Gentlemen of the North/Chapter 10

HAVE met many savage chiefs, but none who ranked with Le Borgne for brutality, implacable will power and wisdom. Not only among his own people did he rule with autocratic decisiveness and exhibit the power of an absolute monarch, but among the Mandans also his word was law. His great courage, his imperturbable calmness in the stress of danger, made him an ideal leader against the Sioux and other hostile tribes. In any disputes betwen [sic] the Minnetarees and their Mandan neighbours his promptness in acting the arbiter with a big war axe made him supreme.

Despite his high quality of courage and emminent [sic] capacity for leadership, he was, from the white man's point of view, bestial with his women. They were his chattels and of no more account than his dogs. If he were so inclined he would murder them, and no one dared question the act. He had slain more than one of his wives. He went even further and appropriated any matron or maid that took his fancy, and this without protest from husband or parent, an acquiescence I never found in any other Indian community.

I knew much of his character by reputation and from the Pillager's gossip. What details of his grim history I lacked I soon learned during my stay in the village.

Choke-cherry brought the word in the morning that Flat Mouth and I were wanted by the chief. The Pillager, to make himself fit for the audience, strung his Sioux scalps round his neck and went naked except for his breech-clout. We left our weapons in the hut with Miss Dearness, except that Flat Mouth concealed a small knife in his clout. I counted the scalps on his chest and was relieved to find he carried only the Sioux's hair. I asked him in Chippewa, as we stood one side, what he had done with the Assiniboin scalps, but he smiled and said nothing.

Miss Dearness bore herself well, although she had passed a miserable night pacing the hut and making, as her woman attendant fully believed, some very powerful medicine. Flat Mouth and I had found quarters in a hut near-by and had joined the girl with the first light. Now that she knew we were to meet Le Borgne she was deeply troubled. Old Choke-cherry never would have surmised it as she paced from one side of the big hut to the other, her hair towering in a fiery mass above her proud head.

"I send good thoughts with you," she murmured after following us to the door.

"You have all of ours," I assured her. "Don't be afraid. If an American can't help an English girl he must have very weak medicine."

Flat Mouth caught the last word and gravely told her:

"The white woman's medicine makes me feel very strong. I can throw a buffalo bull when her eyes watch me."

She forced a smile and we left her.

On entering Le Borgne's hut Choke-cherry accompanied us only to the door. We found the chief seated at the left and facing the fire-hole, gravely contemplating his medicine-log. He sat on a couch raised a foot from the floor by willow mats and several heavy robes. On the cottonwood log before him stood two skulls of buffalo bulls, decorated with red earth. These were his greatest treasures, personifying his manito. Behind the log hung his weapons of war and the chase, and the trophies of battles, such as scalps.

He was alone, having cleared the hut of his women in anticipation of our coming. He turned his head as we entered and I was hard put to maintain my composure, for over his sightless right eye was a white patch. He continued swinging his head, and in the boring gaze of his left optic I found enough fire to more than make up for his half sight. Like all the Minnetarees he had an extraordinary beak for a nose. His big mouth was further widened by a habitual grin, his permanent expression. When he was pleased he grinned. When he was consumed with rage he continued to grin.

That Choke-cherry stood in fear of him was shown by the fashion in which the old rascal poked his head inside the door to see if anything was wanted and then ducked back. I stood in advance of Flat Mouth. Le Borgne's first words to me were—

"Ho! I like white men."

The Pillager interpreted this over my shoulder. Le Borgne's lips writhed and twisted over his big teeth as he sought to give his smile an amiable cast. From his medicine log he took a long-stemmed, redstone pipe and filled it with Missouri tobacco. Lighting the stuff, he took a whiff and puffed it towards the heavens and passed the pipe to me and motioned for me to sit beside him. Flat Mouth squatted on his heels beside me to translate the chief's words. Our host began:

"I like white men. They bring me goods. We trade with the Spaniards through the Cheyennes and southern tribes when we are not at war with them. They say you come from a big white chief on the Assiniboin, who is to send traders here."

"We come to make the road smooth for our traders, who will bring many goods and guns," I replied.

"They say the daughter of the big chief comes with you. They say she comes to be my wife."

With an effort I controlled my voice, making it careless in tone as I responded:

"The white woman is a medicine woman. She can not marry. If she did marry her medicine would kill her and her husband."

His brows drew down as he cogitated this, but his smile continued. Being on his right side it was necessary for him to turn his head to look at me. The effect was curious when the white patch slowly moved to one side to allow his sound eye to study me. Without commenting on my disclosure he said:

"They say your Chippewa is a very brave man and will live with my people. He has been here once before. We did not know then he was such a great warrior."

The Pillager spoke up haughtily, announcing:

"Eshkebugecoshe, the Sioux Killer, has driven all the enemies away from the land of his people and now looks round for a brave people who need him in making war. They must be very brave. They must be at war with the Sioux. I come here with the medicine woman. After I have gone with her to her father I will come back and see if the Minnetarees are good fighters."

