so, my son ; we are here to ex- change our opinions freely, and select the best : the common interest is at stake, and we have to act for the safety of all ; under circumstances so grave as the present, I should never forgive my- self for neglecting good advice, no mat- ter from whom it came ; speak, there- fore, without timidity.” “ You know, father,” the young man went on, “ that the Indians understand honor differently from ourselves ; that is to say, when the success of an expe- dition is not clearly proved to them, they have no shame about resigning it, because what they seek in the first place is profit.” “ I know all that, my son ; but I do not see yet what you are driving at.” “ You will soon understand me. For nearly two months, from sunrise, the moment we set out, to sunset, which is generally the time of our halt, the red- skins have been following as, step by step, and we have been unable to escape for a single moment these most trouble- some neighbors, who have watched our every movement.” “ That is true,” John Black said, “but what do you conclude from that ?” “A very simple thing; that they have seen that we were continually on our guard, and that if they attempted to attack us, they would be beaten ; hence they have retired ; that is all.” “ Unfortunately, William, you have forgotten one thing.” “ What is it ?” “This: the Indians, generally not so well armed as the white men, are afraid to attack them, especially when they suppose they shall have to deal with persons almost as numerous as them- selves, and in the bargain, sheltered be- hind wagons and bales of merchandise ; but that is not at all the case here ; since they have been watching us, the Indians have had many opportunities of count- ing us, and have done so long ago.” “ Yes,” Sam said. “ Well, they know that we are only four; they are at least fifty, if they are not more numerous. What can four 36 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. men, in spite of all their courage, effect against such a considerable number of enemies? Nothing. The redskins know it, and they will act in accordance ; that is, when the opportunity offers, they will not fajl to seize it.’’ “ But — ” the young man objected. “ Another consideration to which you have not paid attention,” John Black quietly continued, “ is that the Indians, whatever the number of their enemies may be, never quit them without hav- ing attempted at least once to surprise them.” “ In truth,” William answered, “that astonishes me on their part ; however 1 am of your opinion, father ; and if the precautions we propose taking only serve to reassure my mother and sister, it would be well not to neglect them.” “ Well spoken, William,” the emi- grant remarked ; “ let us therefore set to work without delay.” The party broke up ; and the four men, throwing their rifles on their shoulders, began making active prepar- ations for the encampment. Sam col- lected the oxen by the aid of the dogs and led them down to the river to drink. John in the meanwhile, went up to the wagon. “ Well, my love,” his wife asked him, “ why this halt, and this long dis- cussion ? Has any accident occurred '?” “Nothing that need at all alarm you, Lucy,” the emigrant answered ; “ we are going to camp, that is all.” “Oh, gracious me! I do not know why, but I was afraid lest some misfor- tune had happened.” “ On the contrary ; we are quieter than we have been for a long time.” “ How so, father ?” Diana asked, thrusting her charming face from under the canvas which concealed her. “Those rascally Indians, who fright- ened us so much, my darling Diana, have at leugth made up their minds to leave us ; we have not seen a single one during the whole day.” “Oh, all the better?” the girl said quickly, as she clapped her dainty- palms together; “I confess that I am not brave, and those frightful red men caused me terrible alarm.” “ Well, you will not see them again, I hope,” John Black said gaily ; though while giving his daughter this assurance to appease her fears, he did not believe a word he uttered. “ Now,” he added, “ have the go >dness to get down, so that we may unload the wagon.” “Unload the wagon,” the old lady re- marked, “ why so ?” “ It is just possible,” the husband an- swered, anxious not to reveal the real reason, “ that we may remain here a few days, in order to rest the cattle.” “ Ah, very good,” she said ; and she got out followed by her daughter. The two ladies had scarce set foot on ground, ere the men began unloading the wagon. This task lasted nearly an hour. Sam had time enough to lead the cattle to water, and collect them on the top of the hill. “ Are we going to camp, then ?” Mrs. Black asked. “ Yes,” her husband answered. “ Come, Diana,” the old lady said. The two women packed up some kitchen utensils, and clomb the hill, where after lighting the fire, they began preparing supper. So soon as the cart was unloaded, the two laboring men, aided by William, pushed it behind; while John Black at the head of the team, began flogging the horses. The incline was rather steep, but owjng to the vigor of the horses and the impati- ence of the men, who at each step laid rollers behind the wheels, the wagon at last reached the top. The rest was as nothing, and within an hour the camp was arranged as follows: The emigrants formed, with the bales and trees they felled, a large circle, in the midst of which the cattle were tied up ; and then put up a tent for the two women. When this was effected, John Black cast a glance of satisfaction around. His family were temporarily protected from a coup de main — thanks to the manner in which the bales and trees were arranged, and the party were enabled to fire from under cover on any enemy that might attack them, and de- fend themselves a long time successful- ly. The sun had set for more than an hour before these various preparations were completed, and supper was ready. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 37 The Americans seated themselves in a circle round the fire, and ate with the appetite of men accustomed to danger — ail appetite which the greatest alarm cannot deprive them of. After the meal, John Black offered up a prayer, as he did every evening before going to rest; the others standing, with uncov- ered heads, listened attentively to the prayer; and when it was completed, the two ladies entered the hut prepared for them. “ And now,” Black said, “ let us keep a careful watch : the night is dark, the moon rises late, and you are aware that the Indians choose the morning, the moment when sleep is deepest, to at- tack their enemies.” The fire was covered, so that its light should not reveal the exact position of the camp; and the two servants lay down side by side on the grass, where they soon fell asleep ; while father and son, standing at either extremity of the camp, watched over the common safe- ty- CHAPTER IV. THE GRIZZLY BEAR. All was calm in the prairie ; not a sound disturbed the silence of the desert. On the sudden appearance of the Indian, whatever the emotion Brighteye might feel, it was impossible for Natah Otann to perceive anything; the hunter’s face remained calm, and not a muscle moved. “Ah !” he said, “ the sachem of the Piekanns is welcome : does he come as a friend or an enemy ?” “ Natah Otann comes to sit by the fire of the pale-faces, and smoke the calumet with them,” the chief replied, casting a searching glance around him. “ Good : if the chief will wait a mo- ment, I will light the fire.” “ Brighteye can light it, the chief will wait : he has come to talk with the pale faces, and the conversation will be long.” The Canadian looked fixedly at the redskin : but the Indian was impassive like himse'f, and it was impossible to read anything on his features. The hunter collected a few hand uls of dry wood, struck a light, and soon a bright flame sprung up, and illumined the mount. The Indian drew near the fire, took his calumet from his girdle, and began grimly smoking. Brighteye, not wishing to remain in any way behind- hand, imitated his every movement with perfectly feigned indifference, and the two men sat for several moments puffing clouds of smoke at each other. Natah Otann at length broke the silence. “ The pale hunter is a warrior,” he said, “ why does he try to hide himself like the water-rat ?” Brighteye did not consider it advis- able to reply to this insinuation, and con- tinued smoking philosophically, while casting a side-glance at his questioner. “ The Blackfeet have the eye of the eagle,” Natah Otann continued, “their piercing eyes see all that happens on the prairie.” The Canadian made a sign of assent, but did not yet reply ; the chief con- tinued : “ Natah Otann has seen the trail of his friends the pale faces, his heart quivered with pleasure in his breast, and he has come to meet them.” Brighteye slowly removed his pipe from his lips, and turning towards the Indian, examined him carefully for an instant, and then answered : “ I repeat to my brother that he is welcome : I know that he is a great chief, and am happy to see him.” “ Wah !” the Indian said, with a cun- ning smile : “ is my brother so satisfied as he says with my presence 1 ?” “ Why not, chief?” “ My brother is angry still that the Blackfeet fastened him to the stake of torture.” The Canadian shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and coldly answered : “ Nonsense, chief! why do you fancy 1 am angry with you or your nation ? war is war ; I have no reproaches to make to you. You wished to kill me, I escaped : so we are quits.” “ Good : does my brother speak the truth? has he really forgotten?” the chief asked with some vivacity. 38 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. “ Why not ?” the Canadian answered cautiously. “ I have not a forked tongue, the words my mouth utters come from my heart. I have not for- gotten the treatment you made me undergo, T should lie if 1 said so : but I have forgiven it.” “ Ochi ! my brother is a greatheart : he is generous.” “ No : I am merely a man who knows Indian customs, that is all : you did no more and no less than all the redskins do under similar circumstances : 1 can- not be angry with you for having acted according to your nature.” There was a silence ; the two men went on smoking. The Indian was the first to interrupt it. “ Then, my brother is a friend V 7 he said. “ And you 1” the hunter asked, an- swering one question by another. The chief rose with a gesture full of majesty, and threw back the folds of his buffalo robe. “ Would an enemy come like this?” he asked, in a gentle voice. The Canadian could not repress a movement of surprise ; the Blackfoot was unarmed, his girdle was empty : he had not even his scalping knife — that weapon from which the Indians part so unwillingly. Brighteye offered him his hand. “ Shake hands, chief,” he said to him. “ You are a man of heart : now speak, I am listening to you : and, in the first place, will you have a draught of fire- water ?” “ The fire-water is an evil counsellor,” the chief replied, with a smile ; “ it makes the Indians mad: Natah Otann does not drink it.” “ Come, come, I see that I was mis- taken with regard to you, chief ; that pleases me ; speak, my ears are open.” “What I have to say to Brighteye other ears must not listen to.” “ My friends are in a deep sleep, you can speak without fear ; and even if they were awake, as you know, they do not understand your language.” The Indian shook his head. “ Glass-eye knows everything,” he replied, “ the Grizzly Bear will not speak before him.” “As you please, chief: still, I would remark that I have nothing to say to you : you can speak, therefore, or be silent at your ease.” Natah Otann seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then continued : “ Brighteye will follow his friend to the river bank, and there listen to the words of the Blackfoot chief.” “ Hum!” the hunter said, “and who will watch over my companions during my absence? No, no,” he added, “ I cannot do that, chief. The redskins have the cunning of the opossum: while I am near the river, my friends may be surprised. Who will respond for their safety ?” The Indian rose. “The word of a chief,” he said, in a proud voice, and with a gesture full of majesty The Canadian looked at him atten- tively. Listen, Redskin,” he said to him, “ I do not doubt your honor, so do not take in ill part what 1 am going to say to you.” “ I listen to my brother,” the Indian answered. “ ! must watch over my companions. Since you insist* on speaking to me in secret, I consent to follow you, but on one condition, that I do not lay aside my weapons : in that way, should one of those things happen, which are too common on the prairie, and which no human foresight can prevent, I shall be able to face the danger and sell my life dearly : if what 1 propose suits you, 1 am ready to follow you, if not, not.” “ Good,” the Indian said, with a smile, “ my pale brother is right, a true hun- ter never quits his weapons. Bright- eye may follow his friend.” “ Very well, then,” the Canadian said, resolutely, as he threw his rifle on his shoulder. Natah Otann began descending the hill. While gliding noiselessly through the shrubs and thickets, the Canadian walked literally in his footsteps, but though pretending the most perfect se- curity, he did not omit carefully exam- ing the vicinity, and lending an ear to the slightest sound, but all was calm and silent in the desert, and after some ten minutes’ walk the two men reached the river side. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 39 The Mechachebi rolled its waters majestically in a bed of golden sand, while at times a few vague shadows ap- peared on the bank : they were wild beasts coming to drink in the river. Two leagues from them, at the top of the hill, sparkled the last flames of an expiring fire, which appeared at inter- vals between the branches. Natali Otann stopped at the extremity of a species of small promontory, the point of which advanced some distance into the water. This spot was entirely free from vegetation: the eye c >uld survey the prairie for a great distance, and de- tect the slightest movement in the desert. “ Does this place suit the hunter ?” the chief asked. “ Capitally,” Brighteye replied, rest- ing the butt of his rifle on the ground, and crossing his hands over the muzzle ; “ I am ready to hear the communication my brother wishes to make to me.” The Indian walked up and down the sand with folded arms and drooping head, like a man who is reflecting deeply. The hunter followed him with his glance, waiting calmly, till he thought proper to offer an explanation. It was easy to see that Natah Otann was ripening in his brain one of those bold projects such as Indians frequently imagine, but knew not how to enter upon it. The hunter resolved to put a stop to this state of things. “ Come,” he said, “ my brother has made me leave my camp; he invited me to follow him ; I consented to do so : now that, according to his desire, we are free from human ears, will he not speak, so that I may return to my companions ?’’ The Indian stopped before him. “ My brother will remain,” he said ; “ the hour is come for an explanation between us. My brother loves Glass- eye?” The hunter regarded his querist craft- ily. “ What good of that question ?” he asked ; “ it must be a matter of indiffer- ence to the chief whether I love or not the man he pleases to call Glass-eye.” “ A chief never loses his time in vain discourses,” the Indian said, peremptori ly, “ the words his lips utter are always simple, and go straight to the point : let my brother then answer as clearly as 1 interrogate him.” “ 1 see no great inconvenience in doing so. Yes, I love Glass-eye; I love him not only because he saved my life, but because he is one of the most honorable men 1 ever met.” “ Good ! for what purpose does Glass- eye traverse the prairie? my brother doubtlessly knows.” “ My faith, no ; I confess to you, chief, my ignorance on that head is com- plete. Still, I fancy that, wearied with the life of cities, he has come here with no other object than to calm his soul by the sublime aspect of nature, and the grand melodies of the desert.” The Indian shook his head ; the hun- ter’s metaphysical ideas and poetic phra- ses w r ere so much Hebrew to him, and he did not understand them. “ Natah Otann,” he said, “ is a chief, he has not a forked tongue ; the words he utters are as clear as the blood in his veins. Why does not the hunter speak his language to him ?” o o ^ “ I answer your questions, chief, and that is all. Do you fancy that I would go out of my way to interrogate my friend as to his intentions? They do not concern me ; I have no right to seek in a man’s heart for the motive ot his actions.” “ Good ! my brother speaks well ; his head is grey, and his experience long.” “That is possible, chief; at any rate you and 1 are not on such friendly terms that we should exchange our thoughts without some restriction, 1 fancy ; you have kept me here for an hour without saying anything, so it is better for us to separate/ 5 “ Not yet.” “ Why not? do you imagine I am like you, and that instead of sleeping o’ nights as an honest Christian should do, 1 amuse myself with rushing about the prairie like a jaguar in search of prey ?” The Indian began laughing. “ Wah !” he said, “ My brother is very clever ; nothing escapes him.” “ By Jingo ! there is no great clever- ness in guessing what you are doing here.” 40 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. “ Good ! then let my brother listen.” “ I will do so, but on the condition that you lay aside once for all those In- dian circumlocutions in which you so adroitly conceal your real thoughts.” “ My brother will open his ears, the words of his friend will reach his heart.” “Come, make an end of it.” “ As my brother loves Glass-eye, he will tell him from Natah Otann that a great danger threatens him.” “ Ah !” the Canadian said, casting a suspicious glance at the other, “ and what may the danger be?” “ I cannot explain further.” “ Very good,” Brighteye remarked, with a grin, “ the information is valua- ble, though not very explicit; and pray what must we do to escape the great danger that menaces us ?” “ My brother will wake his friend, they will mount their horses and retire at full speed, not stopping till they have crossed the river.” “ Hum ! and when we have done that, we shall have nought more to fear ?” “ Nothing.” “ Only think of that,” the hunter said, ironically, “and when ought w r e to start ? ’ “ At once.” “ Better still.” Brighteye walked a few paces thought- fully ; then he returned, and stood be- fore the chief, whose eyes sparkled in the gloom like those of a tiger-cat, and who followed his every movement. “ Then,” he said, “ you cannot reveal to me the reason that forces us to depart ?” “ No !” “ It is equally impossible, I suppose, for you to tell me of the nature of the danger that menaces us he went on. “ Yes.” “ Is that your last w r ord ?” The Indian bowed his head in affirma- tion. “Very good, as it is so,” Brighteye said, all at once, striking the ground with the butt of his rifle, “I will tell it you.” “ You ?” “Yes, listen to me carefully; it will not be long, and will interest you, 1 hope.” The chief smiled ironically. “ My ears are open,” he said. “ All the better, for 1 shall fill them with news which, perhaps, will not please you.” “ I listen,” the impassive Indian re- peated. “ As you said to me a moment back — and the confidence on your part was useless, for 1 have known you so long on the prairie — the redskins have the eyes of an eagle, and they are birds of prey whom nothing escapes.” “ Go on.” “ Here I am ; your scouts have dis- covered, as was not difficult, the trail of an emigrant family ; that trail you have been following a long time so as not to miss your blow ; supposing that the moment had arrived to deal it, you have assembled Comanches, Sioux, and Blackfeet, all demons of the same breed, in order this very night to attack people whom you have been watching for so many days, and whose riches you covet, because you suppose them so great — eh ?” Natah Otann’s face revealed no emo- tion. He remained calm, although in- ternally restless and furious at having his thoughts so well guessed. “ There is truth in what the hunter sa t ys,” he replied, coldly. “ It is all true,” Brighteye exclaimed. “ Perhaps ; but I do not see in it for what reason I should have come here to warn my pale face brother.” “ Ah, you do not see that ; very w r ell. I will explain it to you. You came to seek me, because you are perfectly well aware that Glass-eye, as you call him, is not the man to allow the crime you meditate to be committed in his pre sence.” The Blackfoot shrugged his shoulder 0 . “ Can a warrior, however brave he may be, hold his ground against four hun- dred ?” he said. % “ Certainly not,” Brighteye w T ent on ; “ but he can control them by his pre- sence, and employ his ascendancy over them to compel them to give up their prospects; and that is what Glass-eye will undoubtedly do, for reasons of which 1 am ignorant, for all of you have for him an incomprehensible respect THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 41 and veneration, and as you fear lest you may see him come among you at the first shot fired, terrible as the destroy- ing angel, you seek to remove him by a pretext, plausible with any one else, but which will produce on him no other effect than making him engage in the affair. Come, is that really all ? have I completely uumasked you ? Reply.” “ My brother knows all, 1 repeat ; his wisdom is great.” “ Now, I presume, you have nothing to add? Very well, good-night.” “ A moment.” “ What more ?” “ You must.” “ Very well ; but make haste.” “ My brother has spoken in his own cause, but not in that of Glass-eye ; let him wake his friend, and impart our conversation to him ; mayhap he is mistaken.” “ I do not believe it, chief,” the hunter answered, with a shake of his head. “ That is possible,” the Indian per- sisted ; “ but let my brother do as I have asked him.” “ You lay great stress on it, chief!” “ Great.” “ I do not wish to vex you about such a trifle. Well ! you will soon al- low that 1 was right.” “Possibly; I will await my brother’s reply for half an hour.” “Very good ; but where shall I bring it to you ?” “ Nowhere !” the Indian exclaimed, sharply. “ If I am right, my brother will imitate the cry of the magpie twice ; if I am mistaken, it will be that of the owl.” “ Very good, that’s agreed ; you shall soon hear, chief.” The Indian bowed gracefully. “May the Wacondah be with my brother !” he said. After this courteous salutation, the two men parted. The Canadian care- lessly threw his rifle on his shoulder, and stalked back to his camp, while the Indian followed him with his glance, ap- parently remaining insensible ; but as soon as the hunter had disappeared, the chief lay down in the sand, glided along in the shade like a serpent, and in his turn disappeared amid the bushes, fol lowing the direction taken by Bright- eye, though at a considerable distance. The latter did not fancy himself fol- lowed ; he therefore paid no attention to what went on around him, and re- gained his camp without noticing any- thing of an extraordinary nature. Had not the Canadian been preoccupied, and his old experience lulled to sleep for the moment, he would have certainly per- ceived, with that penetration which dis- tinguished him, that the desert was not in its usual state of tranquillity : he would have felt unusual tremors in the leaves, and possibly have seen eyes flashing in the shade of the tall grass. He soon reached the camp where the Count and Ivon were sleeping pro- foundly. Brighteye hesitated a few seconds ere awakening the young man whose sleep was peaceful ; still, reflect- ing that the least imprudence might en- tail terrible consequences, whose result it was impossible to calculate, he bent over him, and gently touched his shoul- der. Though the touch was so slight, it sufficed to wake the Count ; he opened his eyes, sat up, and looking at the old hunter — “ Is there anything fresh, Brighteye?” he asked. “Yes, Sir Count;” the Canadian re- plied, seriously. “ Oh, oh, how gloomy you are, my good fellow,” the young man said, with a laugh. “What’s the matter then?” “Nothing, yet; but we may soon have a row with the Redskins.” “All the better, for that will warm us, as it is horribly cold,” he replied, shivering. “But how do you know the fact ?” “ During your sleep 1 received a vis- itor.” “Ah?” “ Yes.” “ And who was the person who se- lected such an important moment to pay you a visit ?” “ The sachem of the Blackfeet.” “Natah Otann?” “ Himself.” “ Upon my word, he must be a som- nambulist, to amuse himself by walking about the desert at night.” 42 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ He does not walk, he watches.” “Oh, I am in a bother; so keep me no longer in suspense; tell me what passed between you. Natah Otann is not the man to put himself out of the way without strong reasons, and I am burning to know them.” “ You shall judge.” Without any further preface, the hun- ter described in its fullest details the conversation he had with the chief. “ By Jove ! that’s serious,” the Count said, when Brighteve had ended his story. “ This Natah Otann is a gloomy scoundrel, whose plans you fully pene- trated, and you behaved splendidly in answering him so categorically. For what has this villain taken me? Does he fancy, 1 wonder, that I shall act as his accomplice ? Let him dare to attack those poor devils of emigrants down there, and by the saints. I swear to you, Brighteye, that blood will be shed between us, if you help me.” “ Can you doubt it ?” “No, my friend, I thank you; with you and my coward of an Ivon, 1 shall manage to put them to flight.” “ Is my lord calling me ?” the Breton asked, raising his head. “ No, no, Ivon, my good fellow ; I only say that we shall soon have some fighting.” The Breton emitted a sigh, and mut- tered, as he lay down again, — “ Ah ! if I had as much courage as I possess goodwill ; but alas ! as you know, I am a wonderful coward, and 1 shall prove more harm to you than good.” “You will do all you can, my friend, and that will be sufficient.” Ivon sighed in reply. Brighteye had listened laughingly to this colloquy. The Breton still possessed the privilege of astonishing him, for he did not at all comprehend his singular organization. The Count turned towards him. “ So it is settled 1” he said. “ Settled,” the hunter answered. “ Then give the signal, my friend.” “ The owl, I suppose ?” “ By Jove !” the Count said. Brighteye raised his finger to his mouth, and, as had been agreed with Natah Otann, imitated twice the cry of the owl, with rare perfection. Hardly had the' echo of the last cry died away, than a great rumor was heard in the bushes, and before the three men had time to put themselves in a posture of defence, some twenty Indians rushed upon them, disarmed them in a twink- ling, and reduced them to a state of ut- ter defencelessness. The Count shrugg- ed his shoulders, leant against a tree, and thrusting his glass in his eye, said : “ This is very funny.” “ Well, I can’t see the point of the joke,” muttered Ivon, in a grand aside. Among the Indians, whom it was easy to recogn ; ze as Blackfeet, was Na- tah Otann. After removing the wea- pons of the white men, so that they could not attempt a surprise this time, he walked towards the hunter. “ I warned Brighteye,” he said. The hunter smiled contemptuously. “ You warned us after the fashion of redskins,” he replied. “ What does my brother mean ?” “ I mean that you warned us of a danger that threatened us, and not that you intended treachery.” “It is the same thing, it is the same thing,” the Indian replied, with utter calmness. “ Brighteye, my friend, do not argue with those scoundrels,” the Count said. And turning haughtily to the chief: “ Come ! what do you want of us V he asked. Since his arrival on the prairie, and through his constant contact with the Indians the Count had almost unconsci- ously learned their language, which he spoke rather fluently. “ We do not wish to do you any hurt; we only intend to prevent your interference in our affairs,” Natah Otann said, respectfully ; “ we should be very sorry to have recourse to vio- lent measures.” The young man burst into a laugh. “ You are humbugs ! I can manage to escape in spite of you.” “ L'*t my brother try it.” “ When the moment arrives ; as for the present, it is not worth the trou- ble !” While speaking in this light tone, the young- man took his case from his pock- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 43 et, chase a cigar, and, pulling out a lu- cifer match, stooped down and rubbed it on a stone. The Indians, considera- bly puzzled by his movements, followed them anxiously; but suddenly they ut- tered a yell of terror, and fell back sev- eral paces. The match had caught fire with the friction ; a delicious blue flame sported about its extremity. The Count carelessly twisted the slight mor- sel of wood between his fingers, while waiting till all the sulphur was con- sumed. He did not notice the terror of the Indians. The latter, with a movement as swift as thought, stooped down, and each picking up the first piece of wood he found at his feet, all began rubbing it against the stones. The Count in amazement looked at them, not yet un- derstanding what they were about. — Natah Otann seemed to hesitate for a moment ; a smile of strange meaning played, rapidly as lightning, over his gloomy features; but reassuming al- most immediately his cold impassive- ness, he took a step forward, and re- spectfully bowing before the Count, — “ My father commands the fire of the sun,” he said with all the appearance of a mysterious terror, while pointing to the match. The young man smiled; he had guessed the secret. “ Which of you,” he said, haughtily, “would dare to contend with me?” The Indians regarded each other with amazement. These men so intrepid and accustomed to brave the greatest dangers, were vanquished by the in- comprehensible power their prisoner possessed. As, while talking to the chief, the Count had not watched his match, it had gone out before he could use it, and he threw it away. The In- dians rushed upon it, to assure them- selves that the flame was real. With- out appearing to attach any importance to this action, the Count drew a second 3 match from his box, and renewed his experiment. His triumph was com- plete ; the redskins, in their terror, fell at his feet, imploring him to pardon them. Henceforth he might dare any- thing. These primitive men terrified by the two miracles he had performed, regarded him as a superior being to themselves, and were completely mas- tered by him. While Brighteye laugh- ed in his sleeve at the Indians’ simpli- city, the young man cleverly employed his triumph. “You see what I can do,” he said. “We see it,” Natah Otann made an- swer. “ When do you intend to attack the emigrants ?” “ When the moon has set, the war- riors of the tribe will assault their camp.” “ And you ?” “ Will guard our brother.” “ So you now fancy that is possible,” the Count said, haughtily. The redskins shuddered at the flash of his glance. “ Our brother will pardon us,” the chief replied, submissively ; “ we only knew him imperfectly.” “ And now ?” “ Now we know that he is our mas- ter, let him command, and we will obey.” “ Take care !” he said, in a tone which made them shudder ; “ for I am about to put your obedience to a rude trial.” “ Our ears are open to receive our brother’s words.” “ Draw nearer.” The Blackfeet took a few hesitating steps in advance, for they were not yet completely reassured. “And now listen to me attentively,” he said, “ and when you have received my orders, take care to execute them thoroughly.” 44 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. CHAPTER V. THE STRANGE WOMAN. We are now obliged to return to the Americans’ camp. As we have said, Black and his son were mounting guard, and the pioneer was far from easy in his mind. Although not yet possessed of all the experience required for a de- sert life, the four months he had spent in fatiguing marches and continued alarms had endowed him with a certain degree of vigilance, which, under exist- ing circumstances, might prove very useful ; not, perhaps, to prevent an at- tack, but, at least, to repulse it. The situation of his camp was, besides, ex- cellent ; for from it he surveyed the prairie for a great distance, and could easily perceive the approach of an ene- my. Father and son were seated by the fire, rising from time to time, in turn, to cast glances over the desert, and as- sure themselves that nothing menaced their tranquility. Black was a man gifted with an iron will and a lion’s courage ; hitherto his schemes had been unsuccessful, and he had sworn to make himself an honorable position, no mat- ter at what cost. He was the descendant of an old family of squatters. The squatter be- ing an individuality peculiar to Ameri- ca, and vainly sought elsewhere, we will describe him as he is, in a few words. On the lands belonging to the United States, not yet cleared or put up for sale, large numbers of persons have set- tled, with the desire of eventually pur- chasing their lots. These inhabitants are called squatters. We will not say that they are the pick of the western emigrants, but we know that, in certain districts, they have constituted them- selves a regular Government, and have elected magistrates to watch over the execution of the Draconian laws they have themselves laid down to insure the tranquility of the territories they have invaded. But by the side of these quasi-honest squatters, who bow their necks beneath a yoke that is often harsh, there is another class of squatters who understand the possession of land in its widest sense ; that is to say, whenever they discover, in their vaga- bond peregrinations, a tract of land that suits them, they install themselves there without any further inquiry, and car- ing nothing for the rightful owner, who, when he arrives with his laborers to till his estate, is quite annoyed to find it is in the hands of an individual, who, trust- ing to the axiom that possession is nine points of the law, refuses to give it up, and if he insist, drives him away by means of his rifle and revolver. We know a capital story of a gentle- man, who, starting from New York with two hundred laborers, to clear a virgin forest he had purchased some ten years previously, and never turned to any use, found on arriving at his claim, a town of four thousand souls built on the site of his virgin forest, of which not a tree remained. After numberless discussions, the said gantleman esteem- ed himself very fortunate in being able to depart with a whole skin, and with out paying damages to his despoilers, whom he had momentarily hoped to oust. But there is no more chance of ousting a squatter, than you can get a dollar out of a Yankee, when he has once pocketed it. John Black belonged to the former of the two classes we have described. When he reached the age of twenty, his father gave him an axe, a rifle, with twenty charges of powder, and a bowie knife, saying to him — • “ Listen, boy. You are now tall and strong ; it would be a shame for you to remain longer a burthen on me. 1 have your two brothers to support. Ameri- ca is large; there is no want of land. Go in God’s name, and never let me hear of you again. With the weapons [ give you, and the education you have received, your fortune will soon be made, if you like: before all, avoid all disagreeable disputes, and try not to be hanged.” After this affectionate address, the father tenderly embraced his son, put him out of the cabin, and slammed the door in his face. From that moment John Black had never heard of his fath- er — it is true that he never tried to ob- tain any news about him. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 45 Life had been rough to him at the outset; but owing to his character, and a certain elasticity of principle, the sole inheritance his family had given him, he had contrived to gain a livelihood, and bring up his children without any great privations. Either through the isola- tion in which he had passed his youth, or for some other reason we are igno- rant of, Black adored his wife and chil- dren, and would not have parted from them on any account. When fatality compelled him to give up the farm he occupied, and look for another, he set out gaily, sustained by the love of his family, no member of which was un- grateful for the sacrifices he imposed on himself; and he had resolved to go this time so far, that no one would ever come to dispossess him, for he had been obliged to surrender his farm to its legitimate proprietor, which he had done on the mere exhibition of the title- deeds, without dreaming of resistance — conduct which had been greatly blamed by all his neighbors. Black wished to see his family happy, and watched over it with the jealous tenderness of a hen for its chicks. Thus, on this evening, an extreme alarm had preyed on him, though he could not explain the cause : the disappear- ance of the Indians did not seem to him natural ; everything around was too calm, the silence of the desert too pro- found : he could not remain at any one spot, and, in spite of his son’s remarks, rose every moment to take a look over the entrenchments. William felt for his father a great affection, mingled with respect : the state in which he saw him vexed him the more, because there was nothing to account for his extraordinary restless- ness. “ Good gracious, father !” he said, “ do not trouble yourself so much ; it really causes me pain to see you in such a state. Do you suppose that the Indians would have attacked us by such a moonlight as this ? Look, objects can be distinguished as in broad day ; I am certain you might even read the Bible by the silvery rays.” “ You are right for the present mo- ment, Will. The Redskins are too I crafty to face our rifles during the moon- shine; but in an hour the moon will have set, and the darkness will then protect them sufficiently to allow them to reach the foot of tiie barricade un- noticed.” “ Do not imagine they will attempt it, my dear lather ! those red devils have seen us sufficiently close to know that they can only expect a volley of bullets from us.” “ Ilum. I am not of your opinion ; our beasts would be riches to them : 1 do not wish to abandon them, as we should then be compelled to return to the plantations to procure others, which would be most disagreeable, you will allow.” “It is true; but we shall not be re- duced to that extremity.” “ May Heaven grunt it, my boy ; but do you hear nothing?” The young mall listened attentively. “No,” he said, at the end of a mo- ment. The emigrant proceeded with a sigh : “ I visited the river bank this morning, and I have rarely seen a spot better suited for a settlement. The virgin forest that extends behind us would supply excellent firewood, without reck- oning the magnificent plarvks to be obtained from it : there are several hun- dred acres around, which, from their proximity to the water, would produce, 1 am certain, excellent crops.” “Would you feel inclined to settle here, then ?” “ Have you any objection ?” “ 1 — none at all ! provided that we can live and work together. I care lit- tle at what place we stop ; this spot ap- pears to me as good as another, and it is far enough from the settlements to prevent our being turned out, at least for a great number of years.” “ That is exactly my view.” At this moment a gentle quivering ran along the tall grass. “ This time I am certain I am not mistaken,” the emigrant exclaimed ; “ 1 heard something.” “ And I, too !” the young man said, rising quickly, and seizing his rifle. The tuvo men hurried to the entrench- ments, but they saw nothing of a suspi- 46 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. cious nature : the prairie was still per- fectly calm. “ ’Tis some wild beast going down to drink, or returning,” Will said, to re- assure his father. “ No, no,” the latter replied, with a shake of the head ; “ it is not the noise made by any animal— it was the echo of a man’s footfall, I am convinced.” “ The simplest way is to go and see.” “ Come, then.” The two men resolutely climbed over the entrenchments, and with rifles out- stretched, went round the camp, care- fully searching the bushes, and assuring themselves that no foe lurked in them. “ Well?” they each exclaimed, when they met. “ Nothing — and you ?” “ Nothing.” “ It is strange,” John Black mutter- ed, “ and yet the noise was very dis- tinct.” “ That is true ; but I repeat, father, that it was nothing but an animal leap- ing somewhere near. In a night so calm as this, the slightest sound is heard for a great distance ; besides, we are now certain that no one is concealed near us.” “ Let us go back,” the emigrant said, thoughtfully. They began climbing over the en- trenchments ; but both stopped sudden- ly, by mutual agreement, hardly check- ing a cry of amazement, almost of terror. They had just perceived a hu- man being, whose outline it was impos- sible to trace at such a distance, crouch- ed over the fire. ‘‘This time I will have it out,” the emigrant exclaimed, taking a prodigious bound into the camp. “ And I, too,” his son murmured, as he followed his example. But when they came opposite their strange visitor, their surprise was re- doubled. In spite of themselves, they stopped to gaze on the stranger, without thinking to ask how she had entered their camp, and by what right she had done so. As far as they could form a judge- ment, they soon began to consider the extraordinary being before them — a wo- man ; but years, the mode of life she led, and perchance cares, had furrowed her face with such a multitude of cross hatchings, that it was impossible to con- jecture her age, or whether she had formerly been lovely. The large black eyes, surmounted by thick brows cross- ing her curved nose, and deep sunk, flashed with a gloomy fire ; her salient and empurpled cheek bones, her large mouth studded with dazzling teeth, and her thin lips and square chin, gave her at first an appearance which was far from arousing sympathy and exciting confidence ; while her long black hair, matted with leaves and grass, fell in disorder on her shoulders. She wore a costume more suited for a man than a woman. It was composed of a long robe of buffalo hide, with short sleeves, fastened on the hips by a girdle bedizened with beads. This robe had the skirt fringed v/ith feathers, and only came down to the knee. Her mitasses were fastened round the ancles, and reached slightly above the knee, where they were held up by garters of buflalo hide. Her humpis , or slippers, were plain and unornamented. She wore iron rings on her wrist, two or three bead collars round her neck, and ear- rings. From her girdle hung on one side a powder-flask, an axe, and a bowie- knife ; on the other, a bullet-pouch, and a long Indian pipe. Across her knees lay a rather handsome gun, of English manufacture. She was crouching over the fire, which she gazed at fixedly, with her chin on the palm of her hand. On the arrival of the Americans, she did not rise, and did not even appear to notice their presence. After examining her attentively for some time, Black walked up, and, tapping her on the shoulder, said : “ You are welcome, woman ; it seems as if you were cold, and the fire does not displease you.” She slowly raised her head on feeling the touch, and, fixing on her questioner a gloomy glance, in which it was easy to perceive a slight wildness, she re- plied in English, in a hollow voice and with guttural accent : “ The pale faces are mad ; they ever think themselves in their towns ; they THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 4 V forget that in the prairie the trees have ears and the leaves eyes to see and hear all that is done. The Blackfeet Indians raise their hair very skilfully .” Ttu two men looked at each other on hearing these words, whose meaning they were afraid to guess, though they seemed somewhat obscure. “ Are you hungry ? will you eat ?” John Black continued, “ or is it thirst that troubles you ? I can, if you like, give you a good draught of fire-water to warm you.” The woman frowned. “ Fire-water is good for Indian squaws,” she said ; “ what good would it do me to drink it ? Others will come who will soon dispose of it. Do you know how many hours you still have to live ?” The emigrant shuddered, in spite of himself, at this species of menace. “ Why speak to me thus V’ he asked, “have you any cause of complaint against me V 1 “ I care little,” she continued. “ I am not among the living, since my heart is dead.” She turned her head in every direc- tion with a slow and solemn movement, while carefully examining the country. “ Stay,” she continued, pointing with her lean arm to a mound of grass a short distance off, “ ’twas there he fell — ’tis there he rests. His head was cleft asunder by an axe during his sleep — poor James ! This spot is ill-omened : do you not know it? The vultures and the crows alone stay here at long inter- vals. Why, then, have you come here 1 Are you weary of life ? Do you hear them ? They are approaching ; they will soon be here.” Father and son exchanged a glance. “ She is mad. Poor creature !” Black muttered. “Yes; that is what they all say on the prairies,” she exclaimed, with some accusation in her voice. “ They call me Ohucahauck ChiJce (the evil one of the earth), because they fear me as their evil genius. You, also, fancy me mad, eh ! ah ! ah ! ah !” She burst into a strident laugh, which ended in a sob ; she buried her face in her hands, and wept. The two men felt awed in spite of themselves; this strange grief, these incoherent words, all aroused their interest in favor of this poor creature, who appeared so unhappy. Pity was at work in their hearts, and they regarded her silently without dar- ing to disturb her. In a few moments she raised her head, passed the back of her hand over her eyes to dry them, and spoke again. The wild expression had disappeared; the very sound of her voice was no longer the same ; as if by enchantment, a complete change had taken place in her. “Pardon,” she said, mournfully, “the extravagant words I have uttered. The solitude in which I live, and the heavy burden of woe which has crushed me so long, at times trouble my reason; and then the place where we now stand re- minds me of