p464-094 CHAPTER VII. WE ARE MADE PRISONERS.

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A SUDDEN stillness succeeded these horrible yells, the
trampling of horses was no longer heard, and I knew that
we were completely surrounded by a large body of
Indians.

An awful sickening feeling came over me, as I contemplated
our probable doom. Death, speedy and bloody—
or, what was scarcely a less terrible alternative, a wretched
captivity. Poor Clara! what a fate for her! In that
fearful moment, could I have purchased her freedom and
safety with my life, I would freely have given it.

A thousand thoughts now crowded themselves upon me
at once—for in moments of extreme peril, the mind seems
to expand so as to grasp a hundred subjects at the same
time. I thought of home and the friends there, and what
painful affliction the mystery of my fate would cause them.
I thought of myself—young, just setting out in life, and
with every thing to make life desirable—doomed to hopeless
misery or death. I thought of Harley—of Viola—of
Clara—of her parents—her brother—her aunt—what all
these last must think and say of us. And all this, and
much more, in that space of time which is measured by two
vibrations of the pendulum of a clock! Surely, intellect is
Godlike! and possesses, though in a very limited degree,
the omnipresent attribute of Deity.

The yells of the savages had so terrified Clara as to

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render her incapable of speech or motion; and this I
thought so far fortunate, that we had not betrayed ourselves
to them; and if, as I hoped, they knew not of our
presence within the thicket, there was a bare possibility we
might yet escape. I dared not communicate this to my
companion, even in a whisper—for I had often read of the
keenness of the Indian ear in catching and distinguishing
sounds—but I put my finger to her lips, as a sign that I
wished her to remain perfectly silent. She did so, whether
she understood my meaning or not.

Presently I heard a movement in the bushes; and directly
after, a deep, guttural voice, addressing some words
in an unknown tongue to the strange being within the hut.
The latter seemed to understand the Indian, for he replied,
apparently in the same language. I then heard him moving
about inside, as if collecting some of his things for a
sudden departure. In a few moments he quitted the hut,
and spoke some words to the Indian outside, when both
moved away together.

I now really began to entertain some hope that we
should be overlooked and left to ourselves—though I trembled
at the idea that our late host might betray us. I am
inclined to think, however, I did him injustice by this suspicion;
but, at all events, my horse, at this critical instant,
gave a loud snort; and my heart died within me, for I felt
that it was in vain to hope for concealment longer.

I now heard exclamations, as of surprise, among the
savages; and then something uttered in a commanding
tone, as by one invested with authority. Then the voice
of the Hermit, as I will term the owner of the hut by way
of convenience, called out to us:

“Ride out here, my friends, and surrender yourselves
prisoners. Resistance will not avail you, and to attempt
it will cost you your lives.”

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“Alas! dear Clara, we are doomed,” I said.

“May God protect us!” she replied, in a low, sad tone,
which, greatly to my surprise, seemed in no degree tremulous.

We now rode out of the thicket upon the plain, and
were immediately surrounded by some eight or ten dismounted
Indians, among whom was the Hermit. The
latter came up to my side, and said:

“My friend, I am sorry for you—but it was no fault of
mine.”

“What will be done with us?” I inquired.

“Of that I know no more than yourself,” he answered.
“As you have made no resistance, I think your lives are
safe for the present.”

“What tribe is this?”

“The warriors were originally from various tribes; but
are now organized under one leader, and term themselves
Wepecoolahs—which, in English, signifies Forest-Rangers.
The name of their chief is Kenneloo, or Death-Arrow.”

“You are, then, no stranger to them?”

“Alas! no, we are too well acquainted.”

“Then since you know them, and can speak their language,
perhaps you can prevail upon the chief to release
us, or put us to ransom!” I rejoined, eagerly. “Oh! sir,
if you can and will do this, I will hold my life as yours to
dispose of.”

“I will do what I can,” he replied; “but count not too
much on my influence with this bloody chief, for I am a
prisoner myself.”

“How! you a prisoner?—you seem to be free.”

“I am not bound—for I have pledged my word not to
escape, and Kenneloo knows he can trust me—but still I
am none the less a prisoner.”

`And what do they intend to do with you?”

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“They say I must go with them—but for what purpose
I have not yet been informed.”

While the Hermit and I were thus conversing, the group
of dismounted savages had been walking slowly around
Clara and myself, examining us, our horses and equipments.
They put their hands on the necks of our beasts,
and let them slide down their breasts; they felt of their
flanks, and then of us, and peered into our faces. Apparently
they were satisfied with the capture of what had
cost them nothing, for they gave several grunts of approval,
and then held a short consultation among themselves.
They then called the Hermit to their council; and
after an absence of a few minutes, he returned to me, and
said:

“I am desired by Kenneloo to inform you, that unless
you attempt to escape, your lives for the present are safe.
You will also be allowed for the present to retain your
horses, and will be sent off under an escort of four trusty
warriors.”

“Sent whither?” I inquired.

“I have not been informed—probably to the village of
the Wepecoolahs,” he replied.

“And what will become of the others, meantime?”

“Indians,” he answered, gravely, “never venture this
far into the territory of the whites, except for trade or
plunder; and you may draw your own conclusion as to the
purpose of the present party, when I inform you they
carry nothing but deadly weapons.”

“And go you with them, to aid them in their bloody
designs upon your race?”

“I go with them, an unwilling prisoner, sir,” he replied,
haughtily; “and I thank you not for your base suspicions.”

“I only meant to inquire if it were their intention to
put you to so severe a trial,” I hastened to rejoin, in a

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conciliating tone. “If I wounded your feelings, I crave
your pardon! But did you state my proposition to the
chief, of putting us to ransom?”

“I did; but he will not do so for the present. Much
will depend upon the success of this expedition, whether or
not you ever regain your freedom.”

“And are there no terms on which he will set my companion
at liberty?”

The Hermit walked away to the chief, spoke aside with
him for a few moments, and returning, replied:

“No, she must go with you; and if you attempt to escape,
and succeed, her life will be sacrificed.”

“Alas! poor Clara! would to Heaven I could save you,
even with my life, from so dire a fate!” I said, taking her
hand, as we sat side by side on our horses.

“I would not accept liberty at any sacrifice to yourself,
Mr. Walton,” she replied, in a tone that betrayed deep
emotion. And then, after a brief pause, she added, with
what seemed an impulsive gush of feeling: “No, Henry
Walton—dear Henry—I would go with you even to the
grave.”

This language of endearment, expressive of the deepest
and purest affection, coming so unexpectedly from the lips
of Clara, made my heart beat wildly; and for a few moments
I hardly knew which emotion predominated—joy at
the avowal, or grief for the peculiar circumstances which
drew it forth. I was at once the happiest and the most
miserable of men: happy, in knowing that Clara truly
loved me—miserable, in remembering that we were both
captives to a barbarous foe.

“God bless you, dear Clara, for these sweet words!” I
hastened to reply; “and whatever may be my fate, they
shall mark a green spot on the waste of life; and I
will treasure them in my heart of hearts forever.”

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At this moment the moon streamed her soft rays through
the broken clouds, and bathed us in a flood of silver light.
I caught at it as a favorable omen.

“Behold!” I cried; “light breaks in upon darkness,
and tranquility again reigns where so late the elements
waged terrific battle! The storm of adversity has fallen
upon us; but, I trust in God, it will pass, and that the sun
of prosperity will once more make glad our hearts, even as
you queen of night casts her mild radiance over a scene so
lately wrapt in awful gloom.”

As I said this in a low tone to Clara, an Indian rode in
between us, and another on the other side of me; when
both proceeded to fasten my arms in such a way that I
could make no other use of them than to hold the reins
and guide my beast. But I was thankful for even this
privilege, when I might have been put to so much severer
treatment; and which, in fact, I rather expected than
otherwise.

Having made my hands fast, they proceeded to search
my person, taking away my revolvers, my watch, money,
and such other articles as I chanced to have about me.
The watch, pistols, and money, seemed to afford them an
agreeable surprise; for they uttered grunts of delight;
and riding away a few paces, they dismounted, and collected
their companions around them, to the number of
more than fifty.

The moon now shining out bright and clear, I had a
fair view of the whole party, as one after the other they
busied themselves in handling the revolvers—whose numerous
barrels seemed to strike them as very curious—and
the watch, whose regular ticking caused them great
wonder and delight.