He fingered his necklace of scalps lovingly and stared boldly into the smiling face of Le Borgne.

The Minnetaree gazed at him fixedly for some time, possibly speculating on the advantage and disadvantage of having such a pronounced fighter in his village. Shifting his gaze back to me he asked—

"You are Bosheittochresha (men who bring black cloth—English)?

"Manceechteet (long knife—American)," I corrected.

"You work for the English?"

"I work for the big chief, father of the white medicine woman," I replied.

"Your people are cowards."

"They are the bravest of the brave. They can come out here and eat you up.

He laughed aloud and mocked—

"And yet you work for the English."

"Because they want very brave men. The chief of the Pillager Chippewas works for me. Why? Because I need a very brave man."

He ceased laughing aloud and pondered over my words seeming to find them logical, for he nodded his head slowly as if in endorsement. Then he abruptly demanded—

"Is she your woman?"

"She is no man's woman. She can be no man's woman."

"Why is she with you if she is not your woman?"

"Her medicine helps me make good trades for her father."

"Why does she come here if not to be my woman?" he puzzled, his grin now quite ghastly.

"Her medicine made my road smooth in coming here. The northern Indians know her and run away when she is angry. The Sioux grow blind when they see her hair."

This engaged him in thought for some minutes, for, although one of the greatest of the plains Indians, he was yet a savage and a victim of his superstitions.

"Is her medicine stronger than my manito? he asked, nodding at the buffalo heads.

"Much stronger," I promptly assured. "If she wanted to become your wife your manito would be jealous. Your manito would fight with her medicine and would be killed. You would die when your manito died."

Again he was silent, his one eye focused on the two skulls. Then he threw up his head and said:

"Let us see this mighty white woman."

He called out and Choke-cherry bounced in, his fat face alive with fear. The chief ordered him to go and bring Miss Dearness.

I affected a composure I was far from feeling. Flat Mouth's hand rested on his hip near the little knife hidden in his clout, while the war-fires sprang up in his small eyes. While we waited, Le Borgne ended the silence by saying:

"I lost a wife while on the hunt. She was young and good to look at."

"She died of the bad cough?" I politely inquired, knowing many of the Indians were suffering from it.

He shook his head and the terrible grin widened and showed his teeth far back.

"She is not dead yet," he said. I was nonplussed, and was searching for some intelligent observation when he enlightened me a bit by adding, "She went to live with a young man."

I decided from his low chuckling that he accepted her infidelity very philosophically. He remarked:

"I look about for another woman to take her place. They say the white woman is not like any woman ever seen in the Indian's country."

Flat Mouth's hand touched my arm, but I had already heard the sound of a light foot at the door. Choke-cherry threw the door open, and the girl entered. Her sleepless night had left an unusual pallor on her face. She wore her capote like a hood and looked like a nun as she advanced. I rose and stood beside her.

Le Borgne turned his head, tilted it and for fully a minute glared into her white face, his grin tightening and growing more wolfish. She met his gaze steadily, staring at him as though she were looking through him and not at him. With a snap of his strong teeth he muttered:

"She is very white. I never saw one like her. I never knew women like her lived. Where is her medicine hair?"

As the Pillager interpreted the girl hesitated, then catching my side glance she threw back her capote and allowed the glory of her hair to show. A shaft of sunlight from the small window opening back of the chief intensified the effect. Le Borgne dropped his redstone pipe. Although he still grinned, his big mouth was agape as he looked. Rising to his full six feet he slowly approached her. She did not wince nor move, and red and white fought the ancient battle of lust and denial for twice sixty seconds. Then the chief gingerly extended his fingers to touch her hair where the sunlight made it spun-gold. Her eyes narrowed ominously. I darted out my left foot and disturbed the balance of one of the buffalo heads. The noise caused the chief to turn in time to see the skull gently rocking. I was staring at the girl as if oblivious to the phenomenon. He drew back his hand and rubbed his chin, studying the skull. Plainly his manito was jealous and was warning him to keep his hands from the strange woman. He glanced from the painted skull to the blazing eyes and sun-crowned head of the girl. Then he retreated to his robes, picked up his pipe and summoned Choke-cherry. When his brother entered Le Borgne gave him an order that caused Flat Mouth to frown.

Addressing Miss Dearness in Chippewa the Pillager said:

"He says for you to go. He said something in another tongue I did not understand."

"I have my knife," she murmured.

"You are perfectly safe," I spoke up in English. "The Pillager and I are still here. We will take you away very soon. Remember, you must not show any fear."

Her head went high, and she gave me a smile as she bowed to Le Borgne and followed the waiting Choke-cherry. Le Borgne forgot his pipe in staring after her; then he asked me—

"Why do you come here and bring no presents?"

"The white woman's father will send many presents. He said it was foolish for me to bother with a few. We were told to come and ask you to tell where our trader is to live. Then we were to return very quick. The Cheyennes are better robe-makers than the Minnetarees, as they use beads and porcupine-quills, but they are south of the Missouri and the white chief does not want to go below the river."

