Gentlemen of the North/Chapter 9

ARLY next morning Flat Mouth and I went to Miss Dearness's hut and, on her joining us at the porch, asked her to make ready for a trip to the Minnetaree villages a few miles above, situated on the Knife River. To attempt leaving the country without visiting these "Big Bellies," as the trade had named them, would be to incur the wrath of Le Borgne and throw discredit on our story of representing the N. W. company and its plan to set up an opposition to the already established H. B. trader.

The girl was afraid. Her bearing was calm and collected enough, but there were transient flashes in her big blue eyes, a curious trick of glancing sidewise through half-closed lids, that bespoke a furtive fear. However, she readily agreed we must visit the upper villages to sustain our role. She only insisted that we make all haste to have it over with.

As I was anxious to go and return before Le Borgne came back, I directed Flat Mouth to engage men to cross our horses, promising them some handsome pipes when the traders arrived with their assortment of goods. The Mandans proved to be as expert in handling the horses in the river as they had been in collecting the driftwood. Hitching a line to a nag's mouth, a brave would take the end between his teeth and swim ahead while others swam alongside and behind the animal. In this way the three were taken across quickly and drifted downstream scarcely at all.

When we landed from the bull-boat and mounted our horses, we were surrounded by the entire village, every one being anxious to gaze on the white woman with the medicine hair. Miss Dearness would have drawn her capote over her head but the Pillager urged her not to, declaring that the belief she was a magician would help us much. So she rode between us with her of a head glinting in the early sunlight and making me think of a maple turned red by the first frosts.

Flat Mouth improvised a legend which he sung as we slowly made our way through the crowd. It was to the effect that beams of sunlight became imprisoned in the girl's hair when she was born, and that their struggles to escape created the powerful medicine she possessed.

Big Man walked by my side and informed me a hunting party of a hundred braves was due to arrive home after a three days' trip and that, if we would postpone our visit to the Minnetarees, we could procure some fresh meat. I immediately feared lest the Minnetaree chief, Le Borgne, would be with this party, but Flat Mouth explained that the Minnetarees hunted to the south west of the Knife and the Mandans to the southeast, the river being the boundary. We needed fresh meat badly, but the hunting party would greatly delay our journey up the river, so we pressed on more determinedly than ever.

I assured Miss Dearness that we could make the villages, ride through them and start back for Black Cat's village before dark. On returning and recrossing the river we could decide whether to start north immediately, unaccompanied, or wait till morning and endeavour to obtain an escort from the Mandans. The girl was for an immediate departure.

I had planned to take my white robes with me, thinking I might have a chance to trade them for horses, they being about the only thing the Minnetarees would exchange horses for. Flat Mouth, however, insisted such a trade would consume all the day, that the horses we had were fresh enough, and that the hides had better be left behind in the hut, where they would be perfectly safe.

So we rode forth. Miss Dearness's peculiar type of loveliness was greatly accentuated by the appearance of the Mandan women, who could not be called comely even by Indian standards. I never could understand why the Crows, the most lascivious of all the Indians I ever met, should be the most prepossessing in appearance, or why the women of the Aricaras, the most treacherous of any tribe I ever encountered, should approach the nearest to the white standard of good looks.

Miss Dearness was not inclined to talk, and we rode rapidly, as if eager to have done with a disagreeable errand. The road we followed was very decent and led us over two hills and then for two miles across a plain, skirting a small village which we did not enter. The whole distance was through an area of gardens which included much ground given over to the cultivation of sunflowers. In every direction were horses grazing on the early grass, and Flat Mouth's eyes glittered as became a true Pillager. All these animals were brought into the villages at night, revealing the Indians' constant dread of their inveterate enemies, the Sioux and the Assiniboins. The Mandans kept their ponies in their huts while the Minnetarees used small corrals.

These villages on the Missouri and Knife were distinct from any I ever became acquainted with. They suggested permanency and a strong devotion to the soil, especially the villages of the Mandans. Our road along the south bank of the Missouri to the Knife afforded almost continuous glimpses of a bucolic life which made me think of Canadian villages.

All hunting was done in large bands, Flat Mouth told me, for fear of surprise attacks. Each hunting party, therefore, contained the potentials of a war-party. Even when in large numbers the warriors did not care to wander far from their homes lest the villages be assaulted in force during their absence. Because of this caution it became necessary to conserve the buffalo and under no circumstances scare him away. It resulted that they aimed to surround a small herd of a few hundred and kill every one. They believed that if a survivor escaped he would communicate his alarm to other herds. Nor did they use their guns in hunting, but always the bow and arrow.

The first pause in our journey was at the Minnetaree village at the mouth of the Knife, consisting of half a hundred huts and called the "little village." We very quickly learned there was a great difference between this and either of the Mandan villages in regard to manners.

The moment we were sighted a mob of young demons surrounded us, hooting and deriding. Their elders sat smoking their miserable tobacco on top of the huge circular huts and enjoying the spectacle. More troublesome even than the children were the dogs which swarmed from all directions. They were as vicious as wolves and much more daring.