They were a villanous looking body of men—half-naked,
bedaubed with paint, their faces streaked black and

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red, and their crowns shaved, all but a single tuft of hair
in the centre, which was adorned with the feather of some
wild bird—with bows in their hands, sheafs of arrows to
their backs, and tomahawks and scalping-knives in their
girdles; but notwithstanding their fierce, formidable, and
utterly disagreeable appearance—and notwithstanding
that I was their prisoner, whom death only might release
from captivity—I could scarcely avoid laughing at the
comical gravity they displayed over the watch, each apparently
attempting to be more wise and knowing than his
companions. One would take it, examine it attentively,
particularly its face, by the light of the moon, turn it over
and over, put it to his ear, and then, with the manner of
one who had made some important discovery, would point
out something that had struck him as peculiar, and
hand it to the next, with a self-satisfied air that was truly
ridiculous.

Thus it went from one to another—the revolvers following
next in the examination, and going the same round;
and when the last one of the party had given an opinion
of his own on the articles, the Hermit—who, with folded
arms, had been standing silently apart—was called up to
the group, and all seemed to turn to him, as to one unanimously
chosen umpire, to decide which was right.

This proceeding probably occupied some quarter of an
hour, which time I spent in conversing with Clara, in a
low tone. I was agreeably surprised to find one who had
been so timid at the bare thought of danger, so calm and
firm in the real moment of peril; and I called to mind
her words when speaking of such an event. Her face, as
I beheld it by the light of the moon, was very pale—the
lips seemed unusually compressed—and the eyes, those
soft, melting blue eyes, had a clear, resolute expression,
that bespoke a firmness of character far beyond what

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I had ever given her credit for possessing. The look altogether
was rather stern than timid—every feature was
composed—not a single member of the body appeared to
quiver—and I could not detect the slightest tremor in her
voice.

She spoke of our captivity as a sad event; but said
that our lives were in the hand of God—that in him she
put her trust—and that whatever might happen, she
prayed for resignation to say, “Thy will, O God! not
mine, be done!” She said her loss would be a very
severe blow to her family, and she feared that evil tongues
might start some scandalous tale of our being absent
together; but even of this—of home, and all connected
therewith—she spoke with a calmness, a lofty resignation,
that astonished me; and if I loved her before, as one
loves a tender object needing protection, I now mingled
with that love a certain feeling of admiration, which only
superior qualities can excite.

As soon as the Hermit had answered the questions propounded
to him, he and the chief advanced to my side.
The latter was a large, athletic Indian; but save a few
extra ornaments, in the way of feathers—if such things
indeed could be called ornaments—I could perceive
nothing to distinguish him from his fellows.

“Kenneloo,” said the Hermit, addressing me, “would
know how many watches you are willing to give for your
ransom, and that of your companion?”

“Ask him to name the number he will accept,” I replied,
eagerly.

The two held a brief conversation, when the Hermit
rejoined:

“He will take a hundred.”

“And I will give them,” was my answer.

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Again the Hermit spoke with the chief; and then continued
to me:

“But how, when, and where, is he to obtain them?”

“I will deliver them at any place he may name, within
a reasonable distance, and within ten days from our reaching
Houston.”

This was translated to the chief, who only slightly understood
English; and he was in the act of making some
reply to the Hermit, when we were all startled by the report
of a pistol.

Suddenly there was a great commotion among the
Indians; and immediately some fifteen or twenty came
running toward us, uttering yells of rage.

Their object, as I soon learned, was to sacrifice Clara
and myself on the spot; but their bloody design was frustrated
by the chief, who promptly interposed, and inquired
into the cause of the disturbance.

It seems that in handling the revolvers, some one had
discovered the trigger of one, had pulled it down to its
place, and, bent on new discoveries, had pressed his finger
hard against it, by which means one of the barrels had instantly
been discharged, lodging a ball in the breast of
another, who chanced to be standing directly in front of
the muzzle. This had excited both consternation and rage;
and the latter feeling was directed against us, for having,
as they superstitiously believed, bewitched the weapon to
do them harm.

As I have said, the interposition of the chief prevented
the immediate retaliation, and gave the Hermit an opportunity
to explain to them that they, rather than we, were
in fault.

The result was, after a long discussion—during which the
Hermit in some degree succeeded in his efforts to pacify
them—that they agreed to relinquish present vengeance.

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But the treaty concerning ransom was abruptly broken off—
the chief declaring that we should be held as prisoners,
to be finally disposed of according to future circumstances.

This being settled, we were immediately joined by our
guard—four stout, grim-looking fellows—while the others,
remounting by the chief's orders, dashed swiftly away,
taking the Hermit with them, to whom they assigned the
horse of the disabled warrior.

p464-104 CHAPTER VIII. A LONG JOURNEY.

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On the departure of the main body of the savages, two
of our guard kept their station by us, while the other two
proceeded to remove the wounded Indian into the hut.

They were absent nearly half an hour; and on rejoining
us, I perceived a fresh scalp dangling at the girdle of one
who appeared to be the leader of the four. He slightly
touched it, in a significant way, as he came up; and then
each uttered a long, low, mournful wail.

I concluded from this that their companion had died of
his wounds, and that he had been scalped by his friends,
to prevent such a barbarous trophy falling into the hands
of an enemy.

It is strange what importance the red men of the forest
attach to the small bit of skin growing upon the top of the
head! But such is the disgrace attending the loss of this,
among some of the tribes, that a warrior would much
sooner part with his life; and instances are on record, of
many a daring brave having rushed into the very jaws of
death, to prevent the scalp-lock of a deceased friend becoming
the property of his foe.

The returned savages having remounted their horses,
they arranged themselves, two on either side of us; and the
signal being given to start, away we dashed, in a northerly
direction.

We crossed the creek, which our animals were made to
leap, and away we sped over the plain. It was a glorious

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scene, as, all traces of the storm having disappeared, the
round, full moon poured her silvery flood through the blue
arch of heaven down upon the teeming earth.

A ride of some three hours brought us to a small woodland,
which, unlike most we had seen through the day, had
a thick, almost impenetrable undergrowth; and as my beast
and Clara's had showed signs of unusual fatigue during
the last few miles, the Indians concluded on making a halt
here.

Accordingly we all dismounted, and Clara and I were
bound to a couple of saplings, to make sure against our
escape. The Indians then proceeded to start a fire on the
edge of the thicket, so that its light would be thrown far
out upon the prairie, where the horses were allowed to
graze, after first being hoppled to prevent their running
away. They then produced some dried meat, and a kind
of hard cake, made from Indian corn, something like a
tortilla, with which they appeased their hunger, slaking
their thirst with water from a near spring, which one of
the party brought in a small gourd that they carried
with them.

When their own meal was finished, one of them came to
us, and made signs to know if we were hungry. My appetite
had become rather keen from my day's ride, and I
gave an affirmative nod, my head being the only part of
me now at liberty.

“And you must eat also,” I said to Clara, as the Indian
returned to his companions to get us food; “for there
is no knowing when the next meal will be made; and nature
must have sustenance, or you will droop by the way.”

“For this reason,” replied Clara, “I will endeavor to
eat—though I have no appetite.”

On rejoining us, the Indian unbound our hands, and I
had the satisfaction of seeing Clara devour more of the

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coarse food than I had expected; while on my part, I made
quite a hearty meal—not so much because I relished the
fare, as because I thought it necessary to keep up my
strength for the trial before me. Water was then given us
from the gourd; after which such alterations were made in
our fastenings, as would enable us to lie down upon the
damp earth.

I confess that my bed was none of the best; nor was my
situation, all things considered, a very agreeable one; but
notwithstanding all this, I gradually fell asleep—and this
the more readily, that one of the savages had intimated by
signs to Clara and myself that we must hold no conversation
with each other.

The last recollections I have of that night, are of seeing
three of our guard stretched out on the earth, within the
firelight, and the fourth keeping watch, leaning against a
tree; and of wondering to myself if poor Clara slept, and
what kind of a fate the great future had in store for us.
With this I gradually closed my eyes; and with these
thoughts, as it were flickering about my brain, I gradually
went off into the land of dreams, and thence passed into
the unconscious state of a deep, heavy sleep.

