20 A Friend

In five minutes the two warriors who had come to see me earlier in the evening returned, but without Onomo. They unbound me, and dragged me roughly to my feet. They did not vouchsafe a word. Indeed, I do not suppose either knew any English. One pushed me towards the door of the tepee, and I stepped out

I stood beside the tepee, gazing around me. I was on the rim of a species of circle, made of Indian tepees. A great many warriors were grouped in the circle, and some of them held up flaring torches. All the warriors were staring at me, and there was a peculiar expression in their fierce, black eyes. I could not guess why I was brought there, and I looked around for my friend Onomo, who might explain it to me. But I could not see him.

The Indians who brought me out of the tepee had remained beside me. One of them said something in a deep, guttural voice, and a young warrior who stood directly in front of me ran forward, and before I could make a motion in my own defence, struck me very hard in the face with his open right hand.

The pain and the indignity set me afire, I sprang at him, intending to strike him to the earth. But he darted nimbly away, and before I could reach him a powerful hand reached from behind, seized me by the hair, and jerked me to the earth. I struggled to my feet, but received a buffet in the neck which sent me to the earth again.

Then I was seized by numerous hands, and the clothing was jerked from my back. I writhed and endeavored to struggle from their grasp. Suddenly they released me, and something lashed me repeatedly across the back, stinging and burning as if a hot iron had been drawn across the naked flesh. I could feel the blood running down my back, and, dazed by pain and humiliation, I struck out blindly and at random, but never hit anything.

Then I knew what it was. This was either the preliminary torture or the end itself. Many of the warriors carried long willow switches, and when I rushed after one, another would lash me across the back. They laughed with infernal glee as I tried to seize or strike some one and could not. Occasionally a blow from a heavier rod would fall across my shoulders and bring me to my knees. But rage was mingled with my pain and humiliation, and I would struggle to my feet again and make a rush at them. I shouted at them. I called them cowards and devils. I dared any of them to face me. But they only laughed at me and struck me again.

At last I sank down, panting and exhausted. I was covered with blood, but I did not notice it then. The jeering laughter continued for a while, then ceased abruptly. Somebody said something in a loud, decisive tone that sounded like a command. Three or four Indians seized me and dragged me to the tepee from which I had been brought. After they had thrown me on the buffalo skin as roughly as if I were a mere clod of earth, they rebound me and went out.

I lay alone in the darkness, raging in spirit, and for the time thinking little of my wounds. But the latter after a while drew my attention, for every bone in me, and every square inch of flesh on those bones, was aching. I had made up my mind that I was so badly hurt I would die, when I heard a soft voice beside me.

“How does my friend, the white boy, feel?” asked the voice.

I recognized Onomo’s tones at once, and I answered savagely:

“He feels like murdering the first of your redskin brethren he can get his hands on.”

“Onomo warned the white boy he would be put to the torture,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” I replied, wearily.

“What he has endured to-night is but the prick of a pin to what will come,” he said, without a change in his voice.

“You don’t mean to say they are going to put me through another course of torture?” I exclaimed, horrified.

“The white boy still has it in his power to save himself from much pain.”

“But I’ll never use that power!”

Onomo went out, but returned almost immediately with a torch.

“Onomo,” I said, “won’t you tell me how serious my wounds are? Are any of my bones broken? I’m in such an ache all over I can’t tell where I’m hurt most.”

“All but the skin of the white boy is sound and whole,” said Onomo. “The warriors would not break any of his bones or injure him seriously yet. It would interfere with their further plans for him.”

“Your brethren are a fine lot of fellows, Onomo!” I exclaimed. “I don’t wonder that one of your kind disposition should stay away from them, at least part of the time, and associate with the whites.”

Onomo made no reply to this, and I added:

“Can’t you do something for my back and stop that confounded burning?”

He patted my back, put on some kind of lotion, which was wonderfully soothing, and readjusted my clothing. I was very grateful to him and expressed my thanks more than once. He smiled gently, as if he would wave my words aside. Then I asked him once again to help me if he could.

“Onomo will do all he can for the white boy, his friend,” he said, “but the warriors knowing he is a friend of the white people watch him very closely.”