"No trade can cross this part of the Missouri unless I say it can," informed Le Borgne. "The Cheyennes are bad. They would not put presents under the stem and make peace with us. I will carry the pipe against them soon. I will call a council of my old men and give you an answer about your trader."

He rose to terminate the interview.

"We are in great haste to go back. Can the council be held to-day?" I asked.

"Soon—to-day—another day—sometime."

It was useless to seek to improve this most unsatisfactory reply. Rugged and conscienceless, inexorable in moods; thoroughly self-dependent because of his brute strength, the man typified the muddy river which was even now carving new channels for itself and clawing banks and cottonwoods into its swollen waters. Just as the very country seemed to possess a savage personality unlike the Red River country, so did this savage despot differ widely from our northern chiefs. When he stood up to dismiss us I supposed his act was a bit of perfunctory courtesy. Not so, nor would it have been in keeping with his egotism. He proposed to walk with us and, as we set forth, he picked up a heavy war-axe and idly swung it by its rawhide thong.

The Pillager glanced at the axe and shifted to the man's blind side, and I noted my friend carried one hand gracefully on his hip, near the haft of the hidden knife. Walking thus between us he kept up a running fire of comments upon the white men whom he said he loved as brothers and added some mild criticism of the absent H. B. agent, at the Mandan village, whom we were to oppose, but never once did he refer to Miss Dearness. I grew uneasy, thinking he intended to proceed to the guest hut. Did he do that I should look for his savage whim to prompt him to peremptorily demand possession of the girl. To my great relief he halted when some distance from the hut, and, stepping aside to a porch, informed—

"The wife I lost is in here."

He did not request us to tarry, but as we walked on we glanced back. He stood in the doorway, loudly calling his woman by name. She did not appear and he entered the hut. We halted and saw him emerge, dragging a woman after him. Wearing the same grin and moving as deliberately as if lighting his pipe he struck the poor creature over the head with his axe, and she fell lifeless in front of the hut of her lover. Then, swinging his axe by the thong, the chief calmly walked back to his hut, with never a backward glance at the pitiable shape he had murdered.

" him!" I whispered, weak and sick.

"He is very bad," grunted the Pillager, his fingers twitching nervously at his girdle in search of the axe he had left beside my gun. Had he found it, I have no doubt but that either the Minnetarees or the Pillager Chippewas would have lost a great warrior. In a minute he had a grip on himself and was stoically saying—

"We have the white woman to think about."

So we went on while the curious slowly gathered, while the relatives of the murdered woman timidly removed the remains. Nor did I hear a voice raised against the assassin, nor witness a single gesture of rage. The tragedy taught me a world of truth as to the man's merciless character and unlimited power. He had no more compunction about taking the woman's life than he had in killing a buffalo. Then and there I knew Miss Dearness must follow one of two paths were she to escape him: death, or a play upon his superstitious fears. Superstition, the curse of the ages, the mighty barrier to human progress, now became a blessed thing. It was a chink in the armour through which the bloody devil might be reached.

The Pillager was in no wise so deeply concerned as to Miss Dearness's fate as I. He firmly believed the girl's red hair was a mighty medicine. While eager to do a man's work in rescuing her, he was upheld by knowing her manito stood by to help her. Wishing to regain my composure before meeting the girl's sharp eyes, I turned aside and proposed a walk toward the river.

"The village is very still. The killing has frightened them," I remarked.

"It seems still, as no dogs and children follow us," explained the Pillager.

For the first time, I observed, we were left undisturbed. No children swarmed about us with their impish tricks and amateur larcenies. No dogs rushed out to mangle us. We had Le Borgne to thank for this much. Even though he murdered a woman, he was invariably hospitable to white men.

As we passed the hut where the two Assiniboins had died I asked about them, and Flat Mouth said they had been secretly buried in one of the empty corn-cellars. The village as a unit took it for granted the Cheyennes had sneaked in and killed them. It was hoped to keep the news of their death from their tribe until Le Borgne could bring about a peace with the Cheyennes, or call in a large war-party of his old allies, the Crows.

"The knife they found by the bodies was a Cheyenne knife," gravely added the Pillager.

"I saw you talk with the Cheyenne chief, but I did not see him give you the knife," I said.

"He is a very brave man. His brother is a medicine man who knows much magic. When we leave the village for the Red River I will stretch their hair on hoops."

"Throw them away!" I urged. "If they should be found we will all be killed."

"I have promised them to the Cheyennes. A Pillager chief does not keep the hair of dogs, but to throw them away now would show I was afraid. That would spoil my medicine. I will make old Tabashaw grunt when I sing my new song."

The scalps were another danger added to our list. Did the Minnetarees so much as suspect the Pillager was the slayer there would be no mercy shown him. Even a Sioux was safe if he succeeded in entering the village. What happened to him when he started for home was another matter. However, it was useless to argue with the Pillager. As profitable to ask a fanatic to forsake his religion as to expect an Indian to do what he believed would spoil his medicine.

"We must get away to-night," I said.