I slept for several hours; and was finally awakened by
one of my captors, who signified that it was time to resume
our journey. The moon I now perceived was far in the
west, and already the gray light of breaking morn was
mingling with her silver rays.

Clara was already up, and standing near, her soft, blue
eyes fixed upon me with an expression of mournful resignation
that went to my very heart. Her features were very
pale, and I thought I could detect traces of recent tears.

“Have you slept any, Clara?” I inquired, in a tone
which, in spite of myself, was tremulous with deep feeling.

“But little,” she answered; and was about to add

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something more, when one of our guard stepping in
between us, and taking hold of her arm, silently pointed
to her horse, which, together with mine, stood bridled and
saddled close by.

In a few minutes we were all under way—the Indians
riding their horses bare-back, and managing them with
halters made of thongs.

For hours we dashed away to the northward, keeping
clear of any thing like a settlement, or even the habitation
of civilized man. This somewhat surprised me; for
I knew there must be several towns and forts above us,
to say nothing of the log-cabins of white settlers scattered
in every direction; but our captors appeared to be perfectly
familiar with their route—which led me to the conclusion
that they knew a way of penetrating low into the
country, perhaps to the very Gulf, without necessarily
coming in contact with their white foes—and that this was
neither the first nor second time the present party had
been over the ground.

For hours, I say, we dashed away in a northerly direction;
and during this time scarcely a word was spoken;
and then only by the leader, who once or twice addressed
his companions, probably to communicate something concerning
the journey.

The sun meantime had risen bright and glorious, and
was now half way to the zenith. My impression concerning
our captors, now that I beheld them by the clear light
of day, was in no degree more favorable than when I had
first seen them by the rays of the moon the night previous.
They were fierce, blood-thirsty looking savages;
and as I gazed upon their half-naked, painted, hideous persons,
I began to wonder why we had been treated with so
much lenity—or why, in fact, we had not been murdered
and scalped at once. But perhaps, I thought to myself—

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and the very idea made my blood run cold—we are thus
carefully protected and reserved for more inhuman treatment—
that of dying at the stake by slow tortures.

During the morning's ride, no opportunity was allowed
me of speaking a word to my fair companion. With an
Indian on either side of me, I rode in advance of Clara,
who was guarded in the same way. By turning my head,
I could occasionally catch a glimpse of her sweet features.
Her face was deadly pale, but still exhibited an expression
of mournful resignation. Poor girl! how I pitied her!
and how gladly would I have laid down my life to place
her once more in safety within her father's mansion!

The prairie, which thus far had been nearly as level as
a floor, now began to exhibit a rolling, wave-like surface,
and the vegetation to be less beautiful and luxuriant.
The grass grew taller, and the blades became more sparse,
coarse, and wiry; while the flowers became less and less
frequent, and exhibited far less variety of color.

At length we reached the timber-lands of some river,
the name of which is unknown to me, and plunged into a
deep wood, through which we rode to the bank of the
stream, where our captors made a halt. Here we all dismounted,
and our horses were again allowed to graze upon
a sward that was green and rich, though shadowed with
trees.

The Indians now broke their own fast, and on the same
kind of food they had eaten the night before; and after
they had done, a portion was offered us, which we were
not loth to accept—for our long, weary ride now rendered
even this coarse fare quite palatable.

We remained in this place some two or three hours, and
then resumed our journey—fording the stream, and continuing
on northward, over a hilly, wooded country, till
the sun went down—when our captors, finding our beasts

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

were the worse for the day's travel, camped for the night,
greatly to our relief and satisfaction, for poor Clara was
so fatigued as scarcely to be able to sit her horse.

But I will not trouble the reader with a detail of our
progress on our long and toilsome journey. One day
went much as another, without the occurrence of any
striking incidents to vary the tiresome monotony. We
were nightly secured against even an attempt at escape,
by being bound, and carefully watched by some one of the
four; and at the break of day each morning we were
obliged to mount our horses and ride whithersoever our
captors willed.

During all this time, Clara and I seldom exchanged
any thing more than looks—for the Indians liked not that
we should converse with each other—and in fact they
spoke but little among themselves.

A week's journey took us far to the northward; and
already we could feel a great change in the temperature—
the air being much cooler and more bracing through the
day, and the nights often so cold as to render a fire indispensable
to comfort. Here, too, we could perceive the
marks of frost, in the variegated hue of the woodlands;
and more than once I felt chilled to the very bone, by cold
blasts that came sweeping down from the far distant mountains,
on whose summits ice and snow hold an eternal
reign.

At length we crossed a large stream—which, from its
peculiar appearance, I am led to think was the Red
River; and two days after this we ascended a steep hill,
and looked down into a deep valley, where, along the
bank of a small stream that flowed through it, we beheld
some fifty Indian huts, being the first habitations of any
kind we had seen since our capture.

The moment the Indians got a full view of their village

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

—for such it really was—they uttered loud yells of
delight; and three of them darted away, running their
horses as if on a race, leaving the fourth to follow more
leisurely with ourselves. I took advantage of this departure
of the majority of our guard, to ride up to the side
of Clara; and as the only remaining Indian seemed more
interested in watching his companions than us, we improved
the opportunity by exchanging a few words in a
low tone.

“At last, dear Clara,” I said, “I think we have reached
our present destination.”

“Heaven send it be so!” she replied, with a sigh—“for
I am nearly worn out.”

“I am not surprised at it, Clara—but rather, that you
have borne up so well, against so much fatigue and excitement,
and you so delicately framed. I can see but little
change in your appearance, save that exposure has darkened
your complexion, and that you have the forlorn look
of one who labors under grief without hope.”

“I have no hope now,” she replied, mournfully, “save
in the grave.”

“Nay, say not so; while there is life, there always
should be hope; and the same Providence that has seen
fit to place us in our present condition, may yet enable us
to escape, and restore us to our friends.”

“I would I could think such an event might ever be;
but no, no—alas! no—I am doomed!” she mournfully
rejoined. “But now that we are here,” she pursued,
“what think you will be done with us?”

“It is possible we may be well treated and put to ransom,”
I replied, with a view to excite some hope in her
breast, that she might not altogether give way to melancholy.
“You see we have not as yet received any
rougher treatment than our captors may have thought

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

necessary to secure us against escape; and when the chief
returns, with the Hermit to act as interpreter, I trust I
can make it seem more to his interest and advantage to
let us go, than to keep us prisoners, or put us to death.”

“You say this to me—but do you truly believe yourself
what you say?” cried Clara, quickly, turning full
upon me.

“I believe we shall ultimately escape,” I answered,
somewhat evasively.

“God grant we may!” rejoined Clara, earnestly.
“Oh! my mother! my poor dear mother! could you see
your child now, how it would wring your heart! And
yet,” she quickly added, “I know not that it would add to
her present grief—for even now she is mourning me as
lost—buried in a dark uncertainty—and knows not
whether to weep for my death, or a living woe more
terrible. Oh! what will my friends think of my absence?
how will they bear this cruel stroke of fate? My dear
mother, and father—my dear sister, and brother—shall
these eyes ever behold you again in life? Alas! alas! I
fear they have looked their last upon your dear faces;
and that if ever we meet again, it will be where none do
part. Oh, God! support me! let me not murmur! but
be ever ready to say, `Thy will, not mine, be done!' ”

The hill we were descending was steep, and some parts
of it were heavily wooded; but directly before us, down to
the village, the trees had been felled and burned on the
ground, as the charred remains and blackened stumps
every where proclaimed. Beginning at the village, and
reaching half-way up the hill, was a field of corn, wherein
some ten or a dozen squaws were at work, plucking the
ripened ears. As they heard the shouts of the first party
descending the hill, they stopped their work, and, collecting
together, waited till the horsemen had passed them.

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

Probably some communication was made to them by the
riders, concerning Clara and myself; for as the mounted
party dashed by them, these squaws set up a series of
screeching yells, and immediately started up the hill to
meet us.

