Chapter XXXV: In the Chief’s Tipi

The others of the party realized that Louis knew more than they about Indians, so his view of what was best to do prevailed. He chose a spot back from the river bank on the brink of a narrow, steep sided ravine. A _coulee_ such a rift in the prairie was commonly called. There, in the open, nearly a half mile up river from the Indian encampment, camp was pitched.

The dangers of the situation were carefully concealed from the younger children. Elise and Marie were old enough to realize the peril, but they understood as well as their elders that they must not appear afraid. Both girls were frightened, but they tried pluckily not to give way to their fears. Mrs. Brabant set them a good example, going about the camp work in a cheerful, matter-of-fact way. Not even Louis guessed how she was suffering with anxiety and dread. While her lips smiled bravely, she was repeating over and over in her mind passionate prayers for her children’s safety. Though he understood less of the danger, and was by nature always hopeful that things would turn out all right, Mr. Perier too was far from easy in his mind. He regretted sincerely that he had brought Elise and Max on this dangerous journey. Still, as always, he hoped for the best. Of the four older boys, Raoul, the youngest and most reckless, was the least frightened and the most thrilled by the adventure. The feelings of the others were of mingled fear, excitement, and manly pride in the responsibility laid upon them. The red-headed Highland lad, cleaning his gun carefully, was almost hoping for a fight. Louis and Walter, though determined to protect their camp at any cost to themselves if that should be necessary, were racking their brains for ways to avoid conflict of any kind. They must avoid it or their little party would be wiped out.

At first the Indians left the white men to themselves. Before the evening meal was over, however, visitors arrived, announced by a warning growl from Askimé. Into the firelight stalked the sturdy, strong-faced brave who had led the advance party. He was followed by two younger men. Both were slender, wiry fellows, and one was distinctly handsome in a Roman-nosed, high-cheeked, hawk-eyed style. The other was disfigured by a broken and crooked nose.

The young men stood impassive, while the elder made a sign of greeting and said “How” in his deep voice.

Louis, who had risen, returned the “How” and motioned the visitors to seats by the fire, the others moving closer together to make room. Foreseeing that there might be guests, Mrs. Brabant had made more tea and heated more pemmican than usual. She helped the guests liberally, and they ate in silence. When each was satisfied, he carefully placed his cup and plate upside down on the ground.

“_Minnewakan?_” the elder warrior inquired, as if he had not asked the question before.

Louis shook his head and passed out some tobacco. There was silence, while each Indian gravely smelled of his portion, and stowed it away in his beaded buckskin fire bag.

Then the man with the crooked nose pointed to Askimé, who lay at Louis’ feet, keeping a watchful eye on the strangers. “_Nitshunka?_” he asked, looking at Louis.

The boy had never heard the word before. He did not know whether the fellow was inquiring if the dog was his, or offering to buy it. In answer he laid one hand on Askimé’s head, and touched his own breast with the other. The young Indian promptly took off the necklace of beasts’ and birds’ claws he wore, and held it out. But Louis shook his head emphatically, saying “_Non, non_.”

The broken-nosed man nodded gravely, and replaced the necklace, but he continued to gaze at the dog. It was plain that he was anxious to get Askimé by some means or other.

The elder brave soon brought the call to a close. Rising to his feet, he pointed first in the direction of the Indian camp, and then to Louis and Walter in turn. He said something in his own language, drew his forefinger across his forehead, and pointed again towards the camp. The drawing of the forefinger across the forehead was the common sign for a hat-wearer or white man.

Louis’ curiosity was aroused. He drew his finger across his own head, then pointed to his breast.

The Indian shook his head. It was some other white man he meant. Again he made the sign, with his left hand, while he pointed towards the camp with his right. At the same time he spoke the word for trader.

Louis nodded to show that he understood.

The Indian gave a little grunt, and once more pointed to the boys in turn, then to the camp. He repeated the hat-wearer sign and the word trader.

Louis turned to Walter. “There is a white man with that band, a trader. I am sure that is what this fellow means. And he wishes us to go to the camp and see the man. Perhaps the white man has sent for us.”