"Le Borgne said something to Caltahcota in the Crow tongue. I could not understand it," mused Flat Mouth, halting and staring toward the river.

"What has that to do with our getting away to-night?"

"Who knows? My manito? If so he has not told me. Perhaps the Medicine Hair knows. The buffalo head in Le Borgne's hut could tell if our ears could hear."

His words made me uneasy. I pressed him to speak more literally, but he persisted in remaining silent. He had strong doubts as to our immediate departure. Le Borgne's aside to Choke-cherry, spoken in the Crow tongue, was behind his doubts, although he had not caught the war-chief's words. I decided I did not need to walk farther and turned back to the village. A group of men approached and turned aside in A desire to avoid us. One of them I recognized as being prominent in the fiasco at the Cheyenne camp. I asked Flat Mouth to name him.

"He is Aharattanamokshe, or Chief of the Wolves, the oldest son of Caltahcota."

"Speak to him. Let us learn how the tribe feels toward us. If Le Borgne feels friendly, his men will show it."

Flat Mouth greeted the young man pleasantly and asked some questions. Chief of the Wolves stared enviously at the scalps on the Pillager's breast and was very respectful in his attitude as he replied to the queries. After an exchange of a few sentences the warrior turned back to his companions while we resumed our walk to the village.

"I asked him if the men went to swim," explained Flat Mouth. "He said the Minnetarees are such great swimmers they will go to the Missouri and not to the Knife when they wish to swim. Then he told me they went to look for willows and small cottonwoods."

"You should have asked him if the people think the white woman's medicine had anything to do with the Cheyennes' refusing the treaty, and if he said 'yes,' you should have told him it was a lie. Choke-cherry has told his brother the white woman is to blame for the Cheyennes' riding away."

"They go to find willows and small cottonwoods strong enough to use in making a new hut," said Flat Mouth.

"That is stuff for women and children to listen to," I said.

"There is much to be found out when they talk of making a new hut," said the Pillager. "Who is to live in it?"

I waited and as he kept silent I was forced to ask:

"Well, what did you find out? Who is to live in it?"

"They did not say. But no new people have come to the village except a white man, a brave Pillager Chippewa and a mighty medicine woman."

"By heavens! They build the hut for us. They expect us to stay here!" I cried in English.

My emotion gave him his cue, rather than any knowledge of English, although he was able to pick up words here and there.

"They let men sleep in the big hut or where they will," he said. "A new hut means a new wife for a big chief. I have said it. Let the white woman use her medicine now if she would go back to the Red River."

His frankness left me nonplussed and frightened. I rallied finally and managed to make light of the warning. Le Borgne was a wise man. If his Indian nature would permit him to defy the medicine of the girl—and this I could scarcely believe—his astuteness would restrain him from killing what he believed was a chance for a permanent post in the village. The great advantage of having an N. W. trader constantly supplying him with arms and ammunition would greatly outweigh his lust for a woman, whether she be red or white. War came first; women next. I spoke this aloud and told it over to myself. The Pillager listened and watched me closely. Then he spoke, his words exploding all my false hopes:

"Le Borgne is not like other Indians. He has his own way more than other chiefs. He thinks his manito is very strong—stronger than any other manito, for has he not always had his own way? When he wants anything he is like a child; he wants it and can think of nothing else. He killed a woman before our eyes. Many chiefs would be afraid her people might try to wash out her death with his blood. But he wanted to kill her; he could think of only that.

"He believes the white woman's medicine is strong, but he believes his is stronger. If he takes her to a new hut as his woman he will show that his manito is stronger. Then he will boast he has tamed her medicine and that it will work for him. With the two medicines working for him he will believe the big white chief we have told about will be glad to build a post here."

"I'll shoot him before he shall take the woman!" I gritted.

"I am chief of the Pillagers. It is my right to wear two eagle feathers in my hair for every enemy I have scalped in battle. It is through me the white woman's medicine will work," he haughtily retorted.

We talked no more but hurried back to the guest-hut, for I was foolish enough to think my presence might protect her. The door was open, which surprised me, as Miss Dearness was quick to close it when we went out. We entered and I called her name. Our two guns and ammunition stood where we had left them but the girl was gone. That she should attempt to walk about the village was unthinkable. I snatched up the gun, made sure it was loaded, and would have dashed out had not Flat Mouth seized me by the arm and cautioned:

"Walk softly. Wait for me."

He slipped on his robe, slung his bow and arrows over his shoulder and picked up his gun. Then he circled the hut and spent some moments at the skin couch before the fire-hole.

"We kill much time," I impatiently warned.

"Is this medicine talk for you?" he called back.

I joined him and he pointed to some words scrawled with a charred stick on the rocks forming the rim of the fire-hole. The message read:

I read it to Flat Mouth who was highly pleased with this proof of the girl's power to communicate with me. But when I would have commenced a precipitate search he restrained me, saying:

"We shall get an axe stuck in our heads. The white woman will be left with her medicine to fight alone. It is no time to run like a badger after game. We must be the fox. Le Borgne will kill us if we hurry."