They were a coarse, brutal-looking set; and, if any
thing, more hideous and disgusting in their appearance
than the party of warriors that had made us captives.
They were nearly naked—their only covering being skins
girded around their loins. Unlike their male companions,
their heads were not shaved; and their long, straight,
coarse black hair swept down around their bodies, in some
instances nearly to the ground. They were without paint,
or ornament of any kind; and their filthy, weather-beaten
skins—their flat, broad, unintellectual faces—and their
round, hard, muscular limbs, indicated that theirs had
been a life of toil and drudgery. They were, as I afterward
learned, called Soolepcooms, or Squaw-workers; and
were regarded as immeasurably inferior to the Lendcooms,
or Squaw-wives, whose only duty was to wait upon the
warriors—for the Wepecoolahs, not unlike their more
civilized white neighbors, had established an upper and
lower grade among both sexes.

On meeting us, the Soolepcooms renewed their dismal
screeches; and completely surrounding us, they blocked
our way, stopped our horses, and began to catch hold of
us, in a very rough manner, occasionally turning their
faces up towards us, and grinning savagely, like so many
she-devils.

Clara became alarmed; and as one old hag, seizing her
by the arm, half dragged her from her horse, at the same
time flourishing a knife in a rather dangerous proximity,
she shrieked out:

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

“Oh! Henry—save me! save me! or I shall be
murdered!”

Before I could act in the matter, however, our Indian
guard, who had been riding apart—and who, on the
approach of the women, had paid no attention to them—
suddenly rushed his horse up to Clara's side, and striking
the aggressor full in the face with the handle of his tomahawk,
laid her senseless on the ground. On seeing this,
the companions of the wounded hag drew back, with howls
of dismay, and we were suffered to proceed without further
molestation.

The Indian now kept his place by the side of Clara, as
if to protect her—but manifested no further interest in
what had happened—not so much as even turning his
head to look after the discomfited Soolepcooms. I had
more curiosity; and turning in my saddle, I beheld the
whole party grouped around the fallen one, some of whom
were stooping down to raise her.

Meantime the three warriors had reached the village—
which, as we could now perceive, was in a state of some
excitement—and our conductor signifying to us that we
should quicken our pace, we did so, and rode down the hill
at a fast gallop.

p464-114 CHAPTER IX. THE INDIAN VILLAGE AND A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER.

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

The village of the Wepecoolahs was very pleasantly
situated on a level strip of open land, which at this point
divided the base of one hill from that of the other by a
distance of more than a hundred yards. What appeared
rather singular, was the fact, that this level, open piece of
ground—the very bottom of the valley, and which was a
hundred yards in breadth by some three miles in length—
should be entirely free from stones, and stumps, and covered
with a smooth, thick green sward—while all around
it either was, or had very recently been, a howling wilderness,
untouched by a husbandry implement. It could not
be the work of the present tribe, for every thing else indicated
that the Wepecoolahs had been located here but a
very short time. No, it was either one of nature's singular
freaks, or else this spot had been cultivated many, many
years agone, perhaps by a race anterior to the red man of
our day. And I was further led to this latter conclusion,
from perceiving, at a subsequent period, a steep conical
mound, in the rear of the village—covered, like the flat,
with a thick, smooth green sward—reminding me of the
descriptions I had seen of similar ancient relics in some of
the Western States.

The huts of our captors were constructed of sticks, bark,
earth, and skins; and were arranged in a semi-circular
form—the central are touching the base of the opposite
hill, (which rose steep and craggy a thousand feet above

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

the village) and the two arms extending across the valley,
to the stream before mentioned, which ran purling along at
the foot of the eminence we were descending. By this
geometrical arrangement, a fine area was formed, which
was common property, and upon which all the huts fronted.
Here fires were built, in the open air, for cooking or other
purposes, the huts being constructed without chimneys.
Here the children played in harmony, and the elders met
in social intercourse.

Near the centre of this area was the lodge of the chief,
differing from the others only in size and position; and
just in the rear of this was a circular building, of still
larger dimensions, with a straight pole running up through
the centre, not unlike a circus tent. This was the Council
House of the tribe, where the chief and warriors were wont
to meet to discuss and decide any matter of general interest.

In the appearance of the village, taken as a whole, there
was a certain air of savage refinement, which I had not
expected to find—and I was, in consequence, agreeably
disappointed.

As we rode down the hill, the whole village poured out
its inhabitants upon the common—men, women and children—
the pappoose and veteran—and, stimulated by
curiosity, all crowded down to the creek to get a near view
of us. There might have been, taken collectively, a hundred
and fifty souls—mostly women and their offspring—
for the main body of the warriors were away on a daring
expedition, as the reader already knows.

At first, when I saw them assembling in such a formidable
manner, I had some apprehension that we might be
greeted with rather rough treatment; but as we crossed
the creek, they fell back respectfully—neither offering
violence, nor seeking to annoy us.

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

The women of the village—the Lendcooms, or Squaw-wives—
were habited in skins; but, unlike the Squawworkers,
with some regard to decency—the parts exposed
being their arms, necks, feet and ankles. Their dress,
however, was not calculated to display their figures to any
artistic advantage—it being merely a straight gown, of
prepared deerskin, seamed up the sides, with shoulder
straps, and covering the person to the extent mentioned.
All were costumed much alike—though some few, with
more taste than the others, wore wampum belts around
their waists. Some, too, had coarse ornaments in their
ears; and more than one dangled a heavy ring from her
nose; but this, in my opinion, did not improve their looks
in the slightest degree. Taken collectively, they were not
decidedly an ill-looking set of females; and a few of the
younger were tolerably passable; though their low foreheads,
and broad, flat, animal-faces, set a seal upon any
thing like a near approach to beauty.

I must, however, make an exception in favor of one—
though, from the first, I could not bring myself to believe
that she was a full blooded daughter of the Indian race.
This was a girl, apparently about eighteen years of age,
who, on our approach, stood apart from the others, with
some half a dozen warriors drawn up in a line behind her,
among whom I instantly recognized the three of our escort
who had ridden into the village in advance of us. I was
struck at the same time with her personal appearance and
the marked deference with which she was treated by young
and old, not one venturing to approach her beyond a
certain limit. As to who she was, I of course knew nothing—
but that she was a personage of consequence, was
easily to be seen.

And what struck me as the most singular was, that so
much respect should be shown to one of her sex—for, as a

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

general thing, the savage esteems the female as far inferior
to the male, and deems her totally unworthy to have a
voice in the councils of the nation. And besides, I had
seen the chief himself, and seen his warriors approach him
with a familiarity that none displayed toward this
mysterious being—so that, unless she were greater in the
tribe than Kenneloo, which it was unreasonable to suppose,
I knew not how to account for this general deference.

I have said that her age was apparently about eighteen,
and that her appearance was so different from the others,
as to lead me, at a first glance, to the conclusion, that she
was not of their race—or, at all events, that her blood
was not purely Indian. She was straight, symmetrical,
and tall, with a dark complexion, and black eyes and hair—
but here all resemblance between her and others of the
Wepecoolahs ceased. Her face, instead of being broad,
flat, and round, was rather oval, with the angular outline
of the American or European. Her nose, too, of the
Grecian cast, was prominent, with thin, dilating nostrils—
and her forehead was broad, high, and intellectual. Her
mouth, with its thin lips, had a classic shape; and her
chin was well rounded, giving her a straight and beautiful
profile.

Nor was it alone in the shape of the features that she
differed materially from all the others. In her proud,
queen-like deportment, and the lofty, intelligent expression
of her countenance, she rose in the bright contrast to them
of day to night. There was an air of superiority and
command in her every look and gesture; and her black,
brilliant, piercing eyes seemed to gleam and sparkle
with the intellectual fires of no ordinary soul. She was
beautiful—that I could not deny—but hers was a kind of
beauty not to my taste. It lacked the softening traits so
much admired in woman; and displayed too much pride,

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

haughtiness, fire, passion, and all the concomitants of a
self-willed, unsubdued, unbending, masculine spirit.

How she had attained to her exalted position among the
Wepecoolahs, was of course a mystery to me; but once
obtained, it was not difficult to understand how she had
retained it; for it is a law of nature that matter can be
governed by mind—and the mere animal must ever yield
to intellectual dominion.

The dress of this singular being was not unlike that of
the other females, in its shape and extent—though
rendered of a more showy appearance, by being covered
with divers colored beads, worked into crude imitations of
beasts, birds, and flowers. Besides, as a further distinction,
she wore leggins and moccasins of scarlet; and her
long black hair was swept back from her forehead, and
braided into cues, that dangled about her neck and
shoulders, something after the fashion of the Gipseys.