Miss Dearness, who had drawn her capote over her head when we neared the village, gave a cry of alarm, and I spurred forward and brained a brute with the butt of my gun as he leaped high to pull her from the saddle. This act caused much scowling and mumbling from the spectators, which I interpreted to be threats. Flat Mouth leaned low from his saddle and did for another beast with his axe. The mumbling broke into a sullen roar, and the men on the huts began rising and preparing to descend.

Flat Mouth pulled out his string of Sioux scalps and, waving them above his head, shouted his name and the fact that he had once lived among the Mandans and the Minnetarees. Then in their own tongue he chanted his record of coups, touching a scalp as he narrated the details of each encounter. The men on the huts gathered to the edge and allowed their feet to hang down while they listened.

Finishing the story of his exploits, the Pillager explained how he was serving the woman with the medicine hair, the most wonderful woman ever on the Missouri, whose father was the mightiest of all traders and who had intended to build a post among the villages so the Indians could always obtain whatever they wanted in arms and ammunition. He significantly concluded with saying:

"The big white chief will send no traders where his daughter is met by mad dogs and screaming children."

Then, turning to Miss Dearness, he directed her to reveal her hair.

She obeyed, and as the Indians stared at her fiery hair, those on the ground drew back and forgot their scowls, while those on the huts stood erect and forgot their smoking. As the Pillager rapidly translated his speech to me I understood their concern; each village was anxious to obtain all the white man's goods possible and was extremely jealous of every visit made by a trader to a neighbouring village.

Their lack of hospitality was an excellent excuse for us to save time by pushing on. Although they beseeched us to enter their huts and partake of food and tobacco, we held on steadily through the village and into the road leading up the Knife. They followed us outside the village but we gave them no heed. We followed the road for about a mile when the Pillager halted and announced that we were opposite the big Minnetaree village. He said it consisted of some hundred and thirty huts, but, rub my eyes as I would, I could not see it.

Then he explained this. The last of the five villages was located a mile back from the river, and because of this fact and the resulting problem over fuel the warriors moved into hills each winter, where they had more circular huts and wood aplenty. We forded the Knife with the water up to our horses' bellies and made a dash for the village.

This time we met less of the rudeness which had greeted us below, and yet there was no suggestion of hospitality. They were rude in another way. We were ignored. They were most arrogant in their bearing. After ordering a woman to show us to a big hut, set apart for visitors, they paid no attention to us. A physical characteristic of all Minnetarees was the large aquiline nose. The Pillager assured us we were safe among them, but added that this was the case purely because they must have arms from traders to protect themselves from the Sioux, and they believed that we were paving the way for permanent traders. The village originally contained a thousand huts, but the deadly small-pox had whittled it down to its present proportions.

The hut we were shown to was a duplicate of the one in Black Cat's village except that it was dug down three feet below the surface. As in the Mandan huts we found earthen pots and a copper kettle. The kettle, it seems, was used entirely for boiling meat. Why they couldn't cook meat in the earthenware, as they did their corn and beans, I do not know. Some foolish superstition was behind it, of course. I asked the woman about it, and she said the meat would make the earthen pots crack.

I quickly learned it was unsafe to move outside the hut unless armed with a club. The first time I stepped to the door to survey the scene, I was set upon by a huge dog. I kicked myself clear of the brute and after that I never ventured abroad without a club in my hand. So long as we remained in the hut we were left by ourselves. The moment we passed through the door we were surrounded by impish brats who would go through our clothes and filch anything they could. Miss Dearness went out with us once, but the repulsive sights and the constant attendance of the vicious-mannered mob which accompanied us every step was experience enough for her.

"You and the Pillager carry out your plans," she urged after we returned to the hut. "But let us start back to the Mandan village before dark."

"It's a beastly place," I admitted, pitying her deeply. "I almost wish, for your sake, we had tried to win back north without coming here. I think we could have made it."

"No, we stood no chance. The Sioux were too close, the Assiniboins too many. Our lives are safe here, but we ought to be starting for the Red River within a day or two." After a pause she asked, "When do you think Le Borgne will come?"

"Not till after we have gone. You have heard of him?"

"My father spoke of him when we were on the Assiniboin. The Indians had much to tell of him. But go and finish your business so we can be getting away."

The undercurrent of her thoughts was Le Borgne, that sinister master of the Minnetarees, who ruled as an autocrat, an unusual condition of affairs among the Indians. I did not care to ask her what she had heard about the chief; it was sure to be something disquieting. I picked up my club and, followed by Flat Mouth, passed from the hut.

We had a brisk battle with the dogs but finally put them to rout. Young bucks swaggered close, glaring murderously at our success over their pets. One was so bold as to step before the Pillager to block his path, or to make him step aside. Flat Mouth slapped him in the face with his string of Sioux scalps, called him a "child," and asked how long before he could grow up and kill a Sioux.

