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imu^^f^:-':  \ 


RESOLUTE   AS    A    QUEEN    .    .    .    WHILR    THB 
STILL   SMOKING   PISTOL " 


O  N  G  O  N 

A   Tale   of  Early    C  hie  ago 


By 
DUBOIS    H.    LOUX 


WEW  YORK; 
1902 


COPYRIGHTED,  I902 
BY 

DUBOIS   H.    LOUX 


CHARLES   FRANCIS    PRESS 
NEW   YORK 


/C.nU/Cn 


TO     MY 

GREAT    HEARTED    WIFE 

WHOSE    CHEERFULNESS    AND    LOVING    MINISTRATIONS 

HAVE     BEEN    TO    ALL    HER    FRIENDS 

AN    INSPIRATION 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR 


FOREWORD 

BEFORE  writing  this  tale,  the  author  visited  the  places  in  Vir- 
ginia connected  with  the  story.  In  the  ancient  churchyard 
of  Opecquon,  deep  in  the  quiet  of  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  are 
yet  standing  the  simple  monuments  to  the  memory  of  the  sturdy 
Scotch-Irish  pioneers  of  Kentucky  and  Illinois.  Here,  upon  the  old- 
est tombstone  in  northern  Virginia,  Washington's  hands  must  have 
been  laid  when,  as  a  young  Colonel  he  rode  out  from  Winchester  to 
worship  at  the  only  church  near  Fort  Loudon.  A  few  rods  down 
the  gentle  slope,  a  century  later  Sheridan  galloped  in  his  famous 
ride  from  Winchester.  To-day  a  new  stone  edifice  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  old  Presbyterian  meeting-house  of  Opecquon.  At  its 
door  a  plain  granite  pillar  has  been  erected  by  one  of  the  leading 
families  of  Chicago  in  honor  of  its  dead.  In  this  valley  Jean's  child- 
hood was  passed. 

The  year  1833,  in  which  the  scenes  of  this  book  are  laid,  brought 
to  Chicago  and  northern  Illinois  men  and  women  of  strong  minds 
and  affectionate  hearts,  whose  forefathers  prepared  the  way  for  the 
third  and  fourth  generation.  Ere  yet  the  Indians  were  removed, 
Harriet  Martineau,  visiting  Chicago,  was  astonished  at  the  intel- 
lectual vigor  and  true  refinement  of  its  first  citizens,  who,  enduring 
cheerfully  every  privation,  set  their  faces  steadfastly  toward  the  fu- 
ture of  the  village.  Meanwhile  the  Indians,  completing  a  quarter  of 
a  century  of  loyalty  and  good  will,  drew  on  to  the  hour  of  their 
great  desolation.  From  legend  and  history  and  the  lives  of  their 
illustrious  chiefs,  we  have  a  marvelous  picture  of  these  canoe  and 
prairie  tribes  struggling  against  fate.  That  fate  leaves  a  door  ajar 
through  which  a  superior  race  may  do  well  to  walk  softly.  ^|i 

While  spending  a  week  with  the  Indians  in  Colorado  last  sum- 
mer, the  author  was  impressed  with  the  ideals  which,  much  writing 
to  the  contrary,  are  cherished  by  the  red  men.  God  needs  not  to 
apologize  for  having  created  the  Indian.  Philosophers  may  go  to 
school  to  him;  psychologists  may  find  abundant  material  in  him  for 
a  master-work  on  the  slow  but  sure  development  and  supremacy 
of  mind ;  statesmen  may  trace  in  this  American  savage  potentials  of 
character  that  make  for  civic  power ;  and  ministers  of  the  gospel  may 
come  to  discover  in  him  another  justification  of  God's  ways  to  man. 
A  distinguished  senator  of  Colorado,  cheerfully  giving  the  author 
of  Ongon  an  hour  of  his  vacation  time,  was  bold  to  affirm  that  he 


Foreword 

thoug:ht  the  Indian  a  moral  being  and  the  Christian  reUgion  adapted 
to  help  the  Creator  complete  his  plan  in  every  part  of  his  great, 
ethical  world.  We  smile  when  we  put  our  affirmations  into  sen- 
tences ;  but  many  of  us  have  held  the  tomahawk  so  close  to  our  eyes 
that  we  have  never  really  seen  the  Indian, 

The  author  wishes  to  acknowledge  his  indebtedness  to  School- 
craft's "Indian  Tribes  of  the  United  States,"  prepared  1847  and 
published  1855,  for  the  "Lake  Song"  printed  in  Ongon  on  page  98, 
and  for  the  Indian  chant  on  page  107.  These  were  taken  respec- 
tively from  Part  V,  pages  562  and  612.  On  page  606  may  be  found 
the  entire  chapter  of  I  Cor.  13  in  the  Indian  tongue.  The  "Dog 
Dance,"  printed  on  page  139,  is  taken  from  "Haines'  American 
Indian,"  page  533 — a  work  far  too  valuable  not  to  be  found  in  either 
the  Astor  or  the  New  York  Public  Libraries.  Chicago  possesses  at 
least  two  copies,  one  at  the  Newberry,  the  other  at  the  Public 
Library.  Ongon's  legend,  which  he  tells  on  page  135,  is  adapted 
from  Mathew's  translation  of  the  "Winter  Spirit  and  His  Visitor" 
in  Mason's  "Indian  Fairy  Book,"  published  in  1856,  page  261. 
Black  Hawk  in  his  biography,  dictated  by  himself,  1833,  speaks  of 
the  Indian's  wooing  enacted  in  the  little  play  of  chapter  XLIII.  in 
Ongon.  Catherine  Dale,  as  well  as  her  early  philosophy  of  religion, 
will  be  recognized  by  many.  In  another  dress  she  is  the  saddened 
Russian  artist  who,  with  an  American  sphere,  might  have  achieved 
health  and  happiness  in  the  end.  Sometimes  in  this  book  an  authen- 
tic Indian  quotation  will  be  used  or  modified  to  show  the  Indian's 
fondness  for  figures  of  speech. 

For  their  esteemed  service  in  helping  out  a  three-months'  re- 
search, the  librarians  and  assistants  of  the  Congressional  Library, 
Washington ;  the  Newberry  and  Historical  libraries  of  Chicago,  and 
New  York  Astor  and  Public  libraries  are  heartily  thanked.  The 
Chicago  Public  Library  is  so  accustomed  to  distribute  goodness 
without  expecting  gratitude  that  any  mention  of  its  thousand  and 
one  kindnesses  would  be  considered  a  superfluous  expense  of  energy. 
One  may  take  from  its  shelves  a  hundred  books  to  write  a  line,  and 
only  be  asked.  Be  brief. 


Ongon 


THE    CACHE 

He  who  will  take  Jean  to  his  heart  shall  learn  why,  for  a  season, 
she  chose  to  be  called  Lusette.  Then  he  will  return  to  the  warm, 
bright  stillness  of  the  early  June  afternoon,  and  understand  what 
gratitude  lay  in  her  own  heart,  and  how  much  more  she  meant  than 
she  expressed  when  her  lips  murmured  that  the  playful  ripples  of 
Lake  Michigan,  brown  and  violet  and  blue,  were  myriads  of  eyes 
arching  their  brows  and  dancing  with  welcome  for  them  on  the 
shore. 

"Oh,  thousand  years  of  unseen  beauty,  given  for  a  moment  of 
mind !"  Very  beautiful  was  Jean  addressing  the  lake,  Hfting  a  face 
that  seemed  the  human  counterpart  of  the  ever-changing  delicate 
colors  on  the  waters.  From  the  depth  of  her  woman's  feeling,  her 
countenance,  too,  suggested  that,  like  the  quiet  Michigan,  it  might 
become  storm-tossed  with  passion.  Therefore,  the  highest  light  that 
played  in  her  eyes  and  seemed  to  move  upon  her  lips  was  the 
promise  of  a  strength  of  self-mastery.  Though  just  now  she  led  in 
the  playful  mood,  there  was  a  tenderness  even  in  her  abandon.  Had 
she  spoken  her  real  thoughts,  they  had  been  tears — and  not  un- 
worthy of  greatest  joy. 

Her  maid  and  companion,  now  called  Gurgling  Water,  and  now 
Josie,  was  younger  in  years,  Indian,  and  from  her  speech  educated. 
Once  Jean  had  called  her  pretty  and  roguish — the  very  spirit  of  a 
merry  smile  that  had  taken  a  fourteen-year-ply  sunburn,  and  thence 
had  turned  up  human  and  feminine.  Then  the  mistress  had  been 
answered  by  a  devotion  of  eyes.     Savage  is  the  delight  for  praise. 

The  two  were  kneeling  in  the  sands  with  flowers,  rejoicing  in  a 
strangely  fascinating  task.  They  had  formed  a  cross  of  wild  prim- 
roses, and  the  letters  "O.  A."  of  violets  upon  a  delicate  framework 
of  primrose  stems.  The  Indian  girl  had  enjoyed  the  play  of  trying 
to  make  her  fingers  move  as  deftly  as  those  of  her  mistress,  while 
laughingly  endeavoring  as  well  to  grasp  with  a  quick  mind  the 
mystery  of  words. 

I 


Ong 


on 

"Josie,"  said  Jean,  when  the  work  was  completed  to  their  satis- 
faction and  they  had  paused  to  feel  its  daintiness  and  to  feast  their 
eyes  again  upon  the  color  scheme  of  sky  and  waters,  "think  of  it, 
for  days  as  these  sands  for  multitude,  this  lake  has  slept  and  swept 
in  brimming  isolation  from  the  world." 

"Merrigo,  has  it,  Lusette,"  replied  the  Indian  maiden,  tapping 
her  forehead  to  settle  the  new  words  safely  for  definitions  when 
interests  should  lull. 

"How  Ongon  must  look  when  he  stands  upon  the  shore. 
Heaven  grant  it  to  breathe  with  the  air  into  his  blood  that  the  world 
was  created  in  thought  of  him." 

Her  maid  could  understand  such  love,  and  was  not  forbidden  the 
privilege  of  answering  by  placing  a  heart  of  violets  in  her  mistress' 
hair.    She  knew  also  why  the  subject  was  changed  so  abruptly. 

"Do  you  think.  Gurgling  Water,  to  these  odd  breadths  of  green 
and  red  in  my  robe  any  folds  of  admission  cling  that  what  we  have 
adopted  is  not  unadapted  ? — Do  I  look  like  a  gypsy  ?" 

"I  would  never  take  you  for  a  gypsy,"  answered  the  girl,  replying 
to  the  understood  section  of  the  sentence,  with  admiration  for  the  red 
and  green  confusion  of  words,  and  genuine  Indian  fondness  for  the 
realities  with  which  the  body  of  her  mistress  was  clad. 

"It's  my  Scotch-Irish  face,  Josie,  and  all  the  training  at  the 
female  seminary,"  said  Jean,  reopening  the  black  box  which  they  had 
discovered  in  the  plundered  cache. 

"It  was  strange  that  they  left  the  box  and  didn't  find  what  was 
in  it — and  to  think  if  my  horse  hadn't  run  away  we  should  not 
have  come  here  to  give  yours  a  drink  before  he  must  carry  us  both !" 

"And  not  have  discovered  the  cache  made  by  Ongon  had  been 
opened  by  some  one? — Nay,  Josie,  then  must  we  have  needs  been 
drawn  hither  by  other  powers." 

Josie  was  whispering  it,  "And  to  think,  Lusette,  your  name  in 
the  box  and  that  ring !" 

"And  this  magazine,  too.  Gurgling  Water ;  see  Ongon  has  marked 
this  for  a  study."  It  was  an  almost  current  number  of  the 
Museum  with  an  engraving  of  Hogarth's  painting  "Marriage  a  la 
Mode";  the  pencil  marks  were  against  a  poem  descriptive  of  the 
painting. 

"In  his  own  person  centres  all  his  pride, 
And    as   his  bride   loves  him,   he   loves   his  pride." 

"  'The  bridegroom  has  turned  away  from  his  bride  in  love  with 
himself,'  "  read  Lusette.  "  'He  is  gazing  in  the  mirror  with  delight  in 

2 


The  Cache 

an  affected  style,  displaying  his  snuff-box  and  glittering  ring.     The 
ceiling  is  decorated  with  Pharaoh's  host  drowning  in  the  sea.'  " 

"Who  was  Pharaoh?"  inquired  Josie;  "what  has  that  to  do 
with  a  selfish  husband?" 

"The  critic  must  never  go  too  far,  my  dear,"  said  the  young 
mistress;  "but  Pharaoh  was  pursuing  the  Hebrews,  perhaps  your 
ancestors,  before  they  became  the  lost  tribes  and  some  of  them 
reached  America.  You  have  a  history  then  before  my  forefathers 
were  known." 

"Tell  me  of  your  fathers,  Josie  will  keep  the  secret." 

The  pages  had  slipped  on  to  a  quotation  from  Goethe  that  his- 
torical writing  is  a  way  of  getting  rid  of  the  past.  "Historical  tell- 
ing is  the  same  sort  of  a  way,  Josie,  we  don't  know  much  about  the 
Scotch-Irish,  only  we  are  called  Presbyterian  Irish,  and  fight  and 
die,  but  never  surrender.  Celt  and  Saxon  are  in  us  combined  after 
each  had  been  refined  and  tempered.  We  are  energetic,  vigorous, 
home-loving,  from-home-roving  people.  Patrick  Henry  was  one  of 
us,  and  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  Hamilton.  We  have  been  called  the 
kernel  of  Americanism;  much  we  helped  Washington  and  every 
good  cause  since.  My  great-grandfather  was  a  preacher  who  fol- 
lowed bridle  paths  and  Indian  trails  in  Virginia,  seeking  small  places 
in  which  to  do  some  good.  At  night  he  unsaddled  his  horse  and 
hobbled  him  with  hickory  bark  and  turned  him  to  the  hills.  Then  he 
slept  with  his  saddle-bag  for  a  pillow  and  the  stars  for  the  silver  de- 
sign in  his  ceiling.  We  are  plainer  people  in  our  customs  than  the 
CavaHers  of  our  Virginia,  but  our  men  'reckon  we  have  done  as  much 
good' — oh !" 

Trained  to  follow  her  mistress  quickly,  if  at  all,  Josie  was  search- 
ing the  page  for  the  sudden  excitement,  "  'Mr.  Harry  Clermont,' " 
she  read  at  the  bottom  of  an  engraving  of  a  noted  secret  service  man. 
"He's  from  Virginia,  too,  Lusette  ?"  now  finding  more  in  the  face  of 
her  companion  than  in  the  picture. 

"Yes,  the  magazine  is  having  a  run  of  engravings  by  such  men  as 
Keenan,  Mr.  Clermont  is  among  the  successful  men,  you  see.  Here 
is  a  face  I  like  better ;  isn't  he  handsome !" 

She  had  turned  to  another  month  and  both  were  engaged  by  the 
full-length  print  of  Major  John  Trenton,  one  of  the  heroes  of  the 
Black  Hawk  War  of  the  year  before.  But  Josie  had  been  taught 
to  trail  interesting  ideas  with  the  eagerness  of  her  race  for  game, 
and  she  soon  discovered  that  the  direction  of  her  mistress'  thought 
was  towards  the  other  one.    "Who  was  he,  Lusette  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Clermont  is  a  Cavalier,  Gurgling  Water." 
3 


Onoron 

o 

"And  who  are  they,  Lusette?" 

"The  Cavaliers  are  proud  aristocrats  from  England  who  love  to 
hear  the  cultured  rustle  of  approaching  silks,"  affected  the  mistress. 

"And  you  are  jealous — then  I  won't  like  them." 

"But  we  must  hurry;  if  we  should  be  found  here,  it  would  spoil 
everythiiig,"  said  Jean,  although  the  horizon  was  clear. 

"He  will  never  know  what  the  "A"  means  until " 

"Until  he  knows  all,  Josie,"  answered  her  mistress,  bending  over 
the  violets  tenderly.  "Now  we  are  ready  to  put  in  the  flowers,  but 
not  a  word  beside,  alas  !    Cover  them  gently,  so." 

"Why  don't  it  crush  things  more  to  bury  them  in  sand,  Lusette?" 
asked  Josie,  when  they  had  begun  industriously  to  pull  down  the 
sand  dune  into  the  hole.  "Why  can  we  bury  eggs  but  a  few  inches 
and  walk  over  them  without  crushing  them?" 

"Because  the  weight  is  distributed  laterally,  as  they  say,  or  side- 
wise  by  every  grain  of  sand.  The  whole  world  gets  part  of  the  push 
of  the  foot  as  well  as  the  little  egg.  Now  the  very  dry  sand  on  top, 
Josie,  there !  we  can  mount  and  away." 

They  rode  along  at  a  steady  jog  until  Lusette's  eyes  were  satisfied 
that  they  had  gone  as  far  as  they  might  safely  dare  together,  when 
she  dismounted  and  gave  the  Indian  girl  the  reins.  "You  will  have 
to  keep  them  in  your  hand  for  my  horse,"  she  said,  smiling,  when 
Josie  playfully  grasped  the  mane  as  her  usual  hold  and  means  of 
guidance. 

"We  could  go  all  the  way  together,"  protested  the  Indian  maiden. 

"Too  slow.  Gurgling  Water,  if  discovered.  You  know  just  what 
to  do  with  the  box  if  any  one  pursues  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  shall  have  a  new  dress  for  this,  Josie,  only  be  sure  to  avoid 
everybody  along  the  road — even  Wautoma — and  put  the  box  exactly 
where  I  have  said." 

"Josie  will  be  careful, — oh,  merrigo,  Lusette !" 

The  exclamation  followed  the  dropping  of  a  thick  brown  veil 
over  the  face  of  her  mistress,  whose  fingers  still  kept  in  lingering 
touch  of  the  box  even  after  the  hands  had  let  go  of  it. 

"Is  it  good,  Josie  ?" 

"Oh,  merrigo,  merrigo,  Lusette,"  laughed  the  girl,  "they  will 
never  know  you  together  with  that  and  the  heavy  cloak !" 

"It  is  good,  then,  and  this  is  the  way  I  must  walk."  The  utter 
awkwardness  caused  even  the  horse  to  prick  up  his  ears. 

"Is  my  Lusette  sure  that  they  put  a  beaver  fur  in  there,  too?" 

4 


Evening  at  the  Tavern 

asked  the  girl  at  last  when  they  must  depart  on  their  separate  ways 
in  earnest. 

"It  is  gone — taken  by  some  one  who  learned  that  they  were  to 
bury  the  things,  that  is  plain." 

"Then  why  wasn't  this  box  stolen  too?" 

"Perhaps  to  catch  us,"  returned  her  mistress.  "Now,  Gurgling 
Water,  ride  hard,  and  I  will  be  home  by  the  stage  to-morrow." 

Not  waiting  for  a  second  command  the  girl  wheeled  the  horse 
about  and  was  off  along  the  shore  at  a  rapid  canter,  turning  once  to 
note  that  the  figure  behind  her  had  lifted  the  veil  and  was  waving 
her  a  good  journey  with  the  same  wondrously  pleased  look  that  she 
had  worn  ever  since  they  had  found  the  box. 

Breathing  a  prayer  aloud  to  the  Great  Spirit  to  keep  her  beautiful 
Lusette  from  all  harm,  the  Indian  maiden  laid  her  open  fingers  upon 
her  heart  and  thence  saluted  towards  her  mistress,  receiving  a  kin- 
dred salutation  in  return.  They  had  vowed  again  to  seek  each  other's 
good  in  the  simple  but  expressive  language  of  Indian  signs. 

Then  Jean  walked  rapidly  in  the  direction  whence  the  blue 
smoke  was  curling  lazily  against  the  sky.  Because  she  chose  to  wear 
a  veil  on  this  afternoon,  it  would  not  be  in  keeping  with  that  prefer- 
ence to  tell,  while  she  is  on  the  sands,  of  her  eyes  and  hair  and 
natural  grace. 

"Breath  Master ! — Great  Spirit ! — God  !" — suddenly  she  had 
thrown  aside  the  role  she  was  to  play  and  was  kneeling  in  the  sand. 
"If  Thou  wilt  truly  help  me  to  save  my  brother  Ongon,  then  wilt 
Thou  give  his  sister  strength  to  wait  until  she  can  see  him  wisely, 
with  courage  for  dangers  and  protection  from  every  foe."  Dear 
orphan  child,  with  thy  great  love.  Heaven  hears  thee,  go  forward 
in  peace.  So  she  felt  the  message  had  come  to  her  heart  when  she 
arose  and  journeyed  onward  to  the  inn. 

II 

EVENING    AT    THE    TAVERN 

When  Ongon's  sister  reached  the  rude  tavern  toward  which  she 
had  directed  her  steps,  a  second  surprise  was  in  store  for  her,  to  be 
met  as  unexpectedly  as  the  box  in  the  opened  cache.  The  inn  was 
one  of  a  little  chain  of  public  houses  that  had  begun  to  offer  immi- 
grants— and  already  some  few  emigrants — the  luxury  of  a  night's 
wayside  lodging,  such  as  it  was  and  for  a  price. 

Yes,  she  could  have  the  only  room  unoccupied  upstairs,  since  she 

5 


On 


gon 


had  conveyed  the  impression  that  she  would  rather  part  with  her 
money  than  with  her  incognito.  Though  the  obUging  landlord,  re- 
lieving her  in  advance  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the  contents  of 
her  purse,  would  never  have  revealed  by  his  eyes  how  much  also  he 
had  obtained  of  her  identity,  nevertheless  the  change  spoke  for  itself. 

"Sir,  you  have  returned  me  more  than  is  due,"  observed  Jean, 
counting  back  the  difference. 

"I  made  a  mistake  in  naming  the  price,"  said  the  host  deferen- 
tially. 

"Oh !" 

There  was  more  astonishment  on  the  part  of  the  veiled  lady  than 
could  be  accounted  for  by  the  amount  of  money,  but  she  tried  im- 
mediately not  to  have  appeared  to  recognize  the  gentleman  at  the 
desk  with  the  landlord.  And  while  the  innkeeper  observed  and 
came  adroitly  to  her  rescue,  his  words  confirmed  her  brief  glance. 

"Ah,  those  wicked  soldiers,  Mr.  Clermont,  when  they  came  back 
last  year  from  following  Black  Hawk,  they  would  insist  on  the 
beauties  of  northern  Illinois  and  southern  Wisconsin,  and  here  we 
poor  tavern-keepers  are,  victims  of  our  inability  to  supply  half  the 
room  desired !" 

"Alas,"  murmured  the  disguised  celebrity,  "limited  capacity  in 
the  busy  season  takes  away  the  poetry  of  inn-keeping,  I  should 
judge." 

"Oh,  there's  poetry  enough," twinkled  the  host.  "Two  months  ago 
a  party  of  newly  married  young  folk  came  along," — the  manner  of 
his  telling  it  was  enough  to  hold  Jean  for  a  moment  in  spite  of 
herself — "and  they  were  full  of  poetry.  'Think  of  it,'  cried  the  little 
wife  in  ecstasy,  'long  lines  of  prairie  schooners,  my  uncle  said — he 
was  a  soldier,  you  know — floating  over  the  plains !  They  toss  their 
precious  freight  in  a  sea  of  beautiful  flower-gemmed  prairie  grass 
which  has  swept  every  tree  from  the  horizon — except  where  a  little 
river  anchors  an  occasional  grove !'  " 

"Exquisite,"  said  Clermont,  "but  when  the  sentiment  sub- 
sided?" 

"It  left  them  face  to  face  with  painted  Indians — then  I  had  them 
as  guests  the  second  time,  on  the  home  voyage,  via  the  prairie 
schooner,  so  to  speak." 

As  Jean  mounted  the  stairs  musing  upon  the  reason  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  noted  Virginian,  the  face  of  the  landlord  and  the  bright- 
ness of  his  conversation,  in  contrast  with  the  sadness  of  his  eyes, 
forced  themselves  upon  her.  The  inn-keeper's  features  wore  the 
habit  of  one  who  had  come  to  be  a  bargainer,  but  his  eyes  were  too 


Evening  at  the  Tavern 

honest  a  brown  to  admit  the  native  sharper.  This  the  return  of  the 
change  had  proved  as  welL  Here  v^as  a  man  past  thirty,  perhaps, 
vi^ith  a  history.  Of  Mr.  Clermont — she  smiled  to  herself  under  the 
veil. 

"The  travelers  keep  a-comin',  the  travelers  keep  a-comin'/'  was 
the  tavern-keeper's  happy  murmur  to  himself  as  the  day  wore  into 
night  and  his  guests  became  a  host. 

The  last  to  arrive,  and  destined  to  give  the  landlord  as  great  a 
shock  of  surprise  as  Clermont's  presence  had  occasioned  Jean,  was 
out  of  humor.  Having  tossed  his  bridle  to  a  servant,  with  the  re- 
mark that  this  was  a  devilish  treeless  sort  of  a  place  for  a  town-site, 
and  having  gone  out  of  his  way  to  kick  a  bush  with  his  boot  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  not  a  crouching  Indian,  he  pushed  the  open  door 
farther  ajar  and  passed  in,  paying  no  attention  to  the  oath  of  the 
owner  of  the  pair  of  legs  stretched  upon  the  floor. 

The  room  with  its  partitions  constituted  the  lower  floor  of  the 
inn,  and,  owing  to  the  crowded  condition  of  the  house,  was  by  even- 
ing serving  in  the  combined  capacity  of  sample-room,  dining-room, 
and  smoking-room,  bedroom,  parlor,  and  hotel  oflice. 

"Saints,  Bulbsy!"  muttered  the  landlord  to  himself,  rising  from 

his  seat  behind  the  counter.     "Good-evening ?" 

"Buhl-Bysee,"  answered  the  latest  guest,  so  writing  his  name  on 
the  register,  "and  yours  ?" 

"Craps,"  replied  the  host. 

"Anybody  passing?" 

"Major  Trenton,  yesterday." 

Buhl-Bysee  looked  up  quickly,  but  the  landlord  apparently  had 
merely  mentioned  the  name  of  the  most  popular  of  his  recent  guests, 
and  was  checking  the  register. 

"Seems  to  me  I  have  seen  you  before?"  said  the  newcomer. 

"Yes?" 

But  he  was  not  in  a  searching  frame  of  mind,  being  hungry. 
"Have  you  anything  fit  to  eat,  for  I  see  you  haven't  a  confounded 
place  to  sleep?" 

"All  full  of  ladies,  too,"  nodded  the  landlord  to  further  divert  the 
attention  of  the  guest. 

The  rude  partitions  which  received  the  benefit  of  the  inn-keeper's 
gesture,  bulging  out  with  extra  beds,  were  making  no  attempt  to 
hide  the  articles  of  apparel  between  the  cracks,  that  arrangement  of 
clothing  being,  in  truth,  the  attempt  of  their  feminine  owners  to  hide 
themselves. 

"Humph !" 

7 


On 


gon 


With  such  remark  Buhl-Bysee  turned  his  back  on  the  landlord 
with  an  order  for  the  best  he  had;  after  which  he  advanced  to  a 
long  table  at  the  fartherest  end  of  the  room,  where  a  company  of  the 
more  jovial  guests  were  making  the  night  merry,  and  a  few  of  the 
more  industrious,  profitable. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  floating  out  from  the  open  window,  the 
other  side  of  the  shrub  that  had  received  the  attention  of  the  Buhl- 
Bysee's  boot  crept  nearer  the  dining  side  of  the  hotel  office,  and  to 
the  faculty  of  self-transplantation  added  that  of  audition. 

"Two  hundred  dollars,  did  I  hear  you  say,  for  a  lot  in  Chicago? 
Ton  my  honor,  man,  you  are  too  generous !  Why  I  can  buy  a 
farm  of  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  land  for  half  the  money !" 

It  was  not  this  conversation  between  two  bargainers  that  held 
the  ears  of  the  listening  bush  outside. 

"Dull  country,  did  I  hear  you  say?"  some  one  was  answering 
Buhl-Bysee,  "why  look  at  that  man  for  a  good  adventure !" 

He  was  showing  something  that  elicited  admiration  around 
the  table. 

"There  we  are,  I  got  that  exquisite  fur  along  with  one  of  the  few 
romances  that  come  to  a  man,  I  tell  you." 

Was  the  bush  growing  taller  or  was  it  only  imagination  to  the 
eye  of  Lusette  up-stairs  at  the  window  ?  Now  it  was  collapsing  again. 

In  response  to  a  request  for  the  story  of  his  adventure,  the  owner 
of  the  fur  was  beginning  to  recount  his  tale. 

"There  is  in  these  parts  some  mysterious  agency  that  has  bound 
together  a  strange  band  of  Indians  who  go  about  in  becoming  cos- 
tumes of  gray  with  a  cross  on  their  breasts.  Every  one  of  the  band 
— how  many  there  are  I  do  not  know — is  pledged  to  obey  some  one  or 
something  for  which  they  have  a  name.  Sometimes  they  pronounce 
it  in  a  soft  way  that  would  seem  to  be  a  whispered  'ON,'  and  then 
again  with  more  force  like  "GUN."  From  hearing  the  first  you 
might  fancy  it  is  a  human  being,  but  then  again  you  are  led  to  be- 
lieve that  it  is  a  force,  perhaps  the  force  of  powder  driving  home  the 
rifle  ball  they  half  worship. 

"Whatever  the  nature  of  the  power  that  binds  together  these 
peculiar  Indians,  at  least  some  one  among  them  is  led  by  it  to  practice 
some  of  the  more  useful  arts.  What  could  be  more  intelligent  than 
the  way  they  have  dressed  this  beaver?  They  had  to  know  how  to 
salt  the  pelt,  wash  it,  remove  the  fat,  cut  out  the  long  coarse  hairs, 
and  perhaps  in  the  end  dye  it  a  dozen  times. 

"But  this  is  not  my  story.  A  few  nights  ago,  when  making  my 
outward  trip  not  far  from  here,  I  saw  a  light  on  the  lake  on  an 

8 


Evening  at  the  Tavern 

approaching  canoe.  It  was  a  very  dark  and  cloudy  night,  just  the 
kind  of  an  evening  when  men  select  an  hour  to  do  mysterious  things,, 
and,  says  I,  lay  low  old  fellow,  and  see  what  turns  up.  Which  I 
did,  though  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  want  to  do  it  again. 

"They  landed — four  Indians — a  stone's  throw  from  where  I 
crouched,  chattering  away  in  those  dulcet  tones  they  use  when  they 
are  happy  and  feel  perhaps  a  little  more  romantic  than  usual  them- 
selves. Soon  they  were  digging  in  a  sand  dune  well  back  from  the 
lake  near  me.  Ugh,  I  could  hear  them  breathe,  but  I  don't  believe- 
that  my  lungs  performed  the  office  of  respiration  for  fifteen  minutes^ 
Into  that  hole  they  put  this  beaver  along  with  some  other  things,  and 
a  black  box.  Then  while  I  was  trembling  all  the  while  lest  they 
reconnoiter  and  discover  me,  they  left  hastily,  and  soon  I  could  hear 
the  sound  of  the  paddle  again. 

"Now  they  say  the  beaver  is  caught  by  leading  him  to  obey  his- 
sense  of  duty.  The  trappers  just  make  a  breach  in  the  dam  which  the 
creatures  have  toilsomely  built  and  there  they  hide  their  trap.  As- 
soon  as  they  are  gone  the  beavers  rush  to  repair  the  hole.  They  say 
it's  like  using  a  baby's  cry  to  draw  its  mother  into  an  ambush.  The 
steel  jaws  of  the  trap  cruelly  seize  the  faithful  workers  just  as  they 
are  succeeding.  The  ruse  has  worked.  And  so  in  as  much  as  I  had 
been  drawn  into  an  ambush  I  felt  that  duty  led  me  to  mark  the  spot 
and  in  the  morning  repair  to  where  the  cache  had  been  made. 

"Very  generously  I  left  the  black  box  and  its  papers,  taking  only 
this  fur  and  some  other  trifles.  But  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  knew  where 
all  the  buried  Indian  things  are,  you  could  quit  rustling  and  live  like 
princes  the  rest  of  your  days." 

"Will  you  not  be  afraid  to  return  here  again,"  suggested' 
Qermont. 

"Oh,  I've  done  with  coming  out  here  anyhow.  To  my  notion; 
this  whole  country  is  overdone.  You  never  can  make  much  out  of 
these  parts. 

"Is  there  no  society  here  ?"  drawled  Buhl-Bysee,  who  had  laughed 
to  himself  over  the  "ON"  and  the  "GUN."  The  story  was  either 
tiresome  to  him,  or  else  he  wished  to  draw  attention  from  the  subject 
of  the  box. 

"We  have  some  ladies  here  to-night,"  said  Clermont. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  replied  the  latest  comer,  looking  around  con- 
temptuously, "but  I  mean  anybody  of  note  or  accomplishments?" 

"They  say  that  Catherine  Dale,  who  painted  that  rage  of  "Les 
Gar  cons,  is  here,  or  was  rather,  but  has  gone  out  to  live  with  the 
Indians  away  from  Fort  Dearborn,"  said  the  owner  of  the  beaver. 

9 


Ongon 


"Fort  Dearborn  isn't  here,"  growled  Buhl-Bysee,  "it's  sixty  miles 
away  from  here." 

"Haven't  bought  here,  partner,  have  you?" 

The  laugh  at  Buhl-Bysee's  expense  led  him  to  reveal  himself  in 
all  his  importance,  and  Clermont,  who  had  started  at  the  mention  of 
the  name  of  Catherine  Dale,  was  covering  his  momentary  confusion 
by  asking  Buhl-Bysee  to  repeat  just  what  he  had  said. 

"I  am  one  of  the  commissioners  of  the  United  States  authorized 
to  make  a  treaty  with  the  Indians  looking  to  their  removal  west  of 
the  jNIississippi,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  obligingly. 

Thereupon  Clermont  engaged  the  commissioner  in  a  conversation 
that  repeatedly  made  the  bush  outside  sway  as  if  shaken  by  the  wind. 
Clermont  seemed  impressed  by  the  grandeur  of  Buhl-Bysee,  and  both 
advanced  his  own  opinions  with  diffidence,  and  permitted  himself  to 
be  overridden  with  great  meekness. 

"The  government  is  making  history  and  should  take  care,  should 
it  not,  to  leave  no  taint  of  dishonor  on  this  transaction?"  suggested 
Clermont. 

"May  be  so,"  drawled  the  commissioner,  smacking  his  lips  and 
adding  to  the  contents  of  his  mouth,  "but  we  must  open  up  the  land 
for  the  settlers." 

"Honorably,  let  us  hope,"  ventured  the  other. 

"By  extinguishing  the  titles  of  the  Indians,"  replied  the  agent. 

"I  mean  in  a  way  creditable  to  our  countrymen."  Clermont's 
question  contained  its  own  request  for  pardon  if  irritating. 

"In  the  most  expeditious  way  possible;  it's  a  thing  we've  got  to 
get  done  and  that  in  a  hurry,"  plumped  Buhl-Bysee. 

"Ah,  but  I  saw  yesterday  at  Detroit  a  schooner  leave  for  Chicago, 
its  holds  filled  with  barrels  of  whiskey."  The  voice  asked  to  be  set 
right  on  what  it  saw. 

"Of  course,  they'll  have  it  anyhow,  the  Indians  are  easier  to  treat 
with  when  supplied  with  liquor,"  sneered  Buhl-Bysee. 

"But  does  not  that  seem  to  be  making  them  drunk  in  order  to 
get  their  five  million  acres  for  a  song?"  asked  Clermont. 

"We'll  make  them  drunk  to  give  them  a  good  time,  my  friend," 
said  the  agent,  who  would  have  done  with  the  subject,  now  that  his 
importance  was  made  apparent  to  them  all.  "To  be  brief  and  to  the 
point  with  you,  sir,  my  government  intends  that  the  Indians  shall  be 
rem.oved  west  of  the  Mississippi.  If  it  must  be  done  by  force  of 
arms,  why" — he  laughed  coarsely — "we  have  Major  Trenton  at 
hand,  I  believe.  But  if  by  treaty  peaceably,  so  much  the  better. 
However,  since  their  going  is  not  a  debatable  question,  therefore  a 
flow  of  liquor  is  better  than  a  flow  of  blood." 

lO 


Weird  Figures 


Had  Lusette  not  retired  from  the  window,  a  twig  of  the  bush 
might  have  been  seen  feeling  for  the  pistol  at  the  shadow  of  its 
girth.  But  the  gust  of  anger  gave  place  to  discretion,  and,  the  con- 
versation being  ended,  the  whole  migratory  shrub  moved  off  over  the 
barren  waste  into  the  darkness. 

Ill 

WEIRD     FIGURES 

When  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  inn  the  Indian  arose  and 
pushed  out  with  rapid  strides  in  a  direction  away  from  the  lake. 
Once  on  his  pony,  which  he  had  tied  to  more  than  an  imaginary  bush, 
the  miles  flew  beneath  his  feet,  until  a  distant  light  glimmered  sud- 
denly on  the  horizon  like  a  star  of  low  magnitude.  Towards  this 
horse  and  rider  sped  with  common  will,  the  powerful  beast  stretch- 
ing his  legs  in  the  night  until  soon,  like  the  opening  of  the  telescope, 
he  had  brought  the  star  into  a  flaming  world. 

The  Indian's  fingers  were  extended  and  moved  sharply  down  in 
front  of  the  eyes  of  his  pony.  Before  that  obedient  creature  could 
halt  his  master  was  upon  the  ground.  A  long,  plaintive  call  of  woe, 
like  the  moan  of  the  screech-owl,  fled  from  the  Hps  of  the  chief. 

Then  he  stood  with  his  arms  folded  and  leaning  upon  the  neck 
of  his  horse — waiting  the  response. 

The  cry  seemed  to  have  smothered  the  fire-world  toward  which 
both  man  and  beast  were  looking  intently. 

But  only  for  a  minute.  The  fresh  wood  thrown  upon  the  blaze 
in  answer  to  the  call  of  the  young  chief  soon  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
flame  and  now  fantastic  figures  were  dancing  in  the  sky  as  the  fire 
darted  heavenward. 

Watching  the  effect  for  a  few  brief  moments  the  rider  was  again 
on  the  back  of  his  pony.  Again  the  furious  ride  was  on,  the  faithful 
beast  striking  the  trail  as  readily  and  with  as  sure  a  foot  as  if  it  were 
noon-time  on  a  broad  highway. 

Now  figures  yet  more  weird  than  the  flashes  of  the  blaze  against 
the  sky !  Like  the  mad  fantasies  of  the  imagination  in  a  strange,  wild 
dream,  a  band  of  Indians,  frenzied  by  the  communication  sent  for- 
ward in  the  owl-call  of  the  advancing  chief,  were  circling  the  fire  in 
frantic  measures  through  the  terrible  furies  of  the  death  leap. 

An  enemy  must  die  to-night ! — "High-key ! — High-key ! — blur ! — 
blur! — blur!"  the  revengeful  intonations  of  the  quick  gutturals 
seemed  to  say.  At  least  passion  could  not  be  pitched  to  a  higher  key, 
nor  mind  be  void  of  aught  save  hate. 

II 


Ongon 

No  need  for  a  hand  to  hold  the  bridleless  pony  of  the  young 
chief  as  he  Hung  himself  into  the  wild  circle.  Now  by  the  rumbling 
and  gestures  which  went  the  rounds  from  lip  to  lip,  and  from  hand 
to  hand,  and  by  the  fiendish  contortions  of  the  red  men's  faces  it 
could  be  seen  that  the  story  the  chief  had  told  had  been  understood. 
They  knew  all  their  fate  from  the  agent's  own  tale  in  the  light  of 
their  own  chief's  exquisite  revulsion. 

"Ne-gau  nis-sau  ! — ne-gau  nis-sau  ! 

Kitchi-mau-li   sau  ! — ne-gau    nis-sau  !" 
"I  will  kill !— I  will  kill  !— 

The  American  I  will  kill !" 

But  the  band  of  thirty  now  breathing  out  in  direct  words  their 
purpose  was  too  small — their  ponies  must  join  in  the  death  leap ! 

Quickly  the  horses  were  as  their  masters.  Wonderful  creatures  ! — 
were  they  the  spirits  of  dead  chieftains,  that  their  response  was  so 
eager,  that  their  nostrils  sniffed  such  blood,  that  their  limbs  trem- 
bled with  such  vehemence?     On  the  galop  reeled — faster! — faster! 

Hark !  What  strange  note  was  that  the  warriors  heard  among 
themselves?  Somebody  with  them,  but  not  of  them!  Had  they 
been  so  wrapped  in  a  flame  of  rage  as  to  have  been  insensible  to  the 
approach  of  a  spirit  foreign  to  their  purpose? 

Again  the  shrill  cry  of  warning,  of  pleading  forbiddance,  of 
noble  daring ! 

Like  the  halt  of  doomsday,  when  all  earth's  orgies  shall  stop 
short  of  execution,  the  horses  reared  on  their  haunches  and  the 
circle  had  become  a  mass  of  savages. 

There  stood  the  intruder — on  the  back  of  her  horse ! — Close  by 
the  fire,  that  leaped  up  fiercely  to  betray  her  presence,  an  Indian 
girl,  as  motionless  as  her  pony,  her  face  of  wonderful  strength  and 
beauty  illuminated  by  other  light  than  that  of  the  burning  wood. 

"You  shall  not  slay  the  white  men"  came  the  soft  clear  words 
like  a  whisper  unfolding. 

"What!  Minnetonka,  you  here?"  It  was  the  chief's  voice  who 
rode  from  the  mass  toward  the  fire. 

"Wautoma!  Wautoma!" — all  the  plaintive  beseeching  whose 
resistless  power  had  brought  the  death-whirl  to  so  abrupt  a  halt 
was  intensified  in  the  outcry. 

"Well,  sister?" 

"Minnetonka  knows  the  fire  in  your  breasts ;  she  understands  the 
redman's  love  for  his  native  fields ;  she  gives  her  heart  to  beat  with 
their  sorrow." 

12 


Weird  Figures 


And  they  knew  the  princess'  words  were  so.  Her  eyes  were 
flaming,  too,  but  with  the  master-passion  they  had  seen  before. 

"You  do  not  well,  my  sister,  the  paleface  intends  our  ruin," 
cried  Wautoma  bitterly. 

At  the  mention  of  their  enemies  the  band's  rage  was  on  fire 
again  and  the  mass  was  once  more  a  circle,  grinding  out  its  hate. 

Only  Wautoma  stood  within  the  wild  human  ring  upon  whose 
flaming  figures  the  blaze  was  painting  such  passion.  Thrown  against 
the  night  what  whirling  silhouettes  of  maddened  creatures  on  will- 
ing steeds  they  were !  Even  Minnetonka  kept  time,  nodding  her  head 
with  her  brother's  to  the  tune  of  the  fearful  clatter  of  hoofs.  She 
waited  her  brother's  signal  for  the  circle  to  become  a  mass  again. 

"See,  every  one  has  halted  towards  the  enemy,"  said  Wautoma 
when  at  last  he  had  brought  up  the  pause. 

But  when  the  princess'  flute-like  voice  caught  the  ear  of  the  sav- 
ages its  magnetism  turned  their  eyes  to  hers. 

"If  your  love  for  the  lodge  is  greater  than  mine,  go  on.  But  if 
not,  listen  to  my  words,  my  brothers,"  she  was  speaking  in  their 
dialect.  "  'I  am  an  aged  hemlock,  my  children,'  my  grandfather 
chieftan  used  to  say,  'and  the  winds  of  seventy  years  have  whistled 
through  my  branches  and  already  I  am  dead  at  the  top ;  yet  my  roots 
have  always  had  the  rains  and  the  sun  has  returned  every  spring 
time.  Use  not  Mitchemanito's  name  often,  but  believe  that  he 
created  his  children  from  his  own  heart  and  trust  him.'  Have  our 
braves  no  desire  to  win,  have  the  warriors  of  Wautoma  no  Ongon, 
no  cross,  no  maple-leaf?" 

"Ah,  but  the  way  is  long,  Minnetonka,"  cried  her  brother,  "and 
the  Father  across  the  hills  is  going  to  move  us  beyond  the  Mississippi. 
That  is  the  meaning  of  great  council-fire  to  be  lighted  before  the 
frosts  return !" 

"You  do  not  know,  my  brother,  we  have  always  lived  east  of  the 
Mississippi,"  spoke  the  girl  in  silvery  tones  of  confidence. 

"Nay,  bad-agent  said  to-night  at  the  white  lodge  we  all  must 
surely  tear  ourselves  away — our  going  is  not  a  talkable  question." 

"Must  then  the  artist  now  perish  and  the  picture  never  be 
finished?" 

"Oh,  Minnetonka!" 

"But  if  you  kill  the  white  people " 

The  mumblings  of  the  warriors  began  to  offer  up  their  terrible 
beseeching  to  the  Great  Spirit  for  speedy  revenge. 

"Art  thou  false,  dost  thou  love  bad-agent?" 

Barely  were  the  words  from  the  excited  lips  of  one  of  the  war- 

13 


On 


gon 


riors  when  the  hand  of  Wautoma  was  in  his  hair  and  the  offender 
plucked  from  his  horse. 

"Touch  him  not,  Wautoma,"  cried  the  girl,  dismounting  to 
share  his  disgrace,  who  had  spoken  against  her.  His  shoulder 
quivered  when  her  hand  was  laid  gently  upon  it,  but  there  was  no 
fear  of  even  death  in  the  eye  that  met  Wautoma's  wrath  stolidly. 

"My  brothers,  not  without  reason  you  are  beside  yourselves  to- 
night, but  by  the  authority  of  this  I  command  you  to  return  home." 

At  the  sight  of  the  rude  cross  of  gold  fastened  to  a  bit  of  white 
fur  which  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  groan  of  disappointment 
arose  from  the  band. 

"Attend !''  she  had  separated  a  brand  from  the  fire.  Thrice  they 
must  follow  her  about  it,  for  in  her  hands  the  silver  vial  they  knew 
so  well.  Upon  the  brand  the  powder  is  falling ! — In  the  crimson 
light  that  talked  back  to  the  angry  fire  and  turned  aside  its  glare 
with  a  softer  radiance  the  savages  became  other  selves.  With  the 
gentle  glowing  a  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  group. 

"Ongon,"  said  the  girl  with  a  reverential  wave  of  her  hand  over 
the  sacred  coals. 

And  at  the  sound  of  this  mysterious  word  the  deadly  struggle  of 
hate  relaxed  in  the  dark  faces.  Making  sign  of  the  cross  and  mur- 
muring the  name  after  her,  one  by  one  the  redmen  followed  in  the 
trail  of  the  princess  who,  remounting  her  pony,  led  the  way 
homeward. 

On  into  the  night,  riding  like  the  wind,  tireless  as  nature  and  their 
faithful  steeds,  one  driving  line  of  human  strength  and  frailty — 
led  away  from  murderous  passion,  led  by  a  woman  with  the  cross  in 
her  bosom — sped  the  strange  company,  acknowledging  as  superior 
to  their  own  fierce  wills  a  being  whose  name  the  girl  had  breathed  as 
tenderly  and  gratefully  as  a  prayer — Ongon. 

IV 

PEBBLE    PHILOSOPHY 

If  departure  from  a  savage  state  is  towards  the  power  to  con- 
struct and  moves  successfully  in  smaller  circles,  the  next  morning 
proved  Craps  to  be  civilized  in  advance  of  his  surroundings. 

At  daybreak  the  presiding  genius  of  the  inn  had  gathered  his 
first  group  into  the  only  private  sanctum  about  the  tavern,  a  little 
boat  on  the  lake. 

Granted  that  an  oak,  tall    and    branching,    but    putting    forth 

14 


Pebble  Philosophy 


scarcely  a  leaf  in  the  summer  time,  may  be  called  handsome,  so. 
might  Craps  be  considered  a  prepossessing  man.  Great  strength 
bore  him  up,  but  something  was  gnawing  at  the  roots  of  his  life. 
At  thirty-one  for  such  a  man  to  be  planted  as  the  landlord  of  an  in- 
significant public  house  seemed  like  the  transplantation  of  some  noble 
tree  from  a  happy  estate  to  a  rocky  waste  with  goats  for  companions. 
He  was  a  man  who  missed  the  laughter  that  had  been  in  his  life. 
Upon  him  was  the  lasting  impress  of  the  tenderest  and  gentlest 
touches  society  can  give  a  man.  Perhaps  once  he  had  been  loved  and 
admired,  now,  but  for  his  strength  he  had  been  a  desolate  man. 

This  is  not  to  say  that  any  one  ever  found  Craps  in  an  ill-humor.. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  entertain  you  while  in  their  presence, 
and  afterwards  leave  the  impression  that  fate  had  been  kinder  to. 
have  placed  worthiness  in  a  better  environment. 

Therefore  it  was  that  before  the  morning  and  other  breezes  had 
set  in  to  disturb  the  calm  the  host  received  the  reports  of  his  three 
servants  and  informed  them  cheerfully  that  it  was  always  a  for- 
tunate thing  to  have  an  oversupply  of  guests  to  balance  an  under- 
supply  of  provisions. 

"Why  not  cut  your  pastry  according  to  your  people?"  he  in- 
quired after  listening  to  sundry  complaints. 

That  he  shared  their  distress  at  having  to  serve  a  mean  repast  to 
distinguished  but  crowding  guests  was  evident  from  his  gestures. 
He  might  then  and  there  have  lost  his  domestic  helpers  but  for  his 
fingers.  When  he  had  made  a  V  of  the  first  and  second  fingers  of 
his  hand  to  represent  the  cut  of  pastry,  and  from  spreading  the  fin- 
gers as  far  apart  as  possible  had  brought  them  back,  with  a  graphic 
smile,  to  the  normal  and  medium  distance  of  nearly  an  inch,  every 
servant  of  them  saw  that  the  opportunity  of  his  life  confronted  him. 
They  had  enough  bread  in  the  house  to  give  every  man  one  piece. 
If  they  cut  it  into  straws,  instead  of  a  hundred  complaints  every 
guest  would  take  in  the  situation  at  once  and  supply  his  hunger  out 
of  his  humor.    And  tip  the  waiters  for  their  brightness ! 

"That's  it,"  said  Craps,  observing  the  cloud  departing  from  the 
brows  of  his  one  maid  and  two  men  servants.  "We  will  give  them  a 
collation  of  good  cheer,  that  will  be  good  business." 

A  bright  pebble  had  caught  his  eye  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
"You  see  it  is  this  way  with  hfe  on  the  domestic  side,"  he  continued, 
tossing  the  stone  into  the  smooth  waters — "there !"  They  watched  the 
rings  in  the  water  grow  wider  and  wider,  and  the  landlord's  face 
broader.  "There  you  see  the  lesser  circle  creates  and  includes  the 
greatest,  giving  us  the  moral  that  if  we  put  intelligent  force  inta 

15 


Ongon 

the  victuals  they  will  expand  to  reach  the  last  particle  of  all 
hunger." 

The  moral,  which  the  Irishman  among  them  and  leader  of  the 
domestic  strike  now  blandly  presumed  to  call  a  swell  thing,  was  to 
have  an  immediate  demonstration,  if  the  strides  of  the  angular  look- 
ing guest  approaching  them  argued  anything. 

"My  name  is  Castor,  and  I  have  lost  my  husband,"  began  the 
voice  with  terrors  in  it,  *'and  there  is  such  a  crowd  in  there " 

"Ah,  ma'am,"  interrupted  Craps  sympathetically,  "a  crowd  may 
be  so  dense  that  a  friend  may  be  in  it  within  arm's  reach  and  yet  be 
hidden  from  view,  from  which  it  follows  that  a  man  may  be  lost  in  a 
room  less  than  five  feet  square,  unless  he  is  pretty  tall,  or  the  others 
pretty  short,  or  he  is  on  a  platform,  or — but  I  will  try  to  find  your 
husband  if " 

"My  husband  for  three  years  has  been  beyond  the  torments  of 
this  world,  I  give  you  to  understand,"  snapped  the  fiery  widow ;  "and 
if  ever  you  get  to  the  blessed  place  to  which  he  has  gone  there  will 
have  to  be  a  mighty  change  in  a  hurry  in  the  way  you  keep  lodging 
house,  I  can  tell  you !" 

Crap's  attendants  expected  the  wink  from  their  superior,  but 
a  figure  in  the  doorway  had  caught  his  eye,  which  softened  as  he 
said  half  to  himself,  looking  out  over  the  waters,  "This  is  the  anni- 
versary of  the  day  she  died  who  was  to  have  been  my  wife." 

"It  was  a  merciful  providence,"  returned  Mrs.  Castor,  glad  to  be 
given  a  stone  to  fling  that  once  had  cut,  "you're  a  bad  man  and  you 
have  drawn  all  the  wicked  men  of  the  country  out  here !" 

"The  pioneer  instinct  is  a  thread  that  strings  together  strange 
beads,"  admitted  Craps. 

"To  be  dangled  about  one's  ears  all  night  with  their  profanity," 
retorted  Airs.  Castor;  "may  the  merciful  powers  preserve  me  from 
ever  spending  another  day  in  such  a  place !" 

"Out  here  we  generally  come  to  embrace  what  at  first  we  cry 
out  most  against,"  said  Craps,  pitifully;  "you'd  thrive  ma'am  at  the 
head  of  a  boarding  house." 

It  was  evident  to  the  landlord  that  the  widow  had  come  West  to 
thrive  on  limited  means,  and  he  had  thrown  in  the  pebble  at  a  wise 
venture,  for  Mrs.  Castor  was  moderated  immediately  to  an  impatient 
demand  for  an  extra  wash-basin,  and  some  better  excuse  for  towel- 
ing. She  gave  her  family  history  and  also  what  might  be  an  outcry 
against  what  Craps  had  predicted  she  might  be  coming  to  in  her 
finishing  sentence. 

"When  my  ancestors  came  over  in  the  Mayflower  they  were  all 
i6 


Pebble  Philosophy 


respectable  men  and  women  and  knew  each  other  intimately — but 
forbid  the  familiarity  of  these  creatures !" 

Having  neither  basin  nor  Pilgrim  forefathers  the  spare  host 
could  only  furnish  a  prospective  landlady  with  a  sample  of  the 
dry  humor  to  be  used  in  lieu  of  equipments :  "Here  madam,"  his 
voice  crackled  cheerfully,  "is  our  extra  basin  always  ready,  fresh, 
and  full — all  our  aristocratic  tourists  prefer  the  lake." 

Craps'  finger  pointed  in  two  directions  at  the  same  time,  to  the 
visible  proof  in  the  form  of  a  gentleman  below  them  on  the  beach, 
and  to  the  suppressed  argument  that,  in  this  case,  what  was  good  for 
the  gander  was  also  good  for  the  goose. 

"Dear  me,  what  a  solitary  spectacle !" 

The  reference  was  not  to  the  lone  female  figure  she  should  make 
on  the  shore,  but  a  scornful  cut  of  her  eyes  at  the  rude  structure  be- 
longing to  Craps  in  which  she  had  actually  passed  a  night  of  her 
sacred  existence ! 

It  was  not  a  genteel-looking  establishment,  but  Craps  was  wise 
enough  to  know  when  a  taunt  was  a  compliment.  In  the  widow's 
reference  to  what  was  his,  she  was  actually  considering  him.  Else 
why  did  she  hold  her  bag  so  close  to  her  body  as  if  it  contained  suffi- 
cient capital  for  at  least  a  wing  to  the  inn? 

"Do  you  think  this  will  ever  be  a  valuable  site,  Mr.  Craps?" 
asked  the  widow  in  tones  appropriate  to  the  precious  position  of 
the  bag. 

"This,  ma'am?  This  is  the  commercial  hope  of  the  State  of 
Indiana.    City  is  already  surveyed  and  platted." 

Mrs.  Castor's  scorn  returned  in  spite  of  herself.  She  did  not 
think  that  there  was  anything  in  the  disposition  of  the  waste  of  sand 
to  prematurely  betray  the  secret.  He  would  be  telling  her  next  that 
it  had  a  name,  too. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  we  Indianians  are  philosophical,  and  far  from  tak- 
ing affront  at  nature,  particularly  the  lake  for  the  dunes  about  here, 
we  have  decided  to  be  grateful  for  what  we  have  been  given,  and.  In 
honor  of  the  giver,  have  called  it  Michigan  City." 

Left  by  Craps  to  ruminate  upon  the  tenderness  she  was  sure  she 
had  inspired  in  him,  the  widow's  thoughts  were  led  still  further 
away  from  the  basin  by  the  approach  of  the  object  which  had  caught 
the  host's  eyes  on  her  emerging  from  the  doorway. 

It  was  the  young  lady  in  brown  whom  she  had  seen  come  down 
in  the  morning,  as  she  had  seen  her  go  up  at  night,  with  her  face 
concealed  by  a  heavy  brown  veil. 

At  home  Mrs.  Castor  would  have  had  unspeakable  things  to  say 
17 


On 


gon 


of  such  behavior,  particularly  as  it  had  been  impossible  for  her  to 
engage  the  mysterious  lady  in  conversation.  Really  that  inability 
had  been  the  last  straw  in  the  way  from  preventing  Mrs.  Castor's 
obedience  to  the  stirring  idea  of  a  flight  against  the  landlord. 

But  now  that  she  had  had  it  out  with  Craps  and  felt  in  with 
him,  the  more  she  contemplated  the  effectiveness  of  the  girl's  habit 
the  more  she  was  impressed  with  its  desirability.  It  gave  an  air 
of  mystery  to  woman,  and  her  first  husband  had  once  said  that  it 
must  have  been  some  mysterious  power  in  her  that  first  appealed 
to  his  affections. 

"In  Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do." 

This  remark,  addressed  to  the  sands  that  had  begun  their  drifting 
ages  before  her  Pilgrim  ancestors  had  infused  the  migratory  cul- 
ture in  her  blood,  explained  why  Mrs.  Castor  rode  to  Chicago  behind 
three  thicknesses  of  an  old  black  veil. 


V 

THE    GYPSY 

If  Buhl-Bysee  had  been  a  man  of  real  depth  or  of  some  read- 
ing, he  would  have  discovered,  what  most  of  his  fellow  guests  had 
learned  very  quickly,  who  the  gentleman  was  that  played  so  quietly 
to  his  vanity.  But  the  agent  never  had  a  friend.  The  fault  was  his, 
true,  but  his  poverty  could  not  have  helped  him  to  Goethe's  thought 
which  Jean  had  seen  on  one  of  the  pages  of  the  Museum  the  day 
before,  and  was  now  thinking  out  at  the  lake — "One  who  feels  not 
love  must  learn  to  flatter,  or  he  will  never  succeed."  It  would  not  be 
pleasant  to  go  into  the  commissioner's  mind  except  from  curiosity, 
but  so  doing,  something  thus  was  his  conception  of  the  master 
detective :  "Medium  height,  boyish  face,  age  problematical.  Hair 
chestnut.  Like  that  wood  looks  as  if,  were  he  cleft  straight  along 
from  head  to  foot,  which  would  really  take  no  great  blow  to  ac- 
complish, nothing  but  evenness  and  sameness  of  grain  in  this  man 
throughout.  Never  could  pass  for  mahogany,  certainly  would  break 
under  the  strain  of  oak  or  pine.  Chestnut  wood  is  good  for  country 
rails,  and  this  man,  but  for  his  clothing — neat,  tasteful — looks  able 
to  keep  the  cows  from  running  into  the  corn-fields.  Looks  as  if  he 
has  always  just  stopped  smiling." 

Some  words  the  visitor  into  the  agent's  mind  would  have  sup- 
plied for  the  description  thus  given,  but  that  is  licensed  privilege 


The  Gypsy 


since  it  is  a  debatable  question  whether  man  thinks  with  words  at 
all,  and  Buhl-Bysee  prided  himself  on  being  much  of  a  man. 

But  Buhl-Bysee  had  forgotten  to  notice  that  Clermont  seldom 
smiled  at  all.  Laugh  he  sometimes  did,  heartily,  always  aloud. 
But  a  smile  is  no  more  a  laugh  than  a  sigh  is  a  tear — though  all 
are  currents  in  one  emotional  stream. 

Others  were  observing  the  strength  in  Clermont's  hand  when 
it  pushed  its  way  through  the  abundant,  curly  hair.  But  the  time 
was  to  come  when  Buhl-Bysee  would  modify  his  judgment  that  here 
was  a  gentle,  easily  understood  nature,  endowed  with  good  health  to 
make  up  for  the  want  of  strong  fiber;  and  yet  was  also  to  tell 
whether  first  appearances  are  altogether  deceitful  to  any  man. 

Buhl-Bysee,  on  the  other  hand,  was  tall,  and  with  a  kind  of 
handsomeness  that  will  always  command  admirers  when  speech  will 
not  run  before  the  figure.  Athletic  in  build,  perhaps  forty  years  of 
age,  with  a  turn  of  cruelty  to  an  otherwise  weak  mouth,  enforced 
by  a  strong  but  not  heavy  chin. 