As we were escorted directly past her, single file, at
a slow pace, I had an opportunity to observe the peculiarities
which I have attempted to describe to the reader.
She stood with folded arms, in an attitude of graceful
dignity, calmly, but I fancied rather haughtily, regarding
us. Her black eyes at once fixed upon mine with an
intense, searching expression, as if she would read my
very thoughts; and then fell upon Clara, who rode next
in file. I watched her closely all the while—for somehow
I felt that our fate, in a great degree, rested with her—
and I was anxious to glean from her looks what that fate
would probably be. But all was dark, cold, and reserved,
as if she had schooled her thoughts and feelings against
betraying themselves by outward sign. Once, I fancied,
while she was looking at Clara, her black eyes shot a
fiercer gleam, and that her thin lips slightly curled with

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

something like disdainful pride—but it might have been
only fancy.

We passed on, leaving her standing motionless as a
statute, gazing after us. Our Indian conductor, who was
riding in advance, now led us straight to the Council
House, at the door of which he dismounted and made a
sign to us to do likewise. He then pointed to the door,
and signified that we must enter; which we did accordingly,
he remaining without.

We now found ourselves alone together, in a circular
building of some fifty feet in diameter, constructed of
sticks, bark, and earth, the roof of which sloped down
nearly to the ground, and was from twelve to fifteen feet
high in the central part. A few stakes had been driven
into the earth at regular intervals, and around the walls
were a number of rude seats. A few loopholes admitted
light enough for us to see across the building.

We cast a hurried glance about us, and then gazed at
each other.

“Clara!” said I, in a low, tremulous voice.

“Henry! dear Henry!” she rejoined; and the next
moment, weeping and half fainting, her head reclined
against my breast, and my arms, encircling her slender
form, drew her more closely to my heart.

“Oh! what will become of us?” she added at length,
looking up tearfully into my face—for in the ratio that
personal danger appeared to decrease, her timidity seemed
to return.

“I apprehend nothing more serious than temporary
imprisonment,” I replied, assuming a cheerful air, in order
to raise her spirits. “You see we have not been very
roughly treated as yet.”

“What think you of that strange female we passed just
now?” she inquired. “She does not look like an Indian;

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

and she is either possessed of authority, or is a prisoner
herself, closely guarded, I know not which. Such eyes—
such black, fiery, piercing eyes—they seemed to burn into
my very soul.”

“I know not what to think of her, Clara,” I replied;
“but that she is a personage of authority, and no prisoner,
is evident from the manner in which she is treated. Perhaps
she is either the daughter or wife of the chief.”

“Hush!” interrupted Clara, grasping my arm; and at
the same moment the subject of our conversation entered
the Council House with a lofty carriage and graceful step.

She advanced straight toward us, till within a couple
of paces, and then halting, drew herself up more haughtily
than ever, and keenly surveyed us from head to foot.
Clara shrunk from her piercing gaze—and, in spite of her
efforts to appear calm and composed, her whole frame
trembled.

Perceiving this, the thin lips of the other curled with
something like a sneer; and then, to our great surprise,
these words, sharp, clear, and distinct, rang forth:

“Is the daughter of the white man an aspen, that she
quivers thus in the presence of Dundenah, the Leaping
Fawn?”

“Oh! lady, whoever you are, thanks be to God you
speak my native tongue!” cried Clara, joyfully. “Oh!
lady, tell us why we are here prisoners?”

“Call me not lady!” returned the other, scornfully.
“I have a name! I am Dundenah, the Leaping Fawn!”

“That name sounds pleasantly in our ears,” I interposed—
“for the fawn is a gentle creature.”

“Perhaps I am not rightly named, then,” she rejoined,
turning almost fiercely upon me. “It is a name the
great chief gave me in infancy.”

“By your language, you should be of our race,” said I.

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

“Wandewah, the Great Spirit, hath given Dundenah
many tongues,” she replied, proudly.

“Can you tell us what will be our fate?”

“Ask yours of Kenneloo, when he comes in from the
war-path.” Then turning to Clara, she touched her on
the shoulder, and, pointing to the door, continued: “The
Blue-Eye must go with Dundenah!”

“Are you going to separate us?” cried Clara, with a
look of dismay.

“The Blue-Eye must go with Dundenah!” repeated the
other, sternly.

“Oh! no! no!” pleaded Clara: “let us remain
together in our captivity!”

Dundenah looked from Clara to me, and said quickly:

“Is the Blue-Eye already a wife?”

Clara drooped her head, and a blush of confusion spread
over her lovely features.

“She is not wedded,” I replied.

“Then she must go with Dundenah!” returned the
Leaping Fawn.

“I trust Dundenah will do her no harm!” I hastened to
rejoin.

Again those black, piercing orbs became fixed upon me,
and fairly flashed fire, as she made answer:

“Dundenah is mistress of her own actions; and when
she needs advice, she seeks it of the mighty chief of the
Wepecoolahs!”

“I meant no offence,” I rejoined, in a humbled tone,
anxious to appease her irritation, but more on Clara's
account than my own.

She looked at me fixedly a moment, and then turning
toward the door, struck the palms of her hands together
three times. An Indian quickly entered, to whom she
addressed a few words in his native dialect. The savage

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

replied only with a nod—thus silently indicating that she
was understood and would be obeyed.

Dundenah then touched Clara on the shoulder again,
and pointed to the door. Clara started, and seemed for a
moment or two to stand irresolute, while an expression of
deep, intense anguish passed over her lovely countenance.
Then, with a quick, impulsive movement, she rushed into
my arms, exclaiming:

“Farewell, dear Henry! may God protect you! This
may be the last time we shall behold each other on earth—
but I trust we shall meet in a better world. To God I
commend you! Farewell!”

“Farewell, dear Clara!” I replied, in a choking voice
of deep emotion. “Whatever may happen, rest assured
your dear image shall never be effaced from my heart!
Adieu! and may all holy angels guard you!”

I drew her fondly to my heart, silently imprinted a kiss
upon her pale forehead, and then turned away to conceal
the tears that I found myself unable to suppress.

When, after the lapse of a few minutes, I ventured to
look around, I found myself alone with the Indian whom
Dundenah had left with me as a guard. The savage was
seated near the door, the only point of entrance or exit to
the building, and, with his black eyes fixed upon me,
looked more like a hideous figure in wax than a human
being.

I knew by this, that for the present I was to be guarded
without being bound; and I felt grateful to Dundenah,
who had the ordering of all, for even this little act of kindness.
I took advantage of my liberty, therefore, and
seating myself upon one of the rude benches, gave way to
such reflections as my peculiar situation naturally called
forth.

I thought of home, and the friends of my youth, from

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

whom, not three months since, I had parted with feelings
of exultation—not because of leaving them—but because I
was going abroad into the great world, a free man, to
follow the bent of my own inclinations; and now how I
envied them! and what would I not have given to have
been once more among them! I pictured to myself the
grief of my father, and sisters, and Old Moll, when the
news should reach them that I was lost, with an awful
uncertainty hanging over my fate; and in imagination I
saw poor Tom, even now, breaking his faithful heart at
my long absence.

Then I went over my adventures with Harley and Viola,
and tried to calculate the chances of my ever seeing them
again. Fortunate Harley! so happy in inventions, in
cases of emergency! were he only with me now, I somehow
felt that I could presume upon ultimately escaping
from captivity through his resources and good fortune.

Again I was at the mansion of Colonel Moreland, and
fancied I could see the gloom and distress of the family at
the unaccountable absence of Clara—while I, though innocent,
was even now, perhaps, being denounced as a heartless
miscreant, who had led her astray from the paths of
rectitude and honor; and this reflection caused me many
a keen pang, valuing as I did my reputation more than
my life. That my rival would every where proclaim me as
a base, unprincipled, and perhaps cowardly villain, I felt
to be certain; and I fairly groaned at the thought that I
could not soon be there to clear myself of the calumnious
charges.

Then my thoughts reverted to Clara. Poor girl! what
would be her fate? Perhaps doomed to a miserable life
of captivity, toil and drudgery—wedded, it might be, after
the Indian custom, to one of her brutal captors. But no!
no! this idea was too horrible—I could not bear to dwell

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

upon it—death in any shape were a thousand times
preferable to such a doom. I felt Clara would think so
also; and, should the worst come to the worst, would
rather end her life in self-defence—go unpolluted into the
presence of her Maker—than suffer so demoralizing a
degradation!

