Chapter XV: Hidden Workings

It was just after daylight when Olive awoke from her slumbers, but so busy had her brain been with dreams that it was some little time before she could realize her situation. Then she looked around for the squaw that had promised to be kind to her--saw that she was sitting at a little distance with her blanket drawn over her head, and whispered:

"Little Raven?" after thinking for some time upon the name she had but once heard.

"It is not Little Raven," was answered in a strange voice. "She is in the wigwams of the Sioux. What would the squaw of the pale-faces?"

"Alas! she promised to be my friend."

"And why should I not be?"

"Because all of your people appear to hate me."

"There are good and bad in every nation. One of your own race has been your worst enemy."

"It is too true. Where is he now?"

"Sleeping as the Raven left him."

"Then if you are a friend you will fly with me."

"There is no danger. The snake is scotched. He may turn his fangs upon himself but can bite no one else."

"Who are you?"

"A squaw!"

The word was accented with the most extreme bitterness, and for a moment her eyes flashed with outraged feelings, but seeing that the white girl shrunk from her in fear she smoothed her face, threw back her blanket and drawing nearer to Olive continued:

"The Burning Cloud."

"What is that?"

"My name, in the tongue of the pale-face. She is the friend of Little Raven, and will be yours. But first let me tell what you are longing to hear."

"Of whom?"

"Whose name does her heart whisper the most?"

The girl blushed until her face would have shamed the gorgeous crimson-pink of the prairie, and leaned forward anxiously; but she made no reply, and the young squaw continued:

"It is the Medicine of the pale-face, and he is safe."

"Heaven be praised!"

"She can thank the Manitou and the scout. But he has passed through terrible trials."

"Alas! that he also has had to suffer."

"When the black ravens of death were croaking into his ears, and in another hour he would have been wandering on the shores of the dark river that rolls between this and the country of souls, he waded through dangers as through a mighty flood and saved him."

"Tell me, that I may know how to thank him."

"He is himself upon the trail of death!" she replied, very slowly and sorrowfully, and with her eyes overflowing with tears. "But the Burning Cloud will save him or die!"

"You?" asked Olive, in astonishment.

"Can not one with skin like the chestnut, love as well as her who is like the lily?"

"Certainly. Hearts are the same. And you love--"

"I came not to talk of him. The Medicine is his friend, and for _his_ sake Burning Cloud would save you. Let her get up and come with me."

"Where?"

"If she doubts, she may follow her own trail. If she trusts, she may come."

Too weak to contend, even if she had been disposed to do so, Olive arose and accompanied her to the spot where the renegade, Parsons, was lying, bound hand and foot, and loudly cursing the one that had made him so.

"Little Raven," he said, as soon as the squaw came in sight, "what does this mean?"

"Let him look again," she replied, calmly, stepping forward, so as to give him a clear view of her face.

"You--I do not know you."

"But I do you," she hissed, rather than spoke.

"No, no. You are mistaken. I have never met you before."

"The pale thief has a bad memory or lies."

"I am certain I am right."

"Listen."

She briefly recounted what had transpired at their first meeting, and he trembled as a coward, as she proceeded:

"More than that, he has lied to the Little Raven, and this poor white squaw. But the dark-mouthed wolves of death are upon his trail."

"You are wrong," he stammered.

"Wrong? Does he know her?" and she dragged the unwilling Olive forward, and turning to her, said, as she held out her knife: "Take this and revenge yourself until your heart is satisfied. Cut away his skin, little by little, until his body looks as if spotted with the small-pox. Do any thing you wish so that you do not take his life. When death comes, it must be at the hands of the red-man."

"I can not--can not!" shrieked the white girl, as she turned away in horror, even at the thought.

"It is well for him," continued the savage-minded squaw, "that our places are not changed. Then, indeed, he might have reason to tremble, for I would have led him such a dance of death as would have made him crawl like a serpent in the dust, and beg for death. But will you take no revenge upon him?"

"None--none!" still gasped Olive.

"At but a little distance is a wet spot, where the reeds grow tall and the grass rank. There the musketoes and buffalo-gnats and the great green-headed flies breed and swarm. Will she help the Burning Cloud to drag him thither, so that they may sting him like thousands of needles, poison his flesh, and suck his blood, and yet he can not brush them off?"

"No; no!"

"The heart of the pale-face is too soft. The child of the red-man could sit by his side and laugh to see his struggles, and sing when he groaned."