Somehow  it  made  the  host  darker  and  his  eyes  sadder  to  look 
at  Buhl-Bysee,  when  he  was  called  out  to  the  platform  where  the 
agent  was  waiting  for  the  stage.  But  the  agent  was  in  good  humor 
from  Clermont's  attention,  and  kept  summoning  into  his  face  a  pecu- 
liar smile  which  nobody  ever  saw  that  was  not  either  won  by  it  or 
else  made  it  a  study. 

"Now  wouldn't  that  be  fetching,  Bulbsy,"  said  Craps  to  himself 
on  being  greeted  with  this  engaging  radiance;  "really  it's  a  new 
wrinkle  now,  as  charming  as  the  light  we  used  to  put  into  the 
pumpkin  false-faces  to  amuse  the  children — but  you  don't  come  that 
on  me,  you  know."  Such  a  trend  of  thought,  however,  is  degrading, 
and  Craps  struggled  against  it,  meeting  Buhl-Bysee  with  a  simple 
business  air. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  before,  sir?"  asked  the  agent, 
repeating  the  inquiry  of  the  evening  before. 

"And  haven't  I  seen  you,  sir?"  answered  Craps. 

"Well,  it's  queer,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  giving  it  up  at  last  with  the 
smile  that  undid  Craps  so  bothersomely.  "But  you  said  Major  Tren- 
ton passed  this  way  yesterday?" 

"Very  early,"  was  the  reply. 

"He  must  be  a  very  high-spirited  and  gallant  fellow,"  observed 
the  agent. 

"So  every  one  thinks  in  these  parts." 

"Ha,  ha — and  the  ladies,  what  think  they  of  him?" 

"Major  Trenton  is  still  unmarried,  you  know,"  answered  the 

19 


Ongon 

landlord,  putting-  his  teeth  to  his  hps,  cither  as  a  host  may  do 
who  has  the  thread  of  many  topics  to  bite  for  his  guests,  or  else 
as  a  man  must  who  has  the  temper  to  say  more  than  he  will. 

"So,  so,  still  unmarried,  you  say — but  had  a  romance  once  I  be- 
lieve?" said  Buhl-P)ysee  with  the  cruelty  in  his  lips. 

*'He  was  engaged  to  be  married  once  to  Miss  Malita  Strong, 
daughter  of  old  Judge  Strong,  of  New  York ;  but  the  young  woman 
became  enamored  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Bulbsy  and  broke  her 
engagement." 

"Yes,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  putting  one  hand  to  his  lips  and  sup- 
porting his  elbow  with  the  other,  "I  heard — and  afterwards  ?" 

"She  broke  her  heart,  for  she  married  Bulbsy  and  lived  just  long 
enough  to  rue  her  bargain.     Died,  poor  girl,  at  sea." 

"And  what  became  of  Buhl — of  Bulbsy?" 

The  commissioner  looked  searchingly,  but  the  landlord  was  gaz- 
ing upon  the  lake,  whose  waters  had  been  suggested  by  reference 
to  the  sea. 

"Bulbsy  went  abroad  afterwards — that  was  five  years  ago — and 
became  naturalized  there,  they  say,  though  he  has  been  back  once." 

Clermont  had  listened  to  the  conversation  with  eyes  of  admira- 
tion for  Craps,  even  remarking  to  himself  aside  that  he  must  have 
this  man.  Now  he  interposed  to  ask  the  landlord  who  the  veiled 
woman  might  be,  walking  along  the  shore. 

"That's  the  gypsy,"  replied  the  host;  "sure  of  it  for  all  her  dis- 
guise. One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  women,  they  say.  See  her 
contradictory  walk.  She  is  trying  to  be  ungraceful  when,  ye  gods, 
every  line  of  her  figure  is  crying  out  that  to  have  to  try  to  do  it 
is  a  disgraceful  shame !" 

"You're  pretty  observing,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  eying  the  landlord 
curiously. 

"Not  half  so  much  as  the  scientist  who  fell  in  love  with  a 
handsome  woman  and  wrote  her  the  only  scientific  words  on  drapery 
I  have  ever  read.  It  seems  she  had  taken  him  out  to  a  masquerade 
ball  or  something  wherein  she,  too,  as  yonder  girl,  was  cloaked  from 
head  to  foot,  in  a  sort  of  a  long  nightrobe  coat.  'A  heavy  dress 
enveloping  the  form  of  woman  from  head  to  foot,'  he  said,  'is 
not  to  be  likened  to  a  rough  box  concealing  the  diamond.  The 
gem,  in  order  to  betray  its  presence,  needs  a  conspiracy  of  openings 
to  receive  and  flash  a  ray  of  light ;  but  grace  of  form  does  not  wait, 
on  the  laws  of  incidence  and  reflection,  one  step  flashes  the  secret, 
and  from  being  a  mere  garb  of  cloth  utility,  dress  is  transformed  into 
a  place  in  the  fine  arts.'  " 

20 


Clermont's  Promise 

"Your  memory  serves  you  well,  sir,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  still  turn- 
ing over  in  his  mind  where  he  had  seen  this  man. 

"I  even  think  the  scientist  added  that  movement  in  a  beautiful 
woman  is  to  her  beauty  what  fragrance  is  to  the  flower,"  said  the 
host  with  a  wink  that  made  his  eyes  seem  smaller  when  the  com- 
missioner was  searching  for  his  identity  and  looking  into  them  as 
if  he  would  find  it  there. 

As  to  Jean  herself,  she  had  determined  at  last  to  meet  Clermont, 
for  she  had  learned  from  the  nature  of  his  inquiries  made,  however 
casually,  that  he  had  come  West  for  professional  reasons.  He  gath- 
ered that  she  wished  to  speak  to  him  and  hastened  to  her  side. 

VI 

Clermont's  promise 

Clermont  was  conscious  in  turning  away  with  Jean  that  she 
forced  him  to  take  her  stride;  but  he  had  learned  long  before  that 
women  of  power  have  it  intuitively  to  judge  a  man  by  his  ability 
to  keep  step. 

"There  is  more  than  one  agent  of  the  Government  here."  Her 
voice,  though  low  and  musical,  had  something  of  the  huskiness  of 
the  morning  in  it  that  thrilled  his  ear. 

"You  have  more  knowledge  than  the  commissioner  possesses," 
replied  Clermont,  pushing  his  hand  through  his  hair. 

"Sir,  I  know  that  you  are  charged  with  a  matter  of  life  and 
death."  She  spoke  in  the  same  tone,  but  the  words  came  faster, 
and  with  passion. 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  knew  what  she  had  said  forbade  a 
reply  on  his  part.  Her  pause  in  the  walk  was  so  abrupt  that  the 
halt  was  not  with  him,  but  from  him,  and  he  went  on  several  steps 
in  company  with  his  astonishment  before  he  realized  the  pass. 

When  he  had  turned  her  veil  was  lifted  and  he  beheld  a  face 
of  singular  beauty  and  power — that  of  a  young  girl  scarcely  twenty 
summers  past. 

He  could  not  hide  the  fact  that  he  was  struck  with  sheer  amaze- 
ment. 

The  gypsy's  lips  were  curled  with  a  girlish  sense  of  triumph  at 
having  taken  the  noted  secret-service  man  so  unawares. 

Then  he  was  lost  in  the  magnetism  of  her  voice  and  eyes. 

"Mr.  Clermont,  you  are  a  man  proud  of  your  record  and  justly 
credited  for  great  ability  in  the  affairs  of  your  department." 

He  bowed  his  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment. 

21 


Ongon 


"Will  you  let  a  girl  make  a  request  that  may  seem  to  cast  reflec- 
tion on  your  judgment?  Sir,  I  remember  when  scarce  in  my  teens 
reading  a  statement  of  yours  that  in  the  detective  service  a  woman's 
mind  is  apt  to  be  too  willowy  and  emotional  for  use — and  how  a 
childish  rage  of  resentment  seized  me  because  of  it !" 

She  spoke  with  such  a  charm  of  girlish  fascination,  no  man 
could  have  been  offended  at  anything  she  could  have  said. 

"A  man  will  let  one  woman  bend  and  break  his  stoutest  ideas," 
said  Clermont.     "I  should  welcome  the  suggestion." 

"It  would  not  endanger  your  honor  or  compromise  your  stand- 
ing with  the  authorities  to  promise  me  that,  inasmuch  as  you  are 
to  use  circumstantial  evidence  in  the  matter  which  brings  you 
here,  you  will  reserve  the  announcement  of  your  decision  one  month 
after  it  is  made."  She  did  him  the  honor  to  be  ablaze  with  the  sig- 
nificance and  high  concession  of  such  a  promise.  Her  fingers  played 
upon  each  other  and  toward  him  with  such  gentle  entreaty. 

His  eyes  grew  large  and  inquiring  at  the  sight  of  the  plain 
gold  band  upon  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand.  "You  cannot 
mean  that  he  is " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  glanced  from  the  ring  to 
the  beautiful  face,  so  young  and  care  free,  yet  with  such  a  wealth 
of  woman's  strength  in  it, 

"I  am  not  his  wife,  nor  is  he  a  man  whom  I  should  ever  marry, 
but  his  life  is  precious  to  me.  And  to  you,  Mr.  Clermont,  I  can 
safely  say  that  I  am  not  married  at  all.  But  I  must  at  least  seem 
discreet,  while  you  can  play  the  fool  and  be  wise." 

With  these  words  she  dropped  the  veil  again — by  which  action 
he  knew  that  the  thing  of  moment  to  her  and  for  which  she  had 
sought  the  interview  was  his  promise. 

"I  will  be  glad  to  please  you  in  any  way  I  can  honorably,"  he 
said,  eagerly;  "I  promise." 

The  hand  she  gave  him  quickly  was  like  none  other  in  the  man- 
ner of  its  touch.  It  seemed  to  know  the  trustworthiness  of  his 
own,  fluttering  for  a  moment  in  his  as  if  its  owner  yearned  to  rest 
from  some  great  struggle — then  a  buoyancy  from  within  her  will 
and  it  was  withdrawn.  "I  am  Lusette  for  the  present,  which  I  admit 
is  assumed.  I  cannot  tell  you  my  real  name  for  it  might  bias  and 
embarrass  you.  We  shall  not  talk  on  the  stage,  and  I  leave  at  the 
Calumet,  where  I  am  in  safe  hands.  Thank  you,  I  trust  that  you 
shall  find  him  innocent."  No  doubt  of  that  innocency  was  in  the 
soft,  rich  tones  of  her  confidence. 

Out  from  the  distance  on  the  clear  air  came  the  stirring  cadence 

22 


Clermont's  Promise 

of  hurrying  horse's  feet.  Then,  keepmg  to  the  sand  of  the  shore 
for  his  route,  his  pouches  flying  out  Hke  wings  from  the  sides  of  his 
steed,  the  Httle  Frenchman  galloped  past,  hastening  on  to  Chicago 
with  the  weekly  mail  from  the  East.  Afterwards,  as  a  freight  train 
following  the  express  on  the  same  track,  lumbered  the  incoming 
stage,  the  long  blare  of  its  horn  starting  into  activity  such  of  the 
tavern  guests  as  were  to  be  its  passengers.  High-ho !  the  travelers 
were  in  and  the  stage  was  off  again,  the  great  chains  clanking,  and 
the  horn  encouraging  the  fresh  relay  of  horses  to  make  a  becoming 
exit.  Craps  bowed  his  appreciation  to  the  driver,  who  cracked  his 
whip  merrily  as  if  he  felt  himself  every  inch  a  Jehu  and  a  gallant 
modern  horseman  combined.    Then  the  journey  was  on. 

A  philosopher  has  remarked  that  if  potatoes  are  put  into  a  wagon 
and  carted  to  market,  the  larger  ones  will  always  jolt  to  the  top. 
Similarly,  there  is  nothing  like  a  long  stage  journey  to  bring  to  light 
the  true  size  of  people. 

The  keen  and  practised  eye  of  Clermont  would  have  discovered 
long  before  the  journey  was  half  over  that  she  who  had  chosen  the 
title  of  Lusette  was  no  ordinary  person,  however  young  in  years. 
It  was  more  than  that  a  veiled  woman  is  a  woman  as  truly  as  a 
woman  is  a  veiled  spirit.  Clermont  was  ready  to  vow  that  versatility 
needs  neither  face  nor  utterance  to  declare  its  existence. 

He  knew  that  the  girl  read  everybody  like  a  book,  that  her  eyes 
sparkled,  though  unseen,  when  oddities  were  passed  on  the  way.  He 
divined  that  she  flashed  a  scorn  upon  Buhl-Bysee  for  what  might 
have  been  an  impertinence  had  he  not  found  an  innocent  way  to 
intercept  it.  Her  wonderful  vitality,  however  much  it  bestowed  of 
its  strength  in  making  the  other  woman  who  dozed  more  comfort- 
able, kept  its  own  freshness  undiminished.  The  sensitive  play  of 
the  slender  fingers  alone  would  have  told  that.  He  knew,  too,  and 
his  professional  heart  was  not  too  grand  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
charm  of  it,  that  he  was  communicated  with  in  a  hundred  little  way- 
side ways,  by  a  lissome  bending  of  her  body,  by  a  symphony  of  glance 
and  Roman  gesture  of  her  forceful  little  thumb,  by  a  gentle  tapping 
of  her  foot  when  the  stage  stopped  for  another  change  of  horses, 
and  she  saw  that  he  was  pleased  with  the  enchanting  song  of  a  veery. 

The  sight  of  a  soldier  was  like  a  headline  to  a  newspaper  to  direct 
the  travelers'  attention  to  the  local  military  affairs.  Being  1833, 
Black-Hawk's  raid  of  the  year  before  became  the  theme,  and  with 
it  mention  of  the  hero  of  Dixon's  Ferry,  and  Bureau  Creek,  and 
Wisconsin  Heights,  Major  John  Trenton.     By  the  same  law  that 

23 


Ongon 


makes  it  more  thrilling  to  talk  of  ghosts  in  dark  the  very  loneliness 
of  the  country  through  which  they  were  passing  exalted  the  courage 
of  the  young  soldier  until  he  was  an  idol  for  the  tedious  hours. 

"But  after  all  he  could  have  done  nothing  great  without  the  help 
of  Ongon." 

The  remark  was  from  Buhl-Bysee,  who  seemed  restive  under  the 
praise  which  was  given  on  all  sides  to  Major  Trenton.  Only  Cler- 
mont observed  the  agitation  of  Lusette.  But  her  self-control  quieted 
the  signs  of  emotional  excitement  in  a  moment.  In  this  she  was 
helped  by  the  clasping  and  agreement  of  her  hands,  until  Clermont 
vms  more  charmed  by  her  perfect  stillness  than  he  had  been  by  the 
spell  of  her  words  and  gestures.  The  outburst  of  Buhl-Bysee  had 
the  effect  of  terminating  the  conversation,  for  he  did  not  explain, 
and  few  knew  about  Ongon,  Thoughts  were  turned  inward  until 
the  driver  announced  the  approach  to  the  Calumet. 

Lusette  had  dismounted  very  quickly,  scarcely  touching  the 
hand  Clermont  had  extended  to  help  her  out.  There  was  no  one 
there  to  meet  her,  and  he  took  several  steps  with  her.  "Thank  you, 
once  more,  Mr.  Clermont.  The  month  will  be  dear  to  me.  Till  we 
meet  again,  good-bye."  She  did  not  hesitate  which  way  to  go  and 
was  lost  in  the  woods  almost  immediately. 

VII 

PLAYING  WITH  THE  STREAM 

"Josie,  what,  it  is  Josie!" 

Following  the  lead  of  the  princess  and  their  long  shadows  cast 
by  the  early  sun,  Wautoma  and  his  bucks  had  forded  the  south 
branch  of  the  Chicago  River,  when  the  sight  of  the  girl  on  horseback 
drew  his  attention. 

"Hughgh,  she  rides  a  strange  pony  with  her  hands  full,  and  she 
flies !"  cried  the  chief,  "after  her,  all !" 

The  long  night's  ride  on  the  bare  backs  of  their  steeds  had  not 
taken  away  the  Indian's  appetite  for  excitement.  Surpassing  the 
endurance  of  his  pony  is  that  of  the  redman  himself. 

"She's  into  the  woods,"  yelled  Wautoma  in  the  dialect ;  "circle !" 

But  the  girl  was  too  sharp  for  that,  for  when  they  closed  in 
again  Josie  was  the  same  distance  ahead,  riding  at  full  speed. 

"Josie !" 

But  she  answered  by  crashing  along  through  the  underbrush 
into  the  woods  again. 

"Circle!" 

24 


Playing  with  the  Stream 

This  time  the  horse  was  caught  within  the  closing  ring  of  pur- 
suers, but  Josie — the  sly  little  fox — had  escaped. 

"Beautiful  horse!"  cried  Wautoma,  seizing  the  captured  animal 
by  the  bridle.    "Not  Indian  !" 

"But  a  woman's  pony,"  said  Minnetonka,  "and  tired  from  much 
riding." 

"Take  her  to  the  lodge,  Minnetonka,  while  we  hunt  for  the  girl," 
said  her  brother. 

But  the  princess,  who  had  followed  Josie  more  in  protest  than 
by  desire,  smiled. 

"You  will  anger  her,  Wautoma,"  she  said,  taking  the  bridle  as 
it  was  offered. 

"She  must  obey,"  cried  Wautoma. 

"Not  when  she  is  just  beginning  to  love,"  smiled  she. 

"If  she  will  not  now,  she  will  not  ever,"  returned  the  chief ;  "but 
Wautoma  cannot  argue — away  and  after  her !"  The  command 
addressed  to  the  bucks  received  instant  alacrity,  and  Minnetonka  was 
left  to  pet  the  beautiful  horse  and  thence  to  lead  him  home  with 
her.  Broken  twigs  told  the  Indians  that  Josie  had  taken  a  course 
toward  the  river  again.  The  party  must  divide — she  had  waded 
some  distance  in  the  stream. 

"Ha,  here !"  Wautoma  had  found  some  turned  leaves  and  was 
in  hot  pursuit  in  the  direction  of  their  trend.  There  is  no  sight  keen- 
er than  that  of  the  rednian  on  the  trail  of  an  object — he  is  Nature's 
human  hound,  tracking  by  signs  scarcely  more  visible  to  ordinary 
paleface  eyes  than  could  be  the  scent  by  which  the  dog  pursues 
his  game. 

"What,  Josie,  where  have  you  been?"  The  way  had  led  back  to 
the  water  again,  and  there  the  object  of  his  quest  was  sitting  on  a 
projecting  log,  dangling  her  feet  in  a  stream. 

"You've  been  away  all  night,  somewhere,  Wautoma,"  said  the 
girl  archly,  not  thinking  it  meet  to  give  the  account  desired  of  her. 

"Come,  Josie,  explain,  what  does  this  mean?"  insisted  the  young 
chief,  sharply ;  the  anger  was  cutting  into  his  voice. 

*'Oh,  you  are  tired  of  my  staying  here  already,"  said  the  girl, 
making  eddies  with  her  feet. 

"Josie,  you  know  better." 

"But  I  don't ;  Josie  will  go  back  to  the  Mississippi." 

"Where  is  that  which  you  were  carrying?"  insisted  the  young 
chief. 

"Where  is  that  for  which  you  rode  sixty  miles  for  nothing?"' 
retorted  the  Indian  maiden. 

25 


Ongon 


"Josie!" 

"Yes,  Wautoma?" 

"You  must  take  care !" 

She  answered  him  by  a  merry  laugh  and  added  her  hands  to  the 
water.  How  she  could  sit  there  so  lightly  and  bend  over  so  far 
without  falling  into  the  stream  was  a  problem  of  grace  to  even  the 
irate  chieftain's  mind.  Her  long  black  hair  played  upon  the  surface 
of  the  river,  but  she  had  turned  her  head  so  that  her  eyes  were 
dancing  into  his  as  brightly  as  the  flickering  sunlight  through  the 
leaves  upon  the  water. 

"Where  did  you  get  your  horse,  Josie?" 

"I  brought  it  with  me  when  I  came  from  the  Sioux." 

"No,  this  new  horse?" 

"I  rode  him  for  Lusette." 

"Who  is  Lusette?" 

"Josie  mustn't  tell." 

"Wautoma  will  be  angry." 

"He  is." 

"But  you  must  tell." 

"I  shall  go  back  to  my  people." 

"Minnetonka  has  taken  the  horse  to  the  lodge." 

"Josie  would  have  taken  the  horse  to  the  lodge." 

"You  don't  care  for  me." 

"I  never  said  I  did."" 

On  both  sides  of  the  river  the  lines  of  Wautoma's  followers, 
extending  down  at  regular  intervals  to  the  bend,  stood  motionless 
beside  their  ponies — a  splendid  appeal  to  her  maidenly  vanity  and 
good  sense.  But  a  savage  belle  remains  true  to  the  instincts  of  her 
sex — and  plays  with  the  stream  again. 

"Oh,  Josie !" 

Her  hand  replied  with  a  tantalizing  ripple  on  the  water  as  she 
laughed  aloud  again. 

"Why  does  the  Dakotah  maiden  love  war  so?"  murmured 
Wautoma. 

Her  lips  were  parted  roguishly,  her  hand  was  laid  softly  across 
her  throat.  Wasn't  he  cutting  off  his  own  head  with  the  question? 
"Where  was  Wautoma  last  night  that  he  hates  war  so?"  asked  the 
girl,  coyly. 

"Oh,  Josie!" 

Now  she  would  test  his  love  for  her  and  her  own  power  over 
hiin — her  woman's  wit  had  found  a  way  to  protect  the  box.  "Wau- 
toma, you  are  not  the  only  people  whose  duty  it  is  to  serve  Ongon. 

26 


The  Painting 


Think  you  Josie  should  hide  anything  from  Wautoma  that  did  not 
concern  Ongon?" 

Her  voice — which  she  had  pitched  in  a  higher  key  for  all  the 
braves  to  hear — had  such  a  ring  of  the  truth  in  it,  the  chief  was 
already  looking  the  penitent  savage  for  having  doubted  her. 

"Now,  for  shame  on  you  and  your  men!"  shouted  the  girl;  "if 
you  are  as  brave  and  good  as  Josie  thought  you  were,  leave  her  at 
once !" 

"And  you  will  come  for  the  picture  to-day?"  asked  the  chief. 

"Josie  will  come  in  time  for  the  picture." 

They  would  return  according  to  Wautoma's  signals — by  every 
buck  of  them  riding  grandly  across  the  stream  in  front  of  the  re- 
viewing maiden.  To  accomplish  this  half  had  to  ford  the  river 
twice,  coming  up  behind  the  other  half,  the  chief  watching  the 
effect  upon  the  Dakotah  maiden.  Oft  she  smiled  and  nodded  and 
almost  permitted  Wautoma  to  throw  his  blanket  over  her  when  it 
was  done,  how  she  turned  it  aside  he  never  knew. 

"For  the  Auxplaines  River,"  commanded  the  chief,  when  Josie 
had  jumped  across  the  river  from  the  end  of  the  log. 

The  exhilaration  of  the  ride  of  the  night  and  the  excitement 
of  the  morning  had  given  vent  to  the  superfluous  energy  of  the 
savages  and  brushed  from  their  faces  the  dark  hatred  of  the  even- 
ing before,  leaving  them  bright  as  coppers  newly  from  the  mint. 

"Josie  holds  her  head  high  for  Wautoma's  band,"  was  the  cry 
that  reached  the  chieftain  as  he  passed  out  of  sight. 

And  could  the  old  trees  of  the  forests  whisper  their  secrets  they 
could  tell  of  chivalry  as  pretty  as  the  legends  in  which  the  Indian 
himself  has  told  his  love — of  gallant  woodsmen  who  had  come  be- 
fore Wautoma  to  catch  their  sweethearts  by  the  stream !  Yea,  but 
if  he  could  only  do  something  great  to  show  the  Dakotah  beautiful 
one  his  true  passion  for  her ! 

But  Josie  had  found  the  birchen  canoe  and  putting  in  the  precious 
box  which  had  been  at  her  feet  in  the  stream  with  the  rock  upon 
it,  she  drew  the  papers  from  her  bosom  with  the  rings  and  all. 
Then  she  paddled  quickly  for  Hardscrabble. 

VIII 

THE  PAINTING 

At  the  portage  the  merest  wave  of  the  chief's  hand  scattered  the 
Indians  as  quickly  and  effectively  as  if  the  movement  had  been  the 
tossing  of  pennies  into  the  field.     True  a  squirrel's  chatter  brought 

27 


OncTon 

o 

a  bobbing  up  of  their  heads  again — but  this  was  only  the  young 
chieftain's  trying  his  power  over  his  band.  A  sign,  and  he  was 
alone  with  his  sister,  who  had  come  to  meet  him. 

If  the  ride  had  occupied  two  nights  instead  of  one,  Wautoma's 
face,  too,  might  have  shared  the  quiet  of  his  braves ;  but  in  him 
the  restless  tide  of  passion  still  surged,  and  Minnetonka,  discerning 
this,  did  not  venture  to  speak  to  her  brother,  but  led  him  into  the 
long  low  structure  of  logs  which  they  called  the  lodge. 

When  she  paused  it  was  before  a  painting  of  himself,  nearly 
finished.  In  front  of  this  she  knelt  with  kindling  eyes.  Because 
the  wild  fire  w^as  in  her  face  as  she  gazed  upon  the  portrait  and  her 
bosom  heaved  with  the  terribleness  of  their  common  suflfering,  she 
held  him  in  her  master-passion.  There  is  a  savage  desire  in  the 
breast  of  every  brother  to  have  his  sister  kneel  before  his  idol.  Let 
her  but  worship  tow^ard  his  ambition,  and  she  may  rule  him.  Thus 
had  Minnetonka  come  to  dominate  her  brother's  life.  Long  he 
stood  by  her  side,  his  arms  folded,  watching  her  face  until  she  with- 
drew the  cross  of  gold  again  from  her  bosom  and  was  holding  it 
beseechingly  in  the  direction  he  was  looking  in  the  picture. 

She  had  not  told  her  brother  that  their  Catherine  was  also 
sketching  her  for  a  painting  of  the  Madonna.  But  in  her  purity  and 
grace,  and  in  the  ineffable  light  that  seemed  to  fall  from  above  upon 
her  perfectly  oval  face,  and  thence  to  pervade  her  being  until  it 
blended  with  the  beauty  of  her  soul,  the  thought  of  inferior  race 
was  lost,  and  Art  might  well  be  happy  if  the  hand  and  eye  of  one  of 
its  servants  was  near  to  copy  what  nature  had  begotten. 

The  painting  before  which  she  was  kneeling  represented  Wau- 
toma  in  an  attitude  of  noble  defiance,  challenging  his  right  to  hold  a 
place  in  the  American  peerage,  and  scorning  the  greed  of  the  whites 
as  well  as  the  vices  of  his  own  people.  His  kindred  and  his 
kindred's  enemies  together  were  striking  the  spark  of  grandeur 
in  his  mind  with  the  glow  spreading  over  his  countenance.  Aptly 
the  artist  was  painting  him  in  the  fields  with  the  trees  and  the  old 
ruins  of  some  primitive  fort  in  the  background. 

Much  of  the  passion  in  the  brother  and  sister  as  they  lingered 
before  the  portrait  was  due  to  the  genius  of  the  woman  whose  brush 
had  caught  the  moment  when  cruelty  was  felt,  and  had  enlarged 
upon  the  theme.  Left  to  herself,  with  the  same  skill,  Minnetonka 
would  never  have  chosen  the  emotion  Catherine  Dale  had  drawn 
upon.  There  were  softer  times  in  her  brother  that  she  would  have 
loved  to  keep  for  him.  But  when  the  cruelty  was  before  her  and  she 
realized  its  truth  it  aroused  a  kindred  feeling  in  her.     Perhaps  to 

28 


The  Painting 


break  away  at  last  from  the  thralldom  of  its  suggestions,  Minne- 
tonka  looked  up  to  her  brother's  face  with  a  smile. 

"Did  Wautoma  find  that  he  could  trust  Josie?" 

The  young  chief  looked  around  at  the  blanket  he  had  taken 
from  his  pony  when  going  in  search  of  Josie.  He  had  not  left  it 
with  her,  neither  had  she  sheltered  under  it.  Minnetonka's  fingers 
played  upon  his  hand  fondly. 

"But  she  was  proud  of  Wautoma's  bucks,"  said  the  chief,  putting 
the  best  construction  on  the  unsuccessful  wooing. 

"Of  course,  and  of  Wautoma,  too,"  said  Minnetonka,  proudly. 

"Why  did  she  run  away  at  last  then?" 

"Did  she?"  asked  the  princess,  taking  the  last  thread  of  the  en- 
counter and  drawing  it  cautiously  with  a  sister's  desire  to  hear  the 
whole  story. 

"But  cried  out  afterwards  when  Wautoma  could  not  see  her 
that  she  held  her  head  high  for  his  band." 

"Did  you  let  her  do  most  of  the  talking,  Wautoma?" 

"She  wouldn't  talk." 

"Perhaps  you  wanted  to  know  most  about  the  box?" 

"Yes,  the  box." 

"Did  she  know  that  you  trusted  her  even  when  she  could  not 
tell  you  everything?" 

"Ugh,"  said  the  chieftain,  with  a  negative  shake  of  the  head. 

"Then  she  will  think  you  did  not  love  her,  brother.  You  must 
tell  her  that  with  your  eyes  and  your  words  and  your  head  held 
toward  her  goodness." 

"Dakotahs  are  warriors,"  said  Wautoma,  tersely,  not  committing 
himself  to  accept  any  such  advice. 

"And  you  fought  her?    Oh,  brother!" 

"She  fought  me,  Wautoma  wanted  to  be  peaceable." 

"Tell  me  how  she  looked,"  said  Minnetonka,  rising  and  giving 
the  picture  an  affectionate  turn  to  show  him  how  great  he  could 
look. 

And  then  he  told  her  all,  and  she  gave  him  laughing  advice.  But 
when  they  spoke  of  her  words  about  her  mission  for  Ongon,  and 
of  the  Lusette  that  owned  the  beautiful  horse,  they  began  to  whisper 
confidences.  It  was,  of  course,  a  savagely  soft  thing  for  a  brother 
to  say,  but  his  eyes  spoke  with  his  words,  at  last :  "Sister  princess, 
I  love  you,  too ;  Wautoma  wants  a  wife  as  good  as  Minnetonka." 

Again  they  fell  back  to  their  contemplation  of  the  picture.  Their 
father's  death,  their  mother's  burial,  their  sense  of  loneliness  until 
Ongon  came — much  in  their  natures  wrapped  them  inseparably  in 

29 


Ongon 


their  p^reat  sorrow.  But  for  Ongon,  looking  at  the  painting,  they 
had  shuddered  before  it  under  the  sense  of  impending  doom. 

"Wautoma  goes  and  waits  for  the  work  to  begin,"  the  brother 
said  at  last.  He  felt  as  if  the  destiny  of  the  picture  was  to  make 
his  race  immortal.  He  must,  therefore,  prepare  himself  to  tell  the 
story  eloquently,  as  one  favored  to  represent  his  people. 

The  time  had  not  yet  come  when  they  would  wish  the  picture 
had  never  been  painted.  Now  if  Wautoma  should  have  been  called 
upon  to  die  to  save  the  portrait,  scarcely  could  Minnetonka  have 
desired  him  to  flinch  from  the  sacrifice.  Not  one  scratch  or  harm 
must  come  to  it. 

"Yes,  go,  Wautoma,  Catherine  is  almost  ready,  Josie  will  soon 
come." 

But  first  they  must  look  at  the  horse  of  Lusette  again — how 
strong ! — if  Lusette  served  Ongon  too !  Then  Wautoma's  strides 
carried  him  from  the  lodge  up  the  knoll  to  the  site  of  the  ancient 
palisades.  There  he  halted  and  stood  for  more  than  an  hour,  mo- 
tionless as  a  statue. 


IX 

CATHERINE  REFUSES  THE  FLOWER 

At  last  Wautoma's  patience  was  to  be  rewarded,  the  artist  was 
approaching  accompanied  by  Josie.  With  many  Httle  ceremonies, 
and  that  dignity  so  beloved  of  the  Indian,  keeping  step  together 
though  apart,  and  mumbling  a  weird  Indian  chant,  the  women  drew 
near.  The  chant  carried  motion  into  Wautoma's  limbs,  for  he,  too, 
started  in  an  outer  circle,  while  the  artist  with  Josie  completed  the 
inner  winding.  When  he  had  resumed  his  place  the  picture  and  its 
frame  were  already  placed  beside  the  chairs  in  waiting  for  them. 
As  the  artist  withdrew  her  cloak,  for  a  moment  Wautoma's  lips 
were  parted  for  gladness,  and  then  he  was  looking  as  the  portrait — 
a  very  provocation  for  Catherine  Dale  to  fly  to  her  work.  After 
placing  Josie  where  she  could  not  catch  the  eye  of  the  model,  there 
was  no  occasion  for  the  Indian  to  feel  that  he  was  the  subject  of 
an  idle  hour. 

"There,  Wautoma,  a  few  more  strokes  and  you  will  have  made 
us  famous !" 

To  fancy  the  Indian  silent  as  the  sphynx  is  to  imagine  that  the 
child  cannot  talk  from  its  shyness,  that  the  bird  cannot  sing  because 
it  has  lost  its  sunshine.    Wautoma,  secure  in  the  sense  of  an  appre- 

30 


Catherine  Refuses  the  Flower 

ciative  audience,  was  soon  orator  in  three  languages.  To  the  artist 
painting  away  furiously  on  the  picture,  the  young  chief  had  been 
making  his  complaints  in  alternate  French  and  English  phrases; 
while  at  the  same  time  his  pose  had  not  forbidden  the  use  of  the 
sign  language  in  the  communication  of  his  feelings  to  the  silent 
Josie.  After  once  telling  him  by  signs  that  Catherine  did  not  wish 
her  to  talk  to  him,  the  Dakotah  maiden  had  kept  the  mandate  re- 
ligiously. 

A  very  contrast  to  the  swart  complexion  of  the  Dakotahn  who 
stood  beside  the  easel,  intent  upon  the  work,  though  with  a  half 
dubious  air  about  its  value,  was  the  face  of  the  toiler,  whose  only 
points  of  color  were  her  lips  and  eyes.  But  the  pallor  was  emphasis 
in  white  of  the  same  story  told  by  the  red  lips  and  the  flashing 
greenish-gray  eyes — of  twenty-six  years  of  life  whipped  to  intensity 
by  hot,  resistless  blood.  She  was  either  not  as  pretty  as  she  had 
been — which  was  the  presumption,  or  as  she  was  to  be — a  possibility. 
But  nature  had  more  than  atoned  for  the  severity  cast  upon  a 
haughty  face  by  the  plentiful  adornment  of  rich  brown  hair  and 
by  the  elegance  it  had  lavished  upon  her  figure.  Even  on  the  wilds 
of  the  prairie  frontier  she  had  not  grown  careless  of  her  dress,  which, 
red,  to  please  the  Indians,  followed  the  style  immediately  fore- 
running crinoline. 

"Wautoma,  you  are  sublimely  fierce  this  morning.  The  great 
serpent  is  putting  the  very  poison  of  his  wrath  into  our  work."  Her 
voice  was  as  her  face,  imperiously  haughty. 

But  fierceness  was  not  all  the  brush  of  Catherine  Dale  was 
dashing  upon  the  canvas.  The  painting  of  the  tall  young  savage, 
however  much  his  handsome  face  was  fired  with  Indian  spirit,  with- 
out paint  and  feathers,  was  a  revelation  of  natural  grace  and 
strength.  His  legs,  naked  to  the  knee,  were  clean  and  shapely  as  if 
belonging  to  a  polished  bronze  statue.  Blacker  than  the  straight 
black  hair  were  the  restless  shining  eyes  that  snapped  with  the  same 
fierce  energy  cut  like  granite  in  the  chin  and  burning  in  the  lips. 
Artist  and  model  were  in  complete  sympathy  with  the  spur  of  her 
words  chosen  with  quick  discernment  of  his  thoughts.  It  was  his  life 
that  she  valued  and  interpreted  for  him,  and,  by  drawing  and  sus- 
taining the  intense  cast  of  his  feeling,  had  reproduced  at  last.  Now 
her  smallest  brush  was  striking  the  corner  of  the  canvas  the  title 
she  had  given  it :    "The  American  Nobleman  in  the  Ruins." 

It  was  no  idle  whim,  or  mere  passing  fancy,  nor  yet  the  desire  of 
fame  that  had  moved  Catherine  Dale  in  her  task.  Her  heart  was 
knit  to  the  hearts  of  the  Indians  by  the  strong  cords  of  fate.     Her 

31 


Ongon 


life  had  been  a  preparation  for  the  painting — because  she  was  a 
woman  and  had  suffered  wrongs  of  her  own.  As  one  who  read  her 
own  history  in  her  changeful  eyes,  and  could  not  at  all  times  at 
will  hide  from  others  the  story  of  a  disappointed  life,  she  clave  to  the 
cause  of  the  Indians.  Among  them  by  a  strange  providence  she 
had  found  the  place  to  drop  the  plummet  line  beneath  common  sor- 
rows to  find  the  more  intense  despair.  This  morning  she  had  hung 
in  her  room  at  the  lodge  her  motto,  "I  don't  want  a  God  who  tells 
me  to  look  at  the  maimed  and  blind  and  halt  and  be  satisfied  with 
my  lot  lest  the  bears  come  out  of  the  woods  and  eat  me  up." 

But  just  now,  intent  upon  the  finishing  strokes,  she  had  not 
seen  the  strained  salute  of  Wautoma,  nor  heard  the  footsteps  be- 
hind her,  else  she  had  not  murmured  aloud  in  French :  "Oh,  God, 
be  neutral  and  I  shall  be  satisfied !"  Somewhere  she  had  found 
these  words  and  adopted  them  for  her  own  covenant  with  Deity. 

"May  an  intruder  be  pardoned?"  asked  a  deep  masculine  voice. 

Turning  abruptly  with  a  disdain  born  of  the  knowledge  that  he 
must  have  heard  and  perhaps  understood  her  imprecation,  Catherine 
Dale  was  confronted  by  the  commanding  figure  of  a  young  officer  in 
uniform  with  cap  and  riding  whip  in  hand.  His  distinguished  bear- 
ing needed  no  explanation  not  found  in  the  fearless,  adventuresome 
ej'-es  that  met  hers — this  must  be  the  Major  Trenton. 

She  did  not  offer  him  entire  the  chair — the  cushion  was  with- 
drawn. Anything  less  than  a  hard  seat  for  a  soldier  would  be 
eflfeminate !  It  was  the  action  of  the  painter  rather  than  the  woman, 
tendering  him,  as  she  held  the  cushion  quite  at  present  arms,  the 
most  delicate  tribute  art  could  give  to  valor. 

"I  learned  that  the  creator  of  Les  Garcons  was  here,  and  came 
to  thank  her  for  her  Parisian  boys,"  said  the  soldier  without  taking 
the  ofifered  seat. 

"Major  Trenton,  I  believe?" 

"Pardon  me,  I  forgot,  that  is  my  name " 

"I  fear  Major  Trenton  will  regret  the  journey."  There  was  a 
fearless  aim  at  her  late  passionate  outburst  in  Catherine's  words — 
and  she  was  looking  from  him  to  the  portrait. 

He  thought  her  very  beautiful — the  most  present  of  any  woman 
he  had  ever  met,  not  even  excepting  the  long  ago.  He  surmised 
that  he  could  be  nothing  to  her  because  her  sympathies  were  with 
the  Indians.  And  yet  nobody  ever  entered  the  presence  of  Catherine 
Dale  without  becoming  a  suitor  at  least  for  her  favor — and  at  last, 
-unless  she  or  providence  prevented  it,  for  her  affections. 

"It  is  only  a  primrose  plucked  from  our  prairie,"  said  Trenton, 

32 


Catherine  Refuses  the  Flower 

whose  tone  and  eye  conveyed  the  parenthetical  explanation  that  he 
understood  her,  "but  may  a  rude  soldier  be  bold  to  offer  it?"  He 
felt  that  it  would  have  been  no  sin  for  him  to  have  touched  her,  a 
very  delicate  sensation  for  the  Indian  fighter. 

Her  hand  trembled  as  it  moved  a  rejection  of  the  flower,  but  her 
voice  was  haughty  still  when  she  replied,  "Major  Trenton,  I  may 
admire  your  courage,  but  we  cannot  be  friends — we  may  even  be- 
come foes." 

The  primrose  held  by  the  long  stem  drooped  in  Trenton's  hand. 
He  would  have  liked  to  put  it  in  his  button-hole  with  some  remark 
that  if  they  became  foes  he  would  enlist  in  her  cause  and  fight 
against  himself,  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  results.  It  had  been  so  long 
since  he  had  had  dealings  with  womankind,  and  he  had  only  the 
dim  sense  that  the  words  might  sound  like  a  thrust  when  he  was 
rusty  as  such  fencing.  Accordingly  he  only  smiled  and  dropped  the 
flower — the  most  unpardonable  thing  he  could  have  done  before 
Catherine  Dale. 

"I  have  been  fighting  the  Indians,"  said  he  with  a  little  play 
of  mock  sorrow  on  his  lips. 

"Beware,  Major  Trenton,  for  you  have  intruded  to  the  very 
door  of  the  chieftain  most  hostile  to  you,"  said  Catherine  full- 
blooded  against  trifling  in  this,  her  supreme  hour  of  revolt  against 
a  nation's  cruelty. 

Because  he  dreaded  offense  against  her,  he  was  taken  for  a 
coward,  then  he  would  show  contempt  for  the  Indian  at  his  door — 
"Miss  Dale,  Indian  chieftains  to-day  are  such  only  in  name.  There 
are  no  chiefs  here." 

She  answered  by  seizing  her  brush  to  underscore  the  title  on  her 
picture. 

"The  American  Nobleman,"  said  Trenton,  reading  aloud  the 
words.  "I  have  often  heard  it  reported  that  the  old  chief's  son 
was  good-looking,  and  you  have  certainly  idealized  his  anger." 

"Is  that  all,  Major  Trenton?" 

"I  admire  the  picture  and  congratulate  you  on  getting  an  Indian 
to  pose  for  you.  It  is  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  painting,  I  doubt 
not." 

"And r 

He  remembered  the  saying  that  when  two  people  meet  one  is 
always  conscious  that  he  holds  the  advantage.  Unless  the  unexpect- 
ed should  now  happen,  he  could  not  hope  to  get  away  with  credit — 
to  go  away  and  come  back  to  begin  right  with  her. 

"And f"  she  repeated. 

33 


Ongon 


He  would  fall  into  her  hands  gracefully — "You  have  followed 
a  great  thought  in  your  conception  of  the  theme." 

"It  is  a  suggestion  for  a  statue  for  an  American  temple  of  Justice, 
Major  Trenton,"  said  Catherine,  ironically. 

There  never  was  a  man  with  a  love  for  excitement  that  would 
pass  by  an  opportunity  of  prolonging  the  splendor  of  an  animated 
woman.  Trenton  was  only  a  soldier  and  yielded.  He  would  like 
to  draw  from  her  the  full  force  pent  up  beyond  the  words  she  had 
spoken.  Even  though  he  saw  Wautoma  approaching  to  listen. 
There  was  the  mumbling  of  an  approaching  storm  within  Catherine 
that  would  burst  suddenly  upon  the  slightest  provocation,  even  as 
it  had  come  unexpectedly  upon  her.  Trenton  was  not  strong  enough 
to  resist  the  temptation.    He  smiled  again  and  folded  his  arms. 

"Major  Trenton,  the  American  Indian  ordered  to  design  a  na- 
tional hall  of  justice  would  slightly  alter  the  conventional  statue 
that,  fashioned  in  bronze  or  stone,  has  become  a  favorite  pillar  in 
such  temples.  Instead  of  the  sameness  of  a  blindfold  covering  both 
eyes  of  the  goddess  of  justice,  that  bandage  in  perpetual  stone  should 
slip  below  on  one  cheek  to  reveal  the  squint  in  the  trammeled  eye. 
So,  too,  would  tip  the  scales  which  the  redman  never  saw  bal- 
anced. And  if  the  sword  should  be  made  to  appear  dripping  with 
human  blood,  the  nation  should  not  quarrel  with  the  Indian's  carv- 
ing in  stone  that  zvliich  has  been  cut  out  of  his  heart.  The  central 
figure  thus  chiseled  for  the  American  palace  of  justice  would  present 
nothing  of  the  appearance  of  an  idle  cartoon  to  be  lightly  laughed  at, 
or  to  win  the  insolent  guffaws  of  a  superior  race.  Indian  history 
is  the  record  that  a  travesty  on  justice  is  a  terrible  thing.  For, 
blinded  with  rage  under  the  bitter  sense  of  injustice,  the  redman 
has  hurled  himself  upon  his  fate.  Only  to  prove,  alas,  his  strength 
unequal  to  his  lot,  and  with  all  his  cruelty,  only  to  dash  his  own 
brains  against  the  hard  scales — yes,  I  will  say  it — against  the  hard 
scales  of  an  inconsiderate  destiny." 

Before  she  had  finished  speaking  a  squirrel's  call  had  begun 
in  the  same  key,  ominous,  dreadful — hardly  a  gentle  squirrel's  bark 
at  all,  but  carrying  from  tree  to  tree  the  same  scornful  irony — as 
with  every  yell  a  new  head  arose  to  offer  its  savage  lips  to  project 
the  sound.  Every  warrior's  hand  was  upon  the  strings  of  his  bow, 
and  a  score  of  arrows  were  piercing  the  disc  of  moss-covered  bark 
thrown  by  Wautoma  into  the  air.  Passion  following  so  soon  upon 
thwarted  vengeance  was  now  waiting  upon  a  woman's  voice  to 
command  what  in  the  night  a  woman  had  forbidden, 

Trenton  well  knew  that  the  Indian  is  most  malignant  when  aware 

34 


Catherine  Refuses  the  Flower 

that  the  foe  is  completely  in  his  power.  But,  though  he  was  con- 
scious of  the  very  moment  when  the  situation  had  passed  from  the 
control  of  the  artist,  he  stood  impassive  with  folded  arms.  Not  a 
muscle  moved  in  his  face  or  body,  and  the  young  warriors  who  had 
never  seen  the  superb  self-control  of  this  officer  now  became  awed 
to  caution  by  his  apparent  indifference  to  his  fate. 

Catherine  Dale,  again  no  longer  the  woman  but  the  artist,  gloried 
in  the  exhibition  before  her,  half-forgiving  Trenton  for  his  splendid 
nerve.  Unconscious  of  the  real  depth  and  purpose  in  the  mind  of 
the  savages,  and  unacquainted  with  the  language  of  their  gestures, 
her  face  glowed  with  enthusiasm  in  the  presence  of  such  action. 
Her  eager  form  was  bent  forward  with  Spartan  grace  to  catch  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  and  to  note  the  fierceness  of  their  wrath. 
Once  she  looked  at  the  picture  as  if  she  was  sorry  this  had  not 
occurred  before  she  had  finished  her  conception. 

She  was  the  type  that  could  die  with  splendid  animation,  if. 
only  she  might  look  upon  herself  the  while  to  detect  the  ways  of 
the  passion  of  death. 

Was  Trenton  mad  that  he  permitted  the  orgies  of  that  dance  un- 
moved? Why  had  he  waited  even  until  the  last  savage  had  come 
up — until  every  one  of  the  demons'  arrows  was  ready  for  the  silent 
flight  of  death?  Who  could  find  his  lone  grave  on  a  boundless 
prairie?  On  they  leaped  and  gnashed,  closer,  closer — fiendish,  yell- 
ing slaves  of  rage,  watching  for  the  slightest  movement  of  Wau- 
toma's  hand.  At  last  the  preliminary  sign  had  been  given  with  the 
direction  that  no  one  should  hurt  the  painting.  The  fingers  of  the 
savage  hands  were  upon  the  strings,  in  a  moment 

Quick  as  the  flash  of  a  bird  on  wing,  Trenton's  arms  had  relaxed, 
and  with  a  shout  of  triumph  that  rose  above  the  Indians'  yells, 
breaking  their  monotony  in  the  middle,  the  officer  had  darted  for- 
ward. Seizing  the  picture  from  the  easel,  he  plunged  down  the 
knoll  toward  his  horse,  swaying  his  body  from  side  to  side  with 
the  painting  as  a  shield — not  an  arrow  following,  not  a  redman 
near  enough  to  overtake  him,  not  a  horse  so  fleet  as  his  charger  once 
he  had  leaped  upon  his  back. 

"Now,  Tom,  show  them  your  head  and  then  your  heels !" 

Keeping  the  picture  between  their  arrows  and  his  wheeling  horse, 
the  soldier  gave  loose  rein  to  the  intelligent  steel,  who,  like  his 
master,  made  one  swing  as  of  tearing  through  the  savage  band, 
then  flung  himself  into  the  retreat.  Only  once  was  there  a  pause — 
when  Trenton  lifted  the  canvas  as  he  rose  in  the  stirrups  and 
saluted  Wautoma,  the  nearest  pursuer. 

35 


Ongon 

THE   RUBY 

At  sundown  came  a  different  band  of  Indians,  gray  clad,  with 
fur-lined  moccasins,  and  a  maple  leaf  woven  into  the  blouse  with  a 
white  cross  in  the  center.  They  kept  to  the  woods  along  the  branches 
of  the  river  until  dusk,  when  they  separated,  each  still  avoiding  all 
settlers,  and  carrying  a  package  with  great  care  and  awesome 
gravity. 

Soon  came  the  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will  answered  by  blinking 
red  lights  from  out  the  packages.  To  an  eye  in  the  far  distance, 
whether  in  the  woods  or  on  the  prairie,  dark  fire-flies  were  seeking 
to  pierce  and  open  the  night. 

Within  an  hour  every  lantern  had  gathered  about  it  a  little  group 
of  redmen  similarly  clad.  Then  all  were  terrestrial  comets  with 
dark  trailing  bands  behind.  The  circling  movement  was  stealthily 
toward  the  portage. 

"Hughgh !" 

The  lantern  man  had  challenged  the  form  of  a  woman  who  had 
crossed  the  trail  in  front  of  him.    "Hughgh !  hughgh !" 

"In  the  spring  the  maple  leaves  return!"  came  in  the  Ojibway 
dialect  from  the  hurrying  figure  that  would  not  tarry  or  return. 

"A  friend !  she  is  a  friend !"  sputtered  from  the  head  to  the  foot 
of  the  comet,  as  the  low,  musical  notes  of  the  fleeting  woman  came 
to  the  ear  of  the  challenger,  and  her  cry  was  passed  along  the  line. 
Somebody  in  sympathy  with  themselves  was  on  a  mission  of  her 
own. 

"Wouldst  have  the  night-word?"  She  was  crying,  ready  to 
give  the  pass,  if  they  desired  it. 

"Hughgh !  hughgh !"  returned  the  leader,  swinging  his  lantern. 

"0-n-g-o-n,"  long  and  lovingly,  sweeter  and  more  triumphant 
than  the  beautiful  swelling,  melting  song  of  the  twilight  veery,  rose 
and  fell  her  answer. 

The  voioe  was  new  to  the  chiefs,  but  the  word  involved  in  its 
cadence  swept  the  savage  breasts  with  a  kindred  pleasure.  Not  over 
the  waters  of  Venice  at  eventide  could  a  chorus  from  masculine 
throats  have  poured  forth  a  richer  melody  than  their  deep  respon- 
sive "Ongon." 

"Lady !"  The  men  had  passed  on,  but  Lusette  was  being  pur- 
sued by  a  woman. 

"Lady !"  The  voice  was  entreating  and  following  when  its  first 
whisper  was  ignored. 

36    . 


The  Ruby 

Lusette  tarried  by  the  hawthorns  until  her  pursuer  overtook 
her. 

"And  thou,  too,  dost  know  Ongon?  Speak,  fair  lady!"  said  the 
Indian  woman. 

"Am  I  very  near  the  house,  do  you  know  him  ?"  asked  Jean,  with 
sudden  unreserve. 

"I  am  Minnetonka  the  princess ;  he  will  be  with  the  chieftains  to- 
night at  their  flag-room,  but  our  lodge  is  near,  come  thou  with  me, 
fair  lady." 

"I  may  not  be  fair  lady,"  returned  Jean  with  a  girlish  laugh. 

"Oh,  yes,  thy  voice  is  beautiful,"  said  Minnetonka;  "I  know  not 
why,  but  it  thrills  me,  and  when  I  heard,  standing  in  the  door,  I  must 
fly  toward  thee." 

Jean  suffered  herself  to  be  led  by  Minnetonka,  and  when  they 
were  within  the  lodge  and  her  cloak  fell  from  her  face,  lo,  she  was 
fair  indeed ! 

"Oh,  I  love  thee;  I  must  call  the  artist — and  dost  thou  know 
Ongon?" 

"Stay,"  entreated  Jean,  catching  Minnetonka  by  the  hand  and 
holding  her  back  gently,  "I  would  rather  not  see  any  others  to-night 
— some  other  time.    But  tell  me  what  you  know  of  Ongon." 

She  asked  rather  because  she  liked  to  hear  the  happy  voice  of 
the  princess  than  as  if  she  wanted  to  know  a  secret. 

"He  saved  my  father,  he  buried  my  father,  he  guides  my  brother, 
he  has  taught  his  sister,  he  is  king  of  all  the  chiefs,  and " 

"You  love  him,"  murmured  Jean,  clasping  Minnetonka  in  a 
passionate  embrace.    "Your  eyes  have  told  me  that  you  love  him." 

"He  is  my  husband,  I  am  his  queen,"  said  Minnetonka,  softly,  as 
Jean  held  her  by  the  shoulders  and  gazed  with  lustrous  pleasure  into 
her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Jean,  dreamily. 

They  were  both  a  tiptoe  above  the  medium  height,  and  Minne- 
tonka, too,  was  lithe  and  slender,  her  figure  suggesting  both  delicate- 
ness  and  strength.  Her  long  raven  hair  was  fastened  prettily  with 
a  wisp  of  prairie  grass,  with  a  deft  turn  of  myrtle  upon  the  head. 
She  was  clad  in  a  simple  dress  with  a  border  of  the  daintiest,  softest 
fur,  and  at  the  open  throat  was  a  double  circle  of  red  haws. 

"Yes,  yes,  sweet,  happy  Minnetonka!"  murmured  Jean,  slowly. 
It  was  not  jealousy,  there  was  sorrow  in  her  voice — and  yet  she  was 
not  displeased.  After  all  she  looked  as  if  she  was  glad  it  was  just 
so. 

"He  is  so  great,  so  good,"  said  Minnetonka. 

37 


Ongon 

Jean's  eyes  were  beaming  with  a  thought :  "I  have  heard — show 
him  to  me,  will  you — the  babe,"  she  said  in  breaths. 

"I  will  if  thou  wilt  tell  me  thy  name,"  answered  Minnetonka,  half 
playfully. 

"Jean,"  replied  the  girl ;  "that  is  my  real  name,  to  others  I  must 
be  known  as  Lusette — now  let  me  see  Mylo,  please." 

"How  did  you  know  his  name?"  asked  Minnetonka  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  I  am  the  gypsy,  you  know,  and  of  course  I  had  to  learn 
that,"  laughed  the  girl.  Then  her  face  sobered.  "How  hard  for  you 
when  they  killed  little  Joseph !" 

"Oh,  fair  lady,  thou  dost  know  all."  Minnetonka  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands,  but  there  were  no  tears  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  again. 
"I  will  bring  Mylo." 

He  was  not  yet  asleep,  and  when  brought  was  fairer  of  skin  than 
his  mother.  Though  she  was  not  dark.  Indeed,  if  the  legend  be  true 
that  the  Indians  are  the  descendants  of  the  lost  tribes  of  the  Jews, 
Minnetonka  might  have  been  selected  in  evidence. 

"Oh,  darling  little  king,  I,  Jean,  salute  thee !"  cried  the  girl 
gathering  the  child  in  her  arms  tenderly  and  covering  his  face  with 
kisses.  The  child  was  not  to  take  without  giving.  To  him  her  hair 
as  lawless  in  its  myriad  wanderings  as  the  little  hand  itself,  was  a 
charm  of  color  and  opportunity.  The  tears  were  in  the  girl's  eyes 
for  delight,  while  Minnetonka  gazed  in  fascinated  wonderment. 

"You  think  you  have  seen  me  before?"  asked  Jean,  still  holding 
the  babe. 

"Yes,  no,  somewhere,  your  spirit,  perhaps  in  a  dream,"  replied 
the  bewildered  princess. 

Jean  noticed  the  changed  form  of  address. 

"Who  would  have  believed  that  I  should  find  my  way  here  to- 
night!" cried  the  girl — adding  suddenly,  "Oh,  mightn't  I  see  him 
among  the  chiefs  to-night?  I  know  the  pass,  could  you  not  get  us 
present  ?"  Her  eyes  danced  from  dark  to  light,  as  she  gave  back  the 
babe,  and  repeated  her  entreaty  with  half-girlish,  half-womanly  fer- 
vor. 

"I  dare  not,"  answered  Minnetonka,  "it  would  displease  Ongon. 
Besides,  though  you  have  won  my  heart,  I  know  not  who  you  are." 

"You  are  right — and  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  about  myself 
now.    Indeed,  I  must  be  going.    I  am  the  gypsy,  that  is  all." 

"Must  you  go,  you  are  not  afraid,  are  you  even  braver  than 
INlinnetonka  ?"  asked  the  princess,  disappointedly. 

"See,  he  wants  this  pin,  he  shall  have  it !"  said  Jean  quickly,  with- 
drawing a  large  ruby  stone  in  a  scarf  setting  from  the  ribbon  about 

38 


Treacherous  Cat's-paw 

her  throat.  She  gave  it  rather  into  the  safer  hand  of  the  mother, 
adding,  "You  might  tell  Ongon  that  it  was  my  mother's  stone." 
Then  she  was  gone. 

XI 

TREACHEROUS     CAx's-PAW 

When  Jean  left  the  lodge  she  had  barely  time  to  steal  to  the  tan- 
gled hawthorns  beneath  the  lindens  before  the  last  party  of  Indians 
on  their  way  to  the  flag-room  filed  past.  Each  carried  a  long  rod- 
like parcel  in  his  hand,  and  they  were  stepping  forward  cautiously 
like  tight-rope  walkers  practising  for  the  fair. 

"What  Cat's-paw!"  muttered  the  girl  half-aloud  as  the  leader 
shuffled  ahead. 

He  was  an  older  man  than  the  rest  with  a  bent  form  and  a  double- 
jointed  action  at  the  knees.  This  with  his  crooked  nose  and  ugly 
little  eyes  made  him  a  hideous  sight  to  behold — yet  even  so,  more 
sufiferable  to  a  sensitive  mind  provided  only  his  parts  would  keep 
still.  Each  step  seemed  like  the  Fall  of  Man — every  roll  of  his  eyes 
a  proof  that  there  must  be  a  place  of  perdition. 

"He  bodes  nobody  any  good,  how  can  Ongon "  but  a  new 

sight  stopped  Jean's  thoughts  as  though  they  never  had  been — where 
had  she  seen  that  type  before?  The  cause  of  the  interruption  that 
drove  out  Cat's-paw  was  a  tall,  finely  built  man  with  a  strong,  proud 
mouth. 

They  were  passing  so  close  to  her  that  they  brushed  the  end  of 
the  wild  grapevine  she  had  grasped  to  support  her  in  her  position. 
Surely  some  one  would  observe  that  the  vine  trembled  more  than 
mere  reaction  from  their  striking  it  would  warrant !  There !  she 
had  steadied  herself.  But  in  so  doing  had  lost  sight  of  an  individual 
she  certainly  must  have  recognized. 

Try  as  she  could  the  tall  chief  who  had  passed  after  Cat's-paw 
haunted  her  mind — where  had  she  felt  that  strange  influence  before? 
"Impossible,  yes ;  so — Cat's-paw  a  traitor — that  man  was  Buhl-By- 
see !"  And  the  girl  was  upon  her  feet  in  an  instant.  She  knew  that 
they  were  going  to  the  ruins  and  at  the  risk  of  her  life  she  would 
hasten  thither  to  intercept  and  expose  the  perfidy. 

The  red  lanterns  were  casting  a  weird  light  upon  the  old  fort 
when  Jean  dropped  behind  the  hazel  copse  and  gazed  upon  the  solemn 
parade  of  the  dark  warriors.  The  ceremony  of  the  redmen's  march- 
ing, no  longer  in  single  file  but  by  twos  and  fours,  with  the  grand 
air  upon  their  faces  and  the  erect,  martial  spirit  in  their  figures,  ap- 

39 


Ongon 

pealed  to  her  sense  of  grandeur.  There  was  more  than  pomp  in  the 
stately  marching — here  was  a  race  with  a  noble  passion  for  what  they 
did  not  themselves  understand.  They  were  more  than  children  cry- 
ing in  the  night,  and  with  other  language  than  a  cry.  Each  was  a 
poor  undeveloped  man-child  with  a  capacity  for  work,  if  in  the  form 
of  play ;  of  unity,  if  around  some  great  and  good  man  as  a  center. 