terrible scenes, whose cruel memory will never be erased from my mind.” “ Madam, I assure you — ,” John Black continued, not knowing what he said, so great was his surprise. “ Now the fit has passed away.” She interrupted him with a gentle and melancholy smile, which gave her coun- tenance a very different expression from that the Americans had hitherto re- marked. “ I have been following you for the last two days to come to your help ; the redskins are preparing to at- tack you — ” The two men shuddered : and, for- getting all else to think only of the pressing danger, they cast a restless glance around them. “ You know it ?” Black exclaimed. “ I know all,” she answered ; “ but reassure yourselves. You have still two hours ere their horrible w'ar-cry will sound in your ears : that is more than enough to render you sate.” “ Oh ! we have good rifles and keen sight,” said William, clutching his wea- * pon in his nervous hands. “ What can four rifles, however good they may be, do against two or three hundred tigers thirsting for blood, like those you will have to fight ? You do not know the redskins, young man.” “ That is true,” he answered ; “ but what is to be done ?” “ Seek a refuge ? — where find help in 48 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. these immense solitudes V’ the father added, casting a despairing glance around him. “ Did I not tell you I wished to help you V 1 she said, sharply. “ Yes, you told us so ; but I try in vain to detect of what use you can be to us.” i She smiled a melancholy smile. “ It is your good angel that brought •Kou to the spot where you now are. While I was matching you all the day, 1 trembled lest you might not encamp here. Come !” The two men, surprised by the as- cendancy this strange creature had gained over them in a few minutes, followed her without reply. After walking about a dozen steps, she stopped, and turned toward them. “ Look,” she said, stretching out her thin arm in a north-west direction, “ your enemies are there, scarce two leagues off, bu’ ied in the tall grass. I have heard their plans, and was present at their council, though they little sus- pected it. They are only waiting for the moon to set, ere they attack you. You have scarce an hour left.” “ My poor wife !” Black murmured. “ It is impossible for me to save you all : to fancy it would be madness ; but 1 can, if you wish it, attempt to save your wife and daughter from the fate that menaces them.” “ Speak ! speak !” “ This tree, at the foot of which we are now standing, although apparently possessing all the vigor of youth, is internally hollow, so that only the bark stands upright. Your wife and daughter, supplied with some provisions, will get into the tree and remain there in safety till the danger has passed away. As for ourselves ” “ As for us,” Black quickly inter- rupted her, “ we are men accustomed to danger : our fate is in the hands of God.” “ Good ; but do not despair : all is not lost yet.” The American shook his head. * “ As you said yourself, what can four men do against a legion of demons like those who menace us 1 but that is not the question of the moment. I do not see the hole by which my wife and daughter can enter the tree.” “It is twenty to twenty-four feet up, hidden among the branches and leaves.” “ The Lord be praised ! they will be sheltered.” “Yes; but make haste and warn them, while your son and I make all the preparations.” Black, convinced of the necessity of haste, ran off, while the stranger and William constructed, with that dexter- ity produced by the approach of dan- ger, a species of har.dy ladder, by which the two women could not merely ascend the tree, but go down into the cavity. Black waked the ladies, and called the servants : in a few words he explained to them what was passing; then, load- ing his wife and daughter with provi- sions, furs, ana other indispensable ob- jects, he led them to the spot where the stranger was expecting them. “ This is my most precious treasure,” Black said ; “if I save it, I shall be solely indebted to you.” The two ladies began thanking their mysterious protectress ; but she im- posed silence on them by a peremptory gesture. “ Presently, presently,” she said, “ if we escape, we shall have plenty of time for mutual congratulations ; but at this moment we have something more im- portant to do than exchange compli- ments. We must get into a place of safety.” The tw r o ladies fell back, quite re- pulsed by this rough reception, while casting a curious and alarmed glance on the strange creature. But the latter, perfectly stoical, seemed to notice no- thing. She explained, in a few clear words, the means she had found to con- ceal them : recommended them to re- main silent in the hollow tree, and then ordered them to mount. The two ladies, after embracing Black and his son, began resolutely ascending the rungs of the improvised ladder. They reached in a few seconds an enormous branch, on which they stopped, by the orders of the stranger. Blaftk then threw down into the interior of the tree THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 49 the furs and provisions, after which the ladder was placed inside, and the ladies glided through the hole. “We leave you the ladder, which is useless to us,” the stranger then said. “ But be very careful not to come out till you have seen me again ; the least imprudence, under the circumstances, might cost your lives. However, keep your minds at rest. Your imprison- ment will not be long, a few hours at most : so be of good cheer.” The ladies once again tried to express their gratitude; but, without listening, the stranger made Black a sign to fol- low her, and rapidly descended from the tree. Aided by the Americans, she then began removing every trace that might have revealed where the ladies were bestowed. When the stranger had assured herself, by a final glance, that all was in order, and nothing could betray those who were so famously hid- den, she sighed, and, followed by the two men, walked to the intrenchments. “ Now,” she said, “ let us watch at- tentively around us, for these demons will probably crawl close up in the shadows. You are free and honest Americans, show these accursed Indians what you can do.” “ Let them come !” Black muttered, hoarsely. “ They will soon do so,” she replied, and pointed to several almost imper- ceptible black dots, which, however, grew larger, and were evidently ap- proaching the encampment. CHAPTER VI. THE DEFENCE OF THE CAMP. The redskins have a mode of fighting which foils all the methods employed by European tactics, in order to un- derstand their system properly, we must, in the first place, bear in mind that the Indian idea of honor is different from ours. This understood, the rest may be easily admitted. The Indians, in undertaking an enterprise, have only one object — success, and all means are good to attain it. Gifted with incon- testable courage, at times rash to an ex- cess, stopping at nothing, and recoiling before no difficulty — for all that, when the success of these enterprises appears to them dubious, and that consequently the object is missed, they retire as eaily as they advanced, not considering their honor compromised by a retreat, or by leaving the battle-fietd to an enemy more powerful than themselves, or well on his guard. Thus, their system of fighting is most simple, and they only proceed by sur- prises. The redskins will follow the enemy’s trail for entire months with unequalled patience, never relaxing their watch for a moment, spying him night and day, while ever careful not to be themselves surprised : then, vt hen the occasion at last presents itself, And they fancy the moment arrived to execute the project, all the chances for o ** against which they have so long ca’culated, they act with a vigor and fuiy which frequently disconcert those they attack; but if after the first onset they are re- pulsed — if they see that those they at- tack will not let themselves be intimi- dated, and are prepared to resist, then, on a given signal, they disappear as if by enchantment, and, without any shame, begin watching again for a more favorable moment. Black, on the advice of the stranger, had placed himself and his party in such positions that they could survey the prairie in every direction. The stran- ger and himself were leaning on their rifles in the angle that faced the river. The prairie at this moment presented a singular appearance. The breeze which at sunset had risen with a certain strength, was gently dying out, scarce bending the tops of the great trees. The moon, almost departed, only cast over the landscape an uncertain and timorous gleam, which, in lieu of dissi- pating the gloom, only rendered the darkness visible, through the striking contrasts between the obscurity and the pale and fugitive rays of the declining planet. At times, a dull roar or a sharp bark rose in the silence, and, like a sinister appeal, reminded the emigrant that im- placable and ferocious enemies were on 50 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. the watch around, although invisible. The purity of the atmosphere was so great, that the slightest sound could be heard for an immense distance, and it was easy to distinguish the enormous blocks of granite that formed black dots on the ground. “ Do you know for certain that we shall be attacked this night?” the American asked, in a low voice. “ I was present at the last council of the chiefs,” the unknown replied dis- tinctly. The emigrant bent on her a scrutin- izing glance, which she recognized, and immediately understood ; she shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “ Take care,” she said to him with a certain emphasis, “ let not doubt invade your mind ; what interest should l have in deceiving you ?” “ I know not,” he replied, dreamily, “ but I also ask myself what interest you have in defending me ?” “None; since you place the matter on that footing, what do I care whether your wealth is plundered, your wife, your daughter, and yourself scalped ? it is a matter of supreme indifference to me, but must the affair be only regard- ed from .that side ? Do you imagine that material interests have a great weight with me ? if that is your opin- ion I shall withdraw, leaving you to get out of your present position in the best way you can.” While uttering these words, she had thrown her rifle over her shoulder, and prepared to climb over the palisade, but Black quickly checked her. “You do not unders'and me,” he said ; “ any man in my place would act as I do ; my position is fearful you allow it, yourself; you entered my camp, and it is impossible for me to guess how. Still, 1 have hitherto put the utmost confidence in you, as you cannot deny ; but I do not know who you are, or what motive causes you to act. Your words, far from explaining, plunge me, on the contrary, into great- er uncertainty ; the safety of my entire family and all I possess is at stake; re- flect seriously on all this, and I defy you to disapprove of my not putting ut- ter confidence in you, although you are, doubtlessly, deserving of it, so long as I do not know who you are.” “ Yes,” she answered, after a mo- ments’ reflection, “ you are right, the world is so, people must first of all give their name and quality ; egotism is so thoroughly the master over the whole surface of the globe, that even to do a person a service, you require a certifi- cate of honesty, for no one will admit disinterestedness of heart — that aberra- tion of generous minds, which practical people call madness. Unfortunately, you must take me for what I ap- pear, at the risk of seeing me go away, and hence any confidence on my part would be superfluous. You will judge me by my acts, the only proof l can and will give you of the purity of my intentions ; you are free to accept or decline my assistance, and after all is over, you can thank or curse me at your choice.” Black was more perplexed than ever, the stranger’s explanation only rendered the fog denser, instead of affording him light. Still, in spite of himself, he felt himself attracted toward her. After a few moments of serious reflection he raised his head, struck his rifle barrel smartly with his right hand, and look- ing his companion well in the face, said in a firm voice, — “ Listen, I will no longer try to learn whether you come from God or the de- vil ; if you are a spy of our enemies, or our devoted friend — events as you said, will soon decide the question. But bear this in mind, I will carefully watch your slightest gesture, your every word. At the first suspicious word or move- ment I will put a bullet through your head, even if 1 am killed the moment after. Is that a bargain ?” The stranger began laughing. “ I accept,” she said. “ I recognize the Yankee in that proposition.” After this, the conversation ceased, and their entire attention was concen- trated on the prairie. The most pro- found calm still continued to brood over the desert ; apparently, all was in the same state as at sunset. Still the stranger’s piercing eve distinguished on the river bank several wild beasts flying precipitately, and others escaping across THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 51 the river, instead of continuing to drink. One of the truest axioms of the desert is: — there can be no effect without a cause. Everything has a reason in the prairie, all is analyzed or commented on ; a leaf does not fall from a tree, a bird fly away, without the observer knowing or guessing why it has hap- pened. After a few moments of profound ex- amination, the stranger seized the emi- grant’s arm, and bending down to his ear, said in a weak voice, like the sigh- ing of the breeze, one word which made him tremble, as she stretched out her arm in the direction of the plain. “ Look !” Black bent forward. “ Oh !” he said a minute after, “ what is the meaning of this V 1 The prairie, as we have already men- tioned, was covered in several places by blocks of granite and dead trees; singularly enough, these black dots, at first a considerable distance from the camp, seemed approaching insensibly, and now only a short way from it. As it was physically impossible for rocks and trees to move of their own accord, there must be a cause for this, which the worthy emigrant, whose mind was anything but subtile, cudgelled his brains in vain to guess. This new Birnam wood, which moved all alone made him excessively uncomfortable; his son and servants had also noticed the same fact, though equally unable to account for it. Black remarked speci- ally that a tree he remembered perfect- ly well seeing that same evening more than 150 feet from the mound, had sud- denly come so close, that it was hardly thirty paces off. The stranger, without evincing any emotion, whispered : “ They are the Indians !” “ The Indians ?” he said, “ impos- sible !” She knelt behind the palisade, shoul- dered her rifle, and, after taking a care- ful aim, pulled the trigger. A flash traversed the darkness, and at the same moment, the pretended tree bounded like a deer. A terrible yell was raised, and the redskins appeared, rushing to- ward the camp like a herd of wolves, brandishing their weapons, and howling like demons. The Americans, very superstitious people, reassured by see- ing that they had only to deal with men, when they feared some spell, re- ceived their enemies bravely with a rolling and well-directed fire. Still, the Indians, probably knowing the small number of white men, did not recoil, but pushed on boldly. The redskins were hardly a few yards off, and were preparing to carry the barricades, when a shot, fired by the stranger, toppled over an Indian ahead of the rest, at the instant he turned to his comrades to en- courage them to follow him. The fall of this man produced an effect which the Americans, who fancied themselves lost, were far from antici- pating. As if by enchantment, the In- dians disappeared, the yells ceased, and the deepest silence prevailed again. It might be supposed that all that had pased was a dream. The Americans regarded each other with amazement, not knowing to what they should attri- bute this sudden retreat. “That is incomprehensible,” Black said, after assuring himself by a hasty glance that none of his party were wounded. “ Can you explain -that, mis- tress, you, who seem to be our guardian angel, for it is to your last shot we owe the rest we at present enjoy 1” “ Ah !” she said, with a sarcastic smile, “ you are beginning to me justice, then.” “ Do not speak about that,” the emi- grant said, with an angry voice ; “ I am a fool ; pardon me, and forget my sus- picions.” “ I have forgotten them,” she replied. “As for that which astounds you, it is very simple. The man I killed, or, at any rate, wounded, was an Indian chief of great reputation. On seeing him fall, his warriors were discouraged, and they ran to carry him off the field, lest his scalp should fall into your hands.” “ Oh, oh !” Black said, with a gesture of disgust; “do these Pagans fancy we are like themselves % No, no! I would kill them to the last man in self-defence; but as for scalping, that is a different matter. I am an honest Virginian, 52 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. without a drop of red blood in my veins. My father’s son does not commit such infamy.” “I approve your remarks,” the stran- ger said, in a sorrowful voice; “ scalp- ing is a frightful torture. Unfortunate- ly, many white men on the prairies do not think like you; they have adopted Indian fashions, and scalp, without cere- mony, the enemies they kill.” “ They are wrong.” “Possibly; I am far from justifying them.” “ So that,” the emigrant joyfully ex- claimed, “ we are free from these red devils.” “ Do not rejoice yet ; you will soon see them return.” “ What, again 1” “ They have only suspended their at- tack to carry off their killed and woun- ded, and probably to invent some other plan, to get the better of you.” “ Oh, that will not be difficult ; in spite of all our efforts, it will be impos- sible for us to resist that flock of birds of prey, who rush on us from all sides, as on a carcase. What can five rifles effect against that legion of demons V* “ Much, if you do not despair.” “ Oh, as for that you may be easy, we will not yield an inch : we are re- solved to die at our posts !” “Your bravery pleases me,” the stranger said, “perhaps all will end bet- ter than you suppose.” “ May Heaven hear you, my worthy woman !” “ Let us lose no time ; the Indians may return to the charge at any mo- ment, so let us try to be as successful this time as the first.” “ I will.” “ Good ! are you a man of resolu- tion V* “ I fancy 1 have proved it.” “ That is true. How many days’ pro- visions have you here ?” “ Four, at the least.” “ That is to say, eight, if necessary.” “ Pretty nearly.” “ Good ! Now, if you like, I will get rid of your enemies for a long time.” “ I ask nothing better.” Suddenly the war-whoop of the red- skins was again heard ; but this time more strident and unearthly than the first. “ It is too late !” the stranger said, sorrowfully. “ All that is left is to die bravely.” “ Let us die, then ; bnt first kill as many of these savages as we can,” John Black answered. “Hurrah! my boys, for Uncle Sam !” “Hurrah!” his comrades shouted, brandishing their weapons. The Indians responded to this chal- lenge by yells of rage; and the combat recommenced ; though this time it was more serious. After rising to utter their formidable war-cry, the Indians scattered, and ad- vanced slowly toward the camp, by crawling on the ground. When they found in their road the stump of a tree or a bush capable of offering them shel- ter, they stopped to fire an arrow or a bullet. The new tactics adopted by their enemies disconcerted the Ameri- cans, whose bullets were too often wast- ed ; for, unluckily, the Indians were al- most invisible in the gloom, and, with that cunning so characteristic of them, shook the grass so cleverly, that the de- ceived emigrants did not know where to aim. “ We are lost !” Black exclaimed, de- spondingly. “ The position is indeed becoming critical ; but we must not despair yet,” the stranger remarked ; “ one chance is left us ; a very poor one, I grant ; but which 1 shall employ when the mo- ment arrives. Try to hold out in a hand-to-hand fight.” “ Come,” the emigrant said, shoulder- ing his rifle, “ there is one of the devils who will not get any further.” A Black foot warrior, whose head rose at this moment above the grass, had his skull fractured by the American’s bul- let. The redskins suddenly rose, and rushed, howling, on the barricade, where ^ the emigrants awaited them firmly. A point-blank di charge received the Indi- ans, and a hand-to-hand fight began. The Americans, standing on the barri- cades and clubbing their rifles, dashed down every one who came within their reach. Suddenly, at the moment when THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 53 the emigrants, overpowered by num- bers, fell back a step, the stranger rush- ed up the barricade, with a torch in her hand, and uttering such a savage yell, that the combatants stopped, with a shudder. The flame of the torch was reflected on the stranger’s face, and imparted to it a demoniac expression. She held her head high, and stretched out her arm, with a magnificent gesture of authority. “ Back !” she shrieked, “ Back, de- vils !*’ At this extraordinary apparition, the redskins remained tor a moment mo- tionless, as if petrified, but then they rushed headlong down the slope, flying with the utmost terror. The Ameri- cans, interested witnesses cf this incom- prehensible scene, gave a sigh of relief. They were saved ! Saved by a mira- cle ! They then rushed toward the stranger, to express their gratitude to her. She had disappeared ! In vain did the Americans look for her everywhere; they could not imagine whither she was gone; she seemed to have suddenly be- come invisible. The torch she held in her hand, when addressing the Indians, lay on the ground, where it still smoked; it was the only trace she left of her pre- sence in the emigrants’ camp. John Black and his companions lost themselves in conjectures on her ac- count, while dressing, as well as they could, the wounds they had received in the engagement, when his wife and daughter suddenly appeared in the camp. Black rushed toward them. “How imprudent of you!” he ex- claimed. “ Why have you left your hiding place in spite of the warnings given you ?” His wife looked at him in amaze- ment. “ We left it,” she replied, “by the directions of the strange woman to whom we are all so deeply indebted this night.” “ What ! have you seen her again V “ Certainly ; a few moments back she came to us ; we were half dead with terror, for the sounds of the fighting reached us, and we were completely ig- norant of what was occurring. After reassuring us, she told us that all was over, that we had nothing more to fear, and that, if we liked, we could rejoin you.” “ But she — what did she do?” “ She led us to this spot ; then, in spite of our entreaties, she went away, saying that as we no longer needed her, her presence was useless, while impor- tant reasons compelled her departure.” The emigrant then told the ladies all about the events of the night, and the obligations they owed to this extraor- dinary female. They listened to the narrative with the utmost attention, not knowing to what they should attribute her strange conduct, and feeling their curiosity aroused to the utmost pitch. Unfortunately, the peculiar way in which the stranger had retired, did not appear to evince any great desire on her part to establish more intimate re ■ lations with the emigrants. In the desert, however, there is but little time to be given to reflections and comments ; action is before all ; men must live and defend themselves. Hence Black, without losing further time in trying to solve the riddle, occupied him- self actively in repairing the breaches made in his entrenchments, and fortify- ing his camp more strongly, were it pos- sible, by piling up on the barricades all the articles within reach. When these first duties for the common safety w*ere accomplished, the emigrant thought of his cattle. He had placed them at a spot where the bullets could not reach them, close to the tent, into which his wife and daughter had again withdrawn, and had surrounded them by a quantity of interlaced branches. On entering this corral, Black uttered a cry of amazement, which was soon changed in- to a yell of fury. His son and the men ran up ; the horses and one half ihe cattle had disappeared. During the fight the Indians had carried them off, and the noise had prevented their flight being heard. It seemed probable that the stranger’s interference, by striking the Indians with terror, had alone pre- vented the robbery being completed, and the whole of the cattle carried off. The loss was enormous to the emi- grant ; although all his cattlo had not 54 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. disappeared, enough had been carried off to render further progress impossi- ble. II is resolution was formed with that promptitude so characteristic of the North American. “ Our beasts are stolen,” he said, “ I must have them back.” “Quite right,” William answered; “at day-break we will go on their track.” “ I, but not you, my son,” the emi- grant said. “Sam will go with me.” “ What shall I do, then V ’ “Stay in the camp to guard your mother and sister. I will leave James with you.” The young man made no reply. “ I will not let the Pagans boast of having eaten my oxen,” Black said WTathfully. “ By my father’s soul, I will get them back, or lose my scalp !” The night had passed away while the camp was being fortified. The sun, though still invisible, was beginning to tinge the horizon with a purple light. “ Ah, look !” Black continued, “ here’s day ; let us lose no time, but set off. I recommend your mother and sister to your care, Will, as well as all that is here.” “ You can go, father,” the young man said. “ I will keep good watch during your absence ; you may be easy.” The emigrant pressed his son’s hand, threw his rifle over his shoulder, made a sign to Sam to follow him, and walk- ed towards the entrenchment. “ It is useless to wake your mother,” he said as he walked on ; “ When she comes out of the tent, you will tell her what has occurred, and what I have done ; I am certain she will approve of it. So, good-bye, my boy, and mind you are on the watch.” “ And you, father — good luck !” “ May heaven grant it, boy,” the emigrant said, sorrowfully. “Such splendid cattle !” “ Stay !” the young man exclaimed, holding his father back, at the moment the latter was preparing to climb over the barricades. “ What is that I see down there The emigrant turned quickly. “ Do you see anvthing, Will — where- abouts V’ “Look, father, in that direction. But what is the meaning of it ? It must be our cattle.” The emigrant looked in the direction his son indicated. “ What !” he exclaimed, joyfully ; “ why, those are our cattle. Where on earth do they come from ] and who is bringing t!iem back In fact at a great distance on the prai- rie, the American’s cattle were visible, galloping rapidly in the direction of the camp, and raising a cloud of dust behind them. CHAPTER VII. THE INDIAN CHIEF. The Count de Beaulieu was far from suspecting, as he carelessly prepared to light a cigar, that the lucifer match he employed would at once render him so important in the sight of the Indians. But, so soon as he recognized the power of the weapon chance placed in his hands, he resolved to employ it, and turn to his own profit the superstitious ignorance of the redskins. Enjoy. ng, in his heart, the triumph he had ob- tained, the count frowned, and employ- ing the language and emphatic gestures of the Indians, when he saw they were sufficiently recovered to listen to him, he addressed them with the command- ing tone, which always imposes on the masses. “ Let my brothers open their ears ; the words my lips utter must be heard and understood by all. My brothers are simple men, prone to error ; truth must enter their hearts like an iron wedge. My goodness is great, because I am powerful ; instead of chastising them when they dared to lay hands on me, I am satisfied with displaying my power before their eyes. I am a great physician of the pale faces ; I possess all the secrets of the most famous medi- cines. If I pleased, the birds of the air and the fish of the river would come to do me homage, because the Master of Life is within me, and has given me his medicine rod. Listen to this, redskins, THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 55 and remember it: when the first man was born, he walked on the banks of the Mecha-chebe ; there he met the Master of Life: the Master of Life saluted him, and said to him, ‘Thou art my son/ “ ‘ No,” the first man made answer, * thou art my son, and I will prove it to thee, if thou dost not believe me. We will sit down and plant in the earth the medicine rod we hold in our hands ; the one who rises first will be the younger, and the son of the other.’ “ They sat down, then, and looked at each other for a long time, until at length the Master of Life turned pale, and the flesh left his bones; on which the first man exclaimed, joyfully, ‘At length thou art assuredly dead.’ u And they regarded each other thus during ten times ten moons, and ten times more ; and as, at the end of that time, the bones of the Master of Life were completely bleached, the first man rose and said, ‘Yes, now there is no more doubt; he is certainly dead.’ “ He then took the medicine stick of the Master of Life, and drew it from the earth. But then the Master of Life rose, and, taking the stick from him, said to him, ‘Stop! here I am; I am thy father, and thou art my son.’ “ And the first man recognized him as his father. But the Master of Life then added, ‘Thou art my son, first man; thou can’st not die; take my medicine staflf; when I have to communicate with my redskin sons, I will send thee.’ “ This is the medicine staff. Are you ready to execute my orders ?” These words were uttered with so profound an accent of truth, the legend related by the Count was so true and so well known by all, that the Indians, whom the miracle of the match had al- ready disposed to credulity, put com- plete faith in it, and answered respect- fully : “ Let my father speak : what he wishes, we wish. Are we not his chil- dren ? ’ “ Hence,” the Count continued, “ I wish to speak with you, chief, alone.” Natah Otann had listened to the Count’s discourse with the deepest at- tention : at times, an observer might have noticed a flash of joy cross his fea- tures, immediately followed, however, by a feeling of pleasure, which lit up his intelligent eyes; he applauded, like his warriors, perhaps more warmly than they, when the young man ceased speak- ing. On hearing him say that he would speak with the sachem alone, a smile played on his lips : he made the Indians a sign to retire, and walked towards the Count with an ease and grace, which the other could not refrain from noticing. There was a native nobility in this young chief, which pleased at the first glance, and attracted sympathy. After bowing respectfully, the Black- feet warriors went down the hill, and collected about one hundred yards from the camping place. There were two men whom the Count’s eloquence had surprised quite as much as the Indian warriors. These were Brighteye and Ivon ; neither of them understood a syllable, and the young man’s Indian science completely threw them out. They awaited in the utmost anxiety the denoument of this scene, whose meaning they could not decipher. When left alone (for the hunter and Ivon soon also withdrew), the French- man and the Indian examined each other wi h extreme attention. But, whatever efforts the white man made to read the sentiments of the man he had before him, he was obliged to allow that he had to deal with one of those superior natives, on whose face it is impossible to read anything, and who, under all circumstances, are ever masters of th^ir impressions; furthermore, the fixity and metallic lustre of the Indian’s eye caused him to feel a secret uneasiness, which he hastened to remove by spea Ic- ing, as if that would break the charm. “Chief,” he said, “now that your warriors have retired ” Natah Otann interrupted him by a sign, and bowed courteously. “Pardon me, Monsieur le Comte,” he said, with an accent which a native of the banks of the Seine would have envied : “ I think the slight practice you have had in speaking our language is wearisome to you ; if you would please to express yourself in French, I fancy I 56 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. understand that language well enough o o o to follow you.” “ Eh ?” the Count exclaimed, with a start of surprise. “ What is that you say ?” Had a thunderbolt fallen at the Count’s feet, he would not have been more surprised and terrified than on hearing this savage, who wore the com- plete costume of the Blackfeet, and whose face was painted of four dif- ferent colors, express himself so purely in French. Natah Otanu did not seem to notice his companion’s agitation, but continued coldly : “ Deign to pardon me, Monsieur le Comte, for employing terms which must certainly have offended you by their triviality ; but the few occasions I have for speaking French in this desert must serve as an excuse.” M. de Beaulieu was a prey to one of those surprises, which grow gradually greater. He no longer knew were he awake, or suffering from a nightmare ; what he heard seemed to him so incre- dible and incomprehensible, that he could not find words to express his feelings. “Who on earth are youl” he ex- claimed, when sufficiently master of himself to speak. “ J,” Natah Otann remarked, careless- ly ; “ why, you see l am a poor Indian, and nothing more.” “ ’Tis impossible,” the young man said. “ I assure you, sir, that I have told you the exact truth. Hang it,” he added, with charming frankness, “ if you find me a little less — what shall I say ? — coarse, you must not consider it a crime ; that results from considerations entirely independent of my will, which 1 will tell you some day, if you wish to hear them.” The Count, as we think we have said, was a man of great courage, whom but few things could disturb ; the first im- pression passed, he bravely took his part; perfectly master of himself, hence- forth, he frankly accepted the position which accident had so singularly made for him. “ By Jove !” he said, with a laugh, “ the meeting is a strange one, and may reasonably surprise me. You will therefore pardon, my dear sir, that as- tonishment — in extreme bad taste, 1 grant — which I at first evinced, on hearing you address me as you did. I was so far from expecting to meet, six hundred leagues from civilised countries, a man so well bred as yourself, that 1 confess I at first hardly knew what saint to invoke ” “ You flatter me, sir ; believe me that I feel highly grateful for the good opin- ion you are good enough to have of me. Now, if you permit, we will go back to our business.” “ On my faith, I am so staggered by all that has happened, that I really do not know what 1 am about.” “ Nonsense, that is nothing ; I will lead you back to the right track : after the charming address you made us, you seemed to desire speech with me alone.” “ Hum !” the Count said, with a smile, “ I am afraid that I must have appeared to you supremely ridiculous with my legend, especially my remarks, but then I could not suspect that I had an auditor of your stamp.” Natah Otann shook his head sadly ; a melancholy expression for a moment darkened his face. “ No,” he said, “ you acted as you were bound to do; but while you were speaking, I was thinking of those poor Indians, sunk so deeply in error, and asking myself whether there was any hope of their regeneration before the white men succeed in utterly destroy- ing them.” The chief uttered these words with such a marked accent of grief and hatred, that the Count was moved by the thought how this man, with a soul of fire, must suffer at the brutalization of his race. “ Courage !” he said, holding out h's hand to him. “ Courage !” the Indian repeated, bitterly, though clasping the proffered hand. “After each defeat 1 experience in the struggle 1 have undertaken, the man who has served as my father, and unfortunately made me what I am, never ceases to say that to me.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 57 There was a moment of silence ; each was busied with his own thoughts. At length Natah Otann proceeded : “ Listen, Monsieur le Comte ; be- tween men of a certain stamp, there is a species of undefinable feeling, which at taches them to each other in spite of themselves. For the six months you have been traversing the desert in every direction, I have never once lost sight of you ; you would have been dead long ere this, but I spread a secret aegis over you. “ Oh, do not thank me,” he said, quickly, as the young man made a sign. “ I have acted rather in my own interest than yours. What I say surprises you, I daresay, but it is so. Allow me to tell you, that I have views with refer- ence to yourself, whose secrets I will unfold to you in a few days, when we know each other better ; as for the pre- sent, 1 will obey you in whatever you wish ; in the eyes of my countrymen, 1 will keep up that miraculous halo which surrounds your brow. You wish these American emigrants to be left at peace, very good ; for your sake I pardon this race of vipers ; but I ask you one favor in return.” “ Speak !” “ When you are certain the people you wish to save are in security, ac- company me to my village, — that is all I desire. That will not cost you much, especially as my tribe is encamp- ed not more than a day’s march from the spot where you now are.” “ 1 accept your proposition, chief. 1 will accompany you wherever you may please, though not till I am certain that my proteges no longer require my aid.” “ That is agreed. Stay, one word more.” “ Say it.” “ It is well understood that I am only an Indian like the rest, even to the two white men who accompany you !” “ You demand it ?” “ For our common welfare : a word spoken thoughtlessly, any indiscretion how trifling soever, would destroy us both. Ah ! you do not know the red- skins yet,” he added, with that melan- choly smile which had already given the Count so much subject for thought. “Very good,” he answered; “you may be easy, 1 am warned.” “ Now, if you think proper, I will re- call my warriors ; a longer conference between us might arouse their jealou- sy.” “ Do so ; I trust entirely to you.” “You will have no reason to repent it,” Natah Otann replied graciously. While the chief went to join his com- panions, the Count walked up to the two white men. “Well ?” Brighteye asked him, “have you obtained what you wanted from that man'?” “ Perfectly,” he answered ; “ I only wished to say a few words to him.” The hunter looked at him cunningly. “ I did not think him so easy,” he said. “ Why so ? my friend.” “ His reputation is great in the des- ert ; I have known him for a very long period.” “ Ah !” the young man said, not at all sorry to obtain some information about the man who perplexed him so greatly ; “ what reputation then has he r Brighteye seemed to hesitate for a moment. “ Are you afraid to explain yourself clearly on that head ?” the Count asked. “ 1 have no reason for that; on the contrary, with the exception of that day on which he wished to flay me alive — a slight mistake, which I pardon with my whole heart — our relations have always been excellent.” “ The more so,” the Count said, with a laugh, “ because you never met again, to my knowledge, till this day.” “ That is what 1 meant to say. Look you — Natah Otann, between ourselves, is one of those Indians whom it is far more advantageous not to see : he is like the owl — his presence always fore- bodes evil.” “ The deuce ! You trouble me great- ly by speaking so, Brighteye.” “ Suppose I had said nothing, then,” he answered, quickly ; “ for my part, I should prefer to be silent.” “ That is possible ; but the little you i 58 THE FLOWER, OF THE PRAIRIE. have allowed to escape has, I confess, so awakened my curiosity, that I should not be sorry to learn more.” “ Unfortunately, I know nothing.” “ Still, you spoke of his reputation — is that bad ?” “ I did not say so,” Brighteye answer- ed, with reserve. “ You know, Mr. Edward, that Indian manners are very different from ours : what is bad to us is regarded very differently by Indians; and so ” “ So, I suppose,” the Count interrupt- ed, “ Natah Otann has an execrable rep- utation.” “ No, I assure you ; that depends on the way in which you look at matters.” “ Good ; and what is your personal opinion ?” “ Oh, I, as you are aware, am only a poor fellow : still, it seems to me as if this demon of an Indian is more crafty than this whole tribe ; between our- selves, he is regarded as a sorcerer by his countrymen, who are frightfully afraid of him.” “Is that all ?” “ Nearly.” “ After that,” the Count said, lightly, “ as he has asked me to accompany him to his village, the few days we spend with him will enable us to study him at our ease.” The hunter gave a start of surprise. “ You will not do so, I trust, Sir ?” “ I do not see what can prevent me.” “ Yourself, Sir : who, I hope, will not w r alk, with your eyes open, into the li- on’s jaws.” “ Will you explain — yes, or no ?” the Count exclaimed, with rising impa- tience. “ Oh, what is the use of explaining ? — will what I say stop you ? No, I am persuaded of that. You see, therefore, it is useless for me to say more ; be- sides, it is too late — the chief is return- ing.” The Count made a movement of ill humor, at once suppressed ; but this movement did not escape Natah Otann, w ho at this moment appeared on the plateau. The young man walked to- ward him. “ W ell ?” he asked eagerly. “ My young men consent to do what our pale-face father desires ; if he will mount his horse and follow us, he can convince himself that our intentions are loyal.” “ I follow you, chief,” the Count re- plied, making Ivon a sign to bring up his horse. The Blackfeet welcomed the three hunters with unequivocal signs of joy. “ Forward !” the young man said. Natah Otann raised his arm. At this signal the warriors drove in their knees, and the horses started like a hurricane. No one, who has not witnessed it, can form an idea of an Indian chase; nothing stops the redskins — no obstacle is powerful enough to make them deviate from their course ; they go in a straight line, rolling like a human whirlwind across the prairie, crossing gulleys, ravines and rocks, with dizzy rapidity. Natah Otann, the Count, and his two companions, were at the head of the cavalcade, closely followed by the war- riors. All at once, the chief checked his horse, shouting at the top of his voice : “ Halt !” All obeyed, as if by enchantment : the horses stopped dead, and remained motionless, as if their feet were planted in the ground. “ W hy stop ?” the Count asked ; “ we had better push on.” “ It is useless,” the chief said, calmly ; “let my pale brother look before him.” The Count bent down on his horse’s neck. “ I can see nothing,” he said. “That is true,’ the Indian said; “I forgot that my brother has the eyes of the pale faces. In a few minutes he will see.” The Blackfeet anxiously collected round their chief, whom they questioned with their glances. The latter, appa- rently impassive, looked straight ahead, distinguishing in the darkness objects invisible to all but himself. The In- dians, however, had not long to wait, for some horsemen soon came up at full speed. When they arrived near Natah Otann’s party, they stopped. “What has happened?” the chief THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. 59 asked, sternly ; “ why are my sons run- ning away thus? They are not war- riors, 1 see, but timid women.” The Indians bowed their heads with humility at this reproach, but made no answer. The chief continued : “ Will no one inform us of what has happened — why my chosen warriors are flying like scattered antelopes ? Where is Long Horn ?” A warrior emerged from the ranks. “ Long Horn is dead,” he said, sor- rowfully. “ He was a wise and renowned war- rior; he has gone to the happy hunting grounds to hunt with the upright war- riors. As he is dead, why did not the Blackbird take the totem in liis hand in his place ?” “ Because the Blackbird is dead,” the warrior answered, in the same tone. Natah Otann frowned, and his brow was contracted by the effort he made to suppress his passion. “ Oh !” he said, bitterly, “ the great- hearts of the east have fought well ; their rifles carried truly. The two best chiefs of the nation have fallen, but the Red Wolf still remained— why did he not avenge his brothers ?” “ Because he is also fallen,” the war- rior said, in a mournful voice. A shudder of anger ran through the ranks. “ Wah !” Natah Otann exclaimed, with grief, “what, is he also dead ?” “ No ; but he is dangerously wounded.” After these words there was a silence. The chief looked around him, and then^ said : . * “ So ! four pale faces have held at bay two hundred warriors ; killed and wounded their bravest chiefs, and those warriors have not taken their revenge. Ah ! ah ! what will the White Buffalo say when he hears that? He will give petticoats to my sons, and make them prepare food for the more courageous warriors, instead of sending them on the war- path.” “ The camp of the Long Knives was in our power,” the Indian replied, who had hitherto spoken for his comrades, “ we already had them down with our knees on their chests, a portion of their 4 cattle was carried off, and the scalps of the pale faces were about to be attached to our girdles, when the Evil Genius suddenly appeared in their midst, and, by her mere presence, changed the face of the combat.” The chief’s face became still severer at this news, which his warriors receiv- ed with unequivocal marks of terror. “ The ‘ Evil Genius !’ ” he said ; “ of whom is my brother speaking?” “ Of whom else can 1 speak to my father, save the Lying She-wolf of the Prairies,” the Indian said, in a low voice. “ Oh ! oh !” Natah Otann answered, “did my brothers see the She-wolf?” “ Yes ; we assure our father,” the Blackfeet shouted altogether, happy to clear themselves of the charge of cowardice that weighed on them. Natah Otann seemed to reflect for a moment. “ At what place are the cattle my brothers carried off from the Long Knives?” he asked. “ We have brought them with us,” a warrior answered, “ they are here.” “ Good,” Natah Otann continued, “ let my brothers open their ears to hear the words the Great Spirit breathes unto me : the Long Knives are pro- tected by the She-wolf : our efforts would be useless, and my sons would not succeed in conquering them. I will make a great medicine to break the charm of the She-wolf when we return to our village, but till then we must be very cunning to deceive the She-wolf, And prevent her being on her guard. ► Will my sons follow the advice of an experienced chief?” “ Let my father utter his thoughts,” a warrior answered, in the name of all, “ he is very wise : we will do what h > wishes : he will deceive the She-wolf better than we can.” “Good ; my sons have spoken well. This is what we will do: We will re- turn to the camp of the pale faces, and will restore them their beasts: the pale faces, deceived by this friendly conduct, will no longer suspect us. When we have made the great medicine, we will then seize their camp and all it contains, and the Lying She-wolf will be unanlc 60 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. to defend them. I have spoken ; what do my sons think ?” “ My father is very crafty,” the war- rior replied, “ what he has said is very good, his sons will perform it.” Natah Otann cast a glance of triumph at the Count de Beaulieu, who admired the skill with which the chief, while ap- pearing to reprimand the Indians for the ill success of their enterprise, and evinc- ing the greatest wrath against the Americans, had succeeded in a few minutes in inducing them to carr} out his secret wishes. “ Oh ! oh !” the Count murmured, aside, “ this Indian is no common man, he deserves studying.” Still, a moment of tumult had fol- lowed the chief’s words. The Black- feet, recovered from the panic and ter- ror which had made them fly with the feet of gazelles, to escape speedily from the ruined camp, where they had expe- rienced so rude a defeat, had got off their horses, and were engaged, some in laying on their wounds chewed leaves of the organo, others in collecting the cattle and horses which they had stolen from the pale faces, and which were scattered about. “ Who is this Lying She- Wolf of the Prairies, who inspires such horror in these men V 9 the Count asked Bright- eye. “ No one knows her,” the hunter an- swered, in a low voice, “ she is a woman whose mysterious life has hitherto foiled the most careful attempts at investiga- tion ; she does no harm to any but the Indians, whose implacable foe she ap- pears to be; the redskins affirm that she is invulnerable, that bullets and ar- rows rebound from her without doing her any injury. I have often seen her, though I have no opportunity of speak mg with her. I believe her to be mad, for 1 have seen her perform some of he wildest freaks at some moments, though at others she appears in full possession of her senses ; in a word she is an incomprehensible being, who leads an extraordinary life in the heart of the prairies.” “ Is she alone V 9 “Always.” * “ You excite my curiosity to the high- est degree,” the Count said ; “ no one, I suppose, could give me any information about this woman V 9 “ One person could do so, if he cared to speak.” “ Who’s that?” “ Natah Otann,” the hunter said in a low voice. “ That is strange,” the Count mut- tered, “ what can there be in common between him and this woman ?” Br ghteye only answered by a signi- ficant glance. The conversation was broken off, and at the chief’s order the Blackfeet re- mounted their horses. “ Forward 1” Natah Otann said, tak- ing the head of the column again with the Count an 1 his companions. The whole troop set out at a gallop in the direction of the American camp, taking the cattle in their midst. CHAPTER VIII. THE EXILE. We are compelled, for the proper comprehension of the facts that will fol- low, to break off our story for a mo- ment, in order to describe a strange ad- venture which happened on the West- ern Prairies some thirty odd years be- fore our story opens. The Indians, whom people insist so wrongly, in our opinion, in regarding as savages, have certain customs which display a thorough knowledge of the hu- man heart. The Comanches, who ap- pear to remember that in old times they enjoyed a far advanced civilization, have retained the largest amount of those customs which are, certainly, stamped with originality. One day in the month of February, which they call “ the Moon of the Arriv- ing Eagles,” and in the year 1795 or 1796, a village of the Red Cow tribe was in a state of extraordinary agita- tion. The hachesto, or public speaker, mounted on the roof of a lodge, sum- moned the warriors for the seventh hour of the day to the village square, near the ark of the first man, where a TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. Cl grand council would be held. The warriors asked each other in vain the purport of this unforeseen meeting, but no one could tell them ; the hachesto himself was ignorant, and they were obliged to await the hour of assembling although the comments and supposi- tions still went on to a great extent. The redskins, whom badly informed authors represent to us as cold, silent men, are, on the contrary, very gay, and remarkable gossips when they get together. What ha*s caused the contra- ry supposition is, that in their relations with white men the Indians are, in the first place, checked by the difficulties of the language — equally insurmountable, by the way, for both parties — and next by the distrust which every American native feels toward Europeans, whoever they may be, owing to the inveterate hatred that separates the two races. During our lengthened residence among Indian tribes we often had op- portunities for noticing what mistakes are made with respect to the redskins. During their long evening gossips in the villages, or the hunting expeditions, there was a rolling fire of jokes and witticisms, often lasting whole hours, to the great delight of the audience, who laughed that hearty Indian laugh, with- out care or afterthought, which cleaves the mouth to the ears, and draws tears of delight — a laugh which, for metallic resonance, can only be compared with that of negroes, though the former is far more spiritual than the Litter, whose notes have ever something bestial about them. Toward the decline of day, the hour selected for the meeting, the village square presented a most animated ap- pearance. The warriors, women, chil- dren and dogs, those inseparable guests of the redskins, pressed round a large circle left empty in the centre for the council fire, near which, the principal chiefs of the nation crouched ceremoni- ously. At a sign from an old sachem, whose hair, white as silver, fell in a cloud on his shoulders, the pipe bearer brought in the great calumet, the stem of which he presented to each chief in turn, while holding the bowl in the palm of his hand. When all the chiefs had smoked, the pipebearer turned the calumet to the four cardinal points, while murmuring mysterious words which no one heard; then he emptied the ashes into the fire, saying aloud : — - “Chiefs, warriors, women and chil- dren of the Red Cow, your sachems are assembled to judge a very grave ques- tion ; pray to the Master of Life to in- spire them with wise words.” Then the pipebearer, after bowing respectfully to the chiefs, withdrew, taking the calumet with him. The council began, and, at a sign from the aged sachem, a chief rose and bowing took the word : “ Venerated sachems, chiefs and war- riors of my nation,” he said in a loud voice, “ the mission with which I am entrusted is painful to my heart ; listen to me indulgently, be not governed by passion ; but let justice alone preside over the severe decree which you will, perhaps be compelled to pronounce. The mission which I am entrusted with is painful, I repeat ; it fills my heart with sadness ; I am compelled to ac- cuse before you two renowned chiefs belonging to two illustrious families, who have, with equal claims, deserved well of the nation on many occasions by rendering it signal services ; these chiefs, as I must name them before you, are the Bounding Panther, and the Sparrow-Hawk.” On hearing these names, so well- known and justly esteemed, pronounced, a shudder of astonishment and pain ran through the crowd. But, at a sign from the oldest chief, silence was almost im- mediately re-established, and the chief continued : “ How is it that a cloud has suddenly passed over the mind of these two war- riors, and tarnished their intellect to such an extent, that these two men, who so long loved one another as brothers, whose friendship was cited among the nation, have suddenly become implac- able enemies, so that, when they see each other, their eyes flash lightning, and their hands seek their weapons to com- mit murder ? No one can say ; no one knows it. These chiefs, when interro- gated by the sachems, maintained an obstinate silence, instead of revealing 62 THE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. the causes of their cruel enmity, which brings trouble and desolation on the tribe. Such a scandal must not last longer ; tolerating it would be giving a pernicious example to our children ! Sachems, chiefs, and warriors, in the name of justice, I demand that these ir- reconcilable enemies should be eternally ’ banished from the tribe this very even- ing at sunset. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men V ’ The chief sat down amid a mournful silence in this assembly of nearly two thousand people; the beating of their sorrow-laden hearts might almost be heard, such sustained attention did each one give to the words pronounced in the council. “ Has any chief any observation to offer on the accusation which has just been brought?” the old sachem said, in a weak voice, which was, however, per- fectly heard in every part of the square. A member of the council rose. “ 1 take the word,” he said, “ not to refute Tigercat’s accusation, for unfor- tunately all he has said is most scrupu- lously correct; far from exaggerating facts, he has, with that goodness and wisdom which reside in him, weakened the odiousness of that hatred. The chiefs are guilty, that is only too fully proved : a longer discussion on that point would be tedious ; but, as Tiger- cat himself told us, with that loyalty which distinguishes him, these two men are renowned chiefs, chosen warriors, and they have rendered the nation sig- nal services. We all love and cherish them for different reasons; let us be severe, but not cruel ; let us not drive them from among us as unclean. crea- tures; before striking, let us make one more attempt to reconcile them. This last step, taken in the presence of the whole nation, will, doubtlessly, touch their heaits, and we shall have the hap- piness of keeping two illustrious chiefs. Jf they remain deaf to our prayers, if our observations do not obtain the suc- cess we desire, then, as the case will be without a remedy, let us be implacable, put an end to L is scandal which has lasted too long, and, as Tigercat asked, drive them forever from our nation which they dishonor. T have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?” Afier bowing to the sachems, the chief resumed his seat in the midst of a murmur of satisfaction, produced by his hearty language. Although these two speeches were contained in the pro- gramme of the ceremony, and every one knew what the result of the meet’ng would be, the unreconciled chief, had so much sympathy among the nation, that many persons still hoped they would be reconciled at the last moment, when they saw themselves on the point of being banished. The strangest thing connected with the hatred between the two men was, that the reason of it was completely unknown, and no one knew how to account for it. When silence was restored, the oldest sachem, after a consultation with his colleagues in a low voice, took the word. “ Let the Bounding Panther and the Sparrow-hawk be introduced to our pre- sence.” At the two opposite corners of the square, the crowd parted like over-ripe fruit, and left a passage for a small band of warriors, in the centre of whicn the two accused men walked. When they met, they remained perfectly calm, a slight arching of the eyebrows being the only sign of emotion they displayed. They were each about twenty-five years of age, well built, and active, and of martial aspect. They wore their grand costume and war paint, but their wea- pons were carried by their respective friends. They presented themselves before the council with great respect and modesty, which the assembly ap- proved of heartily. After looking at them with a glance at once sorrowful and benevolent, the eldest sachem rose with an effort, and, supported by two of his colleagues, who held him under the arms, he at length spoke in a weak voice. “ Warriors, my beloved children,” he said, “ from the spot where you stood, you heard the accusation brought against you. What have you to say in your defence? Are those words true? do you really entertain this irreconcilable hatred to each other? Speak.” TIIE FLO AVER OF THE PRAIRIE. 63 The two chiefs bowed their heads silently. The sachem continued : “ My cherished children, I was already very old when your mother, a child, whose birth I also saw, br. h- es and surprises with the whites, and committing the most refined cruelties on the unhappy Spaniards who fell into his hands, now rejoiced at recalling to life this individual who, to him, was a natural enemy. In a few minutes the stranger slowly opened his eyes, but he closed them again at once, as the light probably dazzled them. Sparrowhawk did not lose heart, and resolved to carry out a good work so well begun. His expec- tations were not deceived ; the stranger presently opened his eyes again ; and he made an effort to rise, but was too weak, his strength failed him, and he fell back again. The Indian then gent- ly supported him, seating him against the trunk of the catalpa, at whose foot he had been hitherto lying. The stran- ger thanked him by a sign, muttering one word, biber (drink.) The Comanches, whose life is passed in periodical excursions into the Span- ish territory, know a few words of that language. Sparrowhawk spoke it rath- er fluently. He seized the gourd hang- ing to his saddle bow, and which he had filled two hours before, and put it to the stranger's lips ; so soon as he had tasted the water, he began swallow- ing it in heavy gulps. But the Indian, fearing an accident, soon took the gourd from his lips. The stranger wished to drink again. “ No,” he said, “ my father is too weak, he must eat something first.” The stranger smiled, and pressed his hand. The Indian rose joyfully ; took from his provision bag some fruit and handed it to the man. Through these attentions the stranger was sufficiently recovered within an hour to get up. He then explained to Sparrowhawk, in bad Spanish, that he and one of his friends were travelling together, that their horses died of fatigue, while them- selves could procure nothing to eat or drink in the desert. The result was, THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 65 that his friend died in his arms only the previous day, after frightful suffering, and he should have probably shared the same fate, had not his lucky star, or rather Providence, sent him help. “ Good,” the Indian replied, when the stranger ended his narrative, “ my fath- er is now strong, 1 will lasso a horse, ’aid lead him to the first habitation of tie men of his own color.” At this proposition, the stranger frowned ; a look of hatred and haughty contempt was legible on his face. “ No,” he said ; “ I will not return to the men of my color, they have re- jected and persecuted me, I wish to live henceforward in the desert.” “ Wah !” the Indian exclaimed, in surprise, “ has my father no nation ?” “No,” he answered, “1 am alone, without country, relatives, or friends ; the sight of a man of my color excites me to hatred and contempt ; all are un- grateful, I will live far from them.” “ Good,” the Indian said, “ 1, too, am rejected by my nation, I, too, am alone, 1 will remain with my father and be his son.” “What!” the stranger ejaculated, fancying he had misunderstood him, “ is it possible 1 does banishment also exist among your wandering tribes 1 you, like myself, are abandoned by those of your race and blood, and condemned to remain alone — alone forever ?” “Yes,” Sparrowhawk said, sorrow- fully, bowing his head. “ Oh !” the stranger said, directing a glance of strange meaning toward heav- en, “ oh, men ! they are the same every- where, cruel, unnatural and heartless !” He walked about for a few moments, muttering certain words in a language the Indian did not understand ; then he returned quickly to him, and pressing his hand, said, with feverish energy : “ Well, then, I accept your proposi- tion ; our fate is the same, and we ought not to separate again. Victims both of the spite of man, we will live together ; you have saved my life, Redskin ; at the first impulse I was vexed at it, but now I thank Providence, as I can still do good, and force men to blush at their ingratitude.” This speech was too full of philo- sophic precepts for Sparrowhawk thor- oughly to understand it ; still, he caught its sense, that was enough for him, as he was too glad to find in his companion a man afflicted by similar misfortunes to his own. “ Let my father open his ears,” he said, “ he will remain here while I go and find a horse for him, there are many manadas in the neighborhood, and l shall so<>n have what we want ; my fa- ther will be patient during Sparrow- hawk’s absence, I will leave him food and drink.” “ Go !” the stranger said, and two hours later the Indian returned with a magnificent steed. Several days were then spent in vag- abond marches, though each took them deeper into the desert. The stranger seemed afraid of meeting white men ; but with the exception of the story he had told of his narrow escape from death, he maintained an obstinate si- lence as to his past life. The Indian knew not then who he was, nor why he had ventured so far into the desert at the risk of perishing. E ich time Spar- rowhawk asked him any details about his life he tnrned the conversation, and that so adroitly, that the Indian could never bring him back to the starting point. One day, as they were r mbling along side by side, talking, Sparrow- hawk, who was rather vexed at the slight confidence the stranger placed in him, asked categorically : “ My father was a great chief in his nation V ’ The stranger smiled sorrowfully. “ Perhaps,” he answered, “ but now I am nothing.” “ My father is mistaken,” the Indian said, seriously, “ the warriors of his nation may not have valued him, but he still remains the same.” “ All that is smoke,” the stranger re- plied. “ The love of country is the greatest and noblest pass on the Master of Life has placed in the heart of man, my fa- ther has a revered name among his peo- ple.” The stranger frowned, and his fice assumed an expression the Indian had never seen before. 66 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ My name is a curse,” he said, “ no one will hear it uttered again : it has been like a b and seared on my fore- head by the partisans of the man whom 1, humble as I am, helped to over- throw.” Sparrowhawk made a gesture of su- preme disdain. “The chief of the nation must re- turn to his warriors : if he betrays them, they are masters of his scalp,” he said, in a firm voice. The stranger, surprised at being so well understood by this primitive man, smiled proudly. “ In demanding his head,” he said, “ I staked my own I wished to save my country. Who can blame me I” “ No one,” Sparrowhawk replied, quickly, “ every warrior must die.” There was a lengthened silence; Spar- rowhawk was the first to break it. “ We are destined,” he said, “to live long days together, my father wishes his name to remain unknown, and I will not insist on knowing it ; still, we can- not wander about at hazard, we must find a tribe to adopt us, men to recog- nize us as brothers.” “ For what purpose “ To be strong and everywhere re- spected ; we owe it to our brothers, as they owe it to us ; life is only a loan w hich the Master of Life makes us, on the condition that it is profitable to those who surround us. By what name shall I present my father to the men from whom we may ask asylum and protection.” “ By any you please, my son ; as I am no longer to bear my own, any oth- er is a matter of indifference to me.” Sparrowhawk reflected for an instant. “ My father is strong,” he said, “ his scalp is beginning to resemble the snows of winter, he will henceforth be called the White Buffalo.” “The White Buffalo, be it so,” the stranger answered, with a sigh, “ that name is as good as another ; perhaps 1 shall thus escape the weapons of those who have sworn my death.” The Indian, charmed at knowing how henceforth to call his friend, then said to him joyfully : “ In a few days we shall reach a vil- lage of Blood Indians or Kenhas, where we shall be received as if we were sorlS of the nation ; my father is wise, I am strong, the K< nhas will be happy to re- ceive us ; courage, old father ! this country of adoption will be, perhaps, worth your own.” “ France, farewell !” the stranger ut- tered, in a choking voice. Four days later they reached the vil- lage of the Kenhas, where a friendly reception was given them. “ Well ?” Sparrowhawk said to his companion, after they had been adopted according to all the Indian rites, “ what does my father think 1 is he happy “ I fancy,” the other said, with a mel- ancholy air, “ that nothing can restore the exile the country he has lost.” CHAPTER IX. THE MESSAGE. Days, months, years, passed away ; the White Buffalo seemed to have com- pletely renounced that country which he was forbidden ever to see again. He had completely adopted Indian customs, and, through his wisdom, had so thor- oughly acquired the esteem and respect of the Ken ha nation, that he was count- ed among the most revered sachems. Sparrowhawk, after giving on many occasions undeniable proofs of his cou- rage and military talents, had gained also a firm and honorable place in the nation. If an experienced chief were required for a dangerous expedition, he was ever selected by the council of the sachems, for they knew that success constantly crowned his enterprises. Sparrowhawk was a man of clear mind, who at once understood the intellectual value of his European friend ; obedient to the old man’s lessons, having taken his advice, and always followed his counsels : hence he speedily began reap- ing the advantage of his skilful conduct. Thus, when he two years later married a Kenha girl, and when his wife made him father of a boy, he took him in his arms, and presented him to the old man, saying with great emotion : THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRTE. 67 “The White Buffalo sees this war- rior, he is his son, my father will make a man of him.” When the child was weaned, the fath- er kept the promise he had made his friend and gave him his son, leaving him at liberty to educate the boy as he thought fit. The old man, rejuvenated by the hope of this education, which gave him the chance of making a man after his own heart of this frail crea- ture, joyfully accepted the difficult task. The child received from its parents the name of Natah Otann, a significant name, for it is that borne by the most dangerous animal of North America the grizzly bear. Natah Otann made rapid progress under the guidance of the White Buffa- lo. The latter had a few books by him which enabled him to give his pupil a very extensive education, and make him very learned. Thence resulted the strange circumstance of an Indian who, while following exactly the customs of his fathers, hunting and fighting like them, and who was now leading his tribe, being at the same time a distin- guished man, who would not have been out of place in any European drawing- room, and whose great intellect had un- derstood and appreciated everything. Singularly enough, Natah Otann, on attaining manhood, far from despising his countrymen, brutalized and ignorant as they were, felt an ardent love for them, and a violent desire to regenerate them. From that moment his life had an object, which was the constant pre- occupation of his existence — to restore the Indians to the rank from which they had fallen, by combining them into a great and powerful nation. The White Buffalo, the confidant of all the young chief’s thoughts, at first accepted these projects with the sceptical smile of old men, who, having grown weary of everything, have retained no hope in the depths of their heart; he fancied that Natah Otann, under the impression of youthful ardor, let himself he car ried away by an unrefl cting move- ment, whose folly he would soon re- cognize. But when able to appreciate how deeply these ideas were rooted in the young man's heart, when he saw him set resolutely to work, the old man trembled and was afraid of his handi- work. lie asked himself if he had done well in acting as he had done, in developing so fully this chosen intel- lect, which alone, and with no other support than its will, was about to un- dertake a struggle in which it must ine- vitably succumb. He then sought to destroy with his own hands the edifice he had built with so much labor ; he wished to turn in another direction the ardor that devour- ed his pupil, and give another object to his life by changing his plan. It was too late. The evil was irremediable. Natah Otann, on seeing his master thus contradict himself, defeated him with his own weapons, and obliged him to bow his head before the merciless blows of that logic he had himself taught his pupil. Natah Otann was a strange compo- site of good and evil ; in him all was in extreme. At times the most noble feelings seemed to reside in him ; he was good and generous ; then, suddenly his ferocity and cruelty attained gigan- tic proportions, which terrified the In- dians themselves. Still, he was gener- ally good and gentle toward his coun- trymen, who, unaware of the cause, but subject to his influences, feared him, and trembled at a word that fell from his lips, or a simple frown. The white men and especially the Spaniards and Americans, were Natah Otann’s implacable enemies; he waged a merciless war on them, attacking them wherever he could surprise them, and killing under the most horrible tor- tures, those who were so unhappy as to fall into his hands. Hence his reputa- tion on the prairies was great ; the ter ror he inspired was extreme ; several times already the United States had tried to get rid of this terrible and im- placable foe ; but all their plans failed, and the Indian chief, bolder and more cruel than ever, drew nearer to the American frontier, reigned uncontrolled in the desert of which he was absolute lord, and at times went, fire and sword 63 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. in hand, to the very towns of the Union to demand that tribute which he claim- ed even from white men. We must not be taxed with exagger- ation. All we here narrate is scrupu- lously exact ; and if we now and then alter facts, it is only to weaken them. If we uncover the incognito that veils our characters, many of our readers would recognize them at the first glance, and certify to the truth of our state- ments. A terrible scene of massacre, of w'hich Natah Otann was the originator, had aroused general indignation against him. The facts are as follows : An American family, consisting of father, mother, two sons of about twelve and a little girl between three and four years of age and five servants, left the Western States with the intention of working a claim they had bought on the Upper Mississippi. At the period we are writing of, wdiite men rarely traversed these districts, which were entirely left to the Indians, who wandered over them in every direction, and, with a few half- breed and Canadian hunters and trap- pers, v’ere the sole masters of these vast solitudes. On leaving the clearings, their friends warned the emigrants to be on their guard. They had been ad- vised not to enter into the desert in so small a body, but awaitother emigrants, who would soon proceed to the same spot ; for a caravan of fifty to sixty de- termined menmignt passsafe and sound through the Indians. The head of the American family was an old soldier of the war of Inde- pendence, gifted with heroic courage and thorough British obstinacy. He answered coldly to those who gave him this advice, that his servants and him- self could hold their own against all the j Prairie Indians; for they had good rifles and firm hearts, and would reach their claim in the face of all opposition. Then he made his preparations like a man whose mind, being made up, ad- mits of no delay, and he started against the judgment of his friends, who pre- dicted numberless misfortunes. The first few days, however, passed quietly enough, and nothing happened to con- firm these predictions. The Americans advanced peacefully through a delicious country, and no sign revealed the ap- proach of the Indians, who seemed to have become invisible. The Americans are men who pass most easily from extreme prudence to the most foolish and rash confidence, and on this occasion were true to their character. When they saw that all was quiet around them, and no obstacle checked their progress, they began to laugh and deride the apprehensions of their friends ; they gradually relaxed in their vigilance, neglected the precau- tions usual on the prairie, and at last almost wished to be attacked by Indians, to make them feel the weight of their arms. Things went on thus for nearly two months; the emigrants were not more than ten days’ march from their claim ; they no longer thought of the Indians : if at times they alluded to them in the evening, before going to sleep, it was only to laugh at the absurd fears of the r friends, who fancied it im- possible to take a step in the desert without falling into an ambuscade of the redskins. One night, after a fatiguing day, the emigrants went to bed, after placing sentries round the camp, rather to keep wild beasts off than through any other motive. The sentinels, accustomed not to be troubled, and fatigued by their day’s labors, watched for a few mo- ments, then their eyelids gradually sank, and they fell asleep. Their awakening w r as destined to be terrible. About midnight, fifty Blackfeet, led by Natah Otann, glided like demons in the darkness, clambered into the en- campment, and ere the Americans could seize their weapons, or even dream of defence, they were bound. Then a hor- rible scene took place, the frightful in- terludes of which the pen is impotent to describe. Natah Otann organized the massacre, it we may be allowed to em- ploy the term, with unexampled cool- ness and cruelty. The chief of the party and his five servants were strip- ped and attached to trees, flogged, and martyrized, while the two lads were literal. y roasted alive in their presence. The mother, half mad w’ith terror, es- caped, carrying off her little girl in her THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. 69 arm?? : buf, after running a long d is tance, her strength failed her, and she fell senseless. The Indians caught her up ; imagining her to be dead, they dis- dained to scalp her, but they carried off the child, which she pressed to her bosom with almost herculean strength. The child was taken back to Natah Otann. “What shall we do with it]” the warrior asked, who presented it to him. “ Into the fire !” he replied, laconi- cally. The Blackfoot calmly prepared to execute the pitiless order he had re- ceived. “ Stop !” the father cried, with a piercing shriek. “ Do not kill an inno- cent creature in that horrible manner. Are not the atrocious tortures you in- flict on us enough ]” The Blackfoot hesitated, and looked at his chief ; the latter reflected. “Stay,” he said, raising his hand, and addressing the emigrant; “you wish your child to live ]” “ Yes !” the father answered. “ Good,” he answered, “ I will sell you her life.” The American shuddered at this pro- position. “ On what terms ]” he asked. “ Listen,” he said, laying a stress on every word, and darting at him a glance which made him tremble to the mar- row. “ My conditions are these : I am master of all your lives; they belong to me; I can prolong or cut them short without the slightest opposition from you ; but, I hardly know why,” he added, with a sardonic smile, “ I feel merciful to day ; your child shall live. Still, remember this : whatever torture I inflict on you, at the first cry you u'ter, your child shall be strangled. You have it in your power to save her if you will.” “ 1 accept,” the other answered. “ What do I care for the most atrocious torture, so long as my child lives]” A sinister smile played round the chiefs lips. “ It is well,” he said. “ One word more.’ 7 “ Speak.” “Grant me a single favor: let me! give a last kiss to this poor creature.” “Give him his child,” the chief com- manded. An ludian presented the little girl to the wretched man. The innocent, as if comprehending what was taking place, put her arms round her father’s neck, and burst into tears. The latter, frisrii t- fully bound as he was, could only be- stow kisses on her, into which his whole soul passed. The scene had something hideous about it ; it resembled a witches’ Sabbath. The five men fas- tened naked to trees, the children twist- ing on the burning charcoal, and utter- ing piercing cries, and these stoical In- dians, illumined by the ruddy glow of the fire, completed the most fearful pic- ture that the wildest imagination could have invented. “ Enough,” Natah Otann said. “ A last gift, a last remembrance.” The chief shrugged his shoulders. “ For what good ]” he said. “ To render the death you intend for me less cruel.” “ What is it you want ]” “ Hang round my daughter’s neck this earring, suspended by a lock of my hair]” “ Is that really all ]” « It is.” “ Very good.” The chief came up, took from the emigrant’s ear a ring he wore in it, and cut off with a scalping-knife a lock of his hair ; then, turning to him with a sardonic laugh, he said : “ Listen carefully. Your companions and yourself are going to be flayed alive. Of a strip of your skin I will make a bag to hold the lock of hair and ring. You see that l am generous, for I grant you more than you ask ; but remember the conditions.” The emigrant looked at him disdain- fully. “ Keep your promises as well as I shall mine: and now begin the torture, you will see a man die.” Things were done as had been ar- ranged ; the emigrant and his servants were flayed alive. The emigrant en- dured the torture with a courage which even the chief admired. Not a cry, not a groan, issued from his bleeding chest; 73 TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. he was made of granite. When his skin was entirely stripped off, Natah Otann went up to him ; the unhappy wretch was not yet dead. “ Thou art a man,” he said to him. “ Die satisfied. I will keep the promise I made thee.” And moved doubtlessly by a feeling of pity for so much firmness, he blew out his brains. This horrible punishment lasted four hours. The Indians plundered all the Americans possessed, and what they could not carry off they burned. Natah Otann rigidly kept the oath he had made to his victim : as he said, from a strip of his skin, imperfectly tanned, he made a bag, in which he placed the lock of hair, and hung it round the child’s neck by a cord also made of his skin. On the homeward road to his village, Natah Otann paid the most assiduous attention to the poor little creature ; and, on rejoining the tribe, the chief declared before all that he adopted the girl, and gave her the name of Prairie Plower. At the period our story begins, Prai- rie Flower was fourteen years of age ; she was a charming creature, gentle and simple, lovely as the princess of a fai y tale. Her large blue eyes, veiled by long brown lashes, reflected the azure of the heaven, and she ran about, care- less and wild, through the forests and over the prairie, dreaming at times be- neath the shady recesses of the giant trees, living as the birds live, forgetting the past, which was to her as yester- day, caring nothing for the future, which to her had no existence, and only think- ing of the present to be happy. The charming girl had unconsciously become the idol of the tribe. The old White Buffalo more especially felt an unbounded affection for her; but the experiment he had made with Natah Otann disgusted him with a second trial at education. He only watched over her with truly paternal care, correcting any fault he might notice in her with a patience and kindness nothing could weary. This old tribune, like all ener- getic and implacable men, had the heart of a lamb. Having entirely renounced the world which mistook him, he had refreshed his soul in the desert, and re- covered the illusions and generous im- pulses of his youth. Prairie Flower had retained no re- membrance of her early years; as no one ever alluded in her presence to the t rrible scenes which introduced her to the tribe, fresher impressions had com- pletely effaced them. Loved and petted by all, Prairie Flower fancied herself 1 a child of the tribe. Her long tresses of light hair, gilded like ripe corn, and the dazzling whiten ss of her skin, coul l not enlighten her, for in many Indian nations these anamolies are found ; the Mandans, among others, have many women and warriors who, if they put on European clothes, might easily pass for whites. The Blackfeet, seduced by the charms of this gentle young creature, attached the destinies of the tribe to her. They considered her their tutelary genius, their palladium : their faith in her was deep, serene, and simple. Prairie Flower was truly the Queen of the Blackfeet; a sign from her rosy fingers, a word from her dainty lips, w r as obeyed w'ith unbounded promptitude and devo- tion. She could do anything, say every- thing, demand everything, without fear- ing even a second’s hesitation to her will. She exercised this despotic authority unsuspectingly; she alone was unaware of the immense power she pos- sessed over these brutal natives, who in her presence became gentle and de- voted. Natah Otann was attached to his - adopted daughter, so far as organiza- tions like his are capable of yielding to any feeling. At first he sported with the girl as wbth an unimportant plaything; but gradually as the child was transformed and became a woman, these sports be- came more serious, and his heart was attracted. For the first time in his life this man, with his indomitable soul, felt a feeling stir in him, which he could not analyze, but which, through its force and violence, astonished and terrified him. Then a dumb struggle began be- tween the chief s head and heart. He revolted against this influence which subjugated him ; he, hitherto accustom- THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. 71 ed to break through every obstacle, was now powerless before a child, who dis- armed him with a smile, when he tried to overpower her. This struggle lasted a long time; at length the terrible In- dian confessed himself vanquished, that is to say, he allowed the current to car- ry him away and without attempting a ’ resistance, which he felt to be useless, he began to love the young maiden madly. But this love at times caused him suffering so terrible, when he thought of the manner in which Prairie Flower had become his adopted daugh- ter, that he asked himself with terror, whether this deep love which had seized on his brain, and mastered him, was not a chastisement imposed bv heaven. Then he fell back in his usual state of fury, redoubled his ferocity with those unhappy beings whose plantations he surprised, and all reeking with blood, his belt hung with scalps, he returned to the village, and displayed the hideous trophies before the girl. Prairie Flow- er, astonished at the state in which she saw a man whom she believed to be — not her father, for he was too young — but a relative, lavished on him all the consolations and simple caresses which her attachment to him suggested to her, unfortunately, these caresses height- ened his suffering, and he would rush away half mad with grief, leaving her sad and almost terrified by this conduct, which was so incomprehensible to her. Matters reached such a pitch, that the White Buffalo, whose vigilant eye was constantly fixed on his pupil, considered that he must, at all risks, cut away the evil at the root, and withdraw the son of his friend from the deadly fascination exercised over .him by this innocent en- chantress. When he felt convinced of the chief’s love for Prairie Flower, the old sachem asked fora private interview with his pupil ; the latter granted it, quite unsuspecting the reason which urged the White Buffalo to take this step. One morning the chief presented himself at the entrance of his friend’s lodge. The White Bulfalo was reading by the side of a fire kindled in the mid- dle of the hut. “ You are welcome, my son,” he said to the young man. “ I have only a few words to say to you, but I consider them sufficiently serious for you to hear them without delay ; sit down by my side.” The young man obeyed. The White Buffalo then carefully changed his tac- tics ; he, who had so long combated the chief’s views as to the regeneration of the Indian race, entered completely into his views, with an ardor and conviction carried so far, that the young man was astonished, and could not refrain from asking what produced this sudden change in his opinion ? “ The cause is very simple,” the old man answered. “ So long as I considered that these views were only suggested by the impetuosity of youth, 1 merely re- garded them as the dreams of a gener- © © ous heart, which was deceiving itself, and not taking the trouble to weigh the chances of success.” “ What now ?” the young man asked, quickly. “ Now, I recognize all the earnest- ness, nobility, and grandeur, contained in your plans ; and not only admit their possibility, but I wish to aid you so as to ensure success.” “Is what you ask quite true, my father V’ the young man asked, with exultation. “1 swear it: still we must set to work immediately.” The chief examined him fora moment carefully ; but the old man remained impassive. “ l understand you,” he at length said, slowly, and in a deep voice; “ you offer me your hand on the verge of an abyss. Thanks, my father, I will not be unworthy of you ; 1 swear it to you by tne Wacondah.” “ Good ; believe me, my son, I rec- ognise you,” the old man said, shaking his head mournfully. “ One’s country is often an ungrateful mistress; but it is the only one which gives us pure en- joyment, of mind, if we serve her disin- terestedly for herself alone.” The two men shook hands affection- ately ; the compact was sealed. We shall soon see whether Natah Otann had. really conquered his love as he im- agined. 72 TIIE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. CHAPTER X. THE GREAT COUNCIL. Natah Otann set to work immediate- ly, with theardordistinguishing him. He sent emissaries in every direction to the principal chiefs on the western prairies, and convoked them to a great plain in the valley of the Missouri, at a spot called u The Tree of the Master of Life,’' on the fourth day of the moon of the hardened snow. This spot was held in great veneration by the Missouri In- dians, who went there constantly to hang up presents. It was an immense sandy plain, completely denuded of veg- etation ; in the centre of the desert rose a gigantic tree, an oak, twenty feet in circumference at least, the trunk being hollow, and the tufted branches cover- ing an enormous superfices. This tree, which was a hundred and twenty feet in height, and which grew there by acci- dent, necessarily was regarded by the In- dians as something miraculous ; hence the name they gave it. On the appointed day, the Indians ar- rived from all sides, marching in good order, and camping at a short distance from the spot selected for the council. An immense fire had been kindled at the foot of the tree, and at a signal giv- en by the drummers, or Chichikoues, the chiefs collected around it, a few pa- ces behind the sachems. The Blackfeet, Nezperces, Assiniboins, Man dans, and other horsemen, formed a tremendous cordon round the council fire ; while scouts traversed the deserts in every di- rection, to keep off intruders, and in- sure the secrecy of the deliberations. In the east the sun was pouring forth its beams ; the desert, parched and na- ked, was mingled with the boundless ho- rizon ; to the south, the Rocky Moun- tains displayed the eternal snows of theii summits ; while in the northwest, a silvery ribbon indicated the course of the old Missouri. Such was the land- scape, if we may call it so, where the barbarous warriors, clothed in their strange costumes, were assembled round the symbolic tree. This majestic sight involuntarily re- minded the observer of other times and climes, when, by the light of the incen- diary fires they kindled, the ferocious comrades of Attila rushed to conquer and rejuvenate the Roman Empire. Generally the natives of America have a Divinity, or, more correctlv, a Genius, at times beneficent, but more frequently hostile. The worship of the savage is less veneraiion than fear. The Master of Life is an evil genius, rather than kind; hence the Indians give his name to the tree to which they attribute the same powers. Indian religions, being all primitive, make no account of the moral being, and only dwell on the accidents of nature, which they make into gods. These different tribes strive to secure the favor of the deserts, where fatigue and thirst entail death, and of the rivers, which may swallow them up. The chiefs, as we have said, were crouching round the fire, in a state of contemplative immobility, from which it might be inferred that they were pre- paring for an important ceremony of their worship. Presently, Natah Otann raised to his lips the long war-pipe, made of a human thigh-bone, which he wore hanging round his neck, and pro- duced a piercing and prolonged sound. At this signal, for it was one, the chiefs rose, and forming in Indian file, marched twice round the tree, singing, in a low voice, a hymn, to implore its assistance for the success of their plans. At the third time of inarching round, Natah Otann took off a magnificent collar of grizzly bears’ claws from his neck, and hung it to the branches of the tree, say- ing : “ Master of Life, look on us with a favorable eye. 1 offer thee this pre- sent.” The other chiefs imitated his example each in turn; then they resumed their seats round the council-fire. The pipe- bearer then entered the circle, and after the customary ceremonies, offered the calumet to the chiefs, and when eacii had smoked, the oldest sachem invited Natah Otann to take the word. The Indian chiefs plan was probably the most daring ever formed against the whites, and, as the White Buffalo said, mockingly, must offer chances of sue- TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. 