He stood before me, his powerful form blocking my path until I had regained an appearance of composure. Then, nodding in approval, he stepped aside for me to pass. As we reached the door I paused and filled and lighted my pipe to show my lack of concern. This was well played, as Flat Mouth quietly informed me two men, spies, were watching us from the porch of the next hut. By an effort I forced myself to laugh, and the grim features of the Pillager took on a smile. We sauntered carelessly from the hut, the Pillager murmuring:

"She is still in the village. Le Borgne would place her in his brother's hut, I think."

This was logical, and in a roundabout way we finally arrived at Choke-cherry's abode. The old villain was seated on the porch, puffing mightily to make his Missouri weed burn in his long pipe. Several of his women were removing some earthen pots and copper kettles to the next hut. I expressed concern for his difficulty in getting a smoke and generously gave him an inch of tobacco and waited for him to fill and light up. Flat Mouth touched my elbow. I turned and, under a pretext of addressing him, observed the direction of his staring gaze. He was looking intently at the wall of the hut. Taking my time, I discovered a piece of bark hanging on the wall. On it was writing.

To Choke-cherry, through the Pillager, I said—

"Where did you get the medicine that drives evil spirits away?" And I stepped closer to the writing.

Between puffs the old reprobate proudly said:

"It is very big medicine. It will bring me many ponies. It will keep the spotted sickness (small-pox) from my hut."

I scarcely heard the Pillager's translation, for I was reading:

"A very good medicine," I said, stepping back and feeling the cold sweat standing on my forehead. "But it is the woman part of the medicine. There is a man part that makes it whole. I will give you the man part because you are the brother of the mighty chief and will open his ears to what I say about a trading post here."

While the Pillager told him this, I picked up a bit of charcoal from a dead fire and rapidly wrote:

Then to the deeply interested Choke-cherry I explained:

"The medicine is now whole. When the sun is overhead take it inside and hang it over the place for medicine."

As it was near noon I knew the girl would soon see it. I had not ventured to call out to the girl and address her, as her writing hinted at a command for silence from Le Borgne.

We leisurely continued our stroll until we were at the hut of the chief. Like his brother he was outside enjoying the sun, his one eye gleaming evilly. The Pillager and I stood our guns against the upright of the long platform, now loaded with driftwood, and I greeted the chief with an amiable smile and produced my tobacco. Taking his pipe I filled and lighted it and sent a puff towards the heavens. Handing it to him and recharging my own, I said—

"When the white man's post is here the greatest of all war chiefs will smoke good tobacco all the time."

He sucked in the smoke with huge content, but eyed me suspiciously for a moment. Turning his head aside so only the dead eye showed, he remarked:

"The white woman asked for a new hut. She said her medicine was cold where she was. My men will build her a new hut. Until it is ready she will live in the hut of my brother, Caltahcota, who has moved his wives and children to another hut."

"The big white chief will thank you with many presents for your kindness to his daughter," I warmly assured. "His friends told him to build his post among the Sioux but the woman's medicine told him to build it here. The post will make the Minnetarees the greatest and strongest of all Indians so long as they do not wrong the white chief."

"I will brain the man or woman who touches his goods," declared Le Borgne, toying with the axe he had so recently used in murdering the woman.

"He will come soon with many white men and many guns," I added. "Why does he bring many men and many guns when he comes to his friends?" asked Le Borgne, jerking his head about to bring his one eye to bear upon me.

"Because he brings many presents and much goods, and knows the Assiniboins would kill and rob a small party."

The chief smiled and frowned, his one eye glowing like a demon's.

"The Assiniboins are dogs," he softly muttered. "Two were killed by Cheyennes in this village last night. The Cheyennes are very brave men. They have fine horses. My brother was a fool not to make peace with them. He says the medicine of the white woman spoiled the peace."

"He lies. He was afraid his brother, the big war chief, would be angry with him for his foolishness. He tries to blame it on the woman."

He did not resent my blunt characterization of his brother and continued:

"He was a fool to hold the Assiniboins when they t came to the camp. They had come to the village and left it. After they left it anyone could kill them. They are dogs. My brother should have taken the ten ponies for them. I have offered a wife, three horses and a hundred skins for one of their ponies, and they would not trade."

"If the white woman's medicine is not made angry, it can get you many Cheyenne ponies," I said. "I will see her and talk about it."

"She says she wants to be alone," he replied, swinging his left eye about and darting a challenge at me.

"If she says it, it is so. Those who make her medicine angry will surely follow the broad trail to the west, where stand the many huts of the dead."

"She asks to be my woman," he announced, his right hand dropping on the handle of the big axe.

"If she asks it, it is good," I managed to reply; but only the fact that my gun was beyond my reach prevented me from blowing the devil's head off. "But if you take her for a wife and her medicine says, 'No!' then the Minnetarees will name a new war-chief in your place."