The buck, maddened beyond self-control and knowing the warriors were watching his shame, grabbed for his axe. Flat Mouth smiled evilly and dangled the string before his face. The hand on the axe relaxed. I was using the medicine bag taken from the war-chief killed in the Red Lake River country, as a tobacco pouch. Now I produced it, filled my pipe and through the Pillager advised the young man and his friend not to bother mighty warriors who never bothered to slay any but chiefs carrying the pipe.

The display of scalps and the sight of the medicine pouch brought the elders to sharp attention. Several approached, their bearing very decorous, and questioned the Pillager. He proudly proclaimed himself a hero and gave his new name of Sioux Killer. He declared I came next to him and said the white woman with the medicine hair was more powerful than both of us.

The lowering glances continued, yet our exhibit of trophies had made a deep impression and forced their respect. Their great chief, Le Borgne, would have been proud to recite the coups the Pillager had recounted. Harsh commands were given, and the band of children drew back, the young men ceased their insolence, and women clubbed the dogs to the outskirts of the village.

Then Le Borgne's brother, Caltahcota, or Choke-cherry, as the traders knew him, deigned to make himself known and inquired minutely into the purpose of our visit. He was pleased with the story I told through the Pillager, and said his brother would be very glad to welcome us, but that we had done wrong in not bringing guns, powder and ball with us, as the Sioux were very thick and troublesome around the village.

The Pillager sneered and loudly declared he would drive the Sioux away and double the length of his string. Choke-cherry seemed to accept him at his own estimation, and his respect took on a touch of awe. He insisted we go into his hut and eat.

We followed him and were presented with bowls of meat that only one word can describe—putrid. Even for politeness' sake I could not endure the stench of it, let alone tasting it. Choke-cherry gobbled at it voraciously and gave us some dried beans and corn, bruised in a mortar, cooked without salt, and very tasteless. Still it could be swallowed. Flat Mouth was not particular as to what he ate, yet there were limits to even his Indian appetite and stomach. He partook only of the corn and beans. While we were bolting our portions he assured me that the Minnetarees would kill a buffalo in winter, leave it in the snow and wait until decomposition had set in before using it for food. I could well believe it.

Escaping to the free air, I asked Choke-cherry when his mighty brother would be back. He believed in a few days. He was very vague, indicating he knew no more about it than we did. The six Cheyenne envoys had withdrawn a mile north of the village to await the coming of more of their people. Upon their arrival the treaty between them and the Minnetarees would be duly cemented. The Minnetarees would adopt a Cheyenne youth and many presents would be "placed under the stem." While Le Borgne was too big a man to abandon a hunting trip for any purpose except to follow his own will, it was probable he would return very soon.

With the Pillager interpreting I said:

"We must go back to the lower villages to-night. When your brother comes send a man to us so we may come to him."

He urged that we remain with the Minnetarees indefinitely, but I explained we had certain trade preparations to make, and he finally agreed to inform us when the chief arrived.

Utterly disgusted with the villages, determined to get away where I could feel clean once more, and sensing that it must be hell for Miss Dearness, I made up my mind on the spot to make a break north from the Mandan village early the next morning. Fear of the Sioux would keep the village Indians from pursuing us, while the presence of the Cheyennes on the Knife, anxious to make peace, would tend to make both Sioux and Assiniboins chary about remaining in that neighbourhood.

The Mandans, while peacefully disposed and much less arrogant than the Minnetarees, were known as dogged fighters, Allied with the Cheyennes, they could carry a good fight to the Sioux, and the latter knew it. By striking directly north and travelling much by night I believed we could make the big loop of the Mouse. After following the Mouse a short distance we would be within the sphere of influence of the N. W. company, represented by Fort Assiniboin, and our dangers from hostile red men would be over. Nor did I expect any difficulty in leaving the Mandan village. We had come and gone as we pleased, our story was believed, and we had visited the Minnetaree village to consult with Le Borgne's brother.

Leaving Choke-cherry—Cherry-on-a-Bush was his full name, I believe—we returned to the hut and found Miss Dearness seated on a robe before the empty fire-hole and looking very sad. I briefly explained my purpose, and it was worth great risks to behold the wonderful lighting up of the blue eyes as she turned them on me.

"It will succeed!" she cried in English. "It must! Oh, you've removed a big load from my heart. To be out in the open—to breathe clean air again—anything but this!"

"You've seen so much of Indian life in travelling with your father that you must be prepared to withstand what would shock an inexperienced white woman," I remarked.

"True," she murmured. "I can force myself to indifference to much that's repulsive—a make-believe indifference, anyway. I've said the Indians talked of Le Borgne on the Assiniboin. I've also heard the H. B. men describe him in talking with my father. He likes to meet white men. He treats them better than his warriors do. He's shrewd enough to know he must have arms, and he can get them only through the white traders. From the Indian standpoint he is a very great man. Yes, he's that even by our standards. He controls these villages absolutely, and you know how dearly an Indian prizes his personal liberty. Le Borgne overrides many hard-and-fast rules of ordinary Indian usage. What he wants he takes."