Then he took up his torch and left me to my reflections. I turned over everything in my mind, but I could find no hope in anything. Hitherto in all our dangers we had never been pushed quite to the wall. We had been united, and circumstances favored us frequently. Now I was alone in the enemy’s hands. Were Pike free to act I might expect something from his bold and skillful mind. But he and the others were now fighting for their own lives. So the chance of rescue was hopeless.

With the love of life still strong, although death seemed to be at hand, I tried again to break the thongs that bound my wrists or to slip them over my hands. But my captors had been too cautious to permit of any such chance.

I ceased my efforts and hope deserted me. Then, with that terrible sinking feeling at the heart which is the worst of all sensations, I began to think of the end. In what manner would it come? How hard to die, a horrible death when one was so young, when life was so sweet! If Henry and the others escaped they might never so much as know what became of me. I would perish and disappear unnoticed, like the withered leaf that falls from the tree.

Then my mind ran back over our journey. I remembered the rose-colored hopes with which we had started, and our dreams of distant California and the gold which we would find. I saw my uncle’s hard face again and I cherished no resentment against him.

How long I would have lain there, or what further turn my thoughts would have taken, I cannot say, but my attention was attracted by a slight rustling which seemed to me to come from under the edge of the tepee. My senses were rendered preternaturally acute by my situation. There was no noise outside, and I knew that my ears had made no mistake. I listened and heard the rustling again. I managed to turn over on my side with my face in the direction whence the sound came. But there was not a beam of light in the tepee, and I could not even see its skin walls.

The noise, very slight, but heard by me plainly, for my ears were strained, continued about five minutes. Then I heard a faint clicking sound, and before it died away the cold perspiration broke out on my forehead. A snake was making the noise, I was sure. From what could that clicking sound come but from a rattlesnake coiling to spring? I do not know why I had such a feeling of horror. I had expected to die on the morrow by the torture. Surely, the death from a snake’s fangs could not be worse than that! But there is something in a man which shudders at such a death, and he would turn aside from it no matter what lies beyond.

I was about to cry out with all my might in an endeavor to bring the Indians to my rescue, but a heavy hand was clapped over my mouth, and a voice said something in my ear which I did not understand, but which I took to be a warning.

There was a mighty revulsion of feeling. Hope flamed up in me. Who could be coming to me in such a manner but a rescuer, and who could that rescuer be but Onomo? I breathed a short prayer of thankfulness while I waited for him to release me. The idea that he had come for that purpose had taken complete possession of me.

He slipped his hand down to my wrist. I felt cold steel against my flesh, and then the severed thongs fell away. Next he cut the stout strip of deer-hide that confined me to the stake. A strong arm that he put under my shoulder assisted me to rise, for I was stiff from my beating. I rubbed my arms and legs until the circulation was restored, and waited for my rescuer to make the next movement But I bent over and whispered with my heart in my mouth:

“Onomo, from the depths of my soul I thank you. If ever you are in deep distress and I can help you I will risk my life, if necessary, to do it.”

But he merely replied with a sibilant hiss, which I knew he meant as a caution for me to make no noise. Then taking hold of one of my hands he crawled noiselessly to the edge of the tepee. I followed him in the same silence. He fumbled and raised the edge of the buffalo hide. We crawled out and then dropped the skin back behind us. I looked around, but it was so dark I could see nothing, except the faint outlines of other tepees. To my right I heard a slight murmur, which I took to be some of the Indians talking.

I realized fully the necessity of silence, and had been too near to death to throw away my chance of escaping it by carelessness. So with extreme caution I followed my rescuer, who still held my hand and led the way to the left. At each step I felt the earth first with my moccasin before bringing down my full weight, in order that no rustling of a twig or breaking of a stick might bring the enemy upon me again,

We were several minutes in crossing the little circle of the tepees. Twice my rescuer sank down upon the ground, and each time I did the same. Some noise alarmed him, but the alarm soon passed, and then we resumed our stealthy flight. At last we reached the tepees and stopped between two of them. My friend put both his hands upon my shoulders and pressed down heavily. I dropped into a recumbent position, for such I thought he meant for me to do. Evidently I was right, for leaving me there he took several steps forward and then stopped, dimly outlined in the darkness.

