The Big Otter Part 32

"The tongue of Attick is forked. He lies when he says that the daughter of Weeum agreed to follow him. He knows that he carried her from the camp by force against her will."

Attick had thrown forward and c.o.c.ked his gun, but happily the unexpected nature of the girl's reply, and the indignant gaze of her eyes, caused an involuntary hesitation. This did not afford time for any one to seize the intending murderer, but it enabled me hastily to point my rifle at the villain's head and fire. I have elsewhere said that my shooting powers were not remarkable; I missed the man altogether, but fortunately the bullet which was meant for his brain found its billet in the stock of his gun, and blew the lock to atoms, thus rendering the weapon useless.

With a fierce shout he dropped the gun, drew his scalping-knife, and sprang towards Waboose, or--as I had by that time found a pleasure in mentally styling her--Eve Liston.

Of course every man of our party sprang forward, but it fell to Salamander to effect the rescue, for that light-hearted and light-limbed individual chanced to be nearest to the savage when I fired at him, and, ere the knife was well drawn, had leaped upon his back with the agility of a panther. At the same moment Big Otter flung his tomahawk at him.

The weapon was well, though hastily, aimed. It struck the savage full on the forehead, and felled him to the earth.

The rest of Attick's party made no attempt to rescue him. Like all bad men, they were false to each other in the hour of need. They quietly submitted to be disarmed and led away.

We had to encamp early that evening, because the unwonted and severe exercise to which Waboose's mother had been exposed had rendered her quite unfit to travel further without rest. Attick, who had soon recovered sufficiently to be able to walk, was bound, along with his men, and put under a guard. Then the encampment was made and the fires kindled. While this was being done I led Waboose aside to a little knoll, from which we could see a beautiful country of mingled woodland and prairie, stretching far away to the westward, where the sun had just descended amid clouds of amber and crimson.

"Is it not glorious!" I exclaimed. "Should we not be grateful to the Great Spirit who has given us such a splendid home?"

Waboose looked at me. "Yes, it is glorious," she said--"and I am grateful; but it is strange that you should use the very same words that were so often on the lips of my father just before he--"

She stopped abruptly.

"Just before he went home, Eve," I interposed; "no need to say died.

Your father is not dead, but sleepeth. You shall meet him again. But it is not very strange that men should use the same words when they are animated by the same love to the Great Spirit."

The girl raised her large eyes with a perplexed, inquiring look.

"What troubles you, Eve?" I asked.

"Eve!" she repeated, almost anxiously. "Twice you have called me by a name that father sometimes used, though not often, and when he used it he always spoke low and _very_ tenderly."

I felt somewhat perplexed as to how I should reply, and finally took refuge in another question.

"Tell me, Waboose," said I, "did your father ever tell you his own name?"

"Of course he did," she answered, with a look of surprise--"you know well it was Weeum."

"Yes, William," said I; "but--"

"No--Weeum," she said, correcting me. "Once or twice I have heard him say Willum, but all our people call him Weeum."

"Had he no other name?" I asked.

"No. Why should he have another? Is not one enough?"

"You never heard of Liston?"

"Liston?--No, never."

"Waboose," said I, with sudden earnestness, "I am going to tell you something that will probably surprise you, and I will show you something that may give you pleasure--or pain--I know not which. You remember, that when I found the curious ornaments near to the stunted pine-tree, I asked you not to question me at that time about the packet you gave to me long ago. Well, the time has come when I ought to tell you all about it. But, first, look at this."

I had taken from my pocket, while speaking to her, the miniature of her father, which I now handed to her. She fixed her eyes on it with a startled look, then sprang up with an exclamation, at the same time drawing one hand across her eyes, as if to clear away some mists that dimmed them. Eagerly she gazed again, with parted lips and heaving bosom, then burst into a pa.s.sionate flood of tears, pressing the miniature alternately to her lips and to her heart.

I stood helplessly gazing at her--anxious to comfort but unable.

"Oh! why, why," she cried, suddenly dropping the miniature, "why do you mock me with this? It is so little, yet so like. It looks alive, but it is dead. It is nothing--a mockery!"

The poor girl caught it up, however, and began to kiss and caress it again.

Some time elapsed before her pa.s.sionate grief was sufficiently subdued to permit of her listening to me. When it was nearly exhausted, and found vent only in an occasional sob, I took her hand gently and said--

"Give me the picture now, Waboose. I will wrap it up again, for I have much to say."

Then, unfolding the last writing of the poor fellow whom the Indians had styled Weeum the Good, I slowly translated it into the Indian language.

It was not an easy task; for, besides feeling that it stirred the heart of the listener with powerful emotions, I had great difficulty in taking my eyes off her changeful face, so as to read the ma.n.u.script.

"Now, Eve Liston--for that is your real name," said I, when I had finished, "what do you think ought to be done?"

The girl did not reply at once, but sat so long with her hands clasped tightly on her lap, and her eyes fixed wistfully on the ground, that I had to repeat the question.

"What is to be done?" she replied, simply; "of course, what father wished to be done."

"And are you ready to go with me to the far south to see your father's mother? Can you trust me to protect you?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, with a straightforward look that almost disconcerted me; "have you not protected me well already?"

"And are you willing, Eve, to leave your tribe and go off alone with me?"

"Alone!" she repeated, with a look of surprise; "oh! no--not alone.

Mother must go too, and also Big Otter."

Once more I felt somewhat confused, for, to say truth, I had totally forgotten her mother and Big Otter for the moment.

"Well now, Eve--for I intend to call you by that name in future, except when in the presence of your people--I must talk this matter over with your mother and Big Otter. I have some fear that the latter may object to go with us."

"He will not object," said Waboose, quietly. "He loved my father, and always obeyed him."

"Very good. So much the better. Now, as to the valuable jewels--the ornaments, I mean."

"Have you got them here!" asked Eve.

"Yes. Knowing the risk I shall run of losing them or having them stolen from me, I have had a belt made which fits round my waist under my clothes, in which the jewels and the money are placed. If I can manage to get them and you safely conveyed to Colorado, all will be well, but it is a long, long journey, Eve, and--"

I was interrupted at this point by Big Otter, who came to tell us that supper was ready, and that, as the region in which they were encamped was sometimes visited by hostile Indians, as well as by white trappers-- many of whom were great scoundrels--it would be prudent to keep within the circle of sentinels after dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

ATTACKED BY BANDITS--A SAD DEATH AND A SUDDEN RESCUE.

It was well that we had been warned not to go beyond the camp, for there happened at that time to be abroad on the prairies a band of miscreants who would certainly have shot whoever they had caught straying. The band was composed of white men--that cla.s.s of white men who, throwing off all moral and social restraints, give themselves up to the practice of every species of iniquity, fearing neither G.o.d nor man. They were, in short, a band of robbers and cut-throats, whose special business at that time was hunting buffalo, but who were not averse to sell their services to any nation that chanced to be at war, or to practice simple robbery when opportunity offered.