Her face went red as she finished; then the colour receded, leaving her cheeks a ghastly white, and her hand fumbled at something inside her leather coat, probably her knife.

"You understand him as well as the Pillager does," I gravely commented. "Perhaps it's best you should."

"The truth is always best," she simply replied. "The fact is there. It would be foolish to hide from it as a calf hides his head in the grass to escape a hunter."

Flat Mouth, who had listened and picked up a word herd and there, now broke in:

"When I was here last, Le Borgne would go into a hut and take a warrior's wife away from him. The warrior never made any fight. Le Borgne is a great chief."

His lack of finesse in making the brutal speech would have angered me more if I did not believe the girl knew all that he knew. She glanced with a curious little smile and quietly said— "Well, he will never take me."

"What nonsense! Of course not!" I cried hotly. "To hear us one would think this raw savage was all-powerful. Then again, let's give him credit for having some sense. He wants traders to come here so he can stand off the Sioux. Is he fool enough to spoil all the chances for saving his people from the Sioux by turning every trader against him? Of course not. Miss Dearness, you haven't any cause to worry."

She reached out and patted my hand and murmured—

"Comforter!" Then she reminded—"Yet there is some danger, so great that you plan to return to the Mouse without an escort."

She had me. In all honesty I insisted our proposed flight was impelled by idle fears, so far as we knew. Beyond the general character of Le Borgne we had no reason for deducing he would bring down the wrath of the American Government upon him by stealing a white woman.

"Tell that to these Indians and they will laugh at you," she jeered. "You can't make them believe but what they are the most superior and the most brave people on earth. There may come a time when your Government can control them. Now they have no more respect for or fear of your Government than that of China, which they never heard of. Why, they even believe they outnumber the whites. Tell them of big white villages beyond the Mississippi, and they will tell you that you lie. I've travelled enough with my father and have heard enough trade-talk to know at least that much."

I had to admit the truth of her statements and shifted to the contention that the chief's imperative need of guns would come first in his heart. He might laugh at the United States Government as a shadowy thing, but he would never laugh at the Sioux and a powerful trading company. Believing we all three represented the N. W. company, he would be anxious for us to carry back pleasant reports and thereby hasten the establishment of a permanent post.

"And yet you plan to escape at the earliest opportunity—to-morrow morning if we can manage it," she monotonously reminded.

"We can wait and see the chief and have him send an escort with us," I boldly declared.

With a little shudder she protested.

"No! No! We must start to-morrow. Instinct tells me we must do so. I only wish we could start now. I tell you I am afraid, and I'm not bothered with any silly imagination. I feel as if something were about to happen."

"For heaven's sake don't let our friend here know that, or he'll sit down and sing his death song, waiting for someone to club him to death. You're big medicine to him. So long as he can believe that, he can do much."

"Medicine Hair big medicine," murmured Flat Mouth, catching at the familiar words, although puzzled by the rest of our talk.

She raised her head and stared at us both haughtily. The effect at once registered on the Pillager. Smoothing out her wonderful hair, she softly sounded the ululating call that carried the whispering of the wind and the prattling of shallow rivers. The chief stood very straight, his head tipped back, his nostrils distended.

There was a warrior's ambition in his small eyes. If he had been disturbed by her downcast mien he was now restored to all his old-time strutting complacency. He was the chief of the Pillager Chippewas. The Minnetarees were low dogs who lived cooped up in a village and ate stinking meat. The hand that struck against his robe where hung his scalps was itching for more bloody work. Then the door of the hut swung open, and Choke-cherry stood before us, blinking at the girl.

He was wearing a gorgeous headgear made from a turkey-cock's tail, and he seemed much puffed up with his own importance. For a few moments he forgot his errand and stared at Miss Dearness and her lustrous hair. With an effort he recalled his business and, in a loud voice, began reciting. As he talked he pounded his chest and glanced from me to the girl and then to the impassive Pillager. When he had finished the Pillager explained that the messenger sent to inform Le Borgne of the Cheyennes' presence at the village had found the great chief a short distance up the Knife. But, being a great chief, it did not please his fancy to quit the hunt, even for making the peace treaty. Accordingly he had sent the messenger back with directions for his brother, the renowned and redoubtable Choke-cherry, to treat with the Cheyennes and to adopt the Cheyenne youth.

These delegated powers had swollen Choke-cherry's conceit almost to the exploding point. Out of five brothers to Le Borgne he had been picked. He had sent word to the Cheyenne camp that he was coming to act for his illustrious brother and, to give more tone to the ceremony, he desired his new friends to be present.

Miss Dearness's face remained cold and proud, but her soul was on her lips when she whispered to me:

"Thank God, he isn't coming. You two go, and I will wait here." On being informed of our decision, Choke-cherry violently objected. He needed the medicine of her hair, he said. Never had the Cheyennes seen such hair. Her attendance was absolutely necessary, he insisted.

"You'd better come," I urged after Flat Mouth had interpreted. "It will give us better standing with them. We can ride directly from the ceremony to the lower village."

"If you think best," she surrendered, rising and gathering up her capote.