"Ho!" he rumbled, rising and folding his muscular arms across his broad chest. "A medicine man tells me my manito is stronger than hers. It shall be a fight between them. If my manito is a liar, or a coward, or weak, he will be whipped. But while they fight I will have the woman, a mystery woman, a woman with hair like red fires."

As the Pillager interpreted this, it was only his bearing that sobered me and kept me from insanely jumping for my gun. His cold face showed the utmost unconcern. After he'd finished repeating the chief's boast he stepped close to Le Borgne and taunted:

"Fool! An evil spirit draws you to your death and you do not know it. I, chief of the Pillager Chippewas, wearer of many eagle feathers for the men I have scalped in battle, say it. An evil spirit, sent by the Sioux's great manito, tells you to take the white woman. So be it."

Le Borgne's smile twisted his lips convulsively, and for a moment I believed he was to grapple with my friend. But Flat Mouth's boldness appealed to him. The warning about the Sioux manito laying an ambush and baiting him with the girl also registered deeply.

"You are a brave man," he said to the Pillager, "or you would be a dead man under my axe. I love brave men even when they are my enemies."

"I am not your enemy. I tell you the truth. That makes me your friend," said Flat Mouth.

"You shall stay to the feast I give after two sleeps. Then you must go away, for the Minnetaree village is too small for two brave men. The white man may stay, but you must go."

"And be followed by your warriors who will try to kill me after I get away from the village," sneered Flat Mouth.

"No!" passionately cried Le Borgne, and I was convinced he spoke sincerely. "Le Borgne, the Blind, will never wish to kill the Sioux Killer. Go and kill more of our enemies. After another snow come to me and smoke some of the trader's tobacco. To-day there is a little cloud over the sun. Sometime it will go away and we shall feel warm towards each other."

We left him, having learned for a certainty how much time we had to work in. On the surface the case seemed hopeless. The girl was isolated and not permitted to see us. We might kill the chief and a few others, but we could not expect to fight our way clear of the village. The Pillager would consider it an ideal exit to go to his happy hunting-grounds in defence of the girl's medicine. We were three sentenced to death, and death it must be after two sleeps, unless a miracle rescued us.

As we skirted the village and gave ourselves to thought, I found death to be very impersonal. It meant nothing to me beyond a keen disappointment. There were so many things I had intended to experiment in and to accomplish before I died. The adventure had opened up a desire to know more about the girl. Destiny had purposed that I should succeed, else why had she come into my life? Then there was my disappearance from the Pembina post. Would the truth ever be known, or would the gentlemen of the North write me down as a deserter? Would any thieving on Black Chabot's part be blamed on me? Altogether, an abrupt finish would leave many loose ends which an orderly fate would have gathered up. The grim irony of it all, that I, a Northman, should perish by the ferocious fancy of a savage chief.

"My friend's face should be filled with sunshine," grunted Flat Mouth reproachfully.

I simulated a genial expression and looked up to find the reason for his warning. Chief of the Wolves and his friends were returning from the river, and with them rode an Indian on a pony whose appearance testified to rough and fast travel. He was the centre of the group and the target for many queries. As they drew abreast of us, the horseman noticed Flat Mouth and stared at him and his string of scalps and talked hurriedly with Chief of the Wolves. Then he jumped from his pony and ran to us seizing the Pillager's hand and shaking it warmly, crying:

"They say you are the Chippewa chief who killed the Sioux. They say the scalps you wear came from Sioux heads. Your name is heard throughout the Sioux country. The Sioux chiefs call you a great warrior and make medicine to get your skull as a drinking-dish. I, White Snake, a Minnetaree and their prisoner, heard them tell these things."

"I am a mighty warrior," readily agreed Flat Mouth. "The Snake's medicine was strong to help him get away."

"I have been with them for many moons. I went to hunt buffalo with them. Then runners came with stories of what they had seen. The hunting party broke up, and I got away."

Chief of the Wolves now impatiently reminded:

"My uncle, the Blind, is waiting for you to bring him a talk. It is not good to keep him waiting."

"The White Snake brings good news?" asked Flat Mouth, as the escaped warrior turned to mount his pony.

"Strangers come. It is good or bad," retorted the Snake. "My medicine let me get away while the Sioux were riding to meet the strangers. If they are friends of the Sioux they will come here to kill us."

Chief of the Wolves ran ahead and looked back, and the Snake remembered it was not good to keep Le Borgne waiting. The Pillager and I ruminated over the man's story. There did not seem to be much to it. The Sioux were much excited over some strangers. The Snake had failed to reveal who, or what they were. My first thought was of some formidable war-party from the far south. Flat Mouth disagreed with me, insisting the Snake had said nothing to suggest fear or warlike preparations on the part of the Sioux. If it had been a war-party the scouts would have brought word to that effect. After we had argued it back and forth without getting anywhere he dismissed it by simply stating—

"It is the medicine of the white woman working to let her go free."