Dear Clara! how her sweet, sad image dwelt in my
mind! and how her last words still rung in my ear, mournfully,
like a knell for one departed! Had we indeed said
the last farewells? should we meet no more on earth?
God forefend! for then, even with life and liberty, I felt
I must be ever miserable.

But who was she that had separated us? that strange,
mysterious, beautiful being, who spoke our tongue with
such fluent ease and lofty diction? If a native of the
tribe, how had she acquired such a command of our
language? and if of another race, how had she attained to
such power over the barbarous Wepecoolahs?

Strange being! would she have a voice in the council
which must decide our fate? and if so, would she lean to
the side of mercy, or give her influence for the heaviest
doom? Wonderful being! I had not been able to read
her; and knew not if her heart were of adamant, or
susceptible of the tender touches of pity.

While occupied with these reflections and speculations, a
hand lightly touched my shoulder. I looked up, and
Dundenah again stood before me.

p464-125 CHAPTER X. TRYING EVENTS.

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

FOR a few moments the black, piercing eyes of the
Leaping Fawn remained fixed upon mine, with a penetrating
intensity: then her thin lips parted, and she inquired:

“Is the home of the Dark-Eye far away?”

“Far, very far, toward the rising sun,” I replied.

“Within the dominions of him they call the Great
White Father of the States?”

“It is.”

“Lives the Blue-Eye near the home of the Dark-Eye?”

“Scarcely nearer than the Leaping Fawn.”

“How comes it then that both are here, the captives of
the Wepecoolahs?”

I narrated to her how we were riding out to visit a sick
friend, and how we lost our way and were taken prisoners
at the hut of the Hermit.

“That was Langee,” she rejoined: “I learned so much
from those that brought you here.”

“You know him then?”

“Yes; it was he, and one other, that taught Dundenah
to speak the language of the Dark-Eye.”

“And pray who is that mysterious being?” I inquired.

“We know him only as Langee, which in your language
signifies the Learned, or Man of Knowledge. He first
came among the Wepecoolahs when Dundenah was very
young. He professed to worship Wandewah, the Great
Spirit—but his actions were not in accordance with the

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

principles he proclaimed. After living with the Wepecoolahs
for years, he went to a neighboring tribe, where,
for some immoral conduct, he was seized, tried, and
condemned to death. He escaped by stratagem, and fled;
but his retreat has been discovered, and he is now a
prisoner.”

“And is he to be punished by the Wepecoolahs for an
offence against another nation?” I inquired.

“Dundenah can answer after his trial,” she replied.
And then fixing her black eyes steadily upon my countenance,
she continued: “Does the Dark-Eye prize
liberty?”

“What so dear as liberty, Dundenah?” I said: “what
is life without it?”

“Would the Dark-Eye go, and leave the Blue-Eye in
bondage?”

“No, Dundenah—no!” I replied, quickly.

“Then the Blue-Eye is dearer to the Dark-Eye than
liberty?” was the quick rejoinder.

“I confess it is even so, Dundenah. But tell me of the
Biue-Eye—is she safe and well?”

“And if not?”

“If not?” cried I, forgetting where I was, and springing
to my feet with an energy that caused my companion
to take two or three steps backward.

“Well, and if not?” she repeated, drawing herself up
proudly, and motioning the Indian near the door to
approach.

“I shall grieve in silence,” I replied, softening my
tone. “Pardon my excitement! I had forgotten I was
a prisoner, unable to redress the wrongs and insults that
might be heaped upon me, or my companion in captivity,”
I added, in a tone of some bitterness.

Dundenah looked at me sternly for a few moments; and

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

then turning abruptly away, went out. My savage guard
glared upon me for a while after she had gone, and then
resumed his place by the door. I was thus again left to
myself, and to my own not very pleasant reflections.

I saw no more of Dundenah that day; and this gave
me no little uneasiness; for if I had offended her, it would
doubtless be the worse for myself and Clara; and that I
had offended her, I thought more than probable from her
manner of leaving me.

Left to myself in solitude, a closely guarded prisoner,
among savages, with a terrible uncertainty hanging over
my fate and Clara's, the day, as may naturally be supposed,
dragged wearily to a close. At sunset my guard
was changed, some food and water were given me, and
then my limbs were tightly bound, and in this condition
I was left to pass the night.

And a horrible night it was to me; for I could not
sleep; and thought was busy conjuring up a thousand
frightful fancies. At break of day, however, greatly to my
relief, I was freed from my cords; when, throwing myself
upon the ground, I managed, in spite of circumstances, to
lose myself for a couple of hours.

Somewhere about midday, Dundenah again made her
appearance; but to my eager questions concerning Clara,
she returned me no answer. In fact, she seemed resolved
to hold no further conversation with me; for after walking
up and down the Council House a few times—occasionally
stopping in front of me, in a proud attitude, and fixing
her black eyes upon me, with a cold, penetrating expression—
she waved her hand loftily, and went out. She did
not return again that day, which went much as the one
preceding; and at night I was secured as before, though I
managed to get some sleep.

In short, a week passed away in this dull, monotonous

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

manner; and at last I grew so wearied with my confinement
and suspense, that I fancied I could welcome any
change, even though it were to pass from imprisonment to
death. During this time Dundenah visited me daily; but
her lips were sealed; she would utter no word; and I
could learn nothing as to the fate of Clara.

On the eighth day of my imprisonment, Dundenah came
to visit me earlier than usual. She entered with a quick
step; and as she advanced straight to where I was seated,
I saw by her manner, and the expression of her features,
that she had something of importance to communicate.

“Kenneloo, the great chief of the Wepecoolahs, has
returned from the war-path,” she said, in a quick, excited
tone. “He has not met with the success he expected,
and has to mourn the loss of many a gallant brave. As a
consequence, he brings a clouded brow and an angry
heart. Let the Dark-Eye beware of his words, when he
speaks to the great chief through the lips of Langee! Let
him say nothing to stir the heart of Kenneloo to revenge,
or the life of the Dark-Eye will not last him to look
upon the sun of Wandewah. So speaks Dundenah, who
would not see the earth drink the blood of the Dark-Eye.”

“But the Blue-Eye, Dundenah—what of her?”

At this moment a long, loud, mournful wail, of many
voices, came borne to our ears.

“Hark!” cried Dundenah: “'tis the death howl of the
Wepecoolahs: already they mourn their dead. Let the
Dark-Eye remember the caution of Dundenah!”

Saying this, she turned, darted away, and disappeared
from my view through the doorway of the Council House.

Scarcely had she gone, when I heard various cries,
whoops, yells, and the trampling of a large body of horse.
My guard still maintained his position by the door—but
his whole attention was now fixed on what was taking

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

place without. A few minutes after, he stepped aside, with
an air of respect; and Kenneloo, accompanied by Langee,
or the Hermit, entered the Council House.

There was a dark frown on the brow of the chief, a
compression of the lips, and a fierceness in the glance of
his black eyes, as he advanced directly toward me, that I
fancied boded me no good. He came close up to me,
glared upon me savagely for a few moments, and then
grasped my arm so roughly, that I could scarcely avoid
uttering a cry of pain. I felt my blood boil at this indignity;
and but for the warning words of Dundenah, I
believe I should have resented it by a blow, chief though
he was. But by a great effort I controlled my feelings,
and returned his rude gaze calmly and unflinchingly.

He was a powerful personage, physically considered,
being over six feet in stature, and finely proportioned,
with strength and grace in every limb. His features,
now that I had a fair view of them, I could not call ugly
in themselves, though horribly disfigured by paint, and by
two long, deep scars, one of which ran obliquely across the
nose, and led me to infer that that member had been
severed by the sharp cut of a sword, or tomahawk, during
some conflict. His eyes were black, and now seemed to
gleam with meditated vengeance; but still I could see in
them a look of intelligence far superior to most of his
tribe. The forehead, too, was high and broad; but I did
not altogether admire the phrenological development of
the shaved head—from the crown of which dangled the
scalp-lock, with the feathers, intended to adorn it, now
soiled with dust and mud, and otherwise in disarray. His
loins were covered with a panther skin, belted around his
waist; and this, with moccasins, comprised his whole costume.
In his belt were stuck his tomahawk and scalping-knife—
and these were all the weapons he had about him.