Choke-cherry had had small chance to wear the purple, I took it, and his dignity and conceit were terrific. As Choke-cherry, the warriors would have laughed at him; as the mouthpiece of his illustrious brother, his orders were obeyed with great celerity. Our horses were brought to the hut, and the buck who acted as hostler did not even pause to beg for the usual piece of trade tobacco. We found the village humming with unusual activity, and Choke-cherry, every few rods, halted his pony and hoarsely harangued the people. These speeches had no point, I deduced from Flat Mouth's grim smile of contempt, but they killed the time which I believed to be precious.

Finally we were ready and rode beside Choke-cherry at the head of two hundred or more mounted warriors. They had decorated their ponies with white and red earth, some showing white or red hand-prints to advertise that their riders had grappled bare-handed with an enemy. Others were marked with stripes.

The riders, too, were painted, but they would have been very ferocious to behold even without any colouring, for the majority of them showed wide welts in the flesh, produced by pushing an arrow-head along under the skin. Many had several of these hideous ridges running from the hand to the shoulder and then down on the chest, where they ended in a series of circles. Nearly all had scalps hanging from their bridles or from the handles of their axes and spears. The women, also mounted, brought up the rear. These were uniformly tattooed with broad lines from the nose to the ears, and from the corners of the mouth down to the throat.

As we galloped along behind Choke-cherry, Flat Mouth festooned his scalps down the front of his robe, while I hung the Sioux medicine pouch on my breast. Several groups of young men now swung in ahead of us, riding ten abreast and chanting their war-songs and sounding their rattles. Choke-cherry produced the ceremonial pipe from a case carried across his saddle, and held it high in one hand so that it could not touch his horse.

Now, while we went in superior numbers to sign a peace pact, yet we moved in a compact body as if fearing an attack. Nor was this because of any ceremony. We were afraid of an attack. Word was given for the young men to cease racing their ponies and stay close with the main body, and more than one of the gun-bearers saw that his piece was properly primed and slipped an extra ball into his mouth.

When, within about a quarter of a mile of the Cheyenne camp, a score of warriors came racing out to meet us, on horse flesh that was far superior to anything the Minnetarees owned, their animals' heads were cunningly concealed in masks representing buffalo and red deer heads. The riders were all young men and they rode up to us, shook hands and cried out greetings in their own language.

On beholding Miss Dearness they seemed strangely affected and lost much of their noisy manner. Flat Mouth and his decorations also impressed them, although he wore none of the finery the Minnetarees were displaying. But he had the proof of having been at hand-grips with the Sioux.

As they galloped back to their camp they repeatedly turned to gaze at us. Choke-cherry took all this to his own credit, but I knew it was the girl and her vivid hair that attracted these backward glances. She, too, was moved by the stirring spectacle, and her blue eyes flashed and sparkled and roamed back and forth to take in all the details of the lively panorama. For the moment she was forgetting the filth and the annoyance and was beholding only the barbaric grace of the riders, and the pictorial rioting of colours.

Choke-cherry, the old wind-bag, now halted the long line and rode from front to rear, pausing every rod to spout and roar his orders, determined to live his brief authority to the limit. He lectured them on the virtue of keeping their finery unsoiled, so as to do honour to their tribe. He exhorted them to carry themselves carefully, so as to give no offence and spoil the peace. He severely scolded a band of Mandans, who rode at one side and out of line. Flat Mouth said the Mandans had to stand much overbearing conduct from their allies, but added that, aside from Le Borgne, no Minnetaree ventured beyond certain limits.

Because of Choke-cherry's love for speech-making I feared we would never make the camp and have the ceremony of adoption done with, but fortunately a great war-chief of the Cheyennes now dashed out to meet us on a white stallion and put an end to our leader's mouthing. This man was a magnificent specimen. He wore a blue coat, procured in trade with the Spaniards through some of the southern tribes, and a gaily-striped blanket. He all but rode us down and had his horse's hoofs pawing the air over my head in a most disconcerting manner.

He shook hands with me and Miss Dearness, at whom he stared overlong, and with the Pillager. Choke-cherry, who was a few hundred feet behind us, now galloped up and fussily took over the management of the situation. The chief shook hands with him cordially, but his gaze alternated between the girl's hair and the stern cold face of the Pillager with his wealth of Sioux hair. The business of handshaking done with, he fell back, and a large number of his men rode forward and mingled with the Minnetarees and Mandans, shaking hands and shouting a welcome.

At a signal from their chief the Cheyennes fell into long lines with a military precision and galloped to their camp. We followed at a sedate pace. When we arrived, the chief and several of the older men rode back and forth through the camp, reminding their people that the Minnetarees were their friends, that they were to be fed and protected from thieves. There were a hundred leather tents in the camp, white as snow and set in a horseshoe with the opening toward the north. The speech of the Cheyennes is much more pleasing to the ear than that of the Mandans or Minnetarees and reminded me much of our northern Crees.

