13 White Face, Black Heart

Winchester left me at the door of the hut, with one last hand clasp, and I troubled myself no more about that part of the bargain. It was never in my mind that Hoyoquim would not keep faith, and the girl could have no more trusted guardian in her flight than the Englishman.

The floor of my prison was the bare earth, on which was spread a buffalo-robe, the sole article that the place contained. I sat upon it in the Indian fashion, and looked up at Black Eagle and the two Wyandot warriors who had come with me there, awaiting their wish. I felt the pangs of hunger, not having eaten for some hours, and I mentioned it to the chief. He sent one of the warriors at once, saying that the white man was his guest and brother, and the choicest afforded by the village should be at my service, or words to that effect, my mind at the moment not dwelling on trifles.

Two Miami maidens—light brown, slender, and graceful—brought me cakes made of the beaten maize, strips of venison, and a slice of buffalo tongue, a delicacy that I had appreciated these many years. They must have been the daughters of a chief, as their moccasins and leggings and deerskin tunics were brilliant with many-coloured beads, and small feathers of red, blue, and yellow glittered in their hair. Whether they felt pity for me I know not, as I could see no expression upon the face of either, yet they were most gentle in their ways.

I ate with hearty appetite. Even in the face of dissolution in its most hideous form my body demanded its due, such was the healthy life I had led. I do not think that the strong man ever appreciates fully the approach of death; his physical senses do not permit the idea. Perhaps this feeling led me into the rash bargain.

I admit, however, that some of my hope was lost when Hoyoquim told me that I must be bound, and again in the telling of this unpleasant fact he sugared it with a compliment. The white hunter had the cunning of the wolf and the strength of the bear; if a hand or a foot were left free even for the width of the narrow hut he would slip from the Indians, though a hundred warriors guarded him. As I have said before, I like compliments; but now whenever Hoyoquim began to pay me one I felt a chill; I knew that it was but the preliminary to another reduction in my chances of life.

Two warriors bound me tightly with thongs of green deerskin, and then Hoyoquim informed me that he would leave me to myself that I might commune with the Great Spirit, as it was the custom of all warriors to make their peace with Manito before going to the happy hunting-grounds. He might have spared me that last allusion, so I thought, but the suggestion of a taunt was far from the chiefs mind.

They went away, and when I was alone in the hut, chained upon the bosom of Mother Earth, I missed his grim politeness. My courage declined still further. I could not account for this sudden blotting out of hope; but when a man who has hunted all the way from the head waters of the Ohio to those of the Mississippi and then back again finds himself limited to an orbit of six inches, he understands that his life has undergone a mighty change.

It was only a hut of the Indian fashion in which I lay, strong enough to hold a prisoner, but with wide chinks between the logs, through which the winds of heaven blew as they wished. They brought upon their breath the odour of summer flowers and tales of the great, free world outside, through which I had roamed in thoughtless content. Ah, how I wished to be there again! I did not want to die, and it was a bitter thought to me then that perhaps when my old comrades heard of it some of them would say, “He was a fool for doing it, and he deserved his death.” If we have to leave life we wish to leave it gracefully and with honour.

I lay there a long time. The varied sounds of the village came through the chinks to my ear and the winds still blew, bringing with them that note which now had become taunting. I heard after a while a light step, and looking up, beheld a white man.

There are among us of the West certain creatures with a white skin and the shape of men who have the soul of neither the red nor the white; in truth, I know not whether they have a soul at all; perhaps they are possessed of a devil which drives them to the commission of all manner of crimes surpassing those of either race with which they have so often come into conflict. Their names are spoken among us with horror, and their deaths are matter for public rejoicing. These are the renegades, men of white birth belonging to the superior breed who have taken abode with the savages, fighting against their own kind, and practising every foul snare and treasonable stratagem.

It was the worst of them, all—Moses Blackstaffe—who was now before me, a man who had achieved great power among the Northwestern tribes, because his cunning intellect brought to them many a triumph and much spoil.

He was of most hateful presence, short, broad-faced, almost as dark as an Indian, with stringy black locks, cruel eyes set close together, and sensuous lips.

He folded his arms across his breast and gazed at me awhile without speech. We were not strangers. Twice had I looked upon his face in forest ambush, and thrice at the British fort. Twice had I taken from his hands prisoners—once a girl destined for his lodge, as Rose Carew was destined for the wigwam of Black Eagle. I knew that he remembered it now as he gazed at me lying there helpless, and even had he been prone to forgetfulness I should have reminded him. One can not live so long in the Indian fashion without acquiring a touch of the Indian manner.

“I salute you, Mr. Blackstaffe,” I said. “I did not expect to meet the worst villain outside of hell, but it gives me opportunity for pleasant conversation. Do you remember that fight on the Muskingum when you fled from me? But I knew before then that you were a coward. Do you remember that time two years ago when I took from you the girl whom you had chosen as your share of the spoil? She is happy now with the white people, her own people; I saw her last summer, and she asked me if the dog Blackstaffe still lived. I told her yes, but that he would yet meet the death of the dog he was!”

For answer he spat full in my face, and I saw the red flushing under the brown of his cheeks. I continued to look at him with the scorn that was burning in me.

“You speak big words for a man in your position,” he said.

“I am here in this hut, bound to this spot of earth, by my own free will and choice. If I die, it is a death that I could have avoided, and there will never be a day when such a thing can be said of you, Blackstaffe. That you know!”

I felt for the first time a thrill of exultation. I believed myself so superior to him that in comparison I seemed a very good man. I trust that the emotion was human.

He flushed again under his brown skin, but in a moment resumed his self-command and said dryly:

“No, I have more sense.”

I did not reply, and closed my eyes, as if I were weary and would be rid of his presence.

“If it is any pleasure to you to know your prospects,” he continued, “I tell you that you are to run the gantlet, and then you will be burned at the stake.”

I gave him no answer, and presently he went away, without further ado, and as his shadow became less in the hut I rejoiced greatly thereat, hating the sight of his evil face and the sound of his cruel words.

The chief unbound me about noon and the Indian maids again brought me food. I stretched my muscles, and felt the blood still flowing full and warm in my veins. When I had finished my farewell repast the girls withdrew, and I was left again to lonely thought. The night came presently, and with it a chill that reached my marrow. Hope blazes up in the sunshine, but sinks in the shadow. My chance of escape seemed to dwindle. I was now in the hands of a most cunning foe, and as my life suddenly shortened, the living of it seemed the sweeter. Yet mine in truth had been a most wretched career, now about to end obscurely in the wilderness, and the manner of its ending stirred me to anger. I should be repaid, I thought, for some things that I had suffered, and it was a hope always in my heart until this moment, when it died with other hopes.

But I did not permit such sad thoughts to go far, attuning my mind to a better frame, and seeking sleep with such good result that when I awoke again the morning sun was creeping under the mat that hung over the door.

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