Jean  soon  rediscovered  Buhl-Bysee  among  the  Indians,  and — 
could  it  be  true — not  far  in  the  rear,  the  disguised  Clermont,  a  sunny 
Indian  revelling  in  the  fantasies  of  the  night !  "If  only  he  were 
called  upon  to  carry  on  an  extended  conversation  in  Pottawatomie 
or  Ojibway  dialect,  what  a  series  of  charming  grunts  they  would  be !" 

His  arrival  put  a  new  construction  on  Cat's-paw's  treachery. 
While  she  could  laugh  at  the  thought  of  the  predicament  Clermont 
would  be  in,  if  discovered,  there  was  no  great  need  of  alarm.  The 
old  chief  had  only  wanted  to  make  some  money,  perhaps.  It  would 
endanger  the  detective's  life  and  anger  Cat's-paw  for  nothing  after 
all.     And  both  could  be  of  more  service  to  her  alive  than  dead. 

No  she  must  not  expose  Buhl-Bysee  now.  She  must  depart. 
However,  she  would  stay  to  obtain  just  one  glimpse  of  Ongon. 
How  her  heart  fluttered  at  the  thought.    "Oh,  Ongon,  Ongon !" 

Would  he  not  almost  know  that  she  was  there  ?  She  was  gypsy 
enough,  whatever  else  beside,  to  believe  in  the  influence  of  mind  over 
mind.  When  the  vine  fluttered  in  her  hand  just  before,  and  she  had 
wished  Cat's-paw  to  hurry  on,  had  not  they  seemed  to  quicken  their 
pace?  And  now  when  she  wanted  so  much  to  see  Ongon,  would  he 
not  be  drawn  to  the  hazel  copses  by  the  very  force  of  her  desire, 
especially  when  it  was  his  noble  mind  that  should  be  touched  by  the 
sensible  fluid  in  the  air  ? 

No,  she  could  not  remain,  much  as  she  wanted  to  behold  him. 
She  must  not  endanger  his  cause,  or  hurt  Clermont.  She  could  wait 
another  time — she  had  waited  thus  long. 

Poor  child !  she  had  been  thinking  it  laboriously  in  hard  sen- 
tences, and  she  was  weeping  now  at  the  thought  of  having  to  go. 
It  was  almost  too  hard  to  turn  away  from  him  when  he  was  ap- 
proaching so  near.  She  could  see  him  in  his  kingliness  if  she  waited 
— the  beloved  of  whom  she  could  well  be  proud ! 

"Oh,  God,  for  answering  my  prayer,"  and  in  her  faith,  not 
needing  to  ask  for  sight,  she  crept  back  to  the  thicket  beneath  the 
elms  and  stole  away  softly,  the  girl  and  the  woman  mingling  ten- 
derly in  her  thought  of  him  whom  they  called  king  of  the  chiefs,  her 
brother.  When  she  could  tell  him  the  truth,  in  the  pure  moment  of 
lifted  condemnation,  he  would  love  her  as  one  of  heaven's  mes- 

40 


In  the  Flag-room 


sengers.  Oh,  there  must  be  a  place  in  his  heart  for  her  love,  she 
would  try  to  be  to  Ongon  what  the  Creator  had  in  thought  when  he 
designed  sisterhood.  She  was  glad  others  had  tried  to  find  her 
brother  for  her  and  had  failed  because  the  seeking  had  been  pure 
joy  to  her;  and  Ongon  should  never  know  aught  but  the  joy  of 
brotherhood.  When  they  were  permitted  first  to  meet  on  earth,  he 
would  then  know  how  his  sister  Jean  had  discovered  that  he  was 
alive,  and  alone  with  her  aunt  had  traced  him,  believing  in  him  from 
the  first  dark  hour  that  had  brought  her  the  secret  of  the  accusation 
against  him.  Certainly  her  lips  should  not  be  the  first  to  tell  him  that 
he  was  under  suspicion.  Else  she  had  waited  for  him  at  the  ruins  to 
throw  herself  into  his  arms  and  cry  "Oh,  my  brother,  my  brother 
Ongon !"  Nay,  not  now ;  she  would  wait  and  seek  Clermont  to  give 
him  the  paper  and  tell  him  how  the  agent  first  came  to  hate  Ongon. 
"Oh,  Ongon,  as  thy  sister  goes  hence,  she  prays  that  thy  coming 
may  be  sacred  to  thy  chiefs  this  night.  Greeting,  Jean  leaves  with 
every  flower  that  meets  thine  eyes  on  the  morrow," 


XII 


IN  THE  FLAG-ROOM 

It  is  a  common  observation  that  while  the  Romans  worshiped 
the  idea  of  an  all-powerful  ruler  the  Greeks  adored  the  perfect  man. 
It  might  be  said  of  the  Indians  that  they  have  idolized  their  chief- 
tains and  obeyed  their  commands  according  as  these  rulers  have  ap- 
proximated to  their  conception  of  the  ideal  man.  The  Indians  them- 
selves claim  that  their  sign  for  chief  means,  "He  rises  above  all 
others  and  stands  solidly  on  the  ground."  Bravery  in  war,  skill  in 
hunting,  generosity  at  home — these  virtues  have  won  savage  hom- 
age. Many  of  the  chiefs  who  have  used  their  influence  steadfastly 
for  the  promotion  of  the  welfare  of  their  people,  often  at  great  per- 
sonal sacrifice,  have  exerted  an  almost  unlimited  patriarchal  power 
over  their  bands.  Therefore  whole  tribes  were  represented  in  the 
men  who  came  to  the  flag-room  this  night. 

The  passage  beneath  the  ruined  palisades  through  which  the 
Indians  passed,  when  their  maneuvers  above  were  completed,  led 
into  halls  that  were  built  for  chiefs  alone.  It  was  a  great  secret 
society  which  Clermont  must  understand  before  he  went  further. 
To  the  detective,  and  to  Buh!-Bysee  even  with  his  purpose,  the  work 
which  the  redmen  had  accomplished  underground  was  marvelous. 
Aside  from  the  impenetrable  nooks  and  hidings  that  lent  a  sense  of 

41 


Ongon 

dark  mystery  and  power  to  the  approaches,  the  council-room  itself 
would  have  commanded  their  admiration.  Great  oak  pillars,  polished 
and  oiled,  and  now  wreathed  with  garlands  of  wild  flowers,  sup- 
ported a  ceiling  of  cedar  inlaid  with  grotesque  figures  in  curious 
stones.  Being  hard  by  both  the  Desplaines  and  the  Chicago  rivers, 
by  way  of  the  former  the  canoes  had  brought  the  abundance  of 
stone  necessary  for  making  the  cemented  cavern,  while  from  the 
East  had  come  shells  from  the  ocean,  fragrant  woods  from  north- 
ern Michigan,  bits  of  curios  from  old  caverns  of  whose  fairies  and 
witches  the  Indian  grandfathers  for  centuries  had  told  the  children 
at  night.  It  was  enough  that  over  the  cemented  stone  had  been 
laid  a  flooring  of  scented  woods  smooth  as  the  wax  of  the  bees. 
But  no,  bufl:'alo  robes,  with  their  dark-brown  and  their  drab-brown 
splendor,  shared  the  space  on  equal  footing  with  gray  rugs  from  the 
backs  of  the  prairie  wolves,  black  furs  from  the  bears  of  the  north, 
yellow  sealskin  beauties  from  Alaska. 

"Indiapolitan  profusion,"  murmured  Clermont  to  himself,  as  he 
walked  upon  the  soft  luxuries  that  king's  palaces  might  well  covet, 
and  yet  realized  how  easily  these  had  been  gotten  in  the  wilds  of 
America  by  these  Indian  hunters. 

But  richer  than  the  gathering  of  furs  salted  and  dressed  by  the 
hand  of  Ongon,  were  the  men  he  had  won  to  himself  by  his  person- 
ality. To  Clermont  all  the  Indian  faces  looked  alike,  but  to  the  red- 
men  assembled  was  the  greater  charm.  They  knew  that  one  roof 
now  sheltered  representatives  from  distant  and  hostile  tribes  long 
separated  by  inveterate  hatred.  Here  on  common  rugs  from  the 
common  pipe  Sac  and  Fox  sat  down  to  smoke  with  Sioux  and 
Winnebago.  The  Miamis  squatted  with  the  Iroquois,  the  Pottawato- 
mies  with  the  Illinois,  and,  from  the  Far  West,  Crow  and  Ute  re- 
clined with  the  Navajo  and  Comanche. 

Much  ceremony  and  imperturbable  gravity  went  the  rounds  while 
a  sparkling  liquor  made  from  roots  was  dispensed,  in  place  of  strong 
drink,  by  boys,  the  sons  of  chiefs  in  variegated  costumes.  It  was 
noticed  that  there  was  no  general  paint  and  few  feathers  to  be  seen. 
Had  Cat's-paw  played  a  trick  on  Buhl-Bysee  and  himself,  thought 
the  detective,  that  they  were  notable  exceptions  to  the  rule  of  feath- 
ers? Clermont  resolved  to  be  an  early  convert,  and  with  the  air  of 
an  agreeable,  newly  arrived  young  chief,  he  looked  around  and  nod- 
ded grunts  while  removing  the  locality  of  the  feathers  from  his  head 
to  his  blouse. 

Gently  at  first  like  the  breath  of  sound  across  the  waters,  then 
swelling  into  a  louder,  happier  euphony,  broken  at  the  point  of  in- 

42 


\ 


f 


ONGON STRONG   AND    FIERCE    ELEMENTS   HELD    FAST    BY   A 

MIGHTY   SPIRIT   WITH   A    GREAT   PURPOSE." 


In  the  Flag-room 


tensity  into  the  rhythmical  notes  of  an  inspiring  chant,  the  Indians 
were  demonstrating  their  power  in  music.  It  was  some  national  air 
Ongon  had  taught  them,  for  presently  hiden  doors  opened  in  the 
walls,  and  a  body  of  white-clad  cross-men,  walking  with  august  pre- 
cision, advanced,  carrying  royal  banners.  Cut  in  the  shape  of  maple 
leaves,  all  with  a  white  cross  in  the  center,  some  with  the  delicate 
color  of  the  early  spring  foliage,  others  with  the  darker  shades  of 
summer's  green,  and  still  others  with  the  beautiful  tints  of  autumn, 
— they  were  the  chosen  emblems  of  the  seasons  of  Indian  life !  Cler- 
mont would  never  have  dreamed  that  forty  flags  could  so  beautify 
a  room. 

As  the  standard  bearers  were  lined  on  either  side  of  the  way 
from  the  great  entrance  door  to  the  throne  in  their  midst,  and  the 
Indians  arose  to  greet  their  chief  king,  a  deeper  patriotism  than 
Clermont  had  ever  felt  took  possession  of  him.  At  this  moment  he 
was  proud  to  have  been  born  in  a  land  whose  first  Americans  were 
Indians.  He  had  sat  in  the  galleries  of  state  and  national  legislative 
halls,  and  had  cheered  the  entrance  of  the  nation's  chief,  but  he  now 
felt  a  deeper  thrill  of  pleasure  in  anticipation  of  seeing  this  man 
who  out  of  chaotic  governments  had  constructed  such  a  magnificent 
union  of  savage  men.  Verily  the  Indians  were  a  foreign  nation  in 
the  midst  of  a  republic.  How  little  the  paleface  knew  of  the  aspi- 
rations in  the  woods  of  the  frontier!  No  newspaper  had  ever  been 
created  to  tell  the  story  of  the  forest  kingdom. 

Another,  more  triumphant  chant  was  beginning,  and  a  deeper, 
more  intense  gravity  was  settling  profoundly  upon  the  features  of 
the  chiefs.  Fortunately  Clermont  had  observed  his  fellow  moccasin- 
clad  men  were  not  going  to  give  vent  to  their  great  feeling  by 
applause.  So  would  he  veil  his  excitement  under  the  muscles  of  his 
face.  And  what  excitement  it  was !  He  could  hear,  he  was  certain, 
the  silence  after  the  chant!  Now  the  maple  banners  were  being 
crossed,  the  door  was  swinging,  he  was  coming ! 

Unattended,  robed  in  pure  white  fur  of  the  finest  peltries,  with 
the  maple-leaf  and  cross  pendant  from  the  chain  of  gold  about  his 
neck,  his  black  intense  eyes  fixed  upon  the  larger  cross  before  the 
throne,  he  walked  among  them  with  firm  but  easy  step.  A  man 
above  six  feet  in  height,  of  powerful  but  not  unwieldy  frame,  with 
the  passionate  lips  of  the  orator,  but  with  the  head  of  the  profound 
thinker.  His  black  hair  was  shorter  than  the  average  Indian's,  but 
when  he  laid  aside  his  robe,  the  same  costume  was  his  in  common 
with  the  other  chiefs.  His  face,  perhaps  because  of  his  intense  feel- 
ing, was  a  lighter  cast  of  color  than  that  of  the  men  about  him,  but 

43 


Ong 


on 

it  was  Indian  type,  strong,  and  fierce  elements  held  fast  by  a  mighty 
spirit  with  a  great  purpose. 

"In  the  spring  the  maple  leaves  return !"  Every  tongue  seemed 
able  to  speak  the  watchword  in  English  though  afterward  it  was 
repeated  in  a  dozen  dialects  before  there  was  silence  again. 

It  was  a  kingly  moment,  for  nothing  exceeds  the  majesty  of  a 
congregation  of  powerful  men  awaiting  eagerly  for  a  great  leader's 
first  word — unless  it  be  that  fascination  of  attention  which  follows 
when  such  high  anticipation  is  not  disappointed.  And  the  chiefs  of 
the  nations  needed  not  the  white  man's  color  or  ways  of  expression 
to  make  known  their  satisfaction.  By  an  ideal  gravity,  sometimes 
pensive,  sometimes  triumphant,  sometimes  chastened,  but  ever  more 
and  more  royally  transformed  by  contact  with  the  speaker's  mind,  the 
conclave  of  warriors  feasted  upon  the  sound  of  Ongon's  voice.  They 
seemed  content  to  rest  in  his  heart.  If  Catherine  Dale  had  painted 
Wautoma  in  such  colors  that  he  had  towered  in  resentment  against 
the  paleface,  now,  under  the  influence  of  Ongon's  words,  the  young 
chief  fairly  exulted  in  the  descriptions  of  his  superior,  and  lost  him- 
self in  Ongon's  ultimate  hope  for  the  redman.  It  was  truth's  hour 
of  triumph  over  crude  strength.  Had  Ongon  once  been  guilty  of 
some  great  sin  against  himself  that  he  could  lay  hold  upon  such 
eternal  verities  ? 

Clermont  was  present  to  study  the  man,  and  yet  he  was  conscious 
that  soon  he  was  being  examined  in  return  by  looks  that  did  not  hang 
fire,  but  shot  straight  across  the  room  and  lingered  not  when  they 
had  gone  through  him.  The  detective  also  noticed  that  the  eyes  of 
all  were  upon  Ongon  gratefully.  They  knew  nothing  of  the  crime, 
that  was  certain.  He  was  to  them  their  chief-king  back  again  from 
his  long  trip  among  the  nations  to  meet  them  gathered  from  afar. 
He  could  not  understand  the  Indian  tongue  in  which  Ongon  spoke. 
Sometimes  when  the  chief-king  gazed  above  with  a  tremendous  pas- 
sionate outcry,  it  seemed  to  leave  his  lips  like  the  hissing  rise  of  the 
roman  candle,  but  when  it  had  spent  itself  in  the  night  of  their 
thought,  a  radiance  burst  upon  his  countenance  compelling  admira- 
tion for  its  happy  light. 

Ongon  spoke  with  characteristic  Indian  brevity,  while  the 
speeches  that  followed  were  of  even  shorter  duration.  From  the 
gestures  of  the  orators  Clermont  judged  that  they  were  conferring 
upon  the  chief-king  further  authority.  Now  and  then  the  word 
"council-fire,"  known  to  him,  acquainted  him  with  the  fact  that  the 
action  of  the  American  government  was  under  consideration.  But 
the  secret  officer  could  read  the  faces  with  little  more  readiness  than 

44 


A  Flash  of  Red  Powder 

he  could  understand  the  words.  He  was  in  the  presence  of  the  best 
and  gravest  of  the  chiefs  who  were  past  masters  in  the  office  of 
secrecy. 

Then  there  was  a  sHght  diversion  arranged  for  both  the  pleasure 
and  the  discipline  of  the  Indians.  Ongon  had  apparently  adopted 
a  plan  under  pressure  to  exhibit  his  skill  to  his  delighted  followers. 
On  the  whole  Clermont  thought  that  the  form  it  took  was  as  good 
as  any  otl^pr.  He  could  reason  out  what  had  happened  afterward. 
When  the  colors  drooped  it  was  the  offenders  who  entered,  perhaps 
in  their  chant  naming  their  own  misdemeanor.  At  least  in  this  the 
detective  had  guessed  truly. 


XHI 


A  FLASH  OF  RED  POWDER 

Among  those  to  be  temporarily  degraded  in  rank  was  no  less 
a  person  than  the  brother  of  Ongon's  princess.  "Wautoma  has 
violated  the  laws  of  the  flag-room  by  this  day  seeking  the  hfe  of  man. 
Let  him  not  wear  the  maple  cross  for  a  month." 

Other  similar  punishments  were  commanded  by  Ongon,  and  then 
ere  the  infliction,  amidst  profound  silence,  the  door  was  opened  lead- 
ing to  the  ruins  above.  Any  one  of  the  guilty  not  desiring  to  submit 
to  the  discipline  with  a  full  purpose  of  newer  obedience  might  leave 
the  order  of  the  cross  in  the  maple  leaf,  and  retire  forever  from  the 
flag-room.     None  passed  out  of  the  door. 

"Close  and  bring  the  fire,"  came  from  the  lips  of  old  Cat's-paw, 
chief  of  the  day. 

Helmet-shaped  caps  of  tin  with  a  round  disk  above  like  the  top  of 
a  mortar-board  hat  were  brought  out.  On  the  top  of  the  disks  little 
inverted  cups — dunce  caps  they  looked  to  Clermont.  But  when  they 
were  led  away  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room  and  Ongon  taking  his 
stand  at  the  opposite  extremity  was  given  a  rifle  and  the  lights  were 
put  out,  save  one  dim  candle  that  permitted  the  heads  of  the  guilty 
to  be  seen,  the  five  men  were  supporting  small  red  targets  on  their 
heads.  It  was  a  device  by  which,  should  the  rifle  ball  carry  true,  a 
flash  of  red  powder  was  to  follow  each  shot.  Simple  as  was  the 
arrangement,  the  excitement  of  the  suspense,  with  the  charm  of  the 
light  and  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  superb  markmanship,  proved 
the  most  thrilling  part  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  evening. 

Five  times  as  many  rifles,  successively  handed  Ongon,  rang  out 
with  a  startling  report.    Five  times  not  a  head  of  the  guilty  flinched. 

45 


Ongon 


And  five  times  the  red  light  threw  its  brief  mystery  about  the  heads 
of  the  kneeling  Indians. 

"There,"  whispered  Buhl-Bysee  to  Cat's-paw,  "you  see  how  easy 
it  was  for  him  to  do  the  deed.     Do  you  still  doubt  it?" 

The  reply  given  the  commissioner  by  Cat's-paw  was  not  as  sig- 
nificant as  it  was  short  and  simple — "Humph !" 

But  it  was  the  time  agreed  upon  for  their  retiring  from  the  room. 
That  which  was  to  follow  was  too  sacred  even  for  bribery.  The  old 
fox  would  shuffle  them  to  the  door  before  the  lights  were  struck 
again. 

XIV 

EYES  AT  THE  WINDOW 

The  highest  type  of  any  race  is  sensitive  to  moods.  If  it  were 
not  so  then  nature,  which  is  swept  by  the  lights  and  shadows,  the 
life  and  breath  of  the  seasons,  would  present  a  creation  surpassing 
man  in  sensibility.  Only  controlled,  even  depression  becomes  a  hu- 
man being  as  fragrance  becomes  the  flower  when  crushed. 

And  Minnetonka  could  not  drive  from  her  heart  the  weight  of 
sadness  that  had  grown  heavier  with  the  hours.  The  very  return 
of  the  season  of  a  terrible  bereavement  makes  the  battle  harder  for 
cheerfulness.  And  it  was  just  a  year  ago  this  day  that  the  little 
Joseph  was  shot.  But  that  was  not  why  Minnetonka  had  the  pistol 
in  her  hand,  or  knelt  with  the  cross  in  the  other  all  alone.  If  only 
Ongon  would  come  soon.  The  vacant  easel  on  which  Wautoma's 
picture  had  rested  so  many  days  and  nights  made  the  loneliness  more 
unbearable.  She  would  go  to  the  room  of  the  artist  and  sit  there 
again  quietly  at  the  foot  of  her  bed.  It  did  not  disturb  the  sleeper. 
Ah,  hark,  his  footsteps,  he  was  coming ! 

"I  am  returned,  Minnetonka." 

"I  rejoice,  Ongon." 

His  duty  to  the  nations  had  brought  them  many  separations  since 
the  day  he  had  come  to  her  putting  his  two  fingers  side  by  side,  and 
she  had  smiled  and  made  them  look  like  one,  and  he  had  proudly 
taken  her  to  his  own  home.  At  first  he  used  to  go  away  on  purpose 
every  morning  to  come  back  just  to  hear  her  say  so  truly,  'T  rejoice, 
Ongon."  But  now  with  months  away  from  her  the  pleasure  was  a 
hundred  fold. 

Together  they  bent  over  the  little  cradle  of  fragrant  woods  made 
by  his  hands.  With  their  fingers  intertwined  they  stood  like  chil- 
dren gazing  upon  the  gift  left  at  their  door. 

46 


Eyes  at  the  Window 


"Ongon,"  Minnetonka's  hands  were  on  the  shoulders  of  her 
husband  in  the  new  way  taught  her  by  the  gypsy,  "Ongon." 

"Yes,  Minnetonka,"  drinking  in  the  love-light  in  her  eyes. 

"Do  I  satisfy  thee,  Ongon?" 

"Why  does  my  princess  ask  the  question?" 

"Because  thou  hast  come  back  from  this  journey  troubled, 
and " 

"You  tremble,  my  queen,  has  some  ill  befallen  you?"  He  drew 
her  gently  from  the  cradle  towards  the  window. 

"I  fell  asleep  to-night  while  waiting  for  thee  and  dreamed  a 
frightful  dream." 

"Not  of  the  little  Joseph  again  ?" 

"Yes  and  more — oh,  Ongon,  if  they  should  take  thy  life  and " 

"Ah,  my  precious  one,  who  could  think  of  taking  Ongon's  Hfe?" 

"I  dreamed  of  a  strange  tall  man,  who  came  with  the  rest,  and 
found  his  way " 

"Stay,  Minnetonka,  not  into  our  flag-room,  did  you  dream?" 

"Yes,  Ongon." 

"Was  he  given  much  to  smiling?" 

"Yes,  and  to  looking  at  thee  with  evil  eyes,  when  he  thought 
thou  wast  not  seeing." 

"The  same,  I  saw  him  in  the  council-room  to-night !" 

"And  he  was  with  Cat's-paw." 

"Oh,  Minnetonka!" 

"And  came  away  early,  Ongon." 

"But  you  tremble  so,  my  princess !" 

"And  when  I  awoke " 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  sought  to  hold  him  to 
her. 

"I  am  not  going,  Minnetonka,  how  strange  you  are  to-night, 
you  were  never  so  before.    I  fear " 

"Nay,  let  me  whisper  it  in  thine  ear,  Ongon." 

"Not  here!     Did  you  say  it  was  here?" 

"At  this  very  window." 

''He?" 

"He,  looking  in  upon  me  with  evil  in  his  eyes  and  tried  the  door. 
And,  Ongon,  I  was  tempted  for  thy  sake  to  run  for  Wautoma's 
pistol.    Which  I  did,  my  king,  in  anger  I  did." 

"And  then  ?" 

"When  I  came  back  with  the  pistol  he  turned  and  smiled  and 
noded  to  some  one  behind  him " 

"Cat's-paw." 

47 


Ongon 

"I  think  so,  nodded  as  if  he  were  saying  'I  told  you  so.'  Oh,  I 
did  wrong,  I  do  not  understand  it  but  some  way  I  hurt  thy  cause 
then  I  know." 

He  pressed  her  to  him  silently. 

"Ongon." 
"Yes,  my  love." 

"If  anything  should  happen  have  I  helped  thee  upward?" 

"Upward,  always,  upward,  Minnetonka." 

"But  if  she  could  help  thee  more  with  her  young  strength  and 
her  beautiful  ways " 

"Who  help  me,  princess  ?" 

"The  queen,  the  beautiful  Lusette." 

"I  know  not  Lusette,  and  you  are  my  beautiful  queen — ah, 
when  they  give  me  the  title  of  chief-king,  I  only  care  for  your  sake, 
Minnetonka,  mother  of  my  babes,  my  life  and  my  treasure." 

"I  know  thy  love  is  wonderful  and  yet  that  I  am  unworthy  of  thy 
heart  of  hearts ;  therefore,  I  will  serve  thee,  I  will  be  thy  slave,  but 
thou  shalt  be  happy,  all  happy,  my  king  Ongon." 

"Who  is  this  Lusette,  Minnetonka,  has  she  other  name?" 

"She  hath,  but  I  must  not  speak  it  to  thee,  Ongon,  only  to  her." 

"Soft,  my  child,  many  maidens  look  to  thy  husband  for  a  broth- 
er's direction,  but  thou  hast  thine  Ongon's  heart  sealed  within  thine 
own." 

"Oh,  Ongon,  that  is  too  much.  I  do  not  ask  it  of  thee.  Thou 
art  greater  than  I,  and  I  was  wrong  ever  to  think  I  could  keep  thee 
wholly  to  myself.  Thou  wert  educated  by  the  fathers  in  many- 
tongues  with  much  learning,  but " 

She  unloosed  his  clasp  of  her  hand  and  glided  to  the  cradle. 
Under  the  baby's  robe  she  had  placed  the  ruby  and  the  pretty  ribbon 
when  Buhl-Bysee  was  peering  through  the  window.  "She  left  this 
for  Mylo,  Ongon." 

He  clasped  it  quickly  in  his  hand  and  gazed  upon  it  with  strange 
eyes.  His  breath  came  faster  as  he  turned  it  over  and  over.  Then 
his  head  sank  in  his  hand  and  she  knew  that  he  was  thinking  wildly. 
At  such  times  and  in  such  ways  he  was  wont  to  penetrate  to  some 
proper  course  for  keeping  his  chiefs  faithful. 

Gently  her  hand  touched  his  forehead. 

"Come,  we  will  walk  in  the  open  air,  my  princess,  we  are  feverish 
here,  and  the  night  has  been  hard  for  you." 

Neither  spoke  as  they  walked  hand  in  hand  under  the  open  stars. 
At  the  linden  under  which  she  had  found  Jean  Minnetonka  left  the 
side  of  her  husband  for  a  little  rising  of  the  ground ;  there  she  stood 

48 


Eyes  at  the  Window 


alone,  with  her  face  from  him.  He  did  not  seek  to  follow  her,  for 
he  knew  that  she  was  in  prayer,  and  it  is  sacred  with  the  Indian  never 
to  interrupt  another  in  such  devotions. 

When  she  returned  her  face  wore  its  usual  calm  and  her  voice 
was  as  of  old,  the  spring-  was  in  her  step,  and  she  touched  his  hand 
lightly.  "They  cannot  hurt  you,  Ongon,  we  can  dance  before  their 
evil." 

He  knew  so  well  her  strength  that  he  did  not  fear  to  tell  her 
now — "There  was  another  man  with  Cat's-paw  to-night." 

"Hush,  not  here,  Ongon,  there  may  be  ears,  you  know.  We  will 
go  in  again." 

"She  had  not  shared  the  depths  of  his  innermost  life  with  trifling 
regard  for  its  value.  And  whatever  he  was  to  the  world  she  knew 
him  in  his  kingliest  moments  and  since  she  was  at  heart  a  queen,  the 
nobleness  of  her  nature  rose  in  majesty  to  meet  his  own.  There- 
fore he  felt  the  sympathy  and  power  in  her  step  as  they  walked 
to  the  house.  "I  laughed  at  myself,  Ongon,  it  was  silly  to  fear 
for  you,  tell  me,  who  seeks  to  know  more  of  you  and  is  aided  by 
Cat's-paw  ?" 

"A  man  of  subtle  power,  a  deep,  wonderful  man,  whom  many 
might  pass  by,  but  one  who  looks  to  read  your  soul,  and  lives,  I 
believe,  for  deep  work  unto  which  he  would  sacrifice  love  and  all 
his  life." 

"A  man  also  colored  by  Cat's-paws  arts  ?" 

"Yes,  white." 

"Was  he  with  the  other — by  his  side?" 

"No." 

"Did  they  make  signs  or  nod  or  seem  to  communicate  with  each 
other  ?" 

"They  seemed  not  to  know  each  other,  although  the  deep  man 
often  studied  the  tall  man  when  he  knew  it  not." 

"Were  they  dressed  alike?" 

"Wautoma  says  that  both  had  feathers  at  first,  but  not  when  I 
arrived." 

"The  evil  one  had  the  feathers." 

"Yes." 

"Then  they  are  not  friends,  he  would  have  told  a  friend  the 
bad  manners  of  feathers  with  us ;  you  have  nothing  to  fear  concern- 
ing this  one." 

"I  knew  it,  but  I  wanted  to  tell  it  too.  Yet  he  was  there  to  study 
me,  Minnetonka,  only  for  a  righteous  purpose  I  know." 

"  'Tis  well." 

49 


Ongon 


"Aye,  while  I  live  they  cannot  break  down  my  influence  with  my 
men.     It  grows,  it  grows,  oh,  it  is  worth  the  while,  Minnetonka !" 

"If  I  should  be  taken  from  thee,  thou  must  never  let  them  go, 
Ongon.  Thou  alone  hast  the  discernment  to  know  our  people's 
hearts.  They  may  be  the  sick  men  of  America  to  some,  but  when 
they  have  hope,  with  thy  leadership,  the  Great  Spirit  shall  not  have 
created  the  Indians  in  vain." 

"Yes,  Minnetonka  it  is  not  I  but  the  Breath-Master  who  guides 
them,  and  we  are  a  strange  people  kept  wisely  by  the  spirit  who  pre- 
serves the  nations." 

The  soul  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  took  his  hands  and  thanked  him 
for  what  she  and  he  knew  together  his  words  meant. 

"And,  Ongon." 

"Yes,  Minnetonka." 

"Thou  must  treasure  sacredly  the  gift  of  the  beautiful  Lusette's 
love." 

XV 

A  THRILLING  ALTO 

To  John  Trenton,  in  the  woods  skirting  the  way  by  the  South 
Branch  from  Fort  Dearborn  to  the  Portage,  the  sound  of  a  thrilling 
alto  was  more  startling  than  would  have  been  the  singing  of  a  dozen 
rifle  balls 

"Have  a  care.  Cat's-paw,  or  you  will  sink  over  your  head !" 

The  old  reprobate  of  an  Indian,  Cat's-paw,  Trenton  knew,  but 
to  whom  belonged  the  voice  vibrating  with  such  pleading  and  warn- 
ing? On  his  way  to  reconnoiter  and,  if  possible,  return  the  stolen 
picture,  he  who  had  wounded  one  woman's  feelings  might  now  atone 
for  his  offense  by  helping  womankind  in  general. 

He  felt  the  reward  of  the  virtuous  was  with  him,  for  he  could 
make  his  way  where  there  were  no  dry  leaves  to  crackle  almost  direct 
into  the  sunny  opening.  Only  one  clump  of  dense  underbrush  was 
massed  between  him  and  the  voices.  In  this  he  could  hide  with  all 
reasonable  hope  of  concealment,  and  yet  cast  his  eye  upon  the 
crooked  old  Indian  and  his  machinations.  Something  like  an  old 
surface  root  of  a  big  tree  enabled  him  to  almost  slide  along  to  the 
coveted  spot. 

Cat's-paw  tent  was  the  largest  object,  pitched  amidst  tinkling 
bobolinks,  blackthroated  dicksissels,  and  thrilling  meadow  larks  upon 
a  grassy  carpet  gemmed  with  buttercups  and  daisies,  violets,  and  his 

50 


A  Thrilling  Alto 


flower  of  yesterday,  the  primrose.  Cat's-paw  himself,  seated  upon  a 
backless  chair  bathing  himself  in  the  brilliant  sunlight  of  the  June 
morning,  defied  even  the  heavens  to  change  him  from  what  he  was, 
a  black  spot  upon  the  fair  earth.  He  might  smoke  the  air  with  his 
pipe,  but  it  could  not  cleanse  him  with  its  breath.  Trenton  had  never 
seen  him  so  like  a  devil  incarnate,  which  was  saying  a  good  deal. 
A  little  company  was  with  the  old  Indian — and  still  others  about  him. 
Among  the  former — Trenton's  eye  would  never  have  needed  a  sec- 
ond observation — was  no  less  a  person  than  Buhl-Bysee  in  Indian 
make  up,  sitting  close  beside  Cat's-paw  on  a  log !  Near  them,  but  not 
of  them — interesting  sight  to  behold! — were  the  artist  and  the  girl 
Josie  with  Wautoma  and  two  of  his  band — all  on  horseback. 

Remembering  the  irony  of  Catherine  Dale  in  her  invective  against 
the  United  States  government  for  its  injustice  to  the  Indian,  Trenton 
thought  with  a  smile  that,  if  she  were  only  omniscient,  she  might 
now  acknowledge  that  the  scales  were  tipped  the  other  way.  He  had 
no  horse — they  had  five !  But,  he  figured  carefully,  the  Indian  maid 
Josie's  was  an  animal  of  the  finest  fettle,  and  he  could  slip  her  from 
the  horse's  back — or,  if  necessary,  carry  her  along  with  him  for  a 
shield.  Wise  is  the  warrior  who  makes  provision  for  a  safe  re- 
treat !  Soon  he  was  aware  that  another  woman  was  present,  and 
directly  he  forgot  himself  and  everything  that  might  chance  to  hap- 
pen in  what  was  before  him. 

"You  are  too  good  looking  a  gypsy  to  be  running  about  wild 
here " 

It  was  Buhl-Bysee  venturing  his  insolence,  as  a  girlish  figure 
moved  towards  the  rest  with  Josie  smiling  and  Catherine  Dale's 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  the  same  animated  way  that  had  characterized 
her  the  day  before  when  Wautoma's  squirrels  had  whisked  them- 
selves and  arrows  from  their  hiding. 

A  moss-colored  cloak  from  head  to  foot — its  silver  threads  not 
half  so  bright  nor  so  many  as  the  dazzling  lights  upon  a  face  in 
which,  child  though  she  was,  the  spiritual  and  the  passionate  blended 
in  wondrous  beauty  and  purity — so  came  Trenton's  first  vision  of 
Jean. 

Trenton  had  come  upon  events  at  their  crisis.  The  girl  was 
about  to  speak,  or  do,  something  very  like  herself,  and  the  soldier 
could  hear  his  heart  beat  in  anticipation.  Her  hand  was  directing 
attention  to  where  a  thrush  was  engaged  in  bending  the  top  of  a 
tall  lithe  herb,  with  the  skill  of  an  archer,  and  darting  from  the 
bow  like  an  arrow  shot  by  its  own  thought — only  to  return  each 
time  with  a  low,  plaintive  note  of  dissatisfaction. 

51 


Ongon 

Before  the  observers  had  time  to  comprehend  the  action,  and  with 
a  grace  as  dainty  as  the  bird's,  the  gypsy  had  drawn  a  small  pistol 
from  the  folds  of  her  dress.  Her  hand,  her  eye,  her  aim,  and  the 
bullet,  seemed  to  flash  together  and  the  herb  was  shattered  to  the 
ground. 

As  if  its  throat  would  burst  with  triumphant  song  the  thrush 
had  arched  over  the  heads  of  the  riders  and  was  fluttering  in  the 
bosom  of  the  gypsy.  Lusette,  erect  and  resolute  as  a  queen,  pressing 
the  little  songster  to  her  heart  with  one  hand  while  holding  the  still 
smoking  pistol  in  the  other,  faced  Buhl-Bysee  as  a  girl  confident  of 
her  ability  to  take  care  of  herself.  The  flush  of  power  had  not  faded 
from  the  face  of  the  gypsy  before  the  wondrous  strength  of  her 
character  had  impressed  itself  with  startling  force  upon  all. 

Trenton,  half-fascinated  into  believing  that  this  was  not  her  pet 
bird,  so  instinct  with  commanding  energy  were  the  slender,  pliant 
fingers,  was  wholly  charmed.  Catherine  Dale,  to  whom  art  was  all 
reality,  and  this  superlative  art,  admitted  no  thought  of  preconcer- 
tion. 

The  songster  had  found  the  hand  and  together  they  were  ten- 
derly pressing  against  the  cheek  whose  beautiful  olive  tint  found 
something  of  a  deeper  response  in  the  plumage  of  the  bird.  But  its 
wings  were  tawny,  while  her  hair  was  rich  mahogany-red,  with 
ringlets  wild,  lawless,  and  as  profuse  as  the  jubilant  notes  of  the 
thrush's  anthem. 

"Who  are  you,  dear  strange  girl !"  Catherine  Dale  had  dis- 
mounted to  throw  herself  in  ecstasy  upon  the  gypsy.  But  Jean 
motioned  her  back  and  now  was  stooping  to  pick  up  a  thread  for 
other  event. 

As  her  fingers  snapped  and  the  thread  pulled,  Trenton  began  to 
feel  the  ground  give  way  under  him  as  if  even  the  root  of  the  tree 
upon  which  he  lay  was  obeying  the  girl — and  then  he  saw  to  his 
consternation  a  huge  serpent  glide  from  beneath  him,  hastening  on 
with  its  glittering  coils  to  wind  itself  about  the  slender  form  of  the 
enchantress ! 

Not  in  all  his  eventful  life  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  the 
soldier  felt  so  comfortable  and  so  uncomfortable  both  at  once,  con- 
sidering himself,  and  so  apprehensive  concerning  another. 

But  then  and  there  he  tore  from  himself  the  insidious  winding 
thought — no  this  was  not  unworthy  of  such  a  girl,  he  would  not  have 
it!  He  would  rather  have  had  her  thrill  him  with  thrushes,  but  if 
she  must  use  a  serpent,  she  was  a  wise  daughter  of  Eve !  It  never 
occurred  to  him  to  ask  himself  why  he  was  defending  this  girl,  he 

52 


A  Thrilling  Alto 

was  too  wholly  absorbed  in  the  fact.  How  he  remembered  it  when 
it  was  too  late  to  tell  it  to  those  who  would  best  have  loved  to  hear 
it  said! 

But  it  was  not  an  excessive  demonstration,  for  even  Cat's-paw  the 
snake  was  fearful  of  the  huge  constrictor  and  drew  back  when  the 
girl  stepped  close  to  him.  She  was  a  witch,  a  sorceress,  in  league 
with  the  lower  world  to  which  he  had  allied  himself,  only  she  was 
mistress  where  he  was  slave. 

"Have  a  care,  Cat's-paw,  or  you  will  sink  over  your  head,"  said 
the  girl,  repeating  the  words  that  fortunately  had  attracted  Trenton's 
attention. 

"Take  this  and  keep  still,"  must  have  been  the  whisper  given  the 
old  chief  by  Buhl-Bysee,  as  he  put  into  his  hand  a  large  piece  of  gold, 
after  which  a  new  current  intercepted  the  fear  of  the  chief  who  had 
grasped  it  with  the  avarice  of  a  demon.  The  action  seemed  hidden 
to  the  eyes  of  all  save  those  of  Trenton. 

"Lady  Gypsy,  me  have  told  truth,"  muttered  the  old  Indian. 

"Beware  of  the  devil,  Cat's-paw,"  returned  the  girl  twirling  the 
head  of  the  boa  toward  him. 

"Me  have " — and  another  coin  for  his  hand  from  Buhl-Bysee 

— "nothing  more  say,  Lady  Gypsy !" 

"Suppose  Mitchimanitou  sends  the  snake  upon  you  to-night," 
warned  the  gypsy. 

The  knees  of  the  Indian  miser  shook  in  spite  of  himself  with 
twice  the  ordinary  shaking  from  their  double-jointedness. 

"Or  to-morrow  and  next  day  ?" 

The  little  eyes  of  the  old  man  closed  to  shut  out  the  vivid  reality. 

"And  wound  his  head  around  your  neck." 

It  was  cruel  to  scare  a  child  into  such  a  fit. 

"Look  at  me  Cat's-paw,  the  bird's  have  whispered  to  me  your  lies, 
and  do  you  think  that  you  can  deceive  the  Father  in  Washington 
with  your  story,  as  you  have  deceived  the  Sauganash  and  Shau- 
bena  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  and  Trenton  was  amazed  to  discover  from 
her  next  words  that  this  gypsy  girl  knew  Buhl-Bysee  was  there, 
and  had  the  courage  to  scorn  him  to  his  face. 

"Cat's-paw,  listen," — she  petted  the  great  serpent  as  if  it  were  a 
thing  of  soft  fur,  and  while  she  spoke  the  boa  forked  his  tongue 
angrily  at  the  chief — "you  think.  Cat's-paw,  that  the  money  of  a  man 
who  is  the  commissioner  of  this  country  to  the  Indians,  and  yet  so 
base  as  to  paint  himself  at  night  and  steal  into  the  flag-room  of 
the  nation,  and  to  visit  you  the  next  day  to  turn   you  by   his   ill- 

53 


Ongon 

gotten  gains,  you  think  that  such  an  one  can  save  you  from  the  eye 
of  the  Father  over  the  hills !  But  the  birds  shall  whisper  to  the 
Father  as  to  the  gypsy,  and  where  then  shall  you  both  be?" 

"It's  false,"  cried  Buhl-Bysee,  rising  and  sinking  back  again. 

"You  know  that  it  is  true,  you  are  a  painted  paleface ;  think  you 
Cat's-paw  did  not  know  that  we  knew  that  last  night?"  It  was 
Wautoma  who  had  dropped  from  his  horse  during  the  gypsy's  ring- 
ing denunciation,  and  following  her  eye  had  read  the  face  of  Buhl- 
Bysee. 

"Stop,  remember  your  crossless  leaf,"  returned  Buhl-Bysee.  It 
was  not  his  words  but  something  magnetic  and  indescribable  in  Jean 
that  restrained  the  hand  of  Wautoma. 

"Touch  me,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  taking  advantage  of  the  hesita- 
tion and  imputing  it  to  what  he  had  said,  "and  Major  Trenton's 
soldiers  shall  burn  your  lodge  before  morning." 

The  underbrush  whence  the  serpent  had  glided  shook  behind  the 
girl. 

"Of  course  I  was  there  last  night,  of  course  I  shall  come  again, 
and  I  am  here  this  morning  to  keep  designing  creatures  from  forcing 
Cat's-paw  to  perjury.  Shame  on  you,  gypsy,  for  undertaking  to 
break  down  truthful  testimony !"  The  agent  gave  Jean  a  look  which 
could  not  hide  its  meaning.  And  Trenton  who  knew  the  arts  of 
Buhl-Bysee  understood  it  thrice  distinctly.  Who  was  a  poor  gypsy 
to  withstand  this  man  in  the  day  of  his  opportunity?  What  might 
have  happened  then,  Trenton  could  never  have  told,  had  not  another 
Indian  appeared  riding  rapidly  towards  the  group.  His  message  de- 
livered in  the  ear  of  Cat's-paw  his  chief,  and  afterwards  into  that 
of  Wautoma,  seemed  to  tell  of  excitement  worth  their  seeing. 

"Come,"  said  the  old  chief,  rising  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye,  "will 
you  follow  me?" 

Evidently  the  call  was  to  some  distance,  for  a  horse's  blanket 
was  brought  for  the  old  chief  and  another  for  Buhl-Bysee,  and  they 
were  off;  all  except  Josie  who  remained  with  the  gypsy  and  her 
strange  pets. 

XVI 

A  MEETING  OF  EYES 

Trenton  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  linger  in  hiding,  and,  from 
the  light  upon  Jean's  countenance,  no  preparation  to  meet  her  im- 
mediately. She  had  taken  a  seat  and  was  looking  down  upon  the 
ground  thoughtfully  when  he  withdrew.     Then  he  heard  her  voice, 

54 


A  Meeting  of  Eyes 


but  could  not  distinguish  her  words,  for  he  had  purposely  retreated 
beyond  the  profanity  of  overhearing  what  she  might  have  to  say  to 
the  Indian  girl  after  the  terrible  ordeal.  He  did  not  know  how  to 
explain  the  beautiful  tenderness  in  her  face  as  last  he  had  seen  it; 
but  it  moved  him  to  feel  that  the  whole  world  was  more  sacred  in  its 
design  and  agencies  than  he  had  ever  dreamed.  He  had  noticed  that 
Josie,  too,  had  stood  in  awe  without  interrupting  the  gypsy's  thought. 
What  love  and  sweet  hunger  was  it  that  commingled  in  that  face  of, 
faces?  Why,  when  he  murmured  "God  bless  her,"  did  he  feel  that 
only  God  could  bless  her  ?  It  was  strange,  stranger  to  him  than  life, 
that  he,  John  Trenton,  rough  soldier,  careless,  indifferent  fellow,  who 
had  not  read  his  prayer-book  for  months,  should  have  felt  that  he 
could  have  kneeled  with  this  girl  and  prayed  Heaven  for  her  cause. 
Was  not  her  face  a  prayer  as  she  sat  on  the  log?  "God  answer  her, 
Amen." 

"Come,  Josie,"  said  Jean,  softly,  "let  us  go  together  to  the  Breath- 
Master." 

The  Indian  maid  was  permitted  to  kiss  her  Lusette's  forehead 
before  she  knelt  at  her  side.  It  was  only  an  expression  the  angels 
would  have  loved  to  make  in  this  hour  of  supreme  human  affection. 
What  had  exalted  Trenton,  belonged  to  the  intercommunication  be- 
tween two  worlds. 

"Father  God,"  breathed  Jean,  holding  Josie's  hand,  "help  that  we 
may  never  need  to  use  the  serpent  again.  Touch  Cat's-paw  for 
us;  let  him  not  destroy  Ongon.  Only  in  Thy  strength  is  our 
strength.  Teach  us  Thy  meaning  of  our  lives,  for  great  love 
trembles  before  great  mystery,  and  the  hearts  that  belong  to  us  are 
divided  from  us.  Father  God,  love  is  a  great  loneliness.  But 
Thou  art  at  the  threshold.  Are  others  separated,  wandering,  cruelly 
accused,  followed  by  love,  wrapped  in  Thy  love? — in  Thy  light  let 
them  see  Hght.     We  thank  Thee." 

Indian  arms  about  the  form  of  the  beautiful  child  of  trust.  She 
who  was  but  fourteen  wished  almost  to  be  as  a  mother  in  this  human 
moment  of  her  Lusette's  yearning. 

"Lusette,  when  Josie  saw  Ongon  he  was  large  mind  and  beautiful 
words,  he  will  understand  you."  She  knew  how  to  pour  into  her 
mistress'  ear  the  qualities  that  stilled  by  their  own  matchless  pres- 
ence the  haste  and  unquiet.  Not  less  is  the  charm  of  the  way 
true  prayer  is  answered  than  the  reverence  of  its  bequest.  As  Josie 
ministered  unto  Jean,  they  became  almost  inseparable  in  a  strong 
faith  and  gentle  gladness  that  gave  them  a  power  of  oneness. 

The  serpent  uncoiled,  and  languid   upon  the  ground  brought 

55 


Ongon 


them  out  of  the  ideal  world  into  the  practical.     They  must  take 
him  back. 

"Poor  Coilie,  if  you  were  a  horse  we  could  pet  you  for  your  as- 
sistance, but  there  is  no  honest  affection,  no  tie  between  reptile  and 
human  beings."  Then  Jean's  eyes  were  lifted  to  observe  the  stranger 
advancing  toward  them. 

It  is  a  trifling  thing  to  dwell  upon  that  which  is  merely  said  in  a 
first  great  meeting  of  two  human  beings.  When  yet  no  word  has 
passed  between  man  and  woman,  but  images  have  been  wrought 
from  chance  praise  or  accidental  sight,  there  is  a  fragile  path  between 
them  too  delicate  for  the  coarse  steps  of  syllables.  Perhaps  it  is 
the  mind-light  upon  the  face  that  strengthens  but  does  not  destroy 
the  way ;  perhaps  it  is  all  that  each  has  ever  been ;  or,  it  may  be,  all 
that  both  are  to  be.  There  is  no  contradiction  in  a  first  glance,  when 
none  has  been  made  by  the  lips.  Afterward  the  way  is  paved  for 
life. 

"You  are  Major  Trenton,  I  am  sure,"  said  Jean  when  he  stood 
before  them  cap  in  hand, 

"With  a  confession  to  make,"  answered  the  soldier,  returning 
her  courtesy  with  a  military  reverence.  "I  overheard — not  just  im- 
mediately now,  for  I  went  away  when  Cat's-paw  took  his  leave — 
but  when  you  used  the  reptile." 

She  followed  his  hand  when  he  pointed  to  the  serpent  and  took 
Josie's  while  waiting  for  him  to  complete  what  he  might  say. 

"I — I  almost  feel  like  wanting  to  give  a  command" — he  smiled, 
but  the  officer  was  in  him — "that  you  never  permit  the  snake  to  coil 
itself  about  you  again." 

"You  have  no  right  to  do  that,"  Jean  bit  her  lips  for  saying  it, 
but  she  stood  straight  to  abide  by  the  utterance.  "I  am  not  enlisted, 
you  know." 

"How  is  my  name  known?"  he  asked,  wanting  to  inquire  her 
own,  but  hesitating. 

The  pet  thrush  on  the  twig  between  them  arched  its  head  with 
a  sidewise  grace  like  her  own.     "What  is  it,  Josie  ?"  asked  Jean. 

He  was  so  tall  and  her  mistress  so  different  from  her  usual  self, 
the  Indian  maiden  felt  her  first  sense  of  jealousy.  "This  is  that 
soldier  who  took  the  picture,"  she  whispered. 

"My  maid  tells  me  that  you  confessed  and  made  proof  of  the 
name  yesterday,"  said  Jean,  brushing  the  girl's  face  smooth  with  her 
hand. 

"You  like  him,"  whispered  the  girl. 
56 


A  Meeting  of  Eyes 


"That  we  must  never  tell  a  strange  gentleman,"  instructed  her 
mistress. 

"But  may  I  tell  her  that  I  brought  this  necklace  for  her  thinking 
she  was  the  artist's  maid,  whom  I  have  offended?" 

"You  have  found  the  way  to  her  heart,  Major  Trenton,"  ob- 
served Jean,  as  the  girl  bounded  forward  for  the  pretty  treasure  of 
beads. 

Josie  had  not  taken  them,  however,  without  studying  his  face 
earnestly.  She  knew  what  it  meant  to  receive  the  gift,  and  if  it 
had  been  given  in  the  spirit  of  bribery  she  would  have  scorned  the 
offer.  'T  liked  your  picture  in  the  magazine,  we  talked  about  you 
afterward,  but  Wautoma  does  not  like  you,  why  are  you  here  ?" 

"Ah,  now  that  you  have  challenged  me,  I  can  trust  you,  and 
you  can  help  perhaps,"  said  Trenton  when  the  beads  were  in  Josie's 
hands.  "Several  years  ago  Miss  Dale,  while  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  gentleman  in  our  secret  service,  painted  a  beautiful,  sunny  pic- 
ture of  Parisian  boys  that  won  deserved  praise.  I  was  led  by  that 
picture  when  abroad  to  take  up  some  work  in  their  behalf.  Since 
returning  to  this  country  I  have  lost  the  spirit  again.  Perhaps 
shouldn't  have  known  it" — he  smiled  that  he  was  being  so  frank 
with  them — "if  her  name  had  not  been  mentioned  recently.  The 
good  that  is  once  done,  by  woman  at  least,  lives  unto  her.  I  shall 
always  be  grateful  to  the  artist,  though  alas,  she  will  never  believe 
it  now.  But  frankly,  you  have  done  me  good — both  of  you,  and 
being  only  a  poor  soldier,  why  should  not  I  say  it  before  I  make 
another  blunder?" 

He  had  not  talked  with  trifling  words  in  his  simple  confession. 
Nor  could  he  have  pleased  them  better.  They  were  sorry,  Jean  said, 
about  the  picture  and  he  must  think  them  acting  very  strangely,  per- 
haps improperly. 

"May  not  I  be  entrusted  to  help  a  little,  I  don't  exactly  fit  in  any- 
where just  now,  and " 

"You  don't  exactly  sympathize  with  the  Indians,"  said  Jean,  half- 
playfully,  half  in  earnest. 

"Now — "  Trenton  hesitated  for  a  name. 

"Call  me  Lusette,  please,"  said  Jean. 

"Now  Lusette,"  said  Trenton,  his  bow  the  very  reverence  of  a 
soldier  for  woman,  "would  you  undertake  the  contract  to  make  me 
like  the  Indians?" 

"He  gave  me  the  beads,  he  likes  me,"  soliloquized  the  Dakotah 
maiden  in  simple  confidence. 

"There,  Major  Trenton,  observe  the  way  to  a  woman's  heart," 

57 


Ongon 


said  Jean  gaily,  "you  have  only  to  cultivate  Josie's  acquaintance 
faithfully  now  to  acquaint  yourself  with  all  our  weaknesses  and  help- 
lessnesses, 

"If  the  Indian  had  confidence  in  me  I  could  help  him,"  said  Tren- 
ton looking  gratefully  at  Josie. 

"We  can  help  anybody  so  long  as  they  have  confidence  in  us, 
]\Iajor,"  said  Jean,  looking  at  him  inquiringly,  "but  was  there  never 
a  single  Indian  man  who  trusted  you,  not  simply  admired  but  trusted 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  one — Ongon,"  said  Trenton  after  a  moment.  "But  he  has 
helped  me  rather  than  I  him." 

"Then  you  care  for  Ongon?" 

Her  eyes  were  so  full  of  inquiry  that  had  he  been  less  occupied 
by  the  thought  of  the  Indian  leader  he  would  have  observed  the 
delicate  color  coming  and  going  in  the  face  upturned  to  his." 

"Lusette — it  hardly  seems  right  for  me  to  be  permitted  to  call 
you  by  your  first  name " 

"'Go  on,  please,  it  is  only  my  gypsy  name,  think  of  the  L  as 
part  of  mademoiselle  and  the  name  'Usette' ;  you  do  care  for 
Ongon?" 

"He  is  the  one  man  of  any  color  who  has  ever  profoundly  moved 
me,  save,  perhaps  one  other  dear  friend,"  replied  Trenton.  BeHeve 
me,  I  have  reason  not  only  to  admire  and  esteem  him,  but  also  to 
love  him."  It  was  a  blunt  soldier's  way  of  speaking  the  words  of 
affection  for  another  man,  but  it  went  straight  to  more  than  Josie's 
heart. 

"Yes,  Major  Trenton,  you  can  help  me,  you  can  help  Ongon." 
Her  words  were  spoken  with  such  tenderness  for  the  chief-king, 
Trenton  was  startled.  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met,  hers  so  full 
of  heaven's  blue,  his  so  strong  with  mastered  pain.  He  understood. 
Her  life  was  bound  up  with  Ongon — whom  she  loved  better  than 
herself. 

She  should  never  know  how  much  it  cost  him  to  thank  her  for 
the  privilege.  It  was  enough  that  she  knew  that  he  spoke  from  the 
sincerity  of  his  soul  when  he  vowed,  if  necessary,  to  give  his  life  to 
help  Ongon.  She  saw  the  pain  and  kept  her  eyes  upon  his  until 
she  drove  it  from  him. 

"Then  would  you  mind  carrying  my  boa  over  to  the  water  for 
me?"  asked  Jean,  returning  to  her  old  playfulness.  "Don't  touch 
him  though,  if  you  are  the  least  bit  nervous." 

Trenton  picked  up  the  constrictor  as  lightly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
thing  of  fur  instead  of  iron  muscle  and  reptile  heart.     And  there  he 

58 


The  Old  Settler's  Story 

took  his  first  lesson  in  a  service  that  then  seemed  to  make  human 
life,  once  identified  with  the  Indian's  cause,  a  thing  of  mockery  and 
hopeless  despair. 

XVII 

THE  OLD  settler's  STORY 

Mrs.  Castor  had  a  second  talent  wrapped  in  a  possible  landlady's 
napkin  which,  though  not  exactly  befitting  the  profession  and  un- 
mentioned  indeed  by  Craps,  occasionally  distinguishes  the  mistress 
of  a  boarding  house.  She  possessed  the  faculty  of  esteeming  every- 
thing in  the  lodging  house  as  being  of  it. 

Wautoma's  picture,  in  her  eyes,  would  look  better  if  brought 
down  to  the  living  room  where  all  could  see  it. 

"Major  Trenton  is  so  modest,  hero,  that  he  is,"  explained  the 
widow  to  the  people  at  the  Forks,  "that  he  would  consider  it  a 
breach  of  propriety  to  even  speak  of  his  triumphs  and  trophies,  much 
less  show  them — but  now  isn't  this  a  beauty!" 

Everybody  admired  the  painting,  of  course. 

"There,  we  will  place  it  where  it  will  greet  the  hero  when  he  re- 
turns to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Castor  with  patriotic  pride.  "Pity  he 
did  not  bring  an  easel  along  with  him  too." 

"And  we  will  have  a  hop  in  his  honor  with  Mr.  Beaubien,  your 
landlord,  to  play  the  fiddle,"  added  the  old  settler  with  a  piping 
voice,  "with  Mr.  Wright  and  Mr.  Case." 

"Dear  me,  sir,  you  must  have  been  here  a  long  time  to  know 
so  many  people  by  their  names,"  remarked  the  widow  to  the  early 
settler. 

That  worthy  smiled  beneath  his  makeup,  but  his  face  looked  so 
sober  to  outsiders.  It  was  Jean  who,  for  the  purpose  of  delivering 
the  papers  to  Clermont  had  donned  man's  attire,  and  was  present 
for  supper  at  the  Sauganash  hotel. 

"Comin'  and  goin',  been  here  nigh  onto  three  year,"  piped  the 
old  settler's  voice.  "In  my  time  I  have  seen  this  settlement  sur- 
veyed and  growed  from  almost  nothin'.  Why  since  my  comin',  we 
have  named  the  streets  and  made  provision  for  a  pubHc  levee  along 
South  Water  street  like  other  Western  river  villages,  and  we  have 
erected  a  frame  building  for  business  purposes  at  Water  and  Dear- 
born streets  in  which  we  are  packing  and  shipping  hogs,  until  now 
we  have  a  hundred  souls  in  Chicago,  and  a  reg'lar  pony  mail  service 
oncet  a  week." 

During  the  interval  of  this  speech  and  the  long  delivery  of  a 

59 


Ongon 


suitable  prophesy  as  to  the  future  of  the  community  to  match  its 
wonderful  past,  Buhl-Bysee  sat  behind  his  paper  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  When  unobserved,,  his  eyes  rolled  at  the  picture — and  came 
back  to  him  each  time  quickly.  The  manner  was  as  if  he  were 
afraid  lest  his  organs  of  vision  should  pop  away  from  him  and  hit 
the  picture,  causing  an  explosion.  Therefore,  he  kept  them  under 
control. 

And  the  Indians  will  soon  be  gone  from  here,"  wound  up  the 
settler. 

"Cat's-paw  will  do  it,"  muttered  Buhl-Bysee  to  himself,  agreed 
at  last  upon  a  procedure. 

The  guests  would  have  looked  up  had  they  understood  the 
muttering,  but  there  was  no  connection  between  the  settler's  and  the 
agent's  references  to  the  redmen,  save  that  they  crossed  each  other 
in  the  same  angle  of  time. 

Buhl-Bysee  had  turned  the  page  of  his  paper  and  was  folding  it 
as  he  did  everything,  the  guests  thought,  so  very  neatly.  How  or- 
dered his  mind !     Mrs.  Castor  had  thought  thrice  already. 

"Trenton  will  be  compromised  and  gotten  out  of  the  way — it 
will  be  worth  the  while  to  get  control  of  the  picture — it's  a  way 
to  Wautoma — I'll  do  it,"  continued  Buhl-Bysee  to  himself. 

Duty  called  him  to  the  saddle,  he  explained,  as  he  left  the 
room;  but  he  would  be  delighted  to  be  at  the  hop  to-morrow  night 
when  they  complimented  the  Major  on  his  picture. 

"How  gallantly  Mr.  Buhl-Bysee  rides,"  observed  Mrs.  Castor, 
following  him  at  the  window. 

"Yes,  he's  very  proud  of  his  horsemanship,"  said  the  old  settler, 
"he  never  could  forgive  the  man  who  should  outstrip  him  in  a  race. 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale,  I'm  told." 