Thus far all had gone smoothly. Then, like a bolt, a band of Cheyennes darted from their camp and rode like mad along our back trail. At first I supposed this to be one of their graceful manœuvres, but quickly perceived by Choke-cherry's excitement that something unusual was up. He yelped to his warriors and two-score wheeled their horses and started on a course parallel to that of the Cheyennes.

I rode up a low hill to discover the trouble and beheld two horsemen desperately riding to meet the Minnetarees before the Cheyennes could get to them. Behind me both the Cheyenne camp and the body of Minnetarees were in a boiling commotion. The women accompanying our party were hurriedly getting the horses to the rear. Choke-cherry was bleating madly. Flat Mouth and Miss Dearness galloped to join me.

"Be ready! We may have to ride fast from here. If we do we will strike for the Mouse without going back to the Mandan village," said the Pillager.

I asked for an explanation. He pointed to the two horsemen, now inside the double line of Minnetarees. I looked and recognized the head-dress of buffalo horns.

"Assiniboins!" I cried. "Why don't the Minnetarees kill them?"

"They came into the village. They can not be harmed. The Cheyennes are their deadly enemies. Knowing the Minnetarees are stronger to-day than the Cheyennes, they foolishly followed them out here. The Cheyennes want to kill them. The Minnetarees say they shall not be hurt. Instead of peace we may have a battle. If that happens we will ride for it."

Now the Minnetarees were returning, the two Assiniboins in their midst. The Cheyennes shouted furiously and gesticulated with their weapons as they demanded the surrender of the newcomers. Choke-cherry rode up to the Cheyenne chief and asked him to call his young men back. The chief offered ten of his best horses for the Assiniboins, and there was no logical reason—the dictates of humanity aside, of which the Minnetarees knew nothing—why the intruders should not have been given up. But according to the Indian reasoning the two were safe once they entered the village and so long as they remained in the village. As almost all the village had gone to visit the Cheyennes the Assiniboins followed our road and were held to be, theoretically, still in the village and entitled to protection.

It was a curious example of the power of custom. The Minnetarees were determined to protect the two hostile Indians even if it cost them the friendship of the Cheyennes. The men were finally brought well within our lines, thrust into a small tent and told to keep out of sight. Next followed an hour of vehement speech-making. At last the Cheyennes said they would get their chance later. Choke-cherry was nervous and uneasy and at once began preparing for the ceremony.

Miss Dearness became so deeply interested in the Assiniboins that I made some comment upon it. She replied:

"They were with those who drove us down here. They are spies. They came to learn if we were here, and when we are likely to go. Their main body is in hiding somewhere near."

"They must not go back to tell what they've learned," I said.

"Oh, not murder," she protested.

"Self-defence," I grimly qualified.

I turned to the Pillager and found him perfectly composed. He said he had known the moment he beheld the two, that their errand on the Knife concerned us.

I said to the girl:

"It's very simple. I'll get word to the Cheyennes to watch the two and bag them if they leave the village. Flat Mouth shall tell them, as he talks the sign language."

"But the war-party outside waiting to catch us?" she murmured.

"Flat Mouth shall tell of that, too. The Cheyennes shall go and drive them away."

I began to feel rather obliged to the two fellows for coming in and revealing the unsuspected danger.

So far as I could observe, the wrangling over the Assiniboins terminated without any obvious gain made by either side except that the Minnetarees kept the two Indians alive. With the dissension smoothed away, next came the ceremony of completing the treaty. The terms were simple and accepted by both tribes. The alliance was to wage war on the Sioux and their allies. Choke-cherry, by formally adopting a Cheyenne youth as his son, would be creating binding ties between the tribes. The Cheyennes, however, were reluctant to proceed with the business.

Flat Mouth got hold of a Mandan and learned the Cheyennes were angry that Le Borgne did not consider the treaty of enough importance to be present. It had only needed the incident of the Assiniboins to bring this resentment to the surface. The medicine tent was not up, nor had they formed a smaller ceremonial horseshoe of the white leather tents. After much arguing and oratory the medicine tent was finally erected.

Choke-cherry made a long-winded speech and called to him Two Crows, a Minnetaree chief, and gave to him the long pipe-stem he had so carefully guarded from being profaned by touching his horse. This stem was adorned with feathers, and Two Crows, in accepting it, danced grotesquely back and forth, while two young Minnetarees beat on a drum and rattled antelope hoofs together.

After a certain amount of prancing, came the ceremonial visit to the tent of the Cheyenne who was to be adopted. Two Crows went ahead with his thudding dance-step, and behind him danced the men with the drum and the hoofs. We followed with Choke-cherry. At Choke-cherry's command three horses were brought along. Several pegs were pulled out, and the flaps of the tent drawn back so that the horses could be led inside. The three halters were placed in the hands of a very sullen looking young man who was seated opposite the entrance. Two Crows danced up and offered him the sacred stem. To the consternation of Choke-cherry the stem was haughtily waved aside. Choke-cherry tried to reason with him, but he would not come out of his sulks.