73 cess through its improbability, because it flattered the superstitious ideas of the Indians, who, like all primitive nations, place great faith in the marve lous. It is, besides, the quality of oppressed na- tions, to whom reality never offers aught but disillusions and suffering, to take refuge in the supernatural, which alone offers them consolation. Natali Otann had drawn the first idea of his plan from one of the oldest and most inveterate traditions of the Comanches, his ances- tors. This tradition, by reciting which his father often lulled him to sleep in his childhood, pleased his adventurous mind ; and when the hour arrived to put in execution the projects which he had so long revolved, he invoked it, and resolved to employ it, in order to collect the other Indian nations around him in one common whole. When Moctecuzoma (whom Spanish writers improperly call Montezuma, a name which has no meaning, while the first signifies the “ stern lord ”) found himself imprisoned in his palace by that talented adventurer, Cor ez, who, a few days later, tore his kingdom from him, the emperor, who preferred to confide in greedy strangers than take refuge in the midst of his people, had a presenti- ment of the fate reserved for him. A few days prior to his death, he assembled the principal Mexican chiefs who shared his prison, and addressed them thus : “ Listen ! My father, the Sun, has warned me that I shall soon return to him. I know not how or when I am destined to die, but I am certain that my last hour is close at hand.’’ As the chiefs burst into tears at these words, for they held him in great vene- ration, he consoled them by saying : “ My last hour is near on this earth, but I shall not die, as 1 am returning to my father, the Sun, where I shall enjoy a felicity unknown in this world ; weep not, therefore, my faithful friends, but, on the contrary, rejoice at the happiness which awaits me. The bearded white men have treacherously seized the greater portion of my empire, and they will soon be masters of the remainder. Who can stop them? Their weapons render them invulnerable, and they dis- pose at their will of the fire from heaven ; but their power will end one day ; they, too, will be the victims of treachery ; the penalty of retaliation will be inflicted on them in all its rigor. Listen, then, attentively, to what I am about to ask of you ; the safety of our country depends on the fidelity with which you execute my last orders. Each of you take a little of the sacred fire which was formerly kindled by the Sun himself, and on which the white men have not yet dared to lay a sacrile- gious hand to extinguish it. This fire burns before you in this golden censer; take it unto you, not letting your ene- mies know what has become of it. You will divide the fire among you, so that each may have a sufficiency ; preserve it religiously, and never let it go out. Each morning, after adoring it, mount on the roof of your house, at sunrise, and look toward the east; one day you will see me appear, giving my right hand to my father, the Sun; then you will rejoice, for the moment of your deliverance will be at hand. My father and I will come to restore you to liber- ty, and deliver you forever from these enemies, who have come from a per- verse world, that rejected them from its bosom.” The Mexican chiefs obeyed the orders of their well-beloved emperor on the spot, for time pressed. A few days later, Moctecuzoma mounted on the roof of his palace, and prepared to ad- dress his mutinous people, when he was struck by an arrow, it was never known by whom, and fell into the arms of the Spanish soldiery who accompanied him. Before breathing his last sigh, the em- peror sat up, and raising his hands to heaven, said, with a supreme effort, to his friends assembled round him : “The fire! the fire! think of the fire !” These were his last words ; ten minutes later he had ceased to breathe. In vain did the Spaniards, whose curio- sity was strongly aroused by this mys- terious recommendation, try all the means in their power to penetrate its meaning; but they did not succeed in making one of the Mexicans they inter- rogated speak. All religiously pre- served their secret, and several, indeed, /4 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. died of torture, rather than reveal it. The Comanches, and nearly all the nations of the Far West, have kept this belief intact. In all the Indian vil- lages, the fire of Moctecuzoma, which burns eternally, is guarded by two war- riors, who remain by it for twenty-four hours without eating or drinking, when ’they are relieved by two others. For- merly the guardians remained forty- eight hours instead of twenty-four. It very frequently happened that they were found dead when the reliefs came, either through the mephitic gases of the fire, which had great effect on them, owing to their long fast, or for some other rea- son. The bodies were taken away, and placed in a cavern, where, as the Com- anches say, a serpent devoured them. This belief is so general, that it is not only found among the Red Indians, but also among the Manzos. Many men, considered to be well educated, keep up, in hidden centers, the fire of Moc- tecuzoma, visit it every day, and do net fail at sunrise to mount on the roof of their houses and look towards the east in the hope of seeing their well-beloved emperor coming to restore them that liberty for which they have sighed dur- ing so many ages, and which the Mexi- can Republic is far from having granted ttiem. Natah Otann’s idea was this : To tell the Indians after narrating the legend to them, that the time had arrived when Moctecuzoma would appear a d act as their chief ; to form a powerful band of warriors, whom he would spread along the whole American frontier, so as to attack his enemies at every point simultaneously, and not give them time to look about them. This project, mad as it was, especial- ly in having to be executed by Indians, or men the least capable of forming al- liances, which have ever caused them de- feats ; this project, we say, was deficient neither in boldness nor in nobility, and Natah Otann was really the only man capable of carrying it out, could he but find, among the persons he wished to arouse, two or three docile and intelli- gent instruments, that would understand his idea, and heartily co-operate with him. The Comanches, Pawnees, aud Sioux were of great utility to the chief, as well as the majority of the Indians of the Far West, for they shared in the belief on which Natah Otann based his plans, and not only did not need to be persuaded, but would help him in per- suading the Missouri Indians by their assent to his assertions. But in so large an assembly of nations, divided by a multitude of interests, speaking differ- ent languages, generally hostile to each how would it be possible to establish a tie sufficiently strong to attach them in an indissolulde manner ? How convince them to march to- gether without jealousy ? Lastly, was it reasonable to suppose that there would not be a traitor to sell his bro thors, and reveal their plan to the Yankees, who ever have an eye on the movements of the Indians, for they are so anxious to be rid of them? Still, Natah Otann did not recoil ; he did not conceal from himself the d ffi- culties which he should have to over- come ; but his courage grew with ob- stacles. His resolution was strength- ened, if we may use the term, in proportion to the responsibilities which must every moment rise before him. When the sachems made him the signal to rise, Natah Otann saw that the mo- ment had arrived to begin the difficult game he wished to play. He took the word resolutely, certain that, with the men he had before him, all depended on the manner in wh ch he handled the question, and that, the first impression once made, success was almost certain. “ Chiefs of the Comanches, Osages, Sioux, Pawnees, Mandans, Assiniboins, Missouris, and all you that listen to me. My red brothers,” he said, in a firm and deeply accentuated voice, “ for ma- ny moons my spirit has been sad. 1 see, with sorrow, our hunting-gr unds, invaded by the white men, grow small- er every day. We, whose innumerable people covered, scarce four centuries back, the immense extent of territory compassed between the two seas, are now reduced to a small party or warri- ors, who, timid as antelopes, fly before our despoilers. Our sacred cities, the I last refuge of the civilization of our fa- THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. 75 thers, the Incas, will become the prey of those monsters with human faces who have no olher God but gold. Our dis- persed race will possibly soon disap- pear f rom that world which it has so long possessed and governed alone. Track- ed like wild animals ; brutalized by firewater, that corrosive poison invented by the white men for our ruin ; decima- ted by the sword and white diseases, our wandering tribes are now but the shadow of a people. Our conquerers despise our religion, and wish to bow us beneath the laws of the crucified One. They outrage our wives ; kill our children; burn our villages; and will reduce us, if they can, to the state of wild beasts, under the pretext of civ- ilizing us. Indians, all you who hear me, is our blood so impoverished in our veins, and have you all renounced your independence ! Reply, will you die as slaves, or live free V’ At these words, pronounced in a loud tone, and heightened by an energetic gesture, a tremor ran through the as- sembly ; brows were bent firmly, all eyes sparkled. “ Speak, speak again, sachem of the Blackfeet,” all the chiefs shouted unani- mously. Natah Otann smiled proudly, his power over the masses was revealed to him. He continued : “ The hour has at length arrived, af- ter so many hesitations, to shake off the shameful yoke that presses on us. Within a few days, if you please, we will drive the whites far from our fron- tiers, and repay them all the evil they have done us. For a long time 1 have watched the Americans and Spaniards. I know their tactics, their resources ; to utterly destroy them, what do we need, my well-beloved brothers 1 two things alone — skill and courage !” The Indians interrupted him with shouts of joy. “You shall be free,” Natah Otann continued. “ I will restore to you the valleys of your ancestors, the fields where their bones are buried, and which the sacrilegious plough disperses in every direction. This project, ever since I became a man, has fermented in my heart, and become my life. Far 5 from me and from you the thought that 1 intend to force myself upon you as chief, especially since the prodigy ot which I have been witness, in the ap- pearance of the great emperor ! No ; after that supreme chief, who must guide you to liberty, you are free to choose the man who will execute his orders, and communicate them to you. When you have chosen him, you will obey him; follow him everywhere; and pass with him through the most insur- mountable dangers, lor he will be the elect of the Sun, the lieutenant of Moc- tecuzoma ! Do not deceive yourselves, warriors ; our enemy is powerful, nu- merous, well-disciplined, warlike, and has, before all, the habit of conquering us, which is a great advantage to him. Name, then, this lieutenant ; let his election be free ; take the most worthy and I will joyfully march under his or- ders !” And after saluting the sachems, Na- tah Otann disappeared in a crowd of warriors, with calm brow, but with a heart devoured by restlessness. His eloquence, so novel to the Indians, had seduced them, and thrown them into a species of frenzy. They considered the daring Blackfoot chief a genius superior to themselves, and almost bowed the knee to him in adoration, so cleverly had he struck the chord which must touch their hearts. For a long time the council gave way to a sort of mad- ness, and all spoke at once ; when this emotion was calmed, the wisest of the sachems discussed the opportunity for taking up arms, and the chances of sue cess. It was now that the tribes of the Far West, who believed in the legend of the sacred fire, became so useful ; at length, after a protracted discussion, opinions were unanimous for a general uprising. The ranks momentarily brok- en, were reformed, and the White Buf- falo, invited by the chiefs to express the opinions of the council, spoke as fol- lows : “ Chiefs of the allied Indian tribes, listen ! This day it has been resolved by the following chiefs: — Little Panth- er, Spotted Dog, White Buffalo, Grizzly Bear, Red Wolf, White Fox, Tawny Vulture, Glistening Snake and others, 76 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. each representing a nation and a tribe, that war has been declared against the white men, our plunderers ; and as this war is holy, and has liberty for its ob- ject, all men, women and children must take part in it, each according to their strength. This very day the wampums will be sent by the chiefs to all the In- dian tribes that, owing to the distance of these hunting-grounds, were unable to be present at this great council, in spite of their great desire to be so. 1 have spoken V 1 A long cry of enthusiasm interrupted the White Buffalo, who continued soon after : “ The chiefs, after ripe deliberation, assenting to the request made to the council by Natah Otann, the first sachem of the Blackfeet, that they should ap- point a lieutenant to the Emperor Moctecuzoma. sovereign-chief of the In- dian warriors, have chosen as supreme leader under the sole crders cf the said Emperor, the wisest, most prudent and worthy to command us. That warrior is the sachem of the Blackfoot Indians, of the tribe of the Kenhas, whose race is so ancient, Natah Otann, the cousin of the Sun, that dazzling planet which illumines us.” A thunder of applause greeted the last words. Natah Otann saluted the sachems, walked into the circle, and said in a haughty voice : “ I accept, sachems, my brothers ; we agree, 1 shall be dead, or you will be free.” “ May the Grizzly Bear live forever !” the crowd shouted. “War to the white men!” Natah Otann continued, “ a war without truce or mercy. A slaughter of wild beasts, as they are accustomed to treat us, Remember the law of the prairies : — eye for eye ; tooth for tooth Let each chief send the wampum of war to his nation, for at the end of this moon we will arouse our enemies by a thunder- bolt. At the seventh hour of this night we will meet again to select the subal- tern chiefs, number our warriors, and choose the day and hour for attack.” The chiefs bowed without replying, rejoined their escorts, and soon disap- peared in a cloud of dust. Natah Otann and the White Buffalo remained alone; a detachment of Blackfeet warriors watching over them at a distance. Na- tah Otann, with his arms crossed and head bowed, seemed plunged in pro- found reflection. “ Well,” the old Indian said, with an almost imperceptible shade of irony in his voice, you have succeeded, m;y son; you are happy. Your plans will at length be accomplished.” “ Yes,” he replied, without noticing the sarcastic tone of voice ; “ war is de- clared ; my plans have succeeded ; but now, friend, I tremble at such a heavy task. Will these peculiar men thor- oughly comprehend me ? Will they be able to read in my heart, all the love and adoration I feel for them ? Are they ripe for liberty 1 perhaps they have not suffered enough, yet 'l Father, father, whose heart is so powerful and soul so great; whose life was used up in numerous contests, counsel me ! help me ! I am young and weak, and I only have a strong will and a boundless de- votion to support me.” The old man smiled mournfully, and muttered, answering his own thoughts more than his friend : “Yes; my life was used up in su- preme struggles ; the work I helped to raise has been overthrown, but not des- troyed ; for a new society, full of vitali- ty, has arisen from 1 he ruins of a de- crepid society ; by our efforts the fur- row was ploughed too deeply for it ever to be filled up again ; progress march- ing onward, nothing can check or stop it ! Do not halt on the road you have chosen; it is the greatest and most no- ble a great heart can follow.” In uttering these words, the old man had allowed his enthusiasm to carry him away ; his head was raised ; his brow glistened; the expiring sun played on his face, and imparted to it an ex- pression which Natah Otann had never seen before, and which filled him with respect. But the old man shook his head sorrowfully, and continued : “ Child, how will you keep your pro- mise ? where will you find Moctecuzo- ma r THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 77 Natah Otann smiled. “ You will soon see, my father]” he said. At the same moment, an Indian, whose panting horse seemed to breathe fire through its nostrils, came up to the chiefs, where he stopped suddenly, as if converted into marble; without dis- mounting, he bent down to Natah Otann’s ear. “ Already !” the latter exclaimed. “ Oh ! heaven must be on my side ! there is not a moment to lose. My horse ! quick.” “ What is the matter ]” the White Buffalo asked. “ Nothing that relates to you at pre- sent, my father ; but you shall soon know all.” “ You are going alone, then !” “ I must for a short period. Fare- well !” Natah Otann’s horse uttered a snort of pain, and started at full gallop. Ten minutes later all the Indians had disap- peared, and solitude and silence prevail- ed round the Tree of the Master of Life. CHAPTER XI. AMERICAN HOSPITALITY. Matters had reached this point at the moment when the story, we have undertaken to tell, begins : now that we have supplied these indispensable ex- planations, we will take up our narra- tive again at the point where we broke it off. John Black and his family, posted behind the barricade that surrounded the camp, regarded with joy, mingled with alarm, the cavalcade coming to- ward them like a tornado, raising clouds of dust in its passage. “ Attention, boys !” the American said to his son and servants, with his hand on his trigger. “ You know the diabolical trickery of these apes of the prairie. We must not let them sur- prise us a second time ; at the least sus- picious sign, a bullet! We shall thus prove to them that we are on our guard.” The emigrant’s wife and daughter, with their eyes fixed on the prairie, at- tentively followed the movements of the Indians. “You are mistaken, my love,” Mrs. Black said, “ these men have no hostile designs. The Indians rarely attack by day ; when they do so, they never come so openly as this.” “ The more so,” the young lady added, “ as, if I am not mistaken, I can see Europeans galloping at the head of the party.” “ Oh !” Black said, “ that really has no significance, my child. The prairies swarm with scoundrels who join those demons of redskins when honest travel- lers are to be plundered. Who knows, indeed, whether white men were nob the instigators of last night’s attack ]” “ Oh, father, I never could believe such a thing as that,” Diana remarked. Miss Black, of whom we have hither- to said but little, was a girl of about seventeen, tall and slender ; her large black eyes, bordered with velvety lashes, the thick bandeaux of brown hair, her little mouth, with its rosy lips and pearly teeth, made her a charming creature, who would have been an orna- ment anywhere, but in the desert must naturally attract attention. Religiously educated by her mother, a good and pious Presbyterian, Diana still retained all the candor and innocence of youth, combined with that experience of every- day life imparted by the rude life of the clearings, where people begin early to think and act for themselves. In the meanwhile the cavalcade rapidly ap- proached, and was now no great dis- tance off. “ Those are really our animals gal- loping down there,” Will said, “I recog- nize Sultan, my good horse.” “And Dolly, my poor milch cow,” Mrs. Black said, with a sigh. “Console yourselves,” Diana said, “ I’ll answer for it that these people are bringing back our cattle.” Ttie emigrant shook his head in agitation. “ The Indians never give up what they have once seized. But, by my soul, I’ll have it out with them, and not 78 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. let myself be robbed without a trial for it.” “Wait a minute, father,” said Will, stopping him, for the emigrant was about to leap over the intrenchments, “ we shall soon know what their inten- tions are.” “Hum ! they are very clear, in my | idea. The demons want to propose to us some disgusting bargain ?” “ Perhaps, father, you are mistaken,” Diana said quickly ; “ and see they are stopping, and apparently consulting.” In fact, on arriving within gunshot, the Indians halted, and began talking together. “Why shall we not go on?” the Count asked Brighteye. “ Hum, you don’t know the Yankees, Mr. Edward. I am sure that were we to go ten paces further, we should be saluted by a shower of bullets.” “ Nonsense,” the young man said, with a shrug of his shoulder: “they are not so mad as to act in that way.” “ It’s possible; but they would do as I tell you. Look attentively, and you will see from this spot the barrels of their rifles glistening between the stakes of the barricades.” “By Jove! it’s true; then they want to be massacred.” “ They would have been so long ago, had not my brother interceded in their favor,” Natah Otann said, joining in the conversation. “ And 1 thank you, chief. The de- sert is large ; what harm can those poor devils do you.” “They, none; but presently others will come and settle by their side, and so on ; so that in six months my broth- er would see a city at a spot where there is now nothing but nature as it left the omnipotent hands of the Master J of Life.” “ That is true,” Brighteye said, “ the Yankees respect nothing ; the rage for building cities renders them dangerous madmen.” “ Why have we stopped, chief?” the Count said, recurring to his first ques- tion.” “ To negotiate.” “ W ill you do me a kindness ? Leave this business to me. 1 am curious to see how these people understand the laws of war, and how they will receive me.” “ My brother is free.” “ Wait for me here, then, and do not make a move during my absence.” The young man took off his weapons, which he handed to his servant. “What?” Ivon remarked. “Are you going, my lord, in this state among those heretics ?” “ How else should I go ? You know very well that a flag of truce has noth- ing to fear.” “ That is possible,” the Breton said, very slightly convinced ; “ but if your lordship will believe me, you will at least, keep your pistols in your belt ; for an accident happens so easily, and you do not know among what sort of people you are going.” “ You are mad !” the Count said shrugging his shoulders. “ Well then, as you are going un- armed to speak with people who do not inspire me wilh the slightest confidence I must ask your lordship to permit me to accompany you.” “You, nonsense!” the young man said, laughing. “ You know very well that you are a wonderful coward ; that’s agreed on.” “ Perfectly true ; but I feel capable of anything to defend my master.” “There we have it; your cowardice need only come on you suddenly, and in your alarm, you will be ready to kill everybody. No, no, none of that ; 1 do not wish to get into trouble through you.” And dismounting, he walked in the direction of the barricades. On arriv- ing a short distance from them, he took out a white handkerchief, and waved it in the air. Black, still ready to fire, carefully watched the Count’s every movement, and when he saw his amica- ble demonstration, he rose, and made him a signal to come on. The young man quietly returned his handkerchief to his pocket, lit a cigar, stuck his glass in his eye, and after drawing on his gloves, walked resolutely on. On reach- ing the entrenchments, he found himself in front of Black, who was waiting for him, leaning on his rifle. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 70 “What do you want of me?” the American said roughly. “ Make haste ! I have no time to lose in conversation.” The Count surveyed him haughtily, assumed the most insolent posture he could select, and puffing a cloud of smoke in his face, said, dryly : “ You are not polite, my dear fel- low.” “ Halloa !” the other said. “Have you come here to insult me ?” “ 1 have come to do you a service ; and if you continue in that tone, I am afraid I shall be obliged not to do it.” “ We’ll see to that — do me a service ! and what may it be?” the American asked, with a grin. “ You are a low fellow,” the Count remarked, “ with whom it is offensive to talk. I prefer to withdraw.” “ Withdraw — oh, nonsense ! You are too valuable a hostage. I shall keep you, my gentleman, and only give you up at a good figure,” the American continued. “ What ! Is that the way you com- prehend the law of nations ? That’s curious,” the Count said, still sarcastic. “ There is no law of nations with bandits.” “ Thanks for your compliment, mas- ter. And what would you do to keep me, if I did not think proper ?” “ Like this,” the American said, lay- ing his hand roughly on his shoulder. “ What ?” the Count said. “ I real- ly believe, heaven forgive me ! that you dared to lay a hand on me!” And ere the emigrant had time to prevent it, he seized him round the waist, lifted him from the ground, and hurled him over the barricade. The giant fell all bruised in the middle of his camp. Instead of withdrawing as any other might have done in his place, the young man crossed his arms, and waited, smoking peacefully. The emi- grant, stunned by his rough fall, rose, shaking himself like a wet dog, and feel- ing his ribs, to assure himself that there was nothing broken. The ladies uttered a cry of terror on seeing him re-enter the camp in such a peculiar way, while his son and servants looked toward him, ready to fire at the first signal. “ Lower your guns,” he said to them ; and leaping once more over the barri- cade, he walked towards the Count. The latter awaited him with perfect calmness. “ Ah ! there you are,” he said. “ Well, how did you like that?” “Come, come,” the American re- plied, holding out his hand ; “ I was in the wrong; l am a brute beast; forgive me.” i “ Very good ; I like you better like that ; we only need to understand each other. You are now prepared to listen to me, I fancy ?” “ Quite.” There are certain men, like John Black, with whom it is necessary to em- ploy extreme measures, and prove your superiority to them. With such per- sons you do not argue, but smash them ; after which it always happens that these men, before so untractable, become gentle as lambs, and do all you want. The American, possessed of great strength, and confiding in it, thought he had a right to be insolent with a slight and weak-looking man ; but so soon as this man had proved to him, in a per- emptory manner, that he was the more powerful of the two, the bull drew in his horns, and recoiled all the distance he had advanced. “ This night,” the Count then said, “you were attacked by the Blackfeet ; I wished to come to your aid, but it was impossible, and, besides, I should have arrived too late. As, however, for some reason or other, the men who attacked you feel a certain amount of consideration for me, 1 have profited by my influence to make them restore the cattle they stole from you.” “ Thanks ; believe that I sincerely regret what has passed between us ; but I was so annoyed by the loss I had ex- perienced.” “ I understand all that, and willingly pardon you, the more so as I, perhaps, gave you rather too rude a shock just now.” “ Oh, do not mention it, I beg.” “ As you please ; it is all the same to me.” “ And my cattle ?” “ Are at your disposal. Will you have them at once ?” 80 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ I will not conceal from you that — ” “Very good,” the Count interrupted him ; “ wait a minute, I will tell them to bring them up.” “ Ho you think I have nothing to fear from the Indians'?” “ Not if you know how to manage them.” “ Well, then, shall I wait for you'?” “ Only a few minutes.’ 7 The Count went down the hill again with the same calm step he had gone up it. So soon as he rejoined the In- dians, his friends surrounded him ; they had seen all that passed, and were de- lighted at the way in which he had ended the discussion. “ Good heavens ! how coarse those Americans are,” the young man said. “ Pray give him his cattle, chief, and let us have done with him. The ani- mal all but put me in a passion.” “ He is coming toward us,” Natah Otann replied, with an undefinable smile. Black, indeed, soon came up. The worthy emigrant, having been duly scolded by his wife and daughter, had recognized the full extent of his stupid- ity, and was most anxious to repair it. “ Really, gentlemen,” he said, “ we cannot part in this way. I owe you great obligations, and am desirous to prove to you that I am not such a brute as I probably seem to be. Be kind enough to stay with us, if only for an hour, to show us that you bear no malice.” This invitation was given in a hearty, but, at the same time, cordial manner, and it was so evident that the good man was confused, that the Count had not the heart to refuse him. The Indians camped where they were. The chief and the three hunters follow- ed the American into his camp, where the cattle had already been restored. The reception was as it should be in the desert ; the ladies had hastily pre- pared refreshments under the tent, as William and the two serving men made a breach in the barricade, to give pas- sage to his father’s guests. Lucy Black and Diana awaited the new comers at the entrance of the camp. “ You are welcome, gMitlemen,” the American’s wife said, with a graceful bow ; “ we are all so much indebted to you, that we are only too happy to re- ceive you.” The chief and the Count bowed po- litely to the lady, who was doing all in her power to repair the clumsy brutali- ty of her husband. The Count, at the sight of Diana, felt an emotion which he could not, at the first blush, under- stand ; his heart beat on regarding this charming creature, who was exposed to so many dangers through the life to which she was condemned. Diana blushed at the ardent gaze of the young man, and timidly drew nearer her moth- er, with that instinct of modesty innate in woman’s heart, which makes her ev- er seek protection from her to whom she owes existence. After the first compliments, Natah Otann, the Count and Brighteye, enter- ed the tent where Black and his son were awaiting them. When the ice was bro- ken, which does not take long among people accustomed to prairie life, the conversation became more animated and intimate. “So,” the Count asked, “you have left the clearings with the intention of never returning ?” “ Oh, yes,” the emigrant answered ; “ for a man having a family everything is becoming so dear on the frontier, that he must make up his mind to enter the desert.” “ I can understand your doing so as a man, for you can always manage to get out of difficulties ; but your wife and daughter — you condemn them to a very sorrowful and dangerous life.” “ It is a wife’s first duty to follow her husband,” Mrs. Black said, with a slight accent of reproach. “ I am hap- py wherever he is, provided I am by his side.” “ Good, madam ; I admire such sen- timents ; but permit me an observa- tion.” “ Certainly, sir.” “ Was it necessary to come so far to find a suitable farm V * “ Certainly not ; but we should have run the risk of being some day expelled by the owners of the land, and compell ed to begin a new plantation further away, she said. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 81 “ While now,” Black continued, “ at the place where we are, we have noth- ing of that sort to fear, as the land be- longs to nobody.” “ My brother is mistaken,” the chief said, who had not yet spoken a word ; “ the country, for ten days’ march in ev- ery direction, belongs to me and my jtribe ; the paleface is here on the hunt- -ing-grounds of the Kenhas.” Black regarded Natah Otann with an air of embarrassment. “ Well,” he said, after a moment’s pause, as if speaking against the grain ; “ we will go further, wife.” “ W here can the palefaces go to find land that belongs to nobody ?” the chief continued, severely. This time the American had not a word to say. Diana, who had never before seen an Indian so close, regarded the chief with a mingled feeling of cu- riosity and terror. The Count smiled. “ The chief is right,” Brighteye said, “ the prairies belong to the red men.” Black had bowed his head on his chest, in perplexity. “ What is to be done ?” he muttered. Natah Otann laid his hand on his shoulder. “ Let my brother open his ears, ; he said to him ; “ a chief is now about to speak.” The American fixed an enquiring glance on him. “ Does this country suit my brother, then?” the Indian continued. “ Why should I deny it ? This coun- try is the finest I ever saw ; close to me 1 have the river, behind me, im- mense virgin forests. Oh, yes, it is a fine country, and I should have made a magnificent plantation.” “ 1 have told my paleface brother,” the chief went on, “ that this country belonged to me.” “Yes, you told me so, chief, and it is true ; I cannot deny it.” “Well, if the pale-face desires it, he can obtain so much ground as he wish- es,” Natah Otann said, concisely. At this proposition, which the Amer- ican was far from expecting, he pricked up his ears ; the squatter’s nature was aroused in him. “ How can . buy the land when I pos- sess nothing ?” he said. “ That is of no consequence,” the chief replied. The astonishment became general ; each looked at the Indian curiously ; for the conversation had suddenly ac- quired a grave importance which no one suspected. Black, however, was not deceived by this apparent facility. “The chief has doubtless not under- stood me,” he said. The Indian shook his head. “ The paleface cannot buy the land because he has nothing to pay for it ; these were his words.” “True; and the chief answered that it was of little matter.” “ l said so.” There was no mistake, the two men had clearly understood one another. “ There is some deviltry behind that,” Brighteye muttered in his mous- tache ; “an Indian does i.otgive an egg, unless he expects an ox in return.” “ What do you want to arrive at, chief?” the Count asked Natah Otann frankly. “ I will explain myself,” the latter said ; “ my brother interests hirnself in this family, I believe ?” “ I do,” the young man answered, with some surprise, “ and you know my reasons.” “ Good ; let my brother pledge him- self to accompany me during two moons without asking any explanation of my actions, and give me his aid whenever I require it, and 1 will give this man as much ground as he needs to found a settlement, and he need never fear being annoyed by the redskins, or dispossessed by the whites, for I am really the owner of the land, and no other can lay claim to it.” “A moment,” Brighteye said, as he rose ; “ in my presence, Mr. Edward will not accept such a bargain ; no one buys a pig in a poke, and it would be madness to submit his will to the capri- ces of another man.” Natah Otann frowned, his eye flashed fire, and he rose. “ Dog of the palefaces,” he shouted, “take care of thy word', I have once spared thy lite.” 82 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ Your menaces do not frighten me, Redskin,” the Canadian replied resolute- ly ; “you lie if you say that you were master of my life ; it only depends from the will of God; you cannot cause a hair of my head to fall without His consent.” Nutah Otann laid his hand on his knife, a movement immediately imita- tated by the hunter, and they stood op- posite each other, ready for action. The ladies uttered a shriek of terror, W illiam and his father stood before them, ready to interfere in the quarrel, if it were ne- cessary. But the Count had already, quick as thought, thrown himself be- tween the two men, shouting loudly : “ Stop, I insist on it !” Yielding to the ascendancy of the speaker, the Blackfoot and the Canadian each fell back a step, returned their knives to their girdles, and waited. The Count looked at them for a moment, then holding out his hand to Brighteye, said affectionately : “ Thank you, my friend, but for the present, I do not require your aid.” “ Good, good,” the hunter said, “ you know I am yours, body and soul. Mr. Edward, it is only deferred.” And the worthy Canadian sat down again quietly. “ As for you, chief,” the young man continued, “ the proposals are unaccept- able. I should be mad to agree to them and 1 hope I am not quite in that state yet. I wish to teach you this, that I have only come on the prairie to hunt for a short time : that time has passed : pressing business requires my presence in the United States, and dispels my de- sire to be useful to these good people ; so soon as I have accompanied you to the village according to my promise, I shall say good-bye to you, and probably never return. ’ " Which will be extremely agreeable to me,” Brighteye said in confirmation. The Indian did not stir. “ Still,” the Count went on, “ there is perhaps a way of settling the matter to the satisfaction of all parties ; land is not so dear here ; tell me your price, and I will pay you at once, either in dollars, or in bills on a New York bank- er.” “ All right,” the hunter said, “ there is still that way open.” “ Oh ! I thank you, sir,” Mrs. Black exclaimed, “ but my husband cannot and ought not to accept such a propo- sal.” “ Why not, my dear lady ? if it suits me, and the chief accepts my offer.” Black, we must do him the justice to say, satisfied himself by signifying h s approval by a gesture ; but the worthy squatter, like a true American, was ve- ry careful not to say a word. As for Diana, fascinated by such disinterested- ness, she gazed on the Count with eyes sparkling with gratitude, not daring to express aloud what her secret thoughts were about this noble and generous gen- tleman. Natah Otann raised his head. “ I will prove to my brother,” he said in a gentle voice, and bowing courteous- ly, “ that the red men are as generous as the palefaces. I sell him eight hun- dred acres of land, to be chosen where he pleases along the river, for one dol- lar.” “ A dollar 1” the young man exclaim- ed, in surprise. “ Yes,” the chief said, smiling, " in that way I shall be paid, my brother will owe me nothing ; and if he con- sents to stay a little while with me, it will be of his own accord, and because he likes to be with a true friend.” This unforeseen result to a scene, which had for a moment threatened to end in blood, filled all persons with sur- prise. Brighteye alone was not duped by the chief’s courtesy. “ There’s something behind it,” he muttered to himself, “ but 1 will watch, and th :t demon must be very cunning to cheat me.” The Count was affected by this gene- rosity, which he was far from expecting. “ There, chief,” he said, handing him the stipulated dollar, “ now we are quits ; but be assured that 1 will not be outdone by you.” Natah Otann bowed courteously. “ Now,” the Count continued, “ a last favor.” “ Let my brother speak, he has the right to ask everything of me.” “ Make peace with my old Bright- eye.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 83 “ As my brother desires it,” the chief said, “ I will do so willingly ; and, as a sign of reconciliation, I beg him to ac- cept the dollar you have given me.” The hunter’s first impulse was to de- cline it; but he thought better of it, took the dollar, and carefully placed it in his belt. Black knew not how to ex- press his gratitude to the Count, who had really made him a landed proprie- tor; and the same day the American and his son chose the land on which the plantation should be established. The Count drew up on a leaf of his pocket- book a regular deed of sale, which was signed by himself, Brighteye, and Ivon, as witnesses, by Black as purchaser, and at the foot of which Natah Otann drew the totem of his tribe, and an animal in- tended to represent a bear, which formed his speaking but most emblematical signature. The chief, had he pleased, could have signed like the rest, but he wished to hide from all the instruction he owed to the White Buffalo. Black preciously placed the deed between the leaves of his family bible, and said to the Count, while squeezing his hand hard enough to smash it : “ Remember that you have in John Black a man who will let his bones be broken for you, whenever you think proper ’ Diana said nothing, but she gave the young man a look which paid him amply for what he had done for the family. “Attention,” Brighteye said, in a whisper, the first time he found himself alone with Ivon ; “ from this day watch carefully over your master, for a terrible danger threatens him.” CHAPTER XII. THE SHE-WOLF OF THE PRAIRIES. About four or five hours after the various events we have described in the previous chapters, a horseman, mounted on a powerful steed, caparisoned in the Indian fashion, that is to say, bedizened with feathers, and painted of glaring colors, crossed a streamlet, and galloped over the prairies, proceeding in the direction of the virgin forest, to which we have several times alluded. The rider, dressed in the war costume of the Blackfoot Indians, and whom it was easy to recognize as a chief by the eagle feather fastened over his right ear, in- cessantly bent over his horse’s neck, and urged it to increased speed. It was night, and an American night, full of sharp odors and mysterious sounds, with a dark blue sky, studded with an infinite number of dazzling stars ; the moon profusely spread her silvery rays over the landscape, casting a deceitful brightness, which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects. All seemed to sleep on the prairies ; the wind even hardly shook the umbrageous tops of the trees ; the wild beasts, after drinking at the river, had returned to their hidden dens. The horseman alone moved on, gliding silently through the darkness ; at times he raised his head, as if consulting the sky, then, after a second’s rest, he galloped onwards. Many hours passed ere the horseman thought of stopping. At length he reached a spot where the trees were so interlaced by creepers which enfolded them, that a species of insurmountable wall suddenly prevented the rider’s progress. After a moment’s hesitation and iooking attentively around to dis- cover a hole by which he could pass, seeing clearly that all attempts would be useless, he dismounted. He saw that he had arrived at a cane brake, or spot where passage can only be made by fire or axe. The Indian chief fas- tened his horse to the trunk of a tree ; left within its reach a stock of grass and climbing peas ; then, certain that his horse would want for nothing during this long night, he began thinking of himself. First he cut down with his bowie knife the bushes and plants which inter- fered with the encampment he wished to form ; then he prepared, with all the stoicism of a prairie denizen, a fire of dry wood, in order to cook his supper, and keep off wild beasts, if any one took it into his head to pay him a visit during his sleep. Among the wood he collected was a large quantity of what Mexicans call “ palo mulato,” or stink- 84 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. ing wood ; this he was careful to re- move, for ihe pestiferous smell of that tree would have denounced his presence for miles round, and the Indian, judging from the precautions he took, seemed afraid of being discovered ; in fact, the care with which he had placed sand- bags round his horse’s hoofs to dull the sound, sufficiently proved this. When the fire, so placed as not to be visible ten yards off, poured its plea- sant column of flame into the air, the Indian took from his elk-skin pouch a little Indian wheat and pemmican, which he ate with considerable appetite, looking round continually on the sur- rounding gloom, and stopping to listen attentively to those noiseless sounds which by night trouble the imposing calmness of the desert, without any ap- parent cause. When his scanty meal was ended, the Indian filled his pipe wi h kinni-kinnick, and began smoking. Still, in spite of his apparent calm- ness, the man was not easy ; at times he took the pipe from his lips, looked up, and anxiously consulted the sky, through a break in the foliage above his head. At length he appeared to form an energetic resolution, and raising his fingers to his lips, imitated thrice, v\ ith rare perfection, the cry of the blue jay, that privileged bird that sings in the night ; then he bent his body forward and listened, but nothing proved to him that his signal had been heard. “ Wait a while,” he muttered. And crouching again before the fire, into which he threw a handful of dry branches, he began smoking again. Several hours passed thus ; at length the moon disappeared from the horizon, the cold became sharper; and the sky, in which the stars expired one after the other, was tinted with a rosy hue. The Indian, who had been slumbering for a while, suddenly shook himself, turned a suspicious glance around, and muttered hoarsely, — “ She cannot be far off*.” And he again gave the signal. The last cry had scarce died out in the dis- tance, when a roar was heard close by. The Indian, instead of being alarmed by this ill omened sound, smiled, and jsaid in a loud and firm voice, — “ You are welcome, She- wolf ; you know that it is 1 who am awaiting you here.” “Ah ! you are there, then !” a voice answered. A rustling of leaves was now heard in the bushes opposite the spot where the Indian was seated; the reeds and creepers were pulled back by a vigorous hand, and a woman appeared in the space left free. Before advancing, she thrust her head forward cautiously, and looked. “I am alone,” the Indian said; “you can approach without fear.” A smile played over the new comer’s lips at this answer, which she did not expect. “ I fear nothing,” she said. Before going further, we will give some indispensable details about this woman — vague, it is true, as we can only supply what the Indians said about her, but which will be useful to the reader in comprehending the facts that will follow. No one knew who she was or whence she came. The period when she was first seen on the prairie was equally unknown. All was an inexplicable mystery connected with her. Though she spoke fluently, and with extreme purity, most of the prairie idioms, still certain words she at times used, and the color of her skin, not so brown as that of the natives, caused the supposition that she belonged to another race from theirs. It was only a supposition, however, for her hatred of the Indians was too well known for the bravest among them ever to venture to see her sufficiently closely to render themselves certain on that head. At times she disappeared for weeks, even for months, and it was impossible to discover her trail. Then she was suddenly seen again wandering about, talking to herself, marching nearly al- ways by night, frequently accompanied by an idiotic and dumb dwarf, who followed her like a dog, and whom the Indians, in their credulous superstition, suspected strongly of being her fami- liar. This woman, ever gloomy and melancholy, with her wild looks and startling gestnres, could not bo accused THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 85 of doing any one harm, in spite of the general terror she inspired. Still, owing to the strange life she led, all the misfortunes that happened to the In- dians, in war or hunting, were imputed to her. The redskins considered her a wicked genius, and had given her the name of the Spirit of Evil. Hence, the man who had come so far to see her must necessarily have been gifted with extraordinary courage, or some power- ful reason impelled him to act as he was doing. As this Blackfoot chief is destined to play a great part in this narrative, we will give his portrait in a few words. He was a man who had reached middle life, or about 45 years. He was tall, well-built, and admirably proportioned. His muscles, standing out like whip- cord, denoted extraordinary vigor. He had an intelligent face ; his features ex- pressed cunning, while his eyes were rarely fixed on any object, but gave him an expression of craft and brutal cruelty, which inspired an unenviable repugnance towards him, if you took the trouble to study him carefully : but observers are rare in the desert, and with the Indians this chief enjoyed a great reputation, and was equally be- loved for his tried courage and inex- haustible powers of speech, qualities highly esteemed by the redskins. “The night is still gloomy ; my mo- ther can approach,” the Indian chief said. “ I am coming,” the woman said, drily, as she advanced. “ I have been waiting a long while.” “ I know it, but no matter.” “ The road was long to come.” “ I am here ; speak !” And she leaned against a stem of a tree, crossing her arms on her chest. “ What can I say, if my mother does not first question me ?” “That is true. Answer me then.” There was a silence, only troubled by the wind sighing in the leaves ; after a few moments’ reflection, the woman at length began, — “ Have you done what I ordered ?” “ I have.” “ Well ?” “ My mother guessed rightly.” “ Is it so 1” “ All is preparing for action.” “ You are sure ?” “ I was present at the council.” She smiled triumphantly. “ Where was the meeting-place ?” “ At the tree of life.” “ Long ago ?” “ The sun has set eight hours since.” “ Good ! What was resolved ?” “ What you already know.” “The destruction of the whites'?” « Yes.” “ When will the war signal be given. V 1 “The day is not yet fixed.” “ Ah !” she said, in a tone of regret. “ But it cannot be long,” he added quickly. “ What makes you think so ?” “ The Grizzly Bear is eager to finish.” “ And I, too,” the woman muttered in a low voice. The conversation was again broken off. The woman paced up and down the clearing in thought. The chief fol- lowed her with his eyes, carefully ex- amining her. All at once she stopped before him and looked him in the face. “You are devoted to me, chief I” she said. “ Do you doubt it V ’ “ Perhaps.” “ Still, only a few hours ago, I gave you a decided proof of my devotion.” “ What V* “ This !” he said, pointing to his left arm, which was wrapped in strips of bark. “ I do not understand you.” “ You see I am wounded 1” « Well! what then ?” “ The redskins attacked the palefaces some hours ago; they were scaling the barricade which protected their camp, when they suddenly retired on your ap- pearance, by order of their chief, who was wounded, and thirsting for re venge.” “ It is true.” “ Good. Affd the chief who com- manded the redskins — does my mother know him ?” 