"For the love of heaven," pleaded the affrighted Olive, "let us leave him and get to a place of safety."

"Leave him!" answered the squaw, in a voice that thrilled with emotion. "Leave him? You know not what you ask. A life worth as many thousands of his as there are sands on the sea-shore may be hanging upon it. But we will not stay here. There is yet a long trail to be traveled. Get up, dog!"

She kicked the prostrate form and made him struggle to his feet--a difficult task for one so cunningly fettered. But at last it was accomplished, and she loosened the bandages so as to enable him to walk. Then she took a stout thong of buck-skin from her girdle, looped it around his neck so that it would cut into the flesh and strangle him in case of resistance, and dragged him forward, as miserable, guilty, terrified a wretch as could have been found upon the entire face of the earth.

"For God's sake," he gasped, "have a little mercy."

"Did you have any on this poor girl?" she asked.

"If I must die, at least leave me in peace until then."

"If I could have my way," was the fierce response, "I would tie you to the tail of an unbroken colt, turn him loose, and let him drag you until every particle of flesh was torn off from your body inch by inch. But let him be dumb, or this!" and she pressed the sharp point of her knife against his side until it penetrated through the clothing and pierced the flesh.

Avoiding the beaten trail, the squaw--followed by the white girl--led her wretched captive--often sneering at him for being the prisoner of a woman--toward the village of the Sioux. Whatever was her purpose she kept it hidden within her own brain--would answer no questions--paused only when Olive was compelled to rest, and even denied the renegade a single drop of water, and drove him forward with her knife when his pace became too slow to suit her.

But, as the day drew on and they were nearing the village of her people--were passing through a deep, dark valley so narrow that the branches of the trees on either side bent over and interlocked, she suddenly paused--motioned Olive, and forcibly dragged her captive to the ground, drew the cord still more tightly around his throat, and holding the point of her knife in one hand, directly above his heart, lifted a great stone in the other, and whispered in his shrinking ear:

"Make the slightest noise--dare but to speak--breathe louder than common, and I swear by the Manitou that I will drive the knife through you before any one can come to your assistance."

Her face, terrible in its vindictiveness, told that she would not scruple to carry out her threat, and he shivered for fear accident might accomplish it even if design did not.

He knew better than she did that they were near the spot where his new friends had encamped--that a scouting party were upon the hill directly above them--that a single call would bring them to his side--would bring him freedom. Yet he dare make no sound--was forced to motionless silence. The line that sustained his life was as brittle as a spider's web. The fierce eyes of the Indian girl were upon him--the hand that held the knife as firm as a rock. In fact a single loud breath would have ended in a parting groan, and desperate as was his situation in other respects, a sigh of relief escaped him as the little party of white men passed along and Burning Cloud laid aside the heavy stone and withdrew her terrible weapon.

"Get up," she whispered, "and go on silently. By the Manitou of the pale-man as well as the red, I will strangle you and bury my weapon in your breast if you utter a single sound or make an effort to let any know you are here."

He could do nothing but obey, and journeyed wearily on until she bade him pause. Then she gave the low, plaintive cry of the whippowil, thrice repeated, and in an instant after her brother was by her side--her brother and the Little Raven.

"You will guard him more carefully than your life or honor," commanded Burning Cloud. "Keep him here until you hear from me again. Come," she continued to Olive, who was wondering what the end of this strange journey would be, and taking her by the hand she avoided the wigwams.

"Oh! tell me," asked Olive, who, from what she had seen, was afraid of her companion, "oh! tell me where you are going to take me."

"To safety and to--Hist!"

She drew her to the ground, and covered her with her blanket--bade her lie still as death, and left her side--left her alone for what seemed months. Then she returned, and her voice was sad and step heavy.

"Him I love," she said, no longer attempting to conceal her passion, "is a prisoner, and tied to the post of torture."

"Great heaven! The scout?"

"Even him. But don't talk. Come quickly."

"You have not yet told me where?"

Burning Cloud made no answer. She hurried the girl along regardless of all obstacles, and soon stopped in front of the walled-up cavern and removed one of the stones.

"What is your lover's name?" she asked, and then, as she hesitated, continued, "Call him."

Olive did so--was answered, and a moment after they were fast locked in each other's arms, and lip was responding to lip.

"Back with the stone into its place," hoarsely commanded the squaw. "Don't stir from here on peril of your lives. Now to save him or die in the attempt!"