The situation was growing serious. Flat Mouth gained the side of the Cheyenne war-chief, who was sardonically watching Choke-cherry's embarrassment, and talked rapidly with one hand masked by his robe. Only the chief could read his talk, and, as he comprehended, his eyes darted fire. Striding to the young man he spoke in his ear, whereat the stem was accepted. Choke-cherry and Two Crows now took him by the arms and led him to the medicine-tent and seated him beside some new red s—coarse blankets. Choke-cherry sat on his right and Two Crows on his left. The musicians continued their efforts, and a figure danced in with the head of a buffalo on his shoulders, the nostrils and mouth of which were stuffed with dried grass. He placed the skull of a bull on the ground opposite the Cheyenne.

Now came the gift-making, and again the Cheyennes held back. Some of the Minnetarees brought ammunition and placed it on the strouds, and the Cheyenne held the stem over it. Two Crows rose and addressed the Cheyennes, urging them to bring something to put under the stem. After much waiting three warriors brought in a few robes and some dressed leather and piled them on the ammunition. This encouraged the Minnetarees, and they gave three guns. The Cheyennes came back with three poor ponies. Choke-cherry growled and grunted in great wrath, and his followers brought two more guns and some corn and beans. This resulted in another sore-backed nag from the visitors. Then did Choke-cherry explode and demand what the Cheyennes meant by putting worthless creatures under the stem when the Minnetarees were giving good guns and powder and ball. The Cheyennes replied they would bring good horses when more guns were put under the stem.

Choke-cherry forgot diplomacy and roundly accused the Cheyennes of plotting to induce the Minnetarees to give up their weapons so that they might be helpless before an attack. This accusation of treachery was immediately followed by the Cheyennes hurrying back to the tents. We waited, thinking they were gone to bring more ponies. Then the warriors outside the medicine tent began calling out loudly, and we ran after Choke-cherry and Two Crows and beheld the Cheyennes striking their tents and preparing to ride off.

The young man who was to have been adopted galloped by us, riding one of the gift nags, leading the others and carrying the guns and ammunition. More than one bow was drawn taut as he flew by, but Choke-cherry, although convulsed with rage, knew better than to let war come while his brother was absent, and his stern commands, liberally mixed with mention of his brother's name, saved the young man's life.

The Cheyennes rode off in a body. The peace treaty had fallen through because of the Assiniboins. Yet the Minnetarees did not seem to attribute any blame to them and treated them kindly as we rode back to the village. Before arriving at the huts Choke-cherry turned toward the river, a mile away. On reaching it he directed Two Crows to bring a white buffalo hide. Flat Mouth explained to me and the girl that Choke-cherry feared he had handled the peace treaty badly and anticipated his brother's anger. To guard against this he now proposed to sacrifice a precious white robe. Such a hide, as I have remarked before, is the most highly valued by the Minnetarees of all their possessions. I could understand how the chief's brother was considerably worked up.

Two Crows came galloping back, not with a whole hide, for that was a liberality that even the gods had no right to expect, but a long strip. This seemed to answer perfectly, however, and was soon placed in a deep hole in the river and weighted down with rocks. Choke-cherry then made a long speech in which he said he knew what was to blame for the Cheyennes' behaviour, which he promised to duly report to his brother. Having done all he could to placate his gods, he morosely led the way home.

"You talked with the Cheyenne chief?" I murmured to Flat Mouth.

"He is Red Arrow, a brave warrior. He will wait three days to go with us to the Mouse."

"Why is he willing to do that?" I curiously asked.

"He knows I will pay him. He will make a good trade," was the evasive answer.

Choke-cherry halted at the first hut and, as we rode up, he glared at me viciously and shouted something. The Pillager interpreted—

"I know what stopped me from making peace with the Cheyennes."

"What was it?" I asked.

"Bad medicine."

"What was the medicine?" I knew what he would say before he spoke.

"The hair of the white woman," he grunted, switching his malignant gaze to Miss Dearness.

I warmly replied he was a fool and some other things, and that no treaty would be made with the Minnetarees when they took the Assiniboin snakes along with them.

"My brother is a very wise man. We shall see," he replied as he rode away.

The girl had interpreted his look and had heard Flat Mouth's Chippewa translation, and her hand was cold as ice as she rode closer and placed it on mine and whispered—

"It all comes back—my fear."

"Don't you worry a bit," I soothed. "We'll get out of here flying inside of twelve hours."

In my heart, however, a deadly chill was growing.

It was now dusk, and after leaving our ponies at the corral, I escorted Miss Dearness to the hut and lighted some bark in the fire-hole to drive away the gloom. Then I told her that we had better remain where we were until morning as the ride down the river would be dangerous. Surrounding the village were innumerable pits, eight feet or more deep, which the women filled with corn and beans each fall. These were all open, and to get clear of the place at night was to risk a broken leg or neck.

"But we must get away to-night," she fiercely insisted. "Any danger but this." She waved her hand to encompass the whole village. "You heard what he said about my medicine spoiling the treaty. I care nothing for that, but there is another danger. Oh, Mr. Franklin, you've been very good and patient with me—but get me out of here to-night!"

