Gustave Aimard - The Prairie Flower - A Tale of the Indian Border

"You shall judge."

Without any further preface, the hunter described in its fullest details the conversation he had with the chief.

"By Jove! that's serious," the Count said when Bright-eye had ended his story. "This Natah Otann is a gloomy scoundrel, whose plans you fully penetrated, and you behaved splendidly in answering him so categorically. For what has this villain taken me? Does he fancy, I wonder, that I shall act as his accomplice? Let him dare to attack those poor devils of emigrants down there, and by the saints, I swear to you, Bright-eye, that blood will be shed between us, if you help me."

"Can you doubt it?"

"No, my friend, I thank you; with you and my coward of an Ivon, I shall manage to put them to flight."

"Is my lord calling me?" the Breton asked, raising his head.

"No, no, Ivon, my good fellow; I only say that we shall soon have some fighting."

The Breton emitted a sigh, and muttered, as he lay down again, —

"Ah! if I had as much courage as I possess goodwill; but alas! as you know, I am a wonderful coward, and I shall prove more harm to you than good."

"You will do all you can, my friend, and that will be sufficient."

Ivon sighed in reply. Bright-eye had listened laughingly to this colloquy. The Breton still possessed the privilege of astonishing him, for he did not at all comprehend his singular organization. The Count turned towards him.

"So it is settled?" he said.

"Settled," the hunter answered.

"Then give the signal; my friend."

"The owl, I suppose?"

"By Jove!" the Count said.

Bright-eye raised his fingers to his mouth, and, as had been agreed with Natah Otann, imitated twice the cry of the owl, with rare perfection. Hardly had the echo of the last cry died away, than a great rumour was heard in the bushes, and, before the three men had time to put themselves in a posture of defence, some twenty Indians rushed upon them, disarmed them in a twinkling, and reduced them to a state of utter defencelessness. The Count shrugged his shoulders, leant against a tree, and, thrusting his glass in his eye, said, —

"This is very funny."

"Well, I can't see the point of the joke," muttered Ivon, in a grand aside.

Among the Indians, whom it was easy to recognize as Blackfeet, was Natah Otann! After removing the weapons of the white men, so that they could not attempt a surprise this time, he walked towards the hunter.

"I warned Bright-eye," he said.

The hunter smiled contemptuously.

"You warned us after the fashion of Redskins," he replied.

"What does my brother mean?"

"I mean that you warned us of a danger that threatened us, and not that you intended treachery."

"It is the same thing," the Indian replied, with utter calmness.

"Bright-eye, my friend, do not argue with those scoundrels," the Count said.

And turning haughtily to the chief, —

"Come! what do you want of us?" he asked.

Since his arrival on the prairie, and through his constant contact with the Indians the Count had almost unconsciously learned their language, which he spoke rather fluently.

"We do not wish to do you any hurt; we only intend to prevent your interference in our affairs," Natah Otann said respectfully; "we should be very sorry to have recourse to violent measures."

The young man burst into a laugh.

"You are humbugs! I can manage to escape, in spite of you."

"Let my brother try it."

"When the moment arrives; as for the present, it is not worth the trouble!"

While speaking in this light tone, the young man took his case from his pocket, chose a cigar, and, pulling out a lucifer match, stooped down and rubbed it on a stone. The Indians, considerably puzzled by his movements, followed them anxiously; but suddenly they uttered a yell of terror, and fell back several paces. The match had caught fire with the friction; a delicious blue flame sported about its extremity. The Count carelessly twisted the slight morsel of wood between his fingers, while waiting till all the sulphur was consumed. He did not notice the terror of the Indians.

The latter, with a movement as swift as thought, stooped down, and each picking up the first piece of wood he found at his feet, all began rubbing it against the stones. The Count, in amazement, looked at them, not yet understanding what they were about. Natah Otann seem to hesitate for a moment; a smile of strange meaning played, rapidly as lightning, over his gloomy features; but reassuming almost immediately his cold impassiveness, he took a step forward, and respectfully bowing before the Count —

"My father commands the fire of the sun," he said, with all the appearance of a mysterious terror, while pointing to the match.

The young man smiled; he had guessed the secret.

"Which of you," he said haughtily, "would dare to contend with me?"

The Indians regarded each other with amazement. These men, so intrepid and accustomed to brave the greatest dangers, were vanquished by the incomprehensible power their prisoner possessed. As, while talking to the chief, the Count had not watched his match, it had gone out before he could use it, and he threw it away. The Indians rushed upon it, to assure themselves that the flame was real. Without appearing to attach any importance to this action, the Count drew a second match from his box, and renewed his experiment. His triumph was complete; the Redskins, in their terror, fell at his feet, imploring him to pardon them. Henceforth he might dare anything. These primitive men, terrified by the two miracles he had performed, regarded him as a superior being to themselves, and were completely mastered by him. While Bright-eye laughed in his sleeve at the Indians' simplicity, the young man cleverly employed his triumph.

"You see what I can do," he said.

"We see it," Natah Otann made answer.

"When do you intend to attack the emigrants?"

"When the moon has set, the warriors of the tribe will assault their camp."

"And you?"

"Will guard our brother."

"So you now fancy that is possible," the Count said, haughtily.

The Redskins shuddered at the flash of his glance.

"Our brother will pardon us," the chief replied, submissively; "we only knew him imperfectly."

"And now?"

"Now we know that he is our master, let him command, and we will obey."

"Take care!" he said, in a tone which made them shudder, "for I am about to put your obedience to a rude trial."

"Our ears are open to receive our brother's words."

"Draw nearer."

The Blackfeet took a few hesitating steps in advance, for they were not yet completely reassured.

"And now listen to me attentively," he said, "and when you have received my orders, take care to execute them thoroughly."

We are now obliged to return to the Americans' camp. As we have said, Black and his son were mounting guard, and the pioneer was far from easy in his mind. Although not yet possessed of all the experience required for a desert life, the four months he had spent in fatiguing marches and continued alarms had endowed him with a certain degree of vigilance, which, under existing circumstances, might prove very useful; not, perhaps, to prevent an attack, but, at least, to repulse it. The situation of his camp was, besides, excellent; for from it he surveyed the prairie for a great distance, and could easily perceive the approach of an enemy.

Father and son were seated by the fire, rising from time to time, in turn, to cast glances over the desert, and assure themselves that nothing menaced their tranquillity. Black was a man gifted with an iron will and a lion's courage; hitherto his schemes had been unsuccessful, and he had sworn to make himself an honourable position, no matter at what cost.