86 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ No.” “It was I, the Red Wolf ; does my mother still doubt ?” “ The p ith on which I am walking is so gloomy,” she replied sorrowfully ; “ the work I am accomplishing is so se- rious, and of such import to me, that at times I feel fear enter my heart, and doubt contract my ches% when I think I am alone, a poor weak woman, to wrestle with a giant. For long years I have been ripening the plan l wish to accomplish to-day ; I have occupied my whole life to obtain the result 1 desire, and I fear failure at the moment of suc- ceeding. Then, if I have no longer confidence in myself, can I trust a man whom self-interest may urge to betray, or at any rate abandon me at a mo- ment?” The chief drew himself up on hearing these words ; his eye flashed fire, and with a gesture of wounded pride he said : “ Silence ! my mother must not add a word. She insults at this moment a man who is most anxious to prove his truth to her; ingratitude is a white vice gratitude, a red virtue. My mother was ever kind to me ; Red Wolf cannot count the occasions on which he owes his life to her. My mother’s heart is ulcered by misfortune; solitude is an evil counselor ; my moth- er listens too much to the voice which whispers in her ear through the silence of the night ; she forgets the services she has rendered, only to remember the ingratitude she has sowed on her road. Red Wolf is devoted to her, he loves her; the She-Wolf can place en- tire confidence in him, he is worthy of it.” “ Dare I believe in those protesta- . tions ? Can I put faith in these promi- ses ?” she muttered. The chief continued passionately : “ If the gratitude I have vowed to my mother is not enough, another and stronger tie attaches us, which must convince her of my sincerity.” “ What is it ?” she asked, looking fixedly at him. “Hatred!” he answered. “ That is true,” she said, with a sinis- ter burst of laughter. " You hate him too ?” “ Yes ; I hate him with all the strength of my soul. I hate him, be- cause he has robbed me of two things 1 held most to on earth — the love of the woman I adored, and the power I cov- eted.” “But are you not a chief?” she said significantly. 1 “ Yes !” he exclaimed proudly, “ l am a chief, but my father was a sachem of the Kenhas ; his son is brave, he is crafty, the scalps of numberless pale- faces dry before his lodge. Why then is Red Wolf only an inferior chief, in- stead of leading his men to battle, as his father did ?” The woman seemed to take a delight in exciting the anger of the Indian, in- stead of calming it. “ Because doubtlessly,” she said, “ a wiser man than the Red Wolf has gain- ed the votes of his brothers.” “ Let my mother say that a greater rogue stole them from him, and her words will be true,” he exclaimed vio- lently. “ Grizzly Bear is a Comanche dog, the son of an exile, received through favor into my tribe ; his scalp will soon dry on the girdle of the Red Wolf.” “ Patience !” the woman said, in a hoarse voice. “ Vengeance is a fruit w'hich is only eaten ripe : the Red Wolf is a warrior ; he can wait.” “ Let my mother order,” the Indian said, suddenly calmed ; “ her son will obey.” “ Has the Red Wolf succeeded in ob- taining the medicine which Prairie Flower wears round her neck ?” The Indian bowed his head in confu- sion. “ No,” he said, hoarsely. “ Prairie Flower never leaves the White Buffalo ; it is impossible to approach her.” The woman smiled ironically. “ What ! did Red Wolf ever keep a promise ?” The Blackfoot shuddered with rage. “ I will have it,” he cried, “ even if I must use force in obtaining it.” “No,” she replied; “cunning alone must be employed.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 87 “1 will have it,” he repeated. “Be- fore two days I will give it to my mother.” “ No,” she said, quickly ; “ in two days is too soon. Let my son give it me on the fifth day of the new moon, which will begin within three days. 5 ’ “ Good ; I swear it ! My mother 1 shall have the great medicine of Prairie Flower.” “ My son will bring it to me at the tree of the bear, near the great lodge of the pale faces, two hours after sun- set. I will await him there, aud give him my final instructions.” “Red Wolf will be there.” “ Till then, my son will carefully watch every movement of the Grizzly Bear. If he learns anything new, which appears to him important, my son will form on this very spot a pyramid of seven buffalo heads, and come back two hours after to wait for me. I shall have understood his signal, and will re- ply to his summons.” “ Oche, my mother is powerful ; it shall be as she desires.” “ My son has quite understood ?” “ The words of my mother have fallen on the ears of a chief; his mind has re- ceived them.” “ The sky on the horizon is co vered with red bands, the sun will soon ap- pear : let my brother return to his tribe ; he must not arouse the suspicions of his enemy by his absence.” “I go ; but before leaving my mother, whose wisdom has discovered all the schemes of the pale faces, has she not made a great medicine to know if our enterprise will succeed, and if we shall conquer our enemy ?” At this moment a loud noise was heard in the cane-brake, and a shrill whistle traversed the air ; the Indian’s horse laid back its ears, made violent efforts to break the rope that fastened it, and trembled all over. The woman seized the chief’s arm firmly, and said, in a gloomy voice : “ Let my brother look !” Red Wolf stifled a cry of surprise, and gazed, motionless and terrified, at the strange sight before him. A few paces off, a tiger-cat and a rattle-snake were preparing for a contest. Their metallic eyes flashed, and seemed to emit flames. The tiger-cat, crouching on a branch, with hair erect, was miau- ing and spitting, while closely following every move of its dangerous enemy, and awaiting the moment to attack it advantageously. The crotalus, coiled up, and forming an enormous spiral, with its hideous head thrown back, whistled, as it balanced itself to the right and left, with a movement full of suppleness and grace, apparently trying to fascinate its enemy. But the latter did not allow it a long rest ; it suddenly bounded on the ser- pent, which, however, moved nimbly on one side, and when the cat, after missing its leap, returned to the charge, gave it a fearful sting on the face. The tiger-cat uttered a yell of rage, and buried its long and sharp claws in the eyes of the serpent, which, howev- er, wound round its enemy with a con- vulsive movement. Then the two rolled on the ground, hissing and howling, but unable to loose their hold. The strug- gle was long ; they fought with extra- ordinary fury ; but at length, the rings of the snake became unloosened, and its flaccid body lay motionless on the ground. The tiger-cat escaped, with a miaow of triumph, from the monster’s terrible embrace, and bounded on a tree ; but its strength was unequal to its will, and it could not reach the limb on which it wished to climb, but fell back exhausted on the ground. Then, the ferocious animal, struggling with death, and overcoming its agony, crouched back to the body of its enemy and stood upon it. it then uttered a fi- nal yell of triumph, and fell, itself a corpse, by the side of the snake. The Indian had followed all the moving inci- dents of this cruel contest with ever-in- creasing interest. “ W ell,” he asked the unknown. “ what does my mother say V 9 She shook her head. “ Our triumph will cost us our life,” she replied. “ What matters V 9 the Red Wolf said, “ so long as we conquer our ene- mies !” And, drawing his knife, he began skinning the catamount. The woman 88 TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. looked at his operations for awhile ; then making him a parting sign, she re- entered the cane-brake, where she was speedily lost to view. An hour later, the Indian chief, laden with the cat’s head and the snake’s skin, started off towards his village at full gallop. An ironical smile played around his lips ; he needed no excuse to explain his ab- sence, for the spoils he brought with him proved that he had spent the night iu hunting. CHAPTER XIII. THE VILLAGE OF THE KENHAS. Now that the exigencies of our tale oblige us to go into particulars concern- ing the Indian possessors of the Mis- souri wilds, we will acquaint the reader with the original population of that ter- ritory, generally styled the Blackfeet. The Blackfeet formed at the period of our story, a powerful nation divided in- to three tribes, all speaking the same tongue. First come the Siksekai or Blackfeet proper, as their name denotes. Next, the Kenhas, or Blood Indians. Lastly, the Piekanns. The Americans give to these Indians names slightly different from ours — they are wrong ; we preserve the exact pronunciation, the same, during our stay on the prairies, we have many a time heard from the very mouths of the Blackfeet. This nation could, when all three tribes were joined, send forth eight thou- sand warriors, which makes the whole population about twenty-five thousand souls. But now the small pox has de- cimated these Indians and reduced them to a much lower figure than we have put them at. The Blackfeet roam the country skirt- ing the Rocky Mountains, sometimes on and along the mountains themselves, between the three branches of the Mis- souri, Gallatin, Jefferson, and Madison rivers. They go to the Marias river to trade with the North American Fur Company, aiso with the Hudson’s Bay Company, and even the Mexicans of Santa Fe. In addition, this nation continually warring with the whites, whom it at- tacks whenever the chance arises, is very little known and considerably shunned, on account of its skit fullness in horse-stealing, and more than all, of its cruelty and notorious breaking of faith. i We have to deal principally with the Kenhas in this work, and hence with them we particularly apply ourselves. The following is the origin of the name of Blood Indians given to the Kenhas. Before the Blackfeet became dis- persed, they camped once by chance a little way from seven or eight hundred wigwams of some Sac Indians, a quar- rel arose between these latter and the Kenhas, on account of a woman abduct- ed by the Sacs in spite of the Piekanns’ resistance ; the Kenhas resolved to kill their neighbors, a project which they carried out with extraordinary cruelty and ferocity. They entered, m the middle of the night, the tents of the Sacs, massacred their victims du/ing sleep, without sparing even the women, children, or old men ; they scalped their victims, and returned to their camp after having washed hands and face in the blood. The Piekanns reproached them for this act of barbarity, a quarrel sprang up which grew into a fight, at the sequel of which the three Blackfeet tribes sep- erated. The Kenhas thereupon, received the name of Blood Indians, which they still preserve, and which they plume them- selves upon, saying, no one shall, insult them with impunity. The Kenhas are the least tractable of all their nation ; they have always shown, under all circumstances, a more • rapacious and sanguinary turn of mind than the other members of their nation, for the Piekanns enjoy the first repu- tation of being comparatively gentle and like human beings. The three Blackfeet tribes, living commonly far from one another, Natali Otann had to employ much cunning, and use great patience, to succeed in T1IE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 89 bringing them to unite and march under the same banner. Every moment* he was compelled to put into operation all the resources his mind, fertile in expe- dients, could procure him, and to prove his diplomacy, in order to prevent a rupture, continually imminent, between these men, who were by no bond bound together, and whose stormy pride re- volted at the faintest symptom of hu- miliation. It was to the principal summer vil- lage of the Ken has, situated not far from Fort Mackenzie, one of the lead- ing depots of the North American Fur Company, that Natali Otann had deter- mined to take the Count de Beaulieu and his companions, after the events which had taken place in the pioneer’s camp. Only a year before, the Kenhas had built a vil.age near the fort. This proximity had, at first, disturbed the Americans ; but the conduct of the Blackfeet had always been, in appear- ance at least, so fair and open in their dealings with the whites, that the latter had not troubled themselves about their led neighbors except to buy their pel- tries, sell them whisky, and go to their village to amuse themselves whenever the inclination seized them. After having, as we have seen, sold to John Black and his family an im- mense quantity of ground for a dollar, Natah Otann had reminded the Count of the pledge he had given him to go with him to his tribe; and the young man, although inwardly enraged against the obligation in which he had accepted this invitation, which so closely resem- bled an order, had nevertheless agreed with good grace, and after having taken leave of the settler’s family, had signi- fied to the chief that he was ready to follow him. John Black, his hands leaning on the muzzle of his rifle, was watching the Kenha horsemen, who, according to their habit, were galloping over the prairies, when a rider wheeled round suddenly, and at full speed dashed back to the Americans’ camp. The latter with surprise recognized him as Brighteye, the veteran woods- man. The hnnter reined in in front of him. “ Have you forgotten something ?” the pioneer asked. “Yes,” the hunter replied. “What is it?” “ To whisper a word to you,” “You don’t say?” the other said, in astonishment; “ tell me it, now.” “ I have no time to lose in long speeches ; answer me as briefly as I question you.” “ All right ! go ahead.” “ Are you thankful for what my friend has done for you ?” “ More so than I know how to ex- press.” “ if he needed your help, what wculd you do for him” “ Anything — everything.” “Whew! that’s a good deal to pro- mise.” “ But it’s less than I would do ; my family, my men, all I own, are at his disposal.” “ So you are devoted to him ?” “ Through life till death ! Whatever the danger be, day or night, on a word from him, a sign, I will be ready.” “ Will you promise that ?” “ I swear it.” “ I have your promise.” “ I shall keep it.” “ Very well. Good bye.” “ Going already ?” “ 1 must catch up with my compan- ions.” “ Say, have you suspicions of that red man ?” “ A man should always be on his guard against Indians,” the hunter ob- served sententiously. “ So this is a precaution you’re ta- king ?” “ May be so.” “ At all events, count me in.” “ I will. Good bye.” “ The same to you.” The two men understood each other. As the pioneer shouldered his rifle and returned to his camp, he muttered ; “ Woe to whoever touches a hair of the head of the man to whom I owe so much.” The Indians had halted on the banks of a small stream, which they were pre- 90 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. paring to ford at the moment when Brighteye rode up. Natah Otann,busy in conversing with the Count, flung a look sidewise at the hunter. “ I see,” the latter muttered, “ my absence gives you something to think about, and you would like to find out what made me go back on my road, but it unfortunately happens, that I am not a bit disposed to satisfy you on that point.” When the crossing by fording had been accomplished, the Canadian pushed his horse quietly up beside the Count’s, and prevented, by his presence, the In- dian chief from renewing the dialogue he had been engaged in with the young F renchman. An hour was passed, without one word being exchanged between the trio. Natah Olann, not knowing how to get rid of the hunter, finally resolved to give way himself, so he clapped spurs to his steed, and rode in advance, leav- iug the two white men together. The hunter watched him speed away, laughing meanwhile that biting laugh which was a distinctive part of his char- acter. “ Poor horse !” he said, sarcastically ; “ he must suffer for his master’s ill temper.” “ What ill temper do you mean]” the Count said, absently. “ Why, the chief’s, who is flying along over there in a cloud of dust.” “ You do not seem to have any sym- pathy for each other.” “ Indeed, we are as friendly as the grizzly bear and the jaguar.” “ Which means ” “ That we have measured our claws ; and, as we find them at present of the same strength and length, we stand on the defensive.” “ Do you feel any malice against him ]” “ I ] not the least in the world. I do not fear him more than he does me ; we are only distrustful because we know each other.” “ Oh ! oh !” the young man said, with a laugh ; “ that conceals, I can see, something serious.” Brighteye frowned, and took a scru- tinizing look around. The Indians were galloping on about twenty paces in the rear ; Ivon alone, though keeping at a respectful distance, could hear the con- versation between the two men. Bright eye leant over to the Count, laid his hand on the pommel of his saddle, and said, in a low voice : “ I do not like tigers covered with a fox’s skin ; each ought to follow the in- stincts of his nature, and not try to as- sume others that are fictitious.” “ I must confess, my good fellow,” the young man replied, “ that you are speaking in enigmas, and I cannot un- derstand you at all.” “ Patience !” the hunter said, tossing his head; “ I will be clear.” “ My faith ! that will delight me, Brighteye,” the young man said, with a smile; “for ever since we have again met the Indian chief, you have affected an air of mystery, which bothers me so, that I should be charmed to com- prehend you for once.” “Good! What do you think of Natah Otann ]” “ Ah ! that is where you are galled still ]” “ Yes.” “ Well, I will reply that this man ap- pears to me extraordinary ; there i3 something strange about him, which I cannot understand. In the first place, is he an Indian]” “ Yes.” “ But he has travelled ; ha has been in white society ; he has been in the interior of the United States ]” The hunter shook his head. “ No,” he said, “ he has never left his tribe.” “ Yet ” “ Yet,” Brighteye quickly interrupted him, “ he speaks English, French, and Spanish, as well as yourself, .and per- haps better than I do, eh] Before his warriors he feigns profound ignorance ; like them, he trembles at the sight of one of the results of civilization — a watch, a musical box, or even a lucifer match, eh ]” “ It is true.” “ Then, when he finds himself with certain persons, like yourself, for in- stance, sir, the Indian sudlenly disap- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 91 pears, the savage vanishes, and you find yourself in the presence of a man, whose acquirements are almost equal to your own, and who confounds you by his thorough knowledge.” “ That is true.” “Ah, ah! Well, as you consider that extraordinary, as I do, you will take your precautions, Mr. Edward.” “ What have I to fear from him V’ “ I do not know yet ; but be at your ease ; I shall soon know. He is sharp, but I am not such a fool as he fancies, and am watching him. For a long time this man has been playing a game, about which I have hitherto troubled myself but little; now that he has drawn us into it, he must be on his guard.” “ But where did he learn all he knows “ Ah ! that is a story too long to tell you at present; but you shall hear it some day. Suffice it to say, that in his tribe there is an old chief called the White Buffalo ; he is a European, and he it was who educated the Grizzly Bear.” “ Ah !” “ Is not that singular ? A European of immense learning ; a man who, in his own country, must have held a high rank, and who thus becomes, of his own accord, chief of the savages ?” “ Indeed, it is most extraordinary. Do you know this man ?” “ I have often seen him. He is very aged now ; his beard and hair are white ; he is tall and majestic ; his face is fine, his look profound ; there is something about him grand and impos- ing, which attracts you against your will. Grizzly Bear holds him in great veneration, and obeys him as if he were his son.” “ Who can this man be ?” “ No one knows. I am convinced that the Grizzly Bear shares the general ignorance on this head.” “ But how did he join the tribe 1” “ It is not known.” “ He must have been long with it.” “ I told you so ; he educated the Grizzly Bear, and made a European of him instead of an Indian.” “ All that is really strange,” the Count murmured, having suddenly grown pensive. “ Is it not so ? But that is not all yet ; you are entering a world you do not know, accident throws you among interests you are unacquainted with ; take care ; weigh well your words, cal- culate your slightest gesture, Mr. Ed- ward, for the Indians are very clever; the man you have to deal with is cleverer than all of them, as he com- bines with redskin craft that European intelligence and corruption with which his teacher has inculcated him. Natah Otann is a man with an incalculable depth of calculation ; his thoughts are an abyss. Take care ! his pressing you to promise a visit to his village, his generosity to the American squatter, the secret protection with which he sur- rounds you, while being the first to take you for a superior being — all this makes me believe that he wishes to lead you unconsciously into some dark enter- prise, which will prove your destruc- tion. Believe me, Mr. Edward, beware of this man.” “ Thanks, my friend, I will watch,” the Count said, pressing the Canadian’s honest hand. “ You will watch,” the latter said ; “ but do you know the way to do it T 1 “ I confess ” “ Listen to me,” the hunter inter- rupted him ; “ you must first ” “ Here is the chief,” the young man exclaimed. “ Confusion !” Brighteye growled. “ Why could he not stop a few minutes longer ? I am sure that red devil has some familiar spirit to warn him. But no matter, I have told you enough to prevent your being trapped by false friendliness ; besides, I shall be there to support you.” “ Thanks. When the time comes — ” “ I will warn you ; but it is urgent that you should now compose your countenance, and pretend to know no- thing.” “ Good ; that’s settled ; here is our man. Silence.” “On the contrary, let us talk ; silence is ever interpreted either well or ill, 6 92 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. but generally in the latter sense. Be careful to reply in the sense of my questions.” “ i w ill try.” “ Here is our man. Let us cheat the cheater.” After casting a cunning glance at the chief, who w r as onty a few paces off at the moment, he continued aloud, and changing his tone : “ What you ask, Mr. Edw r ard, is most simple. I am certain that the chief will be happy to procure you that plea- sure.” “ Do you think so ?” the young man asked, not knowing what the hunter w r as alluding to. Brighteye turned to Natah Otann, who arrived at the moment, and rode silently by their side, though he had heard the two men’s last remarks. “ My companion,” he said to the chief, “ has heard a great deal of, and longs to see, a cariboo hunt. I have offered him in your name, chief, one of those magnificent battues, of which you redskins have reserved the scent.” “ Natah Otann will be happy to satisfy his guest,” the sachem replied, bow ? ing with Indian gravity. The Count thanked him. “ We are approaching the village of my tribe,” the chief continued ; “ w^e shall be there in an hour. The pale faces will see how I receive my friends.” The Blackfeet, who had hitherto gal- loped without order, gradually drew to- gether, and formed a compact squadron round their chief. The little party con- tinued to advance, approaching more and more the Missouri, which rolled on majestically between two high banks, covered with osier beds, whence, on the approach of the horsemen, startled flocks of pink flamingoes rose in alarm. On reaching a spot where the path formed a bend, the Indians stopped, and prepared their weapons as if for a fight ; some taking their guns out of their leathern cases, and loading them, others preparing their bows and javelins. “ Are the fellow's afraid of an attack ?” the Count asked Brighteye. “ Not the least in the world,” the latter answ'ered ; “ they are only a few minutes’ ride from their village, into which they wish to enter in triumph, m order to do you honor.” “ Come, come !” the young man said ; “ all this is charming. I did not ex- pect, on coming to the prairies, to be present at such singular scenes.” “ You have seen nothing yet,” the hunter said, ironically ; “ wait, w'e are only at the beginning.” “ All the better,” the Count answered, joyfully. Natah Otann made a sign, and the warriors closed up again at the same moment; although no one was visible, a noise of conchs, drums, and chicki- koues was heard a short distance off. The warriors uttered their w'ar-yell, and replied by raising to their lips their war-whistles. Natah Otann then placed himself at the head of the party, having the Count on his right, the hunter and Ivon on his left ; and turning towards his men, he brandished his weapon sev- eral times over his head, uttering two or three shrill whistles. At this signal the whole troop rushed forward, and turned the corner like an avalanche. The Frenchman then witnessed a strange scene, which was not without a certain amount of savage grandeur. A troop of w'arriors from the village came up, like a tornado, to meet the new comers, shouting, howling, brandishing their arms, and firing their guns. The tw ? o parties charged each other with ex- traordinary fury and at full speed ; but when scarce ten yards apart, the horses stopped, as if of their own impulse, and began dnncing, curvetting and perform- ing all the most difficult tricks of the riding-school. After these manoeuvres had lasted a few moments, the two bands then formed a semi-circle opposite each other, leaving a free space between them, in which the chiefs collected. The presentations then began. Natah Otann made a long harangue to the chiefs, in which he gave them an account of his expedition, and the result he had ob- tained. The sachems listened to it with thorough Indian decorum. When he spoke to them of his meeting wdth the white men, and what had occurred, they bowed silently, without replying ; but one chief, of venerable aspect, who seemed older than the rest, and appear- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 93 ed to be treated with great considera- tion by his companions, turned a pro- found and inquiring glance, at the Count, when Natah Otann spoke of him. The young man, troubled, in spite of himself, by the fixed glance, stooped down to Brighteye’s ear and asked him in a low voice, who the man was. “ That is White Buffalo,” the hunter answered, “ the European I spoke to you about.” “ Ah, ah !” the Count said, regarding him in his turn, attentively ; “ I do not know why, but I believe I shall have a serious row with that gentleman before I have done.” The White Buffalo then took the word. “ My brothers are welcome,” he said; “ their return to the tribe is a festival ; they are intrepid warriors ; we are hap- py at hearing the way in which they have performed the duties entrusted to them.” Then he turned to the white men, and, after bowing to them contin- ued : — The Kenhas are poor, but strangers are always well received by them ; the palefaces are our guests, all we possess belongs to them.” The Count and his companions thank- ed the chief, who so gracefully did the honors of his tribe ; th4n the two par- ties joined, and galloped toward the vil- lage, which was built some five hundred paces from the spot where they were, and at the entrance of which a multitude of women and children could be seen assembled. CHAPTER XIY. THE RECEPTION. Like all the centres of Indian popu- lation near the American clearings, the Kenha village was more like a fort than an open town. As we said before, the Kenhas had only a short time previous- ly established themselves there, by the advice of Natah Otann. The spot was magnificently selected, and owing to the precaution taken, the hill was completely protected from a sudden attack. The wigwams were built without any order, on both sides a stream, and the fortifications consisted of a sort of entrenchment formed of dead trees. These fortifications formed an enclosure, having several angles, and the gorge or open part rested on the spot where the stream fell into the Mis- souri. A parapet of tree stems and piled up branches, built up on the edge of a deep ditch, completed a very re- spectable defensive system, which few would have expected to find in the heart of the prairies. In the centre of the village, a wide, vacant spot served as the meeting place for the chiefs. In the centre there was a wigwam of wood, in the shape of a sugar loaf. On either side of the building, maize, wheat and other cereals kept for winter consumption were drying. A little in advance of the village were two block houses, formed of arrow-shaped entrenchments, covered with wickerwork, provided with loopholes, and surrounded by an enclosure of palisades. They were in- tended for the defence of the village, with which they communicated by a covered way, and to command the river and the plain. To leeward of these block houses, and about a mile to the east, might be seen a number of Machotle , or scaffoldings, on which the Blood Indians lay their dead. At rearu- lar distances on the road leading to the village, long poles were planted in the ground, from which hung skins, scalps, and other objects offered by the Indians to the Master of Life and the first man. The Indians made their entrance into the village amid the cheers of the women and children, the barking of dogs, and the deafening clamor of drums, shells, chichikoues, and war whistles. On reaching the square, at a signal from Natah Otann, the band halted, and the noise ceased. An im- mense fire had been prepared, before which stood an aged chief, still robust and upright. A shade of melancholy was spread over his face. He was in mourning, as was easily to be seen by the ragged clothes that covered him, and his hair cut short and mingled with clay. He held in his hand a Dacotah pipe, the stem of which was long and 94 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. adorned with yellow "listening beads. This man was Cloven Foot, the first and most renowned sachem of the Kenhas. So soon as the band had halted, he ad- vanced two paces, and with a majestic gesture invited the chiefs to demount. “My sons are at home/’ he said, “ let them take their seats on the buf- falo robes around the council fire.” Each obeyed silently, and sat down, after bowing respectfully to the sachem. Cloven Foot then allowed each to take a few puffs from his pipe, still holding it in his hand. When it was returned to him, he emptied the burning ash into the fire, and turning with a kind of smile to the strangers, said : — “ The palefaces are our guests. There are fire and water here.” After these words, which ended the ceremony, all rose and retired without uttering a word, according to the Indian custom. Natah Otann then went up to the Count, “ Let my brother follow me,” he said. “ Where to ?” the young man asked. “ To the cabin I have had prepared for him.” “ And my companions ?” “ Other wdgwams await them.” Brighteye made a sign, immediately checked by the Count. “ Pardon, chief,” he said, “ but with your permission my comrades will live w'ith me.” The hunter smiled, as a shade of dis- satisfaction crossed the Indian’s face. “ The young pale chief will be un- comfortable, for he is accustomed to the immense huts of the whites.” “ That is possible, but I shall be more uncomfortable if my comrades do not remain with me, in order to keep me company.” “ The hospitality of the Kenhas is great. They are rich, and could give each a private cabin, even if their guests were more numerous.” “ l am convinced of it, and thank them for their attention, by which, how- ever, I decline to profit. Solitude frightens me. 1 should be worried to death, had I not with me some one to talk with.” “ Be it then as the young pale chief desires. Guests have a right to com- mand. Their requests are orders.” “ I thank you for your condescension, and am ready to follow you.” “ Come.” With that rapidity of resolution which the Indians possess in so eminent a degree, Natah Otann shut up his vex- ation in his heart, and not a trace of emotion again appeared on his stoical countenance. The three men followed him, after exchanu- trition, “ it is not my fault ; for 1 do all I can to gain courage, but it is im- possible.” ’ “ Good, good !” the young man went on, still laughing. “ I am not angrv with you, my poor fellow; as it is stronger than yourself, you must put up with it.” “ Alas !” the Breton said, uttering an enormous sigh. “ Well, you can sleep how and where you like, Ivon ; I leave it entirely to you.” The Breton, without further reply, began transferring the furs to the place he had selected, while the Count went on talking with the hunter. “ As for you, Brighteye,” he said, “ I leave you at liberty to watch over our safety as you may think proper, pro- mising not to disarrange your plans in any way, and even to promote them, if necessary ; but on one condition.” “ What?” “ That you will arrange so that I may meet again that charming creature, of whom 1 have already spokeu to you.” “Take care, Mr. Edward !” “I want to see her again, I tell you, even if I am obliged to go and look for her myself. ’ “You will not do so, Mr. Edward.” “ I will do so, on my soul ! and at once, if you continue in that tone.” “ You will reflect.” “ I now reflect, and find it the best plan.” “ But do you know who that girl is ?” “By Jove! you have just said it; she is a girl, and a charming one in the bargain.” THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. 97 “ Granted ; but I repeat, she is loved by Natah Otann.” “ What do I care V f “ Take care !” “ I .will not : I must see her again.” “ At anv risk?” “ At alf.” “ Well listen to me then.” “ I will, but be brief.” “I will tell you this girl’s history.” “You knov; her then?” “ 1 do.” “ Go on ; I am all attention.” Brighteye drew up a bench, sat down with an air of dissatisfaction, and, after a moment’s reflection, began : — “Just fifteen years ago, Natah Otann, who was hardly twenty years of age, but already a renowned warrior, left his tribe, at the head of some fifty picked warriors, to attempt a coup de main on the whites. At that period, the Kenhas did not live where they now are; the Fur Company had not advanced so far on the Missouri, and Fort Mackenzie did not exist. The Blood Indians hunted freely on the vast territories from which the Americans have since expelled them. Up to that moment, Natah Otann had never been the com- mander-in-chief of an expedition; like all young men of his age and circum- stances, his brow shone with pride ; he burned to distinguish himself, and prove to the sachems of his nation that he was worthy to command brave war- riors. So soon as he entered on the war trail, he scattered his spies in every direction, and even forbade his men smoking, for fear lest the light of their pipes might betray his presence. In short, he took, with ex'reme wisdom, all the precautions employed in similar cases. “ His expedition was brilliant ; he surprised several caravans, and plun- dered and burned the clearings ; his men returned laden with booty, and the bits of their horses garnished with scalps. Natah Otann only brought back, as his share, a weak creature of two or three years at the most, whom he bore tenderly in his arms, or laid on the front of his saddle. That child was the tall and lovely girl you saw to-day.” “ Ah ! Is she white or red, American or Spanish ?” “No one knows; no one will ever know. You are aware that many In- dians are born white ; thus color is of no avail in finding her relations again. In short, the chief adopted her; but, strange to say, as she grew up, she gained such an ascendency over Natali Otann’s mind, that the chief of the tribe grew alarmed ; besides, the life led by Prairie Flower — that is her name ” “ I knew it,” the Count interrupted him. “ Good,” the hunter continued. “ I say, then, that this girl’s life is extraor- dinary ; instead of being sportive and laughing, like girls of her age, she is gloomy, dreamy, and wild, wandering ever alone on the prairie, flying over the dew-laden grass like a gazelle, or else, at night, dreaming in the moon- light, and muttering words no one hears. At times, from a distance (for no one ven ures to approach her), another sha- dow may be traced by the side of hers, and moving for hours at her side. Then she returns alone to the village : if ques- tioned, only shakes her head or begins crying.” “ That is really strange.” “ Is it not ? So much so, that the chiefs assembled in council, and agreed that Prairie Flower had cast a charm over her adopted father.” “The asses !” the Count muttered. “ Perhaps so,” the hunter went on, turning his head ; “ at any rate, they agreed that she should be left alone to perish in the desert.” “Poor child! Well, what happened then ?” “ Natah Otann and White Buffalo, who were not summoned to the council, went there on learning this decision, and succeeded by their deceitful words in so thoroughly altering the chiefs’ senti- ments, that they not only gave up all idea of deserting her, but she has sinfce been regarded as the tutelary genius of the tribe.” “ And Natah Otann ?” “ His condition is still the same.” “Is that all ?” “ It is.” 98 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. ** Well, then, Brighteye, within two days I shall know whether that girl is the enchantress you fancy her, and what 1 am to think on the subject.” The hunter only answered by an un- intelligible grunt, and saying no more, lay down on his furs. CHAPTER XV. WHITE BUFFALO. So soon as Natah Otann emerged from the cabin into which he had con- ducted the Count, he proceeded towards the hut inhabited by White Buffalo. The night was beginning to fall: the Kenhas, collected round fires kindled at the door of each wigwam, were con- versing gaily while smoking their long calumets. The chief replied by a nod of the head, as a friendly sign to the affectionate salutations the warriors made him whom he met, but he did not stop to talk with any one, and con- tinued his walk with greater rapidity as the darkness grew denser. He at length reached a cabin situated at the extremity of the village, on the banks of the Missouri. The chief, after tak- ing a scrutinizing glance around, stop- ped before this hut, and prepared to enter. Still in the act of raising the buffalo curtain that served as a door- way, he hesitated for a few seconds, and appeared to be collecting his courage. This dwelling, externally, had nothing to distinguish it from the others form- ing the village ; it was round, with a roof shaped like a beehive, made of in- tertwined branches, with clay stuffed between them, and covered with mat ting. Still, after a moment’s reflection, Natah Otann raised the curtain, walked in, and stopped at the threshold, saying in French : — “ Good evening, my father.” “ Good evening, child ; I was await- ing you impatiently : come, sit down by my side, we have to talk.” These words were uttered in the same language, and in a gentle voice. Natah Otann took a few steps for- ward, and let the curtain fall behind him. If, externally, the hut the chief had just entered was not distinguished from the others, that was not the case with the interior. All that human in- dustry can imagine, when reduced to its simplest expressions, that is to say, when deprived of tools and matters of primary necessity to express its thoughts, had been as it were invented by the master of this house. Hence the interior of this hut was a sort of strange pandemonium, in which were collected the most discordant articles, apparently least fitted to be side by side. Differing from the other wig- wams, this cabin had two windows, in which oiled paper was substituted for glass ; in one corner was a bed, in the centre a table, a few scattered chairs, an arm chair by the table, but all these articles carved with an axe and clumsily. Such was the furniture of this singular room. On shelves, some forty volumes, for the most part out of their binding ; stuffed animals hanging by cords, in- sects, etc. ; in a word, an infinite number of things without name, but classified, arranged, and labelled, com- pleted this singular abode, which more resembled the cell of an anchorite, or the secret den of a mediaeval alchymist, than the abode of an Indian chief ; and yet this hut belonged to White Buffalo, one of the first Kenha chiefs. But, as we have said, this chief was an Europe- an, and had doubtlessly kept up some reminiscences of his past life, the last rays of a lost existence. At the moment when Natah Otann entered the hut, White Buffalo, seated in the easy chair at the table, with his head resting on his hands, was reading by the light of a lamp, whose smoky wick only spread a flickering and un- certain light around, from a large folio, with yellow and worn leaves. He raised his head, took off his spectacles, which he placed in the book, and turn- ing the chair half round, the old man smiled, and pointing to a chair, in a kindly way, said : “ Come, my child, sit down there.” The chief took a chair, drew it to the THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 99 table, and sat down, without any reply. The old man looked at him attentively for a few moments, and then said : “ Hem ! you appear to me very thought ul for a man who, as I suppose, has just obtained a grand result so long expected. What can render you so