"Do  tell  it,  sir,"  entreated  Mrs.  Castor. 

"It  is  said  that  the  Indians  of  various  tribes  in  America  have 
a  confederation,  with  a  leader  whom  they  call  chief-king.  He  is 
very  handsome,  I  have  heard  it  whispered  by  the  camp-fires  at  night, 
and  rides,  as  all  Indians  do,  like  the  devil." 

"Oh,  sir,  your  language  is "  interrupted  Mrs.  Castor. 

"Quite  necessary  for  Western  purposes,"  said  Jean  in  her  dis- 
guise, truthfully ;  "but  pardon  me,  ma'am,  and  I  will  try  not  to  offend 
again.  I  meant  to  say  that  he  rides  like  a  streak  of  lightning,  and 
Buhl-Bysee,  didn't  know  it.  If  he  had,  his  pride  wouldn't  a  had  its 
fall,  more'n  likely.  The  agent  sorter  had  the  fancy  that  this  king,  or 
chief,  or  king-chief,  or  whatever  you  call  him,  was  too  humble  to 
have  any  go  in  him  at  all.     Well,  a  couple  of  years  ago,  in  some 

60 


The  Old  Settler's  Story 

Western  town,  the  Indians  and  government  commission-errers  got 
together  to  talk  over  the  real-estate  matters.  They  chose  an  open 
stretch  where  the  squaws  and  their  papooses  could  look  on,  and  be- 
gun dickering  on  prices.  Government  thought  land  was  cheap,  In- 
dians argued  it  was  on  a  boom.  Well,  as  I  say,  they  got  to  pow- 
wowing and  pelavering  and  arguing,  when  suddenly  a  shriek  was 
heard  across  the  field,  and  a  wild,  wounded  buffalo  came  ragin'  and 
tearin'  through  the  camp  of  squaws.  What  a  come-oshun  it  was ! — 
a  bull  on  the  market,  sure !  But  seein'  the  danger,  the  squaw  of  the 
king-chief — a  young  princess  of  great  beauty  and  some  darin'  too 
of  her  own,  had  fearlessly  directed  the  attention  of  the  buffalo  to 
herself.  Buhl-Bysee  was  quickly  ahorse  with  his  gun  in  his  hands, 
and  a  great  chance  for  glory.  But  the  princess'  husband  beat  him 
down  the  field  three  lengths.  The  Indians  never  had  a  question  of 
the  outcome  and  cheered  all  the  way.  Half  the  way  Buhl-Bysee 
thought  they  were  applaudin'  him,  but  tother  half  he  knowed  it  was 
jeers  they  were  a  givin'  him.  What's  more  the  young  chief-king 
got  in  between  Buhl-Bysee  and  the  buffalo  so  that  the  agent  could 
not  shoot,  and  then  the  Indian  coolly  planted  an  arrow  back  of  the 
foreshoulder  of  the  animal  with  such  force  that  it  passed  through  the 
body  and  fell  to  the  ground,  other  side.  Oh,  that  ain't  no  yarn  of 
mine,  I've  seed  other  fellers  do  that,  it's  the  skill  as  much  as  the 
strength.  Then  the  chief  and  his  squaw  joined  hands  pretty  Hke 
and  looked  up  at  Buhl-Bysee  and  thanked  him  for  his  good  in- 
tions. 

"How  kind,"  cried  Mrs.  Castor. 

"Yes,  kind  of  exasperating.  They  say  the  come-o-shunner  has 
never   forgiven   either  to  this   day." 

The  piping  voice  had  gained  Clermont's  attention  from  the  first, 
as  it  desired.     "Is  that  a  likely  story?"  asked  the  detective. 

"It's  true  head  and  tail,  judge,"  nodded  the  narrator. 

"How  do  you  know,  may  I  ask,  if  it  does  not  seem  impertinent." 

"Well,  judge,  I  saw  the  buffalo  myself  the  next  day,  to  begin 
with,"  said  the  settler  rubbing  his  palm  on  his  knee.  It  was  heavily 
bandaged.     "That  orter  be  a  good  end  for  a  starter,  I  reckon  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Clermont  frankly. 

"And  here's  the  newspaper  account  of  it  in  better  words  than 
mine,  judge,  for  an  afiidavat,  your  honor,"  concluded  the  shrill  voice. 

"I  confess  that  I,  too,  am  run  down  in  a  hurry,"  said  Clermont 
smiling;  "might  I  have  this  paper — giving  you  security  for  its  re- 
turn— it  shows  a  phase  of  Indian  life  worth  keeping." 

"Oh,  keep  it  judge,  it's  nothin'  to  me  I  calkerlate,  I  have  the  story 
6i 


Ongon 


poorty  well  in  my  head  as  it  is,  and  you  are  welcome  to  the  print  of 
it.     But  my,  it  was  a  corker  of  a  buffalo !" 

Clermont  thanked  the  settler  for  his  readiness  to  part  with  the 
paper,  and  assured  him  of  his  own  to  do  him  a  favor  any  time  he 
could. 

"It's  a  bargain,  judge,  I  might  get  in  a  tight  place  sometime. 
Will  you  give  it  to  me  in  writin'  jess  to  show  the  folks  at  home? — 
Thank  you." 

Then  Clermont  would  have  engaged  the  settler  in  further  graph- 
icisms  of  his  own  about  the  Indians,  but  he  must  go  now  and  milk  his 
cows. 

"Well,"  said  the  widow,  "how  awkward  he  do  walk!" 

"But  he  has  a  bright  head  on  him,"  said  Clermont. 

Once  in  her  canoe  Jean  unbandaged  her  hands  and  paddled 
swiftly  down  the  South  Branch.  "First  papers  served  personally 
on  the  old  chap !"  she  murmured  in  the  high  key  just  to  try  it  again. 

Then  the  exhilaration  of  playing  somebody  else  gave  place  to  a 
feeling  of  reaction  from  the  first  brush  with  the  mighty  Clermont. 
"Poor  gypsy  heart,  keep  brave,  after  all  a  woman's  mind  may  not  be 
too  emotional  and  willowy  for  use." 

It  was  raining  softly,  but  the  sun  was  shining,  and  when  Jean 
was  far  enough  away  to  remove  her  settler's  disguise  and  put  it  in 
•the  basket,  her  face  was  smiling  through  her  tears. 

XVIII 

TREASURE  TROVE 

Hardscrabble,  once  Lee's  Place,  toward  which  Jean  paddled, 
was  four  miles  up  the  South  Branch  from  Fort  Dearborn.  Its  little 
cluster  of  cabins  were  occupied  by  French  traders  with  their  Indian 
wives  and  lively  half-breed  children.  Intermarriage  between  the 
races,  beside  giving  the  Frenchmen  faithful  helpmeets,  prevented  a 
repetition  of  the  scalping  scene  at  Lee's  Place  on  the  6th  of  April 
preceding  the  fatal  15th  of  August,  181 2. 

Three  months  before  the  events  of  these  chapters  Jean's  canoe 
had  first  touched  at  Hardscrabble.  She  had  come  house  hunting, 
she  had  said,  and  decided  to  take  the  vacant  cabin  of  Chief  Alex- 
ander Robinson.  Then  she  had  brought  a  beautiful  lady  like  her- 
self with  darker  face,  but  with  quaint  and  pretty  gypsy  things 
that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  children,  transformed  the  room,  once  trader's 
quarters,  into  a  little  paradise.  Soon  an  awe  of  mystery  surrounded 
the  cabin  of  the  newcomers.     Strange  things  were  brought  at  night 

62 


Treasure  Trove 

by  strange  men  who  departed  as  silently  as  they  came.  One 
morning  a  small  "lean-to"  was  added  to  the  cabin.  The  half-breeds 
whispered  it  was  a  bear  that  growled  inside  of  the  addition.  And 
their  eyes  looked  big  as  they  scampered  away  with  thoughts  too 
large  for  even  Indian  words. 

But  the  gypsies  did  not  live  in  utter  isolation  from  their  neigh- 
bors. When  an  afternoon  was  taken  for  some  prairie  festival  or 
general  sociability,  her  presence  with  the  high-spirited  Josie  was  fre- 
quently added  to  the  company.  She  had  raced  with  them,  told  them 
stories,  and,  greater  than  all,  once  had  pitched  a  tent  and  had  given 
them  a  gypsy  afternoon  when  their  fortunes  had  been  told,  with  her 
sitting  dressed  like  a  queen  and  bowing  and  giving  each  a  pretty 
necklace  of  beads  and  some  candy. 

The  other  lady — they  heard  the  queen  call  her  "Aunt  Mary" — 
was  full  of  good  deeds  when  they  were  sick,  and  on  Sunday  after- 
noons read  to  them  gathered  about  her  interesting  Bible  stories. 
And  they  would  sing  together,  leaning  to  pray.  She  smiled  when 
the  children  called  her  "Hardscrabble  Auntie,"  and  sometimes  she 
permitted  them  to  peep  upon  the  wonders  of  the  "Gypsy  Cabin." 
When  Josie  had  brought  the  tin-box  carefully  wrapped  in  prairie- 
grass,  they  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  each  new  parcel  meant 
good  things  to  eat,  for  Lusette's  Aunt  Hardscrabble  had  taken  care 
to  send  them  candy  to  satisfy  their  trooping  eyes.  It  was  a  costly 
precedent  to  establish — and  one  that  has  needed  a  continuance  in 
kind  in  that  ward ! — for  now  every  curious  bundle  brought  to  the 
cabin  was  taken  as  a  village  blessing — the  more  so  because  never 
in  vain. 

The  children  were  told  by  their  parents  that  gypsies  lived  well 
because  they  had  secret  ways  of  making  money  into  which  they 
must  never  inquire.  Perhaps  Lusette  was  the  daughter  of  a  king, 
perhaps  the  queen  herself. 

If  a  bundle  was  taken  away  in  a  basket,  it  was  always  sure  to 
come  back  larger  than  it  had  been  to  bring  them  the  new  good- 
thing  or  plaything. 

Therefore  when  the  canoe  touched  the  bank  with  Jean  and  the 
basket  of  old  settler's  clothes  covered  with  prairie  flowers  there 
was  a  wealth  of  welcome  to  gladden  her  heart.  "Princess  Gypsy, 
we  waited  for  you,"  sang  the  chorus  of  happy  voices,  while  strong 
arms  drew  out  the  canoe  to  its  place  on  the  grass. 

Under  the  flowers  was  a  box  of  toys  and  dolls — which  receiving, 
the  children  had  not  thought  that  the  Princess  Gypsy  hastened  un- 
usually fast  into  the  cabin. 

63 


Ongon 

"Letters,  'Hardscrabble  Aunt,'  "  cried  the  girl  as  the  door  closed 
and  Jean  bounded  into  the  room  to  her  aunt's  arms.     "I  waited  for 

the  mail  to  be  distributed  into Just  promise  not  to  betray  the 

secret,  and  I  will  tell  you !" 

"Faithfully,"  said  her  aunt,  smiling  the  confidence  out  of  the  girl. 

"They  took  the  letters,  these  feminine  letters,  your  letters,  out 
of  the  mail-pouch  and  put  them  into  pigeon-holes  made  of  men's 
old  boots  upon  an  old  shelf  among  the  groceries  !' 

"Yes,  her  aunt  agreed  with  her,  she  was  an  old  antiquarian  to 
te  always  finding  out  such  secrets ! 

It  had  been  the  rule  with  them  that  only  one  at  a  time  should 
have  to  wear  the  gypsy  clothes.  Then  if  interrupted,  the  other 
could  hide  behind  the  curtain  until  the  visitor  departed.  And  so  be- 
fore the  two  letters  were  given  into  their  owner's  hands  the  over- 
gown  must  be  retired  and  she  who  had  been  called  Aunt  Mary 
and  other  things  appeared  as  a  tall,  well  dressed,  handsome  woman 
of  perhaps  forty-five,  with  black  hair  and  dark,  beautifully  soft 
skin.  She  walked  with  the  same  quick  strength  that  characterized 
her  niece  and  carried  an  air  of  refinement  that  made  the  gypsy 
profession  seem  the  stranger  lot  for  both  the  women. 

The  rain  settled  for  a  soft,  steady  shower  while  Jean  nestled  on  a 
stool  at  the  feet  of  her  aunt  to  hear  the  news.  Winchester  was  the 
same  as  ever.  Spring  was  bringing  the  green  again  to  the  Shen- 
andoah Valley.  There  had  been  a  marriage,  with  a  gentleman 
from  southern  Virginia  as  best  man,  Mr.  Harry  Clermont.  They 
ached  to  tell  him  that  Miss  Mary  Devere  and  her  niece  were  in  the 
West,  for  he  was  en  route,  he  said,  for  a  summer  in  the  West,  near 
Chicago.  But  they  had  kept  their  promise  religiously.  The 
Opecquon  was  kept  with  flowers.  They  were  missed  by  all,  and 
must  come  home  soon. 

Cozily  the  two  women  rested  back  upon  the  past,  as  the  letters, 
freighted  with  little  details  of  old  scenes  and  faces,  gave  their  abun- 
dant cheer.     Afterward  Jean  told  of  the  experience  of  the  day. 

"Brave  lady,  never  frightened  when  Jean  is  away,"  cried  the 
girl,  putting  her  face  in  her  aunt's  hands  to  brush  back  her  hair, 
"and  always  believing." 

"Not  always,  Jean,  dear,"  protested  her  aunt  honestly. 

"Ever  since  our  argument,  and  we  proved  certain  things,"  said 
Jean  smiling  through  a  shower  of  tresses  that  fell  in  spite  of  her 
aunt's  hands. 

"Especially  since  the  rings  were  found,"  acknowledged  the  elder. 

"Come  treasure-trove,"  cried  the  girl,  springing  to  her  feet  and 
64 


Treasure  Trove 

gliding  to  the  box  that  had  been  found  in  the  cache,  "show  us  your 
deamess  again!" 

Underneath  the  magazines  and  notes  written  on  strips  of  birchen 
bark  in  Ongon's  hand  was  the  desire  of  the  women — an  old  envelope 
with  two  rings,  one  a  wedding  ring  with  the  initials  L.  J.  A.  and  the 
date  1809  inscribed,  the  other  a  tiny  bit  of  golden  circlet  made  for  a 
babe's  finger. 

"Isn't  it  cunningly  dear,"  murmured  Jean  softly,  folding  her 
hands  reverently  while  her  aunt  held  the  little  ring.  She  could  not 
keep  back  the  tears,  however,  that  had  been  threatening  their  way 
for  some  reason  all  afternoon,  and  her  aunt  held  her  in  her  arms 
tenderly  mingling  her  sympathy  and  her  own  silent  grief. 

"Ongon,  Ongon,  how  I  love  him — oh,  to  be  with  Ongon !" 

But  it  was  sweet  yearning  without  bitterness,  and  the  pure  color 
upon  her  cheeks  was  as  if  the  delicate  spirit  of  the  flowers  lifting 
their  heads  outside  in  the  rain  had  hastened  to  touch  her. 

"You  will  be  patient  still,  it  will  come,  my  darling,"  said  her  aunt 
when  they  had  rested  long  in  each  other's  arms.  "Can  we  read 
Ongon's  diary  now?" 

The  record  spoke  of  his  desires  for  his  people  and  was  full  of 
hope  and  strong  faith.  Only  in  one  place  did  it  mention  anything 
disagreeable — the  loss  of  an  old,  much  prized  necklace  of  shells,  tiny 
shells,  he  said,  with  two  letters  beside,  one  from  Major  John  Tren- 
ton, the  other  from  W.  B.  Craps.  The  first  of  these,  said  the  record, 
wishing  to  preserve  the  substance,  described  Trenton's  meeting  with 
certain  Western  chiefs  and  of  the  council  that  had  gathered  to  hear 
him  present  Ongon's  plans.  "It  was  strange  business  for  a  soldier," 
Ongon  marked  the  letter  as  having  said,  "but  he  enjoyed  it  im- 
mensely, rather  as  much  as  fighting."  The  second  letter  dated  a 
year  earlier,  according  to  the  record,  had  thanked  Ongon  for  his 
kindness  about  some  will  the  writer  appeared  to  have  drawn.  Hav- 
ing lost  these  letters  in  some  mysterious  way,  Ongon  had  taken  pains 
to  copy  the  heart  of  their  contents.  He  only  wished  he  could  copy 
the  necklace  as   easily. 

"The  loss  of  those  things  explain  why  Ongon  had  this  box 
buried  on  the  shore,"  said  Jean's  aunt  as  they  replaced  the  treasures. 
"Your  eyes  are  saying,  my  darling,  that  you  want  to  recover  the 
necklace,  too." 

"Yes,"  cried  the  girl  with  her  full  bouyancy,  "I  heard  this  Mr. 
Craps  remark  at  the  tavern  that  'the  greater  plan  may  as  well  include 
the  lesser.'  "    She  had  not  finished,  although  she  had  paused. 

"What  else,   dearie?" 

65 


Ongon 

"Do  you  know  about  Craps — isn't  that  an  odd  name?" 

"Very." 

"Well,  if  a  woman  wasn't  so  willowy  she  would  very  readily  be- 
lieve that  Craps  isn't  that  man's  real  name,  nor  tavern-keeping  his 
final  destination.     But  a  woman  cannot  help  out  in  such  matters." 

"Perhaps  she  alone  of  all  beings  can,"  replied  Miss  Devere, 
smiling. 

Jean  said  she  would  if  she  had  half  the  chance. 

But  her  aunt  remembered  something  else  the  girl  had  whispered, 
and  she  did  not  see  how  Jean  could — in  the  way  she  had  meant — 
give  the  landlord  the  needed  impetus.  Something,  however,  even 
by  aunts,  are  thought  not  said.  But  how  could  she  thoroughly  know 
about  the  innermost  Jean  until  she  had  walked  longer  in  the  new 
path? 

XIX 

OUT  BY  THE  WINDOW   AT  ONE 

"Cat's-paw,  how  old  are  you?"  asked  Buhl-Bysee  when  he 
had  found  the  old  chief  and  had  given  him  a  new  string  of  gaudy 
beads. 

"Sixty  snows,"  answered  the  Indian. 

"And  you  ought  to  be  by  right  of  your  age  and  your  father's 
service  the  chief-king  of  the  Indians,  Cat's-paw." 

"Hush,"  cried  the  old  miser,  clutching  a  bead  of  red  glass  and 
looking  around  as  if  he  had  heard  a  beautiful  voice. 

"Ongon  knows  it,"  said  Buhl-Bysee,  coming  close  to  the  side 
of  the  squatted  chief  and  adding  a  bit  of  gold  to  the  fascinating 
string. 

"Ugh,  me  not  understand." 

"I  mean  he  knows  he  took  what  first  belonged  to  you — and  now 
the  treasure  of  the  flag-room,  the  gold  and  diamonds  and  wonderful 
riches  that  belong  to  the  place  he  has  hidden.  He  was  tempted  to 
take  your  place  from  you  before  the  nations." 

"Ongon  not  want  gold.  He  good,  berry  good,  not  like  Cat's-paw 
at  all.     Ongon  good,"  said  the  chief,  shaking  his  head. 

"But  you  want  to  find  that  hidden  gold,"  protested  Buhl-Bysee. 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  muttered  the  crouching  Indian ;  but  his  denial  was 
a  request  for  more  talk. 

"Would  you  Hke  a  place  in  the  people's  heart?" 

But  Cat's-paw  was  not  to  be  found  by  that  tack.  He  was  not 
there. 


Out  By  the  Window  at   One 

"You  have  four  hundred  braves,  Cat's-paw." 

"One  hundred,"  corrected  the  chief,  "Cat's-paw's  village  only  one 
hundred  braves." 

"One  hundred  warriors  are  in  Cat's-paw's  village,"  continued  the 
tempter,  "and  yet,  with  no  warriors  of  his  own,  Ongon  is  king." 

"Yes,  so,"  agreed  the  Indian. 

"And  yet  it  has  been  hard  for  you  to  keep  believing  the  truth. 
I  am  come  to  tell  you  more,  Cat's-paw,  to  tell  you  all." 

The  Indian  miser  arose  and  leaped  to  his  open  chest.  The 
bag  of  coin  that  he  lifted  was  heavy,  and  when  he  had  poured  it  out 
into  the  pan,  the  glass  and  gold  and  silver  gleamed  in  profusion 
before  his  savage  eyes.  Each  piece,  large  and  small  was  figured, 
poised,  examined  with  a  gloating  so  loathsome  that  even  Buhl-Bysee 
turned  away  from  the  picture  of  avarice  in  disgust. 

"Cat's-paw  listens,"  said  the  old  chief  at  last,  not  tired  of  his 
possession,  but  like  a  spider,  eager  for  fresher  blood. 

"Cat's-paw,  Wautoma  does  not  like  Ongon.  " 

"Yes." 

"No,  he  fears  the  office,  but  despises  the  king,  Ongon  is  not  true 
to  the  princess.  Did  you  not  see  the  gypsy  to-day?  Tell  me,  did 
she  not  plead  for  Ongon?     You  saw  her  eyes  and  heard  her  voice." 

The  crooked  old  form  shivered  and  the  miserable  chief  was 
vainly  blinding  his   eyes   with  his   hands. 

"Humph,  Cat's-paw  is  a  woman,  he  is  afraid,"  sneered  Buhl- 
Bysee,  "Cat's-paw  afraid  of  a  serpent." 

But  no,  he  was  not  shrinking  from  the  serpent  then,  but  from 
the  thought  that  Ongon  was  not  good.  If  that  were  true  where 
would  the  flag-room  be — where  the  hope  of  the  nation  ?  No,  it  was 
false. 

"It  is  passed,"  growled  the  chief,  "go  on." 

"Did  you  not  see  that  she  loves  him — the  gypsy — and  lives 
for  Ongon?" 

"Go   on,"   repeated  the   savage. 

"Therefore  she  cannot  hurt  you,  for  the  serpent  only  obeys  the 
pure  and  good,  and  Ongon  is  married  to  the  princess." 

"It  is  so,"  agreed  the  old  chief. 

"And  being  so  Wautoma  will  grow  to  hate  Ongon — and  serve 
you,  Cat's-paw.  You  shall  be  chief-king,  with  all  the  treasure  of  the 
far  off  palace,  and  everybody  shall  serve  you." 

"Ugh!" 

"Is  it  not  so?" 

"Now  Cat's-paw  tell  you.     He  like  gold,  much  gold,  me  gold 

^7 


Ongon 


friend,  me  know  it.  Me  like  not  Wautoma,  you  know  it.  Me  want 
palace  of  far  off  riches,  we  know  it.  Me  ugly,  old,  devilish  Indian. 
Gypsy  girl  fine,  good,  serpent  good,  with  her  against  me.  Cat's-paw 
wicked,  he  awful  wicked,  but  Ongon,  he  chief-king.  Grand  chief- 
king.  He  say.  Cat's-paw,  I  want  you,  Ongon  wants  you.  You  be 
doorkeeper.  Cat's-paw  feel  big,  want  good,  want  bad  away.  You 
come  heap  gold  and  fine  necklaces,  you  tempt  Cat's-paw.  You  give 
him  drink,  then  Cat's-paw,  he  do  what  you  say.  Me  not  love  bad 
agent,  me  believe  Ongon  good."  Amidst  all  the  struggle  towards 
the  light,  the  Indian  had  painted  himself  too  faithfully.  He  had 
given  Buhl-Bysee  the  secret  of  his  life.  Keep  him  away  from 
drink,  let  Ongon's  power  be  felt  yet  a  little  longer,  and  perhaps  this 
misshapen  wretch  might  come  to  die  better  than  he  had  lived. 

But  the  commissioner  hesitated  but  a  moment.  In  his  pocket 
was  a  flask.  In  a  flash  it  was  above  Cat's-paw's  head.  The  old 
chief  cowered  as  against  himself,  and  shook  his  head  imploringly. 
Once  and  again  he  pleaded  miserably  against  the  liquor.  But  the 
agent  was  determined  upon  the  execution  of  his  purpose.  His 
strength  overpowered  the  impotence  of  the  savage  and  the  assault 
was  again  committed  upon  the  lips  of  the  wretch.  When  the 
flask  was  half  empty,  the  demon  was  in  the  old  chief  and  of  his 
own  hands  he  seized  and  devoured  the  remainder  of  its  contents. 

"Everything  shall  serve  you.  Cat's-paw,"  said  the  agent  when  the 
chief  smacked  his  lips  and  looked  up. 

"What  can  Cat's-paw  do?"  asked  the  savage  v/ith  a  hurried 
breath. 

"The  artist  has  painted  a  picture  of  Wautoma.  Major  Trenton 
has  stolen  it.  You  must  have  that  picture.  Wautoma  must  know 
that  you  have  a  belief  afterwards  that  you  can  find  it.  He  will 
follow  you  as  a  dog  his  master  as  long  as  he  thinks  you  are  on 
track  of  it." 

"Picture  where?"  asked  Cat's-paw  hurriedly. 

"In  the  village  of  Chicago  at  Wolf  Point,  at  the  Sauganash 
hotel,"  replied  Buhl-Bysee  distinctly. 

"How  we  get  it?"  asked  the  chief. 

"To-night  Trenton  is  away  at  the  Fort  in  talk  with  council  of 
officers.  You  are  out  by  the  window  at  one,  I  find  and  give  you 
the  picture." 

"Sure,"  nodded  the  old  chief,  "Cat's-paw  is  out  by  the  window 
at    the    Sauganash    at    one." 


68 


Nightingale  of  the   Forest 

XX 

NIGHTINGALE  OF  THE  FOREST 

It  was  not  SO  easy  for  John  Trenton  to  meet  Jean  a  second  time. 
He  was  afraid  of  himself.  The  one  hour  in  her  presence  had  been 
as  life  to  him,  and  afterwards  he  had  dreamed  too  much.  She  had 
met  him  with  her  eyes.  Somehow  then  he  had  felt  that  she  had 
gone  further  than  he.  In  walking  through  the  woods  to  the  river 
another  nightingale  of  the  forest  had  called  to  the  gypsy's  thrush, 
and  its  sweet  "E-o-lie"  had  caused  the  girl  to  pause.  The  wealth  of 
melody  poured  forth  to  each  other  by  the  songsters  had  lured  a 
brown  thrasher  from  its  concealment  in  the  thicket,  tempting  it  al- 
most to  Lusette's  feet.  Its  own  throat  was  vibrating  with  a  soft 
whispering,  delicate  and  plaintive,  addressed  to  the  speck  of  sky 
above  the  trees  rather  than  to  the  other  birds.  But,  with  the  license 
of  the  forest,  the  whisper  had  soon  become  a  lofty  andante  of  song. 
Then  Lusette  had  looked  up  to  Trenton  again  and  smiled,  lifting  her 
hand  so  gently  that  the  bird  was  not  frightened,  and  she  had  brought 
him  to  look  at  Josie.  He  had  never  really  seen  an  Indian  girl  in  the 
forest,  but  he  now  understood  from  Josie's  heaving  bosom  and  bril- 
liant eyes  how  much  the  wild  life  meant  to  the  savage  heart.  The 
thrasher  was  a  little  being  of  soul  and  power  to  the  child  of  nature 
who  had  fallen  to  her  knees  and  for  the  moment  let  go  of  her  neck- 
lace of  beads.  What  had  Lusette  meant  when  she  met  his  eyes 
again  ?  What  appeal  ?  What  direction  and  motive  to  his  life  ?  She 
had  been  a  wonderful  creation  of  nature  then,  too,  and  together  she 
had  taken  him  infinite  distances. 

It  was  enough  to  make  him  fear  himself.  But  he  had  felt  the 
first  thread  in  the  web  of  fate  had  been  drawn  and  he  was  to  meet 
her  to-day  to  hear  from  her  lips  the  story  of  Ongon.  Dispatching 
a  courier  from  the  fort  where  he  had  spent  the  night,  he  trusted 
that  the  note  of  apology  and  the  information  that  the  picture  would 
be  delivered  to  Wautoma  at  the  Sauganash  hotel  would  atone  for 
his  transgression,  and  then  he  set  out  for  the  appointed  place  of 
meeting. 

The  flowers  that  Jean  held  in  her  right  hand  as  she  greeted  him 
did  not  bend  with  sweeter  and  more  natural  grace  than  her  lissome 
body — with  her  left  hand  drawing  even  her  gown  into  the  courtesy. 
"Josie  has  the  canoe  ready.  Major  Trenton,  we  are  both  glad  you 
have  come,"  said  Jean,  decorating  his  officer's  coat  with  nature's 
honorable  mention  while  she  spoke.  "You  are  to  sit  sternly  in  the 
rear,  sir,  while  the  paddling  is  left  to  us  women,  after  the  Indian 
fashion." 

69 


Ongon 

He  remarked  that  he  was  consumed  with  a  driving  passion  to 
take  his  ease,  but  wouldn't  they  take  him  into  an  ambush  when  he 
had  no  arms?  In  spite  of  the  ribbons  he  had  brought  Josie — pos- 
sibly it  was  because  of  them — it  was  she  who  replied  archly  that 
once  before  he  had  not  needed  arms  when  there  was  something  beau- 
tiful to  seize. 

"Wautoma  will  come  for  the  picture  to-day,"  said  Trenton,  ex- 
plaining about  his  note.    "But  am  I  not  to  have  even  a  paddle?" 

"We  are  going  a  long  distance,  Major  Trenton,"  said  Jean,  "and 
you  would  scarce  know  which  direction  to  cast  the  stroke.  The 
dawn  of  a  thousand  mornings  was  in  her  eyes  until  they  fell,  and 
then  the  long  dark  lashes  trembled  even  while  her  lips  were  parted 
with  a  smile. 

Josie  was  seated  nearest  him,  and  for  the  frank  light  in  her 
eyes  and  her  simple  approval  of  his  face,  he  was  ready  to  sign  a 
statement  in  his  own  blood  never  again  to  fight  the  Indians, 

"You  are  in  a  Quaker  mood.  Major  Trenton,"  said  Jean  over 
Josie's  shoulders. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  renounce  war,"  replied  the  soldier,  "and 
like  those  peaceful  people "  he  paused  abruptly  and  the  smile  de- 
parted from  his  lips. 

"You  mean  you  are  half-inclined  to  give  up  your  sword,"  sug- 
gested Jean. 

"I've  suddenly  been  convinced,"  said  he  in  a  graver  tone,  "that 
there  are  elements  in  the  world  which  might  have  given  adjustment 
to  our  Hves." 

"To  your  life?"  asked  Josie. 

"Very  vague  and  interesting.  Major  Trenton,  I'm  sure,  though, 
you  understand  him  completely,  Josie,"  cried  Jean  persisting  in 
laughing. 

"Why  does  she  laugh  at  me,  Josie?"  asked  Trenton. 

"She  is  feeling  good,  she  always  likes  the  gliding  of  the  canoe 
on  the  water,  and  you  did  so  talk  as  if  you  had  given  up,"  said  the 
Dakotah  maiden. 

"Given  what  up?"  asked  Trenton. 

"Yourself,"  replied  the  maid. 

"There,  Major  Trenton,"  cried  the  gypsy,  "you  have  the  genius 
of  all  Indian  philosophy,  stoical  contentment,  sir,  and — whatever 
comes — eternal  hopefulness." 

"Yesterday  the  Indian's  hopelessness  oppressed  me,"  said  Tren- 
ton, bluntly. 

Neither  answered  him,  but  the  grace  of  their  movement  as  they 
70 


The  Gypsy's  Secret 


drove  the  canoe  forward  seemed  to  become  newer  animation  at  the 
initiative  of  the  gypsy.  Josie  had  caught  her  spirit,  too,  and  the 
lines  of  their  supple  figures  against  the  morning  background  of 
flowers  and  passing  trees  charmed  him  into  his  first  entrance  to  the 
sweetest  of  all  feelings — that  every  created  form  is  man's  to  ap- 
preciate and  enjoy.  No  words  could  have  answered  Trenton  like 
the  influence  of  this  indescribable  motion.  It  was  just  what  the 
gypsy  had  called  eternal  hopefulness — come  into  white  and  red- 
brown  beauty,  with  symmetry  and  the  power  of  rhythm  and  laugh- 
ter— that  took  possession  of  them  and  made  them  beings  worth  the 
while. 

"I  am  already  less  a  savage,"  murmured  Trenton;  'T  am  ready 
to  go  to  school  to  the  nature-loving  Indian." 

"And  to  Lusette,"  added  the  faithful  Josie. 

"And  Lusette,"  repeated  the  soldier. 

"But  if  this  shouldn't  last  forever  ?"  suggested  Jean  with  a  smile. 

"It  will  last  long  enough,"  said  Trenton  desperately. 

"Of  course  it  will,"  said  Josie. 

Jean  believed  so,  too,  she  said,  and  then  it  was  her  turn  to  be 
sober.  "We  are  far  enough  not  to  be  molested,  and  I  can  speak 
freely  of  Ongon." 

XXI 

THE  GYPSr's  SECRET 

When  the  boat  was  brought  to  land  where  Jean  had  espied  a 
paradise  of  shade  and  flowers,  she  did  not  seat  herself  at  once  with. 
Trenton  and  Josie.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  what  she  was  about 
to  say  would  cost  her  very  much.  Remaining  still  at  the  brink,  she 
seized  her  dress  between  her  thumb  and  fingers,  making  it  taut  in 
front  as  if  about  to  ford  a  stream,  and,  standing  at  profile,  turned 
her  head  dreamily  and  looked  down  at  Trenton  with  parted  lips.  "I 
will  tell,"  exclaimed  the  girl  gliding  to  his  side  quickly,  "let  me  read 
your  palm.  Major  Soldier." 

"It's  a  blank,"  said  Trenton,  as  she  took  his  hand  in  her  fingers 
and  bent  over  it  with  searching  eyes  that  were  now  almost  black  with 
their  intensity. 

"Sir,  why  were  you  ever  a  soldier  ?"  asked  the  gypsy  suddenly. 

"Aren't  there  any  martial  lines  in  my  hand?"  he  murmured 
humbly. 

"You  have  had  trouble,  and  for  years  you  have  been  trying  to 
escape  from  yourself.     You  have  possibilities  all  undeveloped — you 

71 


Ongon 

could  have  a  splendid  life,  and  yet  you  are  not  trying.  Yes,  you 
have  been  resolute  in  one  thing,  and  have  grown  in  good  will. 
You  don't  hate  as  much  as  once,  and — now  I  am  ready  to  begin." 

"Josie  why  did  she  make  that  study  of  my  hand?"  asked  Tren- 
ton with  his  face  turned  away  thoughtfully. 

"She  wanted  to  see  whether  you  could  bear  the  story  and  under- 
stand," answered  the  Indian  girl,  contemplating  her  own  hand  with 
curiosity. 

"Josie,  would  you  sing  that  "Thanks  to  the  Maple"  again — the 
Ota  De  None  Neo  Wata ;  sing  it  softly,  please. 

The  chant  was  not  unfamiliar  to  Trenton,  and  when,  in  the  sec- 
ond stanza  Jean's  rich  alto  joined  in  the  song,  the  soldier  obeyed  the 
nod  of  the  gypsy's  head,  and  found  a  place  where  he  could  mumble 
in  bass.  It  did  them  good,  making  them  feel  near  to  each  other, 
which  gave  the  atmosphere  Jean  wanted. 

"Major  Trenton,  I  will  not  tell  you  now  how  many  years  I  have 
known  Ongon,  nor  enter  very  far  back  into  his  past.  You  are  well 
acquainted  with  his  aims  and  plans.  He  believes  profoundly  in  the 
kingly  ofifice  that  he  holds  himself  with  great  reluctance,  and  is  per- 
suaded that  in  time  the  problem  of  the  Indian  will  be  solved  by  lead- 
ing the  redmen  to  unfold  what  is  in  them.  The  Indians  are,  as 
you  know,  the  most  imaginative  of  people.  Ignorance,  and  this 
wild,  beautiful  nature,  with  its  playful  streams  and  caroling  birds, 
have  prolonged  the  childhood  of  the  American  native.  The 
Creator  has  also,  I  believe,  Ongon  believes,  made  the  Indian  less  a 
slave  to  the  mere  getting  of  riches  and  empty  honors,  which  alas, 
too  occupies  our  own  race. 

"The  Indian  is  a  dreamer.  Long  ago  Thomas  Jefferson  pointed 
cut  that  the  redman  is  gifted  with  powers  in  the  sublime  arts.  He 
can  draw,  he  is  an  orator,  he  had  his  book  of  legends  before  we 
dreamed  of  colonizing  this  western  continent.  But  he  will  not  be 
bent  to  our  type  of  civilization.  If  time  is  given,  whether  now, 
under  Ongon,  whether  much  later,  when  the  problem  of  the  Indian 
has  become  less  pressing,  but  more  vital — as  we  grow  toward  the 
point  of  our  own  development — we  shall  meet  the  developing  Indian 
at  an  angle  on  a  higher  plane  where  we  shall  be  proud  of  him.  Are 
not  the  Chinese  slow  ?  But  you  say  the  Indian  does  not  care  to  make 
money  like  the  Chinaman.  True,  neither  does  he  care  for  the  pig- 
tail. But  Ongon  found  that  the  Indian,  as  a  human  being,  was 
given  strong,  worthy  instincts,  and  his  watchword  is  'wait' — so  he 
works  waiting." 

"Oh,  I  believe  the  Indian  will  amount  to  something,  too,"  said 
72 


The   Gypsy's  Secret 


Trenton  in  the  brief  hesitancy  on  the  part  of  Jean.  How  strong  her 
mind  when  the  girl  became  woman  and  was  thinking ! 

"As  to  Ongon/'  continued  she,  "he  is  not  without  his  enemies. 
The  fur-trade,  profits  of  which  he  has  diverted  from  greedy  hands; 
the  law  that  he  has  made  forbidding  whisky  to  members  of  the 
order  of  which  he  is  the  head,  and  his  persevering  honesty  have 
brought  him  antagonism.  When  a  man  has  once  had  to  prove  an- 
other dishonest  in  his  dealings  that  other  will  try  to  retaliate  by 
smirching  the  good  character  of  the  honest  man.  And  so  you  do 
not  know,  Major  Trenton,  for  as  yet  it  is  kept  secret,  that  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States  is  to-day  secretly  investigating  On- 
gon's  history  to  prove  or  disprove  a  charge  of  murder  that  has  been 
preferred  against  him." 

"No,  Lusette,  you  cannot  mean  it  against  Ongon,  impossible!" 
Trenton  had  hurled  the  thought  from  him  as  he  spurned  the  stone 
from  his  heel. 

"A  year  ago  his  first  child,  a  little  one  just  beginning  to  creep,  was 
ruthlessly  shot  in  the  field  by  a  soldier  for  target  practice,  and " 

"I  know  that  sort  of  a  thing  has  been  done,"  interrupted  Trenton, 
savagely;  "but  Ongon  never  told  me  of  this." 

"No,  he  kept  it  secret  fearing  to  excite  the  Indians,  and  that  very 
fact  has  been  taken  as  the  first  count  against  him.  But  a  few 
days  ago — no  I  have  not  finished  my  story,  have  I  ?  Later  that  same 
week  a  subordinate  officer  of  some  popularity,  and  I  believe  innocent 
of  the  murder  of  the  child,  was  missed  at  the  barracks.  Upon 
search  he  was  found  dead  in  a  copse  near  the  Calumet.  His  body 
showed  signs  of  great  violence.     He  had  not  died  without  a  struggle. 

"Cat's-paw  has  made  the  testimony  that  he  saw  Ongon  throw 
away  his  pistol  and  run  from  the  copse  immediately  after  he  heard  a 
shot.  A  trace  was  made  and  Ongon's  pistol  was  found  empty  with 
blood  on  the  handle.  Since  then  the  detective  has  discovered  other 
blood-stained  things  of  Ongon's  pointing  to  his  guilt." 

"How  have  you  found  out  these  things  ?"  asked  Trenton  hoarsely. 

"The  government  has  sent  a  secret  service  man,  the  most  noted 
detective  of  Virginia,  to  go  over  the  evidence  carefully.  Just  yester- 
day the  murdered  man's  watch  was  found  at  the  lodge,  and  Ongon's 
blouse,  blood  stained,  concealed  by  his  own  hands  in  a  cache." 

"But  you  believe  him  innocent,"  said  Trenton  with  studied  calm- 
ness, 

"I  know  that  he  is  innocent,"  she  too  was  calm,  though  her  eyes 
were  flashing;    "there  is  no  murder  in  Ongon's  heart." 

"How  old  is  he?"  asked  Trenton. 


Ongon 

"Yes,  there  is  one  of  the  points  they  are  to  make  against  him. 
Ongon  is  young,  younger  than  any  one  even  dreams,  only  twenty- 
two.  They  will  claim  that  he  has  not  reached  the  years  of  self- 
command.  He  loved  his  child  passionately — a  wonderful  boy  who 
could  talk  at  ten  months.  They  will  show  that  the  Indian  spirit  is 
revengeful." 

"He  can  hardly  fail  of  being  arrested,  Lusette,"  said  Trenton 
gravely. 

"He  would  have  been  seized  long  ago  if  it  had  not  been  that  the 
government  fears  the  people's  anger.  The  government  is  even  dis- 
posed to  treat  Ongon  as  it  did  Black  Hawk,  to  pardon  him,  but  do 
you  know  innocence,  and  that  which  has  not  had  great  publicity,  has 
not  the  chance  often  given  burning  lawlessness  ?  Ongon  never  con- 
sented to  Black  Hawk's  raid,  but  that  counts  little  in  his  favor  now." 

"Lusette,  I  believe  Ongon  is  innocent,"  said  Trenton  decisively. 

Few  as  were  these  words  their  effect  upon  the  gypsy  was  electri- 
fying. She  had  not  expected  it,  however  firm  in  her  own  belief. 
Her  eyes  were  wells  of  gratitude  and  pleasure.  Soon  her  face 
and  whole  being  seemed  flooded  with  joy. 

"Thank  you,  Major  Trenton,  I  was  afraid "    She  finished  the 

sentence  by  embracing  Josie,  .who  had  risen  to  take  the  gypsy's  hand, 
and  had  burst  into  tears. 

"You  see  the  Indians  can  be  demonstrative,  Major  Trenton," 
said  Jean  lovingly.  But  Josie  had  gone  to  be  apart  to  talk  with 
the  Great  Spirit.  "Do  you  know  she  believes  in  dreams,"  said  Jean, 
softly ;  "and  thrice  she  has  dreamed  that  Ongon's  life  was  taken ;  but 
I  don't  believe  in  dreams — gypsy  that  I  am." 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Trenton. 

"Now  you  understand  why  I  keep  a  trained  serpent,"  said  she 
smiling,  "I  am  to  work  out  a  persuasion,  sir." 

"I  believe  you  are  on  the  right  track,  Lusette,  and  come  to  think 
of  it.  I  have  an  old  friend,  once  a  detective  himself  in  a  way,  who 
may  be  a  help  to  us.  I  must  go  to  see  friend  Will — the  tavern-keeper 
at  Michigan  City,  if  you  have  ever  stopped  there." 

"Don't  be  afraid  if  you  find  moving  bushes  thereabout.  Major." 
And  Jean  told  him  of  her  night  at  the  inn  and  of  Clermont's  promise 
in  the  morning. 

"If  nature  had  pitched  Mr.  C-r-a-p-s  name  and  environs  in  a  dif- 
ferent key  he  might  have  been  a  musical  composer,"  said  Jean 
smiling. 

"He  does  know  a  thing  or  two,"  responded  Trenton. 

"Yes,  he  knows  how  to  make  use  of  discords,"  rejoined  the  girl. 

74 


The  Luncheon  and  After 

XXII 

THE  LUNCHEON   AND  AFTER 

Nothing  brings  an  immeasurable  acquaintance  so  fast  as  a  June 
luncheon  in  the  country.  Crumbs  blown  to  the  flowers  where  grass 
is  cleaner  than  linen  and  birds  are  peeping  with  promises  to  take 
care  of  the  remnants  daintily.  Even  a  squirrel  came  down  and  was 
coaxed  to  help  himself  to  the  nuts.  His  airy  majesty  sniffed  as 
they  offered  him  peanuts,  but  frisked  away  gaily  with  the  tendered 
hickory  nut.  "Ha,"  cried  Jean,  "abundance  doth  make  epicures  of 
us  all !" 

Yes,  while  the  deep  sky  was  hovering  near  the  sea  of  primroses 
with  the  eyes  of  the  violets,  amidst  a  dozen  other  flowers,  peeping 
at  them  too,  and  asking  for  no  gift  but  a  moment's  attention  to  their 
modest  presence,  Trenton  also  was  an  epicure.  He  was  ready  to 
vow  that  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  belonged  to  an  infinitely  more  unex- 
plorable  world  than  the  heaven  beyond  the  soft  June  sky.  Sweet 
was  the  repast  of  three  who,  believing  in  Ongon  could  relax  from 
thought  to  be  each  other's  company.  Did  not  the  atmosphere  seem 
to  breathe  unto  them  all  the  charm  it  had  gathered  from  lawn  fetes 
and  picnics  and  wild  woods  throughout  all  time  ? 

Then  to  go  home  together !  They  let  him  row,  because  they  said 
it  was  down  stream,  anyhow — and  he  had  tried  them  out  talking  to 
him.  In  the  excitement  of  the  long  days  that  followed,  Trenton 
never  forgot  the  pleasure  of  the  return.  The  canoe  was  made  to 
row  or  paddle.  He  chose  a  long,  steady  stroke,  and  they  began  liv- 
ing as  one,  the  sense  of  grace  and  strength  in  strong  arms  and  Indian 
boat  on  yielding  stream. 

Jean  forgot  the  responsibility  resting  upon  her  and  was  a  beau- 
tiful, dreamy  girl  who  could  not  keep  her  hands  out  of  the  water, 
and  smiled  to  herself  over  a  child's  thoughts  again.  And  the  stream 
laughed  back  to  her,  holding  her  image  and  the  sky  beside. 

At  first  she  hardly  seemed  to  hear  the  conversation  between  Tren- 
ton and  Josie,  who  sat  at  the  soldier's  feet  and  explained  to  him  her 
quaint  interpretations  of  nature.  But  after  a  while  Jean  talked  to 
them,  too,  with  a  girl's  philosophy  of  life  out  of  a  girl's  enthusiasm. 
She  had  read  much,  Trenton  discovered,  but  she  had  thought  more. 
When  somehow  the  subject  turned  to  prayer,  she  defined  it  as  a 
proof  that  God  wished  man  to  have  his  own  way,  and  to  follow 
his  own  plans,  and  to  realize  his  own  desires.  Only  youth  and 
purity  and   a  true  will  could  have   formed   the  definition,   but  it 

75 


Ongon 

seemed  to  be  part  of  her  very  atmosphere  and  life.  Literature  was 
the  mirror  of  Love's  world-spirit.  And  she  told  of  how  fiercely 
her  own  spirit  had  beat  against  the  void  until  epoch  after  epoch  filled 
it  and  she  knew  of  Hannibal  and  Caesar,  and  Charlemagne  and 
Napoleon.  Then  she  found  her  native  ignorance,  that  thirsted  to 
know  of  men  and  women  who  had  lived  before,  was  only  part  of  the 
same  spirit  driving  her  that  had  driven  them  who  had  filled  the 
world  with  memorable  deeds.  Had  they  thought  that  on  the  same 
waters  now  carrying  them  homeward,  Joliet,  La  Salle,  and  Mar- 
quette had  pushed  their  way  through  storm  and  peril  only  to  pene- 
trate their  ignorance  and  know  the  world? 

She  played  in  the  water  again  and  talked  in  broken  sentences 
about  themselves.  How  well  Trenton  remembered  it  when  the  days 
came  back  that  took  her  from  them!  He  knew  then  that  he  loved 
this  girl  and  that  she  answered  every  craving  of  his  nature.  Gypsy 
though  she  might  be  had  she  been  free  to  love  him  he  would 
have  gloried,  as  man  never  gloried  before,  in  leading  her  to  the  altar 
as  his  wife.  But  he  was  too  noble  to  encroach  upon  the  holy  ground 
that  belonged  to  her  one  affection.  He  recognized  the  right,  inalien- 
able and  beyond  human  control,  of  the  heart  to  give  itself  where  the 
hand  could  never  be  bestowed.  His  love  could  be  as  sacred  for 
this  girl  as  hers  for  Ongon  and  as  unexpressed ;  for  he  doubted  not 
Ongon  had  never  known  the  story  of  the  gypsy's  love. 

His  thought  quickened  his  pace — and  in  the  mystery  of  move- 
ment saved  his  life.  An  arrow,  sent  to  his  heart  and  true  to  its  aim, 
had  glanced  on  the  oar.  Some  one  concealed  on  the  left  bank  had 
sought  to  take  revenge  at  last  upon  the  Indian  fighter. 

The  gypsy  had  already  risen  in  the  boat  balancing  herself  lightly, 
and  in  a  moment  her  pistol  was  flashing,  and  with  a  cry  of  rage  or 
sorrow  or  both,  Wautoma  had  dropped  the  splintered  bow,  and  was 
rushing  upon  them  with  a  huge  stone  to  capsize  the  boat.  He  had 
not  noticed  Josie,  for  she  had  been  sitting  low  in  the  canoe.  Now 
she,  too,  had  raised  herself  and  seizing  an  oar,  with  two  strokes  had 
brought  the  boat  to  land  and  had  leaped  upon  the  shore.  There 
was  no  hesitation  in  the  Dakotahn.  She  also  had  a  pistol,  which  she 
drew  and  planted  coolly  against  Wautoma's  breast. 

"Are  you  mad?"  demanded  the  girl  with  flashing  eyes.  "Do 
you  want  to  be  degraded  a  year  by  Ongon  ?" 

"I  must  hate  Ongon,"  muttered  Wautoma. 

"You  must  hate  Ongon?"  repeated  the  girl  wonderingly. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  sorrowful  chief. 

"Then  go,"  her  words  were  colder  than  steal  and  far  more  in- 
76 


The  Luncheon  and  After 

cisive.  Wautoma  could  not  mistake  their  meaning.  Then  she  had 
renounced  him  forever. 

"Oh,  wait,  I  had  to  hate  him!" 

"Oh,  you  did,"  her  words  were  more  distant  than  the  poles. 

"Stay,  listen  Josie,  that  man  stole  my  picture,"  entreated  Wau- 
toma. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  Ongon  ?"  demanded  the  girl. 

"Ongon  ignores  me." 

"In  what  way?" 

"He  don't  know  the  value  of  my  picture." 

"Neither  do  I,  you  are  conceited." 

"But  Wautoma,  I  sent  you  word  to  come  to  the  Sauganash  to-day 
to  get  the  picture,"  Trenton  had  come  up  with  his  usual  salute  for  the 
chief. 

"It  is  gone  from  the  Sauganash,  you  took  it  away  last  night." 

"Wautoma,  sit  down  there,  if  you  please,"  said  the  gypsy,  coolly 
reloading  her  weapon. 

Glad  not  to  have  to  leave  the  Dakotah  maiden  the  Indian  showed 
surprising  obedience. 

"Cat's-paw  has  been  to  see  you,"  said  Jean  without  looking  at 
him  yet. 

The  Indian  hung  his  head  sullenly. 

"And  he  has  tried  to  poison  your  mind.  Tell  me,  did  you  really 
deep  down  in  your  heart  believe  Cat's-paw,  or  was  not  it  a  rage 
and  a  fight  for  one  hour  to  doubt  Ongon  ?" 

She  had  touched  the  truth  in  him.  "That  is  so,  Wautoma 
worked  by  lies  and  was  tied  by  them.  He  told  Josie  first  to  see 
how  it  sounds.     Ongon  is  good.     Wautoma  loves  him." 

The  discovery  was  made  by  both  Jean  and  Josie  at  the  same  mo- 
ment— Wautoma  had  been  drinking,  which  accounted  for  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  strange  conduct. 

"Wautoma,"  said  Jean  sadly,  "who  gave  you  whisky?" 

"Paleface,  big  agent,  and  the  men,  Wautoma  dared  do  it." 

And  then  it  was  wrung  from  him  that  he  had  been  approached 
with  skill  by  those  who  wished  to  arouse  in  the  chief  a  first  suspicion 
against  Ongon.  A  bragging  party  had  been  arranged,  it  would 
seem,  and  the  young  chief,  being  full  of  his  exploits,  had  led  in  his 
stories  and  bravos.  He  would  follow  any  man  anywhere  on  a  wager 
— and  as  he  had  kept  his  word,  such  was  his  final  condition. 

"Josie  sobered  me,"  said  Wautoma  at  last. 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  that  maiden,  but  turning  away  to  hide 
her  crestfallen  spirits. 

17 


Ongon 

"Wautoma,  are  you  going  to  separate  yourself  forever  from 
Josie?     Do  you  know  what  she  has  told  me?"  asked  Jean. 

The  Indian  looked  up  quickly. 

"She  said  that  if  you  proved  the  true,  good  chief  she  was  going 
to  marry  3'OU  when  she  was  sixteen." 

The  chief  arose  and  held  out  his  hands  eagerly  toward  the  gypsy. 
"Talk  to  her  for  Wautoma,  be  good  to  poor  Indian  chief,  Wautoma 
broken,  sick,  do  any  thing." 

"But  can't  talk  straight,"  said  Josie  bitterly. 

"Promise  any  thing,  Josie,  see,  sober !"  She  had  worked  in  him 
so  mightily  that  his  iast  word  was  like  opening  the  old  door  to  his 
old  self. 

Josie  looked  at  her  mistress. 

"Are  you  willing  to  sign  it — Josie  will  write  her  name  and  your 
name  in  her  own  blood,  together  with  your  writing  hers  and  yours  on 
this  same  paper,  if  you  promise  never  to  drink  another  drop — will 
you?" 

He  was  reaching  for  the  needle  in  the  gypsy's  hand  and  his  blood 
was  flowing  freely  from  the  long  gash  he  made  with  it  on  his  arm. 

"Can  you  love  Major  Trenton,  too?"  asked  Jean  softly  in  a  pause 
before  giving  the  needle  to  Josie. 

Wautoma  sprang  up,  walked  about  the  tree  slowly,  looked  Tren- 
ton full  in  the  face,  saw  the  soldier's  kindly  spirit  in  them  toward 
him,  glanced  at  Josie  who  had  taken  the  Major's  hand  affectionately, 
and  then,  when  both  Trenton  and  Josie  stretched  forth  their  free 
hands,  the  proud  young  blood  in  him  lost  its  fire  and  the  three  were 
joined  in  one  clasp  of  hands. 

I  am  proud  of  you  all,"  said  Jean  from  the  outside  of  the  trio's 
circle — "and  lonesome!"  Trenton  was  willing,  Josie  was  willing, 
Wautoma  was  willing — Jean  could  take  but  two  hands  and  they  were 
Josie's  and  Wautoma's.  If  she  could  have  read  Trenton's  thoughts 
— but  she  had  been  going  so  fast  in  a  different  trend  from  his ! 

Josie  wrote  the  names  first,  in  little  trembling  lines  that  followed 
each  other  as  softly  as  the  ripples  on  the  calm  waters,  Wautoma 
tossed  the  same  in  great  waves  of  eager  devotion  that  fairly  swept 
themselves  off  the  paper  in  their  mightiness. 

But  too  deep  was  the  quiet  now  in  Josie's  bosom  for  Trenton 
and  Jean  to  share.  Wautoma  had  a  heart  and  Josie  knew  that  she 
had  won  it  sacredly.     They  turned  away  together,  gypsy  and  soldier. 

"So  once,"  said  Trenton — Jean  pardoned  him  for  it — "an  arrow 
aimed  at  my  heart  has  pierced  through  two  with  Cupid's  dart." 

They  heard  Wautoma  laugh.     Josie  had  said  something  about 

78 


"had  his  boldness  been  greater,  or  his  characte.^  less- 


A  Confession 

the  picture.  "She  will  tell  him  she  Hkes  his  picture,"  said  Jean, 
looking  into  Trenton's  eyes  laughingly. 

"It  has  been  a  likeable  day,"  said  the  soldier,  after  he  had  mur- 
mured his  thanks  at  last  for  her  having  saved  his  life,  and  she  had 
disavowed  that  she  had  played  anything  of  the  part  in  the  affairs 
of  the  afternoon  that  Josie  had. 

"And  it  has  all  turned  out  as  a  summer  shower  on  a  picnic  day 
ought  to,"  said  Jean;  "the  storm  was  too  brief  to  take  away  the 
pleasure  and  it  has  cleared  leaving  everything  more  fresh  and 
lovely." 

They  were  standing  before  the  tree  that  had  received  Jean's 
bullet  after  it  had  ruined  Wautoma's  bow.  By  accident,  at  the  same 
moment,  Jean  and  Trenton  were  seized  by  an  impulse  to  cover  the 
mark  on  the  tree  with  their  hands.  In  after  days  Trenton  returned 
to  the  spot  to  put  his  hand  upon  the  place  where  the  bullet  had  en- 
tered— as  if  in  so  doing  he  might  have  communicated  to  him  again 
the  touch  that  had  vanished,  with  its  revelation  of  affectionate  ten- 
derness toward  him,  and  with  all  the  accompanying  light  in  her 
eyes  before  her  hand  had  been  withdrawn.  Alone,  with  Jean  gone, 
he  fought  himself  for  the  silence  he  had  put  upon  his  lips  and  for 
the  resistance  he  had  given  his  arms.  By  greater  boldness  then  and 
less  character  he  might  have  saved  life  and  suffering. 


XXIII 

A   CONFESSION 

Catherine  Dale  had  stood  at  last  in  the  presence  of  Ongon — and 
had  come  forth  bathed  in  sweet  peace.  She  had  not  thought  of  his 
being  an  Indian,  for  she  had  felt  the  power  of  Man.  It  had 
been  said  by  others  that  his  influence  lay  in  a  mesmeric  gift  the 
strongest  could  not  withstand.  But  there  had  been  no  passes  on  his 
part,  no  corners  of  conversation,  no  effort  to  dethrone  her  will. 

She  had  begun  by  confession.  God  had  struck  her  spirit  blow 
after  blow.  She  had  tried  and  believed — and  lost  and  failed. 
Wishing  to  conquer  the  world,  it  had  overwhelmed  her.  Once  be- 
lieving herself  born  to  be  happy,  now  she  was  unhappy  in  everything. 
She  felt  like  a  deserted  landscape  full  of  fog  and  desolation.  While 
in  one  sense  she  had  won,  in  another,  and  higher,  she  had  lost  be- 
yond all  hope.  Heaven  had  sent  her  misery  and  she  had  begun  to 
say  impertinent  things  to  God.  What  had  she  done  that  God  had 
thrust  her  through  and  through? 

79 


On 


gon 


"And  oh,  Ongon,  priest-king,  I  have  lost  the  tones  that  touch  the 
soul !"  She  had  uttered  the  cry  standing  half-averted  from  him,  her 
eyes  downcast,  her  fingers  playing  passionately  with  the  ends  of  the 
ribbon  at  her  waist,  and  the  loveliness  of  her  form  speaking  aside 
with  exquisite  suppliance  to  a  luxuriant  nature. 

His  answer  had  been  all  delicacy  and  feeling.  She  had  not  dis- 
tinguished between  her  dreams  and  her  real  sentiments.  Mortals 
were  angels  if  they  could.  But  bitterness  is  a  bad  dream,  whose 
mad  wailings  strike  others'  hearts  no  more  than  the  efforts  of  the 
\vi\\  in  nightmare  can  speak  the  word  that  will  bring  from  another 
the  awakening  touch.  But  she  had  really  half-admitted  that  to 
suffer  patiently  cruel  wrongs  is  the  path  to  all  nobleness.  She  had 
told  it  all  in  one  sentence — that  she  had  a  horror  and  terror  of  asking 
anything.  That  was  a  departure  from  childhood  and  simplicity. 
He  had  asked  her  to  come  again  the  next  day. 

Before  her  mirror  after  the  visit  she  found  that  she  was  much 
prettier,  that  her  complexion  was  fresh  and  velvety,  and  her  eyes 
bright  and  sparkling.  Beyond  stark  hopelessness  was  a  glimmering. 
And  yet  how  few  and  simple  had  needed  to  be  the  words  of  the  for- 
est chief-king ! 


XXIV 

■  THE  LILY  IN  THE  STREAM 

"If  there  is  an  explanation  why  the  Indian  has  been  permitted  to 
suffer  so  much,  I — I  shall  believe."  Catherine  had  come  to  Ongon 
in  a  rich  but  simple  robe,  finding  her  way  with  sweet  gliding  just  be- 
fore him  as  he  stood  by  the  river  wrapt  in  pleasant  thought.  A  deli- 
cate beauty  was  in  her  face  and  a  touch  of  girlishness  in  her  voice. 

"There  is  a  lily  in  the  stream,"  said  the  chief-king,  with  a  gallant 
grace  of  the  head  that  accorded  her  all  the  pure  loveliness  of  the 
flower.  "If  I  were  painting  the  Indian,  I  would  not  represent  him- 
as  stooping  to  grasp  the  lily  while  hopelessly  hindered  by  a  load 
on  his  back." 