“Shall we go?” asked Walter. “Do you think it is safe?”

“I do not know if it is safe,” was the thoughtful reply, “but _I_ must go I think. If I do not he will think I am afraid. And I want to discover if there really is a white trader there, and talk with him. He may be our one chance of safety. Sometimes the traders have great influence. Yes, I must go.”

Louis indicated his willingness to accompany the Indians, but the elder man was still unsatisfied. He kept pointing at Walter.

“I am going too, Louis,” the latter decided. He glanced around the little circle. “Do you suppose the others will be all right while we are away?”

“There is risk to all of us, all the time, whatever we do,” Louis returned gravely. “It is not good for our party to be separated. Yet I do not think they try to separate us. Why should they, when we are so few, and they are so many? No, I think that white trader has sent for us, and we had best go.” He turned to Neil and Raoul. “Keep close watch,” he warned, “and you, Raoul, make a big pile of dry grass and wood. If anything happens to alarm you, light it, and we shall see the flames, and come at once.”

“If we can,” Walter added to himself. He did not voice his doubt. He knew they must take the risk; he saw that quite clearly.

There was a frightened look in Elise’s eyes. She laid her hand on Walter’s arm. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

“I must, little sister. I can’t let Louis go alone. We will be back soon.”

Mrs. Brabant’s face had turned pale, but she made no protest. As for Mr. Perier, the news that there was a white man with the Indians had gone far to reassure him of their friendliness and good intentions.

The three braves had come unarmed, so courtesy required that Louis and Walter should not take their guns, reluctant though they were to leave them behind. The Indians were on foot, and all went back in the same manner. The long twilight was deepening, as the five took their silent way towards the firelit group of tipis that had sprung up from the prairie like some strange mushroom growth. The air was hot, still, and oppressive. Dark clouds lay low on the western and southern horizon.

The Indian camp was a noisy place. As the party approached, their ears were assailed by a variety of sounds; the neighing and squealing of ponies, the howling and yelping of dogs, the shouting of children, the voices of the women, the tones of the old squaws cracked and shrill, calling, laughing, and scolding, the toneless thumping of a drum and the clacking of rattles accompanying the harsh monotone of some medicine man’s chant, and a hundred other noises. Hobbled horses fed on the prairie grass around the circle of lodges. A whole pack of snarling, wolfish dogs rushed out as if to devour the newcomers, but did not dare to approach very close for fear of a beating. The buffalo skin tipis were lit up with cooking fires without and within. The mingled odors of wood smoke, boiling and roasting meat, tobacco and _kinnikinnick_,—osier dogwood or red willow bark shredded and added to tobacco to form the Indian smoking mixture,—filled the air.

The little party were close to the tipis, when a man came out to meet them. He spoke to the older brave, and an argument followed. Unable to understand the conversation, the boys stood waiting, and wondering what was going on. Evidently the two Indians were disagreeing, but the only words Louis recognized were _minnewakan_ and the term for trader.

It was the lads’ conductor who yielded at last. He gave a grunt of sullen assent, gestured to the boys to follow the other, turned on his heel, and stalked off. The stranger led the way among the lodges.

Walter had never visited an Indian camp, and curiosity was getting the better of his fears. The squaws and children were quite as curious about the white men. The women left their various occupations, and ceased their gossiping and scolding, the children stopped their play and quarreling, to stare at the strangers. Their inquisitiveness was open and frank, but did not seem unfriendly. The men, lounging about at their ease, eating, smoking, polishing their weapons, or doing nothing whatever, disdained to show interest in the newcomers. Their casual glances were indifferent rather than hostile. Walter noted that these people were in the habit of dealing with traders. Many of the loose, shapeless garments the women wore were of bright colored cotton, instead of deerskin. Some of the men had shirts or leggings of scarlet cloth. The boy’s courage rose. So far there was nothing to fear.

The lodges were arranged in two irregular circles, one within the other. In the center of the inner open space, stood a solitary tipi of unusual size. From it, apparently, came the sounds of drum, rattles, and chant. Walter wondered if it was there that he and Louis were being led. Surely a white man would not—— But the guide had turned to the right, and was pulling aside the skin curtain that covered the entrance to one of the lodges in the circle. He motioned to the boys to enter.