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With the exception of the feathers attached to his scalp-lock,
and a couple of coarse, heavy rings, dangling from
his ears, he was devoid of any attempt at ornament—and
there was nothing by which to distinguish him from his followers
as the chief of his tribe.

After grasping my arm in the manner related, and
impudently thrusting his face so close to mine that I was
obliged to inhale his breath, while his black, snakey eyes
fairly gleamed with what seemed a fiendish thirst for
vengeance—and finding I made no attempt at resistance
or resentment, and neither uttered a cry of pain, nor
showed signs of surprise or fear—he threw me from him
with such force, that, in spite of myself, I fell heavily to
the ground. Then turning to the Hermit—who was
watching me, with what I fancied to be a look of commiseration—
he made an exclamation in the Indian tongue, to
which the other nodded in reply.

The chief then spoke a few words to Langee, in a rapid
tone; and as I rose to my feet, the latter advanced to me
and said:

“Young man, your presence of mind, and the restraint
put upon your passions, under the insult offered you, has
prolonged your life, perhaps saved it. When Kenneloo
entered here, I trembled for your safety; for had you
offered the least resistance, or exhibited the least sign of
fear, he would have brained you on the spot. He now
deems you a fit subject for the torture, to which he intends
to devote you, as an offering to Kailwanondah, the Evil
Spirit, to appease his wrath for the signal failure of his
expedition against your countrymen.”

“I am much obliged to Kenneloo for his good opinion
and kind intentions,” I replied, with sarcastic bitterness;
“but though I am duly sensible of the honor he would
thus confer upon me, yet I would rather decline it; and,

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if I must die, would prefer to be killed outright, where I
stand, even though my courage should suffer in savage
estimation. Had I known for what purpose he was testing
my presence of mind and forbearance, rest assured the
insult had not been tamely borne—of which he may even
yet convince himself by attempting to repeat it. But I
had been warned to be guarded against giving offence—
though not till your explanation was I aware for what
diabolical purpose.”

“You allude to Dundenah?” said Langee.

“I do.”

“Wrong her not with that suspicion then: the Leaping
Fawn would save you.”

“Ha! say you so? But how do you know this?

“I had it from her own lips.”

“You have seen her then?”

“I have. She spoke with me as I was about to enter
here with the chief; and her last words were: `Save the
Dark-eyed prisoner.' ”

“Who is she, pray tell me?”

“The daughter of Kenneloo.”

“Indeed! but her features are not like the others of
the tribe.”

“Her mother was of another race. But I will tell you
more at some future time, should opportunity permit. At
present it is my painful duty to inform you, that Kenneloo
will reserve you for the stake, and he waits to see how
you will bear the announcement of your doom.”

“Good heavens! you seem as cold-blooded as he—and
speak of my sentence as though you were conferring a
favor.”

“I speak of your sentence as something better than
certain death; and in order to give you a chance for your
life, I will tell you what to reply. You must demand a

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trial by Council—which, according to the laws of the
Wepecoolahs, cannot be refused.”

“And will this proceeding save me?”

“We hope to save you by this proceeding.”

“Then make such demand for me.”

Langee turned to the chief, who seemed to be getting
impatient, and spoke a few words in the Indian tongue.

Kenneloo started, with a look of surprise and anger;
and then replying in a loud, fierce tone, stalked out of the
Council House, leaving the Hermit alone with me.

The latter now turned to me, with a troubled expression,
and said:

“To save you, young man, I fear I have sealed my own
doom.”

“How so?” I inquired, in surprise.

“He says that I either dictated your reply, or have
translated it falsely; and that be it which it may, I shall
answer for it.”

“And what will be the consequences to you, my
friend?”

“If you escape the torture, I shall probably be tried by
Council; and if condemned, must suffer in your stead—
for Kenneloo declares he will have a victim.”

“Then do not save my life at the sacrifice of your own,
Langee,” I replied. “I could not ask that, even were
you a tried friend, instead of a stranger.”

“God's will be done!” returned the Hermit, calmly.
“You are more worthy to live than I—and there are ties
binding you to earth—while I have none. No, no,” he
continued, reflectingly, sadly, and touchingly—“there are
none now to mourn the loss of a wretch like me—life is
become a burden rather than a pleasure—and the sooner
I sleep in death the better. Nature, it is true, shrinks
from death, even when the spirit longs for it—and nature

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doubly revolts at physical torture—but we must all pass
the great bourne, in some way, sooner or later; and if
this is to be my fate, I will try to bear it with Christian
fortitude and resignation, as a portion of the punishment
due to my transgressions, and say, `God's will be done!' ”

I was struck with the manner and language of my
strange companion; and believing him sincerely repentant,
I felt that, however great were his sins, they would be forgiven.

“God is above all, and rules all, generous stranger!” I
said, seizing his hand; and “peradventure He will yet
deliver us both from the hands of our enemies. But tell
me—know you any thing of my fair companion?'

“Ha!” he said, starting—“the lady that was with you—
I hope no harm has befallen her?”

“Then you know nothing of her?”

“Nothing: I have not seen her since we parted on the
night you were made captives. Was she not brought to
the village with you?”

“Yes; but immediately after we were separated by
Dundenah; and for more than a week I have neither seen
nor heard from her, and know not whether she is living or
dead.”

“And did you question Dundenah?”

“Yes, many times—but she would give me no answer.”

“This is strange!” returned Langee, musingly, and
shaking his head, as one in doubt: “this is strange!
Can it be?” he proceeded, rather thinking aloud than addressing
me: “Can it be? There is something to favor
the suspicion; and then she was always wayward, wilful,
and even passionately rash when a child. But then again
it was too soon for her to stake all upon so bold a stroke.
You say you were separated almost immediately after your
arrival in the village?” he continued, raising his large,

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dark, wild-looking eyes from the ground, and fixing them
upon me.

“Yes—we were scarcely together here a quarter of an
hour. But what do you fear, Langee? Speak! tell me
the worst at once?”

“Could Dundenah have known from your manner that
you loved the maiden?”

“Undoubtedly. But what could this have to do with
our separation?”

“Nothing, perhaps, with your separation—though much,
perchance, with what followed.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Well, let it pass: I must see more, ere I venture to
tell you my conjectures: they may be erroneous ones.”

“But what think you has been done with Clara?”

“I cannot say.”

“You surely do not think any harm has befallen her?”

“I hope not.”

“Hope not?” cried I. “Good heavens! you alarm me
with even a vague suspicion—you who so well know Dundenah
and the Wepecoolahs.”

“Well, I know nothing of this matter, and therefore
you should not get alarmed at my words. In truth, I
rather think the girl is safe and unharmed.”

“If otherwise, they may lead me to death as soon as
they like,” said I, despondingly.

“Then you prize her more than life?”

“I would give my life for hers.”

“That is true love, and springs from a noble heart,”
rejoined Langee. “But were the maiden dead, have you
no other ties to bind you to earth?”

“Yes, many,” replied I, as my thoughts reverted to
home and my friends.

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“Then you are to be envied, even in your misfortune,”
rejoined the Hermit, gloomily.

And turning aside to one of the benches, he seated himself,
hid his face in his hands, and commenced rocking to
and fro, as I had seen him do in his own hovel on the
prairie.

I seated myself also; and for several minutes gave way
to such poignant reflections as my own situation, and the
uncertainty shrouding the fate of poor Clara, naturally
awakened. I thought in silence, till thought without utterance
became too painful to bear; and I resolved to renew
conversation with my strange companion. At the same
time it occurred to me; that I had forgotten to question
him concerning the expedition of the Wepecoolahs; and
approaching him at once, I touched him on the shoulder—
but I had to repeat this, and even to shake him, before I
could rouse him from his deep reverie.

At length he raised his head, and looking around somewhat
wildly, fixed his eyes upon mine, and said, with a
kind of sigh:

“Ah me! you have recalled me from the past to the
present—and I suffer by the transition. Rare thing for
me! memory was busy with the early and happy scenes of
my existence—and they have been all too few.”

“I crave pardon then!” I replied. “Had I known you
were occupied with pleasant reflections, I might have
envied, but certainly should not have disturbed you.”