His  manner  of  talking  was  with  that  delightful  abandon  she  had 
expected  and  dreamed  and  wanted  of  him.  She  had  his  company 
for  an  hour  and  afterwards  realized  how  much  it  meant  to  her. 

"The  load?"  asked  Catherine,  bending  prettily  with  her  great 
pleasure  for  the  flower  which  the  chief-king  accepted  in  the  same 
royal  simplicity  with  which  it  was  offered  him. 

"The  load  is  a  burden  of  plunder,  let  us  say,"  replied  Ongon.  In 
80 


The    Lily  in  the  Stream 

the  pause  he  smiled.  He  was  waiting  for  her  to  express  his  mean- 
ing and  she  had  understood  him  quickly. 

"The  Indian's  disposition  in  such  a  case  will  not  permit  him  to  lay 
aside  the  burden ;  and  if  he  bends  forward  far  enough  to  reach  the 
flower  he  will  lose  his  balance,  and  then,  wetting  his  plunder,  lose 
also  his  desire  for  the  lily?" 

"When  you  take  the  conception  you  must  make  him  so,"  replied 
Ongon. 

"What  shall  we  do  then?"  asked  Catherine  simply. 

"You  must  paint  an  angel  above  the  Indian,  ready  to  remove 
the  burden,"  replied  the  chief-king.  "God  will  sometime  help  the 
Indian  to  the  flower." 

"Why  should  not  the  white  man  come  gather  the  lily  and  give  it 
to  the  Indian  lovingly?"  demanded  Catherine. 

"The  white  man  is  too  occupied  in  his  building  boats  for  com- 
merce on  the  stream  to  consider  the  savage  at  its  brink."  There  was 
no  condemnation  in  Ongon's  voice,  but  rather  pity. 

"That  is  it !"  exclaimed  Catherine. 

"No,  good  artist,"  replied  the  chief-king  gently,  "that  is  only 
painting  the  white  man  with  ships  on  his  back."  He  had  answered 
her  question  by  his  calm  strength  of  view,  rather  than  by  his  words. 
Indian  caprice,  a  wise  Providence,  guardian  angels,  were  working 
together,  even  while  apparent  hopelessness  stared  the  redman  in 
the  face.     It  was  a  long  view,  but  it  possessed  him. 

"You  look  so  far  off,"  said  Catherine. 

"Nay,  let  us  say  I  have  been  given  to  see  afar,"  replied  Ongon — 
"and  I  have  seen  something  about  you,"  he  added  looking  at  the 
lily. 

"Oh!" 

But  he  had  turned  aside  first  to  tell  her  how  the  day  before  when 
she  had  spoken  hard  thoughts  against  Trenton,  he  had  only  wished 
she  might  have  understood  something  of  his  problem.  She  could 
not  have  harbored  revengeful  feelings  against  him  had  she  known 
what  had  driven  him  westward. 

"And  the  vision?"  asked  Catherine,  not  ready  yet  to  confess  to 
anything  in  that  new  direction  save  a  hesitant  arch  of  her  head. 

"First,  I  must  say  a  word  to  you  about  myself,"  said  the  chief- 
king  with  a  smile. 

"Catherine  drew  a  breath  of  real  pleasure,  "Oh,  do  tell  me — ten 
thousand  words !" 

"Life  is  made  for  us  as  soon  as  we  accept  the  fact  that  we  are 
put  unalterably  in  a  place  for  a  high  and  beautiful  purpose.     Time 

8i 


Ongon 


was  when  I  lived  in  rebellion.  At  first  it  was  a  battle  for  me  to 
understand  my  people.  Their  ways  were  strange  and  mysterious 
to  me,  and  I  quarreled  with  them,  while  the  white  man's  pleased  me. 
Then  Minnetonka  came  into  my  life.  She  had  listened  to  the  story 
of  our  Master's  obedience,  and  when  I  understood  his  life,  I  saw  a 
way  out  of  my  darkness.  Thus  the  princess  had  taught  me  to  ap- 
preciate the  strivings  of  my  people.  I  believe  that  the  white  man 
will  some  day  desire  to  find  the  heart  of  the  Indian.  In  it  are  buried 
the  richest  natural  treasures  of  the  American  continent.  Did  you 
ever  think  that  in  Christ  there  is  a  way  for  God  to  justify  himself 
for  all  the  permission  of  human  conditions  on  his  part  and  a  way 
for  every  creature  to  triumph? 

He  had  said  enough  to  awaken  great  inquiries  in  Catherine's 
heart.  Could  it  be  that  he  was  not  an  Indian?  It  was  a  question 
to  ponder.     If  so — his  was  the  greater  achievement  still. 

She  had  found  another  lily  and  had  given  it  to  him  lovingly. 
"What  shall  I  do?"  she  asked,  referring  to  his  vision  for  her. 

"You  are  now  on  the  eve  of  seeking  a  solution  of  your  own 
problem,"  said  the  chief-king  with  a  satisfied  conviction  in  his  voice. 
"I  would  begin  not  by  attacking  the  whole  problem  at  once,  but 
by  finding  a  way  to  solve  the  nearest  perplexity.  Suppose  you  set 
out  to  discover  that  picture  of  Wautoma  with  the  philosophy" — he 
smiled — "that  it  was  a  wise  Providence  that  caused  its  loss  and  that 
there  is  a  loving  meaning  in  it  for  you?" 

He  had  talked  to  her  like  a  brother,  and  the  words  were  running 

in  her  mind  "God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  to  dwell ." 

If  there  had  been  no  Indian  problem  she  had  never  met  Ongon ! 

"Agreed,"  cried  Catherine  from  out  the  conflict  of  her  feelings. 

"Then  if  you  should  make  your  way,  say  with  Josie,  to  a  tavern 
some  sixty  miles  to  the  east,  you  will  find  a  man  of  wonderful  de- 
tective powers  who  has  often  been  my  only  source  of  reliable  in- 
formation. I  think  that  he  can  help  you.  His  name  is  William 
Buckingham  Craps.     You  can  afford  to  have  all  confidence  in  him." 

Catherine  felt  the  impulse  to  follow  his  direction  implicitly.  It 
would  ally  her  with  a  method.  For  all  her  genius,  she  had  the  de- 
sire to  be  guide'd  as  a  child.  And  it  was  as  if  she  was  to  have 
the  priest-king  with  her  on  her  way.  And  so  all  felt  who  had  been 
in  the  presence  of  Ongon. 


82 


Interrupting  a  Process 

XXV 

INTERRUPTING  A   PROCESS 

Innocence  is  not  the  necessary  forerunner  of  grace.  Neither 
is  seeming  perversity  either  total  depravity  or  hopeless  piety.  One 
may  worship  at  a  false  shrine  because  worship  he  must  at  some 
shrine.  And  so  there  is  pardon  for  a  mortal,  and  hope  as  well,  if 
when  angels  have  his  name  on  their  lips  his  own  may  be  mumbling 
strange  incantations.  For  one  may  turn  on  his  knees  in  quickest 
repentance — if  there  is  anything  worshipful  behind  him. 

It  was  not  a  laudatory  enterprise  that  still  engaged  Craps,  if  the 
irate  guest  was  to  be  the  judge.  "A  dollar  a  night  for  such  a  bed 
is  extortion.  You  are  certainly  taking  advantage  of  prosperous 
times !" 

The  protest  was  eliciting  an  appropriate  response. 

"Certain  people  need  prosperity  to  teach  them  to  despise  it,"  said 
Craps,  reaching  for  the  extra  money. 

"But  we  don't  all  get  it,"  growled  the  gentleman. 

"Our  fault,"  returned  the  host;  "success  is  like  sleep  to  the 
nervous — a  certain  amount  is  due  every  being  and  if  a  man  will 
steady  himself  to  expect  it,  and  will  circulate  his  blood  a  little,  the 
thing  Avill  come  of  its  own  accord  and  in  pleasing  proportions." 

"How  do  you  do,  Will !"  said  a  different  voice  behind. 

"Why,  Major  John,  you  do  me  honor,"  cried  the  landlord,  turn- 
ing from  gay  to  grave,  as  he  wheeled  about  and  greeted  the  soldier 
with  solid  pleasure.  ♦ 

"I  interrupt  a  process,"  said  the  officer  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"You  terminate  it — for  the  present,"  said  Craps,  waving  his  hand 
to  the  guest  in  a  way  that  said  plainly  that  there  were  times  when 
it  was  no  time  to  make  money. 

If  the  host  could  let  go  the  extra,  so  could  the  guest,  and  the  sil- 
ver fell  back  into  the  latter's  pocket,  while  pocket  and  all  fell  back  to 
the  door.  .„,  i 

"He  is  gone  with  the  better  part  of  the  argument,"  laughed  Tren- 
ton. 

Craps  said  that  he  would  be  paid  a  hundred  fold  if  he  could  be 
permitted  to  get  a  fellow  a  steaming  dinner.  "My,  John,  I  remem- 
ber when  you  were  a  little  boy " 

"Spare  me,  Will,  there's  no  one  here  to  spank  me,"  said  Trenton 
with  a  reminiscent  grin. 

"  'Deed  there  isn't,"  murmured  Craps,  looking  over  the  athletic 
83 


Ongon 


build  of  the  soldier  with  pride;  "there  isn't  any  one  can  do  it,  I 
reckon,  John." 

But  then  Trenton  must  look  at  the  sketch  of  his  boyhood  self 
taken  by  Craps  the  lad  five  years  his  senior,  and  they  must  laugh  to- 
gether over  tragic  outcomes  and  philosophize  over  early  bearings  on 
later  days !  At  twenty-six  and  thirty-one,  fifteen  and  ten  are  more 
than  half  of  all  existence.  Then  they  grew  sober  and  by  mutual 
consent  passed  by  a  sadder  lapse  of  years. 

"I  have  come  to  say  I  have  need  of  you.  Will,"  said  Trenton  after 
a  pause.     "Could  you  leave  here  and  go  away  with  me  ?" 

"There,  I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  ought  to  accept  the  thing! 
Been  offered  a  price  for  my  establishment.  Decided  to  accept  it  any- 
how, since  a  certain  old-timer  came  through  here  whose  presence 
means  harm,  I  know.  I'm  pretty  much  of  a  rover  to  be  tied  down, 
here  anyway.     But  indeed  I  will  go  away  with  you.  Major  Jack!" 

"I've  seen  him  too,"  said  Trenton  with  feeling. 

Craps  looked  up  suddenly.  "You  do  not  mean  that  Buhl-Bysee 
has  crossed  your  path  again?  Ah,  I  see;  indeed,  I  will  try  to  be  of 
some  help  to  you,  Trenton." 

They  talked  of  the  picture  briefly  and  then  of  Ongon.  The  land- 
lord asked  whether  his  friend  had  ever  heard  of  the  crime  against 
the  chief-king's  youth?  "There  is  a  secret  there  some  day  to  be 
brought  to  light,"  said  Craps,  "and  it  has  helped  me  many  a  time." 

"Now,  Will  you  must  forget  about  that,"  said  the  soldier,  no- 
ticing the  depression  coming  upon  his  friend.  "You  know  that  you 
are  innocent,  and  you  can  afford  to  wait  until  the  truth  comes  to 
light,  as  you  say  of  Ongon." 

"Aye,  but  to  have  served  in  the  penitentiary,  John,  the  very  dis- 
grace of  it  breaks  a  man  down.  It  is  too  bitter  to  stand  long.  Aye, 
it  is  too  bitter." 

"Remember  Joseph  in  prison  in  Egypt,  Will." 

"Nay,  the  Pharaohs  are  all  dead,  and  there  is  no  messenger  can 
come  to  me,  John.  I  am  ostracized.  Think  what  I  was — and  then 
look  at  these  rooms.  Now,  if  I  were  fifty,  the  blood  would  not  be 
so  hot  in  me.  And  yet" — ^it  was  as  if  he  was  lifting  himself  out 
of  the  pit  by  his  own  boot  straps — "do  you  know  after  talking  with 
Ongon  I  feel  that  if  we  will  give  the  Almighty  a  chance,  let  him 
have  time,  there  is  not  a  sinner  of  us  but  he  is  well  oflf.  It  is  having 
to  live  alone,  John,  that  is  it ;  to  see  the  weakling  in  high  places,  to 
note  the  trifling  mistake,  perhaps  the  very  vigor  of  over  truthful- 
ness and  faithfulness,  get  us  into  difficulties  that  wrench  us  from  our 

careers — that  is  galling.  But "  he  arose  and  paced  the  floor  while 

84 


Interrupting  a  Process 

speaking,  "did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  God  is  novel  ?  The  hero  of  a 
story  must  work  and  live  against  odds  or  he  does  not  hold  our  atten- 
tion, perhaps  these  nightmare  troubles  of  ours  just  keep  us  some  way 
in  God's  attention  ?  But  it  is  hard  to  rule  hatred  out  of  order  to  give 
the  main  question  the  floor  in  our  minds." 

The  landlord  had  been  called  out  just  as  two  women  entered 
the  opposite  door.  They  were  Catherine  Dale  and  Josie.  He 
hastened  to  greet  them. 

Catherine  spoke  first,  in  an  astonishingly  different  tone  from  the 
scorn  at  the  ruins.  'T  am  sorry,  Major  Trenton,  to  have  involved 
you,  by  a  fit  of  my  rashness,  in  troublesome  perplexities,  I  am  come 
to  seek  a  gentleman  who  can  help  both  of  us." 

He  could  have  said  exactly  the  same  words  to  her.  But  since  she 
had  overwhelmed  him  with  the  unexpected,  he  gave  her  in  return  the 
sweetest  confidence  a  man  in  his  estate  could  not  but  give. 

"I  was  a  dunce.  Miss  Dale,  but  if  I  had  known  a  few  days  ago 
what  I  have  learned  since,  I  might  have  acted  sensibly." 

He  had  not  said  too  much,  and  he  had  said  it  so  naturally — he 
felt  every  word  of  it,  and  that  was  the  requisite  with  Catherine  Dale 
— and  stopped  so  wisely — universally  a  befitting  thing  to  do — that 
Catherine,  remembering  as  well  his  exalted  courage  and  brilliant  idea 
in  taking  the  picture  for  a  shield,  was  thoroughly  pleased  with  him. 

"Do  you  know  of  any  detective  I  could  get  from  this  place,  Major 
Trenton?"  she  asked,  beaming  upon  him  her  full  forgiveness. 

He  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  He  did  know  of  an  excellent 
one,  would  they  be  seated  while  he  ordered  their  horses  groomed  and 
he  called  the  gentleman.  Trenton  finding  Craps,  explained  to  him  the 
situation,  asking  him  to  put  on  his  best  suit  for  the  meeting  with  the 
artist  who  had  painted  the  picture  of  Wautoma.'  "Been  forgiven," 
said  Trenton  happily.  "Will,  it's  one  of  the  unaccountable  miracles, 
I'd  have  offered  her  ten  thousand  for  the  picture  to  have  gotten  such 
a  pardon  had  I  dared !" 

"Ideas  are  worth  more  than  dollars,  she  perhaps  has  a  new 
philosophy,"  smiled  Craps. 

Trenton  was  even  happier  over  Craps  when  he  came  down  than 
he  had  been  over  Catherine's  cordiality.  Dress  had  transformed  the 
landlord.     And  Craps  was  feeling  in  as  fine  spirits  as  his  clothes. 

"This  is  Mr.  William  Buckingham  Craps?"  asked  Catherine, 
rising  with  a  pleased  look  and  stepping  toward  him  with  extended 
hand.  Her  manner  was  too  open  and  warm-hearted  to  permit  Craps 
to  be  more  than  inwardly  startled  by  her  mention  of  his  full  name, 
for  Trenton  had  agreed  never  to  p:ive  any  one  that. 

85 


Ongon 

Giving  him  her  hand !  But  the  full  glow  of  its  touch  was  still 
buoying  him  upward  as  she  explained  to  him  rapidly  the  need  she 
had  of  him.  Somehow  he  soon  forgot  himself  as  he  stood  before 
her  and  answered  her  questions  with  the  graceful  ease  of  a  cul- 
tured gentleman.  Her  account  of  the  taking  of  the  picture  was  a 
woman's,  with  bits  of  fun  now  and  then  in  it  for  Trenton.  It 
was  a  good  tale  to  tell  now  that  nothing  serious  except  the  loss  of  the 
picture  had  resulted,  and  Josie  helped  to  embellish  it. 

"You  say  the  picture  was  stolen  afterward  from  the  Sauganash, 
madame?"  he  asked  with  a  playful  light  in  his  eyes  when  she  had 
finished ;  "a  hotel  is  usually  too  safe  a  place  for  grand  larceny,  I  mean 
out  here." 

"Where  valuables  of  any  size  seldom  enter,"  added  Trenton  with 
a  soldier's  pleasure  at  making  a  double  stroke  with  one  slash. 

"Sirs,  you  have  sometimes  stopped  at  one,"  said  Catherine 
smiling. 

"Occasionally,"  admitted  Craps. 

"Suppose  now  a  detective  should  open  a  hotel,  Miss  Dale?"  said 
Trenton  in  compliment  to  the  detective. 

"It  would  not  be  run  like" — Catherine's  eyes  had  swept  the  room 
hastily — "like  hotels  in  general." 

Trenton  judged  she  w^as  taking  note  of  the  detective's  head  to 
paint  it  as  part  of  his  reward  for  the  return  of  the  picture.  And  it 
was  a  fine  head,  now  that  it  had  clothes  to  match  it.  There  was 
nothing  like  putting  one's  best  suit  forward ! 

"Madame,"  said  Craps,  feeling  the  honor  of  Catherine's  last 
remark,  "the  detective  may  yet  have  to  play  the  host  to  get  that 
painting." 

"I've  been  thinking,  Miss  Dale,"  said  Trenton,  brightly,  "how 
much  better  your  first  meeting  with  Mr.  William  Detective  gets  on 
than  the  first  with  a  certain  soldier." 

It  was  Craps  who  laughingly  replied,  "There  are  sensibilities 
which  those  that  have  dealt  with  so  blunt  a  thing  as  a  sword  cannot 
appreciate." 

Catherine  beamed  upon  him.  Trenton  sighed.  Josie  shook  her 
head. 

But  the  men  w^ere  beginning  to  feel  guilty.  This  pleasure  did 
not  honorably  belong  to  them.  In  speaking  of  the  landlord  as  a  de- 
tective and  in  introducing  him  as  such,  even  in  fun-loving  goodwill, 
Trenton  had  committed  an  offense  more  unpardonable  than  his 
taking  the  picture.  Craps,  too,  was  growing  more  quiet.  It  was 
with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  promised  to  use  his  influence  to  get  the 

86 


The  Apology 


artist  and  Josie  the  best  room  in  the  house.  The  pleasantry  had  in- 
volved them  hopelessly.  Had  it  only  been  the  little  pastime  itself, 
they  could  have  explained  then  and  there.  But  how  could  Trenton 
bear  to  tell  it  of  his  friend,  when  now,  because  he  had  introduced  the 
man  to  Catherine  Dale,  he  must  speak  cruel  testimony  against  him  ? 
And  yet  Catherine  had  gone  upstairs  turning  prettily  about  on 
the  first  step  to  express  her  pleasure  at  the  honor  of  having  met  the 
detective ! 


XXVI 

THE  APOLOGY 

Catherine  Dale  thought  the  apology  on  Trenton's  lips  when  he 
came  to  her  later  referred  to  the  old  subject,  "Major  Trenton,  while 
we  are  sorry  the  picture  had  to  be  taken,  I  am  glad  that  it  has 
brought  the  second  disaster." 

He  did  not  reply  anything  coherent  except  that  he  was  afraid  she 
misunderstood  him. 

"You  haven't  another  primrose,  have  you?"  asked  Catherine, 
smiling. 

Trenton  drew  from  his  coat  an  envelope  in  which  were  th?. 
crumbled  leaves  of  the  once  rejected  flower.  "When  man  by  his 
Thoughtlessness  has  offended  a  true  woman  he  thanks  heaven  that 
life  is  long  enough  to  chance  sometime  an  opportunity  to  make 
amends,"  he  said,  telling  with  his  eyes  that  he  wanted  her  for  a 
friend. 

"Dear  little  flower,  may  I  take  the  envelope  and  all,  Major? 
Do  you  know  I  think  that  I  have  met  more  really  true  men  in  the 
last  month  than  in  all  my  life  before?"  She  was  reaching  out  her 
hand  to  him — "We  can  be  friends,  Major  Trenton." 

"Miss  Dale,  what  you  say  cuts  me  to  the  heart,"  said  Trenton 
with  desperation.  "Yesterday  at  this  hour  I  should  have  been  jubi- 
lant over  your  words  just  spoken,  but  now,  when  valuing  them  even 
more  highly,  I  have  lost  all  right  to  them.  I  have  come  to  confess. 
My  friend  whom  I  introduced  as  a  detective  in  the  room  below 
would  also  see  you  and  explain,  if  that  were  permitted  to  him,  but 
alas,  that  is  a  forfeited  right  for  him  and  he  feels  it  most  keenly. 
But  we  were  elated,  I  was  at  fault  and  began  the  subterfuge.  He 
never  would  have  thought  of  it  himself.  He  is  only  an  inn-keeper 
now  and  not  a  detective  and  deems  the  post  you  offer  him  too 
honorable  for  his  acceptance. 

87 


Ongon 


"Mr.  Craps  is  a  most  worthy  and  most  modest  gentleman,"  re- 
plied Catherine,  sweetly,  and  he  has  a  most  honorable  friend  who 
persists  in  calling  himself  names.  That  is  a  habit  we  all  acquire 
when  we  oughtn't  to  and  I  have  resolved  to  put  my  complete  trust 
in  those  who  are  so  violent  against  themselves." 

"But,  Miss  Dale " 

"Do  you  know,  Major,  I  passed  a  night  without  a  single  bad 
dream,  the  first  for  some  time,  and  I  do  not  possess  any  reason  for 
quarreling  with  either  you  or  Mr.  Craps  because  he  happens  to  own 
this  modest  house.  Now  upon  your  honor,  sir,  Mr.  Craps  is  the  kind 
of  a  man  who  is  likely  to  own  a  good  deal  more — dare  you  deny  it  ?" 

"As  to  money  he  is  a  rich  man,  I  admit,  Miss  Dale,  but " 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  would  slander  his  character. 
Major?"  she  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"Not  his  character,  I  believe  that  to  be  beyond  reproach,"  replied 
Trenton. 

Catherine  looked  relieved.  "Then,  Major  Trenton,  what  is  it, 
speak  frankly  ?"  Her  manner  had  returned  to  the  state  of  repose  in 
w4iich  she  had  announced  her  unalterable  trust  in  the  violent. 

"His  reputation  has  suffered — he  bade  me  tell  it  all  to  you  and 
say  it  at  once  briefly — in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  Miss  Dale,  where  he 
is  known,  he  is  a  pardoned  criminal — convicted  of  murdering  another 
man  when  under  the  influence  of  drink.  He  served  two  years  in  the 
penitentiary  and  at  last  was  pardoned  by  the  governor  of  his  State." 

"Then  even  the  governor  admitted  his  innocence,"  said  Catherine 
quietly. 

"No,  Miss  Dale,  but  the  circumstances  of  the  affair  did  not  seem 
to  warrant  life  imprisonment." 

"Was  he  guilty  of  the  crime,  do  you  believe?"  asked  the  artist, 
looking  up. 

"I  believe  he  is  entirely  innocent  of  the  deed,  and  purely  the  vic- 
tim of  circumstances,  and  hope  some  day  to  prove  it,"  said  Trenton 
proudly. 

"How  has  it  affected  Mr.  Craps  ?"  asked  Catherine  gently. 

"For  a  long  time  he  too  believed  that  he  must  have  committed 
the  murder  and  lived  the  horrors  of  a  guilty  man.  A  sensitive  soul, 
the  isolation  cut  him  to  the  heart.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  there 
have  been  times  when  his  hands  have  trembled  as  he  received  from 
the  post  a  letter  which  for  the  moment  he  thought  was  in  the  hand- 
writing of  some  old  friend.  Each  time  the  disappointment  fastened 
upon  his  Hfe." 

"Did  you  not  write  him?"  asked  Catherine. 
88 


"  Let  Us  Change  Everything" 

"I  was  abroad  those  years  in  study  and  travel,  somewhat  isolated 
myself  from  the  world — pouting  days,  I  am  sorry  to  say — and  when 
I  returned  the  days  of  his  imprisonment  were  about  over." 

"You  say  about  over — you  had  some  influence  in  getting  his  par- 
don, then?"  asked  Catherine  quickly. 

"Because  I  believe  in  his  innocence,"  said  Trenton,  the  pensive 
sadness  returning  to  him  again.  "Miss  Dale,  we  wronged  you  yes- 
terday, but  I  did  it  because  I  knew  he  hungered  for  a  woman's  recog- 
nition. Not  since  that  night  has  a  woman's  hand  been  extended  to 
him.  It  killed  the  delicate,  sensitive  girl  who  was  to  have  married 
him.  He  was  never  a  drinking  man,  I  do  not  believe  he  was  drunk 
that  night " 

"Major,  will  you  bring  him  to  me  ?  I  will  be  at  the  lake,  and  tell 
Josie  I  shall  be  in  presently." 


XXVII 
''let  us  change  everything  " 

"I,  too,  believe  with  Major  Trenton." 

There  was  no  smile  upon  the  lips  of  Catherine  Dale,  but  faith 
had  touched  her  eyes  and  left  its  brightness  there — enough  to  brush 
away  the  memory  of  the  frowns  of  all  the  world.  She  had  been 
gazing  upon  the  lake  as  the  two  men  approached  and  when  they 
paused,  she  had  turned  to  them  with  a  womanly  eloquence  of  face 
and  form  that  spoke  the  gospel  of  her  confidence  before  her  lips  had 
moved.  Her  head,  as  theirs,  was  bare,  and  her  fingers  were  finding 
the  pearls  of  the  long  necklace  that  fell  below  her  waist.  Everything 
in  all  her  life  had  prepared  her  to  be  the  beautiful  woman  she  was  in 
this  great  moment. 

He  who  had  played  the  detective  a  little  while  before  was  not 
now  clad  in  broadcloth;  but  there  are  kingly  times  when  true  char- 
acter would  shine  through  rags  and  the  lifting  of  condemnation 
from  the  guiltless  is  as  the  unveiling  of  glory. 

At  first  the  heads  of  the  men  were  bowed  as  if  knighthood  had 
been  conferred  upon  them.  When  they  looked  up,  a  queen  could  not 
have  received  greater  homage.  It  was  not  vain  pride  that  when  the 
men  clasped  hands  their  tall  figures  were  erect,  and  their  heads  lifted 
high,  for  tears  stood  in  their  eyes.  She  had  opened  a  fountain  of 
truth  for  them,  and  it  had  overflowed  their  souls  with  its  refreshing. 
A  woman's  faith,  when  she  can  give  it  wholly,  is  life  to  man. 

"Your  name  is  not  Craps,"  said  Catherine,  when  they  had  passed 
89 


Ongon 

together  through  the  transfiguration  scene  in  a  silence  of  deUcate 
beauty  none  dared  to  break.  '1  have  noticed  that  Major  Trenton 
has  never  called  you  Craps." 

"William  Buckingham,"  said  the  man  over  whom  was  still  creep- 
ing new  strength  and  power — changing  his  features  as  the  rising 
sun  on  the  mountain  top  drives  away  the  shadows. 

Catherine  had  turned  her  eyes  again  to  the  lake.  "See,"  she  said 
gently,  "how  squadrons  of  colors  are  chasing  each  other  over  the 
deep.  Now  one  royal  purple  banner  has  been  sunk  in  that  inky 
chasm  that  came  down  from  the  horizon — but  now  it  has  arisen  again 
a  brighter,  vaster  glory.  Then  after  a  pause  she  brought  her  eyes  to 
meet  Buckingham's  and  gave  him  her  hand  again. 

"Your  kindness  is  a  gift  from  eternity  and  the  time  is  too  short 
to  grasp  its  unutterable  meaning,"  said  Buckingham,  just  suffering 
his  fingers  to  touch  her  white  hand. 

And  Catherine  Dale  knew  that  the  lily  was  in  the  stream  of  this 
man's  life.  She  had  set  him  free  to  grasp  it.  Long  they  stood, 
speaking  few  words,  drinking  in  the  meaning  of  this  new  morning 
until  a  spirit  of  playfulness  came  upon  Catherine.  "Oh,  Major 
Trenton,"  she  cried,  looking  up  wistfully  at  the  soldier,  "there  is 
somebody  near  here  I  wish  you  could  know  and  understand — she  is 
called  only  a  gypsy,  but  I  thought  of  you  when  first  I  saw  her." 

"I  am  afraid  Josie  has  secrets,"  said  Trenton  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

"Secrets — then  you  know  ?    What  a  pleasure  it  must  be !" 

"Pleasure  always  has  a  way  of  looking  as  if  it  would  run  away," 
said  Trenton,  indefinitely,  while  the  artist  nodded  it  was  exactly  so 
and  more  too.  In  a  moment  she  brought  herself  abruptly  before  a 
newer  thought.    One  glance  at  Buckingham  had  been  the  occasion. 

"See,  let  us  change  everything !" 

She  had  fastened  her  little  round  cap  on  her  head  and  was  gazing 
■traight  ahead  without  looking  at  any  one  in  particular — as  if  just 
out  of  a  dream,  and  not  fully  awake  to  understand  where  she  was 
or  what  had  passed. 

"Alas !"  if  we  change  everything,"  said  Trenton,  "every  thing 
changed  will  have  new  capacities  for  change,  and  a  new  dependence 
on  the  one  who  has  changed  everything." 

In  answer  Catherine  planted  her  feet  firmly  together  with  her 
hands  folded  beneath  the  short  wrap  which  she  quickly  whirled  into 
a  muff.  But  the  pretty  cap  could  not  contain  much  less  conceal  the 
mischievous  curls  that  fell  upon  her  shoulders  and  lent  their  glory 
to  the  arched  posture  of  her  head  and  body. 


The   Printed   Record 

"Are  you  listening  for  a  surprise?"  asked  Buckingham,  for  the 
first  time  smiling. 

"It  is  going  to  be  worth  living  to  accomplish — let  us  help  trans- 
form everything.  Let  us  be  friends."  She  was  so  pure  and  so 
wrapped  in  the  devotion  of  her  thought  that  these  two  men  needed 
her — an  angel  could  not  have  come  down  to  take  up  their  cause  with 
more  unexpected  brightness  and  enthusiasm. 

"There  shall  be  no  half  turning,  Miss  Dale,  be  assured,"  said 
Buckingham,  picking  up  her  handkerchief  that  had  fallen  and  re- 
turning it  to  her  as  an  artist  would  have  loved  to  return  the  pencil  of 
one  of  the  masters. 

XXVIII 

THE  PRINTED  RECORD 

.  The  touch  of  Catherine  Dale's  hand  had  literally  changed  the 
blood  as  it  ran  in  Buckingham's  veins.  And  going  beyond  that,  the 
shock  of  her  faith  in  him  had  transformed  his  whole  moral  and  spir- 
itual fiber.  Within  an  old  drawer  in  his  room  in  the  tavern,  under 
double  lock  and  key,  he  found  the  parchment  that  had  been  a  sort 
of  wretched  makeshift  of  a  compass  to  his  latter  days.  It  was  his 
will — a  strange,  queer,  document,  made  in  the  spirit  of  revenge,  and 
designed  to  be  a  fingerpost  of  scorn  more  indestructible  than  iron 
or  granite.  In  this  will  were  provisions  for  the  children  of  his  for- 
mer acquaintanceship  that  had  deserted  him  in  his  hour  of  need. 
When  any  of  the  children  of  such  had  become  poor,  their  bare  neces- 
sities should  be  supplied  out  of  a  fund  bequeathed  by  him  for  this 
purpose.  The  remainder  should  endow  a  library  for  the  town  and 
provide  for  its  maintenance — "where  none  should  ever  want  for  the 
friendship  of  a  good  book." 

"When  a  tree  isn't  bearing  fruit,  it  usually  runs  to  leaves,"  was 
the  estimation  Buckingham  now  placed  upon  the  document  as  he  set 
a  match  to  it  and  cast  it  into  the  stove. 

While  the  will  was  burning  a  gust  of  wind  caused  a  slamming 
throughout  the  house.  It  did  not  jar  upon  Buckingham's  nerves  for 
he  was  smiling  to  himself,  while  his  mind  made  a  new  philosophy  out 
of  the  material  furnished  by  his  heart — "An  open  window  blows 
many  a  door  to." 

Yet  his  hand  was  rummaging  nervously  through  the  drawer  and 
trembling  visibly  when  an  old  package,  blue,  and  sealed,  was  found. 
It  was  a  newspaper  upon  which  in  flaming  headHnes  was  his  name 
— and  after  it  the  words  of  horror.     The  hand  of  the  reporter  had 

91 


Ongon 


made  everything  of  the  two  unusual  circumstances  of  the  crime. 
The  magnificent  club-house  in  which  two  of  its  members  had  quar- 
reled and  afterwards  made  up,  only  to  reopen  the  feud  later  when 
alone  and  frenzied  with  drink,  was  pictured  with  all  its  meaning 
to  society. 

Then  was  told  how  the  young  woman  who  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  the  murderer  had  entered  with  a  friend — Mr.  Augustus 
Buhl-Bysee — and  how  she  had  gasped  at  the  sight  of  her  betrothed 
lying  in  a  drunken  stupor  with  the  blood-stained  knife  in  his  hand, 
with  the  club  men  who  had  entered,  just  beginning  to  gather  about 
him.  How  there  had  been  a  pause — and  the  rest  she  had  not  seen. 
But  falling  herself  beside  her  sleeping  lover,  and  awakening  him 
W'ith  her  fall,  it  was  told  how  she  ignored  his  cry  of  recognition  and 
astonishment,  and  had  dragged  herself  away  from  him  with  a  dying 
moan.  Then  the  tragedy  was  rehearsed  from  the  beginning  again 
in  smaller  print,  and  Buckingham's  speechless  guilt  was  portrayed 
in  all  its  development.  How  he  had  not  attempted  to  defend  him- 
self, but  had  sufifered  the  officers  of  the  law  to  take  him  away  with- 
out a  murmur.  His  own  lips  had  attested  that  so  the  girl  had  died 
as  described.  Then  another,  later  paper,  told  how  society  had  felt 
that  it  must  ostracise  the  man  who  had  brought  such  disgrace  upon 
the  club.  Surely  he  had  not  drunk  enough  to  have  become  intoxi- 
cated, how  had  he  been  drugged?  It  was  still  a  blank  in  his  mind, 
nothing  came  to  aid  his  memory. 

Might  he  not  have  fallen  asleep,  from  the  hard  day's  and  night's 
activities  in  the  twenty- four  hours  preceding  the  tragedy?  Why 
had  he  never  thought  of  that,  or  anybody  else? — ah,  because  too 
convinced  of  his  guilt  on  awakening,  and  too  filled  with  the  unde- 
sirability  of  life  since  that  of  his  betrothed  had  been  the  penalty  of 
his  condition!  Alone  in  the  world  he  had  not  cared  then  to  seek 
an  extenuation  of  the  circumstances. 

But  though  he  had  burned  his  will  this  newspaper  could  not  be 
effaced.  In  many  a  city  the  printed  record  had  become  to  time 
what  he  thought  his  guilt  would  be  to  eternity.  The  newspaper  files, 
like  the  tongues  of  gossips,  have  no  certain  location.  Had  not  Buhl- 
Bysee  a  copy  of  this  paper?  Ah,  here  was  a  dedication  of  the 
foundation  of  a  granite  structure  described  in  the  next  column.  A 
copy  of  each  of  the  day's  journals  of  the  city  was  to  be  placed  in  the 
iron  box  within  the  corner  stone.  Again  a  quiet,  beautiful  wedding 
on  another  page — who  should  say  that  they  had  not  kept  the  paper  ? 
Here  the  notice  of  one  who  died  in  peace  and  a  right  to  be  mourned 
was  given,  with  the  request  that  certain  country  papers  copy. 

92 


The  Printed  Record 

"It  is  spread  from  sea  to  sea;  alas,  poor  name,  poor  Belle,  God 
pity  the  man  whose  the  deed !"  Sailing-craft  were  few  on  the  lake 
and  yet  so  intent  was  the  man  upon  the  document  of  his  past,  he 
scarcely  noticed  the  movements  of  the  vessel  coming  in  from  the 
horizon.  The  great  question  lay  on  his  heart,  if  a  human  life  is 
made  of  the  threads  of  its  past,  might  he  hope  that  the  dark,  coarse 
fibers  of  those  reckless  days  could  ever  let  him  have  peace? 

The  philosophy  had  come  to  him — God  had  created  another 
woman,  pure  and  beautiful,  almost  adorable,  and  had  let  her  enter 
his  life  with  a  woman's  tenderness  and  gracious  kindness  in  order 
that  she  might  punish  him  with  the  sweet  excelling  glory  of  her 
womanhood.  For  a  little  season  he  was  to  be  permitted  to  breathe 
like  a  man,  for  a  time  he  was  to  be  helped  into  the  circle  of  human 
affection — then  left  to  work  out  his  life  alone,  but  on  a  higher 
plane.  He  had  been  a  religious  boy — with  a  gap  of  godless  indiffer- 
ence between ;  intermittent  faith  finds  it  hard  to  believe  in  grace. 
After  they  lost  that  the  Israelites  wandered  forty  years,  he  remem- 
bered, and  died  outside  the  promised  land. 

Strange  that  on  the  envelope  of  the  will  were  words  he  had  never 
noticed  before — "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace, 
good  will  to  men."  How  had  these  words  come  there  in  lead  pencil  ? 
Ah,  when  he  had  made  the  will  and  had  asked  Ongon  to  be  witness, 
the  Indian  chief-king  had  written  the  words  in  quiet  protest  and 
friendliness !  The  text  was  one  that  had  moved  him  as  a  boy, 
strange  to  say,  to  want  to  be  a  missionary  to  the  Indians.  Now  an 
Indian  had  given  it  to  him  for  his  gospel  when  he  was  groping  in 
the  dark!  How  living  these  words  when  faith  in  himself  and  his 
destiny  was  almost  dying! 

Now  he  traced  upon  the  table  with  his  finger  the  name  of  the 
chief-king,  while  slowly  the  text  was  crystallizing  the  cinders  of  his 
poor  self  into  a  lustrous  hope.  Then  he  was  up  with  another  surge 
of  life,  ready  to  be  an  active  and  healthy  participant  in  the  real  strug- 
gle of  the  world,  filled  with  vast  enthusiasm  to  help  save  Ongon's 
life  from  his  enemies.  There  was  no  need  of  locking  the  drawer 
again,  for  peace  had  destroyed  the  will  and  the  newspapers  he  would 
give  to  Catherine. 

Trenton's  voice  was  calling  him  to  hasten  down  stairs.  Looking 
out  of  the  window  as  he  passed  he  saw  that  the  little  ship  had  cast 
anchor  and  that  a  skiff  had  been  put  down  and  was  making  toward 
the  shore. 


Ong 


on 


XXIX 

TO-MORROW 

When  Buckingham  reached  the  open  air  he  was  startled  by  the 
unexpected  wave  of  excitement.  The  ship  had  signaled  bad  news 
to  them  and  all  were  hurrying  to  the  shore  after  Josie  who,  with  a 
cry  "poor  Lusette,"  had  darted  forward. 

"It  is  Wautoma  in  the  boat,  he  says  Lusette  in  trouble,  needs 
me,"  cried  the  Indian  girl,  making  signs  rapidly  back  to  the  figure 
in  the  bow  of  the  yawl.  Mingled  suffering  and  vexation  character- 
ized her  movements.  She  was  not  pleased  with  Wautoma's  slow- 
ness of  expression.  "Humph !"  the  sunrise  Indians  can't  talk  signs 
like  the  sunset  tribes,"  muttered  the  Dakotah  girl  in  exasperation. 

"Something  unusual  has  happened,  I  have  never  known  Wau- 
toma to  come  by  boat  before,"  said  Buckingham  in  a  low  voice  to 
Trenton.  In  spite  of  his  caution,  his  words  had  carried  to  Catherine 
Dale's  ears. 

"Do  you  think  that  they  have  taken  the  lodge  and  the  horses?" 
she  asked  anxiously,  thinking  not  so  much  of  the  painting  of  Min- 
netonka  as  of  the  terrible  meaning  of  it  all,  for  Josie  had  been  asked 
to  tell  her  about  the  charge  against  Ongon.  Since  then  she  had 
been  happy  in  her  mind  casting  about  how  they  might  all  help  the 
chief-king. 

"Not  with  Wautoma  alive  would  they  destroy  the  lodge,"  an- 
swered Josie,  stopping  in  the  midst  of  her  vexation  with  Wautoma 
to  defend  him. 

The  artist  smiled  at  the  bit  of  true  womanhood  in  the  act,  what- 
ever the  Indian  variations. 

"Josie  is  right,"  said  Trenton ;  "no  one  could  reach  the  lodge 
without  first  riding  over  the  bodies  of  Wautoma  and  his  band. 

"Perhaps  Cat's-paw  has  poisoned  Wautoma's  mind  again,  for  he 
talks  only  of  harm  to  the  gypsy,"  suggested  Catherine. 

The  flash  was  in  Josie's  eye,  "Wautoma  will  die  when  he  has 
spoken  and  his  word  is  given  for  Ongon."  Her  feet  were  in  the 
water  and  she  was  bending  a  keen  ear  to  catch  the  first  sound  of 
Wautoma's  voice. 

The  boat  was  now  near  enough  for  Wautoma  to  come  to  his 
glory.  He  had  seen  the  result  of  his  signs  and  when  he  began  to 
utter  a  series  of  war-whoops  the  two  white  oarsmen  paused  to 
enjoy  the  vocal  magnificence.  His  yell  did  not  correspond  with  the 
interpretation  of  his  signs  at  all.    There  was  pomp  and  exultation  in 

94 


To-Morrow 

the  savage  outcries  that  stirred  the  hearers  to  want  to  do  and  dare 
something  fiercely  quick. 

Catherine,  born  lover  of  the  artistic  and  potent  elements  in  human 
life,  was  scarcely  behind  Josie  in  detecting  that  if  anything  had 
occurred  it  was  not  so  much  a  direful  event  as  it  might  be  the 
opportunity  of  joyful  activity.  Who  shall  say  that  the  wonderful  in- 
fluence of  a  great  chief  over  his  band  has  not  been  in  large  measure 
due  to  his  power  of  putting  motive  and  determination  in  his  yells? 
At  least  VVautoma  had  communicated  to  them  a  readiness  to  follow 
him  before  he  was  understood.  Meanwhile  Josie  was  a-smile  again 
and  laughing  to  herself  in  great  amusement.  But  that  was  laid 
aside  for  the  present  in  the  general  eagerness  to  know  the  reason  for 
Wautoma's  coming. 

The  Indian's  contempt  for  water  was  seen  in  Wautoma's  leap 
when  the  boat  was  nearing  the  shore.  A  circus  acrobat  could  not 
have  jumped  farther  or  wriggled  in  more  uncertain  gyrations,  con- 
sidering his  coming  down  safely  at  last,  than  did  the  savage.  It 
was  not  every  day  that  he  was  given  the  opportunity  for  executing 
his  specialty  before  a  gentle  audience  and  for  Josie's  benefit. 

And  it  was  as  good  as  a  side-show  to  see  his  shy  glance  at  Josie 
to  find  out  the  impression  he  had  made,  when  his  body  was  in  a 
posture  to  admit  the  use  of  his  eyes. 

"Welcome,  Wautoma,  what  brings  you  to  our  shore  in  a  ship?" 
asked  Buckingham,  smiling  with  the  rest. 

"To-morrow !  to-morrow !  to-morrow !"  cried  the  chief  exult- 
antly. 

"Something  moving,  then,  Wautoma?"  asked  Trenton. 
"To-morrow — Cat's-paw  !   To-morrow — Cat's-paw  !   Cat's-paw — 
to-morrow  !    Cat's-paw — to-morrow  !"   Whichever  way  it  was  taken 
to-morrow  was  to  be  up  and  Cat's-paw  down,  that  much  was  plain. 

"You  have  good  news  then,  where  will  you  begin  ?"  asked  Josie» 
showing  an  early  wifely  insight  into  the  savage  nature  of  man  who 
must  be  left  to  his  own  devices  when  he  is  possessed  of  something 
interesting  to  tell. 

"To-morrow  Wautoma's  band  and  Cat's-paw's  band — and  the 
gypsy  and  Cat's-paw,"  said  the  chief. 

"Just  so,  we  understand,"  said  the  Dakotahn  with  new  pleasure 
that  her  husband  to  be  could  really  hold  a  secret.  "You  have  come 
for  us,  but  why  the  boat  ?" 

"Here,  she  paid  gold  for  it,  Ongon  may  need,"  said  the  chief 
pointing  to  the  anchored  vessel. 

Then  one  of  the  sailors,  when  turned  to,  explained  that  they  were 
95 


Ongon 


a  little  lumber  craft  and  had  been  employed  in  running  now  up  the 
South  Branch  about  three  miles  for  stone,  and  now  in  carrying  tim- 
ber from  the  Calumet — all  for  the  first  pier  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Chicago  River.  The  gypsy  had  paid  them  well  to  make  a  year's  con- 
tract with  her,  and  so  they  were  out  of  the  commercial  into  the  poetic 
Hne  just  then,  they  might  put  it. 

They  were  not  to  take  the  story  altogether  out  of  Wautoma's 
mouth,  however,  for  he  now  snatched  the  thread.  The  boat  was  to 
be  kept  anchored  at  the  mouth  of  the  Calumet  for  emergency.  The 
gypsy's  father  had  known  the  sailors  and  they  could  be  trusted.  A 
crisis  might  come  in  events  at  any  time.  The  presence  of  the  boat 
would  not  be  suspected  inasmuch  as  it  had  been  in  the  employ  of  the 
pier-contractor,  also  a  friend  of  the  gypsy's  family.  It  was  a  good 
sailing  craft  and  either  Lusette  or  Ongon,  or  both,  might  have  need 
of  it  any  day.  While  the  substance  of  these  facts  were  being  related 
by  Wautoma  and  the  sailors  the  company  exchanged  glances  with 
each  other.  Who  then  was  this  gypsy,  that  she  had  such  means 
and  friends  for  the  achievement  of  her  purpose  ?  And  why  so  much 
for  Ongon?     And  what?" 

"She  is  prepared  to  do  desperate  things,"  said  Trenton  in  a  low 
voice  to  Buckingham. 

"Ours  to  help  her,"  was  the  answer;  "it  is  apparent  that  she  is 
to  be  the  general-in-chief  of  this  campaign  and  we  must  report  to 
headquarters  for  orders." 

jMuch  to  their  disappointment,  however,  a  brief  note  asked  Cath- 
erine and  Josie  to  hasten  back  by  the  boat  with  Wautoma,  but  to 
bring  nobody  else  with  them.     Circumstances  demanded  it. 

Josie  was  in  too  playful  a  mood,  nevertheless,  to  suffer  anybody 
to  be  serious.  "Oh,  Wautoma,  you  wanted  to  make  sign  that  Lu- 
sette was  in  danger  to-morrow  maybe,  and  instead  you  said  that  her 
heart  was  bad  and  though  she  was  brave  she  had  been  killed !" 
Then  she  taught  him  to  say  it  with  his  hands  as  the  Dakotah's  did; 
and  afterwards  he  watched  her  go  with  the  artist  to  get  ready  for  the 
voyage  to  the  Calumet  with  a  perfectly  satisfied  air.  Other  eyes  were 
following  the  two,  for  it  was  the  same  spot  where  the  waves  had 
danced  with  new  joy  to  Buckingham.  If  she  had  been  an  angel  of 
light,  Catherine  Dale  could  not  have  touched  the  sands  with  lighter 
grace  to  him.  As  to  Trenton's  thoughts — she  was  growing  more 
girlish  and  loveable. 

When  they  returned  from  the  house  and  were  in  the  yawl,  Cath- 
erine, flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  action  at  last,  gave 
them  each  her  hand  and  her  warmest  welcome  to  the  lodge  when 

96 


A  Broad  Pathway  upon  the  Waters 

they  should  care  to  come  into  the  wilderness.  Buckingham  made 
a  start  and  then  stopped  short  of  execution.  "Always  obey  first 
thoughts,  sir,"  said  Catherine,  who  had  observed  the  movement  and 
reached  forth  her  hand  smilingly  for  what  he  had  made  the  move- 
ment to  give  her  from  his  coat  pocket. 

"If  when  you  have  read  that  you  will  repeat  the  invitation " 

he  looked  at  Trenton. 

"We  shall  come  very  gladly  then,"  said  the  soldier,  stepping 
nearer  to  Buckingham. 

Once  the  awful  paper  was  in  her  fair  hands,  Buckingham  turned 
away,  to  find  that  Trenton  had  anticipated  the  movement  and  had 
stepped  quickly  to  the  other  side,  to  stand  cap  in  hand  waving  adieu 
to  those  in  the  departing  boat,  while  his  free  arm  was  locked  in 
Buckingham's.  When  Catherine  stood  at  the  altar  by  the  side  of 
John  Trenton,  Buckingham  remembered  the  devotion  of  his  friend, 
and  knowing  the  beautiful  strength  of  Catherine  Dale,  with  her  love 
for  the  excitement  of  a  soldier's  life  and  her  affection  for  Major 
Trenton  when  his  heart  too,  had  become  knit  to  the  Indian's  heart, 
Buckingham  had  no  resentment  against  his  faithful  friend.  And 
the  strange  events  thereafter  had  come  too  rapidly  for  Buckingham 
to  find  fault  with  a  directing  Providence. 

XXX 

A  BROAD  PATHWAY  UPON  THE  WATERS 

Wautoma  and  Josie  sang  themselves  away  as  they  moved  to- 
wards the  little  anchored  schooner.  Sang  the  lake  songs  of  the 
Chippewas,  more  anciently  called  the  Ojibvv^ays,  of  which  people 
came  Wautoma.  Often  when  his  ancestors  had  gone  in  search  of 
their  allies  the  Pottawatomies  and  the  Ottawas,  also  fierce  boat- 
men, had  they  sung  the  same  war  chant.  Perhaps  before  moving 
against  the  fathers  of  the  Dakotah  maiden,  Josie !  And  perhaps  the 
inter-marriage  between  the  tribes  was  ordained  that  the  Indian  chief- 
tain, always  somewhat  under  the  advice  of  his  squaw,  even  for  his 
battles,  might  have  a  spirited  time  at  home ! 

Catherine  wondered  whether  her  own  ancestors,  the  hardy 
Anglo-Saxons,  not  so  many  centuries  before,  disdaining  to  sleep  in- 
doors on  a  winter's  night,  had  not  ordained  impatience  for  her  blood, 
and  the  rushing,  compelling  spirit,  at  such  moments  when  they,  too, 
had  chanted  their  battle  songs  and  exulted  in  a  night's  advancement 
towards  the  morning's  fray.  Perchance  morning  itself,  with  its 
doors  unlocked  for  conquest,  owed  its  vehemence  of  spirit  to  the 

97 


Ongon 

Creator's  wisdom  in  letting  the  human  race  develop  out  of  bar- 
barism. If  all  souls  were  like  hers,  then  she  pitied  the  day  when 
there  should  be  no  barbarism  left  in  man,  no  strivings,  aye  no 
cruelties — to  be  turned  over  to  woman  for  her  half-barbarous  soften- 
ings 


Then  Catherine  joined  in  the  Lake  Song. 


WAR  SONG  OF  THE  CHIPPEWAS 

SUNG    ON    THE    LAKES    WHEN    ONE    PARTY    GOES    IN    SEARCH    OF    ANOTHER, 
TO   JOIN    IN    THE    WAR 


And  afterwards  it  was  a  strange  paper  to  be  clasped  even  ten- 
derly in  Catherine  Dale's  hands  and  to  be  read  over  and  over  again 
in  the  little  cabin.  When  night  came  and  she  sat  on  deck  in  the 
moonlight  the  printed  story  was  with  her  word  for  word.  But  did 
not  frighten  her.  Rather  it  brought  troops  of  strongest  forces  into 
her  will.  And  yet  the  beautiful  evening  was  the  mirror  of  her  soul. 
Under  the  silver  light — that  first  beat  a  pathway  on  the  waters  and 
then  clung  to  the  horizon  like  a  faint  dawn  of  surprise  at  the  love- 
liness of  its  own  handiwork — the  running  outline  of  the  distant  shore 
was  no  longer  a  waste  of  sand.  Day  with  its  garish  inspection,  with 
its  minuteness  of  detail  and  its  glaring  repetition  of  the  common- 
place was  forgotten.  The  steady  filling  of  the  sails,  with  the  gurg- 
ling rhythm  between  the  ship's  sides  and  the  sturdy  waves  seemed 
to  answer  to  her  feelings  in  the  progress  of  her  thought. 

On  board  the  ship  the  difference  between  being  calm  and  being 
becalmed  is  emphasized.  In  Catherine  Dale's  life  there  could  have 
been  nothing  of  pleasure  or  content  in  an  idle  stillness  of  soul.  But 
to  find  a  mast  for  the  fabric  of  subtle  malice  in  that  newspaper  still 
in  her  hands  and  to  fling  to  the  winds  that  coarse  texture,  until  that 
which  had  been  furled  about  a  man's  heart  should  become  a 
carrying  power  to  his  life,  this  was  calmness  and  peaceful  strength  to 
Catherine.  And  yesterday  life  was  all  darkness  to  her — when  now  a 
broad  pathway  was  upon  the  waters ! 

She  was  a  woman,  and  understood  herself  onlv  so  far  as  to  look 


I 


A  Broad  Pathway  upon  the  Waters 

up  to  the  tall  mast  before  her  and  to  remember  that  once  it  grew 
in  a  cold  wilderness  of  nature.  Only  might  her  faith  grow,  straight 
and  strong,  for  life  would  be  in  its  use. 

Wautoma,  afraid  that  the  artist  was  lonesome,  had  come  from 
Josie's  side.  "I  don't  care  so  much  for  the  picture  now  since  Josie 
is  so  good  to  me,"  he  said  simply. 

"Plow  did  you  first  come  to  be  fond  of  Josie,  Wautoma  ?"  asked 
Catherine,  still  able  to  enter  his  thoughts  and  understand  the  alchemy 
of  his  feelings. 

"Josie  was  always  kind  to  stray  cats,"  answered  Wautoma. 

"Do  you  like  cats,  Wautoma?" 

"No." 

"Then  why  should  you  like  that  in  Josie  ?" 

Wautoma  did  not  know,  but  he  could  tell  her  why  he  liked  Mr. 
Craps. 

"His  name  is  changed,  Wautoma,  it  is  Mr.  Buckingham  now," 
said  Catherine;  "you  like  that  better,  don't  you?"  she  added,  seeing 
the  pleasure  on  his  face. 

"Yes,  it's  longer  and  deeper,"  said  the  chief,  to  whom  length  was 
mystery,  and  mystery  life.  "It  is  more  like  him.  Buckingham 
likes  my  bucks,  too." 

"But  why  did  you  come  to  like  him,  did  you  say?"  asked  Cath- 
erine. 

"Once  when  there  was  no  com  he  gave  our  village  big  money 
for  food,"  answered  Wautoma.  Then  he  told  how  lately  he  and  his 
braves  had  intended  to  kill  the  white  men  at  the  tavern,  but  that  they 
had  resolved  to  spare  Buckingham  because  of  his  kindness  to  them. 
That  was  before  the  picture  was  stolen.  Did  he  not  look  fine  to-day 
with  the  soldier  when  the  skiflF  landed? 

"But  you  didn't  like  Major  Trenton,  I  thought,  Wautoma?" 
observed  Catherine. 

"He  can  ride,"  answered  Wautoma,  as  if  he  would  relate  the  ar- 
guments for  his  conversion  before  stating  the  fact. 

Catherine  understood  him.     "What  else,  Wautoma?" 

"He  shoots  like  Ongon." 

"Yes." 

"Our  gypsy  has  told  how  he  loves  Ongon  and  has  been  soldier 
because  he  thought  that  he  could  do  more  good  that  way.  If  we  are 
kind  to  him,  Lusette  says  he  may  not  fight  the  Indians  any  more. 
She  says  he  fought  because  there  were  some  paleface  Ongons  and 
Minnetonkas  who  have  been  wronged  by  other  Cat's-paws,  and  he 
did  not  know  at  first  which  were  the  Cat's-paws." 

99 


Ongon 


"What  do  you  think  of  Major  Trenton's  taking  that  picture  to 
save  his  life,  Wautoma?" 

"It  was  cunningly  quick,  Wautoma  couldn't  help  but  like  him 
for  that  but  when  he  thought  that  he  had  lied  and  wanted  to  steal 
the  picture  for  good  he  hated  him." 

If  the  questions  had  been  asked  by  Catherine  to  see  whether  the 
chief  would  be  in  full  sympathy  with  the  two  men  in  their  plans  for 
Ongon  she  could  not  have  been  more  fully  satisfied.  But  for  all 
Wautoma's  hot  head  she  had  always  loved  to  find  his  heart  for  the 
good  it  did  her  to  see  how  the  Indian  was  a  human  being  that  re- 
sponded to  kindness. 

"Wautoma,  how  do  you  likeLusette?"  concluded  Catherine  softly. 

"Next  to  Josie,  outside  the  family,"  said  the  Indian  honest  to  the 
core  in  his  frankness. 

She  did  not  say  lightly,  as  many  another  would  have  said, 
"Present  company  always  excepted."  A  week  before  Catherine  must 
have  felt  it  an  ingratitude.  Now  she  knew  that  to  the  childlike  na- 
ture of  Wautoma,  loving  sunlight,  Lusette  had  won  by  appealing  to 
a  greater  life  and  a  sweeter  reasonableness  within  him.  Her  wild 
life  had  its  charm,  too,  but  the  forest  man  could  feel  that  the  gypsy 
was  moving  him  toward  something  definite  and  helpful.  Lusette 
had  inspired  hope  in  him,  while  she  as  artist  had  worked  upon  his 
despair.  Even  if  the  object  of  hope  failed  Lusette  would  be  the 
one  to  keep  alive  the  feeling  of  hope.  The  gypsy's  faith  had  touched 
Wautoma's  life. 

And  now  Catherine  felt  as  if  in  playing  upon  the  artistic  elements 
of  despair  within  his  savage  breast,  in  order  to  effect  the  picture,  she 
had  been  guilty  of  a  sin  against  him. 

How  the  moonlight  upon  the  clear  pathway  to  the  horizon 
danced  away  the  darkness  with  dreamy  content.  Oh,  this  wide,  lake 
how  many  would  come  to  love  it,  be  influenced,  strengthened,  self- 
revealed  by  it ! 

"Wautoma,  we  will  seek  the  picture,  but  perhaps  we  will  be 
happier  if  we  fail  to  find  it,"  said  Catherine,  after  studying  the 
characteristics  in  the  Indian's  face  that  she  had  never  found  before. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "unless  you  will  paint  the  other  Wautoma !" 

Catherine  could  have  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  like  Lusette,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand. 

"Wautoma  just  told  Josie  that  he  would  die  for  her  to-morrow/'' 
said  the  chief  proudly. 

"And  she  said?" 

"She  said  that  she  could  not  love  Wautoma  unless  at  any  time 

1  100 


The  Sun  Dance 

Wautoma  would  die  for  Lusette."  They  had  been  talking  of  Lu- 
sette  before  the  moon  came  up  he  continued.  Perhaps  Josie  would 
tell  her,  too,  how  she  came  to  know  her  and  be  with  her. 

XXXI 

THE   SUN   DANCE 

The  spirit  of  Homer's  Greeks,  with  their  primitive  love  for  the 
beautiful  and  the  virtuous,  possessed  the  Dakotah  maiden  when 
Catherine  had  welcomed  her  lovingly  into  the  circle.  Josie  at  Wau- 
toma's  request  began  by  bearing  her  arm  to  show  the  artist  where 
the  slash  of  the  medicine  man  had  left  its  ugly  scar. 

"For  Blue  Earth,"  she  said,  with  the  first  bitterness  Catherine 
had  ever  noticed  in  her. 

"Blue  Earth  bad  man,"  exclaimed  Wautoma.  "Buffalo  Skin 
wants  Josie  to  marry  Blue  Earth." 

"Buffalo  Skin  is  my  father,"  said  Josie,  "and  Blue  Earth  paid  a 
price  for  me  and  thinks  he  owns  me.  But  he  must  begin  with  the 
Sun  Dance." 

"Josie  you  never  told  me  anything  about  yourself  before.  You 
just  came  to  me  so  naturally  I  thought  you  were  just  lent  me  by 
Minnetonka  when  I  was  good,"  said  the  artist  as  the  Indian  girl 
waited  for  her  story  to  come  to  her  in  the  right  way. 

"No,  she  belongs  to  Lusette,"  said  the  chief;  "only  now  the 
gypsy  has  said  that  Josie  could  tell  you  about  herself." 