Such was his faith in the girl's powers that his black eyes glittered with hope and he walked with a springy, confident step. He had thrown aside all cares and worries. Being an Indian it was good logic, for what is the use in believing in medicine and good-luck if your faith fails to help in an emergency? Only I did not possess the Pillager's child-like trust. We two men were the chosen instruments for liberating Miss Dearness. Her medicine was as strong and resourceful as we were, and we were helpless.

"Eshkebugecoshe, there is but one way. I will go to Le Borgne's hut to-night. While I am there you must get the girl from the hut, take her to the corral, get ponies and ride north to the Missouri."

He promptly shook his head in refusal.

"Where will my white brother be if I do get the girl away?"

"I will follow you."

"The trail you will follow will lead far from the Missouri. Even if I, chief of the Pillagers, could do this thing, the Medicine Hair would not. It is poor medicine you plan to make. The white woman's manito is strong enough to let us all get away. We will wait. The feast is not for two sleeps. Many things can happen in two sleeps."

His optimism did not cool off the little hell in which I lived. Desperation often begets a ferocious courage. Then there is such a thing as finding great relief in learning the worst. I was impatient to have the climax over with. I wanted to take my double-barrel gun and make an end of the situation by sending a heavy buffalo charge through Le Borgne's head. A new situation would instantly bob up, but it would have the virtue of being different from the present horror. Flat Mouth slipped his arm through mine, as if fear ing I might race off and do something rash. As he induced me to walk back to the village, he talked softly, saying:

"If her medicine grows weak we will go down like brave men, taking her with us. To strike now would be as foolish as to lay an ambush and then shoot at the first warrior to approach it, instead of waiting till the game was well trapped. Wait! My manito whispers that many things will happen if we wait. Would Le Borgne sell the white woman?"

"We have nothing to trade," I sullenly reminded. "He wants guns, but we have none. He is bad."

"He is a great warrior. He wants the white woman for his wife. Why shouldn't he? My white brother would take her as his wife if he could."

Had he struck me in the face I could not have been more startled, for his confident assertion instantly set strange fancies in motion. I pictured a home-loving woman, busy with domestic tasks, wearing the wonderful hair of Miss Dearness and glorified by the happiness of wifehood. The contrast between this picture and her probable fate was appalling. I strove in vain to dismiss it.

During all our perils no sentiment had had time to lodge with me. Each hour had brought new hardships and dangers, and we were rushed from one dilemma to another with the stage ever set with climaxes. It was grotesque that now, in the supreme peril, I should hark back to the tantalizing mood which was responsible for my seeking her up the river. Her manner of caressing my hand had not encouraged soft thoughts. It was simply her way of thanking me. From the beginning it had been difficult to imagine her in the role of a sweetheart, although her peril accentuated her womanliness.

"Buy her from Le Borgne," continued Flat Mouth, ignorant of the turmoil he had stirred up within me.

"With what?" I angrily countered.

"The white robes. They are very big medicine with the Minnetarees. Even Le Borgne does not own five such as you have, down in the Mandan hut. The skin of the calf is worth more than the big robes to these Indians. They believe a white calf-skin is mighty medicine."

Here was the nucleus of an idea. In the white robes and calfskin I held a value equivalent to many hundreds of skins—to many ponies. It was such a trade that was seldom, if ever, offered to a Minnetaree. Ordinarily it required a syndicating of property to purchase one robe. The bargain was made as soon as suggested to an ordinary war-chief. He not only would sell a prospective bride, but he would throw in all his wives and daughters for good measure.

But no one could ever foresee what Le Borgne would do. His tenacity of purpose, especially in his lusts, would not stay him from murdering a kinsman, if such a homicide be necessary to his gaining the woman he fancied. Still it was an idea. To begin with, he was a savage; therefore he possessed many simple traits. He was subtle and cunning; he was childishly direct in his technique; he was a mass of contra dictions. At times the devil couldn't guess his mind; again he was transparent as rain-water. He lived with whims and usually surrendered to his moods. If his mood required astuteness, he stood head and shoulders above the average savage. If it required the simple reaching forth and taking, a dog after a bone could not be more precipitate in action and obvious in purpose. If his yearning for good luck, as symbolized by the robes, should outweigh his animalism, he would sell the girl. If his lust for her was the dominating thought when I came to make a trade, all the white robes on the plains would fail.

I do not think the idea revived my hopes to any great extent, but I did lose something of my melancholia, of my fatalistic belief that the girl and I had found death in coming across the Côteau du Missouri.

Now whether I would have experienced even this slight change of heart if the Pillager's idea of the robes had not been preceded by the suggestion that I wanted the girl for myself, I can not say. At that time I do not even know that I wished her for my wife. She was too marvellous and fascinating to be relegated to any one plane. She was wonderful and seemed to stand aloof. She was one to keep a man's mind topsy turvy, did he think of her fondly. My manito knows I had had scant time for soft imaginings from that moment when she broke through the bushes on the east side of Red River and I began my efforts of helping her to escape. I needed a clear head to see the thing through. I must think only of Le Borgne and his moods. But should one picture her in love, what a tornado of passion his fancy would be compelled to paint. She was not a half-way woman. She was all ice or all fire.