"Very well, we'll go to-night, but we can't return to the Mandans. We must risk crossing the Missouri at the mouth of the Knife and striking northeast. If we waited until to-morrow and started from the Mandans we might find a band of Cheyennes waiting to act as escort. The chief told the Pillager he would see us to the Mouse."

"I'd rather start from here to-night and travel alone than wait any longer," she said. "Perhaps Flat Mouth could swing to one side and pick up the Cheyennes. If not, then a ride for it, and a clean, quick death at the worst."

"There must be no talk of death," I rebuked. "We'll go and get through. I was only thinking of the difficulties in getting the horses across the Missouri, but with a bull-boat we ought to be able to tow them over, one at a time. Rest easy while I go and find the Pillager and arrange for him to get the horses from the corral."

I had passed through the door, closed it, and had heard the heavy bar drop across it, when a terrific screech rang out a few huts away and in the direction of the river. The cry was caught up and repeated. I stood undecided, my thumb resting on the hammer of my gun. The door opened back of me and she was beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder, her head tilted as she sought to read my face in the darkness. The village was now in an uproar.

"The Cheyennes must be attacking in force," I muttered.

"It's something very serious," she whispered. "Do you think you can manage to get the horses up here?"

"Stay inside! Let no one in," I said, stepping out and blundering between the huts, where the path in places was only a foot in width.

I passed between two huts and bumped into an Indian. His hands struck my chest to push me aside. Then the Pillager's voice was whispering—

"So it is you. I knew the cloth."

"What is the trouble? You've been running?"

The last deduction was not because his breathing was beyond normal, but because in clutching his wrists I felt his pulse racing.

"The Assiniboin spies will not go back to tell what they saw here," he hissed in my ear.

"Good God! You've killed them?" I muttered.

"Killed both. I promised the Cheyenne chief their scalps if he would give us warriors to go with us to the Mouse. I told you he would make a good trade."

"But they'll be after you!" I softly cried.

"Choke-cherry thinks the Cheyennes crept in and did it."

"It won't do for you to be seen. It might make them suspicious. Don't tell the white woman. Stand in front of the hut. I will bring up the horses. We must cross the Missouri at the mouth of the Knife and ride for it."

"The Cheyennes will be waiting near the Mandan village," he protested.

"And it's impossible to go down the river. We would lose too much time. If the Minnetarees chase us they will take that direction."

"Ho! Eshkebugecoshe, Chief of the Pillager Chippewas, needs no help in saving the white woman except the white woman's medicine."

He thumped his breast and might have broken into song if I had not quieted him.

I set off, making my way toward the centre of the pandemonium which seemed to focus around the corral. Lights were now springing up in the open places, the naked children dancing and piling on fuel and looking like so many devil's whelps.

Before I reached the corral the village was well illumined. I met Choke-cherry, who bawled out something I could not have understood even if I knew his language. But as he carried a gun and had his mouth stuffed with balls, I assumed he was expecting an attack from the Cheyennes. He caught my arm and led me to the door of a hut and ordered the mob to stand one side. As the command was obeyed I looked down a narrow lane of humanity and beheld the two Assiniboins. They had been killed with a knife, and both were scalped.

I slashed my fingers across my wrist, the sign for the Cheyennes, and he nodded. He stopped to harangue the crowd and I worked clear of the shambles and hurried on to the corral.

I reached the corral and was startled to behold a line of mounted men riding down a slight rise and toward me, being well within the light of the many fires. Although they were continually descending the rise, the head of the line never reached the corral. I watched for a minute, greatly puzzled. Then a stentorian voice rose with such tremendous volume as to carry a great distance. It was repeated several times and was answered from the centre of the village. In another moment several Indians came running by the corral, one of them swinging a torch. I recognized Choke-cherry and the Pillager in the group.

I called out to him and I knew he heard me, yet he kept on with the others to find the man with the loud voice. Knowing he would return when he had finished his errand, I proceeded to pick out our animals. As I led them out of the enclosure a warrior caught my arm and pointed interrogatively at the nags. I pointed out toward the open plain and then made the sign for Cheyenne and indicated I was taking the horses into a hut. He nodded and hurried on. I started to lead them away and a hand fell on my shoulder, and the Pillager was wrenching the halter ropes from my hands and hurriedly driving the ponies back into the corral.

"Why do you do that?" I demanded.

"Bad medicine at work," he gloomily answered. "Le Borgne comes back from the hunt. Did you not hear his voice? When he heard the noise in the village he knew something was wrong and has thrown a hundred of his hunters around the village with orders to shoot anyone trying to leave it. We must stay."

Without a word I followed him back through the excited throngs. Some perverse agency seemed to be thwarting us. Something of the girl's strange fear began to assail me. It was not Le Borgne, for a ball from my double-barrel would nicely eliminate him. It was, rather, that the whole village stood for ruthless and brutal domination through physical strength. When I came to the hut, tapped on the door, and gave my name, I was confronting the hardest task I had ever encountered.