Chapter VII

PARSONS AND ARCHER IN THE BLACKFOOT VILLAGE.

It was evening. In the centre of the Blackfoot village were two men well known to the reader--Parsons and his friend, Charles Archer. Without the lodge, could be heard the cat-like pace of a sentinel. At a few rods distance a long wigwam, the council-chamber of the Charred Stick section of the tribe, was located, and now and then a wild shriek, pealed forth by some brave, would reach the ears of the prisoners. Within, nothing was to be heard save the measured breathing of the two; both were sleeping.

The face of Waving Plume was very pale. From under a tight bandage upon his forehead, drops of blood, now clotted, had escaped; the hair on the front part of his head was matted together, and the appearance of the man gave evidence that he had not become a captive without a determined fight.

Loud and clear sounded the death-wail for fallen braves. Though successful in their foray upon the Crows, yet had the expedition, taken as a whole, resulted disastrously to the tribe. At least a dozen braves had fallen, and Talmkah, one of their bravest and boldest chiefs, dangerously, if not mortally wounded, in the abduction of Major Robison and his daughter. Thus, in the band of warriors that night gathered around the council-fire, there were deep mutterings, ominous frowns, sharp, blood-red speeches, and actions which told as loud as words, that the fate of the prisoners would be one both sudden and bloody.

The two slept on. Days of toil and nights of waking had so far exhausted them, that, even with the prospect of soon-approaching death, impending over them, they would calmly woo “tired nature’s sweet restorer,” and quietly and unbrokenly slumber, while bound, and prisoners in the Blackfoot town. They had slumbered perhaps an hour or so, when the entrance of three men into the hut aroused them. Two were Indians, but, by the light of the torch which one of them carried, to them, suddenly awakening, the third seemed to be a white man. Then, as the fumes of sleep rolled off, Charles Archer recognized one whom, of all others, he less wished to meet--Robison himself.

The Major, a weary, soul-depressed look upon his face, looked around, finally suffering his eye to rest for some seconds upon his fellow-prisoners before recognizing them. Then, as the Indians retired, leaving the three to themselves, he found tongue, addressing them with:

“So we once more meet. For once I am more pained than delighted at seeing a familiar face.”

“I can most heartily say the same,” was Archer’s response.

“Though the explanation of the fact of my being a prisoner here is most easy, I can hardly imagine how you came to fall into the hands of the Blackfeet again, once having been rescued, as I know, by our band of trappers. It can hardly be possible that they, along with you, are sharing the pains of captivity.”

“As far as my knowledge extends, they are in perfect safety. I find myself here as much through my own foolishness as through any other reason; yet, knowing, as I do, that I must have been imprudent, I can scarce give a sufficient account as to the means by which I was captured. Excitement, fatigue, grief, darkness and delay must have driven me partially out of my senses, so that I fell into the hands of the very men who were lurking along our trail.”

“It is strange,” said Waving Plume, “how misfortune seems to dog our every step. Not a move can we make, however fair it may, at the inception, appear, but we are plunged deeper into the mine of difficulties. You, the very embodiment of all caution, just at the critical time, losing presence of mind, seems to be sufficient cause to think that the fates are against us.”

And Parsons, too, had a word to say:

“By mighty, Major, things hes a villainy look. I’m expectin’ nothin’ ’cept the hull darned caboodle on us’ll jist be packed in here afore mornin’, an’ tomorrer they’ll make a bonfire out o’ some seven or eight most cussedly interestin’ subjects, of our weight an’ thickness. What the deuce are we goin’ to do?”

“We must hope for the best, knowing that while there is life there is hope. I have very little fears, for the present, for Hawkins and the rest of the boys, though I deeply regret that circumstances should have occurred to draw them toward so much danger. They are well-chosen men, with years of experience, and, though game to the back bone, there will be a method about their perseverance which will, as far as possible, preserve them from needless exposure to danger.”