“Well, well—no matter,” he rejoined, gloomily: “the
present had to return, and you only hastened it by a few
moments.”

“I wished to ask you concerning the last expedition of
the Wepecoolahs?”

“Thank God, it was for the most part a failure!” he
said, earnestly; “for though I would mingle not with my

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kind, for reasons of my own, yet I bear no ill-feeling
toward them, and really wish them well—least of all
would I voluntarily be an accessory to blood and plunder,
even were the parties assailed my enemies.

“The object of the expedition of the Wepecoolahs was
revenge upon their natural foes, the whites; and their intention
was to steal, like a cat upon her prey, upon a certain
frontier settlement, and achieve a sudden and awful
victory, by indiscriminate massacre, fire and plunder. I
went with them the more readily, that, in the first place,
resistance was out of the question; secondly, I could do
nothing to prevent the diabolical attempt being made; and
thirdly, I thought if I could not by any means warn the
inhabitants of their approach, I might perhaps succeed in
rescuing some poor fellow being from the general doom.

“But Providence frustrated their bloody design, and
made it recoil upon themselves. They crossed the Brazos,
and penetrated the country low down toward the Gulf,
without being discovered; and one stormy night, about the
mid-hour, having left their horses in a neighboring wood,
they stole down upon a small settlement, and, simultaneously
uttering their terrible war-whoop, rushed on, as
they supposed to easy conquest.

“But it so chanced that a gallant band of Texas Rangers
were just entering the village to quarter for the night,
and they met the savages in their fierce career.

“The result was a signal defeat to the latter, with a loss
of some ten or twelve killed outright, and several others
wounded. The Indians made a precipitate retreat to their
horses; and such of them as were fortunate enough to
reach them in advance of their pursuers, effected their
escape; but there are nineteen notches to be cut from the
tally-stick of the tribe; and among the missing, who will

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return no more, they number some of their best and
bravest fighters.”

I could not but rejoice at this signal defeat of the
Wepecoolahs, although it rendered the mere chance of
escape from such a body of disappointed and infuriated
beings next to a miracle, and I so expressed myself to
Langee.

“Yes,” he replied, “in all probability we shall be the
victims, on whom will fall most heavily their retaliatory
vengeance. I could have escaped during the melee—but I
had passed my word of honor to Kenneloo, not to do so
under any circumstances, and I would not forfeit that to
save my unworthy life. If he, an Indian, an uncultivated
savage, and a foe to my race, had faith enough in my
integrity to take my unsupported word for the security of
my person, it would be a burning shame, I thought, for
me to be the first to convince him that a Christian white
man values life more than honor, to say nothing of the sin
of deliberately telling a falsehood.”

“You may be in the right,” I rejoined; “but the very
fewest number would have reasoned so under such circumstances.”

“That may be,” he pursued; “but a thousand wrongs
never made a right; and he who attempts to act on principle,
should keep principle paramount to all other objects
or considerations.”

“What to me seems the most wonderful part of the
whole matter is, that Kenneloo should have accepted your
word as sufficient security for your person,” I said.

“He had seen me tried before,” said Langee.

“And think you, after all this, he will deliberately put
you to death?”

“He may do so—for there is no calculating on the
whims of an untutored savage.”

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“And does your word bind you not to escape now?” I
inquired.

“I do not know that it does.”

“Then were I in your place, I would avail myself of
the first opportunity to get out of the clutches of such
dangerous enemies.”

“It is no easy matter to escape now,” replied Langee,
“even were I so inclined. Kenneloo, as I have already
informed you, has become suspicious of me; and it would
not surprise me to find myself ere long deprived of my
liberty. But I will go,” he pursued, “and endeavor to
ascertain the state of feeling among the savages with
regard to both of us; and also learn, if I can, what has
been done with your fair companion.”

“Do,” I said, “and let me see you at the earliest
moment practicable—for I am in a state of anxious suspense.”

The Hermit rose, and went to the door, where he spoke
a few words with the Indian guard; and then returning to
me, said:

“It is as I feared—I am already a close prisoner: the
sentry has orders not to let me leave the Council House.”

At this moment we heard voices without; and directly
after, Kenneloo entered the building, followed by some
twenty of his most distinguished warriors.

p464-139 CHAPTER XI. THE DOOM AND THE HOPE.

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Four of the warriors immediately separated from the
others, and, without a word being spoken, proceeded to
bind the arms of Langee and myself behind our backs.
We were then conducted out of the house into the open
air, where we were closely guarded by six of the party
just returned from the expedition; while those within
proceeded, in due Indian form, to settle the question as to
what should be our fate.

Never did I think nature so beautiful, as when I first
beheld it after a week's confinement; and were I but free
once more to enjoy it, I fancied I could be content with
almost any other fortune. The day was clear, the air
delightful, and the sun stood in mid-heaven, pouring down
his bright rays and giving to every object a charming
mellowness of aspect, which appeared the more beautiful
to me, because I believed I should soon lose sight of all
forever.

Presently I heard Indian voices in the Council House—
but not understanding their language, I knew nothing that
was said. Langee did, however; but he was not allowed
to communicate with me. Once, after a rather long, loud,
fiery speech, Langee turned his dark, hollow eyes mournfully
upon me, and slightly shook his head, which I understood
to mean that our doom was, or would be, sealed.

The deliberations of the Indians lasted some two or
three hours—during which time the villagers, of all ages,

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surrounded us, peering at us curiously, but observing a
decorum that surprised me, considering that they were
savages. None were allowed to advance within the
ring made by our guard, which was perhaps ten feet in
diameter; but outside of this they formed a complete
circle, and conversed in low, quiet tones. Occasionally
hands clenched, and fierce eyes glared upon me; but being
a stranger to them, and of a race which they esteemed
natural enemies, I thought if they did not maltreat me, I
had reason to be grateful for their forbearance.

Toward Langee, however, whom most of them had
known in former years, and whom they evidently regarded
as more Indian than white, the looks directed were those
of sympathy; and I fancied I saw enough to warrant the
conclusion that the popular vote would go against his condemnation,
at the same time that it would approve of mine.

In vain I looked among the crowd, in every direction,
for one glimpse of the sweet, sad face of Clara—for if
alive, and permitted to do so, I knew she would endeavor
to see me. But no! no—alas! no—she was nowhere to be
seen; and I began to entertain the horrible suspicion that
she had been put to death. If so, the guilt I believed
rested with Dundenah, as the supreme authority of the
tribe in the absence of her father; and the bare idea that
her hands were imbrued in the blood of her I loved, made
me regard her as a demoness of hell's worst type—the more
devilish, that her knowledge and intelligence should have
ennobled her above those by whom she was surrounded.

While occupied with these thoughts, Dundenah made her
appearance. All moved respectfully aside, to give her an
opportunity to approach us.

“Why is Langee here, thus guarded?” she said,
addressing the Hermit in English, that none of the others
might understand.

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

“Because, in following your directions, with regard to
this youth, I unfortunately incurred the displeasure of
your father.”

“How so?”

“By telling the youth, when doomed to die, to demand
a trial by Council. Kenneloo says I either told him how
to answer, or translated his answer falsely.”

“And is the great chief not satisfied to allow him a
trial by Council?” cried Dundenah, with flashing eyes.
“Would he doom him to the stake without a consultation?”

“You see I am a prisoner for obeying you—that will
best answer your questions,” replied Langee.

“But Langee shall not suffer for obeying the Leaping
Fawn,” she returned, quickly. “Dundenah will save him.
She swears it, by the great Wandewah!” Then turning
to me: “Would the Dark-Eye content him with life and
liberty and a home among the Wepecoolahs?”

“Ere I answer, Dundenah,” I returned, with compressed
lips, fixing my eyes keenly upon hers, “you must
tell me what has become of the Blue-Eye?”

For a few moments she looked at me as though she
would annihilate me on the spot; and then slowly and
impressively replied:

“No prisoner so bold as to decline answering the
daughter of the great Kenneloo, ever lived to boast of it.”

“Well,” I rejoined, with considerable asperity in my
tone, “you can take my life, for it is in your power, but
force me to answer you cannot.”

For some moments Dundenah fairly glared upon me, so
enraged did she seem at the audacity of my reply. Then
compressing her thin lips, as one trying to speak calmly,
under the excitement of the most intense passion, she
rejoined:

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