gloomy'? Would you hesitate, now you are on the point of success ? or are you beginning to understand that the work which, in spite of me, you wished to undertake, is beyond the strength of a man left to himself, and who has only an old man to support him ?” “ Perhaps so,” the chief answered, in a hollow voice. “ Oh, why, my father, did you let me taste the bitter fruit of that accursed civilization, which was not made for me? Why have your lessons made of me a man differing from those who surround me, and with whom I am compelled to live and die V* “ Blind man ! when I showed you the sun, you allowed yourself to be dazzled by the beams ; your weak eyes could not endure the light. In the place of that ignorance and brutalization in which you would have vegetated all the days of your life, I developed in you the only feeling which elevates man above the brute. I taught you to think, to judge, and this is the way in which you recom- pense me. This is the reward you give me for the pains I have taken, and the cares I have never ceased to bestow on you.” “ My father !” “ Do not attempt to exculpate your- self, child,” the old man said, with a shade of bitterness. “ I should have expected what now happens, ingratitude and egotism are deposited in man’s heart by Providence, as his safeguard. Without these two supreme virtues of humanity, no society would be possible. I am not angry with you ; I have no right to be so ; and, as the sage says, you are a man, and no human feeling must be alien to you.” “ I make neither plaint nor recrimina- tion, my father ; I know that you have j acted towards me with good intentions,” the chief' replied, “ but, unfortunately, your lessons have produced a very dif- ferent result from what you awaited. In developing my ideas, you have, with- out your knowledge or mine, increased my wants : the life I lead preys upon me : the men who surround me are a burden to me, because they cannot un- derstand me, and 1 can no longer under- stand them. As respects myself, my mind rush es towards an unknown hori- zon. I dream wide awake of strange and impossible things. I suffer from an incurable malady, and cannot define it. I hopelessly love a woman, of whom I am jealous, and who can never be mine, save by a crime. Oh, my father, I am very wretched !” “Child!” the old man exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders in pity. “ What, you are unhappy ! Your grief inclines me to laughter. Man has in himself the germ of good and evil ; if you suffer, you have only yourself to blame. You are young, intelligent, powerful, the first of your nation : what do you want for happiness ? Nothing. If you wish to be so permanently, stifle in your heart that insensate passion which devours it, and follow, without looking to the right or left, the glorious mission you have traced for yourself. What can be more noble or grander than the deliverance and regeneration of a peo- ple ?” “ Alas ! can I do it ?” “What! you doubt?” the old man shouted, striking the table with his fist, and looking him in the face. “ Then you are lost: renounce your plans, you will not succeed on a road like that you follow’, hesitation or stoppage is ruin.” “ Father !” “ Silence !” he said, with redoubled energy, “ and listen to me : When you first revealed your plans to me, 1 tried by all arguments possible to make you abandon them. I proved to you that your resolves were premature — that the Indians, brutalized by a lengihened slavery, w’ere only the shadow of their former selves, and that to attempt to arouse in them any noble or generous feeling was like galvanizing a corpse. | You resisted ; you wmuld hear nothing; you went headlong into intrigues and plots of every description — is it not so ?” “ It is true.” “ W ell ! now it is too late to return ; 100 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. you must go on at all risks. You may fall, but you will do so with honor ; and your name, cherished by all, will swell the martyrology of the chosen men who have devoted themselves to their coun- try.” “ Things are not yet sufficiently ad- vanced, 1 think, for me ” “ Not to be able to withdraw — you mean ?” he interrupted him. “ Yes.” “ You are mistaken. While you were engaged in collecting your partisans, and preparing to take up arms, do you fancy I remained inactive V ’ “ What do you mean ?” “1 mean that your enemies suspect your plans — are watching you ; and if you do not prevent them, will lay a trap, into which you will fall.” “ I ?” the chief said, violently. “We shall see.” “ Then redouble your activity ; do not let yourself be taken unawares ; and, above all, be prudent, for you are closely watched, I repeat.” “ Flow do you know it?” “ That I know it is sufficient, I ima- gine; trust to my prudence. I am on the watch. Let the spies and traitors fall asleep in a doubtful security ; were we to unmask them, others would take their place, and we are better off with those we know. In that way, none of their movements escape us, we know what they are doing and what they want, and while they flatter themselves with the idea of knowing our plans, and divulging them to their paymasters, we are their masters, and amuse them with false information, which conceals our real plans. Believe me, their confi- dence produces our security.” “You are always right, my father. I trust entirely to you. But may I not be permitted to know the names of the traitors ?” “ For what end, since I know them ? When the time arrives, I will tell you all.” “ Be it so.” There was a lengthened silence. The two men, absorbed in thought, did not notice a grinning head over the curtain in the doorway, and which had for a long time been listening to their con- versation. But the man, whoever he might be, who indulged in this espial, every now and then gave signs of ill-temper and disappointment. In fact, while listen- ing to the two chiefs, he had forgotten one thing, that he could not understand a word of what they said, for they spoke in French, and that was a sad disappointment to the spy. Still he did not despair, but continued to listen, in the hope that they might at any mo- ment revert to his idiom. “ And now,” the old man continued, “ give me an account of your trip. When you went away, you were happy, and hoped, as you told me, to bring back with you the man you wanted to play the principal part in your conspi- racy.” “ Well, you saw him here to-day, my father. He is here. This evening he entered the village by my side.” “ Oh ! oh ! explain that to me, my child,” the old man said, with a gentle smile, and settling himself in the easy chair to listen at his ease. By an im- perceptible movement, and while seem- ing to listen with the greatest attention, he drew towards him the heavy pistol that lay before him. “ Go on,” he said ; “ I am listening.” “ About six months ago, I do not know if I told you of it then, I succeed- ed in capturing a Canadian hunter, to whom I owe an old grudge.” “ Wait a minute. I fancy I have a confused remembrance of it. A certain Brighteye, 1 think, eh ?” “The very man. Well! I was furi- ous with him, because he had mocked us so long, and killed my warriors with extraordinary skill. So soon as he was in my power I resolved he should die by violence.” “ Although, as you know, I do not approve of that barbarous custom, you were in the right, and I cannot offer any opposition to it.” He, too, made no objection ; on the contrary, he derided us; in a word, he rendered us so mad with him, that I gave the order for the punishment. At the moment that he was about to die, THE FLOWER OF THE PRxYIRTE. 101 a man, or rather a demon, appeared all at once, rushed among us, and careless as it seemed of the risk he ran, unfas- tened the prisoner.” “ Hum ! he was a brave man, do you know ?” “Yes, but his daring action would have cost him dear; when suddenly, at a signal from myself all my warriors fell at his feet, with marks of the most profound respect.” “ Oh ! what are you telling me now?” “ The strictest truth ; on looking this man in the face, I perceived on his face two extraordinary signs.” “What?” “ A scar over the right eyebrow, and a black mark under the eye, on the same side of the face.” “ T.iat is strange,” the old man mut- tered, pensively. “ But what is still more so, this man exactly resembles the portrait which you drew, and which is in that book.” “ What did you do then ?” “ You know my coolness and rapidity of resolution. 1 let the man depart with the prisoner.” “ Well! and. afterwards ?” “ I pretended as if I did not wish to meet him.” “ Better and better still,” the old man said, with a nod of his head, and with a movement swift as thought, he cocked the pistol he held in his hand, and fired. A cry of pain was heard from the door, and the head thereupon suddenly disappeared under the curtain. The two men jumped up, and rushed out, but saw nothing, except that a ra- ther large pool of blood clearly indica- ted that the shot had told. “ What have you done, my father ?” Natah Otann exclaimed in astonish- ment. “ Nothing. I have merely given a lesson, rather a rough one, to one of those spies I mentioned to you just now.” And he went back coolly, and sat down again. Natah Otann wished to follow the bloody trail left by the fugi- tive, but the old man checked him. “ Stay ! what l have done is suffi- cient ; continue your story, which is deeply interesting. Still you can see that you have no time to lose, if you wish to succeed.” “ 1 will lose none, father, you may be assured,” the chief exclaimed wrath ful- ly, “but I swear that I will know that scoundrel.” “ You would do wrong to seek him. Come, proceed with your narrative.” Natah Otann then described in full detail his meeting with the Count, and in what way he had made him consent to follow him to his village. This time no incident interrupted his story, and it seemed as if the lesson read by White Buffalo to the listener was sufficient for the present. The old man laughed heartily at the experiment with the mate es, and the Count’s surprise when he perceived that the man he had hith- erto taken for a coarse and half-idiot savage was, on the contrary, a man en- dowed with an intellect and education at least equal to his own. “ And what shall I do now?” Natah Otann added, in conclusion. “ He is here ; but with him is Brighteye, in whom he places the greatest confi- dence.” “ Hum ?” the old man answered, “ all this is very serious. In the first place, my son, you did wrong to let him know you as you really are : you were much stronger than he, so long as he merely fancied you a scupid savage ; you al- lowed your pride to carry you away through the desire to shine in the eyes of an European. It is a great fault, for now he doubts you, and keeps on his guard.” The young man looked down, and made no reply. “ However,” the old man went on, “I will try to arrange matters; but I must first see this Brighteye, and have a talk with him.” “ You will obtain nothing, my father, he is devoted (o the Count.” “ The greater reason, child. In which hut have you lodged them ?” “ In the old council lodge.” “ Good ! they will be convenient there ; and it will be easy to hear all they say.” “ That is what I thought.” “ Now, one last remark.” “ What is it ?” 102 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ Why did you not kill the She-wolf of the Prairies V’ “ I did not see her. I was not in the camp; but I would not have done so.” The old man laid his hand on his shoulder. “ Natah Otann, my son,” he said to him, in a stern voice, “ when a man like yourself is intrusted with the fortunes of a people, he must recoil before noth- ing. A dead enemy makes the living sleep quietly. The She-wolf of the Prairies is your enemy. You know it ; and her influence is immense over the superstitious minds of the redskins. Re- member these words, uttered by an old experienced man : — As you would not kill her, she will kill you.” Natah Otann smiled contemptuously. “ Oh !” he said, “ a wretched, half-mad woman.” “ Ah !” White Buffalo replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, “ are you igno- rant that a woman lurks behind every great event? *They kill men of genius tor futile interests, and paltry passions cause the finest and boldest prospects to fail.” “Yes; you are, perhaps right,” Na- tah Otann said ; “but I feel l cannot stain my hands with that woman’s blood.” “Scruples, poor child,” White Buffa- lo said, with disdain ; “ well, I do not insist ; but be assured that scruples will ruin you. The man who wishes to govern others must be made of marble, and have no feelings of humanity, else his prospects will be nipped in the bud, and his foes will ridicule him. That which has ever ruined the greatest ge- niuses is, that they would not compre- hend this fact ; but worked for their successors and not for themselves.” In speaking thus, the old man had in- voluntarily let himself be carried away by the tumultuous feelings that still agitated his mind. His eye sparkled ; his brow was unwrinkled ; his glance had an irresistable majesty; he had re- turned in thought, to his old days of struggle and triumph. Natah Otann listened to him, yielding to the domin- ating ascendency of this prostrated giant, who was so great even after his fall. “What am I saying! I am mad! pardon me, child,” the old man contin- ued, sinking in his chair, despondingly. “Go, leave me; to-morrow, at sunrise, I may, perhaps, have some news for you.” And he dismissed the chief with a sign. The latter, accustomed to these outbursts, bowed, and departed. CHAPTER XVI. THE SPY. The pistol-shot fired by the White Buffalo had not quite produced the re- sult the latter expected from it. The man was wounded; but the haste, with which the chief had been obliged to fire, injured the precision of his aim, and the listener escaped with a slight wound ; the bullet grazed his skull, and only produced a copious hemorrhage. Still this hurt had been enough for the spy, who saw that he was unmasked, and that a longer stay at the spot would inevitably produce a catastrophe ; hence he ran off at full speed. After running for several minutes, feeling certain that he had thrown off any persons inclined to follow him, he stopped to draw breath, and attend to his wound, which still bled profusely. In consequence, he looked anxiously around him ; but all was silent and solitary. A dense snow-storm, which had been falling for many an hour, had compelled the Indians to seek shelter in their lodges. The firing of the pistol had caused no panic, for the redskins, ac- customed to nocturnal disputes in their villages, had not stirred. No other noise could be heard but the barking of a few stray dogs, and the hoarse cries of the wild beasts that wandered over the prairie in search of prey. The spy, reassured by the calm prevailing in the village, set about ban- daging the wound, in his heart thanking the snow for falling, as it effaced the traces of blood left in his flight. “ Come,” he muttered, in a low voice, “ I shall know nothing this night , the genius of evil protects these men. I will go into the cabin.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE, 103 He turned a parting glance around, and prepared to start; but, at the same moment, a white shadow, gliding over the snow like a phantom, passed a short distance from him. “What is that?” the Indian mutter- ed, suddenly assailed by a superstitious terror. “Is the ‘Virgin of the dark hours’ wandering about the village? What terrible misfortune is menacing us then ?” The Indian bent forward, and, as if attracted by a superior power, followed with his eyes the strange apparition, whose white outline was already blend- ing with the distant gloom. “ That creature is not walking,” he said to himself, with terror ; “ she leaves no footfall on the snow. Is she a Genius hostile to the Blackfeet ? There is a mystery about this which I must fathom.” The instinct of the spy heightening the curiosity of the Indian, the latter soon forgot his terror for a moment, and rushed boldly in pursuit of the phantom. After an interval of a few minuted, the shadow or spectre stopped, and looked around with evident indecision. The Indian, lest he might be discovered, had just time to hide himself behind the wall of a cabin ; but a pale gleam of moonlight, emerging between two ©7 © © clouds, had, for a second, lighted up the face of the person he was pursuing. “Prairie Flower!” he muttered, suppressing with difficulty a cry of sur- prise. In fact, that was the person thus wan- dering about in the darkness. After some hesitation, the maiden raised her head, and walked resolutely toward a cabin, the buffitlo skin of which she lift- ed with a him hand. She entered, and let the curtain fall behind her. The In- dian bounded up to the cabin, walked round it, thrust his knife up to the hilt in the wall, turned it round twice or thrice, to enlarge the hole, and, placing his ear to it listened. The most com- plete quiet continued to prevail in the village. At the first step the girl took in the lodge, a shadow suddenly rose before her, and a hand fell upon her shoulder ; instinctively she recoiled. “ What do you want ?” a menacing voice asked. This question was' asked in French, which rendered it doubly un- intelligible by the Indian girl. “Answer! or I’ll blow out your brains,” the voice continued. And the sharp sound produced by cocking a pistol could be heard. “ Wah !” the girl replied in her gen- tle, melodious voice, “ I am a friend.” “ It is evidently a woman,” the first speaker growled, “ but no matter, we must be prudent, what on earth does she want here ?” “ Ilalloh !” Brighteye suddenly shout- ed, aroused by this short altercation, “ what’s the matter there, what have you caught, Ivon ?” “ My faith, I don’t know ; I believe it is a woman.” “ Eh, eh,” the hunter said, with a laugh, “ let us have a look at that : don’t let her escape.” “ Don’t be alarmed,” the Breton re- plied, “ I have hold of her.” Prairie Flower remained motionless, not making the slightest effort to escape from the clutch of the man who held her. Brighteye rose, felt his way to the fire, and began blowing it up. In a few minutes a bright flame burst forth, and illumined the interior of the lodge; “ Stay, stay,” the hunter said, with surprise, “you are welcome, girl; what do you want here ?” The Indian maid blushed, and re- plied : — “ Prairie Flower has come to visit her friends, the palefaces.” “ The hour is a strange one, for a visit, my child,” the Canadian con- tinued, with an ironical smile ; “ but no matter,” he added, turning to the Bre- ton, “let her loose, Ivon ; this enemy, if she is one, is not very dangerous.” The other obeyed with ill grace. “ Come to the fire, girl,” the hunter said, “your limbs are frozen; when you have warmed yourself, you can tell us the cause of your presence here at this late hour.” Prairie Flower smiled sadly, and sat down by the fire ; Brighteye taking a place by her side. The girl had with one glance surveyed the interior of the lodge, and perceived the Count sleeping 104 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. tranquilly on a pile of furs. Bright- eye’s \vhole life had been spent in the desert ; he was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the redskins, and knew that circumspection and prudence are their two guiding principles. That an Indian never attempts anything without having first calculated all the consequences, and that he never decides on doing a thing contrary to Indian habits, except from some pressing mo- tive. The hunter, therefore, suspected that the object of the young girl’s visit was important, though unable to read, beneath the mask of impassibility that covered her face, the motive that caused her to act. The redskins are not, like other men, easy to question ; cunning and finesse obtain no advantage over these doubt- ful natives. The most skilful Old Bailey practitioner would get nothing out of them, but confess himself van- quished, after making an Indian under- go the closest cross-examination. None of these shades of character were un- known to the hunter ; hence he was careful not to let the girl suppose that he took any interest in her explanation. With a nod of the head, Brighteye soon gave Ivon the order to go to sleep again, which he did immediately. The girl was sitting by the fire; warming herself mechanically, while every now and then taking a side glance at the hunter. But the latter had lit his pipe, and, nearly concealed by the dense cloud of smoke that surrounded him, appeared completely absorbed in his agreeable occupation. The two re- mained thus face to face nearly half an hour, and did not exchange a word ; at length Brighteye shook out the ash on his left thumb nail, put his pipe in his belt, and rose. Prairie Flower followed his every movement, without appearing to attach any importance to it; she saw him col- lect furs, carry them to a dark corner of the lodge, where he spread them so as to form a species of bed. Then, when he fancied it was soft enough, he threw a coverlid over it, and returned to the fire. “ My pale brother has prepared a Ded,” Prairie Flower said, laying her hand on his arm, just as he was about to draw out his pipe again. “ Yes,” he replied. “ Why four beds for three persons?” Brighteye looked at her with a per- fectly natural amazement. “ Are we not four ?” he said. “ I only see the two pale hunters and my brother — for whom is the last bed r “ For my sister, Prairie Flower, I suppose. Has she not come to ask hos- pitality of her pale bro hers ?” The girl shook her head. “ The women of my tribe,” she said, with an accent of wounded pride, “ have their cabins for sleeping, and do not pass the night in the lodges of the war- riors.” Brighteye bowed respectfully. “ I am mistaken,” he said, “ I did not wish to vex my sister ; but on seeing her enter my lodge so late, I supposed she came to ask hospitality.” The girl smiled with finesse. “ Mv brother is a great warrior of the palefaces,” she said, “ his head is grey, he is very cunning ; why does he pretend not to know the reason that brings Prairie Flower to his lodge ?” “ Because I am really ignorant of it,” he replied ; “ how should I know it ?” The Indian girl turned towards the place where the young man was sleep- ing, and said, with a charming pout : “ Glass-eye knows all : he would have told my brother the hunter.” “ l cannot deny,” the hunter said, boldly, “ that Glass-eye knows many things, but in this matter he has been dumb.” “ Is that true?” she asked, quickly. “ Why should I deny it ? Prairie Flower is not an enemy to us.” “ No, I am a friend : let my brother open his ears.” s “ Speak.” | “ Glass eye is powerful.” “ So it is said,” the hunter replied, evasively, too honest to stoop to a lie. “ The elders of the tribe regard him as a genius superior to other men, ar- ranging events as he pleases, and able, if he will, to change the course of the future.” “ Who says so ?” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 105 <{ Everybody.” The hunter shook his head, and press- ing the girl’s dainty hands in his own, he said, simply : “ You are deceived, child ; Glass-eye is only a man like the others ; the power you have been told of does not exist. I know not for what reason the chiefs of your nation have spread this absurd report ; but it is a falsehood, which I must not allow to go further.” “ No, White Buffalo is the wisest sachem of the Blackfeet ; he possesses all the knowledge of his fathers on the other side of the Great Salt Lake : he cannot err. Did he not announce, long ago, Glass-eye’s arrival among us ?” “ That is possible; although I cannot guess how he knew it, as only three days ago we were quite ignorant that we were comi g to this village.” The maiden smiled triumphantly. “ White Buffalo knows all,” she said; “ besides, for many thousand moons the sorcerers of the nation have an- nounced the coming of a man exactly like Glass-eye : his apparition was so truly predicted, that his arrival surprised no- body, as all expected him.” The hunter recognized the inutility of contending any longer against a con- viction so deeply rooted in the young girl’s heart. “ Good,” he replied, “ White Buffalo is a very wise sachem. What is there he does not know ?” “ Nothing ! Did he not predict that Glass-eye would place himself at the head of the redskin warriors, and de- liver them from the palefaces of the East ?” “ Jt is true ;” the hunter said, though he did not know a word of what the girl was revealing to him ; but he now began to suspect a vast plot formed by the Indians, and he naturally desired to know more. Prairie Flower looked at him with an expression of simple joy. “ My brother sees that I know all,” she said. “ That is true,” he answered ; “ my sister is better informed than I sup- posed ; now she can explaiu to me, without fear, the service she desires from Glass-eye.” The girl took a long glance at the young man, who was still sleeping. “ Prairie Flower is suffering,” she said, in a low and trembling voice : “ a cloud has passed over her mind and ob- scured it.” “ Prairie Flower is sixteen,” the old hunter answered, with a smile ; “ a new feeling is awakened in her ; a little bird is singing in her heart : she listened un- consciously to the harmonious notes of those strains which she does not under- stand.” “ It is true,” the maiden murmured, suddenly growing pensive, “ my heart is sad. Is then love a suffering V 1 “ Child,” the hunter answered, with a melancholy accent, “ creatures are thus made by the Master of Life. All sen- sation is suffering. Joy, carried to an excess, becomes pain ; you love without knowing it ; loving is suffering.” “ No,” she said, with a gesture of terror, “No, I do not love, at least not in the way you say. I have come, on the contrary, to seek your protection from a man who loves me, whose love frightens me, and for whom I shall never feel aught but gratitude.” “ You are quite certain, poor child, that such is the feeling you experience for that man ?” She bowed assent. Without saying anything further, Brighteye rose. “ Where are you going]” she asked, quickly. The hunter turned to her. “ In all that you have told me, child,” he answered, 1 ‘there are things so im- portant, that l must without delay arouse my friend, that he may listen to you in his turn, and, if it be possible, come to your aid.” “ Do so,'’ she said, mournfully, and let her head sink on her breast. The hunter went up to the young man, and bending over him, touched him gently on the shoulder. The Count awoke at once. “ What is it ? What do you want?” he said, rising and seizing his weapons, with the promptness that a man con- stantly exposed to danger so soon ac- quires. “ Nothing that need frighten you, 106 THE FLOWER OF THE PRATRTE. Mr. Edward. That young girl wishes to speak to you.” The Count followed the direction in which the hunter pointed, and his glance met that of the maiden. It was like an electric shock ; she tottered, laid her hand on her heart, and blushed. The Erenchman rushed toward her. “ What is the matter ? what can I do to help you 1 ?” he asked. Just as she was about to reply, the curtain was lifted ; a man bounded sud- denly over Ivon, and reached the centre of the hut. It was the spy ; the Breton, suddenly aroused, flung himself on him, but the Indian held him back with a firm hand. “ Look out !” he said. “Red Wolf!’’ the girl exclaimed, joyfully, as she stepped before him ; “ lower your weapons, it is a friend.” “ Speak,” the Count said, as he re- turned the pistol to his belt. The Indian had made no attempt to defend himself; he awaited stoically the moment to explain himself. “ Natah Otann is coming,” he said to the maiden. “ Oh ! I am lost if he find me here.” “ What do I care for the fellow ?” the Count said, haughtily. “ Prudence,” Brighteye interposed ; “are you a friend, redskin ?” “ Ask Prairie Flower,” he answered, disdainfully. v Good ; then you have come to save her ?” “ Yes.” “ You have a way ?” “ I have.” “I don’t understand anything about it,” Ivon said to himself, aside, quite confounded by all he saw ; “ what a night !” ■ “ Make haste !” said the Count. “Neither Prairie Flower nor myself must be seen here,” the Red Wolf con- tinued; “Natah Otann is my enemy ; there is deadly war between us. Throw all those furs on the girl.” Prairie Flower crouching in a corner, soon disappeared beneath the skins piled over her. “ Hum, it is a good idea,” Brighteye muttered ; “ and what are you going to j do V 1 “ Look !” Ived Wolf leaned against the buffalo hides that acted as a door, and con- cealed himself amid the folds. Hardiy had all this been done, ere Natah Otann appeared on the threshold. “What! up already?” he said, in surprise, turning a suspicious glance around him. Red Wolf profited by this move- ment to go out unseen by the chief. “ I am come to receive ycur orders for the hunt,” Natah Otann resumed. CHAPTER XVII. FORT MACKENZIE . Fort Mackenzie, built in 1832 by Major Mitchell, Chief Agent to the North American Fur Company, stands like a menacing sentry, about one hun- dred and twenty paces from the north bank of the Missouri, and seventy miles from the Rocky Mountains, in the midst of a level plain, protected by a chain of hills running from north to south. The fort is built on the system of all these outposts of civilization in the western provinces ; it forms a perfect square, each side being about forty-five feet in length ; a ditch, eight fathoms in depth and about the same in width ; two substantial blockhouses ; and twen- ty guns — such are the defensive ele- ments of this fortress. The buildings contained in the enciente are low, with narrow windows, in which parchment is substituted for glass. The roofs are flat, and covered with turf. The gate- ways of the fort are solid and lined with iron. In the middle of a small square, in the centre of the fort, rises a mast, from which floats the star-span- gled banner of the United States, while turn guns are stationed at the foot of the mast. The plain surrounding Fort Macken- zie is covered with grass, rarely more than three feet high. This plain is al most constantly invaded by Indian tribes, that come to traffic with the Americans, especially the Blackfeet, As- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 107 siniboins, Mandans, Flatheads, Gros- ventres, Crows, and Koutnikes. The Indians displayed a repugnance in allowing the white men to settle in their domains, and the first agent the Fur Company sent to them had a nar- row escape with life. It was only by dint of patience and cunning, that they succeeded in concluding with the tribes a treaty of peace and barter, which the latter were disposed, indeed, to break, through the slightest pretext. Thus the Americans were always on the watch, considering themselves in a per- petual state of siege. It still happened at times, in spite of the Indians’ protestations of amity, that some engage or trapper cf the Company was brought to the fort scalped and mur- dered, and they were obliged through policy, to refrain from taking vengeance for such murders, which, however, were becoming rare. The Indians, with their greedy in- stincts, at length understood that it was better to live in good intelligence with the palefaces, who supplied them with abundant provisions, spirits and money, in exchange for their furs. In 1834, Fort Mackenzie was com- manded by Major Melville, a man of great experience, who had spent nearly his whole life among the Indians, either fighting or trafficking with them, so that he was thoroughly versed in all their habits and tricks. General Jackson, in whose army he had served, put great reliance in his courage, skill, and expe- rience. Major Melville combined, with un common moral energy, rare physical strength ; he was the very man to keep in check the fierce tribes with which he had to deal, and to command the trap- pers and hunters in the Company’s ser- vice, thorough ruffians, only understand- ing the logic of the rifle and bowie knife ; he based his authority on inflex- ible severity and an irreproachable jus- tice, which had contributed greatly to maintain the good relations between the inhabitants of the fort and their crafty friends. Peace, with the exception of the mutual distrust that was its basis, ap- peared for some few years past to be 7 solidly established between the pale faces and the redskins. The Indians camped annually before the fort, and generally exchanged their peltry for spirits, clothes, gunpowder, etc. The seventy men who formed the garrison had gradually relaxed their usual pre- cautions, for they felt so confident of having induced the Indians to renounce their plundering inclinations by kind treatment and concessions. Such was the respective positions of the whites and the redskins on the day when the exigencies of our story takes us to Fort Mackenzie. The scenery round the fort is exqui- site and charmingly varied. On the day after that in which the events we have described took place in the Kenha village, a leather canoe, man- ned by only one rower, descended the Elk River, in the direction of the American fort. After following the numerous bends of the stream, the canoe at length entered the Missouri, and coasted the northern bank, studded with magnificent prairies, at least thirty miles in depth, on which countless herds of buffaloes, antelopes, and bighorns- were grazing, which, with ears erect andi startled eyes, watched the silent boat pass with gloomy dissatisfaction. But the person, man or woman, in the boat seemed too anxious to reach the desti- nation, to waste any time in firing at these animals, which it would have been easy to do. With his eyes imperturbably fixed ahead, and bowed over the paddles, the rower redoubled his energy the nearer he approached the fort, uttering at times hoarse exclamations of anger and impa- tience, though ne^er checking the speed of the boat. At length an “ ah !” of satisfaction escaped his lips, on turning one of the numberless bends of the river : a magnificent scene was sudden- ly displayed before him. Gentle slopes, with varied summits, some rounded, others flat, of a pleasant green color, occupied the centre of the picture. In the foreground were tall forests of poplars of a vivid green, and willow trees on the banks of the river, which meandered through a prairie to which the twilight had given a deeo 108 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. olive hue. A little further on, on the top of a grassy mound, stood Fort Mackenzie, where the handsome flag of the United States floated in the breeze, gilded by the parting beams of the set- ting sun ; while on one side an Indian camp, on the other, herds of horses, tranquilly grazing, animated the majes- tic tranquillity of the scene. The canoe drew nearer and nearer to the bank, and at last, when arrived under the protection of the guns, was run gently ashore. The individual occupy- ing it then leaped on the sand, and it was easy to see that it was a woman. It was the mysterious being to whom the Indians gave the name of the She- wolf of the Prairies, and who has already appeared twice in this story. She had altered her dress. Although still resembling that of the Indians in texture, as it was composed of elk and buffalo skins sewn together, it varied from it in shape; and if, at the first glance, it was difficult to recognize the sex of the person wearing it, it was easy to perceive that it was a white, through the simplicity, cleanliness, and, above all, the amplitude of the folds carefully draped round the strange being hidden in these garments. After leaving the canoe, the She-wolf fastened it securely to a large stone, and without paying further attention to it, walked hastily in the direction of the fort. It was about six in the evening; the barter with the Indians was over, and they were returning, laughing and sing- ing, to their tents of buffalo hide, while the engages, after collecting the horses, led them back slowly to the fort. The sun was setting behind the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, casting a pur- ple gleam over the heavens. Gradually, as the planet of day sank in the distant ? horizon, gloom took possession of the f»arth. The songs of the Indians, the shouts of the engages, the neighing of the horses, and the barking of the dogs, formed one of those singular concerts which, in these remote regions, impress on the mind a feeling of melancholy re- flection. The She-wolf reached the gate of the fort at the moment when the last en- gage had entered, after driving in the laggards of his troop. At these frontier posts, where mo- mentary vigilance is necessary to foil the treachery constantly lurking in the shadows, sentinels especially appointed to survey the gloomy and solitary prai- ries, that stretch out for miles around their garrisons, stand watching day and night, with their eyes fixed on space, ready to signalize the least unusual movement, either on the part of animals or of men, in the vast solitudes they survey. The She-wolf’s canoe had been de- tected more than six hours before, all its movements carefully watched, and when the She-wolf, after fastening hei boat up, presented herself at the gate of the fort, she found it closed and care fully bolted — not because she personally caused the garrison any alarm, but be cause the order was that no one should enter the fort after sunset, except for overpowering reasons. The She-wolf repressed with difficulty a gesture of annoyance at finding her- self thus exposed to spend the night in the open air; not that she feared the hardship, but because she knew the im- portance of her news, and desired no delay. She did not allow herself to be defeated, however, but stooped, picked up a stone, and struck the gate twice. A wicket immediately opened, and two eyes glistened through the opening it left. “ Who’s there 1” a rough voice asked. " A friend,” the She-wolf replied. “ Hum ; that’s very vague at this hour of the night,” the voice continued, with a grin that augured ill for the suc- cess of the mediation the She-wolf had commenced. “ Who are you ?” “ A woman, and a white woman too, as you can see by my dress and ac- cent.” “ It may be, but the night is dark, and it is impossible for me to see you : so if you have no better reasons to give, good night, and go your ways ; to-mor row we will meet again at sunrise.” And the speaker prepared to close the wicket, but the She-wolf cheoked him with a firm hand. “ One moment,” she said. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 109 “ What’s up now ?” the other re- marked, ill-temperedly. “ I cannot pass the night in listening to you.” “ I only want to ask you one ques- tion, and one favor.” “ Plague take it !” the man went on. “ Well, you are going on at a fine rate ; that’s nothing, eh? Well, let me hear it; that binds me to nothing.” “ Is Major Melville in the fort at this moment V 9 “ Perhaps.” “ Answer, yes or no.” “ Well, yes ; what then V 9 The She- wolf gave a sigh of satisfac- tion, hurriedly drew a ring from her right hand, and passing it through the wicket to the unknown speaker, said : “ Carry that ring to the Major ; I will wait for your answer here.” “ Mind what you are about ; the Commandant does not like to be dis- turbed for nothing.” “ Do as I tell you. I answer for the rest.” “ That’s a poor bail,” the other growled ; “ but no matter. I’ll risk it. Wait.” The wicket closed. The She-wolf seated herself on the side of the moat, and with elbows rest- ing on her knees, buried her head in her hands. By this time night had completely set in : in the distance, the fires lighted up by the Indians on the prairie shone like lighthouses in the gloom ; the even- ing breeze soughed hoarsely through the tops of the trees, and the howls of wild beasts were mingled at intervals with the strident laughter of the Indi- ans. Not a star sparkled in the sky, which was as black as ink ; nature seemed covered with a sere-cloth ; all presaged an approaching storm. The She-wolf waited, motionless as one of those patient sphynxes which have watched for thousands of years at the entrance of the Egyptian temples. A quarter of an hour elapsed, then a sound of bolts was heard, and the gates of the fort slightly opened. The She-wolf sprang up, as if moved by a spring. “ Come !” a voice said. She entered, and the door was imme- diately closed after her. An engage — • the same who had spoken to her thiough the wicket — stood before her, with a torch in his hand. “ Follow me,” he said to her. She walked after her guide, who crossed the entire length of the court- yard, and then turning to the She-wolf, said : “ The Major is waiting for you here.” “ Rap,” she said. “ No, do so yourself ; you no longer need me ; I will return to my post.” Aud, after bowing slightly, he with- drew, carrying the torch with him. The She-wolf remained alone in the darkness ; she passed her hand over her damp forehead, and making a supreme effort : “ I must,” she muttered, hoarsely. She then struck the door. “ Come in !” a voice said from with- in. She turned the knob, pushed open the door, and found herself in the presence of an elderly man dressed in uniform, and seated near a table, who gazed fix- edly at her. This man, by the position he occupied, and the way in which the light was arranged, could see her per- fectly ; while, on the other hand, the She-wolf could not distinguish his fea- tures, hidden as they were by the gloom. The She-wolf walked resolutely into the room. “Thanks for having received me,” she said ; “ 1 was afraid you had utter- ly forgotten.” “ If that is meant for a reproach, I do not understand you,” the officer said, sternly, “and I should feel obliged by a clear explanation.” “ Are you not Major Melville V 9 “ I am.” “ The way in which I entered the fort proves to me that you recognized the ring I sent you.” “ I recognized it ; for it reminds me of a very dear person,” he said, with a suppressed sigh ; “ but how is it in your hands ?” The She-wolf regarded the Major sad ly for a moment, then walked up to 110 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. him, gently took his hand, which she pressed in her’s, and replied in an accent Full of tears : “ Harry ! I must be changed by suf- fering, if you do not even recognize my voice.” At these words, a livid pallor covered the officer’s face ; he rose with a move- ' ment quick as lightning ; his body was agitated by a convulsive tremor, and seizing in his turn, the woman’s hands, he exclaimed madly : “ Margaret ! Margaret ! my sister ! Have the dead come from the grave ! Do I find you again at last ?” “ Ah 1” she said with an expression of joy impossible to render, as she sank in his arms, “ 1 was certain he would recognize me.” But the shock she had received was too strong for the poor woman, whose organization was worn out by sorrow ; accustomed to suffering, she could not endure joy, and fell fainting into her brother’s arms. The Major carried her to a species of sofa that occupied one side of the room, and, without calling any one to his aid, paid her all that at- tention her case required. The She-wolf remained for a long time insensible; but she gradually came to herself again, opened her eyes, and after muttering a few incoherent words, burst into tears. Her brother did not leave her for a moment, following with an anxious glance, the progress of her return to life. When he perceived that the height of the crisis was past, he took a chair, sat down by his sister's side, and by gentle words sought to restore her cou- rage. At length the poor woman raised her head, dried her eyes — reddened by tears, and hollowed by fever — and turn- ing to her brother, who watched her j every movement, said in a hoarse voice : “ Brother, for sixteen years I have been suffering an atrocious martyrdom, which never ceased for an instant.” The Major shuddered at this fearful revelation. “ Poor sister ?” he muttered. “ What can I do for you V’ “ All, if you will,” “ Oh !” he exclaimed, with energy, as he struck the wood-work of the sofa with his fist, “could you doubt me, Margaret ?” “ No, since I have come,” she an- swered, smiling through her tears. “ You would avenge yourself, I think ?” he went on. “ 1 will.” “ Who are your enemies ?” “ The redskins.” “ Ah, ah !” he said, with a bitter smile ; “ I too, have an old account to settle with those demons. To what nation do your enemies belong ?” “ To the Blackfeet. They are the Kenha tribe.” “ Oh,” the Ma : or continued, “ my old friends, the Blood Indians ; 1 have long been seeking a pretext to give them an exemplary punishment.” “ That pretext I now bring you, Hen- ry,” she answered, passionately ; “ and do not fancy it a vain pretext invented by hatred. No, no ! ’tis the revelation of a plot formed by all the Missouri Indians against the whites, w'hich must break out within a few days, perhaps to-morrow.” “ Ah ! ’ the Major observed, thought- fully, “ 1 do not know why, but, for the last few days, suspicions have invaded my mind ; my presentiments did not deceive me, then. Speak, sister, at once, I conjure you ; and since you have come to me, in order to appease your hatred of those red devils, 1 promise you a vengeance, the memory of which, will make their grandsons shudder.” “ I thank you for your promise, brother, and will not forget it,” she an- swered. “ Listen to me then.” “ One word first.” “ Speak, brother.” . “ Has the narrative of your sufferings anything to do with the conspiracy you are about to reveal to me ?” “ An intimate one,” “ Well it is scarce ten o’clock, we have the night before us ; tell me all that has happened to you since our sep- aration.” “ You wish it V’ “ Yes, for it will be by your narrative that I shall regulate my treatment of the Indians.” “ Listen then, brother, and be indul- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. Ill gent to me ; for I have suffered bitterly, as you are about to hear.” The Major pressed her hand ; lie took a chair, sat by her side, and after bolt- ing the door, to prevent any interrup- tion of the story, he said : “Speak, Margaret, and tell me every- thing ; 1 do not wish to be ignorant of any of the tortures you have endured during the long years that have elapsed since our last meeting.” CHAPTER XVIII. a mother’s confession. 