The  accent  on  the  last  words  told  Catherine  that  she  was  not 
to  hear  everything  now  and  quite  as  well  that  Wautoma  had  not 
heard  everything. 

"We  have  our  Sun  Dance  in  the  full  moon  of  June,"  began 
Josie.  "We  give  it  to  the  Great  Spirit  when  the  grass  has  come 
green.  Lusette  first  came  three  years  ago  when  I  was  eleven, 
and  saw  Blue  Earth  make  the  vow  and  be  bound,  in  order  to  please 
my  father.  So  should  he  have  the  English-taught  daughter  for 
his  wife.  That  was  me.  The  priest  had  me  from  the  time  my 
mother  died  when  I  was  a  babe  until  I  was  ten.  So  they  called 
me  the  English  daughter,  but  I  am  full  Indian.  The  pole  had 
been  cut,  tall  like  that  sail  pole,  and  the  strings  were  tied  in  the 
muscles  of  Blue  Earth's  back,  and  he  was  hung  from  the  pole. 
Some  said  that  they  saw  then  that  Blue  Earth  was  a  white  man,  and 
thought  that  once  he  had  been  bad.  If  he  could  hang  and  whistle 
and  dance  in  the  air  until  he  tore  away  his  muscles,  then  he  was  to 
be  called  pure  and  good  before  all  the  people  and  become  a  medi- 

lOI 


Ongon 


cine  man,  and  my  father  would  give  me  to  him  for  the  money  Blue 
Earth  had  paid.  I  grew  tall  at  early  time  and  at  twelve  I  was  to  be 
married.  That  is  early  for  our  people.  My  mother  had  not  been 
married  until  she  was  eighteen.  Then  Lusette  came  very  brave 
and  beautiful  and  said  I  pleased  her  and  did  I  love  Blue  Earth.  I 
poured  out  all  my  sorrow  to  her  and  she  said  she  would  see.  The 
more  clearly  it  was  shown  that  Blue  Earth  would  prove  himself 
pure,  the  more  I  asked  the  Great  Spirit  to  give  me  my  Sun  Dance 
prayer.  We  can  always  make  our  great  prayer  at  the  Sun 
Dance.  It  is  our  religious  dance.  I  prayed  that  my  father  would 
let  Lusette  buy  me  and  take  me  for  her  maid  as  she  had  said. 
"At  sundown  she  came  to  me  and  said  that  we  were  free  to  go. 
She  had  bought  my  liberty  of  Blue  Earth's  hand  and  my  father 
would  give  back  the  money  to  Blue  Earth.  I  have  been  with  Lu- 
sette since  and  she  has  taught  me  to  do  the  things  she  does." 

"What  are  the  things,  Josie?"  asked  Catherine. 

"She  said  some  day  a  good  Indian  chief  would  want  to  marry 
me  and  come  for  me.  But  I  must  not  want  to  marry  the  wrong 
one.  She  taught  me  what  to  say  to  men  and  I  learned  that  very 
soon." 

"And  what  not  to  say,  Josie?"  asked  Catherine  with  a  smile. 

"That  is  harder,"  acknowledged  the  girl;  "men  are  not  like 
women;  they  want  so  much  and  will  give — as  Wautoma  gives." 

"She  taught  you  a  great  deal,  Josie?" 

"Yes,  how  to  shoot,  and  be,  as  you  say,  independent,  and  not  to 
seem  to  care  for  Wautoma  until  he  had  proved  himself  good — that 
was  so  easy — and  not  to  fear  about  Blue  Earth's  ever  coming  to  seek 
me  again." 

"You  are  afraid  of  that?"  asked  Catherine,  noting  an  anxious 
tremor  in  the  girl's  voice. 

"I  have  dreamed  often  that  he  would  come  to  take  me  away," 
said  the  girl  with  a  shudder,  but  Lusette  laughs  and  says  that  she 
does  not  believe  in  dreams." 

"Would  you  have  to  go?"  asked  Catherine. 

"If  father  never  gave  back  the  money  and  came  to  tell  me  I  must, 
unless  Blue  Earth  would  release  me,  or  I  was  already  married  to 
Wautoma,"  said  the  girl  with  sacred  reverence  for  custom,  however 
much  the  dread.  "I  know  lots  of  girls  among  the  Sioux  that  mar- 
ried out  of  force  from  their  parents.  A  girl  will  stand  a  bad  hus- 
band rather  than  too  much  beatings  and  scoldings  at  home.  We 
like  to  get  married." 

"Oh,  Josie!"  cried  Catherine  at  this  portrayal  of  woman. 

102 


The  Sun  Dance 

"Wautoma  wants  to  marry  me  before  the  two  years  are  up,  but 
we  do  not  care  so  much  to  be  married  in  a  hurry,"  corrected  the  girl. 

"Wautoma,  how  did  you  woo  Josie?"  asked  Catherine,  noting 
that  he  wanted  to  say  something. 

"Every  way,"  answered  the  young  chief. 

"How  was  the  first  way?" 

"We  began  by  saying  that  we  will  walk  into  somebody's  house, 
and  I  said  that  too  the  first  time,"  replied  Wautoma. 

"That  was  patient  wooing,"  said  Catherine,  "and  then?" 

"Then  I  said  Wautoma  will  walk  in  her  house,  in  Josie's  house," 
said  Wautoma,  still  being  orthodox. 

"I  didn't  hear  that  though  the  first  time  he  said  it,"  observed 
Josie  archly. 

"Then  I  said,  Wautoma  will  walk  into  Josie's  house  some  night." 

"And  he  did  not  know  where  it  was  and  does  not  yet,"  laughed 
the  maiden. 

"And  then  I  said,  Wautoma  will  walk  into  Josie's  house  during 
the  winter." 

"Which  winter?"  teased  the  Dakotahn.  "But  if  he  will  be  very 
good,"  said  Josie,  seeing  his  sadness,  "about  two  years  from  now 
in  June  time  he  may  say,  'Wautoma  will  walk  into  Josie's  house 
to-night.' " 

"Did  Blue  Earth  woo  you  that  way?"  asked  Catherine  of  the 
girl?" 

"No,  he  came  to  the  house  with  a  cloak  over  his  head  and  sat 
on  a  seat  alone.  Afterwards  my  father  said  that  other  Vi'as  my 
seat  and  big  enough  for  two.  Then  my  father  and  the  new 
mother  talked  to  me  and  tried  to  get  me  to  go  out  and  sit  by  Blue 
Earth's  side.  But  I  kept  the  day  off  without  any  beatings  by  asking 
my  parents  to  look  up  the  history  of  the  man  who  wanted  to  be  my 
husband.  We  always  try  to  do  that  on  both  sides  if  we  are  good 
people.  Blue  Earth  said  that  he  was  wilHng  to  give  six  horses  for 
me,  and  that  made  me  feel  good,  because  usually  it  is  not  half  of  six, 
only  the  best  are  six.  That  made  me  the  best,  Wautoma.  I  had  a 
little  sister  and  she  would  be  given  Blue  Earth  too,  according  to 
our  custom.  But  she  was  hurt  by  a  soldier  and  died,  and  that  put 
off  the  day.  Then  came  June  and  the  Sun  Dance  and  so  I  never 
sat  beside  Blue  Earth." 

Wautoma  looked  relieved.  He  had  not  asked  quite  so  far  into 
affairs  that  had  gone  before  and  now  had  been  following  as 
eagerly  as  a  reader  does  to  see  that  his  story's  heroine  is  not  kissed 
by  the  villain. 

103 


Ongon 


"I  wished  Lusette  loved  Major  Trenton,"  said  Josie  frankly. 

"Perhaps  that  would  depend  somewhat  upon  Major  Trenton's 
first  loving  her,"  said  Catherine  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  by  his  eyes  I  know  that  he  would  love  her  if  he  dared, 
but  she  turns  him  away  and  will  never  say  anything  to  me  about 
him." 

"But  it  was  sacred  ground  on  which  they  were  treading  now, 
and  Josie  already  had  shrunk  back  from  herself  as  if  she  had  been 
disloyal  to  Lusette  and  felt  guilty  for  the  words  which  she  had 
spoken.  Again  they  let  their  eyes  rest  on  the  path  of  the  moonlight 
upon  the  waters.  Yet  their  thoughts  were  with  the  gypsy,  whose 
courage  and  resources  awed  them,  but  of  whose  ways  none  were 
fully  informed  except  Josie,  while  her  final  purpose  remained  only 
with  herself. 

XXXII 

BEFORE  THE  STRUGGLE 

Nothing  unusual  appeared  to  be  happening  when  the  party 
left  the  schooner  in  the  morning.  Only  one  of  Wautoma's  band 
awaiting  with  the  horses,  and  he  seemed  to  act  as  if  he  felt  he  was 
in  for  a  lazy  day.  An  expert  on  Indian  motions  might  have  in- 
ferred, from  an  occasional  stamping  of  his  feet,  in  contradiction  to 
his  general  shiftless  air,  that  he  had  hopes  of  being  shortly  harnessed 
to  an  interestng  line  of  activity  but  no  expert  was  in  sight. 

Josie,  however,  observed  much  more  than  Catherine  Dale.  She 
soon  was  aware  that  they  were  riding  along  the  trail  between  a 
double  escort  of  Indians,  dismounted,  and  either  looking  at  them 
from  behind  the  trees,  or  peeping  from  coverings  in  the  grass  of  the 
prairie  as  they  passed.  One  Indian  was  actually  a  stone,  to  all  ap- 
pearances, paleface  judging,  another  had  a  flower  patch  growing 
from  his  back !  And  how  the  Dakotah  maiden  smiled  at  him ! 
Catherine,  too,  saw  a  buck  occasionally,  but  he  was  only  a  grave 
individual  roaming  about  aimlessly  at  large,  part  of  no  tribal  unit, 
with  no  share  in  aught  save  idle  hours  and  worthless  habits,  poor 
savage ! 

"How  the  eyes  of  these  poor  men  gleam  in  spite  of  their  depress- 
ing condition,  Josie,"  said  the  artist  after  meeting  the  third  lone 
Indian. 

"They  look  as  if  they  never  had  a  thing  to  do,"  acquiesced  the 
girl. 

"Wautoma  does  not  say  much  to  them,"  said  Catherine  dis- 
appointedly. 

104 


Before  the  Struggle 


"He  mustn't,"  whispered  Josie  with  a  merry  little  laugh. 

That  gave  the  whole  plan  away  in  the  instant  and  then  Josie 
explained  that  Wautoma  had  a  communication  with  each  of  the  men 
who  were  his  braves  protecting  them  from  harm  on  their  journey — 
though  he  needn't  to  have  done  it.  Thereafter  every  one  of  the 
savages  seemed  clothed  with  power.  Everything  was  ordered  and 
designed,  and  that  was  enough  for  Catherine  Dale's  mind,  to  engage 
it  thoroughly. 

"Have  you  seen  anything?"  asked  Josie  wheeling  her  horse  about 
as  they  passed  an  Indian  sitting  on  a  limb  of  a  fallen  tree  and 
scarcely  noticing  them  at  all, 

Catherine  said  she  thought  that  she  had  seen  a  very  bored 
looking  Indian,  that  was  all. 

"Have  you  seen  that  every  Indian  is  either  sitting  on  a  limb,  or 
carrying  some  branch  of  a  tree,  maybe  only  a  mite  of  it?  That 
means  that  it  has  been  found  that  the  plan  will  work  and  that  they 
will  be  quartered  in  the  different  woods  by  and  by." 

But  talking  was  over,  Wautoma  signed.  Rightly,  two  white 
men  were  passing.  Josie  knew  Buhl-Bysee,  and  guessed  from 
Lusette's  description  that  the  other  was  the  secret  man,  Clermont. 
Wautoma  did  not  seem  to  know  either  of  the  men.  Alas,  Catherine 
had  seen  them  both,  and  her  head  was  throbbing  with  pain.  Must 
they  deal  with  him  to-day  ?  Then  she  knew  Wautoma's  light  fancy 
that  to-day  would  be  up  and  Cat's-paw  down  was  to  have  a  sterner 
meaning  before  nightfall. 

The  two  men  were  going  fishing  from  the  rods  in  their  hands, 
but  Catherine  knew  that  Clermont  had  always  detested  the  sport. 

"Catherine,"  said  Josie,  "Wautoma  may  be  too  confident  about 
the  result  of  the  struggle,  would  you  mind  listening  to  a  plan  to  help 
Lusette  that  perhaps  he  has  not  thought  of?  I  beheve  the  secret 
man  may  find  out  everything  that  is  to  be  done  except  what  Lusette 
soon  will  do,  and  nobody  could  ever  guess  that."  She  whispered 
the  plan — to  which  Catherine  eagerly  assented.  It  was  just  that 
of  all  things  which  she  could  do,  and  what  would  perhaps  alone  of 
all  things  help,  should  Clermont  take  the  part  Josie  fancied  he  would. 

"After  another  mile  Wautoma  turned  with  a  proud  face  and 
spoke  to  Catherine,  "You  need  not  be  afraid  to  stay  here  with  Josie, 
Lusette  will  be  here  soon."  It  was  a  bower  of  shade  just  across 
from  the  ford  of  the  South  Branch,  where  they  could  talk  over 
their  plan  which  Josie  thoroughly  believed  would  save  the  day. 

"You  are  a  credit  to  our  sex,"  said  Catherine  softly,  but  she  could 
not  have  heart  to  smile  just  then,  for  it  was  now  as  if  the  very 

105 


Ongon 


turbulence  of  her  years  was  to  mingle  its  fierceness  with  the  strife  of 
the  day. 

Then  Lusette  came,  dressed  as  before  in  the  thin  gray  cloak  and 
attended  by  two  Indian  girls,  who  carried  a  box  between  them.  The 
cloak  the  gypsy  laid  aside,  after  Catherine  had  greeted  her  with  a 
kiss,  and  she  had  given  Josie  similar  greeting.  Even  Josie,  who  had 
seen  it  before,  gave  a  cry  of  pleasure  on  beholding  Jean's  costume 
for  the  day,  A  clinging  dress  of  black,  close  fitting,  trimmed  with 
lace,  cut  low  in  the  neck  and  spangled  all  over  with  silver,  to  give 
her  form  its  freedom,  and  to  express  its  pure,  girlish  loveliness. 
Her  hair,  arranged  Grecian  fashion,  low  on  her  head,  with  a  tiara  of 
silver  spangles ;  her  arms  were  bare  for  this  day  of  her  triumph,  and 
her  eyes  almost  black  with  the  intensity  of  the  struggle  through 
which  she  was  determined  to  go  to  attain  her  end. 

"I  think  it  is  to  come  out  well,"  she  said,  plunging  immediately 
into  the  work  that  was  before  her.  "But  I  may  fail  and  lose  my 
life.  I  thought  that  I  would  let  you  see  me  just  as  I  shall  go 
in  before  Cat's-paw,  therefore  Josie  will  go  with  me,  and  you,  my 
dear  good  artist,  whom  I  have  admired  at  a  distance  and  hope  to 
know  some  day  intimately,  will  rest  quietly  at  the  lodge  until  the 
excitement  is  over.  I  think  a  woman's  purity  and  prayers  shall 
win  and  I  shall  be  happy  at  last — so  happy !  Now  let  us  pray." 
And  kneeling  there  she  offered  a  child's  prayer  to  heaven  for  its 
guidance  and  blessing  upon  that  which  they  in  their  infinite  wisdom 
esteemed  the  best  means  for  the  work  of  the  day.  And  she  had 
them  join  with  her  in  the  Lord's  prayer  after  her  own  brief  petition. 

Now  Wautoma  had  come  and,  with  the  gray  cloak  over  her 
shoulders  again,  she  drew  the  chief  aside  and  had  him  rehearse  to  her 
just  what  was  to  be  expected  of  him.  When  satisfied  that  the  chief 
was  thoroughly  persuaded  of  the  importance  of  their  acting  in  per- 
fect unison  she  stopped  in  her  hurriedness  and  sat  down. 

"Wautoma  will  you  and  Josie  sing  for  us  the  chanted  prayer,  I 
love  so  well  ?     Sing  it  softly  please,  very  softly " 

"Stop,"  cried  Catherine,  gliding  to  her,  "you  do  not  really  fear 
the  results  of  it  all,  do  you?"  The  face  of  the  girl  was  so  like  an 
angel's  then,  Catherine  felt  a  nameless  dread  seize  her.  What  if 
this  girl  must  pay  the  penalty  of  her  life  to  save  Ongon !  She  re- 
membered afterwards  the  words  of  Jean  and  they  helped  her  in 
that  moment  when  she,  too,  at  this  ford  must  decide  how  much 
she  could  be  willing  to  give  up  for  the  chief-king's  life. 

"No,  no,  Catherine,  dear,  but  we  must  be  ready  to  sacrifice  our 
lives  for  Ongon." 

io6 


Strategy 

Already  the  Indians  were  beginning  the  beautiful  chant : 

"Kan-gig  ahnah-me-au-win 
We  tebie-ga-dau 
Gitchy   Monedo  atau 
Songee  sauge  audau. 

Matche    pe-mau-de-zewin 
Kau-kinna,  kau-kinna 
Matche    pe-mau-de-zewin 
Kau-kinna  wa-be-nundau." 

Ever  let  prayer 
Be  the  rule  of  our  lives 
The  Great  Spirit  alone 
Alone  let  us  love. 

All    evil-living   of   mankind 
All,  all  that  is  bad, 
All  evil  living — as  a  tainted  wind 
All,  let  us  forsake. 

It  was  not  a  strangeness,  out  of  place,  a  folly  of  unseemliness  be- 
fore the  battle.  "What  a  beautiful  rest  we  have  had  together,"  mur- 
mured Jean  at  the  end.  "Miss  Catherine,  the  girls  will  go  with  you 
now.  Wautoma,  I  would  hasten.  Come,  Josie,  we  can  carry  this 
together." 

Catherine  kissed  the  brow  that  was  as  white  and  pure  as  snow 
and  they  separated  for  their  places  of  duty. 

XXXIII 


"Boy,"  said  Cat's-paw  in  the  Pottawatomie  tongue  to  the  lad 
playing  near  the  tent  opening,  "see,  a  wild  bear  yonder,  stealing 
along  the  woods !  He  must  be  mine,  do  you  hear,  within  an  hour. 
Go  tell  Bat  Eye  and  all  that  he  must  be  my  fur." 

"Dead?"  asked  the  lad. 

"Yes,  dead,  boy,"  growled  Cat's-paw,  giving  him  a  lash  upon  the 
back  with  his  cane  for  the  tarrying.  "Chief  must  have  him  dead 
within  an  hour,  mind !" 

The  lad  was  already  oft'  to  tell  the  dozen  warriors  of  the  old 
chief's  order. 

When  the  redmen  had  sighted  the  bear  he  was  making  toward 
the  Aussaginaushke  swamp,  which,  in  the  shorter,  and  crisper  term- 
inology of  the  paleface,  had  begun  to  be  called  ]\Tud  Lake.     So 

107 


Ong 


on 

rapidly  betook  the  bear  to  his  race  for  Hfe  that  the  warriors  left 
everything  and  joined  in  a  noisy  pursuit  that  left  Cat's-paw  in  no 
doubt  about  the  boy's  obedience.  Fainter,  fainter,  grew  the  sounds 
of  the  yells.  Had  not  Cat's-paw  wished  to  please  Wautoma  an  hour 
ago  he  would  have  had  his  horses  and  could  have  ridden  out  to  see 
the  capture.  But  now  he  would  wait  alone  until  the  skin  was 
brought  to  him.  The  braves  in  pursuit  suddenly  lost  track  of 
bruin  and  scattered  over  the  fields  for  a  trace  of  the  grizzly's  hiding 
place.  Almost  with  one  yell  they  were  crying  to  each  other  pres- 
ently for  aid — they  were  being  outwitted  by  another  band  of  Indians 
also  wanting  the  bear's  skin.  Nay,  wanting  them,  for  the  ruse 
had  worked  as  Lusette  and  Wautoma  had  planned.  At  the  exact 
moment  the  pursuers  in  search  of  the  victim  were  prisoners  them- 
selves, wnth  Wautoma's  variations  to  Lusette's  directions. 

"Down,"  cried  Wautoma,  sitting  heavily  upon  Bat  Eye,  nearest 
of  kin  to  Cat's-paw,  "the  squirrels  are  with  the  bears."  But  the 
weight  was  as  if  the  elephants  were  with  them. 

"Ugh !"  cried  the  under  Indian,  half  from  the  physiological 
reason  of  his  position. 

"Tie  their  hands  behind  their  back,  shoot  the  first  one  that  yells 
again,"  shouted  the  chief,  rising  from  his  victim  and  walking 
around  him  with  cat-like  grace. 

"It  is  a  dull  sport  when  there  is  no  chance  to  play  for  the  advan- 
tage," said  the  prostrate  warrior  in  the  dialect. 

"We  have  no  time  for  play,  we  have  thrown  each  other  once 
apiece,  Bat  Eye,  and  now  we  are  bear  hunting,  just  let  me  have 
that  pistol,  will  you?" 

It  was  evident  that  they  had  often  had  such  rough  and  tumbles 
for  all  their  flag-room  connection,  but  now  Wautoma  was  myste- 
riously grave,  so  Bat  Eye  knew  something  unusual  was  brewing. 
But  being  relieved  of  his  weapon  he  was  next  being  sounded  about 
the  secret-service  man's  movements. 

Two  of  your  people  went  fishing  to-day  with  the  paleface,"  ob- 
served Wautoma,  measuring  pistols  the  while. 

"I  know  not,"  said  Bat  Eye  stragetically. 

"You  should  not  lie,  truth-teller,"  said  Wautoma,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  reputation  Bat  Eye  had  for  being  opposite  to  his  uncle 
Cat's-paw  in  straightforwardness  and  honesty. 

"Well,  then  I  do,"  said  the  under  Indian. 

"Thought  so,"  said  the  other,  quite  as  a  mother  about  to  chastise 
her  child  for  disobedience ;  "feeling  funny,  aren't  you  for  ly-ing; 
oh.  Bat  Eye,  I  never  thought  that  of  you." 

io8 


Strategy 


To  hear  this  in  the  dialect  of  the  Pottawatomie,  which  Wautoma 
used  for  Bat  Eye,  was  very  prolonged,  however  fewer  the  words. 

"You  would  die  sooner  than  tell,  wouldn't  you.  Bat  Eye,"  con- 
tinued Wautoma,  when  his  rival  in  prairie  skill  kept  his  silence. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  now  I  will  tell  you,  they  are  fishing-  for  something  very 
important,"  said  Wautoma,  ordering  this  one's  hands  tied  too. 

"You  were  racing  to-day,"  said  Bat  Eye,  when  Wautoma  assisted 
to  make  things  sure. 

"Oh,  I  borrowed  your  horses  so  that  you  could  not  hunt  the 
bear  too  fast.  Yes,  I  Ued,  I  haven't  your  conscience,  Bat  Eye.  You're 
too  good  for  fast  company.  The  horses  are  all  tied  together  in  the 
first  woods,  but  we  just  loaned  them,  you  know." 

The  chief's  bucks  who,  if  the  truth  were  told,  had  figured  in 
more  adverse  than  successful  encounters,  half-play,  half-earnest,  with 
the  Bat  Eye  tribe,  walked  about  with  their  Wautoma  saying  that 
this  was  too  easy.  All  they  had  gotten  was  extra  pistols,  nice  ones, 
too. 

"Where's  the  bear?"  asked  Wautoma,  with  droll  pleasure,  turn- 
ing one  of  his  specialty  somersaults  in  happy  demonstration  of  his 
good  feeling  with  himself.  In  answer  the  bucks  must  get  down  on 
their  knees  and  go  about  on  all  fours  asking  where  was  the  bear. 
But  Bat  Eye  was  cheerful  while  the  fun  was  being  poked  at  him, 
even  though  his  followers  brought  near  him  all  tied  as  he,  gave  him 
the  gleam  that  it  was  a  grizzly  old  trick  against  them. 

"Yes,  it's  handsome,"  said  Wautoma,  reading  the  faces  of  the 
Bat  Eye  people  and  telling  it  to  the  taciturn  Bat  Eye. 

"Where  is  the  bear?"  asked  the  bound  chief  at  last. 

Wautoma's  cunning  took  the  hint.  "More  than  Cat's-paw  knows 
the  value  of  fur,  and  that  it  is  scarce  these  days  here.  What  zuill 
Cat's-paw  do  to  you,  ugh  ?" 

Bat  Eye  was  honest  and  desirous  of  saving  his  men  from  the 
wrath  of  his  uncle.  He  offered  therefore  to  let  Wautoma  wear  his 
cross  in  the  maple  leaf;  a  thing  permissible  according  to  the  flag- 
room  laws,  if  any  one  could  be  found  willing  to  expiate  for  the  guilt 
of  an  offender.  "If  you  will  let  us  up,  Wautoma,  you  shall  have  the 
maple  leaf  for  a  month,  and  I  will  go  without  it — there,  that  is  one 
for  you  against  us." 

Wautoma  wanted  to  know  whether  Bat  Eye  would  also  give  up 
the  knife,  and  the  beads,  and  the  long  pipe,  and  a  Hst  of  other  things 
that  told  how  long  had  been  the  line  of  Bat  Eye's  successes  against 
him. 

109 


On 


gon 


No,  Bat  Eye  would  not  be  a  fool.  The  necklace  he  had  given 
to  a  maiden  and  the  pipe  was  too  good  a  triumph  to  turn  back. 
Wautoma  would  be  showing  it  to  all  the  villagers  for  years  and 
that  was  more  than  reason  could  stand. 

"Oh,  you  are  not  so  popular.  Bat  Eye;  if  I  had  that  pipe  every- 
body would  be  dancing  with  me,  but  the  fellows  among  all  the  bucks 
think  you  are  a  prig.  You  ought  to  be  a  missionary,  you  are  so 
good !" 

Then  it  was  Bat  Eye's  turn  to  be  crafty  and  from  his  victor  he 
gathered  that  something  was  being  done  to  Cat's-paw,  and  that 
they  feared  Clermont  and  Buhl-Bysee.  They  were  such  easy  prison- 
ers that  Wautoma  could  not  help  saying  what  he  felt  was  sifted  wis- 
dom to  divulge. 

"You  see  Cat's-paw  looks  as  if  he  were  going  to  be  a  traitor  to 
Ongon,"  said  Wautoma. 

"Never,"  said  his  nephew. 

"Oh,  you  know  Buhl-Bysee  and  that  he  was  with  Cat's-paw  at 
the  flag-room.     What  was  that  for,  but  to  betray  the  chief-king?" 

"Cat's-paw  likes  money,"  said  Bat  Eye,  shamefully. 

"I  wouldn't  be  his  nephew,  then,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Wautoma. 

"I  wouldn't  belong  to  the  same  flag-room  with  him,"  countered 
the  nephew. 

"Oh,  that  is  different,  it  isn't  my  fault,"  said  the  victor. 

Bat  Eye  was  too  wise  an  Indian  to  answer  unanswerable  logic  in 
that  form  and  kept  his  silence.  He  saw  that  Wautoma  was  making 
preparations  to  go,  leaving  the  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  only  two 
of  his  men,  and  if  he  could  manage  to  get  a  knife,  he  believed  that 
none,  after  Wautoma,  was  so  fleet  as  he. 

Instructed  to  take  his  time,  before  his  next  move,  Wautoma  took 
the  pains  again  to  mention  his  several  victories  over  Bat  Eye,  and 
to  hope  that  the  poor  buck  would  take  his  medicine  like  a  brave 
Indian.    Then  he  left  with  his  frisky  squirrels,  save  two. 

XXXIV 

THE  ENCOUNTER 

Cat's-paw  had  unlocked  the  heavy  chest  again  to  feast  his  eyes 
upon  his  glittering  life  harvest.  Gorged  to  his  eyes  with  the  passion 
of  possession,  he  nevertheless  shriveled  from  its  utter  emptiness. 
The  fire  of  avarice  was  consuming  the  innermost  walls  of  his  being, 
and  his  dark,  cavernous  features  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  crash- 
ing down  into  an  abyss  of  human  wreckage.     The  fact  that  his 


The  Encounter 

temper  was  provoked  by  the  delay  in  bringing  him  his  new  treasure 
made  him  look  more  lean  and  hungry  and  misshapen.  He  had 
ordered  the  boy  to  hasten,  but  still  they  loitered  with  the  pelt. 

"Hughgh!"  his  quick  ear  had  caught  the  breaking  of  stems  in 
the  thicket.    It  was  the  sound  of  feet.    They  were  coming. 

"Now  Josie,  open  the  box  right  here,"  whispered  Jean  before 
springing  out.  Be  sure  that  the  thread  is  on  his  head  and  keep  out 
of  sight !" 

"Ugh !  squaw — the  serpent  woman !"  The  stick  was  in  his  hand 
to  strike  the  lad — he  had  not  looked  for  it  to  be  a  woman — she  was 
followed  by  the  bear! 

Jean  came  before  him  so  quickly,  with  her  dazzling  white  arms, 
and  her  radiant  pure  face,  and  her  silver  spangles  shining  so  brightly 
in  the  sun — the  stick  fell  from  the  hands  of  the  old  chief.  Yes, 
she  was  pure,  Buhl-Bysee  had  lied,  and  if  he  kept  his  stick  she 
would  bring  out  that  snake  again. 

"Oh,  Cat's-paw,"  cried  Jean,  facing  him  with  rapid  movements, 
"are  you  going  to  betray  Ongon  ?" 

His  face  was  sullen  and  he  set  his  lips  tightly  upon  each  other. 

"Then  the  bad  spirit  will  have  it  out  with  you.  Cat's-paw.  Your 
men  are  kept  away,  this  bear  led  them  away.  We  are  all  alone  now. 
Cat's-paw,  and  I  must  know  the  truth." 

He  looked  for  the  first  time  into  her  eyes,  so  blue  and  true. 
Something  in  her  voice  moved  him.  Cat's-paw  came  near  and 
whispered  what  he  thought  he  had  discovered  with  his  little  eye 
shining  at  her  fiercely. 

Jean  drew  back  in  astonishment.  "You  say  that.  Cat's-paw !  you 
will  have  to  prove  it — but  if  it  is  so,  then  you  are  the  first  one  to  have 
guessed  it,  and  you  are  very  wise,  and  such  a  foolish  Indian  to  play 
into  the  hands  of  Buhl-Bysee.  He  never  tells  you  what  you  have 
told  me !    Oh,  Cat's-paw,  for  Ongon's  sake,  let  me  plead  with  you !" 

"You  are  good,  pure,  it  is  so!"  shouted  the  old  chief,  looking 
again  into  her  eyes,  "me  see  it  so!" 

She  watched  the  truth  dawn  upon  him,  and  because  he  had  dis- 
covered that  she  was  Ongon's  sister  she  felt  that  she  must  not  try 
to  frighten  him  now,  as  she  had  planned.  There  was  more  in  the 
ugly  redman  than  she  had  dreamed,  and  she  honored  Ongon  in  the 
hour  of  her  discovery. 

"Cat's-paw,  you  are  better  than  that  box,  give  me  the  necklace 
out  of  it,  and  two  letters,  one  from  Trenton  and  the  other  from 
Buckingham,  you  stole  them,  they  burn  you  while  you  keep  them, 
they  are  Ongon's !" 

Ill 


Ongon 


He  shook  his  head. 

"Come,  I  will  give  you  gold  for  them." 

"Me  take  no  gold  from  you  or  Ongon,"  said  the  old  chief. 

"Oh,  Cat's-paw,  has  Ongon  reached  your  heart,  then  I  forgive 
you,  and  for  his  sake  I  will  love  you,  too — come  give  back  Ongon's 
necklace  and  letters !" 

The  old  Indian  started  toward  the  chest  rolling  his  eyes  about 
his  head,  but  stopped  half  way.    "You  tell  Ongon  he  hate  Cat's-paw." 

"I  will  never  tell  him  then.  Cat's-paw,  so  long  as  we  shall  live," 
said  Jean,  stepping  to  his  side  and  touching  his  arm  assuringly. 

Another  glance  into  her  eyes  convinced  the  chief,  if  conviction 
were  wanting,  after  her  word  was  spoken,  and  he  was  finding  the 
treasures.  Afterward  he  watched  her  face  lighten,  and  her  eyes 
fill  with  tears — then  he  was  sure  that  he  had  her  secret. 

"Now  Cat's-paw,  who  do  you  think  committed  that  murder,  who 
killed  the  soldier — did  you  see  it?" 

"No,"  answered  the  old  chief. 

Jean  would  have  clapped  her  hands  at  this  breaking  down  of 
his  testimony,  but  she  would  not  hurt  Cat's-paw's  feelings  now  for 
the  world. 

"Then  who  killed  the  soldier?" 

"Not  Buhl-Bysee,"  said  Cat's-paw. 

"No?    Then  who?" 

"Blue  Earth,"  said  the  chief,  one  gleam  of  happiness  crossing  his 
face  to  have  told  the  truth  at  last.  But  this  did  not  last.  Weak  from 
the  strain.  Cat's-paw  almost  immediately  fell  into  one  of  his  fits 
and  writhed  upon  the  ground. 

"Josie,  come,"  cried  Jean,  softly,  running  to  the  door  of  the 
tent.  "He  is  in  a  fit,  take  the  serpent  back  into  the  box,  we  do  not 
need  him,  nor  the  bear.  Come  we  will  take  them  to  the  canoe  by  the 
river,  the  men  are  waiting." 

"Good-bye  coilie,"  murmured  the  Indian  girl,  as  they  put  away 
the  serpent  for  the  last  time. 

It  was  rapid  work,  with  no  time  for  Jean  to  think  whether  to  tell 
Josie  what  she  had  learned.  The  men  were  ready  with  the  large 
flat-boat  to  take  the  snake  and  bear  to  the  village. 

"Have  the  snake  well  cared  for,"  said  Jean  in  her  instructions, 
"and  shipped  at  once  to  Detroit.  My  aunt  is  on  the  boat  by  this 
time  at  the  Calumet  ?" 

"She  is  Miss " 

"Hush,"  cried  Jean;  "very  well,  every  thing  may  be  removed 
from    Hardscrabble    now.      Give    everything   that    is    left    for    the 

112 


In  the  Woods 

children  to  them  with  Lusette's  love,  tell  them  it  was  a  happy  time  we 
spent  with  them."  She  had  made  every  direction  as  carefully  as  if 
she  knew  before  the  terrible  end  that  it  must  come.  "And  now, 
Josie,  ride  in  a  circle  back  to  Major  Trenton,  and  tell  him  all  is  well 
and  that  we  shall  hope  to  be  at  the  tavern  as  soon  as  we  can  get  back 
from  the  North  trip  where  we  go  for  some  other  dear  evidence." 

They  embraced  as  friends  in  life  or  death,  and  Josie  was  gone, 
leaving  Lusette  alone  with  the  chief.  If  she  had  not  gone  back  to 
help  Cat's-paw,  Buhl-Bysee  would  never  have  had  his  opportunity. 
But,  for  himself,  he  had  come  timely.  Scarcely  had  Jean  mounted 
her  horse,  after  bringing  water  to  the  old  Indian  who  had  slowly 
regained  his  power  over  himself,  when  the  agent  tore  through  the 
woods  riding  one  horse  and  leading  another. 

"Ha !"  were  his  words,  "a  fine  sight,  really  a  fine  sight !" 

"Which  disappears  with  the  secret,"  cried  Jean,  loosening  her 
rein,  drawing  her  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and  dashing  through  the 
same  thicket  out  of  which  Buhl-Bysee  had  just  crashed. 

One  glance  told  Buhl-Bysee  that  Cat's-paw  had  made  good  his 
threat  at  last.  But  the  agent  did  not  hesitate.  Again  the  old  chief 
was  made  the  victim  of  his  greatest  enem.y,  the  flask  of  whisky,  and 
Cat's-paw  was  fired  to  mount  and  pursue  the  girl. 

XXXV 

IN   THE   WOODS 

Lusette  had  taken  the  shortest  trail  toward  the  Calumet.  It  led 
to  open  exposure,  but  she  had  no  choice.  Wautoma's  escort  was 
not  forthcoming,  and  soon  she  realized  that  all  depended  upon  the 
strength  of  her  horse,  because  already  there  was  the  sound  of 
pursuing  feet  behind  her.  For  a  last  resort  she  had  her  trusty 
weapon,  but  she  never  could  use  that  upon  Cat's-paw  now,  she 
might  try  to  cripple  his  horse.  One  glance  behind  told  her  it  was 
he,  waving  his  arms  excitedly,  and  raving  at  her  through  the  dis- 
tance. She  could  not  understand  the  change  in  him.  unless  Buhl- 
Bysee  had  done  to  him  what  he  had  to  Wautoma  the  day  he  had 
shot  at  Major  Trenton  in  the  canoe.  It  was  a  long  ride  to  escape 
now,  with  the  chance  of  Cat's-paw's  Indians  rushing  upon  her  from 
one  of  the  woods  between  her  and  the  schooner.  But  her  horse  was 
fresh  and  her  courage  unfaltering. 

Meanwhile  Wautoma  heard  the  yell  of  Cat's-paw,  but  was 
powerless  to  come  to  the  gypsy's  aid.  When  he  had  left  Bat  Eye 
and  his  followers  bound  and  in  charge  of  two  of  his  men  he  had 

i?3 


Ongon 

not  dreamed  that  one  of  his  bucks  would  turn  traitor.  But  after 
waiting  patiently  for  the  proper  time,  when  the  other  guard  sat 
down  to  chaff  Bat  Eye,  according  to  the  mode  of  his  chief,  the 
other  found  Httle  difficulty  in  disarming  him. 

The  liberation  of  the  other  Indians  being  accomplished,  the 
boy  was  left  to  watch  the  chaffer. 

"Tell  Wautoma,  he  pulled  me  from  the  horse  at  death  leap," 
said  the  traitor  guard  to  his  companion,  as  he  gave  him  a  laugh  and 
disappeared  with  the  rest. 

,       "Creep  through  the  creek  bed  until  the  woods,  circle  to  the 
second,  there  is  Wautoma,"  said  the  betraying  Indian. 

With  five  of  the  band  Wautoma  had  taken  the  advance  position, 
when  the  rest  heard  his  voice  they  should  know  that  the  danger 
was  greater  than  he  could  control.  Otherwise  they  should  keep 
cover  and  wait.  Such  his  orders.  But  the  yell  was  not  to  be  forth- 
coming. Bat  Eye  was  upon  him  and  sitting  on  his  back  with  two 
men  to  each  of  Wautoma's  before  the  squirrels  could  bark. 
\  "Gag  them,"  ordered  Bat  Eye,  wiser  than  Wautoma,  and  not 
caring  for  speech.  He  was  not  playing  a  trick  upon  Wautoma,  but 
bent  upon  seeing  now  what  it  meant  to  have  had  the  strategy  worked 
against  him. 

Soon  Bat  Eye  was  favored  with  the  solution.  The  gypsy  ap- 
peared riding  at  breakneck  speed,  with  Cat's-paw  hard  behind  her. 
The  sight  made  Wautoma  groan,  for  he  was  permitted  to  witness 
it.  Whether  it  pleased  Bat  Eye  to  see  his  uncle  pursuing  a  woman 
could  not  be  told  from  his  face.  He  made  no  sign  to  help  or  hinder. 
The  life  of  the  gypsy  was  now  in  the  nephew's  hand,  but  he  did  not 
move. 

Her  life  was  within  another's  power  also — Clermont,  also  well 
ahorse,  was  not  to  prove  the  serious  obstacle  to  the  escape  of  Jean. 
Having  been  warned  by  Buhl-Bysee  that  the  gypsy  was  planning 
the  escape  of  Ongon,  the  detective,  for  want  of  facts,  had  mounted 
a  pony  and  was  spurring  him  on  lest,  after  all  his  careful  work,  he 
be  baffled  by  a  woman.  If  Cat's-paws  idols  were  his  treasures, 
Clermont's  worship  of  his  success  was  scarcely  less  exacting  of  him. 
He  remembered  Lusette's  words  at  the  tavern  and  he  now  believed 
her  to  be  on  a  foolish  mission  born  of  a  romantic  attachment  and 
the  desire  to  circumvent  him.  The  angle  of  his  own  direction,  when 
he  emerged  from  the  woods  and  saw  Lusette's  flight  with  Cat's-paw 
pursuing,  would  give  him  no  trouble  to  head  off  the  gypsy. 

Peacefully  the  lake  stretched  to  the  left  to  intercept  Lusette  if 
she  turned  in  that  direction,  while  riding  at  anchor  near  the  little 

114 


In  the  Woods 

river  was  the  vessel  he  had  seen  coming  and  going  with  stone.  If 
a  commercial  enterprise  might  be  accused  of  being  interested  in  the 
welfare  of  the  Indian,  Clermont  might  have  suspected  the  craft  that 
morning.  Perhaps  if  Lusette  had  imagined  that  her  second  pur- 
suer was  Clermont  she  might  have  turned  toward  him  in  relief  and 
security.  But  she  did  not  know  who  was  the  rider  signalling  to 
Cat's-paw  and  bidding  him  take  courage  though  falling  behind.  So 
she  kept  her  course  straight  toward  the  vessel. 

"Halt,  Harry  Clemont,  or  I  fire !"  A  woman's  form  arose  from 
the  bushes  in  front  of  the  officer  of  the  government  and  a  woman's 
hand  was  stretched  toward  him,  not  as  in  the  days  past,  but  weighted 
with  an  argument  she  had  never  dreamed  of  pointing  against  him — 
a  loaded  weapon. 

"Why,  Catherine,  you  here  thus,  this  is  strange  conduct,"  ex- 
claimed Clermont  in  astonishment. 

"Not  half  so  strange  as  your  assisting  a  vicious  Indian  to  ride 
down  a  woman,"  replied  Catherine  with  scorn. 

"She  is  in  league  with  an  Indian  chief,  plotting  his  escape.  Re- 
main here  and  I  will  return  to  you,"  said  Clermont  with  a  glance 
toward  the  speeding  gypsy. 

But  his  horse  was  not  to  obey  his  spur,  for  without  hesitation 
Catherine  Dale  stepped  in  front  of  him  and  fired.  The  bullet  had 
been  well  aimed  and  the  horse  sank  beneath  his  rider  dead. 

"The  gypsy  would  scorn  to  aid  Ongon  to  escape.  I  swear  to 
you  she  has  no  thought  of  doing  so.  If  you  wish  to  speak  to  me, 
hasten  to  that  monster  of  an  Indian  and  bid  him  turn  from  pursuing 
an  innocent  girl." 

"But  I  have  been  told " 

"Foolish  man,"  cried  Catherine,  bitterly;  "if  you  refuse,  I  go 
myself." 

"Stay,  Catherine,  I  will  stop  him." 

She  turned  aside  to  allow  him  to  pass  without  looking  at  him. 
It  was  sweeter  to  watch  the  girl  now  hastening  on  to  sure  liberty. 
She  had  been  of  service  at  last,  cost  what  it  had,  to  have  faced  the 
man  whose  horse  lay  at  her  feet. 

Partly  from  a  woman's  tenderness  at  the  thought  of  having  been 
compelled  to  take  the  life  of  so  noble  a  beast,  and  partly  from  the 
joy  of  seeing  Lusette  pass  safely  beyond  the  reach  of  vengeful  hands, 
Catherine  Dale  knelt  in  the  sand  and,  laying  her  head  upon  that  of 
the  horse,  for  the  first  time  in  three  years  the  tears  fell  fast. 


115 


Ongon 

XXXVI 

■  "CATHERINE,  TERIJAPS  I   WAS  A  FOOL  " 

"Catherine,  after  all  I  cannot  but  admire  you  for  this."  Cler- 
mont had  found  her  with  her  head  buried  in  her  arms  upon  the 
horse's  neck.  Her  form  in  grief  was  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  and  the 
place  so  wild  and  out  of  keeping  with  the  elegance  and  refinement  in 
which  he  had  always  known  her,  that  he  could  not  keep  his  first 
resentment.  She  did  not  answer  him  and  he  spoke  again,  "I  have 
stopped  the  Indian  and  the  girl  is  safe,  Catherine,  can  I  do  anything 
more  to  please  you  ?" 

"We  cannot  be  honest  and  speak  the  truth  to  each  other  without 
seeming  to  quarrel,"  answered  Catherine,  forcing  herself  to  rise, 
but  her  face  averted  from  his. 

He  cut  himself  with  his  riding  whip  nervously,  "Often  I  have 
wanted  to  have  one  more  talk  with  you  since  you  did  not  under- 
stand me  perfectly  when  we  parted,"  he  said  slowly.  Some  great 
new  strength  took  hold  on  him  even  while  she  turned  from  him.  He 
had  thought  to  find  her  passionate  and  bitter  toward  him,  but  now 
she  revolted  from  their  saying  unkind  things  to  each  other. 

"I  understood  you,  Harry — Mr.  Clermont — but  you  understood 
yourself  better  than  you  did  me."  She  could  say  this  to  him  gently 
with  her  womanhood  helping.  He  had  failed  to  meet  her  because 
he  was  without  capacity  to  appreciate  a  woman's  heart.  She  had 
sought,  once,  to  give  him  everything,  but  in  the  end  he  had  felt  no 
need  of  the  endowment  of  her  affection. 

"I  have  always  been  too  absorbed  in  my  profession,  Cath — 
Miss  Catherine — if  you  will  have  it  so " 

The  old  frankness  which  she  had  always  admired  in  him  caused 
her  to  look.  "Let  us  not  do  as  the  world  does,  Harry,  but  keep  the 
names  as  a  sacred  part  of  the  past,  however  gone  forever  it  may  be." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  a  readiness  born  of  the  same  desire 
to  avoid  the  creation  of  unnecessary  distances  between  them.  "I 
hate  to  look  out  upon  the  old  avenues  of  life  through  closed  shut- 
ters." 

Catherine  was  moved  to  enter  the  heart  of  the  meeting  at  once. 
"But  for  the  fact  that  you  were  so  honest  it  would  have  been 
unbearable,"  she  said  dreamily  "When  you  came  to  me  asking  that 
our  engagement  be  broken  and  stating  that  you  feared  you  had 
sought  me  to  further  your  ambition  and  not  because  you  loved  me, 
it  filled  me  with  a  nameless  horror.    But  I  had  at  least  the  comfort 

ii6 


Catherine,  Perhaps  I  Was  a  Fool 

of  picturing  in  my  memory  how  you  stood  when  you  spoke  those 
words." 

"Catherine,  perhaps  I  was  a  fool,"  said  Clermont,  striking  the 
sand  with  his  whip. 

"I  thought  you  were  cruel,  lately  I  have  thought  that  you  were 
right,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  and  looking  away  toward  the 
ship. 

"But  I  cannot  even  say  that,"  he  answered.  "Catherine,  it  has 
seized  me  that  I  am  wanting  the  greatest  of  the  common  instincts. 
At  first  I  was  startled  and  then  for  your  sake  I  was  gladdened 
because  of  all  that  has  happened." 

Catherine  spoke  very  rapidly,  when  she  answered,  with  her  face 
averted,  but  in  the  same  new  strength  he  had  felt  when  she  was 
risen.  "It  has  made  me  happier  to  believe  that  your  Hfe  would  be 
enriched,  even  if  sometimes  saddened,  could  you  know  what  God 
has  placed  in  a  woman's  heart  for  man.  I  could  never  tell  you,  alas, 
for  a  woman's  affection  is  too  delicate  and  fragile  to  be  put  in  a 
clinic  room  for  dissection  and  microscopic  revelations.  We  will 
unfold  in  an  atmosphere  of  love,  but  we  can  put  forth  no  life  for  the 
lens  of  a  critical  eye.    I  could  never  tell  you  what  love  was." 

But  she  was  telling  him  now — what  he  had  never  dreamed  of 
before.  Not  in  so  many  words,  but  more  through  what  she  was  in 
this  moment  of  tenderness.  Somewhere  she  had  found  an  atmos- 
phere. 

"Catherine,  you  have  changed,"  he  said,  when  their  eyes  came 
together. 

"Until  I  want  those  hollow  days  that  seem  to  mock  me  and  have 
made  me  cry  out  against  heaven,  led  into  the  light  and  cleansed, 
Harry.    Is  there  no  way  of  our  brightening  the  memory  ?" 

"You  had  a  ring  of  bitterness,"  he  answered  with  his  honest 
frankness.  "It  was  natural  for  one  of  your  nature  to  recoil  upon 
yourself  when  the  support  was  taken  away.  If  I  tramp  upon  this 
flower  it  has  no  beauty  for  either  God  or  man  until  another  spring 
has  hovered  over  the  plant.  You  were  true,  Catherine.  I  can  see 
that  the  storm  has  swept  your  life.  It  is  a  strange  word  for  me  to 
say  to  you,  but  even  the  fury  of  your  complaint  was  designed  in 
order  that  you  might  be  satisfied  at  last." 

"Harry !"  She  looked  at  him  with  pity  in  her  eyes,  he  was  awak- 
ening— too  late.  With  a  woman's  instinct  she  saw  that  he  would 
come  to  analyze  himself  as  he  had  her  love  in  days  before.  "I  see 
you  think  it  will  cost  me  to  understand  myself,"  he  said  with  the 
same  evenness  always  in  him  whatever  the  occurrence.  "I  shall  regret 

117 


Ongon 


— I  even  now  regret  everything.  I  ask  not  to  loiow  what  has  come 
into  your  Hfe.  It  will  be  to  me  to  admire  and  possibly  at  last  to  love 
you  as  it  is  given  man  to  love  a  woman.  But  it  will  be  a  long  process, 
and  between  lies  my  love  for  my  work." 

"Stay,  speak  more  kindly  of  yourself,  believe " 

"No,  Catherine,  even  now,  standing  by  your  side  and  hearing 
your  voice  again  speak  kindly,  I  am  being  drawn  back  to  my  work 
away  from  you,  away  from  love.  I  am  even  now  no  longer  what  I 
was  a  moment  ago.  I  can  see  how  my  presence  chilled  your  life  and 
shut  me  From  its  beauty." 

"But  you  follow  a  phantom,  Ongon " 

"Is  guilty,  you  cannot  shake  my  belief  in  the  overwhelming  evi- 
dence against  him." 

"You  do  not  even  know  him,  you  have  never  heard  him,  you 
have  judged  him  hastily " 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  him." 

"Then  your  life  is  wanting  that  faith  which  is  the  Hfe  of  the 
common  law  of  nations,  Harry.  In  law  is  it  not  true  that  a  man  is 
innocent  until  proved  guilty?  But  with  all  your  learning  and  suc- 
cess you  have  not  learned  to  keep  faith  in  character,  however  up- 
right, if  circumstance  brings  strong  contradictions.  You  are  a 
human  blood-hound,  and  if  there  is  blood " 

She  did  not  need  to  explain  to  him  that  her  strong  language  was 
that  of  a  friend.  "You  are  a  woman,  Catherine,  given  faith  to  cast 
a  sunshine  into  the  world  that  it  sadly  needs.  But  though  you  may 
draw  the  best  life  from  the  darkest  characters — I  must  draw  the 
worst  from  the  best  and  brightest." 

"But  you  seem  to  exult  in  tracking  guilt — even  if  it  were  true 
that  Ongon  in  a  moment  of  anger  struck  down  that  man — which 
I  deny!"  cried  Catherine,  springing  away  from  the  place  she  had 
taken  before  him. 

Again  he  was  frank  to  speak  the  truth.  "Perhaps  I  am  a  human 
blood-hound.  And  therein  I  learn  that  I  shall  come  to  suffer.  I, 
being  but  a  force  with  a  nature  that  fairly  revels  in  overtaking  and 
exposing  wrong,  do  know  beforehand  that  the  sin  of  my  turning 
from  our  betrothal  will  surely  find  me  out." 

"But  heaven  tempers  justice  with  mercy.  Oh,  Harry,  your 
companionship  taught  me  after  our  parting  to  look  at  my  life  and 
my  world  as  wronged  and  ruined  because  love  died  in  me.  And  so 
I  fought  heaven — until  Ongon  taught  me,  not  so  much  by  his  words 
as  by  his  character,  that  when  we  have  lost  love  we  are  blinded  to 
the  true  relation  of  things.    You  are  revelling  in  a  miserable  eclipse 

ii8 


Lovers  Still 

of  the  truth  and  do  not  know  it  but  I  must  not  philosophize  in 
this  hour.  When  you  have  a  weak  confidence  in  men  you  are  made 
practically  inefficient  to  find  out  guilt.  Your  skill  may  even  succeed 
in  finding  out  enough  to  hound  Ongon  to  his  ruin — but  you  will 
thereby  aid  the  really  guilty  man  to  escape. 

"Let  us  not  part  with  an  argument,"  said  Clermont,  abruptly. 

"I  do  not  intend  to  call  this  a  separation,  Harry,  but  if  you  will 
escort  me  over  there,  I  think  that  we  shall  find  the  Indian  Wautom^a, 
perhaps  in  disaster,  at  least  in  distress." 

XXXVII 

LOVERS    STILL 

Minnetonka  had  placed  a  letter  in  the  hands  of  Ongon  who  sat 
under  a  linden  before  the  lodge  with  a  map  of  America  upon  his 
knees  and  little  Mylo  beside  him  playing  contentedly  in  the  grass. 
"It  is  from  Lusette,"  said  Minnetonka,  kneeling  to  offer  the  letter 
temptingly.  "From  whom,  my  princess? — ah,  from  the  one  who 
left  the  pin  for  our  babe.  Come  closer,  my  true  one,  and  let  me 
speak  to  you." 

"Thou  needest  not  say  anything,  Ongon,"  she  answered,  clasping 
a  hand  of  the  father's  with  one  of  the  child's  in  both  of  her  own. 
"Minnetonka's  happiness  is  full  and  her  life  more  than  lived." 

He  looked  upon  her  as  always  did  when  she  spoke  her  fear.  But 
never  could  he  dislodge  the  conviction  from  her  that  her  life  would 
be  taken  sometime  very  quickly. 

"Must  thou,  Minnetonka?" 

She  answered  him  by  placing  her  hand  reverently  over  her  heart. 
She  had  told  him  this  before  their  marriage  and  there  had  been  no 
moment  since  when  she  had  not  lived  in  preparation  for  the  great 
parting.  Sweet  strength  to  go  was  her  abiding  portion  and  when 
she  thought  of  it  there  came  over  her  an  almost  spiritual  beauty. 

"Everything  Minnetonka  has  done  has  been  a  help  to  Ongon," 
he  said  tenderly.     "We  have  helped  our  people  together." 

She  bent  forward  in  tender  listening  over  the  head  of  the  babe. 
"Does  Lusette  understand  our  secret?" 

"More  than  Ongon  does,  I  think,  my  princess,"  he  repHed, 
drawing  her  to  him  gently. 

"We  must  have  her  here  again  when  we  can  be  together — but 
now  her  letter,"  murmured  the  princess. 

He  laid  it  in  her  hands  to  open,  but  she  would  not  have  it  so. 
119 


Ongon 


When  he  had  broken  the  seal  and  read  the  contents,  he  turned 
back  and  read  the  letter  over  again  aloud. 

"Charged  zvith  murder,  Ongon,  and  Cat's-paw  a  traitor !"  she 
rested  her  head  upon  his  arm  to  read  for  herself,  and  then  her  up- 
turned face  passed  with  his  into  the  deep  of  a  great  strength. 

The  remainder  of  the  letter  was  full  of  its  own  faith.  Lusette 
would  have  him  give  himself  up  with  a  request  for  a  trial.  He 
would  be  proved  as  blameworthy  as  he  was  innocent. 

"I  understand  now  why  Cat's-paw  and  that  man  were  looking 
into  the  window  that  night,"  said  Minnetonka. 

"Why  does  she  move  me  so?"  he  asked,  showing  that  his 
thought  was  more  upon  the  gypsy  than  upon  the  accusation  that 
Buhl-Bysee   had   brought   against   him.     "I   have   never   seen   her 

yet " 

"Never  seen  her,  Ongon !  Why  she — no,  she  never  said  that  she 
had  seen  you — strange,  strange,  oh,  why  did  I  let  her  go  before  you 
came.  She  wanted  to  see  you,  Ongon,  but  I  dared  not  let  her  go  into 
the  flag-room." 

"Tell  me  again,  what  did  she  say,  Minnetonka?" 
"I  found  her  here  near  these  lindens,  she  had  been  speaking  your 
name,  0-n-g-o-n,  so  softly,  and  I  loved  her  for  it." 

He  listened  to  the  story  of  the  night  with  his  hands  clasped 
upon  his  knees  and  his  eyes  staring  into  the  sky. 

"She  can  tell  of  Ongon's  boyhood,"  was  her  conclusion ;  "but 
brought  the  lad  other  news,  Minnetonka?" 

"That  there  was  to  be  fighting  to-day  between  Wautoma  and  Bat 
Eye,"  said  she  quietly. 

"I  will  go,"  he  said,  rising  and  laying  aside  his  other  work. 
"Ongon  will  give  himself  up." 

Minnetonka  accompanied  him  to  the  lodge  and  when  he  was 
ready  she  had  unfastened  both  ponies  and  was  prepared  to  go  with 
him,  Mylo  in  her  arms. 

"Even  so  then,  my  princess,"  he  said,  taking  the  child,  his  hand 
securing  the  ruby  safely ;  "we  will  live  it  together." 

As  they  rode  across  the  sweet-scented  prairie  and  through  the 
vine-tangled  woods  the  straight  Indian  trail  threading  the  luxuriance 
of  the  centuries  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  such  a  worthy  coming. 
And  when  the  blue  sky  hovered,  and  the  flowers  smiled  upon  them, 
and  the  babe  cooed  to  the  birds  upon  the  branches  why  should  not 
they  laugh  and  talk  to  each  other  like  lovers,  half  believing  that 
behind  the  great  eyes  of  Mylo  was  a  spirit  perfectly  understanding 
them  both? 


Lovers  Still 

"He  knows  our  secret,  Ongon,  see  how  he  must  look  from  one 
to  the  other  of  his  parents.     He  is  us  both !" 

"Then  Ongon  envies  him,"  laughed  the  father. 

"And  Minnetonka  adores  him,"  responded  the  mother. 

The  way  led  them  first  through  the  woods  where  Wautoma's 
braves  were  still  waiting  for  some  sign  from  their  chief.  But  if  they 
had  resented  the  sight  of  Cat's-paw  pursuing  Lusette,  while  they  had 
not  been  called  upon  to  take  a  part  in  the  activities,  the  chagrin  was 
brushed  aside  by  the  sight  of  the  chief-king  with  the  princess  and  the 
little  child.  One  may  even  love  his  king  next  to  himself,  and  be- 
cause he  understood  them,  Ongon  was  part  of  their  ideals  and 
dreams. 

They  had  said  that  Clermont  had  been  sighted  in  the  next  woods 
and  that  Cat's-paw  was  there.  Still  Wautoma  did  not  send  for  them 
and  the  orders  of  the  day  forbade  them  to  stir  until  the  signal  was 
given  them.  They  would  remain  until  Ongon  had  gone  to  examine 
the  trouble. 

Meanwhile  Clermont  had  accompanied  Catherme  to  the  woods 
to  seek  for  Wautoma  and  there  had  found  him  gagged  and  hu- 
miliated with  his  five  bucks  under  Bat  Eye  and  the  latter's  ten. 

"We  do  not  allow  him  to  talk,"  said  Bat  Eye.  "Until  Cat's-paw 
gives  his  orders,  Wautoma  is  only  ears." 

"Then  I  will  pour  into  them  that  Lusette  is  safe,"  cried  Catherine 
to  give  the  Indian  rest  from  his  fears. 

But  poor  Wautoma  had  come  to  a  miserable  ending  of  the  glor- 
ious strategy  that  was  to  more  than  even  things  with  Bat  Eye.  It 
was  merciful  that  he  was  prevented  from  speech  for  it  excused  him 
from  a  sullen  refusal  to  talk. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  Clermont  of  Cat's-paw,  who 
was  not  even  looking  at  the  Indians. 

"Ugh !"  was  the  sole  response. 

"Shall  you  not  order  these  Indians  released?"  continued  Cler- 
mont. 

"Ugh!" 

'Cat's-paw  you  must,  here  comes  Ongon !"  cried  Catherine,  run- 
ning to  meet  Ongon  and  Minnetonka  and  seizing  the  babe  from  the 
chief-king's  arms  lovingly.  "The  strange  nurse  cannot  quiet  the 
turbulence  in  the  child's  breast,"  she  said,  leading  them  forward  and 
pointing  to  Cat's-paw. 

The  chief-king  thanked  her  with  his  eyec  for  her  faith  in  bis 
presence.  "The  child  can  soothe  his  own  rage,  if  he  will  but  accept 
his  place  in  the  loving  arms  of  his  mother,"  was  his  reply  in  the  same 
French  tongue. 


