it was after sunset when the white party reached the indian village, where the red men had preceded them with their prisoner, and the former had not the opportunity of witnessing the first reception of the mournful news by the women and children of the tribe.
but the commotion was very great when they arrived. the squaws were screaming and chattering, and one, the widow of the deceased warrior, was sitting beside his corpse on the grass, her head entirely enveloped in her blanket, rocking herself to and fro, and now and then emitting a wail of grief which seemed quite as genuine and intense as those which bereavement everywhere elicits in the world of civilization.
there was a lad of apparently eighteen or nineteen years, and two olive-skinned girls of about twelve and fourteen, children of the slain man, who hovered about the mother, and who, although they gave way now and then to passionate cries of grief, seemed chiefly bent on comforting her.
the son, indeed, mingled his words of consolation to his remaining parent with the promise that on the morrow she should herself see her husband’s murderer immolated beneath the clubs of their people, or burned at the glowing pile.
but in this he was doubtless influenced more by his education than by the promptings of his nature, for he was mild and placid in demeanor, and as yet no baleful look of hatred or revenge gleamed in his dark eyes.
buffalo bill and captain meinhold gathered some encouragement from these appearances, but they soon learned from running water that there was no ground for hope.
even if the wife and children of the slain man should prove lenient, he had a brother and father, who would both be implacable, and indeed most of the small band could claim some affinity to the deceased, and had a right to insist on their revenge.
the council sat in the evening. it was short, and its decision was unanimous, not even running water raising his voice in behalf of the man who had so grossly wronged his people.
hare was condemned to death, with the privilege of running the gantlet if he chose and taking the slight chance of escape which it offered him.
in other words, he was to be burned at the stake in the first place, or he was to run for his life between two files of men and women—composing all the tribe—armed with clubs, who were to stand facing each other, and were to strike at him as he went past.
no firearms or knives were to be used upon him, and if he passed unharmed through the files, he was to have his liberty; but if he were knocked down or disabled, he was to be taken at once to the stake and burned.
“how much chance of escape did this process offer?” cody inquired of the chief, though he knew well how little it offered.
when made to comprehend the question, running water replied in substance that a strong, active warrior, who was accustomed to ruses and feints, who could dodge, and dive, and leap like a fox, and who could stand up under heavy blows, might possibly get through safely. there would be one chance in ten for him.
“but how would it be with the present prisoner?” the border king inquired, again. “what was his chance?”
“much little,” replied the chief, smiling faintly; “’bout half of nothing at all. he no get past six squaws. he much too scare!”
poor hare had been tightly bound with bearskin thongs, and thrown down at the foot of a tree, where a single guard kept watch over him, but he had been provided with food, and his friends were permitted to communicate freely with him. from them he received the tidings of his doom.
he listened at first with some gleam of hope, but this soon vanished when he learned the full program of the scene to be enacted.
the women and large boys were to be placed first in the line—the oldest and least skillful of the men next, while the far end of this valley of death was to be composed of the best braves of the tribe, to whom it would be a lasting disgrace to allow the panting fugitive to get past them.
“i’ve a mind to refuse it,” said hare, with a groan. “it’s only for their sport, as a cat plays with a mouse, which it is sure to destroy at last. but they may kill me with a blow, and that will be better than burning. no, i’ll run! at what time is it to be?”
“soon after breakfast, and we are to have breakfast at sunrise,” cody told him. “try to get a good night’s sleep, and that will strengthen you for the task.”
“yes, i shall probably sleep well and have pleasant dreams,” said the prisoner bitterly.
“you may. such things have been. and then in the morning i will see that you have a good breakfast; and, if you wish, some brandy to give you courage, for i have some still left in my flask. come, cheer up, and make an effort for your life!”