"Ride to the Mandan village and bring the robes. See they are wrapped securely so no one will know what they are," I commanded as we entered the village near the corral.

"Little birds sing in my ears and tell me our medicine is making," said the Pillager as he brought his pony from the corral.

Some Indians gathered around us, and Le Borgne strode through the group, his one eye gleaming questions, his wide mouth twisted sardonically.

"The great chief of the Chippewas goes out to kill more Sioux?" he asked.

"He is tired of staying penned up in the village," gravely replied the Pillager. "He will ride out and look for signs of an enemy war-path. The Pillager Chippewas never wait for their enemies to come to them."

Le Borgne's smile persisted, but there was murder in his eye as he caught this taunt. Speaking very low he said:

"After the big feast when I have had the white medicine-woman for a wife, I will go with the Chippewa, and we will see who will ride the farthest in search of the enemy, and who will kill the most. We shall ride so far and fight so hard that one of us must die in battle before the other can come back. My village is not big enough for two such men to return to."

"Le Borgne is a great man, but he is not a Pillager Chippewa," Flat Mouth insolently retorted, springing on his pony.

Le Borgne ever loved a brave man. If he had any religion besides the usual Indian belief in good and bad luck it consisted of a worship of courage. Therefore Flat Mouth's insult raised him in the war-chief's esteem.

"Don't get killed so you can not go on the war-path with me," he warned.

The Pillager waved his hand and galloped towards the north. I knew he planned swinging east and crossing the Missouri at the mouth of the Knife, risking an encounter with any loitering Assiniboins as he made for the lower Mandan village. He courted grave hazards in pursuing this course, but I could appreciate his desire to leave Le Borgne in ignorance of his true purpose. Had he set forth on the road we had come over, the Minnetaree chief might have forbidden his departure, fearing some trick.

As I walked into the village Le Borgne kept beside me. We could not talk for the lack of an interpreter, yet I sensed a change in the chief. I got the impression something was troubling him. He carried his axe and swung it in short vicious circles. Knowing my success in trading white robes for the girl depended on the particular mood he might be in, I took heart enough to believe his thoughts were for war and not for women. His talk with Flat Mouth evidenced a desire to go to battle. It was possible the White Snake's news about the strangers had aroused the warrior in him.

When we came to Choke-cherry's hut he halted, and I did the same. Chief of the Wolves and his two younger brothers and the White Snake were posted at regular intervals at the front of the hut. To learn if they were sentinels, I boldly entered the porch and placed my hand on the door. Chief of the Wolves sprang forward and pushed me back. I glanced at Le Borgne and he motioned me to step back. Speaking loudly in English for the girl's benefit, I told Chief of the Wolves to keep his hands off me or I would shoot him. She heard me, and her voice called out—

"Oh, American! I'm afraid!"

Le Borgne thrust forward his head, his one eye glittering like a piece of broken glass in the sunlight. He was suspicious. He forgot I did not talk his lingo and shot out some query which I guessed to be a demand to know what the white woman had said. I made spiral lines with my index finger high above my head, the sign token for medicine and, as one over awed, softly withdrew from inside the porch. He followed me, and I called out:

"Don't be afraid. We'll get you out of this."

With a grunt of rage Le Borgne clapped his hand over my lips. With my left hand I repeated the medicine sign, and with my right I drew my gun the full stretch of my arm until the two muzzles rested under his chin. It was a language he readily understood and he stepped clear of me.

To demonstrate he was not angry he patted my shoulder and called out to his men, evidently telling them I was a brave man. I remained a while before the hut, but the girl did not attempt to address me again, nor did I speak to her. I was interested in watching Le Borgne whenever he glanced at White Snake. It was then that the hint of worry showed between his eyes. Gradually the conviction formed in my mind that he was uneasy over the Snake's budget of news, and was wondering who the strangers might be whose coming so excited his deadly enemies, the Sioux. Or perhaps White Snake had told him who they were. He was not angry at the Snake, and yet the sight of him brought the troubled lines in his forehead. It was refreshing to think something besides amorous thoughts were inside that savage brain-pan.

I turned away to go to my hut, and behind me sounded the girl's clear voice raised in her indescribable song of the woods and the rivers. The effect on the Minnetarees was pronounced. The guards glided away from the hut and betrayed agitation. Le Borgne stood with folded arms, glaring at the rawhide door as though some hostile medicine were challenging him to open it. The voice rippled on, and I knew its purpose was to tell me she had not lost heart, that she believed and depended on the Pillager and me. Le Borgne remained rigid for a few moments, then took a step forward. I shifted the gun over my left arm, and, did he touch the door, I was ready to let him have the right barrel. But with one foot inside the porch he halted. The voice of the singer climbed to shrill heights, then cascaded down to a low colourful tone which was sadly sweet and infinitely pathetic. The chief drew back his foot and with an explosive grunt hastened away. I dropped the gun to my side.

"Don't be afraid," I called out to her as she ceased her singing. This time no one attempted to stop my speaking to her.