Ongon 


The  most  impressive  scene  may  be  the  most  hopeless,  and  to 
Clermont,  who  had  seen  Cat's-paw  with  Buhl-Bysee,  nothing  could 
seem  more  improbable  than  that  the  old  chief  would  yield  to  Ongon 
when  it  came  to  a  test.  What  affinity  could  there  be  between  the 
base,  treacherous  old  chief  and  his  fine  grained  superior  who,  in  a 
moment  of  vengeful  anger,  had  slain  the  soldier  ?  But  nobility  itself 
possesses  the  virtue  of  kinship.  Character  cannot  be  denied  the 
birthright  of  its  influence.  Had  Buhl-Bysee  played  upon  the  avarice 
that  he  had  found  in  Cat's-paw  until  he  had  worked  it  into  a  frenzy  ? 
And  had  passion  under  the  influence  of  drink  conspired  against  fealty 
to  Ongon?  Where  are  the  depths  of  even  the  savage  sounded? 
After  all  was  the  spiritual  altogether  perished  from  Cat's-paw?  Or 
could  the  personality  of  a  self -true  man  reach  the  innermost  self  of 
the  hardened  wretch  ?  Why  had  Cat's-paw  entered  nito  a  voluntary 
relationship  under  Ongon? 

The  test  was  to  prove  whether  Cat's-paw  wanted  gold  more  than 
the  integrity  of  his  race.  Ongon  stood  for  the  Indian,  he  had  un- 
dertaken Cat's-paw's  development.  The  vices  of  a  Buhl-Bysee 
might  fascinate  Cat's-paw,  but  it  was  more  cunning  for  him  to  outwit 
himself  and  turn  to  Ongon.  But  if  personality  is  a  sweet  reasonable- 
ness, it  is  not  a  reasoning.  Ongon  said  nothing,  Cat's-  paw  nothing. 
The  door  of  the  flag-room  was  open  for  Cat's-paw  to  quit  it  for  ever. 
Minnetonka  had  drawn  the  cross  of  gold  from  her  bosom — it  was 
in  the  palm  of  Ongon  as  his  hand  was  outstretched  to  Cat's-paw. 

"In  the  spring  the  maple  leaves  return,"  said  Ongon  gently. 

And  the  thought  of  the  final  hope  of  his  race  drove  down  the 
liquor  from  the  brain  of  the  old  chief.  Gold  in  the  form  of  the  cross 
had  covered  the  worship  of  the  idol  of  gold,  and  Cat's-paw  could 
see  clearly  to  his  only  salvation.  His  life  was  more  empty  than  his 
treasure  chest — only  Ongon  had  helped  him  to  know  it.  And  when 
Cat's-paw's  hand  had  taken  Ongon's,  Bat  Eye's  cut  the  cords  that 
bound  Wautoma's — and  every  man  was  on  his  feet. 

"You  have  w-on.  Cat's-paw,  may  the  Great  Spirit  keep  you." 
Soon  it  was  to  be  remembered  that  such  had  been  Ongon's  words 
to  the  old  chief. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  Clermont,  bowing  to  the  chief-king. 

The  signal  had  been  given  by  the  risen  Wautoma  and  now  from 
the  other  woods  had  come  his  band  of  warriors  who  stood  about  the 
chief-king  in  a  circle. 

"I  desire  the  government  to  proceed  with  the  trial,"  said  Ongon 
bowing  also  to  Clermont ;  "you  need  not  fear  my  people.  There  will 
be  no  uprising;  you  can  take  me  now,  sir." 

122 


A  Slave  Is  Free 

If  only  instead  the  country  could  have  taken  him  to  its  heart  and 
at  that  late  hour  believed  in  the  truth  of  his  mission ! 

XXXVIII 

A    SLAVE    IS    FREE 

After  five  days  Buhl-Bysee  was  determined  that  Cat's-paw  should 
give  him  the  information  he  desired.  Had  the  ship  been  scuttled, 
and  if  so  where  had  they  taken  Lusette?  How  far  north  had  the 
boat  sailed  and  who  kept  the  girl  ?  He  had  asked  for  a  soldier  from 
the  fort  and  there  had  been  detailed  to  his  service  a  tall,  bearded 
Irishman  with  the  wealth  of  fun  in  him  that  the  agent  preferred  for 
a  day's  companion. 

"Sure,"  said  Buckingham,  who  had  secured  the  post  of  valet 
by  grace  of  Trenton's  influence  with  the  commander  of  the  fort, 
"sure,  an'  it's  togither  wid  the  loike  of  your  honor  I'm  to  go? — thin 
I'll  niver  take  me  eyes  off  of  you  while  you  are  wid  the  rid  divils." 
Many  a  story  well  told  had  done  more  to  break  down  reserve  by 
laughter  than  all  the  tortures  of  rack  and  thumb-screw  combined. 
Buckingham  took  neither  his  eyes  nor  his  ears  from  their  attendance 
upon  the  agent.  And  yet  before  they  had  reached  Cat's-paw,  Buhl- 
Bysee  had  set  him  down  for  a  harmless,  ignorant,  fun-loving,  Indian- 
hating  son  of  Erin. 

"He  knows  where  my  girl  is,"  said  the  agent  in  confidence. 
"She  got  into  danger  among  the  Indians  and  I  want  to  find  her. 
I  have  been  a  pretty  wild  sort  of  a  rover,  but  when  we  are  married 
I  intend  to  settle  down.     She's  beautiful — ever  see  the  gypsy?" 

Once,  he  had,  without  enlarging  upon  it. 

But  when  they  found  Cat's-paw  and  the  half-breed  rode  out  with 
them,  the  old  chief  enlarged  upon  it.  "You  not  have  girl,  she  too 
good  for  you;  she  belong  Ongon." 

Afterward,  on  that  other  morning  at  four  o'clock,  when  Trenton 
stood  before  the  minister  with  Catherine,  Buckingham  remembered 
Cat's-paw's  words. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  you  must  give  me  the  secret,  Cat's- 
paw,  what  has  been  done  with  the  girl — was  the  ship  sunk?" 

"Yes.' 

"And  the  girl  is  safe?" 

"Yes,  me  guess." 

"You  guess,  then  you  don't  know?" 

"Me  guess." 

Buckingham  was  permitted  to  overhear  the  conversation,  Buhl- 
123 


Ongon 


Bysee  telling  the  Indian  that  he  was  a  Frenchman  and  could  not 
understand  English.  Evidently  Cat's-paw  was  telling  the  truth, 
he  did  not  know  whether  Lusette  had  been  saved  from  the  sinking 
ship  or  not. 

"Cat's-paw,"  said  Buhl-Bysee  in  the  dialect,  to  throw  off  Buck- 
ingham, "you  and  I  have  had  many  an  encounter  and  you  know  me. 
I  must  have  this  girl  for  my  wife.  She  pleases  me  right  well.  And 
then  after  the  big  council  fire  is  lighted  I  am  going  away  never  to  re- 
turn, unless  it  pleases  Ongon  to  have  me  stay.  Nothing  will  come 
out  of  this  murder  business.  Ongon  will  be  found  guilty  and  re- 
leased.    Let  us  play  fair.     Then  I  will  help  Ongon." 

"Ongon  no  need  of  Buhl-Bysee,"  sneered  the  old  Indian. 

Hot  words  followed,  with  Buhl-Bysee  the  loser  in  the  argument, 
the  old  chief  would  not  divulge  where  the  captivity  of  Lusette 
should  be.  Some  general  order  he  had  given  which  he  half  said 
he  wish  he  could  have  recalled  after  it  was  too  late.  The  interview 
would  have  not  been  the  remembrance  of  a  day  had  it  not  been 
for  the  ending.  Once  more  Buhl-Bysee's  flask  was  at  the  throat  of 
his  victim  and  again  the  demon  had  come  out  of  it. 

The  transformation  of  Cat's-paw  was  enough  to  startle  Bucking- 
ham's strong  nerves.  The  fire  almost  puffed  from  the  eyes  of  the 
Indian  as  if  there  had  been  an  explosion  within  his  nature.  As  be- 
fore, its  raging  swept  the  savage  and  kindled  a  fierce  desire  to  do 
the  opposite  of  what  he  had  intended.  But  now  the  struggle  against 
his  revealing  the  great  secret  to  Buhl-Bysee,  uniting  with  the  tor- 
rent of  hellish  flames,  begot  a  passion  even  the  agent  had  not  wit- 
nessed before. 

"Ugh,  me  put  it  out,  me  die  cool !" 

Before  the  arm  of  Buhl-Bysee  could  reach  him,  the  old  man  had 
whirled  his  pony  down  the  sand,  and  gathering  momentum  for  the 
plunge,  had  whooped  his  horse  about,  rushing  him  Into  the  lake. 
Wildly  splashed  and  staggered  the  obedient  steed  until  swimming 
depths  were  reached,  and  then  the  fiendish  yells  of  the  Indian,  which 
had  awakened  the  shores  with  their  madness,  were  suddenly  hushed. 
The  horse  was  swimming  outward  with  strong  limbs  that  com- 
municated their  willingness  and  power  to  the  savage  old  man.  He 
was  singing  and  petting  his  pony  without  looking  behind  him,  as  if 
already  his  temper  was  forgotten  and  banished  forever  from  his 
brain.  The  liquor  had  made  him  as  one  demented,  he  was  riding 
on  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds,  he  sang. 

"Indian  heap  better,  Indian  heap  better,"  more  and  more  indis- 
tinctly came  the  words  to  the  shore,  until  in  the  distance  their  sound 

i  124 


The  Fatal  Massacre  Tree 

was  but  a  murmur  of  content.  At  last  the  far  departure  whose 
breathings  are  beyond  the  ken  of  human  ears : — horse  and  rider  had 
gone  down  together  into  the  great  deep's  eternal  quiet. 

XXXIX 

THE  FATAL  MASSACRE  TREE 

Many  days  since  the  death  of  Cat's-paw  a  twittering  bird 
hovered  about  Buckingham.  It  was  a  thrush,  very  tame,  that  often 
flew  over  the  ruins  near  the  lodge  once  occupied  by  Ongon  and  Min- 
netonka.  Buckingham  had  never  thought  to  speak  to  any  one  of  a 
hundred  breathings  from  the  forest  and  prairie,  and  this  was  one  of 
them.  He  became  acquainted  with  the  bird — and  then  it  disap- 
peared to  return  to  him  no  more.  That  had  been  before  September 
had  come.  He  would  have  liked  to  take  it  to  Ongon  and  his 
princess  to  sing  to  their  prison  room  and  so  had  sought  first  to  train 
it.  Failing  in  this,  instead  every  day  the  freshest  flowers  from  the 
fields  were  sent  by  him  when  he  could  not  come  himself.  "John,  we 
must  make  his  prison  days  his  happiest." 

And  Trenton  had  understood  his  friend.  "Aye,  Buckingham,  in 
the  days  of  the  crime  against  you,  you  can  find  now  the  spring  of  a 
greater  love.  When  I  see  you  bringing  the  myrtle  with  the  red 
wood-berries  and  the  flowers  of  their  own  planting,  the  picture 
of  your  own  cell  comes  before  me  vividly.  It  was  bare  and  desolate, 
aye,  for  it  was  the  planting  time  of  your  joy.  Yea,  let  us  make  the 
walls  bright  for  Ongon  now." 

The  roughest  soldier  of  the  fort  had  greeted  the  chief-king  with 
respectful  deference.  When  Trenton  and  Buckingham  had  marked 
the  room  that  pleased  Ongon  most,  the  Sergeant  who  occupied  it,  of 
his  own  accord,  had  anticipated  any  request  from  the  chief-king's 
friends,  and  had  found  a  delicate  way  to  relinquish  it  to  the  prison- 
er. Trenton  had  preferred  to  have  Ongon  take  one  of  the  brighter 
rooms  in  the  newer  brick  building  belonging  to  the  officers'  part  of 
the  fort,  but  Ongon  with  a  smile  had  asked  instead  for  the  honor 
of  being  placed  in  the  old  log  quarters  on  the  west  side  of  the  in- 
closure.  "We  can  behold  our  prairies.  Major,  and  the  Indians  will 
forgive  us  for  facing  westward,"  Ongon  had  said,  with  his  arm  en- 
twined in  Minnetonka's,  as  they  gazed  out  wistfully  over  the  cap- 
tivating lands  that  had  been  the  birthright  of  the  Indian. 

Brought  up  from  childhood  in  the  wilds  of  the  beautiful  west, 
the  enjoyment  of  the  royal  family  was  understood  by  officer  and 
private  alike,  when  from  day  to  day  the  friends  of  the  prisoners 

125 


On 


on 


brought  them  Uttle  mementoes,  loving  surprises,  to  break  the  mo- 
notony of  their  confinement  before  the  trial.  Every  day,  with  a  defer- 
ence noted  by  all,  Trenton  walked  with  Ongon  about  the  inclosure 
and  delighted  in  lingering  over  anything  that  pleased  him.  The  bas- 
tions at  the  northwest  and  southeast  angles  of  the  fort  were  favorite 
places  within  the  modest  ramparts,  but  nothing  seemed  to  hold  On- 
gon so  much  as  the  view  through  the  gun  holes  of  the  block  house 
at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  palisades. 

"Ah,  Trenton,  I  believe  you  have  never  needed  to  use  these  loop 
holes  against  us  since  the  fort  was  rebuilt  in  1816,"  said  Ongon, 
smiling. 

"Only  for  the  refugees  last  year  to  peep  out  to  see  whether  Black 
Hawk  was  coming,"  said  Trenton,  laughing  back. 

"Black  Hawk  is  having  a  safe  escort  home  from  the  East,  I  be- 
lieve," observed  Ongon,  showing  the  interest  he  took  in  the  affairs 
of  the  nation. 

"Yes,  he  is  safely  conducted  home.  We  sent  soldiers  from 
Chicago  to  Green  Bay,  fearing  his  reception  by  the  States  in  which 
he  had  made  his  raid  would  not  be  so  cordial  as  that  in  Baltimore 
where  he  outdrew  the  president  as  an  attraction." 

"Ah,  we  must  forget  not  Black  Hawk ;  those  who  use  the  sword 
shall  perish  with  the  sword,"  said  Ongon. 

"It  is  hard  to  see  you  in  prison  when  Black  Hawk  is  touring  the 
country,"  complained  Trenton. 

"It  is  harder  to  see  my  poor  people  being  ruined  body,  mind,  and 
soul  by  this  whisky,"  said  Ongon,  spurning  a  small  cask  with  his 
foot. 

"Yes,  barrels  of  the  liquor  are  found  all  over  the  town  before 
the  very  eyes  of  the  commissioners  to  the  treaty,  who  wink  at  the 
sale  of  the  whisky.  They  now  say  that  the  lot  over  by  the  slough 
there" — he  pointed  to  the  place  which  was  to  be  the  site  of  Tremont 
House — "two  years  ago  was  worth  a  cord  of  wood,  last  year  a  pair 
of  boots,  and  this  year  a  barrel  of  whiskey.  Liquor  is  the  medium  of 
exchange  for  the  year." 

"Yes,  yes,"  was  all  the  chief-king  answered. 

Meanwhile  Buckingham  had  met  another  inhabitant  of  the  woods 
— a  tall,  powerful  Indian  with  weak  eyes  and  a  melancholy  face. 
One  day,  finding  that  this  Indian  could  speak  and  understand  English, 
he  had  told  him  a  story  with  a  mixture  of  kind  philosophy  in  it.  The 
Indian  had  then  given  his  name — Bat  Eye.  Since  then  they  had  be- 
come acquainted  and  visited  together  nearly  every  day.  Bat  Eye 
told  his  history.     As  nephew  of  Cat's-paw,  he  had  his  chiefdom 

126 


The  Fatal  Massacre  Tree 

encumbered  with  heirship  to  many  troubles.  The  old  chief's  enemies 
were  as  the  leaves  for  number,  and  bitter  toward  him  as  the  old 
garlic  from  which  Chicago  had  its  name.  They  were  winking  men, 
if  Cat's-paw  had  left  any  friends ;  and  their  hands  had  been  bony 
for  heaps  of  the  old  chief's  plunder.  He  had  given  them  a  whole 
chestful  of  gold,  silver  and  beads,  he  said,  keeping  nothing  for 
himself. 

This  had  made  one  Buhl-Bysee,  agent,  angry  with  him,  who 
claimed  at  a  late  hour  a  share  in  the  distribution  unless  he  should  re- 
veal to  him  certain  plans  Cat's-paw  had  left  for  the  year.  But  Bat 
Eye  would  be  a  man  of  his  promise. 

"Why  not  make  friends  with  Wautoma?"  Buckingham  had  asked 
him. 

Because  Wautoma  never  forgets  the  day  Bat  Eye  humbled  him," 
was  the  answer. 

"Let  me  help." 

"He  is  jealous,  too.  Bat  Eye  keeps  the  flag-room  in  Ongon's 
absence." 

Every  problem  has  its  own  elements  of  confusion.  Because  Bat 
Eye  was  so  friendly  and  honest  and  forsaken,  Buckingham  never 
suspected  his  knowledge  of  Lusette's  place  of  imprisonment.  Bat 
Eye  presented  the  redman  struggling  with  himself  for  a  moral  vant- 
age ground.  He  had  been  led  to  Buckingham  to  show  the  white 
man  the  need  the  Indian  had  of  the  superior  intelligence  and  spiritual 
fiber  of  his  white  brother.  Buckingham  remembered  Ongon's  say- 
ing: "I  can  only  explain  my  love  for  the  Indian  by  my  conviction 
that  the  redman  is  an  equal  heir  of  God's  eternity."  And  it  had 
been  worth  many  a  walk  through  lonely  trails  to  Indian  tents  now 
since  Buckingham  had  found  something  of  this  fire  within  himself. 

Bat  Eye  would  often  talk  of  Ongon — always  reverently,  yet  never 
with  the  slightest  suggestion  of  disloyalty  to  Cat's-paw.  Something 
of  ancestral  worship  had  possession  of  the  faithful  nephew.  ^^ 

At  length  Buckingham  spoke  of  the  gypsy  and  told  Bat  Eye 
of  the  need  Ongon  had  of  her  knowledge  to  be  cleared  of  the  charge 
of  murder.  Bat  Eye  listened  silently  and  said  that  he  would  think 
over  what  he  could  do  to  help.  The  next  day  he  had  solemnly  said 
to  Buckingham  that  he  had  reliable  knowledge  of  Lusette's  being 
alive  and  well. 

"But  Bat  Eye  promised  not  to  tell  where  she  is  seen." 

"It  does  not  fight  you  to  hunt  her,  Bat  Eye?" 

"No." 

"Then  she  is  not  so  far  away  as  we  had  thought?"  I' 

^  127 


Ongon 


Bat  Eye  did  not  answer.  '"    •''  .'  '  •     '. 

"Is  it  possible  for  us  to  find  her?" 
"Not  for  a  year." 

"Why?"  r 

"Indian  deep." 

"We  must  get  word  from  her  for  Ongon's  sake." 
"No."  ^ 

"Perhaps  you  can  let  Wautoma  know  more  than  you  can  me?" 
"Send  for  Wautoma."     And  so  the  message  had  gone  to  the 
lodge  and  two  of  Wautoma's  bucks  had  hastened  to  the  fort. 

"Tell  Wautoma  to  meet  me  here  at  the  massacre  cottonwood  by 
the  lake  as  soon  as  he  can  after  the  entertainment  to-night,"  had  been 
Buckingham's  instructions.  Then  on  his  old  tavern  paper  he  had 
written  the  note  for  Trenton  and  had  enclosed  it  in  a  tavern  envelope. 
Thus  had  run  the  words,  "Meet  me  at  four  o'clock  at  the  old  place. 
On  track  Lusette.  Buckingham."  The  note  had  gone  into 
the  pouch  and,  as  many  times  before,  the  pouch  had  been  buried 
in  the  sand  at  the  foot  of  the  poplar  while  Buckingham  took  an 
afternoon  swim  in  the  lake. 

"Ha !"  cried  Buhl-Bysee,  crawling  from  the  grass  with  Indian 
stealth,  "Blue  Earth  has  tarried  his  coming  to  some  good  purpose, 
perhaps !"  He  had  heard  the  directions,  but  most  of  all  he  had  seen 
the  burial  of  the  pouch.  Rapidly  his  fingers  worked  until  the  sealed 
envelope  was  found.  Quickly  the  agent  felt  in  his  pocket.  Yes,  in 
his  folder  he  had  an  assortment  of  tavern  envelopes — and  here  one 
of  this  same  "CRAP  HOUSE"  variety !  But  now  the  pleasure  of 
finding  a  similar  envelope  was  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  joy  of 
discovering  the  contents  of  Buckingham's  note.  "In  love  and  war 
strategy  is  never  vicious!"  Deftly  he  copied  the  handwriting  of 
Buckingham,  as  if  he  had  practised  such  work  many  times  before. 
So  the  letter  lay  in  the  pouch  addressed  and  sealed  by  William  Buck- 
ingham to  Major  Trenton  with  the  compliments  of  Wautoma.  Then 
the  pouch  had  been  returned  to  its  sands,  tracks  obliterated — and 
Buhl-Bysee  had  vanished.  , 

There  had  been  an  old  observation  of  Craps  that  like  a  game 
of  chess,  so  is  life — "Most  of  its  defeats  come,"  he  often  said,  "when 
mortals  are  nearest  the  victory.  In  two  moves  we  say,  we  shall 
v^in — and  in  the  next  we  are  checkmated.  None  is  the  fault  other 
than  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  who  invented  the  game  is  blinded  to  its 
intricacies  by  his  own  overcharge  of  enthusiasm.  When  in  sight  of 
the  goal  we  forget  there  is  one  other  man  always  against  us  whose 
interests  are  opposed  to  our  winning." 

128 


Influence  Offered 

But  other  events  were  to  go  before  ere  Buckingham  was  to  lay 
himself  down  at  the  foot  of  the  cottonwood  and  with  his  head  resting 
in  sleep  where  Buhl-Bysee's  fingers  had  been.  Buckingham,  in- 
nocent of  the  scene  upon  which  the  sun  would  rise  on  the  morrow, 
might  be  foiled  as  others  before  him.  Yet  brighter  hours  and  other 
thoughts  were  to  precede  the  fateful  hour — even  though  Buhl- 
Bysee  had  his  place  in  them  also. 

],,.-'  XL  :     .  ,    ,^; 

INFLUENCE  OFFERED 

It  was  the  day  of  the  culmination  of  Buhl-Bysee's  plans  when 
he  should  have  the  reins  in  his  hands.  For  some  time  he  had  per- 
ceived that  the  influence  of  Ongon  over  his  chiefs  was  founded  upon 
a  good  scheme.  Properly  managed  it  could  be  made  a  great  success. 
Ongon  had  failed  because  his  closest  advisers  could  not  see  as  far  as 
he.  It  had  been  a  great  stroke  for  Ongon  to  get  arrested,  the  agent 
observed,  for  thereby  the  chief-king  attracted  attention  to  his  meth- 
ods, and  was  the  more  likely  to  gain  that  capital  of  brains  which  was 
necessary  for  the  future.  Therefore  he  was  moved  to  come  be- 
fore Ongon  with  his  most  matured  plan  and  confess  that  he  un- 
derstood him  as  none  other. 

"I  have  made  it  sure  that  we  shall  not  be  interrupted  to-day," 
said  the  agent,  when  in  the  presence  of  Ongon. 

There  was  one  flash  from  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  that  his  room 
had  been  entered  without  knocking,  but  he  bade  Buhl-Bysee  to  be 
seated  with  no  further  show  of  resentment. 

"Cat's-paw  is  dead,"  said  Buhl-Bysee  regretfully.  "While  riding 
with  a  soldier  and  myself  he  met  his  end  some  six  weeks  ago." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  told,"  said  Ongon.  "Cat's-paw  was  a  brave 
chief.     In  his  day  none  were  swifter  or  more  feared." 

"He  died  having  completed  his  testimony  against  you,"  observed 
Buhl-Bysee. 

Ongon  smoothed  the  cloth  upon  the  table  and  rearranged  the 
flowers  in  the  pitcher  without  answering. 

"But  I  begin  to  understand  you,  chief-king,  and  the  charge  of 
guilt  can  be  removed  by  influence." 

"Ongon  is  innocent,"  replied  the  prisoner  quietly. 

"Perhaps,  but  already  as  the  condemned,  but  will  the  chief-king 
listen?" 

"The  Indian  never  interrupts  when  a  man  will  speak  on,"  replied 
'  129 


Ongon 


Onj^on  witin  the  gentle  forbearance  that  always  kept  the  storm  quiet 
within  him. 

"I  begin  to  understand  you,  chief-king,  I  see  now  that  your  in- 
fluence will  be  lasting.  The  lodge  which  you  call  your  kingdom 
has  a  strong  hold  upon  your  followers.  They  are  mighty,  and  from 
every  tribe.  Make  me  chief  in  Cat's-paw's  place  and  I  will  secure 
your  pardon.  Together  we  will  build  an  empire  within  the  republic,, 
rich,  grand,  surpassing  the  dreams  of  the  Orient.  You  will  save 
your  honor,  your  wife  and  child  will  have  the  taint  removed  from 
your  name — perhaps  we  can  even  prove  you  innocent,  and  upon  you 
and  your  children  will  descend  majesty  in  the  presence  of 
democracy." 

"A  man  has  first  tempted  Ongon," — he  had  arisen  and  was 
looking  out  of  the  window,  with  Buhl-Bysee  at  his  side,  hands  open 
to  receive  the  prospect,  eyes  searching  the  chief-king's  face. 

"The  government  will  give  large  sums  of  money  to  the  In- 
dians  "  urged  the  agent. 

"The  white  man  interrupts,"  said  Ongon  quietly. 

"Nay,  speak  on,  chief-king,"  replied  the  commissioner  with  a 
sweep  of  his  hand  towards  the  prairie,  and  talking  with  his  insinuat- 
ing eyes. 

"A  man  first  tempts  Ongon  to  consider  the  effect  of  his  life  upon 
his  family  after  his  death." 

"Even  so,"  whispered  Buhl-Bysee. 

"Sir,  let  me  briefly  explain.  Ongon  was  the  victim  of  a  cruel 
wrong-  in  his  childhood.  There  was  nothing  in  life  but  to  bear  it. 
Then  he  found  that  by  it  was  a  way  to  live  perhaps  a  truer  life, 
and  better  for  many,  than  if  Ongon  had  never  suffered.  What  if 
when  he  had  been  wronged  he  should  give  his  life  to  the  task  made 
possible  by  the  cruel  crime  against  him  ? — Ongon  can  have  no  better 
wish  for  his  child  than  that  the  child  shall  accept  any  fate  brought 
him  through  what  happens  to  his  father  as  a  promise  of  heaven's 
favor.  You  are  a  white  man,  Buhl-Bysee,  tell  me,  did  not  Valley 
Forge  endear  Washington  to  American  hearts  for  all  time?  On- 
gon would  rather  be  loved  at  last  by  a  great  people  whose  conscience 
has  been  touched  by  the  redman's  problem,  than  possess  all  the  honor 
the  present  may  heap  upon  him.  Or  he  would  rather  be  worthy  of 
such  love." 

"Ah,  but  the  white  man  will  have  nothing  but  scorn  for  you, 
Ongon."     Buhl-Bysee   was   still   near   him. 

"The  trial  is  not  over  yet,"  replied  Ongon  with  the  same  firm 
quietness. 

130 


Fierce  Blows 

"The  source  of  your  hope  is  smkhig  sand.  Where  is  the  gypsy 
now?"  asked  Bhul-Bysee  with  a  sneer. 

"Ongon  has  reason  to  believe  in  Providence  until  his  work  is 
done,"  replied  the  chief-king,  not  deigning  to  hear  his  reference  to 
Jean. 

But  Buhl-Bysee  saw  him  advancing  to  open  the  door.  "You 
reject  me  then,  as  a  chief,  who  am  come  to  you  friendly  and  well  ad- 
vised?" 

"I  know  the  manner  of  Cat's-paw's  death,"  said  Ongon.  "It  re- 
pents the  soldier  who  served  you  as  valet  that  day,  that  he  ever  un- 
dertook to  find  himself  as  the  aid  of  Buhl-Bysee.  Beware."  Some- 
thing in  the  eye  of  the  powerful  Indian  made  the  agent  put  a  silence 
on  his  lips  from  giving  utterance  to  the  words  he  had  almost  dared. 

XLI 

FIERCE  BLOWS 

When  Buhl-Bysee  had  gotten  himself  out  and  had  entered  the 
dark,  narrow  hall  leading  from  Ongon's  room  to  the  stairs,  he  could 
not  tell  to  whom  the  approaching  figure  belonged  until  he  was  face 
to  face  with  Trenton,  The  way  was  straight,  and  when  the  com- 
missioner would  not  give  passage  first,  Trenton  drew  himself  close  to 
the  wall.  But  Buhl-Bysee  was  in  no  hurry  to  take  the  clear  path 
thus  offered  to  him,  and  rested  upon  his  walking  stick  quite  in  a 
way  mocking  the  officer's  leaning  upon  his. 

"We  are  very  civil,"  said  the  agent  with  a  cold  sneer. 

"I  bear  you  no  ill-will,"  said  Trenton,  "will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
take  the  way?" 

"Like  to  know  a  secret?"  leered  Buhl-Bysee;  "there  is  little  hope 
now  that  your  gypsy  sailor  and  her  boat  will  ever  return.  Two 
months,  ha !  two  months  and  no  word  from  Lusette,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate " 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing  at  all,  only  how  easy  for  one  to  have 
stolen  aboard  and  hid  in  the  hold  to  scuttle  the  ship  in  the  night, 
ha!  ha!" 

"And  the  girl,  tell  me  man  of  the  girl?"  demanded  Trenton. 

Buhl-Bysee  had  surmised  rightly.  Trenton  had  not  been  told  as 
much  as  his  friends  knew.  "How  anxious  we  are  now  to  speak  to 
each  other — aren't  we  my  dear  fellow?  We  couldn't  let  the  firl 
sink  just  in  that  manner,  could  we?"  He  was  caressing  the  head  of 
his  cane  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  and  now  stood  aside  to  let 
Trenton  pass. 

131 


Ongon 


"Buhl-Bysee,  when  you  married  Malite  did  you  find  happiness? 
Did  she  not  awake  to  the  fact  that  you  married  not  from  love  but  to 
spite  me?  Remember  the  misery  of  a  woman  who  drew  back  into 
herself  and  began  to  die  day  by  day  when  she  found  she  could  not 
live  without  love.  You  remember  the  end.  Spared  to  repeat  your 
power." 

"You  plead  like  a  woman,"  sneered  Buhl-Bysee.  "But  promise 
me" — his  face  had  instantly  become  a  most  engaging  smile — 
"promise  me  that  you  will  never  marry  the  girl  and  I  promise  that 
she  shall  come  back  safe  of  harm  from  me." 

Trenton's  face  had  passed  from  anxiety  to  contempt.  "If  you 
meant  to  convey  to  me  the  impression  that  you  know  where  the 
gypsy  is,  I  see  you  lied." 

Twice  the  agent  struck  at  the  head  of  the  soldier,  and  twice  the 
blow  was  skilfully  parried.  Then  when  Buhl-Bysee  sought  to  draw 
his  pistol,  Trenton  at  last  took  the  offensive,  and  gave  blow  in  re- 
turn for  blow.  Still  the  agent  talked.  "That!" — which  Trenton 
parried — "that!" — which  he  turned  aside  with  the  same  skill — 
"that !" — and  Trenton,  who  had  spoken  no  word,  had  found  the  blow 
that  sent  Buhl-Bysee  sprawling  to  the  floor  with  his  foot  upon  the 
agent's  throat. 

"Confess!"  said  Trenton,  who  had  lifted  his  cane  for  a  second 
blow. 

"I  lied  !"  wheezed  the  helpless  man. 

Trenton  lowered  his  stick,  and  rapped  three  times  with  it  upon 
the  floor.    The  call  brought  a  quick  response  from  below. 

"Officer,  take  this  man  out,  and  see  that  he  never  returns  unac- 
companied by  a  soldier."  Then  Trenton  went  in  to  see  Ongon,  his 
knock  having  opened  the  door  at  which  the  chief-king  was  standing 
instantly. 

XLII 

"my  people'"' 

Sound  of  the  clash  of  canes  had  come  to  Ongon,  for  the  fire 
was  -in  his  eyes,  and  when  he  grasped  Trenton's  hand  the  spark 
was  running  through  his  being.  With  a  consent  mutually  word- 
less the  two  men  locked  arms  and  drew  to  the  window.  From  the 
view  they  could  see  eight  yoke  of  oxen  as  silently  holding  their  heads 
toward  the  sail  boat  from  the  East  which  they  had  drawn  across  the 
sand  from  the  lake  to  the  river. 

"She's  from  Oswego,  the  first  private  yacht  to  enter  the  Chicago 

132 


My  People" 


River,"  came  up  from  below  in  a  conversion  between  ox-driver  and 
citizen;  "she's  owned  by  three  brothers." 

"Her  name  is  significant,"  was,  the  reply.  The  prisoner  and  hi» 
companion  had  already  observed  the  bright  letters  on  the  boat — 
"Westward  Ho," 

"And  everything  from  the  East  has  a  charm  for  us."  It  was 
Ongon  who  had  spoken  first,  and  the  sentiment  coming  from  him 
and  with  such  intensity,  startled  Trenton.  He  looked  up,  but  could 
not  find  words  to  interrupt  the  tide  of  chastened  passion  in  the  man. 
But  when  Buhl-Bysee,  grand  and  pompous,  was  seen  hailing  the 
captain  of  the  yacht,  who  sent  a  boat  to  the  shore  to  bring  the  agent 
aboard,  the  scene  added  a  fire  that  broke  through  reserve. 

"I  heard  him  strike  you,  Trenton.  Only  for  my  promise  not  to 
leave  this  room  without  permission,  I  should  have  been  out — but 
I  knew  that  you  could  take  care  of  yourself."  He  spoke  the  words 
with  a  suppression  of  feeling  such  as  Trenton  had  never  witnessed 
in  him  before. 

"It  was  not  the  personal  encounter — if  one  could  only  defend 
others  as  well,"  said  Trenton,  who  had  turned  back  to  the  window 
they  had  left  at  the  sight  of  Buhl-Bysee.  He  leaned  his  head  heavily 
upon  his  hands  and  when  he  looked  up  the  sail    had  disappeared. 

"I  begin  to  be  moved,"  said  the  chief-king,  half  to  himself  as  he 
walked  to  the  darkest  end  of  the  room. 

When  Trenton  directed  his  eyes  to  see  the  meaning  of  Ongon's 
passionate  utterance,  he  grasped  for  the  first  time  the  truth  of  the 
man.  The  chief-king's  eyes  were  as  if  he  had  opened  a  door  to  a 
dark  furnace  wherein  the  coals  were  at  white  heat.  Trenton  also 
had  stiffened  to  his  greatest  height,  standing  unconsciously  as  if  on 
guard  at  his  angle  of  events.  "It  would  be  magnificent  once  to  see 
Ongon  on  fire,"  he  said,  half  offering  Ongon  his  cane  to  see  him 
break  it  on  the  table. 

"Would  you  believe  it,  Trenton,"  said  Ongon,  "I  sometimes 
fancy  my  life  will  end  so — perhaps  in  the  same  cause  that  has  just 
engaged  you.  After  all,  our  affections  are  our  heritage,  and  life  is 
the  sum  of  its  passion."  He  was  holding  the  edge  of  the  table  as 
if  it  were  a  ledge  on  a  precipice  to  whose  sides  he  had  picked  his 
way  to  seek  some  jewel  carried  to  an  eagle's  nest. 

"You  do  not  really  know  why  we  came  to  blows?"  cried  Tren- 
ton, stepping  to  Ongon's  side  with  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  his 
eyes  as  steadfastly  upon  the  chief-king's  as  the  Indian's  were  upon 
the  floor. 

"I  fancy  it  is  Lusette."     His  tone  was  the  heart  of  gentleness 

133 


Ong 


on 

and  when  he  looked  up  his  eyes  were  cahn — but  it  was  the  quiet 
at  the  centre  of  a  cyclone.  No  language  could  have  told  Trenton 
better  the  lengths  to  which  Ongon  would  go  for  this  girl. 

"Yes."     The  two  at  last  had  spoken  her  name  to  each  other. 

Their  eyes  met  as  only  men's  can  whose  love  is  wrapped  about 
the  same  woman.  "Yes,  her  mysterious  absence,"  repeated  Tren- 
ton; "from  no  source  are  we  able  to  get  any  word  since  she  sailed 
— but  I  was  not  aware " 

In  his  hesitation  Ongon  finished  the  sentence — "Of  her  move- 
ments being  known  to  me  ?  Let  us  sit  down,  Trenton,  for  there  are 
things  that  I  have  wanted  you  to  know  for  some  time." 

Ongon  drew  a  small  buckskin  pouch  from  his  belt  and  laid  it 
upon  the  table,  his  fingers  playing  with  the  strings  but  not  unfasten- 
ing them.  "Suppose,  Trenton,"  he  began  in  a  deep  voice,  "suppose 
that  Ongon  is  not  an  Indian?" 

"Oh,  my  friend!"  Trenton  had  started  up,  but  sank  back  again 
into  his  chair.     It  was  his  turn  to  hold  to  the  edges  of  the  table. 

"Hardly  could  it  be  known."  Ongon  was  baring  his  arm  as  he 
spoke,  and  to  Trenton  it  might  still  be  counted  as  belonging  at  least 
to  a  half-breed  Indian  of  wonderful  strength.  "When  I  was  a  child 
of  six,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  I  overheard  the  chief,  my 
father,  say  that  I  was  not  his  child,  that  I  was  white,  and  that  he  had 
taken  me  to  raise.  When  I  was  sixteen  he  died,  leaving  me  his 
chief dom — and  also  a  knowledge  of  something  of  my  history.  I  had 
been  washed  ashore  from  a  shipwreck,  a  white  babe  less  than  three 
years  of  age.  His  own  son  had  died,  my  face  resembled  his.  He 
took  me  to  a  medicine  man  to  have  me  painted  Indian.  But  the 
medicine  man  knew  more  than  is  wont.  He  saturated  my  blood 
with  silver  in  the  form  of  the  nitrate.  The  sun,  and  I  suppose  a 
naturally  dark  and  smooth  skin  free  from  beard,  with  Indian  fea- 
tures, did  the  rest." 

"Oh,  Ongon,  you  a  victim  of  such  a  deed — I  can  begin  to  under- 
stand now  the  pathos  of  your  life,  and  why  you  have  carried  an  at- 
mosphere about  you  greater  than  anything  you  have  ever  said  or 
done !" 

"At  first  it  made  me  terribly  severe.  I  took  delight  in  inflicting 
punishment  when  justice  demanded  it.  Until  the  sweetest  and  most 
beautiful  of  women  came  into  my  life.  Then  when  through  Minne- 
tonka  I  understood  the  Indian  nature  a  passion  of  admiration  and 
helpfulness  seized  me.  Ah,  if  true  white  men  and  women  had  to  be 
Indians  a  life  time,  what  would  not  the  Indians  come  to  be!"  In 
the  thought  of  the  Indian's  greatness,  the  newer  passion  was  for  the 

134 


My  People' 


moment  stilled  in  Ongon,  and  he  was  his  old  self  again.  He  had 
paused  only  for  a  second  to  feel  the  truth  of  what  he  was  about 
to  say  and  then  he  continued : 

"They  have  a  legend  among  the  redmen  prophetic  of  themselves. 
An  old  man — the  Indian — sat  alone  with  his  fuel  gone,  and  his  fire 
low.  Just  as  it  was  dying  a  youth — the  white  man — entered  with 
cheeks  of  red  and  eyes  of  pleasure  and  his  lips  a  beautiful  smile. 

"  'Ah  my  son/  said  the  old  man,  greeting  him,  'I  am  glad  to  see 
you.  Let  us  spend  the  evening  together  and  entertain  each  other 
with  our  deeds.'  Reaching  down  a  curiously  carved  pipe  from  the 
side  of  the  lodge,  and  filling  it  with  the  choicest  tobacco,  he  handed 
it  to  his  guest,  and  then  taking  a  pipe  himself,  and  puffing  out  a 
few  clouds  of  smoke  he  thus  began  to  speak : 

"  'I  breathe,  and  the  streams  cease  to  flow,  and  become  hard  and 
brittle  as  crystal.' 

"  'I  breathe,'  answered  the  youth,  'and  the  flowers  spring  up  in 
my  path.' 

"  'I  shake  my  hoary  locks,'  rejoined  the  old  man,  'and  the  leaves 
fall  and  whirl  away  and  the  earth  is  snow,  the  birds  seek  the  distant 
clime,  and  the  beasts  fly  to  the  shelter  of  the  forest  and  caves.' 

"  'I  toss  my  sunny  curls,'  said  the  youth,  'and  the  soft  showers  are 
upon  the  earth,  the  plants  gently  raise  their  heads,  the  birds  warble 
amidst  the  groves,  and  all  nature  rejoices.'  Then  the  youth  gazed 
upon  the  old  man,  and  his  gaunt  visage  and  lank  form  lost  their 
outlines,  the  old  man  was  transformed,  and  the  blue  bird  began  to 
chirp  and  sing  on  the  roof  of  the  lodge,  the  stream  to  murmur  along 
its  course,  and  the  sweet  scent  of  violets  to  laden  the  air.' " 

As  he  finished  Ongon  rose  and  stretched  his  hand  across  the 
table  just  out  of  the  reach  of  his  friend's  grasp — "And  Trenton,  why 
not?  Why  should  not  the  white  man  who  is  the  strong  younger 
brother  help  transform  the  Indian  ?  My  people  only  need  the  strong 
man  and  time." 

To  Trenton  the  majesty  of  Ongon's  words  "my  people"  was  an 
eloquence  of  the  heart  he  never  forgot. 

"But  I  digress,"  said  Ongon,  looking  down  at  the  buckskin  pouch 
again.  Trenton  could  not  forget  the  change  that  came  over  Ongon 
with  the  words,  nor  the  vehemence  that  made  his  voice  scarcely  au- 
dible. "A  girl,  brave,  winsome,  loving,  sent  of  heaven,  acquainted 
with  my  story,  has  touched  these  prairies  with  her  feet,  and  lent  her 
beauty  to  these  woodlands.     And  Trenton  for  me!  for  me!" 

"And  when  you  look  upon  her  face  you  thank  heaven  that  you 
live  in  the  same  world,"  said  the  soldier. 

135 


Ongon 


"I  never  saw  her !"  cried  Ongon. 

Trenton  arose  in  surprise  that  grew  to  astonishment.  "Never  saw 
her,  never  saw  her,  why,  Ongon,  I  thought " 

But  Ongon  only  looked  as  if  he  would  have  the  light  that  came 
into  the  soldier's  face  perpetuated.  "Trenton,  I  have  thought  of 
late  that  you  loved  Lusette  and  it  has  given  me  joy  for  you;  my 
hand  that  you  may  win,  if " 

The  chief-king  had  arisen  and,  taking  from  the  pouch  the  ruby 
Jean  had  left  for  Mylo,  bent  over  the  soldier  with  the  stone  in  his 
hand.  "This  was  her  mother's,  she  left  word  to  me,  and  I  think  our 
mothers  and  sisters,  and  the  gypsy  is  my  own  cousin." 

And  it  pleased  the  men  to  decorate  each  other  with  the  flowers 
from  the  pitcher,  as  if  that  might  make  them  feel  thereafter  their 
oneness  in  the  presence  of  every  blossom  that  grew.  Again  they 
locked  arms  as  at  the  first.  But  the  sound  of  laughter  and  many 
voices  was  in  the  hall  and  Trenton  remembered  the  pretty  mission 
on  which  he  had  come  at  the  direction  of  Catherine  Dale. 

XLIII 

A    PROCESSION    OF    HAPPY    FACES 

The  door  opened  upon  a  procession  of  happy  faces.  First  came 
four  of  Wautoma's  braves — bearing  in  their  hands  lengths  of  can- 
vas painted  to  represent  the  forest  and  prairie — Catherine's  work, 
and  by  her  direction  fastened  to  slender  pine  frames.  Afterwards 
followed  two  more  bucks  with  armsful  of  flowers  gathered  at  the 
lodge,  succeeded  by  Wautoma  wrapped  in  a  handsome  blanket  with 
a  flute  in  his  hands.  In  a  mystery  of  gay  decorations,  all  Indian 
costume,  came  Catherine  and  Josie,  bouncing  Mylo  between  them. 
Last  to  enter  but  first  to  greet  Ongon  who  stood  in  wonderment, 
tripped  Minnetonka. 

"We  have  come  to  take  you  out  into  our  beautiful  Indian  land," 
she  said  putting  her  hands  in  Jean's  way,  which  she  had  loved  the 
more  since  understanding  her  mission. 

"And  always  with  the  same  charm  disclosing  a  wealth  of  pre- 
ciousness,"  said  Ongon  touching  lightly  the  beautiful  chaplet  of  roses 
on  his  princess'  head. 

"Minnetonka  is  the  preferred,"  said  Catherine  with  a  flush  of 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Ongon's  tender  aiTection  for  his  wife. 

"Always,"  said  the  chief-king,  bowing  as  much  with  his  eyes  as 
with  his  head  and  body.  If  Ongon  had  been  slow  to  understand,  the 
quick  placing  of  the  decorations  would  have  told  him  the  secrete 

136 


A  Procession  of  Happy  Faces 

They  had  come  in  a  new  way  to  entertain  his  hours.  This  time  a 
representation  of  an  Indian  wooing  was  to  be  enacted  before  him, 

^'In  a  drama  of  three  acts,"  announced  Catherine,  the  stagemas- 
ter,  "Me-Big-Chief  will  seek  a  bride  from  among  the  handsome 
ladies  present." 

It  was  Wautoma's  hour.  "Corn  planting  done.  Me-Big-Chief 
go  fine  dressed,  these  feathers  in  his  hair,  to  crane  dance,  seek  bride, 
squaw."  Wautoma  takes  his  time  to  make  Big  Chief's  passage 
through  the  trail  seem  long,  and  pains  to  tell  again  and  again  that  the 
ladies  do  the  planting. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  a  wearisome  drama,  and  not  at  all  make 
believe,  for  the  crane  dance  feast,  under  the  handsome  ladies'  sugges- 
tion, was  a  real  repast.  Their  deft  hands  were  quickly  spreading  the 
table  with  the  viands  they  had  brought.  Everything,  even  to  the 
apples,  oranges,  and  dried  grapes,  Minnetonka  explained,  had  been 
brought  by  a  quick  relay  of  runners  with  these  letters  from  the  vari- 
ous chiefs.  The  sparkling  soda  water  was  from  the  Ute  Pass  in 
Colorado,  and  the  letter  from  this  chief  had  been  written  in  the 
Garden  of  the  Gods.  This  maize  had  grown  beside  the  Falls  of 
Minnehaha. 

"It  was  parched,  Ongon,  by  the  falls  of  much  laughter  at  the 
lodge,"  said  Minnetonka,  most  beautiful  ever  when  pausing  in  her 
quick  action  to  kneel  for  a  moment  beside  her  husband  and  child. 

Josie  stood  holding  Trenton's  arm,  and  dancing  with  delight  at 
Ongon's  pleasure.  "We  worked  it  up  when  you  first  came  here," 
she  explained  with  a  courtesy  to  Ongon  when  his  eye  fell  upon  her 
beaming  face. 

"My  hospitable  great  hearted  Indians,"  said  Ongon  with  his  arm 
about  Minnetonka's  waist ;  "from  every  note  is  loyalty  and  devotion, 
my  princess." 

But  a  glamour  must  now  be  over  the  eating  and  presently  Ongon 
felt  the  witchery  of  glances  being  directed  towards  Wautoma,  hero 
of  the  play.  Who  am.ong  the  willing  maidens  should  gain  Me-Big- 
Chief 's  attention  ? 

At  last  when  the  merry  supper  was  ended,  by  a  concert  of  action 
between  Trenton  and  Wautoma,  not  in  the  play,  Trenton  took  the 
flute  and  the  young  chief  seized  the  unsuspecting  Josie  by  the  waist. 
The  arrangement  was  not  at  all  to  be  settled  so  soon  for  Josie  was 
sly,  and  supple  and  elusive. 

"Big  Chief  will  now  tell  his  mother  of  his  love  and  his  mother 
will  tell  the  maiden's  mother,"  announced  the  stagemaster. 

And  then  Catherine,  as  mother  of  Wautoma,  drew  from  Big 

137 


Onyon 

Chief  more  than  he  had  meant  to  tell  or  had  uttered  in  the  rehearsals. 
He  had  loved  the  maiden  ever  since  he  had  seen  her,  it  was  not  his 
fault  that  the  courting-  had  to  be  so  slow.  And  now  Catherine,  with 
courtesy  to  Ongon  and  a  sly  glance  towards  Trenton,  tells  Minne- 
tonka,  the  mother  of  Jota,  all  that  is  meant  for  a  girl  to  have  won  a 
Big  Chief's  aflfection.  The  hour  is  appointed  between  the  mothers 
when  Big  Chief  is  to  go  to  the  lodge  while  all  are  asleep,  or  pretend- 
ing so  to  be. 

The  scene  is  announced  to  change  to  evening,  and  as  it  is  night 
outside  when  the  light  in  the  room  is  put  out  company  and  audience 
are  all  in  the  dark.  But  the  wall  is  being  tapped  and  they  know  Big 
Chief  is  approaching  stealthily.  The  provided  match  is  struck  and 
Big  Chief  soon  discovers  where  Jota  is  sleeping.  He  holds  the  can- 
dle close  to  his  face  that  she  may  know  him.  Then  he  places  it 
within  her  reach.  She  does  not  blow  it  out.  He  is  to  retire — a  re- 
jected suitor.  Then  the  scene  is  morning.  Romeo  is  not  allowed  to 
go  in  the  lodge,  for  it  has  no  balcony.  But  he  is  permitted  to  place 
himself  in  full  view  of  the  tent,  flute  in  hand  and  play.  His  music 
lures  out  one  by  one,  first  Catherine  then  Minnetonka  to  know 
whether  he  is  playing  for  them.  The  tune  changes  to  let  them  know 
that  he  is  not  playing  for  either  of  them.  Now  his  intended  appears 
in  the  door  and  the  courting  tune  is  continued  until  she  returns  to 
the  lodge.  The  music  stops.  Big  Chief  is  to  venture  again  with 
matches  and  candle  at  night. 

"Is  it  just  for  a  year?"  asks  Jota,  springing  from  her  couch  the 
second  night  when  the  candle  has  been  placed  within  reach.  She 
stands  very  real  before  Me-Big-Chief  in  a  bewitching  night  robe 
trimmed  with  Catherine's  lace,  long,  lent  with  all  its  splendor  for  the 
occasion  to  make  the  moment  ideal. 

"Usually  they  try  each  other  for  a  year  and  if  they  don't  get  on 
they  are  free,"  replies  Big  Chief  to  the  too  earnest  question  of  Jota. 

"But  is  this  just  for  but  a  year?"  Jota  is  more  than  playing  and 
Big  Chief  had  better  take  care. 

But  he  will  die  reckless, /'Yes,  just  for  but  a  year,"  he  says  very 
grave. 

Very  well,  the  light  will  not  go  out.  Jota  is  inexorable  or  some 
other  unbreakable  will.  He  must  go  through  an  extra  act.  And 
then  the  third  night  Jota  has  decided  that  it  had  best  not  go  out  at  all. 

"But  Josie,  Wautoma  was  only  in  fun,"  pleaded  the  real  chief,  in 
order  to  get  the  light  out. 

However  the  real  drama  was  roguishly  uncertain — he  should 
tease  best  who  teased  last. 

138 


A  Procession  of  Happy  Faces 

"But  you  wrote  your  name  in  your  blood  with  mine,"  protested 
Wautoma. 

"But  this  is  Me-Big-Chiefs  play,  and  I  am  the  maiden  Jota," 
cried  Josie  dancing  off  to  Trenton's  side. 

"Will  anybody  moralize?"  asked  Trenton  with  a  smile. 

None  but  Wautoma,  and  that  by  showing  a  good  nature  at  last 
and  acknowledging  that  the  fun  was  against  him. 

Then  Josie,  pleased  with  Wautoma  and  repentant  in  herself, 
asked  permission  to  teach  them  all  the  Dakotah  Dog  Dance,  explain- 
ing however  that  her  people  seldom  made  a  repast  of  the  dog  any 
more,  though  they  once  did. 

DAKOTAH   DOG  DANCE 


They  were  not  penitential  measures  and  there  was  enough  of 
Josie's  spirit  supplementing  the  want  of  English  vivacity  in  the 
rhythm  to  make  the  dance  catching.  Even  Trenton's  ear  had  at  last 
become  cultured  to  the  beauties  of  the  Indian  classics,  rough  hewed  as 
they  were,  and  so  until  the  time  of  parting  they  romped  all  in  sly  and 
savagely  mincing  steps. 

"Following  Me-Big-Chief  it's  a  virtue  to  be  able  to  put  big  feel- 
ing into  small  progress,"  laughed  Trenton  to  Catherine  his  partner, 
"so  far  as  that  might  be,  we  would  call  this  in  military  parlance  a 
jerking  out  of  marked  time." 

Catherine's  answer  went  dancing  through  his  ears,  "Just  think 
we  shall  not  know  to  whom  we  belong  after  we  are  through  !" 

"Shall  we  belong  to  somebody?" 

But  Catherine  had  not  heard  his  question.  How  pretty  she  had 
grown !  The  beautiful  lines  of  her  figure  had  found  a  sweet  sym- 
phony in  every  thing  about  her  now. 

"I  shall  write  out  this  music  to  remember  what  we  have  put  into 
it,"  said  Catherine  looking  at  Trenton  in  the  old,  artistic  way. 


139 


Ongon 


XLIV 

FRIENDSHIP    AND     LOVE 

It  was  remembered  afterward  how  the  simple  evening's  merri- 
ment came  to  an  end.  Some  one  had  said  laughingly  that  every- 
body had  better  say  goodnight  since  nobody  had  chosen  anybody. 
Playful  words  these,  that  left  a  spirit  of  greeting  at  parting — but  so 
fraught  with  other  meaning  before  dawn !  The  night  held  scarcely 
a  ray  of  light  and  Catherine  told  Trenton  that  she  was  smiling  upon 
him  in  the  dark.  Yet  why  should  there  be  a  tremor  in  her  voice 
almost  immediately  ? 

"I  have  a  strange  feeling,  Major  John;  let  us  ride  around  the 
palisades  and  give  them  a  serenade  for  their  blessing  before  we 
leave."  When  they  had  done  so  and  the  light  came  to  the  window  in 
answer  to  Wautoma's  flute,  Ongon  was  holding  the  lamp  before  the 
princess'  face. 

"We  can  see  your  face,  too,  to  remember  it,"  cried  Catherine 
eagerly. 

"We  would  like  to  plunge  into  the  night  with  you,"  replied 
Minnetonka,  a  happy  dawn  to  you  all !" 

"Farewell!" 

"Farewell!" 

But  Ongon  had  said  nothing. 

It  was  then  that  the  sound  of  other  horses'  feet  fell  on  their  ear. 
Two  Indians  of  Wautoma's  band  had  come  with  a  message  for 
their  chief,  flashing  out  a  lantern  as  they  drew  near.  There  was  a 
hurried  conversation  apart,  and  then  Wautoma,  with  an  air  of  vast 
importance,  came  back  to  say  that  he  would  ride  on  with  his 
braves  and  meet  them  later  at  the  south  ford.  They  need  not  hurry, 
if  they  would  be  so  kind,  and  the  lantern  would  be  left  with  them. 
They  could  flash  it  at  the  fords.  Josie  had  taken  the  lantern  from 
her  lover,  and  sought  to  read  his  face,  but  it  was  unfathomable. 

"Ugh,  Me-Big-Chief,  yet  we  stay,"  cried  the  Dakotahn  giving 
it  up. 

Then  they  were  gone. 

"Catherine,  what  is  love?"  asked  the  girl  after  twirling  the  light 
until  it  no  longer  tripped  upon  the  speeding  horsemen. 

"Love  is  to  discover  that  when  a  man  has  an  acid  appetite  we 
are  not  to  feed  him  all  his  life  on  sweet  delicacies/'  said  Catherine. 

"That  was  for  you,  Major  Trenton,"  laughed  the  girl  quickly, 
catching  Catherine's  glance  at  the  soldier. 

140 


Friendship  and  Love 


"She  means  that  a  woman's  love  is  bounded  by  man's  capacity, 
Josie,"  admitted  Trenton. 

"And  her  own  capacity  to  sweetly  give  him  sour  things,"  added 
Catherine. 

"Is  love  an  understanding  then?"  continued  the  girl;  "I  think  I 
understand  Wautoma." 

"Yes,  I  think  you  do,  Josie,"  answered  Catherine. 

There  was  something  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  to  provoke 
thoughts  that  foreran  events  belonging  to  it.  Why  will  one  be 
thinking  pleasantly  of  a  half -forgotten  friend  when  just  then  the 
postman  is  bringing  a  letter  up  the  walk  announcing  that  friend's 
marriage,  or  inheritance  of  a  fortune,  or  perhaps,  best  of  all,  his  own 
most  welcome  self  is  coming?  Mystery  of  mysteries  and  yet  feel- 
ings do  prepare  the  way  for  life's  facts.  So  it  was  with  Catherine 
Dale  and  John  Trenton. 

"How  pleasant  the  sound  of  the  water  in  the  darkness,"  cried 
Catherine  when  they  had  trotted  at  last  to  the  fords.  "Let  us  linger 
in  the  middle  of  the  stream  and  talk !" 

The  horses  were  as  willing  to  put  their  heads  together  while 
Catherine  gave  expression  to  the  undercurrent  that  had  been  in  her 
mind  all  the  evening.  "Do  you  know.  Major  Trenton,  before  I  met 
Ongon,  I  never  got  any  further  into  my  life  than  if  I  had  picked  up 
a  strange  novel  and  tried  to  understand  the  thread  of  its  story  by 
reading  an  isolated  page?" 

Trenton  could  imagine.  There  had  been  a  gloomy  time  once 
when  he  could  not  keep  the  fact  from  Ongon  that  he  thought  the 
world  was  moving  backward. 

"Did  you !"  exclaimed  Catherine,  touching  his  arm  lightly.  "I 
always  thought  you  were  the  kind  of  a  man  that  would  die  in  grim 
silence  rather  than  make  one  complaint." 

"If  it  were  a  matter  of  dying  perhaps  a  fellow  could  glory  in  it, 
but  when  there  is  a  slow  living  out  of  things  that  madden — then 
there's  rebellion." 

"And  Ongon  said  to  you  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"He  asked  me  to  take  a  canoe  ride  with  him  kindly  bringing  my 
compass  along.  'Which  way  does  the  river  flow  here.  Major?' 
'East,'  I  replied,  'And  here?'  'Not  a  great  variation  from  south,' 
I  answered  without  suspicion.  But  after  sundry  such  questions,  I 
caught  the  drift  of  his  purpose  and  was  ready  for  the  main  inquiry — 
'Well  which  way  does  the  Chicago  River  run.  Major?'    He  knew  he 

141 


Ongo 


n 


did  not  need  to  ask  it,  but  I  confessed  that  it  depended,  however  the 
general  trend  was  east.  It  was  just  Ongon's  way  to  bring  out  wood- 
land logic,  but  honestly  it  cleared  me  up  most  wonderfully.  And  all 
this  day  long  I  have  been  rejoicing  in  the  general  trend  of  events." 

"Satisfactory  in  the  end,"  said  Catherine  softly. 

Then  their  thoughts  turned  nearer  the  one  most  in  their  minds 
but  least  spoken  of  during  the  evening.  The  loneliness  brought  them 
too  close  to  the  thought  of  Lusette  to  exclude  her  now.  They  spoke 
of  what  she  had  risked  because  she  loved  Ongon  and  talked  of  the 
satisfaction  there  was  in  living  near  one  who  could  love  much.  They 
agreed  that  heaven  sent  few  great  lovers  as  it  sent  few  great  geniuses 
into  each  generation.  Passing  fancy  there  was,  hasty  marrying, 
broken  ability.  To  Catherine  there  was  no  explanation  why  a  woman 
should  not  want  to  dress  for  her  husband,  think  fondly  of  him 
all  the  day  long,  look  for  his  coming — even  as  the  maiden  for  her 
lover.  And  Trenton  acknowledged  that  even  a  soldier  was  never 
himself  apart  from  the  woman  he  loved. 

"I  fear  we  walk  so  often  flat-footed  into  men's  lives,"  said 
Catherine.  "But  that,  I  suppose,  no  woman  could  do  who  has 
really  once  entered  softly  into  a  man's  heart.  Oh,  thrice  happy  is 
the  man  who  has  been  wedded  to  the  woman  of  his  heart's  love! 
— and  yet  is  not  Providence  most  often  against  it — at  least  not 
hindering  what  could  have  been  lightly  prevented  ?" 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Trenton,  drawing  away  from  the  bitter- 
ness into  which  they  were  both  descending,  "I  think  Buckingham 
will  find  the  way  to  Lusette  at  last." 