“thank you, cody. you would make a man hope under the descending guillotine, i believe. well, i will try. but i cannot sleep yet. i want to write to my poor wife and father first. i have a pencil and some old letters which i can cross, and you, perhaps, can obtain for me the freedom of my right hand for an hour. at least, i know you will try.”
buffalo bill obtained this favor and others for the prisoner. his bands were all so far loosened that they might not give him pain, and he was removed into one of the huts for the night and was furnished with a bed of boughs.
still, he was watched all night long, closely and ceaselessly, not by one man now, but by two, who stood motionless at the two ends of his couch.
his eyes closed at last, and, after long waiting, he sank into a troubled sleep, but he still saw the motionless sentries in dreams, and he woke many times ere morning to behold them, still and statuesque—but always facing each other, and always facing him.
but he could have done nothing toward escape if they had been less vigilant, for his ankles were bound together and his arms were pinioned to his sides.
buffalo bill’s sympathy for the young man was extreme. he could not bear to give him up, but he had to consider the women first. yet he spent a considerable portion of the night in talking with the patient chief, and trying to induce a change of action; but as running water was evidently acting on principle, and not from passion, the chance of winning him over to the side of mercy was very slight.
nor would it do any good, he said, for him to urge the prisoner’s release, while by such a course he would[257] only render himself unpopular and aid the pretensions of a rival claimant to his station without effecting the end in view.
he had no right to command them contrary to their well-established customs, which would seem to be equivalent to the common law of civilized lands.
“but will you let me talk to them all together in the morning, and try to persuade them?” buffalo bill urged.
“yes,” running water promised. he would at least do that.
“and will you say to them in your own tongue the words that i speak to them in english, so that they will understand me?”
buffalo bill did not understand the dialect spoken by the chief.
running water agreed that he would do that, so far as he could. it was very hard for him to understand his white friend, or to make himself understood by him. it was “slow talk,” he said, and “much fog.”
“let me tell you then, now, part of what i want said to them.”
the chief nodded.
“a man has a right to kill his enemy in order to save his own life, has he not?”
with some difficulty, the sioux was made to understand this proposition, but when he did he heartily assented to it.
“this white man whom you have made prisoner thought that you had come to kill us.”
“uh! no—no! no business t’ink dat.”
“no matter. he did think it. he was foolish, i admit; but——”
“much fool!”
“yes—but not much bad. he’s a good man at heart. he’s very sorry. it was a mistake. you will tell them this?”
“yes—me tell um. but no good. the brave, strong arm, is dead. see?”
the chief pointed to the corpse, which still lay unsheltered and watched by the faithful widow.
“was that his name?”
“yes. but he no strong now. a-a-a-a-h!”
something like a wail escaped from the chieftain’s lips, and he shook his head angrily.
“but you will tell them?”
“yes.”
“tell them that the white man thought he was defending his life?”
“yes—him fool!”
“you need not say that. you will speak for me. you will use my tongue. do you understand?”
“yes. my white brother is right.”
“tell them that the white man’s god is the same as the red man’s great spirit—that he is up there looking down on all of us now.”
running water looked up to the sky, and bowed his head reverently.
“yes,” he said. “manitou there. running water hear him thunder—running water see his fire in the sky many times. but he not think manitou was the white man’s god.”
“there is but one god,” replied cody. “he has ‘made of one blood all the nations of men.’”
“it may be so.”
“will you tell them all this for me?”
“yes.”
“tell them also that many thousands of moons ago he sent his son down out of the sky to teach all the people of the earth his will. do you understand?”
the chief nodded his head. he had heard the story before, he said, when he visited a village of the pawnees and listened to the words of a “white medicine man.” he did not know whether it was true or not, but some of the pawnees had believed it.
“it is certainly true,” replied the border king. “we white men believe it. he healed the sick. he brought dead men to life. he walked on the great lake. he stilled the tempest. he made the winds and waves obey him. our fathers saw it long ago, and they have told us.”
“good! he was a great man.”
“he was the son of the great spirit.”
running water bowed his head in reverence.
“he told us what was his will, and what we must do to be happy after death, when we go to the land of spirits. he said we must forgive our enemies and do good to them, and then the great spirit would forgive us and make us happy in his hunting grounds. do you understand all this?”
running water seemed greatly interested, although a look of indignation and scorn crossed his features when his companion spoke of forgiving his enemies. that was utterly opposed to all he had been taught, from his youth up, though not to his natural disposition. but the look passed, and to the last question he replied quickly:
“we un’stand little. not too much. my white brother may speak um again.”
buffalo bill did so, telling the story over and over again.
running water listened very attentively, and promised to report this strange tale to his people in the morning.
“are you sure, my brother,” he asked, “that the son of the great spirit walked on the top of the water?”
“yes.”
“and made the wind go back and the waves fall down flat?”
“yes.”
“and made dead men live again?”
“yes.”
“are you sure?”
“quite sure.”
“me tell my people. let my brother sleep now. it is late.”