Presently another Indian came up and began to talk to him. I saw soon the reason for my friend’s act. The second Indian was a sentinel. I crouched closer to the earth, while the two talked. But the second Indian went on, and my friend instantly came back to me. We stole cautiously forward again, and soon the outlines of the tepees faded out of sight behind us. Then my heart gave a great leap of joy, for now I believed I was safe. Again I whispered my thanks to my rescuer, but he replied only with his warning hiss.

He retained his hold of my hand and led me some distance further. We passed under some trees and then came out into the open. Here my friend handed me a rifle, a powder horn, and a shot-pouch which I knew by their weight to be filled, but he still kept his face turned away as if to avoid my thanks.

He pointed ahead as if indicating the direction for me to go, but I was determined not to leave him after he had risked so much for me without saying something which would show how I appreciated his help.

“Onomo,” I said, “you have risked your life to save me. I know what those wretches back there would do to you if they knew how you had helped me, and I don’t want to go without making you understand how deeply grateful I am to you.”

The Indian faced me, and standing as straight as a pine tree, looked fixedly at me. The moon came out a little just then and showed his features distinctly. I sprang back in amazement. It was not Onomo.

The Indian struck his chest with his right hand and the gesture brought recollection to me in a flash. It was the warrior whose life I had spared when I held him at my gun-muzzle in the valley.

I beheld one Indian’s gratitude, and when I recovered my surprise my heart beat with what I believe to be generous emotion. I seized his hand and pressed it in mine. Probably nobody ever shook his hand before, but he must have understood the gesture and my manner, for there was a smile on his face.

“I don’t know your name, old fellow,” I said, “I guess I’ll never see you again. I’m pretty sure you don’t understand a word I’m saying, but you’re a man for either the white race or the red race to be proud of.”

He smiled again, then motioned me off, and making a salute I threw the rifle over my shoulder and walked rapidly. I looked back once, but the Indian was gone. As well as I could make out in the darkness I maintained the general direction that my rescuer had pointed out. The moon was of sufficient brightness for me to see fairly well and I found that I was striding over a bare plain.

When I had gone several miles I stopped to deliberate. Though I was out of the grasp of the Indians, I knew my position was far from enviable. Moreover, I could not leave Henry, Pike, Bonneau and Sam beleaguered in the cabin. I would join them there if possible. But how to reach them was a most puzzling question. I sat down on the prairie and mused over this for a long time, but no feasible plan presented itself to me. I determined at last to go back towards the Indian encampment, hang around the outskirts, and watch my opportunity to assist my brother and my friends, and to join them.

I felt better after I had come to this decision, for nothing hurts like doubt. I turned on my own course and began to retrace my journey with a springy step. Daylight was now breaking and the plain around me appeared wholly unfamiliar. In none of our expeditions since we built the cabin had we come into this part of the country. But I had settled in my mind the direction in which our cabin lay, and I pushed on rapidly.

I calculated that two hours would bring me in sight of the trees that fringed the watercourse and marked its presence. But at the end of that time I saw only the bare plain spreading around me and stretching to the horizon, without a tree or an elevation of any kind to break its monotony.

I looked up at the sun, and concluded that I had mistaken my course somewhat. I made what I considered to be the necessary correction and pushed on again. But the sun rose higher, and still I failed to see the trees for which I was looking. On all sides of me the plain was as bleak and uninviting as ever.

I had felt positive that I knew the direction in which the cabin lay, and though my confidence in the possession of that knowledge was seriously diminished, it had not disappeared altogether. After a little rest I took my bearings again by the sun and made a third attempt. I walked diligently for more than an hour, all the time searching the horizon for the trees, though I failed to see them.

I stopped to rest and think the matter over. While I was standing there something in the formation of the plain attracted my attention. I looked more closely. It seemed familiar. I had been there, and very recently, too, even on that very day, I scrutinized the earth, which was soft at that spot, and saw some footprints. I put my own foot in them and they fitted exactly. Why should they not have fitted me? I had made them myself. The whole alarming truth burst upon me in an instant. I had been travelling in a circle, and was walking over my own tracks. I was lost on the plains as completely as was ever lone traveller lost in the vast solitudes of the desert.