11 It is just seventeen years ago, you will remember, Harry ; you had recent- ly received your commission as lieuten- ant in the army ; you were young, en- thusiastic; the future appeared to you to be drawn in the brightest colors. “ One evening, during weather like the present, you came to my husband’s clearing, to tell us the news, and bade us an affectionate farewell ; for you hoped, like ourselves, not to be long away from us. The next morning, in spite of our entreaties, after embracing the children, pressing the hand of my poor husband, who loved you so, and giving me a parting kiss, you gallopped off, and soon disappeared in a whirlwind of dust. Alas ! who could have fore- told that we should not meet again till to-day, after seventeen years’ separa- tion, upon Indian territory, and under terrible circumstances 1 However,” she added, with a sigh, “ God has willed it so, may His holy name be blessed ; it has pleased Him to try His creatures, and let His hand fall heavily on them.” “ It was with a strange contraction of the heart,” the Major said* “ that six months after that parting, when I re- turned among you with a joyous heart, I saw on dismounting in front of the house, a stranger open your door, and answer, that the white family had emi- grated six months before, and proceeded in a western direction, with the inten- tion of founding a new settlement on the Indian frontier. It was in vain that I tried to gain any information about you from your neighbors ; they had for- gotten you ; no one could or would, per- haps, give me the slightest news about you, and I was forced to retrace, heart- broken, the road I had ridden along so joyfully a few days before. Since then, despite all the efforts I have made, I never was able to learn anything about your fate, or lift the mysterious veil that covered the sinister events, to which 1 was convinced you had fallen victims during your journey.” “ You are only half deceived, my brother, in your supposition,” she went on. “ Two months after your visit, my husband, who had long desired to leave our clearing, where he said the land was worth nothing, had a grave dispute with one of his neighbors about the limits of a field, of which he believed, or pretend- ed to believe, that neighbor had cut off a corner ; under any other circumstan- ces, the difference would have been easi- ly settled, but my husband sought an excuse to go away, and having found it, did not let it slip again. He would lis- ten to nothing, but quietly made all his arrangements for the expedition he had so long meditated, and at length told us one day that he should start the next. When my husband had once said a thing, all I could do was to obey, for he never recalled a determination he had formed. “ On the appointed day at sunrise, we left the clearing, our neighbors accom- panying us for the first day’s journey, and at nightfall left us, after hearty wishes for the success of our expedition. It was with inexpressible sorrow I quit- ted the house where I was married, where my children was born, and where 1 had been happy for so many years. My husband tried in vain to console me, and restore me that courage which fail- ed me ; but nothing could efface from my mind the gentle and pious recollec- tions I previously kept up ; the deeper we buried ourselves in the desert, the greater my sorrow became. My hus- band on the other hand, saw everything in a bright light; the future belonged to him ; he was about to be his own master, and act as he thought proper. He detailed to me all his plans, tried to interest me in them, and employed all 112 THE FLOWER OF TIIE PRAIRIE. the means in his power to draw me from my gloomy thoughts, but could not succeed. “ Still we went onwards without stopping. The distance became daily greater between ourselves and the last settlements of our countrymen. In vain did I show my husband how re- mote we were from all help in case of danger, and the isolation in which we should find ourselves; he only laughed at my apprehensions; repeated inces- santly that the Indians were far from being so dangerous as they were repre- sented, and that we had nothing to fear. My husband was so convinced of the truth of his assertions, that he neglected the most simple precautions to defend himself against a surprise, and said each morning with a mocking air, at the mo- ment of starting. “ ‘ You see how foolish you are, Mar- garet ; be reasonable, the Indians will be careful not to offend us.’ “ One night the camp was attacked by the redskins, we were surprised dur- ing our sleep ; my husband was flayed alive, while his children were burned at a slow fire before his face.” While uttering these words, the poor woman’s voice became more and more choked. At the last sentences, her emotion grew so profound, that she could not continue. “ Courage !” the Major said, as much moved as herself, but more master of his feelings. She made an effort, and continued, in a harsh, unmodulated voice : “By a refinement of cruelty, the barbarism of which I did not at first understand, my youngest child, my daughter, was spared by the pagans. On seeing the punishment of my hus- band and children, at which I was forced to be present, I felt such a lacer- ation of the heart, that I imagined I was dying. I uttered a shriek, and fell down. How long I remained in that state, I know not; but when I regained my senses, I was alone. The Indians, doubtlessly, fancied me dead, and lelt me where I lay. “ I rose, and not conscious of what I was doing, but impelled by a force superior to my will, I returned, totter- ing and falling almost at every step, to the sppt where this mournful tragedy had been enacted. It took me three hours — how was I so far from the camp ? — at length I arrived, and a fear- ful sight presented itself to my horror- struck eyes. 1 looked unconscious upon the disfigured and half carbonized bodies of my children — my despair, however, restored my failing strength. I dug a grave, and, half delirious with grief, buried in it husband and children, all that I loved on earth. “ This pious duty accomplished, I re- solved to die at the spot where the beings so dear to me had perished. But there are hours during the long nights, in which the shades of the dead address the living, and order them to take ven- geance ! That terrific voice from the tomb I heard on a sinister night, when the elements threatened to overthrow nature. “ From that moment my resolution was formed. I consented to live for revenge. From that hour, I have walked firm and implacable on the path I traced, requiting the Pagans, on every opportunity that presents itself, for the evil they had done me. I have become the terror of the prairies. The Indians fear me as an evil genius. They have a superstitious, invincible dread of me ; in short, they have surnamed me the Lying She-wolf of the Prairies, for each time a catastrophe menaces them, or a frightful danger is hanging over their heads, they see me appear. “ For seventeen years I have been nursing my revenge, certain that the day will come when, in my turn, I shall plant my knee on the heart of my ene- mies, and inflict on them the atrocious torture they condemned me to suffer.” The woman’s face, while uttering these words, had assumed such an ex- pression of cruelty, that the major, brave as he was, felt himself shudder. “ And your enemies,” he said, after a moment’s delay, “ do you know them, have you learned their names ?” “ l know them all !” she said, in a piercing voice, “ I have learned all their names !” “ And they are preparing to break the peace V 1 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 113 Mrs. Margaret smiled ironically. “ No, they will not break the peace, brother, but attack you suddenly. They have formed a formidable league, which — at least they fancy so — you will find it impossible to resist.” “ Sister!” the Major exclaimed, ener- getically, “give me the names of these jwretched traitors, and I swear that, ’even were they concealed in the depths of Hades, I will seek them, to inflict an exemplary chastisement.” “ I cannot give you these names yet, brother ; but be at ease, you shall soon know them ; you will not have to seek them far, for I will lead them under the guns of your soldiers and hunters.” “ Take care, Margaret,” the Major said, shaking his head, “hatred is a bad counsellor in an affair like this ; he who grasps at too much, frequently risks the loss of all.” “ Oh!” she replied, “ my precautions 'have been taken for a long time : I hold them, I can seize them wherever I please ; or, to speak more correctly, when the moment has arrived.” “ Do as you think proper, sister, and reckon on my devoted aid : this ven- geance affects me too closely for me to allow it to escape.” “ Thanks,” she said. “ Pardon me ;” he continued, after a few minutes 5 reflection, “ if I revert to the sad events you have just narrated ; but you have, it strikes me, forgotten an important detail in your story.” “ 1 do not understand you, Harry.” “ I will explain : you said, I think, if my memory serves me, that your youngest daughter escaped from the frightful fate of her brothers, and was saved by an Indian.” “ Yes, 1 did say so, brother,” she re- plied, in an oppressed voice. “ Well, what has become of the un- happy child ? does she still live ? have you any news of her] have you seen her again ?” “ She lives, and I have seen her.” “ Ah!” “Yes; the man who saved her edu- cated her, even adopted her,” she said, sarcastically. “ Do you know what this wretch would do with the daughter of the man he murdered, whom he flayed alive before my eyes?” “Speak, in Heaven’s name !” “ What I have to say is very dread- ful ! it is so frightful, indeed, that I hesitate to reveal it to you.” “ Good God !” the Major ejaculated, recoiling involuntarily before his sister’s flaming glance. “Well;” she continued, with a stri- dent laugh, “this girl has grown up, the child has become a woman, as love- ly as it is possible to be. This man, this monster, this demon, has felt his tiger heart soften at the sight of the angel ; he loves her to distraction, he wishes to make her his wife.” “ Horror !” the Major exclaimed. “ Is that not truly hideous ?” she con- tinued, still with that nervous, spasmo- dic laugh which it pains one to hear : “ he has pardoned his victim’s daughter. Yes, he is generous, he forgets the atro- cious torture he inflicted on the father, and now covets the daughter.” “ Oh, that is frightful, Margaret ; so much infamy and cynicism is impossi- ble, even among Indians !” “ Do you believe, then, that I am de- ceiving you ?” “ Far from me be such a thought sister ; the man is a monster.” “ Yes, yes, so he is.” “ You have seen your daughter? you have talked with her ?” “Yes ; well, what then ?” “ You have, doubtlessly, turned her from this monstrous love ?” “ I !” she replied, with a grin, “ I did not say a wmrd to her about it.” “ What !” he said, in amazement. “ By what right could I have spoken !” “ How, by what right — Are you not her mother ?” “ She does not know it !” “ Oh !” “ And my vengeance ?” she said, cold- ly. This word, which so thoroughly explained the character of the woman, had before struck the heart of the old soldier with terror. “ Unhappy woman !” he exclaimed. A smile of disdain curled the She wolf’s lip. 114 TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ Yes, so you are,” she said, with a bitter voice, “you men of cities, with natures worn out by civilization. To understand a passion, it must be kept within certain limits traced beforehand. The grandeur of hatred, with all its fury and excesses, terrifies you ; you only admit that le^al and halting vengeance which the criminal code sanctions. Brother, he who wishes the end, wishes the means. To arrive at my object, what do I care, do you think, whether I walk over i uins or wade through blood ? No, I go straight before me, with the impetuosity of the torrent that breaks down and overthrows all the obstacles which rise in its passage. My object is vengeance, blood for blood, eye for eye; that is the law of the prairies. I have made it mine, and I will obtain that vengeance, if for it I . But,” she added, suddenly breaking off, “what need of this useless discussion between us, brother; reassure yourself, my daughter has been better warned by her instincts, than all the advice I could have given her. She does not love th s man. I know it, she told me so ; she will never love him.” “ Heaven be praised !” the Major ex- claimed. “ I have only one desire ; only one,” 9he continued, with a melancholy air, “it is after the accomplishment of my vengeance, to recover my daughter, press her to my heart, and cover her with kisses, while at length revealing to her that I am her mother.” The Major shook his head sorrowfully. “ Take care, sister,” he said in a stern voice; “God has said, ‘ Vengeance is mine!’ take care, lest, after assuming the office of Providence, you may be cruelly chastened by it in some of your dearest affections.” “ Oh, say not so, Henry !” she ex- claimed, with signs of terror, “you would turn me mad.” The Major let his head sink on his breast. For a little while brother and sister remained opposite each other, not uttering a word ; they were both reflect- ing. The She-wolf was the first to re- new the conversation. “ Now, brother,” she said, “ if you ! will permit me, we will leave this j mournful subject for a moment, and allude to what concerns you more par- ticularly, that is the formidable conspi- racy formed against you by the Indians.” “ On my word,” he replied with a sigh of relief, “ I confess, sister, that I ask nothing better ; my head is confused, and I believe if this went on much long er, I should be unable to re-collect my thoughts, so much am I affected by what you have told me.” “ Thanks.” “Night is drawing on, Margaret, in- deed it has almost entirely slipped away, we have not a moment to lose, so pray continue.” “ Is the garrison complete V f “ Yes.” “ How many men have you ?” “Seventy, without counting some fifteen hunters and trappers occupied without, but whom I will recall without delay.” “ Very good ; do you require the whole of the garrison for the defence of the fort ?” “ That is according. Why ?” “ Because 1 want to borrow twenty men of you.” “ Hum, for what object V 9 “ You shall learn ; you are alone here, without any hopes of help, and for this reason : while the Indians are burning the fort, they will intercept your communication with Fort Clark, Fort Union, and the other posts scat- tered along the Missouri.” “ I fear it, but what can I do V 1 “ I will tell you ; you have doubtless heard of an American squatter, who set- tled hardly a week back about three or four leagues from you ?” “I have; a certain John Black, I think.” “ That is the man ; well, his clearing will naturally serve you as an advanced post V 9 “ Famously.” “ Profit by the short time left you; under pretence of a buffalo hunt, send twenty men from the fort, and conceal them at John Black’s, so that when the moment for action arrives, they- may make a demonstration in your favor, THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 115 which will place the enemies between two fires, and make them suppose that reinforcements have reached you from other posts.” “That is a good idea,” the Major said. “ You must choose men on whom you can count.” “ They are all devoted to me ; you shall see them at work.” “ All the better ; then that is settled !” “It is.” “ Now as it is urgent that no one should know of our relations, as it might compromise the success of our scheme, I must ask you to open the gates of the fort for me.” “ What, so soon, in this frightful weather !” “ I must, brother, it is of the utmost importance, that I should start at once.” “ You insist ?” “ I beg it of you, Harry, for our eommon benefit.” “ Come, then, sister, I will detain you no longer.” Two minutes later, in spite of the storm which still howled with the same fury, the She-wolf was rowing from Fort Mackenzie at full speed. CHAPTER XIX. THE CHASE. When Natah Otann entered the lodge inhabited by the white men, un- der pretext of warning them to prepare for the chase, his searching eye in a few seconds had explored every corner of the building. The Indi in chief was too clever to omit noticing the Count’s con- straint and embarrassment ; but he un- derstood that it would be impolitic to show the suspicions he had conceived. Hence, he did not in the slightest de- gree affect to notice the annoyance caused by his presence, and continued the conversation with that politeness the redskins can display, when they choose to take the trouble. On their side the Count and Brighteye at once regained their coolness. “ I did not hope to find my white brother already risen,” Natah Otann said, with a smile. “ Why not"?” the young man replied, “ a desert life accustoms one to little sleep.” “ Then the palefaces will go and hunt with their red friends ?” “ Certainly, if you have no objec- tion.” “ Did I not myself propose to Glass- eye to procure them a true chase ?” “ That is true ;” the young man said, with a laugh, “ but take care, chief, I have become uncommonly fastidious since l have been in the prairie ; there is hardly any game I have not hunted, as it was the love of sport alone that brought me into these unknown coun- tries ; hence, I repeat, I shall expect choice game.” Natah Otann smiled proudly. “ My brother will be satisfied,” he said. “ And what is the animal we are about to follow 1” the young man asked. “ The ostrich.” The Count made a sign of amaze ment. “ What, the ostrich V ’ he exclaimed, “ that is impossible, chief ” “ Because 1” “ Oh, simply because there are none.” “ The ostrich, it is true, is disappear- ing ; it fled before the white men, and becomes daily rare, but it is still nu- merous on the prairies ; in a few hours my brother will have a proof of it.” “ I desire nothing better.” “ Good, that is settled : I will soon come and fetch my brother.” The chief bowed courteously and retired, after taking a parting look a- round. The curtain had scarcely fal- len behind the chief, ere the piie of furs that covered the young girl was thrown off, and Prairie Flower ran up to the Count. “ Listen ;” she said to him, seizing his hand, which she pressed tenderly, “ I cannot explain to you now, for time fails me ; still, remember, you have a friend who watches over you.” 116 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. And before the Count could reply, or even think of replying, she fled with the bound of an antelope. He passed his hand several times over his brow, his eye being fixed on the place where the Indian girl had disappeared. “ Ah !” he at length murmured, “ have I at last met with a true woman V’ “ She is an angel,” the hunter said, replying to his thought. “ Poor child, she has suffered greatly.” “ Yes ; but I am here now, and will protect her 1” the Count exclaimed, with exaltation. “ Let us think of ourselves first, Mr. Edward ; and try to get away from here with whole skins ; it will not be an easy task, I assure you.” “ What do you mean, my friend V* “It is enough that I understand it all,” the hunter said, shaking his head ; “ let us only think now of our prepara- tions : our friends, the redskins, will soon arrive,” he added, with that deri- sive smile, which caused the Count to feel increased embarrassment. But the impression caused by the Canadian’s ambiguous language was promptly dissipated, for love had sud- denly nestled in this young man’s heart; he only dreamed of one thing, of seeing the woman again whom he adored with all his strength. In a man like the Count, who was gifted with a fiery organization, every feeling must necessarily be carried to an excess ; and it was the case in the present instance. Love is born by a word, a sign, a look, and, scarcely born, suddenly becomes a giant. The Count was fated to learn this at his own ex- pense. Scarcely half an hour after Natah Otann’s departure, the gallop of several ! horses was heard, and a troop of horse- men stopped in front of the cabin. The three men went out, and found Natah Otann awaiting them at the head of sixty warriors, all dressed in their grand costume, and armed to the teeth. “ Let us go,” he said. “ Whenever you please,” the Count answered. The chief made a signal, and three magnificent horses, superbly capari- soned in the Indian fashion, were led up by children. The whites mounted, and the band set out in the direction of the prairie. It was about six in the morning, the night storm had completely swept the sky, which was of a pale blue ; the sun, fully risen in the horizon, shot forth its warm beams, which drew out the sharp and odoriferous vapors from the ground. The atmosphere was wondrously trans- parent, a slight breeze refreshed the air, and flocks of birds, lustrous with a thousand hues, flew around, uttering joyous cries. The troop marched gaily through the tall prairie grass, raising a cloud of dust, and undulating like a long serpent in the endless turnings of the road. The spot where the chase was to come off was nearly thirty miles distant from the village. In the desert all places are alike ; tall grass, in the midst of which the horsemen entirely disappear: stunted shrubs, and here and there clumps of trees, whose imposing crowns rise to an enormous height ; — such was the road the Indians had to follow up to the spot where they would find the animals they proposed chasing. In the prairies of Arkansas and the Upper Missouri, at the time of our story, ostriches were still numerous, and their chase one of the numerous amusements of the redskins and wood- rangers. It is probable that the succes- sive invasions of the white men, and the immense clearings effected by fire and the axe, have now compelled them to abandon this territory, and retire to the inaccessible desert of the Rocky Mountains, or the sands of the tar west. We will say here, without any pre- tence at a scientific description, a few words about this singular animal, still but little known in Europe. The os- trich generally lives in small families of from eight to ten, scattered along the banks of marshes, pools, and streams. They live on fresh grass. Faithful to their native soil, they never quit the vicinity of the water, and in t.ie month of November lay their eggs THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 117 in the wildest part of the plain, fifty to sixty at a time, which are brooded, solely at night, by male and female in turn, with a touching tenderness. When the incubation is terminated, the ostrich breaks the barren eggs with his beak, which are at once covered with flies and insects, supplying nourishment ^to the young birds. The ostrich of the western prairies differs slightly from the Nandus of the Patagonian prairies and the African species. It is about five feet high, and four and a half long, from the stomach to the end of the tail; its beak is very pointed, and measures a little over five inches. A characteristic trait of the ostrich is their extreme curiosity. In the Indian villages, where they live in a tamed state, it is of frequent occurrence to see them stalking through groups of talk- ers and regarding them with fixed at- tention. In the plain this curiosity is often fatal to them, for it leads them to look unhesitatingly at everything that seems strange or unusual to them. We will give a capital Indian story here in proof of this. The jaguars are very fond of ostrich meat, but unfortunately, though their speed is so great, it is almost impossi- ble for them to run the birds down ; but the jaguars are cunning animals, and usually obtain by craft what they cannot manage by force. They, there- fore, employ the following stratagem : They lie on the ground as if dead, and raise their tails in the air, where they wave them in every direction ; the os- triches, attracted by this strange spec- tacle, approach with great simplicity — the rest may be guessed ; they fall a prey to the cunning jaguars. The hunters, after a hurried march of three hours, reached a barren and sandy ^ plain ; during the journey, very few words were exchanged between Natah Otann and his white gue-Ls, for he rode at the head of the column, conversing in a low voice with White Buffalo. The Indians dismounted by the side of a stream, and exchanged their horses for racers, which the chief had sent to the spot during the night, and which were naturally rested and able to run for miles. Natah Otann divided the hunting par- ty into tw’o equal troops, keeping the command of the first himself, and cour- teously offering that of the second to the Count. As the Frenchman, how- ever, had never been present at such a chase, and was quite ignorant how it was conducted, he courteously declined. Natah Otann reflected for a few mo- ments, and then turned to Brighteye : “ My brother knows the ostriches?” he asked him. “ Eh ?” the Canadian replied with a smile ; “ Natah Otann was not yet born when I hunted them on the prairie.” “ Good the chief said ; “ then my brother will command the second band ?” “ Be it so the hunter said, bowing, “I accept with pleasure.” On a given signal, the first band, un- der Natah Otann’s command, advanced into the plain, describing a semicircle, so as to drive the game towards a ra- vine situated between two moving downs. The second band, with which the Count and Ivon remained, was echelon- ned so as to form the other half of the circle, which by the horsemen’s advance, was gradually being contracted, when a dozen ostriches showed themselves; but the male bird standing sentry, warned the family of the danger by a sharp cry like a boatswain’s whistle. At once the ostriches fled in a straight line rapidly, and without looking back. All the hunters galloped off in pursuit. The plain, till then silent and gloomy, grew animated, and offered the stran- gest appearance. The horsemen pursued the luckless animals at full speed, rais- ing in their passage clouds of impalpa- ble dust. Twelve to fifteen paces be- hind the game, the Indians still gallop- ing and burying their spurs in the flanks of their panting horses, bent forward, twisted their formidable clubs round their heads, and hurled them after the animals. If they missed their aim, they stooped down without checking their pace, and picked up the weapon, which they cast again. Several flocks of ostriches had been put up, and the chase then assumed the proportions of a mad revel. Cries and 118 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. hurrahs rent the air; the clubs hurtled through the space and struck the necks, wings and legs of the ostriches, which, startled and mad with terror, made a thousand feints and zigzags to escape their implacable enemies, and buffeting their wings, tried to prick the horses with a species of spike, with which the end of their wings is armed. Several horses reared, and embarrassed with the ostriches between their legs, fell with their riders. The ostriches, pro- fiting by the disorder, fled on, and came within reach of the other hunters, who received them with a shower of clubs. Each hunter leaped from his horse, killed the victim he had felled, cut off its wings as a sign of triumph, and re- newed the chase with increased ardor. Ostriches and hunters rushed onwards like the cordonazo, that terrible wind of the Mexican deserts, and forty ostriches speedily encumbered the plain. Natah Otann looked round him, and then gave the signal for retreat ; the birds, which had not succumbed to this rude aggression, ran off to seek shelter. The dead birds were carefully collected, for the ostrich is excellent eating, and the Indians prepare, chiefly from the meat on the breast, a dish renowned for its delicacy and exquisite savor. The warriors then proceeded to collect eggs, also highly esteemed, and secured an ample crop. Although the chase had scarce lasted two hours, the horses panted and wanted rest before they could return to the village ; hence Natah Otann gave orders to stop. The Count had never been present at so strange a hunt before, al- though ever since he had been on the prairie, he had pursued the different animals that inhabit it; hence he en- tered into it with all the excitement of youth, rushing on the ostriches and fell- ing them with childlike pleasure. When the signal for retreat was given by the chief, he reluctantly left off the amuse- ment, which at the moment caused him such delight, and returned slowly to his comrades. Suddenly, a loud cry was raised by the Indians, and each ran to his weapons. The Count looked around him with surprise, and felt a slight tremor. The ostrich hunt was over; but, as fre- quently happens in these countries, a far more terrible one was about to begin — the chase of the cougar. Two of these animals had suddenly made their appearance. The Count recovered at once and cocking his rifle, prepared to follow this new species of game. Natah Otann had also noticed the l wild beasts ; he ordered a dozen war- riors to surround Prairie Flower, whom he had obliged to accompany him, or who had insisted on being present ; then, certain that the girl was, tempora- rily at least, in safety, he turned to a warrior standing at his side. “ Uncouple the dogs,” he said. A dozen mastiffs were let loose, which howled in chorus, on seeing the wild beasts. The Indians, accustomed to see the ostrich hunt disturbed in this wav, never fail, when they go out for their favorite exercise, to take with them dogs trained to attack the lion. About two hundred yards from the spots where the Indians had halted, two cougars were now crouching, with their eyes fixed on the redskin warriors. These animals, still young, were about the size of a calf ; their heads bore a strong likeness to a cat’s, and their soft, smooth hide of sil- very yellow was dotted with black spots. “After them !” Natah Otann shouted. Horsemen and dogs rushed on the ferocious beasts with yells, cries, and barks, capable of terrifying lions unused to such a reception. The noble animals, motionless and amazed, lashed their flanks with their long tails, and drew in heavy draughts of air; for a moment they remained stationary, then suddenly bounded away. A party of hunters galloped in a straight line to intercept their retreat, while the others bent over their saddles, and guiding their horses with their knees, fired their arrows and rifles, with out checking the cougars, which turned furiously on the dogs, and hurled them ten yards from them, to howl with pi in. Still the mastiffs, long habituated to this chase, watched for a favorable moment, I leaped on the lions’ backs, and dug their TIIE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 119 nails in their flesh ; but the latter, with one stroke of their deadly claws, swept them off like flies, and continued their flight. One of them, pierced by several ar- rows, and surrounded by the dogs, rolled on the ground, raising a cloud of dust under its claws, and uttering a * fearful yell. This one the Canadian finished by putting a bullet through its eye, but the second lion remained, still unwounded, and its leaps foiled the at- tack and skill of the hunters. The dogs, now wearied, did not dare assail it. Its flight had led it a few paces from the spot where Prairie Flower stood; it suddenly turned at right angles, bounded among the Indians, two of whom it rip- ped up, and crouched before the young girl, ere making its leap. Prairie Flower, pale as a corpse, clasped her hands instinctively, uttered a stifled cry, and fainted. New cries replied to hers, and at the momeut the lion was about to leap on the maiden, two bullets were buried in its chest. It turned to face its new ad- versary; it was the Count de Beaulieu. Ci Let no one stir !” he exclaimed, stopping by a sign Natah Otann and Brighteye, who ran up ; “ this game is mine, no other than 1 shall kill it.” The Count had dismounted, and with his feet firmly planted, his rifle at his shoulder, and eyes fixed on the lion, he waited. The lion hesitated, cast a final glance at the prey lying a few paces from it, and then rushed on the young man with a roar. He fired again : the animal bit the dust, and the Count, hunting-knife in hand, ran up to it. The man and the lion rolled together on the ground, but soon one of the combatants rose again ; it was the man. Prairie Flower was saved. The maid- en opened her eyes again, looked timid- ly round her, and holding out her hand to the Frenchman : “ Thanks !” she exclaimed, and burst into tears. Natah Otann walked to her. “ Silence !” he said, harshly, “ what the paleface has done, Natah Otann could have achieved.” The Count smiled contemptuously, but made no reply, for he had recogni- zed a rival. CHAPTER XX. INDIAN DIPLOMACY. Natah Otann feigned not to have perceived the Count’s smile. “ Now that you have recovered,” he said to Prairie Flower, in a gentler tone than he at first assumed towards her, “ mount your horse and return to the village. Red Wolf will accompany you : perhaps,” he added, with an Indi- an smile, “ we may again come across cougars, and you are so frightened at them, that I believe I am doing you a service in begging you to withdraw.” The young girl, still trembling, bow- ed and. mounted her horse. Red Wolf had involuntarily made a start of joy on hearing the order the chief gave him, but the latter, occupied with his thoughts, had not surprised it. “ One moment,” Natah Otann went on, “ if living lions frighten you, l know that in return you greatly value their furs ; allow me to offer you these.” No pne can equal the skill of Indians in flaying animals ; in an instant the two lions, over which the vultures were already hovering and forming wide cir- cles, were stripped of their rich hides, which were thrown across Red Wolf’s horse. That animal, terrified by the smell that emanated from the skins, reared furiously, and almost unsaddled its rider, who had great difficulty in re- straining it. “ Now go,” the chief said, drily, dis- missing them with a haughty gesture. Prairie Flower and Red Wolf depart- ed at a gallop ; Natah Otann watched them for a long time, then let his head fall on his breast, as he uttered a deep sigh, and appeared plunged in gloomy thought. A moment later, he felt a hand pressing heavily on his chest ; he raised his head — White Buffalo was be- fore him. “ What do you want with me ?” he asked angrily. “ Do you not know ]” the old man said, looking at him fixedly. Natah Otann quivered. “ It is true,” he said, “ the hour has arrived, you mean ?” “ Yes.” 120 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. “ Are all precautions taken ?” “All.” “ Come on, then ; but where are they r “ Look at them.’’ While uttering these words, White Buffalo pointed to the Count and his comrades lying on the grass, at the skirt of a wood, about two hundred yards from the Indian encampment. “ Ah, they keep aloof,” the chief ob- served bitterly. “ Is not that better for the conversa- tion which we wish to have with them?” “ You are right.” The two men then walked up to the hunters without speaking again. The latter had really kept away, not through contempt for the Indians, but in order to be more at liberty. What had occurred after the death of the cou- gars, the brutal way in which the chief spoke to Prairie Flower, had vexed the Count, and it needed all the power he possessed over himself, and the entrea- ties of Brighteye, to prevent him break- ing out in reproaches of the chief, whose conduct appeared to him unjustifiably coarse. “ Hum !” he said, “ this man is deci- dedly a ruffian : I am beginning to be of your opinion, Brighteye.” “ Bah ? that is nothing yet,” the lat- ter replied, with a shrug of his shoul- ders, “ we shall see plenty more, if we only remain a week with these demons.” While speaking, the Canadian had re- loaded his rifle and pistols. “ Do as I do,” he continued, “ No one knows what may happen.” “ What need of that precaution, are we not under the protection of the In- dians, whose guests we are ?” “ Possibly ; but no matter, you had better follow my advice, for with Indi- ans you can never answer for the fu- ture.” “ There is considerable truth in what you say ; what I have just seen does not at all inspire me with confidence.” The Count, therefore, began reloading his weapons ; as for Ivon, he had not used his. The two Indian chiefs came up at the moment when the Count finished load- ing the last pistol. “ Oh, ‘ oh,” Natah Otann said in French, bowing with studied politeness, “ have you scented any wild beast in the neighborhood ?” “ Perhaps so,” the latter replied, as he returned his pistols to his belt. “ What do you mean, Sir ?” “ Nothing but what 1 say.” “ Unfortunately for me, doubtlessly, that is so subtile, that I do not under- *. stand it.” “ I am sorry for it, Sir ; but I can only reply to you by an old Latin pro- verb.” “ Which is?” “ What need to repeat it, as you do not understand Latin.” “ Suppose I do understand it ?” “Well, then, as you insist upon it, here it is : si vis pacem para helium, .” “ Which means ?” the chief said, im- pertinently, while White Buffalo bit his lips. “ Which means ” the Count said. “If you wish for peace, prepare for war,” White Buffalo hurriedly interrup- ted. “It was you who said it,” the Count remarked, bowing with a mocking smile. The three men stood face to face, like skilful duellists, who feel the adversa- ry’s sword before engaging, and who, having recognised themselves to be of equal strength, redouble their prudence, before dealing a decisive thrust. Brighteye, though not understanding much of this skirmish of words, had still, through the distrust which was the baffs of his character, given Ivon a side glance, and both, though apparently in- attentive, were ready for any event. After the Count’s last remark there was a lengthened silence, which Natah Otann was the first to break. “You believe yourself to be among enemies, then ?” he asked, in a tone of wounded pride. “ I did not say so,” he replied, “ and such is not my thought; still I confess that all I have seen during the last few days is so strange to me, that in spite of all my attempts, I can form no settled opinion, either about men or things, and that causes me deep reflection.” “ Ah !” the Indian said coldly, “ and THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 121 what is it so strange you see around you? would you be kind enough to in- form me V ’ “ I see no harm in doing so, if you wish it.” “ You will cause me intense pleasure by explaining yourself.” “ I am quite ready to do so ; the more so as 1 have ever been accustomed to express my thoughts freely, and I see no reason for disguising them to-day.” The two Chiefs bowed and said no- thing; the Count rested his hands on the muzzle of his gun, and continued, while regarding them fixedly. “ My faith, gentlemen, since you wish me to unveil my thoughts, you shall have them in their entirety : we are here in the wilds of the American prai- ries, that is in the wildest countries of the new continent ; you are always on hostile terms with the whites ; you Blackfeet are regarded as the most un- tamable, savage, and ferocious of the Indians ; or, in other words, the most devoid of civilization of all the abo- riginal nations.” “Well;” Natah Otann remarked, “ what do you find strange in that ? is it our fault if our despoilers, since the discovery of the new world, have tracked us like wild beasts, driven us back in the desert, and regarded us as beings scarcely endowed with the instinct of the brute ? you must blame them, and not us. By what right do you reproach us with a brutalization and barbarism, produced by our persecutors and not by ourselves ?” “ You have not understood me, Sir : if, instead of interrupting me, you had listened patiently a few minutes longer, you would have seen that I not merely do not reproach you for that brutaliza- tion, but pity it in my heart ; for al- though I have been only a few months in the desert, I have been on several occasions in a position to judge the un- happy race to which you belong, and appreciate the good qualities it still possesses, and which the odious tyranny of the whites has not succeded in eradi- cating, despite of all the means employ- ed to attain that end.” The two Chiefs exchanged a glance of satisfaction ; the generous words uttered by the young man gave them hopes as to the success of their negotiation. “ Pardon me, and pray continue,” Natah Otann said with a bow. “ I will do so ;” the Count went on, “ I repeat it, it was not that barbarism, which astonishes me, for 1 supposed it to be greater than it really is : what seemed strange to me was to find in the heart of the desert, where we now are, amid the ferocious Indians who sur- round us, two men, two Chiefs of this selfsame Indians, 1 will not say civil- ized, for the word is not strong enough — but utterly conversant with all the secrets of the most advauced and refined civilization, speaking my maternal lan- guage with the most extreme purity, and seeming in a word, to have nothing Indian about them, save the dress they wear. It seemed strange to me that two men, for an object 1 know not, changing in turn their manners and fashions, are at one moment savage In- dians, at another perfect gentlemen ; but instead of trying to raise their country -men from the barbarism in which they pine, they wallow in it with them, feigning to be as ignorant aud cruel as themselves. I confess to you, gentlemen, that all this not only ap- peared strange to me, but even frighten- ed me.” “ Frightened !” the two chiefs ex- claimed simultaneously. “ Yes, frightened !” the Count contin- ued quickly, “ for a life of continual feints, such as you lead must conceal some dark plot. Lastly, I am frighten- ed, because your conduct towards me, the urgency with which you sought to attract me amongst you, causes invol- untary suspicions to spring up in my heart, as to your secret intentions.” “ And what are those suspicions, sir ?” Natah Otann asked, haughtily. “ I am afraid that you wish to make me your accomplice in some scandalous deed.” These words pronounced vehemently, burst like a thunderbolt on the ears of the two strange chiefs, they were terri- fied by the perspicuity of the young man, and for several moments knew not 122 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. what to say, to disculpate themselves. “ Sir !” Natah Otann at length ex- claimed, violently. White Buffalo checked him by a ma- jestic gesture. “ It is my duty,” he said, “ to reply to our guest’s words ; in his turn, after the frank and loyal explanation he has given us, he has a right to one equally frank on our side.” “ I am listening to you,” the young man said coolly. “ Of the two men now standing before you, one is your fellow countryman.” “ Ah !” the count muttered. “ That countryman is myself.” The young man bowed coldly. “ I suspected it,” he said, “ and it is a further reason to heighten my suspi- cions.” Natah Otann made a gesture. “ Let him speak,” White Buffalo said, holding him back. “ What I have to say will not be long, sir ; it is my opinion that the man who consents to exchange the blessings of European civilization for a precarious life on the prairie ; who breaks all the ties of family and friendship, which at- taches him to his country, in order to adopt an Indian life — in my opinion that man must have many disgraceful actions to reproach himself with, and his remorse forces him to offer society ex- piation for them.” The old man’s brow contracted, and a livid pallor covered his face. “ You are very young, sir,” he said, " to have the right to bring such accusa- tions against an old man, whose actions, life, and even name are unknown to you.” “ That is true, sir,” the Count an- swered nobly. “ Pardon any insult my words may have conveyed.” “ Why should I be angry with you,” he continued, in a sad voice; “a child born yesterday, whose eyes opened amid songs and fetes, whose life, which counts but a few days, has been spent gently and calmly in the peace and prosperity of that beloved France, which I weep for every day.” “ Who are you, sir?” he asked. “ Who am I ?” the old man said, bit- terly, “ I am one of those crushed Titans who sat in the Convention of 1793 !” The Count fell back a pace, letting fall the hand he had taken. “ Oh !” he said. The exile looked at him searchingly. “ Enough of this,” he said, raising his head, and assuming a firm and resolute tone ; “ you are in our hands, sir, any resistance will be useless ; so listen to our propositions.” The Count shrugged his shoulders. “You throw off the mask,” he said, “ and I prefer that ; but allow me one remark before listening to you.” “ What is it?” “ I am of noble birth, as you are aware, and hence we are old enemies ; on whatever ground we may meet, we can only stand face to face, never side by side.” “ They are ever the same,” the other muttered ; “ this haughty race may be broken, but not bent.” The Count bowed, and folded his arms on his breast. “ I am waiting,” he said. “ Time presses,” the exile continued, “ any discussion between us would be superfluous, as we cannot agree.” “ At least, that is clear,” the Count remarked, with a smile, “ now for the rest.” “ It is this : in two days, all the In- dian nations will rise as one man to crush the American tyranny.” “ What do I care for that? Have I come so far to dabble in politics ?” The exile repressed a movement of anger. “ Unfortunately, your will is not free ; you are here to obey our conditions, and not to impose your own ; you must accept or die.” “ Oh, oh, always your old means, as it seems, but I will be patient : come, what is it you expect from me ?” “ We demand,” he went on, laying a stress on every word, “ that you should take the command of all the warriors, and direct the expedition in person.” “ Why I, rather than any one else?” “ Because you alone can play the part we give you.” “ Nonsense ; you are mad.” THE FLOWER, OF THE PRAIRIE. 