Walter followed Louis in, and looked about him. The fire on the ground in the center of the tipi was smouldering smokily, and the forms of the men beyond were but dimly visible. Louis went forward unhesitatingly. At the right of the fire, he paused, and Walter stepped to his side.

Someone threw a piece of buffalo fat on the fire. The flames leaped up, casting a strong light on the bronze bodies of six or seven seated men. All were nearly naked, except the slender young man in the center. He wore scarlet leggings and a blue coat with scarlet facings; an old uniform coat that must once have belonged to some white officer. The young Indian’s chest was bare and adorned with paint. A necklace of elk teeth, with a silver coin as a pendant, was his principal ornament. There were eagle feathers in his scarlet head band, and his coarse, black hair, which hung in two braids over his shoulders, glistened with grease. The swarthy face of the young chief, as the firelight revealed it, struck Walter with instant distrust and dislike. The wide mouth was loose lipped. The dark eyes—large for an Indian—that he fastened on the boys were bloodshot and fierce.

Louis stood straight and motionless, steadily returning the young chief’s gaze. Drawing himself up to his full height, Walter tried to imitate his comrade’s bold bearing. After a few minutes of this silent duel of glances, during which the fire died down again, the chief deigned to speak.

His first words were apparently an inquiry as to whether the white men were traders. Louis shook his head. Then came a request,—it sounded more like a demand,—for _minnewakan_.

Again Louis shook his head. Stepping forward, he offered the chief the gifts he had brought him, a twist of tobacco, a paper of coarse pins, and a piece of scarlet cloth. Though the boys had expected to be led directly to the white trader, Louis had thought it best to go provided with a few courtesy presents for the head man of the band. The chief accepted the things in silence.

On the chance that the fellow or someone of his companions might know a little French, Louis proceeded to explain that he and his party were peaceful travelers from the Selkirk Colony on their way to the trading post at Lake Traverse. Whether anyone understood what he said the boy could not tell.

When Louis had finished, the chief made a speech, a long speech, delivered in an impressive, even pompous manner, with frequent pauses for effect. At each pause, his companions in chorus uttered an approving “Uho, uho!” That was the way the exclamation sounded to Walter. He could understand nothing of the chief’s oration, of course, but he got the idea that the young man liked to listen to his own voice.

Among the voices that cried out “Uho,” there was one deep pitched one that affected the Swiss boy in a peculiar manner. It sent a sudden chill of fear over him. And there was something familiar about it. He glanced around the group to see to which man that voice belonged. The fire had nearly burned out, and the lodge was so dark he could distinguish the figures but dimly. At the third exclamation of approval, he made up his mind that the voice that affected him so strangely came from the man on the chief’s right. During the few moments when the firelight had been bright enough to reveal the Indians, Walter had noticed nothing about that man except his size. He was a big fellow, broad shouldered and tall, overtopping the chief by several inches, though the latter was not short. The big man’s features the boy had not seen, for they were in the shadow of the scarlet blanket the fellow held up, apparently to shield his face from the heat.

The speaker brought his oration to a sonorous close. There was a chorus of loud “uhos.” As if for dramatic effect, another chunk of fat was thrown upon the fire. The flames shot up again, and cast their light upon the chief and his courtiers.

Walter gasped. He felt Louis’ fingers close upon his arm and grip it tight in warning. The blanket no longer concealed the face of the big brave on the chief’s right. The amazed boys were staring straight at the glittering, bright eyes and thin-lipped, cruel mouth of the Black Murray. It seemed incredible, impossible, but it was so.

The big warrior, a Sioux Indian in every detail; braided hair and feathers, big-muscled, bronze body naked except for the breech cloth and the handsome scarlet blanket about his shoulders, chest and arms adorned with streaks and circles of red and black paint, was the former Hudson Bay voyageur, Murray. If it had been possible to mistake that regular featured, sinister face, with its glittering eyes and scornful smile, the silver chain around his neck, with Mr. Perier’s watch hanging upon his chest, must have removed all doubts. He was the Black Murray beyond question.