I was crushed at first by the knowledge. My brain swam around, and I lay down until I could compose myself. My dismay did not proceed so much from fears for myself as from the knowledge that I was cut off from my friends. I did not know the direction in which the cabin lay. Every step I made might take me further from it.

Absorbed in other things, I had not noticed the increasing chilliness of the atmosphere, which was now forced upon my attention, as I had ceased to move about and keep the circulation lively. Drifting clouds hid the face of the sun, and the gloominess of my mind was accentuated by the gloominess of the skies.

Heavy clouds were piling up on the horizon, and I noticed these indications with a great increase of alarm. I was watching the clouds gather, when I thought I saw a figure far out on the plain. It was indistinct. It might be a man or a buffalo or an antelope. I decided that I would see, and taking up my rifle, I bent my course to the figure. Its outlines grew more definite very fast, and I soon perceived that it was coming rapidly in my direction also. Then I saw that it was the figure of a man. I kept on boldly. Of course, it was probably that the stranger was an Indian and an enemy, but I was in such a situation that I was willing to take the chance. If it should prove to be an enemy, I was well armed, and it would be man for man. Fortune might be on my side and not on his.

The stranger came on with equal boldness, and the dress and features of an Indian were revealed. He came nearer, and, with a shout of joy, I recognized Onomo.

I ran forward to greet him. He said nothing, but when I was within twenty feet of him he halted, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and fired point blank at my head. The bullet went just above the temple, and clipped off several locks of hair.

I was dazed for the moment, and then I ran forward, crying:

“Onomo, don’t you know I’m your friend, Joe Fielding? Why have you tried to kill me?”

But he glowered at me with a look of hate the most ferocious I ever saw on a man’s face, and drawing a pistol from his belt, fired at me again, the bullet cutting through the deerskin tunic I wore, and grazing my side.

I saw very clearly now that he meant my death, and that it was his life or mine. But impulse or instinct, for I had not time to think what I would do, I raised my rifle and discharged a bullet into his chest. With a smothered, groaning cry he fell to the earth.

I ran up and bent over him. His blood was staining the ground, and his face was ghastly. He was in a half-reclining position, supported on the ground by his left elbow. I intended to offer my help, but when I bent forward he snatched a knife from his belt and made a furious stab at me. I leaped back, and heard the swish of the blade past my face. He tried to rise to his feet, but fell back. Then, snarling like a cat, he hurled the knife at me with his failing strength, and when he again failed to do me any harm, the ferocious expression on his face deepened.

I was divided between horror and amazement, but I approached him again.

“Onomo,” I said, “you forced me to shoot you. It was done on the spur of the moment to save my life. Why have you tried to kill me? I have never harmed you, and thought you my friend.”

He dragged himself painfully up on his elbow again, and with eyes flashing hate, exclaimed:

“I, your friend! I hate you and all your race! I would kill every one of them if I could! I am an Indian, a wild man, do you hear? It is bred in the bone! I love the ways of my people, and I hate the ways of yours. I have learned the white man’s language and the white man’s knowledge only that I might use them against him. I made them think me their friend that I might trap them the more easily! I was never happier than when I was taking a white man’s scalp!”

I was aghast at his declaration, and shrank from him.

“And I hate you most of all,” he ran on. “Do you see this scar on my forehead? You asked me about it once, and I told you it was an accident! But it was not! Your bullet made it the night I slew your friend when he watched! It was I who killed another of your friends when the buffaloes were running you down, and it was my arrow that flew by your head when you went down to the waterside! Yes, I would have killed you and your brother and your friends if I could! I have followed you all the way from the fort, and I meant to have all your scalps.”

My amazement deepened. Such a nature as this was beyond my comprehension. I was not sorry now that I had shot him. I had merely taken the life of the man who had treacherously slain two of our friends.

The blood was still oozing from the hole in his chest, and he had sunk into a recumbent position. But his eyes still glared hate at me. He burst into a horrid kind of laugh, and said:

“You have escaped my bullet, but you will never see your friends or the face of a white man again. You will perish on the plain with me. See, the storm comes now!”

He pointed upward with a quivering finger. Some flakes of snow settled down upon us, and a chill wind blew over the plain. The flakes came down faster and larger, and in a few moments the plain was covered. The wind increased in velocity, and the whirling snow was driven into my eyes.

►   ▲