123 “You must be so, if, since your stay among the Indians, you have not seen that you would have been killed long ago, had we not been careful to spread reports about you, which gained you general respect, in spite of your rash- ness and blind confidence in yourself.” “ Eh, then, this has been prepared a long time V ’ “ For centuries.” “ Hang it !” the Count went on, still sarcastically, “ what have I to do in all this?” “ Oh, sir, not much,” the White Buf- falo answered, with a sneer, “ and any one else would have suited us just as well ; unfortunately for you, you have an extraordinary likeness to the man w ho can alone march at our head ; and as this man died long ago, it is not pro- bable that he will come from his grave expressly to guide us to battle ; hence you must take his place.” “Very well; and would there be any indiscretion in asking you the name of the man to whom I bear so wonder- ful a likeness ?” “ Not the slightest,” the old man re- plied, coldly ; “ The more so, because you have doubtlessly already heard his name ; it is Moctecuzoma.” The Count burst into a laugh. “ Come !” he said, “ it is a capital joke ; but I find it a little too long. Now a word in my turn.” “ Speak.” “ YVhatever you may do, whatever means you may employ, I will never consent to serve you in any way. Now, as I am your guest, placed under the guarantee of your honor, I request you to let me pass.” “ That resolution is decided ?” “ Yes.” “ You will not change it ?” “ Whatever happens.” “We shall see that,” the old man re- marked, coldly. The Count looked at him contemptu- ously. “ Make way there,” he said, resolute- ly* The two chiefs shrugged their shoul- ders. “We are savages,” Natah Otann said jibingly. “ Make way ?” the count repeated, as he cocked his rifle. Natah Otann whistled ; in an instant some fifteen Indians rushed from the wood, and fell on the white men, who, however, though surprised, endured the shock bravely. Standing instinctively back to back, with shoulder supported against shoulder, they suddenly formed a tremendous triangle, before which the redskins were constrained to halt. “ Oh, oh !” Brighteye said, “ I fancy we are going to have some fun.” “ Yes,” Ivon muttered, crossing him- self piously ; “ but we shall be killed.” “ Probably,” the Canadian said. “ Fall back !” the Count ordered. The three men then began to retire slowly toward the wood, the only shel- ter that offered, without separating, and still pointing their rifles at the Indians. The redskins are brave, even rash ; that question cannot be disguised or doubted; but with them courage is calculated ; they never fight save to gain an object, and are not fond of risking their lives unprofitably. They hesitated. “ I fancy we did well to reload our arms,” the Count said, ironically but with perfect calmness. “By Jove!” Brighteye said, with a grin. “ No matter, I am very frightened,” Ivon groaned, his eyes sparkling and his lips quivering. “ Eha, sons of blood !” Natah Otann shouted, as he cocked his gun. “ Do three palefaces frighten you ? Forward ! Forward !” The Indians uttered their war yell, and rushed on the hunters. The other Indians, warned of what was happening by the shouts of their comrades, ran up hurriedly to take part in the fight. 8 124 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. CHAPTER XXL MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. We must leave our three valiant champions for a few moments in their present critical position, to speak of one of the important persons of this story, whom we have neglected too long. Immediately after the departure of the Indians, John Black, with that American activity, equalled in no other country, set to work beginning his clearing. The peril he had incurred, and which he had only escaped by a miracle incomprehensible to him, had caused him to make very earnest reflec- tions. He understood that in the iso- lated spot where he was, he could not expect assistance from any one — that he must alone confront the danger that would doubtlessly menace him ; and that, consequently, he must, before all else, think about defending the settled ment against a coup de main. Major Melville had heard, through his engages and trappers, of the colo- nist ; but the latter was perfectly igno- rant that he was only ten miles from Port Mackenzie. His resolution once formed, John Black carried it out im- mediately. To those people whc have not seen American clearings, the processes em- ployed b} the squatters, and the skill with which they cut down the largest trees in a few moments, would appear as prodigies. Black considered that he had not a moment to lose, and aided by his son and servants, set to work. The tempo- rary camp, as we have seen, was situ- ated on a rather high mound, which commanded the plain for a long dis- tance. It was here that the colonist de- termined to build his house. He began by planting all round the platform of the hill a row of enormous stakes, twelve feet high, and fastened together by large bolts. This first en- ceinte finished, he dug behind it a trench about eight feet wide and fifteen deep, throwing up the earth on the edge, so as to form a second line of defence. Then, in the interior of this improvised fortress, which, if defended by a reso lute garrison, was impregnable, unless cannon were brought up to form a breach — for the abrupt slope of the hill rendered any assault impossible — he laid the foundation of his family’s future abode. The temporary arrangements he had made allowed him to continue his further labors less hastily ; through his prodi- gious activity, he could defy the attacks of all the prowlers on the prairie. His wife and daughter had actively helped him, for they understood, better than the rest of the family, the utility of these defensive works. The poor ladies, little used to the rude toil they had been engaged in, needed rest. Black had not spared himself more than the rest. He understood the jus- tice of his wife and daughter’s entrea- ties, and as he had nothing to fear for the present, he generously granted a whole day’s rest to the little colony. The events that marked the squatter’s arrival in the province had left a pro- found impression on the hearts of Mrs. Black and her daughter. Diana, especially, had maintained a recollection of the Count, which time, far from weakening, rendered only the more vivid. The Count’s chivalrous character, the noble way in which he had acted, and — let us speak the truth — his physical qualities, all combined to render him dear to the young girl, whose life had hitherto passed away calmly, nothing happening to cast a cloud over her heart. Many times since the young man’s departure, she stopped in her work, raised her head, looked anxiously round her, and then resumed her toil, while stifling a sigh. Mothers are quick-sighted, especially those who, like Mrs. Black, really love their daughters. What her husband and son did not suspect, then, she gues- sed merely by looking for a few min- utes at the poor girl’s pale face, her eyes surrounded by a dark ring, her pensive look, and inattention. Diana was in love. Mrs. Black looked around her. No one could be the object of that love. So far back as she could remember, THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 125 she called to mind no one her daughter had appeared to distinguish before their departure from the clearing, where she had passed her youth. Besides, when the little party set out in search of a fresh home, Diana seemed joyful, she prattled gaily as a bird, and appeared to trouble herself about none of those she left behind. After these reflections, the mother sighed in her turn ; if she had divined her daughter’s love, she had been un- able to discover the man who was the object of that love. Mrs. Black re- solved to cross question her daughter as soon as she happened to be alone with her ; till then she feigned to be in per- fect ignorance. The day of rest granted by John Black to his family would probably offer her the favorable opportunity she awaited so impatiently. Hence she joyfully received the news which her husband gave her in the evening after prayers, which, according to the custom of the family, were said in common be- fore going to bed. The next morning, after sunrise, ac- cording to their daily habit, the two ladies prepared the breakfast, while the servants led the cattle down to the liver. “ Wife,” the squatter said, at break- fast, “ William and I intend, as work is suspended for to-day, to mount our horses, and go and visit the neighbor- hood, which we have not seen yet.” “ Do not go too far, my friend, and be well armed ; you know that in the desert dangerous meetings are not rare.” “Yes; so be at ease. Although I believe that we have nothing to fear for the present, I will be prudent. Would you not feel inclined to accompany us, as well as Diana, and take a look at your new domain V 1 The girl’s eyes glistened with joy at this proposition: she opened her lips to reply ; but her mother laid her hand on her mouth, and spoke instead of her. “ You must excuse us, my dear,” she said, with a certain degree of vivacity, “ but women, as you know, have always something to do. Diana and I will put everything in order during your ab- sence, which our busy labors of the last few days have prevented us doing.” “ As you please, wife.” “ Besides,” she continued, with a smile, “ as we shall probably remain a long time here — ” “ I fancy so,” the squatter interrup- ted. “ Well, I shall not lack opportunity of visiting our domains, as you call them, another day.” “ Excellently argued, ma’am, and I am quite of your opinion; William and I will therefore take our ride alone •, I would ask you not to feel alarmed if we do not come home till rather late.” “ No ; but on condition, that you re- turn before night.” “ Agreed.” They spoke of something else ; still, towards the end of the meal Sam, with- out suspecting it, brought the conversa- tion back nearly to the same subject. “ I am certain, Jim,” he said to his comrade, “ that the young man was not a Canadian, as you fancy, but a French- man.” “ Who are you talking about V 1 the squatter asked. “The gentleman who accompanied the redskins, and made them give us back our cattle.” “ Yes, without counting the other obligations we are under to him, for if l am now the owner of a clearing, it was through him.” “ He is a worthy gentleman,” Mrs. Black said, with a purpose. “Yes, yes,” Diana murmured, in an indistinct voice. “ He is a Frenchman,” Black as- serted. “There cannot be a doubt of that ; those Canadian scoundrels are incapable of acting in the way he did to us.” Like all the North Americans, Black heartily detested the Canadians ; why he did so, he could not have said, but this hatred was innate in his heart. “ Bah !” William said, “ what matter his country, he has a fine heart, and is a true gentleman. For my part, father, I know a certain William Black, who is ready to die for him.” “ By Heaven !” the squatter ex- 126 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. claimed, as he struck the table with his fist, “ you would be only doing your duty, and discharging a sacred debt ; I would give anything to see him again, and prove to him that I am not un- grateful.” “ Well spoken, father,” William said joyously, “ honest men are too rare in the w r orld for us not to cling to those we know ; if we should meet again, I will show him what sort of a man J am.” During this rapid interchange of words, Diana said nothing ; she list- ened, with outstretched neck, beaming face, and a smile on her lips, happy to hear a man thus spoken of, w r hom she unconsciously loved since she first saw him. Mrs. Black thought it prudent to tui*n the conversation. “ There is another person, too, to whom we owe great obligations ; for if Heaven had not sent her at the right moment to our help, we should have been pitilessly massacred by the In- dians ; have you already forgotten that person ?” God forbid !” the squatter ex- claimed, quickly, “ the poor creature did me too great a service for me to forget her.” “ But who on earth can she be ?” William said. “ 1 should be much puzzled to say ; I believe even that the Indians and trap- pers, who cross the prairies, could give us no information about her.” “ She only appeared and disap- peared,” James observed. “ Yes, but her passage, so rapid as it was, left deep traces,” Mrs. Black said. “ Her mere presence was enough to terrify the Indians. That woman I shall always regard as a good genius, what- ever opinion may be expressed about her in my presence.” “We owe it to her that we did not suffer atrocious torture.” “ May God bless the worthy crea- ture !” the squatter exclaimed. “ If ever she have need of us, she can come in all certaiuty ; 1, and all l*possess, are at her disposal.” The meal was over, and they rose from the table. Sam had saddled two horses. John Black and his son took their pistols, bowie-knives, and riff 'S, mounted their horses, and after promis- ing once again not to be late, they cau- tiously descended the winding path leading into the plain. Diana and her mother then besran putting things to rights, as had been arranged. When Mrs. Black had watched the couple out of sight on the prairie, and assured herself that the two servants were engaged outside in mend- ing some harness, she took her needle- work, and requested her daughter to come and sit by her side. Diana obeyed with a certain inward apprehension, for never had her mother behaved to her so mysteriously. For a few minutes the two ladies worked silently opposite each other. At length, Mrs. Black' stopped her needle, and looked at her daughter ; the latter continued her sewing, without ap- pearing to notice this intermission. “ Diana,” she asked her, “ have you nothing to say to me f “ I, mother ?” the young girl said, raising her head with amazement. “ Yes, you, my child.” “ Pardon me, mother,” she went on, with a certain tremor in her voice, “ but I do not understand you.” Mrs. Black sighed. “ Yes,” she murmured, “ and so it ever must be ; a moment arrives when young girls have unconsciously a secret from their mothers.” The poor lady wiped away a tear ; Diana rose quickly, and throwing her arms tenderly round her mother — “ A secret ? I, a secret from you, mother ? Oh, how could you suppose such a thing V “ Child !” Mrs. Black replied, with a smile of ineffable kindness, “a mother’s eye cannot be deceived ;” and putting her finger on her daughter’s palpitating heart, she said, “ Your secret is there.” Diana blushed, and drew back, con- fused. “ Alas !” the good lady continued, “ 1 do not address reproaches to you, poor, dear and well-beloved child. You unconsciously submit to the laws of nature ; I, too, at your age, was as you are at this moment, and when my mother asked my secret, like you, I re- THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 127 plied that I had none, for I was myself ignorant of that secret.” The girl hid her face, all bathed in tears, in her mother’s breast. The lat- ter gently removed the flowing locks of light hair, which covered her daughter’s brow, and giving her a kiss, said, with that accent which mothers alone pos- sess : “ Come, my dear Diana, dry your tears, do not trouble yourself so ; only tell me your feelings during the last few days.” “ Alas ! my kind mother,” the girl replied, smiling through her tears, “ I understand nothing myself, and suffer without knowing why. I am restless, languid ; everything disgusts and wea- ries me, and yet I fancy there has been no change in my life.” “ You are mistaken, child,” Mrs. Black answered, gravely, “your heart has spoken without your knowledge ; thus, instead of the careless, laughing girl you were, you have become a wo- man — you have thought, your forehead has turned pale, and you suffer.” “ Alas !” Diana murmured. “ Come, how long have you been so sad?” “ I know not, mother.” “ Think again.” “ I fancy it is ” Mrs. Black, understanding her daugh- ter’s hesitation, finished the sentence for her. “ Since the day after our arrival here, is it not?” Diana raised to her mother her large blue eyes, in which profound amazement could be read. “ It is true,” she murmured. “ Your sorrow began at the moment when the strangers, who so nobly aided us, took their leave V* “ Yes,” the girl said, in a low voice, with downcast eyes, and blushing fore- head. Mrs. Black continued smilingly her interesting interrogatory. “ On seeing them depart, your heart was contracted, your cheeks turned pale, you shuddered involuntarily, and, if I had not held you 1 who watched you carefully, poor darling — you would have fallen. Is not all this true ?” “ It is true, mother,” the girl said, with a more assured voice “ Good ; and the man from whom you regret being separated — he who causes your present sorrow and suffer- ing, is ?” “ Mother !” she exclaimed, throwing herself into her arms, and hiding her shamed face in her bosom. “ It is — ?” she continued. “ Edward !” the girl said, in an in- articulate voice, and melting into tears. Mrs. Black directed on her daughter a glance of supreme pity, embraced her ardently several times, and said, in a soft voice : “ You see that you had a secret, my child, since you love him.” “Alas!” she murmured naively, “ I do not know it, mother.” The good lady nodded her head with satisfaction, led her daughter back to her chair, and, herself setting down, said to her : “ And now that we have had a thorough explanation, and there is no longer a secret between us, suppose we have a little talk, Diana.” “ I am quite willing, mother.” “ Listen to me, then ; my age and experience, leaving out of sight the position in which I stand to you, author- ize me in giving you advice. Will you hear it V' “ Oh, mother ! you know I respect and love you.” “ 1 know it, dear child ; I know too, as I have never left you since your birth, and I have incessantly watched over you, how generous your mind is, how noble your heart, and how capable of self-devotion. I must cause you great pain, poor girl ; but it is better to at- tend to the green wound, than allow time to render the evil incurable.” “Alas!” “ This raging love, which has uncon- sciously entered your heart, cannot b6 very great ; it is rather the awakening of the mind to those gentle feelings and noble instincts, whichembellish existence and characterize the woman, than a passion; your love is only in reality a momentary exaltation of the brain’s feverish imagination ; like all young girls, you aspire to the unknown, you 128 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. seek and ideal, the reality of which does not exist for you ; but you do not love. Nay, more, you cannot love ; the feeling you experience at the mo- ment is entirely in the head, and the heart goes for nothing.” “ Mother !” the young girl interrupt- ed. 33 “ Dear Diana,” she continued, taking her hand, and pressing it, “ let me make you suffer a little now, to spare you at a later date the horrible pangs, which would produce the despair of your whole existence. The man you fancy you love you will probably never see again ; he is ignorant of your attachment, and does not share it. I am speaking cold and implacable reason ; it is logical, and spares us much grief, while passion is never so, and always produces pain ; but supposing, for a moment, that this young man loved you, you could never be his.” “ But if he love me, mother,” she said timidly. “ Poor babe !” the mother continued, with an accent of sublime pity. “ Do you even know whether he be free 1 ? Who has told you that he is not mar- ried? But I will allow it for a mo- ment; this young man is noble ; he be- longs to one of the oldest and proudest families in Europe ; his fortune is’ im- mense. Do you believe that he will ever consent to abandon all the social advantages his position guarantees him? — that he will bow his family pride to give his hand to the daughter of a poor, American squatter ?” “ It is true,” she murmured letting her head fall in her hands. “ And even if he did so, though it is impossible, would you consent to fol- low him, and leave in the desert a fath- er and mother, who have only you, and who would die of despair ere your de- parture ? Come, Diana, answer, would you consent?” " Oh, never, never, mother !” she ex- claimed, madly. “ Oh, I love you most of all ?” “ Good, my darling ; that is how I wished to see you. I am happy tfhat my words have found the road to your heart. This man is kind ; he has done us immense service ; we owe him grati- tude, but nothing more.” “Yes, yes, mother,” she murmured, with a sob. “ You must only see in him a friend, a brother,” she continued, firmly. “ 1 will try, mother.” “ You promise it me ?” The girl hesitated for a moment. Suddenly she raised her head, and said bravely : “ I thank you, mother. I swear to you, not to forget him, that would be impossible, but so thoroughly to conceal my love, that, wilh the exception of yourself, no one shall suspect it.” “ Come to my arms, my child ; you understand your duty ; you are noble and good.” At this moment James entered. “ Mistress,” he said, “ the master »s coming back, but there are several per- sons with him.” “ Wipe your eyes, and follow me, dear; let us go and see what has •hap- pened.” And, stooping down to her daugh- ter’s ear, she whimpered : “ When we are alone, we will speak of him.” “ Yes, mother,” Diana said, almost joyfully. “ Oh, how good you are, and how 1 love you.” They went out and looked in the di- rection of the plain. At a considerable distance from the fort, they noticed a party of four or five persons, at the head of whom were John Black and his son William. “ What is the meaning of this ?” Mrs. Black said anxiously. “ We shall soon know, mother ; calm yourself ; they seem to be riding too gently for us to feel any alarm.” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 129 CHAPTER XXII. IVON. The Count and his two companions, as we have seen, bravely awaited the attack of the Indians : it was terrible. For an instant there was a horrible melee hand to hand : then the Indians fell back to draw breath and begin again. Ten corpses lay at the feet of the three men, who were motionless and firm as a block of granite. “ By heavens !” the Count said, as he wiped away, with the back of his hand, the perspiration mingled with blood that stood in large beads on his fore- head, “ it is a glorious fight.” “ Yes,” Brighteye replied carelessly ; “ but it is mortal.” “ What matter, if we die like men?” “ Hum ! 1 am not of that opinion. As long as there is a chance, let us seize it.” “ But none is left us !” “ Perhaps there is ; but let me act.” “ I ask no better. Still I confess to you that I find this fight glorious.” “ It is really very agreeable ; but it would be much more so, if we lived to recount it.” “ On my word, that is true. I did not think of that.” “ Yes, but I did.” The Canadian stooped down to Ivon, and whispered some words in his ear. “Yes,” the Breton replied, “ provi- ded I am not afraid.” “ Bravo !” the hunter said, with a smile ; “ you will do what you can. That is agreed.” “ Agreed.” “ Look out, comrades,” the Count shouted ; “ here are the enemy !” In truth, the Indians were ready to renew the attack. Natah Otann and White Buffalo were resolved on taking the Count alive, and without a wound ; they had consequently given their war- riors orders not to employ their fire- arms ; content themselves with parry- ing the blows aimed at them ; but take him at every risk. During the few moments’ respite which the Indians had allowed the white men, the other Indi- ans had ran up ; so that the hunters, surrounded on all sides, had to make head against at least forty redskins. It would have been madness or blind te- merity to attempt opposing such a mass of enemies ; and yet the white men did not appear to dream of asking quarter. At the moment Natah Otann was go- ing to give the signal of attack, White Buffalo, who had hitherto stood aloof, gloomy and thoughtful, interposed. “ A moment !” he said. “For what good ?” the chief remark- ed. “ Let me make the attempt. Per- haps they will recognize that a struggle is impossible, and consent to accept our propositions.” “ I doubt it,” Natah Otann muttered, shaking his head ; “ they appear very resolute.” “ Let me try it. You know how necessary it is for the success of our plans that we should seize this man ?” “ Unfortunately ; if we do not take care, he will be killed.” “That is what I wish to avoid.’ “ Try it then ; but I am convinced you will fail.” “ Who knows ? I can try, at any rate.” White Buffalo walked a few paces in advance, and was then about six yards from the Count. “What do you want?” the young man said. “ If 1 did not involuntarily remember that you are a Frenchman. I should have long ago put a bullet into your chest.” “ Fire ! — what stops you ?” the exile replied, in a sad voice. “ Do you be- lieve that I fear death?” “ Enough talking. Retire ! or I will fire.” And he leveled his rifle at him. “ I wish to say one word to you.” “ Speak quickly and be off.” “ I offer you and your comrades your lives, if you will surrender.” The Count burst into a laugh. “ Nonsense,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders ; “ do you take us for fools? We were the guests of your companions, and they have impudently violated the law of nations.” “ That is your last word, then.” “ The last, by Jove ! You must have 130 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. lived a long time among the Indians to have forgotten that Frenchmen would sooner die than be cowards.” “ Your blood be on your own heads, then.” “So be it, odious renegade, who fight with savages against your brothers.” This insult struck the old man to the heart ; he bent a fearful glance on the young man, turned pale as death, and withdrew, tottering like a drunkard, and muttering in a low voice, — “ Oh, these nobles !” “ Well ?” Natah Otann asked him. “ He refuses,” he answered quickly. “ I was sure of it. Now is our turn.” Raising to his lips his war whistle, he produced a shrill and lengthened sound, to which the Indians responded with a frightful yell, and rushed like a legion of demons on the three men, who re- ceived them without yielding an inch. The melee recommenced ri all its fury ; Uk three men clubbed their rifles, and dealt crushing blows around. Ivon performed prodigies of valor, rising and sinking his rifle with the regu- larity of a pendulum, smashing a man at every blow, and muttering : “ Ouf, there’s ano' her : holy Virgin, I feel my terror coming upon me.” Still the circle drew closer round the three men; others took the places of the Indians who fell, and were in their turn pushed onward by those behind. The hunters were weary of striking. Their arms did not fall with the same vigor; their blows failed in regularity ; the blood rose to their heads ; their eyes were injected with blood, and they had a dizziness in their ears. “We are lost !” the Count muttered. c< Courage !” Brighteye yelled, as he smashed in the skull of an Indian. “ It is not courage that fails me, but strength,” the young man answered, in a fainting voice. “ Forward, forward !” Natah Otann repeated, bounding like a demon round the three men. “ Now, Ivon, now !” Brighteye cried out. “ Good bye,” the Breton replied. And turning his terrible weapon round his head, he rushed into the den- sest throng of the Indians. “ Follow me, Count,” Brighteye went on. “ Come on then,” the latter shouted. The two men executed on the op posite side the manoeuvre attempted by the Breton. Ivon, the coward you know, seemed to have at the moment entirely forgot- ten his fear of being speared : he ap- peared, like Briareus, to have a hun- dred arms to level the numerous assai- lants who incessantly rose before him, and cleft his way through the throng. Fortunately for the Breton, most of the Indians had rushed in pursuit of game more valuable to them, that is, the Count and the Canadian, who had re- doubled their efforts, though already so prodigious. While still fighting, Ivon had reached the skirt of the wood, about three or four yards from the spot where the horses were tied. This was probably wha^> the Breton wished for. So soon as he found himself in a straight line with the horses, instead of pushing for- ward as he had hitherto done, he began to fall back step to step, so as to arrive close to then). Still, he always fought with that cold resolution which distin- guishes the Bretons, and renders them such terrible foemen. Suddenly, when he found himself near enough to the horses, Ivon gave a parting blow to the nearest Indian, sent him staggering backwards with a dash- ed-in skull, took a panther leap, and reached the Count’s horse. In a second he had mounted, dug his spurs into the noble animal, and galloped off, after knocking down two Indians who tried to stop him. “ Hurrah ! saved ! saved !” he shout- ed, in a voice of thunder, as he disap- peared in the forest, where the Black- feet did not dare to follow him. The redskins stood stupified by such a prodigious flight. The cry uttered by Ivon was doubt- lessly a signal agreed on between him and Brighteye ; for, so soon as he heard it, the hunter, by a hurried movement, seized the Count’s arm as he was in the act of striking. “What on earth are you about?” the latter said, turning to him augrily. THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 131 “ I am saving you,” the hunter re- plied, coolly ; “ throw down your wea- pon 1 — we surrender,” he then ex- claimed. “ You will explain your conduct, I presume ?” the Count continued. “ Be of good cheer ; you will ap- prove it.” “ Be it so.” And he threw the gun down. The Indians, whom the hunters’ heroic defence kept at a distance, rushed upon them so soon as they saw they were disarmed. Natah Otann and White Buffalo hur- ried up ; the two men already were thrown down on the sand, when the chief interposed. “ Sir,” he said, “ You are my pri- soner ; and you, too, Brighteye.” The young man shrugged his shoul- ders with contempt. “ Reckon up what your victory has already cost you,” the hunter replied, with a sardonic smile, and pointing to the numerous corpses that lay on the plain. Natah Otann, however, pretended not to hear this remark. “ If you will give me your word of honor not to escape, gentlemen,” White Buffalo said, “ you will be unloosed, and your weapons restored to you.” “ Is this another trap you are laying for us?” the Count asked, haughtily. “ Bah !” Brighteye said, with a signi- ficant glance at his comrade, “ we will give our word for four-and-twenty hours ; after that, we will see.” “ You hear, gentlemen,” the young man said, “ this hunter and myself pledge our words for four-and-twenty hours. Does that suit you ? Of course, at the end of that time, we are free to recal it.” “ Or to pledge it again,” the Canadian added, with a smile ; “ what do we risk by doing so ?” The two chiefs exchanged a few whis- pered words. “We accept,” Natah Otann at length said. At a sign from him, the prisoners’ bonds were cut, and they rose. “ Hum !” Brighteye said, stretching himself with delight, “ it does one good to have the use of his limbs. Bah ! I knew they would not kill me this time either.” “ Here are your horses and arms, gentlemen,” the chief said, “Permit me,” the Court remarked, coolly, drawing his watch from his pocket, “ it is now half after seven ; you have our parole till the same time to- morrow evening.” “ Very good,” White Buffalo said, with a bow. “ And now, where are you going to take us, if you please?” the hunter asked, with a crafty look. “ To the village !” “ Thank you.” The two men jumped into their sad- dles, and followed the Indians, who only waited for them to start. Ten minutes later, this place, on which so many events had occurred during the day, be- came again calm and silent. We will leave the Count and the hunter returning to the village under good escort, to follow the track of Ivon. After leaving the battle-field, the lat- ter rode straight ahead, not caring to lose precious time in looking for a path ; for the moment all were good, provided that they bore him from the enemies he had so providentially escaped. Still, after galloping for about an hour across the wood, reassured by the perfect silence that prevailed around him, he gradually checked his horse’s speed. It was high time for this idea to occur to him, as the poor horse, so harshly treat- ed, was beginning to break down. The Breton profited by this slight truce to reload his weapons. “ I am not brave,” he said, in a low voice, “ but, by Jove ! as my poor mas- ter says, the first scamp that attempts to bar my way, I will blow out his brains, so surely as my name is Ivon.” And the worthy man would have done as he said, we feel assured. After advancing a few hundred yards, Ivon looked around, stopped his horse, and dismounted. “ What is the use of going any further?” he said, resuming his solilo- quy ; “ my horse wants rest, and I shall not be the worse for a halt. As well here as elsewhere.” 132 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRTE. On this, he took off his horse’s saddle, carried his master’s portmanteau to the foot of a tree, and began lighting a fire. “ How quickly night coiues on in this confounded country,” he muttered, “ it is hardly eight o’clock, and it is as black as in an oven.” While discoursing thus all alone, he had collected a considerable quantity of dry wood. He returned to the spot he had selected for camping, piled up the wood, struck a light, knelt, and be- gan blowing with all the strength of his lungs to make it catch. In a moment, he raised his head to breathe, but uttered a yell of terror, and almost fell back- wards. He had seen, about three paces from the fire, two persons silently watch- ing him. The first moment of surprise past, the Breton bounded on his feet, and cocked his pistols. “Confuse you,” he shouted, “you gave me a pretty fright ; but no matter, we will see.” “ My brother may be at rest,” a soft voice replied, in bad English, “ we do not wish to do him any harm.” As a Breton, Ivon spoke nearly as good English as he did French. On hearing these words, he bent forward, and looked. “ Oh !” he said, “ the Indian girl.” “ Yes, it is 1,” Prairie Flower an- swered, as she stepped forward. Her companion followed her, and Ivon recognized Red Wolf. “ You are welcome,” he remarked, “ to my poor encampment.” “ Thanks,” she answered. “ How is it that you are here ?” “ And you,” she said, answering one question by another. “ Oh, I 1” he said, shaking his head, “ that is a sad story.” “ W hat does my brother mean ?” Red Wolf asked. “ Good, good,” the Breton said, turn- ing his head ; “ that is my business aud not yours. First, tell me what brings you to me, and 1 will then see if I may confide to you what has happened to my master and myself.” “My brother is prudent,” Prairie Flower answered, “ he is right : pru- dence is good on the prairie.” “ Hum ! 1 wish my master had heard you make that remark, perhaps he would not be where he now is.” Prairie Flower gave a start of ter- ror. “ Wah ! has any misfortune happen- ed to him ?” she said, in an agonized voice. Ivon looked at her. “ You appear to take an interest in him ?” “He is brave,” she exclaimed pa.s sionately ; “ this morning he killed the cougars that were threatening Prairie Flower ; she has a heart — she will re- member.” “ That is true ; quite true, young la- dy ;” he said, “ he saved your life. Tell me first, though, how it is we should have met in this forest V 1 “ Listen, then, as you insist.” The Breton bowed. To all his other qualities Ivon added that of being as obstinate as an Andalusian mule. Once the worthy man had taken a theory in- to his head, nothing could turn him from it. We must grant, however, that he had at present excellent reason to distrust the Indians. Prairie Flower continued : “ After Glasseye had so bravely kill- ed the cougars,” she said, with consid- erable emotion, “ the great chief, Natah Otann, was angry with Prairie Flower, and ordered her to return to the village with Red Wolf.” “ I know all that,” Ivon interrupted, “ I was there ; and that is why it seems to me so extraordinary to meet you here, when you should have been on the road to the village.” The Indian girl gave one of those little pouts peculiar to her, and which rendered her so seductive. “ The pale man is as curious as an old squaw,” she said, with an accent of ill-humor ; “ why does he wish to know Prairie Flower’s secret? She has in her heart a little b-rd which sings pleasant songs to her, and attracts her in the footsteps of the pale face who saved her.” “ Ah !” said the Breton, partly catch- ing the girl’s meaning; “that is dif- ferent.” “ Instead of returning to the village,” THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 133 Red Wolf interposed, “Prairie Flower wished to return to the side of Glass- eye.” * The Breton reflected fora longtime ; the two Indians watched him silently, patiently waiting till he thought proper to explain himself. Presently he raised his head, and, fixing his cunning gray eye on the girl, he asked her distinctly, — “You love him, then ?” “ Yes,” she answered, looking down on the ground. “Very good. Now listen attentive- ly to what 1 am about to tell you : it will interest you prodigiously or I am greatly mistaken.” The two hearers bent down toward him, and listened attentively. Ivon then related most copiously his master’s conversation with the two chiefs ; the dispute that arose between them ; the combat that ensued from it, and the way in which he had escaped. “ If I did run away,” he said in con- clusion, “ heaven is my witness that it was not for the purpose of saving my life. Though I am a desperate coward I would never hesitate to sacrifice my life for him ; but Brighteye advised me to act in this way, so that I may try and find assistance for them both.” “ Good,” the girl said, quickly ; “ the paleface is brave. What does he intend to do 1” “ I mean to save my master, by Jove!” the Breton said, resolutely. “ The only thing is, that I do not know how to set about it.” “ Prairie Flower knows. She will help the paleface.” “Is what you promise really true, young girl ?” The Indian maid smiled. “ The paleface will follow Prairie Flower and Red Wolf,” she said ; “ they will lead him to a spot where he will find friends.” “ Good : and when wall you do it, my good girl ?” he asked, his heart palpi- tating with joy. “ So soon as the paleface is ready to start.” “At once, then, at once!” the Bre- ton exclaimed, hurriedly rising, and hurrying to his horse. Prairie Flower and Red Wolf had con- cealed their steeds in the centre of a clump of trees. Ten minutes later, and Ivon and his guides quitted the clearing where they had met ; it was about mid- night when they started. “ My poor master !” the Breton mut- tered. “Shall I be permitted to save him?” CHAPTER XXIII. THE PLAN OF THE CAMPAIGN. The night was black, gloomy, and storm-laden. The wind howled with a mournful murmur through the branches; at each gust the trees shook their damp crowns, and sent down showers, which pattered on the shrubs. The sky was of a leaden hue ; so great was the silence in the desert, that the fall of a withered leaf, or the rustling of a branch touched in its passage by some invisible animal, could be distinctly heard. Ivon and his guides advanced cau- tiously through the forest, seeking their road in the darkness, half lying on their horses, so as to avoid the branches that lashed their faces at every moment. Owing to the endless turns they were compelled to take, nearly two hours elapsed ere they left the forest. At length they debouched on the plain, and found themselves almost simultaneou ly on the banks of the Missouri. The river, swollen by rain and snow, rolled along its yellowish waters noisily. The fugitives followed the bank in a south-western direction. Now that they had struck the river; all uncertainty had ceased for them ; their road was so distinctly traced that they had no fear of losing it. On arriving at a spot where a point of sand jutted out for several yards into the bed of the river, and formed a spe- cies of cape, from the end of which ob- jects could be seen for some distance, owing to the transparency of the water, Red Wolf made a sign to his compa- nions to halt, and himself dismounted. Prairie Flower and Ivon imitated him. Ivon was not sorry to take a few mo- 134 THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. merits’ rest, and, above all, make some inquiries before proceeding further. At the first blush, carried away by an un- reflecting movement of the heart, which impelled him to save his master by any means that offered, he had not hesitated : to follow his two strange guides ; but, with reflection, distrust had returned still more powerfully, and the Breton was unwilling to go further with the persons he had met, until he possessed undoubted proofs of their honesty. So soon as he had dismounted then, and taken off his horse’s bridle, so that it should crop the tender shoots, Ivon walked up boldly to the redskin, and struck him on the shoulder. The Indian, whose eyes were eagerly fixed on the river, turned to him. “ What does the paleface want?” he asked him. “ To talk a little with you, chief.” “ The moment is not good for talk- ing,” the Indian answered, sententiously ; “ the palefaces are like the mocking- bird — their tongues must be ever in motion : let my brother wait.” Ivon did not understand the epigram. “No,” he said, “we must talk at once.” The Indian suppressed an impatient gesture. “ The Red Wolf’s ears are open,” he said ; “ the Chattering Jay can explain himself.” The redskins, finding some difficulty in pronouncing the names of people with whom the accidents of the chase or of trade bring them into relation, are accustomed to substitute for these names others, derived from the character or physical aspect of the individual they designate. Ivon was called, by the Blackfoot Indians, the Chattering Jay, a name whpse justice we will refrain from dis- cussing. The Breton did not seem annoyed by what Red Wolf said to him ; absorbed by the thought that troubled him, every other consideration was a matter of in- difference to him. “ You promised me to save Glass- eye,” he said. “ Yes,” the chief answered, laconical- iy. “ I accepted your propositions with out discussion ; for three hours I have followed you without saying anything; but, before going further, I should not be sorry to know the means you intend to employ to take him out of the hands of the enemy.” “ Is my brother deaf,” the Indian asked. “ I do not think so,” Ivon answered, rather wounded by the question. “ Then let him listen.” “ I am doing so.” “ My brother hears nothing ?” “Not the least, I am free to con- fess.” Red Wolf shrugged his shoulders. “ The palefaces are foxes without tails,” he said with disdain ; “ weaker than children in the desert. Let my brother look,” he added pointing to the river. Ivon followed the direction indicated, Winking and placing his hands over his eyes, to concentrate the visual rays. “ Well,” the Indian asked, after a moment, “ has my brother seen ?” “ Nothing at all,” the Breton said, violently. “ May the evil one twist my neck, if it is possible for me to distin- guish anything !” “ Then my brother will wait a few minutes,” the Indian said, perfectly calm ; “ he will then see and hear.” “ Hum !” the Breton went on, but slightly satisfied with this explanation. “ What shall I see and hear ?” “ My brother will know.” Ivon would have insisted, but the chief took him by the arm, pushed him back, and hid with him behind a clump of trees, where Prairie Flower was al- ready ensconced. - “ Silence !” the redskin muttered, in such an imperative tone, that the Bre- ton, convinced of the gravity of the sit- uation, deferred to a more favorable moment the string of questions he pro- posed asking the chief. A few minutes elapsed. Red Wolf and Prairie Flower, with their bodies bent forward, and carefully parting the leaves, looked eagerly in the direction of the river, while holding 'heir breath. Ivon, bothered in spite of himself by THE FLOWER OF THE PRAIRIE. 135 this sort of conduct, imitated their ex- ample. A sound soon struck on his ears, but so slight and weak, that at first he fancied himself mistaken. Still the noise grew gradually louder, resem- bling that of paddles cautiously dipped in the water ; next, a black dot, at first neariy imperceptible, but which grew larger by degrees, appeared on the river. There was soon no doubt in the Bre- ton’s mind. The black dot was a ca- noe. On arriving within a certain dis- tance, the sound could be no longer heard, and the canoe remained motion- less about half way between the two banks. At this moment the cry of the jay broke the silence, repeated thrice with such perfection, that Ivon instinctively raised his head to the upper branches of the tree that sheltered them. Upon this signal, the canoe began drawing nearer the cape, where it soon ran ashore ; but upon landing, the per- son in it raised the paddle twice in the air. The cry of the jay was heard again thrice repeated. Upon this the rower, perfectly reas- sured, as it seemed, leaped on the sand, drew the canoe half out of the water, and walked boldly in the direction of the cmmp of trees that served Ivon and his comrades as an observatory. The latter deeming it useless to wait longer, quitted their shelter, and walked toward the new comer, after recom- mending the Breton not to show himself without their authority. This order he obeyed ; but, with that prudence which distinguished him, he cocked his pistols, took one in each hand, and, reassured by this precaution, waited what was about to happen. The new actor who had entered on the scene, and in whom the reader will have recognized Mrs. Margaret, had left Major Melville only an hour previously, after having that conversation we have repeated. Although she did not expect to meet Prairie Flower at this spot, she did not appear at all astonished at see- ing her, and gave her a friendly nod, to whieh the girl responded with a smile. “ What is there new V } she asked the Indian. “ Much he replied. “ Speak.” The Red Wolf thereupon told her all that had happened during the chase; in what way he had learned it, and how Ivon had escaped in order to seek help for his master. Margaret listened to the long story, without letting a sign of emotion to be seen on her wrinkled, grief- worn face. When Red Wolf had ceased speaking, she reflected for a few moments ; then raising her head, asked : “ Where is the paleface ?” “ Here;” the Indian answered, point- ing to the clump of trees. “ Let him come.” The chief turned to fetch him ; but the Breton who had heard the last word spoken in English, and judged that it was intended for him, left his hiding place, alter returning the pistols to his belt, and joined the party. At this moment the first gleam of day began to appear, the darkness was rap- idly dissipated, and a reddish hue, which formed on the extreme limits of the horizon, indicated that the sun would speedily rise. The She-wolf fixed on the Breton her cunning eye, as if desirous to read the depths of his heart. Ivon had nothing to reproach himself with, and hence he bravely withstood the glance. The She-wolf, satisfied with the dumb interrogatory to which she h