"Why  did  he  not  come  to-night,  Major?"  asked  Catherine,  at  the 
mention  of  Buckingham's  name. 

"He  does  not  feel  worthy  to  participate  in  simple  home  joys, 
Miss  Catherine;  "he  must  earn  his  way,  so  to  speak,  back  to  the 
equality  we  all  enjoy  at  birth,  ere  he  can  feel  right." 

"He  does  value  home  joys  then,  do  you  really  think?"  Catherine 
looked  up  quickly. 

"He  was  out  five  nights  to  my  knowledge,  helping  to  gather 
those  notes  from  the  chiefs  that  Ongon  was  so  proud  of  to-night," 
replied  Trenton. 

"Perhaps  the  spirits  talk  of  men  at  night  as  you  are  talking  of 
him,"  said  Josie,  touched  when  the  conversation  has  run  on  to  the 
dangers  Buckingham  had  entered  into  with  his  characteristic  cheer- 
fulness and  ability  to  bury  himself. 

"Major  Trenton,  I  used  to  despise  a  humble  man,"  observed 
Catherine. 

142 


Friendship  and  Love 

"And  then  how  the  soldier  caught  it,"  murmured  Trenton, 

"I  never  despised  you,  I  did  not  understand  you,"  answered 
Catherine. 

"He  was  simply  not  the  one  for  you  to  love,"  said  Josie  going 
back  to  definitions. 

"Conversation  must  not  be  exact  science,"  laughed  Trenton, 
meeting  Catherine's  eyes  in  the  half-dark. 

"I  hated  everybody  when  my  father  wanted  me  to  marry  Blue 
Earth,  until  Lusette  came,"  said  Josie. 

"Josie,  you  are  the  bravest  of  all  in  mentioning  her  name.  You 
really  believe  a  way  shall  be  found  to  bring  her  back?" 

"Yes." 

"Speaking  of  Buckingham,"  said  Trenton,  pressing  Josie's  hand, 
"he  has  changed  so  rapidly  and  grown  so  fast  I  am  ashamed  to 
think  of  my  poor  progress.  He  has  become  proud  to  have  won 
hearty  friends,  but  so  sorry  that  while  he  was  held  guilty  he  grew 
•hard  spirited  and  reckless." 

"There  is  a  touch  of  that  in  us  all,"  said  Catherine,  remembering 
the  little  while  before  and  how  good  fellowship  had  carried  them 
beyond  the  feeling.  Dreamily  she  watched  Josie  flash  the  light 
against  the  water  of  the  stream  beneath  their  feet. 

"Buckingham  used  to  be  full  of  proverbs  and  wise  saws  and 
now  he  seldom  speaks,"  observed  Trenton. 

"Not  that  he  has  ceased  to  be  a  philosopher.  Major  John  ?" 

"Hardly  that,  but  with  more  reverence  for  it,  because  his  esti- 
mate of  his  knowledge  grows  less," 

"I  should  think,"  said  Josie,  "the  angels  would  want  to  help  such 
a  man — Catherine,  if  I  were  you  I  would  marry  him," 

"I  sometimes  think  he  will  never  marry,"  said  Catherine  quietly, 
but  putting  her  arm  about  Josie,  "Sometimes,  for  all  we  have  said* 
to-night,  Josie,  highest  love  is  to  marry  for  duty  rather  than  from 
choice." 

"Be  in  league  with  the  angels  and  good  spirits,  Miss  Catherine," 
had  been  all  that  Trenton  had  ventured. 

Then  they  were  all  looking  at  the  shadows  that  ogred  from 
the  lantern  upon  the  waters.  "Feels  like  being  a  spirit  without  a 
body,  to  be  here  in  the  dead  of  night,"  said  Catherine — "hark !" 

"They  are  coming,"  said  Josie,  whose  quick  ear  knew  the  sound 
of  Wautoma's  horse. 

They  were  on  the  east  bank  to  meet  him  when  he  halted.  He 
had  ridden  far  and  furiously,  from  the  foam  on  his  steed. 
"Major  Trenton,  a  letter  from  Buckingham,"  said  the  chief,  hand- 

143 


Ongon 


ing  him  a  sealed  envelope.  It  was  one  of  the  old  hotel  envelopes 
with  the  name  of  Craps  in  the  upper  left  corner,  but  it  was  not  the 
printing-  over  which  Trenton  had  lingered,  although  his  eye  went 
back  to  the  envelope  after  he  had  read  the  contents  of  the  letter. 

"Is  it  bad  news?"  asked  Catherine,  when  Trenton  passed  his 
hand  heavily  across  his  forehead,  as  if  to  press  back  great  pain. 
The  soldier  answered  by  giving  her  the  letter  without  a  word. 

"Lusette  is  alive  and  can  be  saved  if  you  are  willing  to  make 
the  sacrifice.  Catherine  must  go  with  you,  to  whom,  to  save  Lusette 
from  an  awful  death,  you  must  be  married  at  once.  If  Catherine 
will  consent  to  the  step  you  and  she  together  can  accomplish  the 
deliverance.  But  it  must  be  before  morning.  Do  not  wait  to  see 
me  as  I  cannot  be  there  in  time  for  the  marriage.  I  know  the  cost. 
But  the  saving  of  Lusette  means  the  only  hope  for  Ongon.  You 
can  be  conducted  forward  at  four  in  the  morning,  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  be  married.     Buckingham." 

Keeping  nothing  from  Josie,  Catherine  had  given  her  the  letter, 
and  was  turning  away  with  clasped  hands.  Trenton  sat  motionless. 
To  save  two  lives :  "it  is  sometimes  highest  love  to  marry  from  duty 
rather  than  from  personal  choice" ;  he  was  not  sure  of  Lusette's 
love;  Catherine  had  always  been  a  fair  and  wonderful  being  to 
him ;  if  he  had  never  met  Lusette — but  would  he  not  be  marrying  for 
Lusette? — no,  for  Ongon  as  well.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  profile 
of  Catherine  against  the  night.  Surely  she  seemed  a  beautiful 
creation  designed  for  great,  strong  deeds  of  love;  to  claim  her  as 
his  wife,  to  build  his  life  with  her — the  problem  was  gentle  harsh- 
ness. If  Trenton  were  to  learn  that  Lusette  was  dead,  would  not 
he  hail  the  advent  of  such  an  hour?  Josie's  question.  What  is  love, 
arose  in  his  mind.  Love  is  earth's  best  substitute  for  heaven,  he 
could  have  said  then — love  after  all  was  another  being,  able  to 
lend  substance  to  dreams  and  some  definite  reality  and  corre- 
spondence to  definite  longings.  In  marrying  Catherine  could  be 
keep  the  reverence  and  pleasure  he  had  in  her  friendship,  would 
the  rights  of  a  husband  mar  the  gifts  now  belonging  to  their  less 
intimate  association? 

"Major  John — John "  she  said,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice  that 

sounded  like  Lusette  and  all  womanhood  speaking. 

He  rode  to  her  side  and  on  with  her,  taking  the  lantern  from 
Josie  as  she  motioned.  When  she  paused  they  were  away  from 
the  sight  or  sound  of  any  voice.  He  could  not  pass  to  infinity  with 
her  then,  as  he  had  so  readily  with  Jean  at  once.  But  the  thought 
was  bright  comfort  then  that  perhaps  were  an  angel  to  appear  to 

144 


Friendship  and  Love 


man,  the  influence  might  have  been  something  Hke  the  gypsy's,  too 
rarely  beautiful  to  be  his  forever.  There  was  a  barrier  between 
Catherine  and  himself — but  rather  one  of  degree  perhaps  than  of 
kind.  He  felt  that  he  could  live  in  a  world  of  power  with  Catherine. 
They  would  be  strong  man  and  strong  woman  revealing  to  each 
other  the  creative  ability  of  God.  Arguments  of  attachment  may  not 
be  love — but  they  are  attachment. 

"Catherine,"  he  said,  drawing  out  upon  the  great  sea  of  the 
bitter-sweet  necessity. 

"Does  the  whole  night  seem  to  have  been  preparing  us  for 
this?" 

"God  only  knows." 

"If  we  refuse?" 

"Catherine,  I  swear  to  you,  in  a  way  I  have  always  loved  you." 

By  the  pressure  of  her  hand  she  could  say  the  same  to  him. 
Her  eyes  were  even  now  confessing  that  there  was  nothing  she 
would  not  do  if  they  must  take  the  step.  The  full  dower  of  her 
womanhood  would  be  waiting — if  it  were  right.  He  lifted  the  hand 
to  his  lips  and  kissed  the  fingers  fervently. 

She  seized  the  lantern  again  and  put  it  behind  her  and  they 
were  alone  together  in  the  dark.  "Would  duty  sanctify  the  mar- 
riage to  you,  John?" 

"We  could  esteem  each  other  and  know  by  all  the  light  that 
heaven  gave  us  that  we  followed  the  most  loving  choice  left  us," 
he  answered  slowly. 

"We  can  help  our  friends  and  it  will  not  be  hard  to  live  for 
them.  Major  John.  Do  you  know  that  the  Dales  have  a  record 
that  once  a  Dale  married  a  Trenton  and  made  her  a  Dale." 

"We  are  the  sole  survivors  of  our  ancient  houses,"  he  said 
with  a  smile.    "Shall  now  the  Dales  be  altogether  lost?" 

The  light  was  before  her  face  again  for  answer. 

"In  the  end  perhaps  we  shall  find  that  our  marriage  was  ordained 
in  heaven — Catherine,  will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"At  four  I  am  willing." 

"Wautoma  will  have  time  to  ride  for  the  minister  and  I  for  the 
legal  authority." 

And  Catherine  sealed  the  brief  betrothal  with  the  first  kiss  she 
had  given  man. 


145 


Ongon 

XLV 

SHIPWRECKED 

When  the  Indian  canoes  had  surrounded  the  little  schooner  after 
it  had  been  scuttled  in  the  night,  and  had  compelled  the  prisoners 
to  enter  the  boats,  Jean  had  laughed  the  redmen  out  of  the  idea  of 
Mnding  her.  "Hughgh !"  she  had  cried,  holding  her  thrush  in  her 
an»^.s  and  whistling  like  a  mocking-bird  until  it  had  waked  to  song 
and  she  could  laugh  merrily  over  its  out-pitching  her.  Then  she 
had  called  several  of  the  chiefs  by  name,  and  none  had  been  so 
harsh  as  to  seize  her ;  instead  she  had  taken  a  paddle  from  one  of  her 
captors  to  help  to  the  shore. 

"How  long  are  we  to  be  prisoners  ?"  was  her  question  when  her 
boat  was  first  to  land,  not  by  her  strength  to  push  in  the  water  so 
much  as  by  her  keenness  to  make  a  race  out  of  a  catastrophe.  And 
the  bird  had  helped  by  fluttering  on  her  shoulder  as  if  in  urgent 
haste  to  reach  the  shore. 

"Forever,"  was  the  dusky  reply. 

"Impossible !"  she  cried ;  "when  we  reach  the  happy  hunting 
grounds  you  may  be  my  prisoners.  Listen  now  and  I  will  tell  you 
of  the  white  buffalo."  Down  they  sat  at  her  feet  to  hear  the  story. 
What  was  the  hurry  to  the  savages  if  she  was  not  in  a  haste  ? 

"Long  years  before  the  Dakotahs  had  ponies  two  young  men 
were  sent  from  the  camp  in  search  of  buffalo.  In  their  hunt  they 
saw  a  beautiful  young  white  woman.  One  of  the  Indians  was  bad, 
the  other  good,  who  said  This  is  a  holy  woman.  And  she  said  to 
the  good  man,  I  will  follow  you  to  your  village.  As  she  drew  near 
to  the  village  she  was  met  by  medicine  men  and  carried  on  a 
blanket.  It  was  noticed  while  being  carried  that  she  held  a  pipe 
high  in  the  air  toward  the  sun.  A  large  fire  was  built  in  the  lodge 
and  everybody  circled  about  the  beautiful  woman.  She  said,  I  bring 
you  this  sacred  pipe  by  which  you  will  tell,  when  it  grows  heavier, 
that  buffalo  are  near  and  plenty.  Then  she  presented  the  pipe  to  the 
chief  medicine  man  of  the  Dakotahs  with  much  good  advice.  They 
treated  her  well  until  she  vanished  out  of  sight.  Then  it  was  found 
that  she  was  a  beautiful  white  buffalo  who  took  that  shape  to  give 
them  this  pipe.    And  who  do  you  think  I  am?" 

"You  will  not  run  away  ?"  asked  the  chief. 

"How  long  are  we  to  be  kept?" 

"Cat's-paw  said  a  year,  but  he  will  see  you  and  tell  you  all," 
said  the  leader  of  the  band  in  the  dialect. 

146 


shipwrecked 


"Where?" 

"We  take  you  to  the  windings  by  the  side  of  the  flag-room." 

Lusette  clapped  her  hands.  "We  will  not  run  away  for  a  year 
unless  Cat's-paw  tells  us,  neither  my  aunt,  nor  these  good  sailors, 
for  I  see  that  if  you  let  one  of  us  go,  you  know  that  he  would  tell. 

"They  go  north  to  the  caves,"  was  the  response. 

"But  what  have  I  done?" 

"You  have  witched  the  serpent." 

"Poor  coilie!" 

"And  you  have  hurt  Cat's-paw." 

"I  did  not  scare  him,  you  don't  mean  that?  Cat's-paw  is  no 
woman !" 

Her  courage,  together,  perhaps,  with  Cat's-paw's  instructions 
that  they  should  do  her  no  harm,  won  the  night.  •  Save  for  the 
forced  marches,  Jean  and  her  aunt  were  treated  with  the  consider- 
ation of  allies  of  rank.  At  the  flag-room  Jean  learned  from  the 
lips  of  Bat  Eye  that  his  uncle  was  dead.  Much  secrecy  should  be 
over  his  village  for  the  year  commanded,  then  she  and  all  should 
go  free. 

"Much  secrecy — I  will  be  secret  a  year,"  she  promised;  "but, 
by  and  by,  I  shall  want  just  one  promise  from  you,  Bat  Eye.  I 
will  not  tell  you  now  until  we  are  acquainted." 

Every  day  she  had  told  him  stories  and  when  they  had  larger 
liberty  to  go  about  through  the  underground  rooms,  she  had  been 
shown  of  Bat  Eye  a  recess  in  which  was  the  stolen  picture  of 
Wautoma ! 

"Huddled  away  for  the  prison  of  our  pilgrimage,  auntie — oh, 
Bat  Eye,  your  rival  1"  She  had  found  on  the  instant  that  he  was 
jealous  of  Wautoma  and  had  been  ever  since  the  artist  had  chosen 
him  for  her  model.  That  was  why  the  Indians  did  not  like  to  have 
their  picture  taken,  she  said.  Jealous  savages  are  inconvenient  peo- 
ple to  have  together,  and  they  knew  it,  she  now  believed. 

"Quick  Step  may  take  the  picture  to  her  room,"  Bat  Eye,  had 
said  trustingly.  That  had  been  Bat  Eye's  name  for  her,  and  Jean 
had  many  a  waltz  before  her  aunt  over  the  nomenclature. 

And  so  they  had  become  acquainted  with  Catherine's  first  con- 
ception of  the  Indian  problem  in  the  form  of  the  fierce  Wautoma. 

"She  ought  to  marry  Major  Trenton,  auntie,"  Jean  had  said 
one  day  when  they  had  passed  from  portrait  to  painter.  "She 
could  unfold  those  possibilities  prophesied  in  his  hand." 

Then  she  talked  of  the  soldier  and  his  strong,  deep  eyes,  while 
walking  back  and  forth  within  the  long  hall-like  room  that  Ongoa 

147 


Ongon 

had  built  of  cedar  with  a  massive  pillar  in  the  center  supporting 
the  ceiling.  But  Ongon  was  always  the  end  of  every  conversation. 
"See  how  he  made  these  dear  Httle  air  shafts,  Aunt  Hardscrabble — 
perfect  ventilation !  You  could  never  feel  damp  in  such  a  polished 
sub-chamber  of  scented  woods !  These  seats  are  all  Grecian  up- 
rightness to  fit  his  straight,  strong  back.  Here  he  has  studied, 
perhaps,  and  mastered  his  passions.  Here  he  has  dreamed  that 
perhaps  some  people  like  us  were  in  existence,  and — I  would  like 
to  greet  him  first  in  this  room !" 

Had  any  one  ridden  with  her  in  her  flight  from  Cat's-paw 
he  would  have  found  that  this  triumphant  spirit  was  with  her 
then  and  her  aunt  had  known  that  it  had  never  departed  from  her 
since.  Until  the  shock  of  events  that  forever  changed  her  life,  even 
before  it  had  become  fixed,  she  was  the  bonnie  girl  who  had  laugh- 
ingly thrown  the  flowers  into  the  cache  they  had  found  on  the 
shore.  These  were  the  care-free  days  of  her  life,  happy  yet  in  the 
unbroken  march  of  events  in  her  favor.  And  when  Bat  Eye  added 
the  nearly  finished  madonna  of  Catherine's  affection,  she  would  sit 
for  hours  to  tell  what  Ongon  would  see  in  the  great,  dark  eyes,  the 
perfect  nose,  the  oval  splendor  of  Minnetonka's  face. 

"I  almost  wish  that  God  had  made  me  an  Indian,  auntie — yet 
who  could  laugh  like  Josie ! — and  I'd  want  to  be  a  laughing  Indian 
to  turn  up  at  the  pow-wows  and  palaverings  with  a  demure  and 
fastidious  grin  of  enjoyment!  I  wonder  whether  anybody  has 
missed  us?  How  they  will  be  talking  of  the  poor  gypsies  when 
we  are  domiciled  in  the  costliest  palace  in  the  West !  And  how 
others  will  call  it  mad  folly  for  a  girl  to  venture  forth  with  only 
an  Aunt  Hardscrabble  for  the  voyage — and  warn  their  children 
never  to  go  and  do  hkewise!  You  remember  the  school-teacher's 
stone  in  the  Opecquon  burial  ground,  auntie?  How  dear  old 
Winchester  would  look  now,  and  how  the  staid  old  Scotch-Irish 
people  would  never  have  dreamed  that  its  traveling  daughters  did 
conceive  and  dare  to  penetrate  the  wilds  of  the  west,  etc.,  etc. ! 
When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  touch  the  old  stone  of  that  young 
wife  of  the  schoolmaster  and  their  'two  childer'  and  vow  always 
to  be  good  and  stay  at  home  and  never  run  into  any  danger  that  my 
children  might  not  die  early.  I  don't  believe  that  I  ever  thought  it 
possible  for  me  to  die  young." 

Then  her  aunt  would  tell  again  the  history  of  their  sturdy  fore- 
fathers, and  the  deeds  they  had  done,  the  danger  and  privations 
they  had  passed  through  to  build  their  names  and  fortunes  sure. 

148 


Ship^ 


^wrecked 

"And  you,  Jean,  have  inherited  all  the  dauntless   enthusiasms  of 
them  all!" 

"And  their  goodnesses,  auntie,"  she  added  laughingly. 

"It  has  been  easy  for  you  to  be  good  and  cheerful,  full  of  faith 
and  enterprise,  Jean,  whose  ancestors'  faith  was  hke  the  great  oaks 
surrounding  their  Opecquon  meeting-house.'^ 

"Where  Washington  used  to  worship,"  said  the  girl  with  true 
Virginian  pride.  "Oh,  dear  old  road  to  Staunton  !  Auntie,  if  Ongon 
ever  rides  down  the  sweet  old  turnpike  and  drinks  water  from  all 
the  wells  out  from  Winchester  to  where  our  father  and  mother  lie 
buried !" 

"Jean,  do  you  remember  where  Lord  Fairfax  died  in  Winches- 
ter, when  he  heard  of  Cornwallis'  surrender  to  Washington  at  York- 
town  ?"  the  tone  was  thoughtful, 

"Yes,  auntie,  dear !" 

"And  do  you  remember  what  you  said  when  we  drove  down 
from  Winchester  to  White  Post  to  view  the  little  house  to  which 
Lord  Fairfax,  disappointed  in  love  in  England,  withdrew,  and  in 
which  he  lived  testily  with  the  Indians  about  him  ?" 

"That  Jean  would  chirp  to  the  end  of  her  days,  come  what  dis- 
aster?— yes,  auntie." 

"Suppose  then,  my  darling,  that  you  should  come  to  love  a  good 
true  man  whose  love  should  be  given  to  another,  could  you  yet  re- 
main the  same  blithe,  winsome  girl,  so  full  of  song  the  day  through  ?" 

Jean  knelt  very  close.  "If  love  were  taken  from  me,  auntie,  I 
should  rage  like  Wautoma  in  that  picture,  and  feel  worse  than  those 
ruins  look  behind  his  back — and  above  us.  Then  Jean  would  want 
to  paint;  a  study  of  patience,  it  should  be — of  dark  hours  alone 
with  the  thought  of  a  magnificent  soul  wasted" — she  smiled  even 
sadly — "when  it  might  have  been  otherwise.  Lord  Fairfax  should 
come  and  go  in  closer  companionship.  We  are  all  made  alike,  auntie. 
Then  I  should  think  of  Ongon's  braveheartedness  and  he  should' 
be  as  a  priest-king  to  poor  Jean." 

"Ah,  you  are  changed,  my  darling,  so  soon — God  grant  that 
the  trial  never  come !" 

Jean  had  been  true  interpreter  of  the  vision  she  saw  within  her- 
self should  the  clouds  become  so  lowering.  But  the  glimpse  was 
not  suffered  to  be  more  than  momentary.  Too  sunny  was  the  girl's 
unbelief  that  such  a  future  were  possible  to  her. 


149 


Ongon 


XLVI 

TAKING  THE   MARRIAGE  VOW 

At  the  lodge  there  had  been  Httle  sleep.  Exactly  at  four, 
Wautoma  had  come  with  the  missionary  who  was  to  perform  the 
wedding  ceremony.  Trenton  had  obtained  the  permit  of  the  mar- 
riage and  had  brought  it  to  Catherine.  "Last  year  I  should  have 
had  to  ride  to  Peoria,"  he  said,  "for  the  authority,  at  least  two 
years  ago." 

His  face,  though  calm,  was  haggard.  Catherine's  beautiful  wo- 
manhood had  upborne  him  only  while  in  her  presence.  When  he  rode 
alone  afterward,  he  felt  that  he  was  leaning  upon  her  goodness  with- 
out a  strength  of  his  own  love.  About  to  forego  it  forever,  during 
his  ride  he  had  been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  intensity  of  his 
love  for  Lusette.  It  was  not  true  that  without  having  met  her  he 
would  have  come  to  love  Catherine.  He  realized  that  unless  the 
gypsy  had  come  into  his  life  nothing  could  have  really  awakened 
true  love.  His  boyish  attachment  for  Malite  had  been  sincere,  his 
regard  for  Catherine  was  a  deep  admiration  that  had  ripened  into 
friendship,  but  only  once  had  he  loved.  If  a  man  marry  his  friend, 
he  has  a  friend  for  his  wife,  to  whom  he  can  honestly  confide  all 
things — even  the  truth  that  the  Creator  made  man  to  enter  the 
holy  of  holies  to  love  one  finite  being  better  than  himself.  Friend- 
ship marriages,  for  a  home,  for  influence,  from  admiration,  because 
of  situations,  may  be  even  necessities,  but  they  are  never  unities. 
The  very  time  Trenton  had  believed  Ongon  and  Lusette  drawn  to 
each  other  by  the  irresistible  magnet  of  true  love  had  been  long 
enough  to  stamp  upon  Trenton  the  horror  of  a  mistaken  marriage. 
Now  when  learning  the  truth  from  Ongon's  lips,  to  be  plunged  into 
the  fatal  necessity  from  which  afterward  there  could  be  no  with- 
drawal for  either  of  them  had  worn  upon  his  soul  and  made  it 
lean. 

He  would  marry  her  as  they  had  agreed  even  if  every  step  they 
took  together  thereafter  cried  out,  Mistake,  mistake.  If  there  ex- 
isted one  woman  who  could  make  a  harmony  out  of  such  exquisite 
suffering  it  was  Catherine.  Thenceforth  he  would  fight  every  re- 
gret as  if  he  were  battling  with  the  Indians  again.  After  that  the 
grim  resolution  upbore  him. 

But  when  Catherine  spoke  to  him  upon  his  return,  her  presence 
awakened  in  him  the  feeling  he  had  found  at  midnight.  He  felt 
that  he  must  train  her  to  him  in  gratitude  for  all  she  was  in  her 

150 


Taking  the  Marriage  Vow 

beautiful  womanliness  to  take  the  place  of  that  which  was  to  be 
denied  him.    But  he  forebore  to  more  than  kiss  her  hand. 

"I  had  no  wedding  dress,  but  have  put  on  the  very  best  in  my 
trousseau,  sir,"  she  said,  smoothing  with  her  hands  the  hollows  in 
his  cheeks  and  shaking  her  head  at  him  determinedly,  "Do  you  like 
it?"  It  was  a  pink  watered  silk  creation  with  pointed  folds  in  the 
body,  bows  of  gauze  ribbon,  and  short  sleeves  with  epaulets  trimmed 
with  blonde,  she  told  him,  when  he  was  admiring  her  more  than  the 
gown,  for  all  its  prettiness.  "My  Colonnes  Satinees,"  she  said  smil- 
ing, "a  gypsy  came  when  I  had  it  made  and  was  first  trying  it  on, 
and  she  said  I  should  wear  it  on  an  occasion  of  greatest  joy  fulness. 
So  I  selected  it  this  morning,  sir  Major." 

"Catherine,  you  are  very  beautiful  to  me,  I  shall  try  to  give  you 

all  my  heart " 

"Listen,  I  had  a  dream,  John,  though  I  do  not  know  that  I  have 
been  asleep  to-night.  I  will  not  tell  it  to  you  now,  but  it  shall  be 
all  right.  We  must  go  to  the  altar  at  the  old  ruins — for  so  I 
dreamed." 

And  so  they  went.  Josie  had  gone  before  to  decorate  the  spot 
with  fern  flowers  and  to  weep  over  it  with  an  almost  broken 
heart.  The  Indian  messenger  had  come  to  take  them  to  the  trail 
that  should  lead  them  to  Lusette,  and  the  lanterns  guided  the  bridal 
procession  from  the  lodge  along  the  trail  under  the  lindens,  where 
Trenton  brushed  the  same  vine  that  had  once  steadied  the  form  of 
Lusette,  and  past  the  hazel  copse  where  she  fain  had  waited  to  see 
Ongon. 

Behind  another  part  of  the  ruin  a  traveler,  just  dismounted 
from  his  horse  that  he  had  left  where  Trenton  had  tied  his  charger 
on  the  day  he  had  first  met  Catherine,  had  hidden  at  the  sight  of  the 
approaching  lanterns.  Eagerly  this  dismounted  traveler  watched 
the  procession  come  out  of  the  distance  until  his  eyes  made  sure  of 
the  number  and  identity  of  the  party.  "Trenton  and  Catherine," 
he  muttered  strangely — "flov/ers,  a  minister,  good  God,  a  bridal 
procession,  they  are  to  be  married !" 

The  company  had  entered  and  filled  the  ruins  before  the  traveler 
had  withdrawn  his  hands  from  his  face  to  look  again.  The  min- 
ister was  standing  with  the  prayer  book  in  his  hand.  Now  he  was 
reading  the  solemn  words.  If  none  would  now  declare  reason  why 
this  man  and  this  woman  should  not  be  made  man  and  wife,  let  him 
forever  hold  his  peace.  The  traveler  started  but  did  not  move. 
"Wilt  thou,  Trenton,  have  this  woman  to  be  thy  lawful  wife;  wilt 

151 


On 


gon 


thou  love  her,  honor  her,  cherish  her,  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep 
thee  only  unto  her  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ?" 

The  pause  was  only  momentary,  though  it  seemed  longer,  then 
to  the  stranger  came  the  deep,  hollow  words,  "I  will." 

"Wilt  thou,  Catherine,  take  this  man  to  be  thy  husband " 

Her  lips  were  parted  at  the  end  to  speak  when  there  was  a  flutter 
in  the  branches  and  a  beautiful  thrush  dropped  upon  the  bosom  of 
Catherine  and  gave  a  little  morning  song  of  jubilation. 

Again  the  traveler  started  but  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground  on. 
which  he  stood.    His  hands  were  still  clasped  in  pain. 

The  interruption  had  disconcerted  the  minister  and  he  had  re- 
peated the  question  solemnly  from  the  beginning.  \ 

"1  will,"  rang  out  her  voice  with  clear  distinctness,  but  it  was 
a  statement  she  was  determined  upon  making  rather  than  an  answer 
to  the  question  propounded.  'T  will  tell  you  of  the  dream.  Last 
night  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice  say  to  me  in  a  dream,  'Go  thou  to 
the  altar  in  the  morning  at  the  ruins,  and  if  heaven  forbids  this  mar- 
riage, the  thrush  of  Lusette  will  fly  to  thy  bosom  ere  it  is  too  late, 
and  thou  shalt  know  that  the  letter  of  Buckingham's  was  mistaken. 
Judge  you  now  all,  sirs,  my  duty." 

Now  the  stranger  emerged  from  the  shadows,  and  advanced 
toward  the  bridal  circle.  It  was  William  Buckingham.  "I  beg 
your  pardon  for  venturing  upon  this  scene  uninvited,  but  I  over- 
heard my  name  in  connection  with  a  letter.  Having  had  the  same 
strange  dream  of  a  thrush  coming  with  a  message  at  these  ruins, 
and  not  being  able  to  banish  the  impression  from  my  mind,  I  rode 
hither  with  all  haste  only  to  find  this  strange  scene " 

"Strange,  Buckingham,  did  you  say,  sent  you  not  a  letter  de- 
manding it?" 

'T,  what  Trenton,  how  ?" 

"Sent  you  not  that  Lusette  was  surely  alive  and  well?" 

"I  did." 

"This  ?" 

Buckingham  took  the  piece  of  paper  from  the  hand  of  the 
soldier,  and  when  he  had  read  it,  they  saw  from  his  face  that  it 
was  a  forgery. 

"Wautoma !" 

The  chief  came  forward  promptly.  , 

"Is  this  the  letter  Mr.  Buckingham  gave  you?"^ 

"It  is." 

"Where  did  you  stop  on  the  way  ?" 

"No  place." 

152 


Another  Danger  Ahead 

"Hold,  Trenton,"  said  Buckingham,  "  I  remember,  it  was  out  of 
-my  hands  at  the  cottonwood  tree  for  half  an  hour,  then  there  was 
time  for  this  dastardly  crime." 

"Your  indiscretion  has  led  almost  to  a  tragedy  of  errors,"  said 
the  missionary,  "unless  this  man  and  this  woman  still  agree " 

"Occasion  for  haste  being  removed,  I  would  prefer  to  be  led  to  the 
altar  in  my  mother's  orange  blossoms,"  said  Catherine  demurely. 

Josie  having  embraced  Trenton  with  no  show  of  disapproval 
from  Wautoma,  had  a  whisper  for  Catherine's  ear  that  was  worth 
following,  for  together  they  tripped  out  of  the  ruins  into  the  trail, 
Catherine  making  the  courtesy  before  they  disappeared. 

CHAPTER  XLVn 

ANOTHER   DANGER   AHEAD 

It  was  well  that  Buckingham  and  Trenton  whispered  what  they 
had  to  say  to  each  other.  Having  again  explained  the  vividness 
of  his  dream,  the  former  recounted  briefly  what  had  delayed  his 
reaching  the  ruins  sooner.  A  sound  of  voices  had  interrupted  him 
when  he  went  for  his  horse.  One  was  Buhl-Bysee's,  who  spoke 
first  and  rapidly,  as  if  he  must  make  some  distant  point  after  con- 
vincing the  other  man.  The  latter's  voice  Buckingham  was  sure 
he  had  heard  somewhere  before,  but  as  yet  he  had  racked  his  brain 
in  vain  for  the  owner. 

"  'The  gypsy  is  away,  Josie's  father  is  here,  you  paid  him  the 

money  for  the  girl '  the  agent  was  arguing.     Both  interrupted 

each  other  frequently. 

"  'But  the  girl ' 

"Is  not  of  age.  I  tell  you  man,  it's  the  thing  to  do.  Her 
iather  is  here  for  the  council  that  begins  to-morrow.  I  will  do 
my  best  to  get  things  through  with  in  the  morning,  and  then  every- 
body will  go  home  and  you  can  take  her  and  make  her  your  wife." 

"  T  hardly  want  to  do  that,'  objected  the  other. 

"  'But  you  must,  Blue  Earth.'  I  stayed  only  long  enough  to 
discover  that  Blue  Earth  had  been  guilty  of  something  or  other  and 
then  I  crept  across  the  stretch  to  where  my  horse  was  tethered," 
concluded  Buckingham. 

Trenton  had  been  told  by  Josie  the  story  she  had  related 
Catherine  on  board  the  schooner  and  he  now  recounted  it  to  Buck- 
ingham. From  this  they  drew  the  most  immediate  and  necessary 
conclusion.  The  council  must  be  prolonged  to  give  them  time  to 
gain  further  information. 

153 


Ongon 

"Marrying  people  seems  to  be  Buhl-Bysee's  forte  now.  Major; 
once  upon  a  time " 

Trenton  pressed  his  friend's  hand  gently  without  replying.  For 
some  time  they  sat  together  in  silence  upon  one  of  the  fallen 
timbers. 

"That  thrush  belonged  to  Lusette,"  said  Trenton  at  length. 

"Did  it !  then  perhaps  the  girl  is  somewhere  in  this  vicinity — 
Bat  Eye  did  not  deny  it.  Major." 

They  went  over  all  that  Buckingham  could  remember  of  Bat 
Eye's  words.  Why  would  it  be  useless  to  try  to  discover  Lusette's 
place  of  imprisonment  for  a  year?  And  why  did  Bat  Eye  tell 
something  when  he  could  not  tell  everything?  And  still  more, 
how  came  it  that  Bat  Eye  had  said  only  after  some  hesitation  that 
no  communication  could  be  received  from  Lusette? 

"My  conviction,"  said  Trenton,  "is  that  Bat  Eye  is  either  more 
of  a  man  or  else  a  greater  knave  than  I  ever  took  him  for." 

"More  of  a  man,"  said  Buckingham. 

"Then  we  must  cultivate  him,"  said  Trenton  with  a  smile. 

"Perhaps  he  knows  that  it  will  take  just  a  year  to  do  that," 
rejoined   Buckingham. 

It  was  Josie  who  interrupted  them  with  a  hasty  breakfast  on  a 
tray.  She  sat  at  their  feet  and  looked  up  into  their  eyes  with  parted 
lips.     "Say  it,  Josie?"  said  Trenton  with  a  smile. 

"It  was  for  Ongon,  Catherine  was  willing,  for  Ongon's  sake, 
even  to  die  for  him."  She  needed  not  to  add  that  her  love  was 
extended  also  to  Lusette.  But  she  had  spoken  the  whole  truth — 
Ongon's  life  had  seemed  to  command  the  sacrifice  and  Catherine 
had  been  willing  to  make  it. 

"None  need  ever  lean  in  vain  upon  the  strength  of  Catherine 
Dale,"  said  Trenton  with  deep  reverence. 

"Amen,"  said  Buckingham,  hoarsely. 

XLVIII 

THE   COUNCIL   FIRE 

Ongon  had  requested  Buckingham  and  Trenton  to  abide  with 
him  a  few  moments,  for  he  had  something  he  wished  to  say  to 
them.' 

"I  have  not  done  much,"  began  the  chief-king  sadly,  "and  it 
may  be  that  brief  life  shall  be  my  portion.  The  flag-room  with 
its  banners  must  perish  from  this  place.  To-day  the  nations  are 
round  about  us,  but  the  Indian  tents  must  be  folded  away  and  our 

154 


The  Council  Fire 

people  be  scattered.  This  earth  is  too  small  for  roaming  states.  As 
Powhatan  is  only  a  memory  in  Virginia,  so  the  time  must  come 
when  this  Chicago,  though  Indian  its  name,  will  have  citizens  who 
will  scarce  know  that  the  Indians  have  ever  lived  here.  My  friends, 
do  a  little  to  carry  on  my  work.  You  will  see  where  Ongon  has 
made  mistakes.  But  you  will  find  that  his  heart  was  loving  and 
when  he  looks  into  your  faces  he  knows  that  he  has  not  lived  un- 
loved by  the  best  and  bravest  of  men.  Go  patiently :  love  every 
creature  in  the  world.  It  is  a  great  universe,  worthy  of  the  lofty 
design  of  a  supreme  and  allwise  Ruler.  Be  not  discouraged  by  the 
council-fire  of  to-day — look  at  the  effulgence  of  the  counsels  of 
God." 

"Ongon,  we  have  loved  you,  speak  not  of  leaving  us." 

"Aye,  we  cannot  be  lost,  dear  friends,  long  ago  it  was  written 
that  one  dead  yet  speaks.  We  shall  live  in  each  other's  memories, 
no  matter  who  goes  first.  Let  me  say  to  you  I  could  not  have  lived 
my  life  apart  from  this  little  testament.  Its  aid  has  been  my  strength. 
Sent  a  long  way,  and  not  so  long  ago,  by  some  Parisian  boys  who 
had  been  converted  through  the  painting  of  a  picture — I  have  never 
been  able  to  find  who  the  painter  or  what  the  painting,  it  matters 
not — this  little  book  helped  to  carry  forward  what  my  princess  by 
her  faith  had  brought  to  me.  Friends,  when  a  man's  wife  has  re- 
vStored  him  heaven  she  is  as  one  of  the  angels  to  him.  Who  brings 
us  to  Christ  has  begotten  for  himself  or  herself  an  eternal  love  like 
none  other  on  earth." 

When  the  friends  had  departed,  they  talked  together  of  the 
deep  solemnity  upon  Ongon.  So  strong,  so  young,  so  magnificent, 
yet  he  had  spoken  as  if  his  time  were  short. 

"I  remember,"  said  Trenton,  "how  he  said  to  me  that  he  might 
end  his  life  on  fire.  It  will  be  sacred  fire.  Do  you  know,  I  think  his 
love  for  Lusette  and  his  gratitude  to  her  for  her  seeking  him  con- 
sumes him.  Every  thing  in  his  life  has  fitted  him  for  such  love. 
Truly  he  yearns  to  be  loved." 

"Aye,  the  sensitive,  sacrificing  man,  made  tender  by  his  bruises, 
cries  out  for  the  balm  of  love,"  admitted  Buckingham. 

"Here,  Buckingham,  is  my  hand.  No  man  can  go  in  Ongon's 
path,  or  do  his  work,  but  we  can  follow  his  master-mind  in  a  humble 
way." 

So  the  two  friends  grasped  hands  as  they  passed  through  the 
muddy  torn-up  town  where  clapboard  and  plank  houses  were  rising 
on  every  side.  Others,  too,  were  wending  their  way  toward  the 
large  open  shed  on  the  green  meadow  opposite  the  fort  on  the  north 

155 


Ongon 


■side  of  the  river.  Sharpers,  peddlars,  grog-sellers,  contractors, 
creditors,  agents,  lawyers,  merchants,  visitors,  soldiers — all  eager  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  famous  chiefs  invited  by  the  government  from 
the  far  and  near. 

The  cloudy  night  had  dawned  a  fair  day.  The  commissioners, 
honorable  men,  none  of  them  accused  of  bargaining  with  the  Indians 
for  self-profit,  took  the  upper  end  of  the  inclosure.  Opposite  them 
the  two-score  chieftains.  Buhl-Bysee  opened  the  council  by  stating 
that  as  the  Great  Father  in  Washington  had  heard  that  the  Indians 
wished  to  sell  their  land  he  had  sent  commissioners  to  treat  with 
them.  Promptly  Wautoma  was  on  his  feet.  "The  Great  Father  in 
Washington  must  have  seen  a  bad  bird  that  told  him  a  lie ;  far  from 
wishing  to  sell  their  land  they  wanted  to  keep  it." 

But  the  commissioners  were  nothing  daunted.  "Nevertheless, 
as  they  had  come  together  for  a  council  they  must  take  the  matter 
into  consideration."  Then  was  explained  the  desire  of  the  Great 
Father.    Poor  parent,  to  have  his  wish  so  nodded  against. 

"This  mighty  lake  on  which  the  birchen  canoe  had  been 
paddled,"  Buhl-Bysee  explained,  "must  now  see  the  great  ships  walk- 
ing over  its  broad  waters.  When  the  Black  Hawk  had  been  east  with 
his  son.  Tommy  Hawk" — the  speaker  paused  for  paleface  smiles — 
"it  had  been  explained  that  the  great  villagers  of  Washington  and 
Philadelphia  and  New  York  needed  grain  to  feed  them  and  wood 
to  keep  them  warm.  Therefore  already  the  dutiful  sons  of  the  Great 
Father  in  Washington  were  obeying  him  and  the  Indian  children 
■must  be  good  too.  It  had  cost  Illinois  six  hundred  thousand  dollars 
to  pay  its  militia  for  serving  in  Black  Hawk's  war  and  they  must 
never  have  another  war." 

The  young  chiefs,  and  those  who  were  not  tipsy,  looked  stolidly 
at  the  rafters  supporting  the  roof  of  the  shed.  War  was  their  best 
excitement  and  they  had  never  been  furnished  with  any  other  suf- 
ficient open-air  entertainment.  The  Great  Father  wanted  to  take 
away  all  his  red  children's  playthings. 

Bat  Eye  was  holding  Wautoma  in  consultation  in  the  dialect, 
whispering  in  his  ear  rapidly,  "Buhl-Bysee  is  bad  agent.  Bat  Eye 
saw  lanterns  last  night  at  the  ruins.  He  hid  to  see  what  doing. 
Then  he  found  others  were  in  the  bushes  near  him — Buhl-Bysee  and 
Blue  Earth.  They  were  talking  against  Buckingham.  Some  time 
Blue  Earth  had  done  great  bad  against  Buckingham,  did  Wautoma 
Icnow  what?" 

"Buckingham  always  good,"  averred  the  young  chief. 

*"Bad  agent  said  that  Buckingham  used  to  keep  tavern,  that  he 

156 


Every  Day  the  Signal  Gun 

had  met  him  there,  but  could  not  place  him,  but  lately  he  had  re- 
membered ;  he  had  thought  he  was  in  prison." 

At  length  in  the  meantirfie  the  commissioners  seemed  to  be 
weary  of  the  long  silence  given  deferentially  by  the  Indian  to  the 
speeches  of  the  paleface,  for  Buhl-Bysee  had  repeated  the  wish 
of  the  Great  Father  and  asked  the  Indian  chiefs  for  their  opinions, 

Wautoma  arose,  looked  at  the  sky,  and  saw  a  few  wandering 
clouds.  The  eyes  of  the  other  chiefs  followed  his.  Heads  were 
giving  general  savage  consent  to  the  plan  in  the  mind  of  the  young 
Ojibway.  "Brothers,  it  is  not  clear  enough  for  so  solemn  a 
counsel,"  spoke  the  radiantly  red  Wautoma,  "let  us  adjourn  until  the 
day  is  bright." 

And  with  these  words  it  is  recorded  that  straightway  the  council 
adjourned  sine  die. 

CHAPTER  XLIX 

EVERY   DAY   THE    SIGNAL    GUN 

Afterwards  there  seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  bringing  the 
Indians  together  again.  They  could  be  seen  arguing  under  every 
bush,  or  racing  two  on  a  pony,  or  lifting  knives  in  drunken  brawls, 
or  mumbling  through  fierce  war  dances,  but  every  day  the  signal 
gun  from  the  fort  gave  notice  in  vain  of  an  assemblage  of  chiefs  at 
the  council  fire.  One  day  when  a  messenger  would  be  sent  to 
inquire  why,  when  the  Great  Father  in  Washington  had  made  a 
feast  for  his  children,  they  refused  to  come,  the  Indians  would  make 
answer  that  a  great  chief  was  yet  absent;  without  him  they  could 
not  reason  to  the  end.  Another  day  the  messenger  was  told  that  it 
was  too  cloudy;  they  should  know  the  Indian  never  does  important 
business  except  the  sky  be  clear.  Once  Buhl-Bysee  was  angered 
by  being  told  that  Wautoma  was  absent  at  the  fort  on  a  visit  to  see 
Ongon,  and  that  therefore  they  could  not  come.  Then  Buhl-Bysee, 
at  Josie's  suggestion,  was  as  frightened  as  Cat's-paw  by  the  sight 
of  the  snake,  by  being  told  they  were  in  communication  with  Blue 
Earth  to-day  and  the  matter  was  too  important  to  drop.  Buck- 
ingham meanwhile  had  laid  his  plans  well,  that  he  assented  to  the 
message  for,  thanks  to  him.  Blue  Earth  had  disappeared  out  of 
Buhl-Bysee's  reach.  The  agent  needed  not  to  know  of  a  dark  night 
when  Wautoma's  bucks  circled  in  the  old  death  leap  about  Blue 
Earth,  and  with  flaming  fire-brands  tore  from  him  a  confession. 
These  things  belonged  rather  to  private  than  to  governmental 
affairs. 


Ongon 

But  at  last,  on  the  twenty-first  of  September,  the  redmen  signi- 
fied their  wilHngness,  under  pressure,  to  heed  the  signal  gun. 

The  council,  held  under  the  same  shed  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Chicago,  was  opened  by  a  commissioner  who  wished  to  know  why 
he  and  his  colleagues  were  called  to  the  council.  But  the  onus  of 
the  meeting  was  not  to  be  upon  the  Indian,  and  so  he  rejoined  by 
asking  why  the  Great  Father  in  Washington  had  called  his  red 
children  together.  That  was  the  end  of  diplomacy ;  drink,  and 
threat  not  to  play  with  their  Father,  and  a  general  ignorance  of  the 
terms  of  the  treaty  had  brought  on  a  savage  earnestness. 

It  was  a  picture  of  desolation.  The  sun  was  setting  upon  the 
backs  of  the  Indians  as  the  documents  of  the  treaty  were  brought 
forth  for  the  signatures  of  the  chiefs.  The  pale  light  of  the  east, 
toward  which  the  redman  had  always  loved  to  sit  when  in  council, 
gave  scarcely  a  ray  to  lighten  up  the  dark,  somber,  sorrowful  faces 
of  the  redmen.  But  the  glorious  sun  was  setting  full  in  the  faces 
of  the  triumphant  commissioners. 

So  was  signed  the  Indian's  evacuation  of  Chicago  and  his  relin- 
quishment of  the  millions  of  acres  there  around. 

The  encampment  was  broken.  Into  the  deep,  black,  narrow 
trails  running  to  the  north  and  west  little  trains  of  loaded  ponies 
were  falling,  led  by  sad-hearted  Indians  with  their  squaws  and 
children  and  wolfish  dogs.  Soon  all  must  go.  The  Senate  of  the 
United  States  would  not  ratify  all  of  the  treaty.  But  this  is  history, 
and  we  are  following  a  few  lives.     Perhaps  they  speak  in  parables. 


AT  LAST  THE  TRUTH 

Twice  Clermont  had  seen  Catherine.  Each  time  his  devotion 
for  his  profession  was  a  vaster  passion  than  could  be  his  regard  for 
woman.  As  the  day  approached  for  the  trial  of  Ongon  he  avoided 
a  third  meeting ;  for  though  Catherine  had  said  little,  he  remembered 
always  afterward  how  much  her  eyes  had  said.  Her  life  was  not 
cowed  and  broken  now  by  a  sense  of  his  power.  He  had  known 
the  day  when  she  had  clung  to  the  very  cruelty  of  his  passion  for 
his  work  when  as  his  betrothed  she  needed  him. 

But  now  her  eyes  when  they  met  his  were  a  great  calm  sweeping 
past  him  like  the  steady  currents  of  a  mighty  stream — of  which  he 
was  but  an  eddy  on  an  idle  shore.  She  cared  for  him  still,  but 
with  pity.  Her  life  might  try  to  upbear  his,  but  only  as  the  majestic 
river  bears  a  piece  of  summer  driftwood  on  its  surface.     Her  eyes 

158 


At  Last  the  Truth 

were  depths  beyond  him.  When  his  own  sought  to  fathom  them, 
they  rebounded  back  to  him,  like  things  of  cork,  too  dead  for  the 
liquid  fulness  of  life. 

Therefore  he  shunned  Catherine  and  gave  himself  the  more  to 
the  case  that  was  to  restore  him  the  power  he  had  lost.  He  even 
hoped  Catherine  would  attend  the  trial,  for  he  had  seen  her  disap- 
pointment when  the  cruelty  of  the  Indian's  fate  settled  upon  every- 
body at  the  close  of  the  counsel.  Woman,  Clermont  believed,  was 
as  strong  as  the  support  on  which  she  leaned  was  stable.  With  the 
proofs  of  Ongon's  guilt  that  hero-worship  episode  would  pass,  and 
she  would  creep  back  toward  him,  and  then  he  must  marry  Cath- 
erine. At  forty  he  knew  his  mind  sufficiently.  In  his  way  she  was 
indispensable  to  him. 

At  last  the  trial.  When  the  brick  quarters  at  the  fort  were  filled 
with  an  audience  of  officers  and  witnesses,  paleface  and  Indian. 
The  mess-hall  finally  was  necessary  to  accommodate  the  crowd.  In 
silence  Ongon  was  brought  in  walking  hand  in  hand  with  Minne- 
tonka.  His  simple  dignity,  her  tender,  graceful  beauty,  made  them 
seem  rather  as  illustrious  guests,  in  whose  honor  they  had  assembled, 
than  as  the  guilty  victims  of  a  day  of  anger. 

Clermont  had  anticipated  the  eflfect  of  their  entrance  upon  the 
judge  and  all,  and  had  directed  the  lawyer  for  the  government  to 
invite  Ongon  to  make  some  opening  speech.  That  would  betray 
the  want  of  balance  to  his  mind  better  than  any  argument  and  con- 
stitute the  first  count  against  him.  Generally  the  government  agents 
have  amused  themselves  by  sacrificing  at  the  altar  of  the  Indian's 
self  importance  and  oratorical  fervor  by  granting  them  a  talking 
time  at  the  outset  before  the  important  matters  should  follow.  Let 
it  be  so  on  this  occasion.  So,  when  Ongon  had  been  seated  by  the 
side  of  his  princess,  and  in  the  affection  of  at  least  the  ladies  of 
the  audience  was  almost  estabhshed,  he  was  asked  to  talk  about  his 
faith  in  the  Indians. 

It  was  explained  that  this  chief  has  often  confessed  that  his 
father  had  been  a  Dakotah  chieftain,  and  that  by  his  foresight  Ongon 
had  been  educated  under  the  Roman  Catholics.  Therefore  his  learn- 
ing. 

Everybody  had  heard  that  this  was  a  celebrated  orator,  and  the 
motion  of  the  counsel  for  prosecution  drew  forth  an  applause  of 
eager  sentiment.  It  was  fair,  very  fair,  to  let  the  chief-king  speak 
for  himself ! 

In  breathless  stillness  Ongon  had  risen.  Just  the  tremor  in  his 
deep  voice  with  the  wideness  of  the  prairie  in  it,  too,   and  the 

159 


Ono-on 

o 

mighty  sighing  of  the  forest,  held  their  ears  with  fascination. 
"When  the  children  of  the  Great  Spirit,  the  Breath-Master,  whom 
our  white  brother  calls  the  Lord  God,  desire  a  great  and  noble 
thing,  the  Great  Spirit  will  finally  give  it  to  them,  for  he  dwells  in  his 
own  success,  and  wishes  his  children  freely  to  take  part  with  him." 

Clermont  and  his  lawyers  exchanged  agreeable  glances,  the  In- 
dian was  beginning  above  the  heads,  he  had  the  exaltation  of  one 
who  dwelt  in  the  sky.  But  nothing  so  moves  the  common  people 
as  the  voice  of  him  who  has  borne  rule.  The  king  of  any  people, 
speaking  truly,  carries  a  majesty  to  his  hearers.  Was  Catherine 
feeling  as  Clermont ! 

"Have  you  ever,"  continued  Ongon.  "had  for  days  a  hard  task 
that  kept  you  indoors  until  you  sighed  for  a  little  breath  of  nature? 
And  have  you  gone  some  evening,  dragging  yourself  perhaps  to  the 
lake  to  drink  in  the  Great  Spirit's  fulness,  only  to  find  yourself  so 
tired  that  the  very  roll  of  the  waves  seemed  to  wash  the  last  strength 
from  your  nerves  and  you  fell  into  an  exhausted  sleep?  But  in  the 
morning  as  you  awoke  the  sun  was  stealing  over  the  great  waters, 
while  into  you,  to  meet  the  splendor,  had  crept  the  power  infinitely 
to  enjoy  the  refreshing  glory !  Then  did  not  your  spirit  dance  with 
the  waters,  wing  its  flight  with  the  birds  and  rise  with  the 
sun  to  feel  as  if  all  nature  were  the  bride  of  the  soul  and  adorned 
for  the  spirit's  high  race  to  an  infinite  goal?  Sirs,  I  think  myself 
happy  to  be  permitted  to  say,  I  have  seen  it,  the  Indian  is  a  child, 
not  a  sport  of  Heaven,  a  being  of  flesh  and  blood  and  promise,  not 
a  curious  specimen  of  the  wild  woods.  Often  in  the  morning  from 
this  fortress,  looking  westward  over  this  fair  prairie,  the  princess 
and  I  have  thought  some  day  this  shall  be  a  city  vast  and  perhaps 
lofty,  tall  buildings  rising  where  now  the  modest  violet  peeps  from 
the  prairie  grass.  Through  such  buildings  at  last  will  move  the 
developed  and  civilized  Indian.  None  then  shall  be  ashamed  that 
they  helped  speed  the  day." 

"Ongon,  your  enthusiasm  has  swept  you  off  your  feet,"  in- 
terrupted the  counsel  for  the  government,  with  a  coarse  smile, 
'Chicago  may  become  a  vast  city,  but  scarcely  very  high.  It  is  to 
be  built  upon  quicksands,  you  know."  Then  he  thought  to  his  honor, 
the  court,  that  they  had  heard  sufficiently  from  the  chief-king. 

"I  would  like  to  know,  sir,  whether  you  are  the  author  of  this  ?" 
continued  the  barrister  when  Ongon  had  taken  his  seat  immediate- 
ly upon  the  lawyer's  restiveness. 

The  paper  handed  to  Ongon  was  recognized  as  his  own,  though 
the  chief-king  smiled  at  the  use  which  was  to  be  made  of  it.    "Flee 

i6o 


At  Last  the  Truth 

from  the  garish  Hfe"  the  attorney  began  to  read  in  a  sanctimonious 
voice  adjudged  to  be  suitable  setting  to  show  the  contradictions, 
"Flee  from  the  garish  life  of  the  whites.  Conquer  your  own  na- 
tures and  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  conquer  the  paleface. 
Keep  before  your  eyes  the  day  when  Indian  art  and  Indian  music, 
your  oratory  and  your  redman's  power  shall  sweep  down  the  idols 
of  the  white  man.  You  may  come  on  a  day  to  live  in  the  richest 
quarters  of  this  city,  and  to  invite  the  paleface  to  feast  with  you 
upon  the  spoils  wherewith  you  have  spoiled  him." 

"These  are  your  words  you  say,  Ongon  ?" 

The  chief-king  was  seen  to  bow  his  assent. 

"Then,  your  honor,"  continued  the  attorney,  "we  beg  to  call  the 
court's  attention  to  the  fact  that  a  man  may  be  a  noble  fanatic,  yet 
dangerous,  and  that  this  man  has  tremendously  strong  affections  for 
that  which  he  deems  belonging  to  his  race.  This,  we  submit,  will 
have  its  bearing  in  this  case." 

Then  was  mapped  out  the  plan  of  the  prosecution.  First  it  would 
be  shown  that  Ongon  as  an  Indian  inherited  all  the  temper  and 
characteristics  of  the  Indian.  Then  they  would  exhibit  how  in- 
numerable were  the  cases  where  the  redman's  temper  had  been 
known  to  strike  down  an  adversary  with  swift  vengeance.  And 
lastly,  proofs  would  be  furnished  the  court  that  this  man  in  a  wrath 
of  vengeance  slew  Corporal  Smith  in  the  field  south  of  the  fort's 
current  bushes  by  the  cemetery  toward  the  cottonwood  of  massacre 
infamy. 

The  plan  was  logical.  Clermont  handed  counsel  the  first  paper. 
"Ongon  did  you  write  these  words  ?"  asked  the  attorney. 

The  chief-king  acknowledged  them,  again  with  a  faint  notion  of 
a  smile. 

"Then,  your  honor,  they  read :  'The  Indian  has  no  patience 
with  stopping  to  look  at  your  nose  when  you  sneer  at  his  leggings. 
He  would  rather  have  your  hair  to  grin  upon  at  his  leisure.'  There, 
your  honor,  and  gentlemen,  is  the  acknowledged  handwriting  of 
this  man  in  which  he  deliberately  counsels  scalping.  Ah,  you  say, 
he  writes  only  in  fun.  And  yet  were  I  to  relate  to  you  the  struggle 
we  had  to  obtain  this  communication — how  it  was  dropped  at  night 
from  the  room  of  the  prisoner,  and  how  an  Indian  seized  it  and  ran, 
until  suspicion  was  aroused  in  the  breast  of  one  of  our  honorable 
commissioners  of  the  late  treaty,  and  the  savage  was  caught  with  this 
and  other  important  papers — aye,  were  we  but  gifted  with  the 
tongue  of  a  Cicero  or  a  Demosthenes !" 

Ongon  and  Minnetonka's  eyes  met  in  mutual  gentleness,  he  had 
i6i 


Ongon 


no  retort  to  make,  some  flash  of  scorn,  that  was  all  the  barrister 
could  arouse. 

On  this  was  built  a  great  well-buttressed  point,  that  on  a  slight 
provocation  the  prisoner  had  counseled  scalping — might  not  a  bullet 
then  be  advocated  in  return  for  the  death  of  a  beloved  child?  The 
counsel  for  the  government  next  advanced  to  ask  Ongon  whether 
he  had  not  given  orders  for  an  Indian  to  be  killed  who  had  murdered 
another. 

He  had. 

"Your  honor,"  said  the  counsel  for  defense,  "we  object.  The 
status  of  the  Indian  makes  him  an  alien  government  within  a 
republic.  Our  own  government  has  authorized  and  expects  the 
Indian  chieftain  to  enforce  law  and  order  within  their  tribes.  If 
Ongon  had  not  ordered  the  execution  of  Half  Wing,  of  whom  the 
prosecution  is  now  about  to  speak,  he  would  have  been  guilty  of 
vacating  his  authority  and  thus  violating  the  moral  and  Indian 
code,  life  for  life." 

The  battle  between  the  lawyers  over  the  point  raised  was  finally 
settled  by  the  court's  ordering  the  next  point.  He  had  ruled  the 
evidence  about  Half  Wing  out  of  the  hearing. 

That  Ongon  was  an  Indian  with  all  the  Indian's  characteristics 
was  proved  by  the  prisoner's  words,  acts,  looks,  deeds.  Now  the 
horrors  of  Black  Hawk's  war  were  laid  at  the  door  of  Indian 
nature.  The  redman  was  painted  with  all  his  feathers,  his  toma- 
hawks, his  pride,  his  savage  temper.  "Think  of  having  an  Indian 
to  please  at  breakfast,  my  good  dames,  and  to  slavishly  serve  by 
day,  and  humor  by  night!" 

Great  is  oratory,  therefore  this  speech  could  never  be  reported. 
Sufficient  that  some  pitied  poor  Minnetonka  for  her  hardships,  as 
the  skeleton  was  hinted  at  in  their  domestic  closet. 

Then  was  laid  the  scene  of  the  murder.  A  lonely  spot  above  the 
lake.  A  soldier  who  was  belived  by  Ongon  to  have  taken  the  life 
of  his  darling  boy.  The  soldier  is  pacing  at  his  post  of  duty.  Far 
away  from  home,  he  stands  protecting  the  lives  of  others  whose 
homes  have  been  broken  up  and  who  now  fear  the  advent  of  Black 
Hawk  to  the  village  of  Chicago.  Ongon  knows  the  soldier's  hour 
of  service.  At  dusk  he  steals  upon  the  watcher,  and  with  angry 
words  upbraids  him  for  his  cruelty — then  sends  the  innocent  man 
into  eternity.  A  stifled  cry  is  heard.  Reputable  chiefs  hurry  as 
they  happen  to  pass.  They  meet  Ongon,  he  had  blood  on  his 
g-arments.  He  says  that  he  has  found  a  man  dying  of  a  bullet 
wound.     Together  they  go  back.    The  soldier  is  wishing  to  speak. 

162 


At   Last  the  Truth 

"Ongon,  Ongon "    Cat's-paw  bends  over  to  listen. 

"Ongon,  Ongon  is  guilty,"  Cat's-paw  has  sworn  he  heard  the 
dying  man  whisper.  Another  chief  here  present,  for  Cat's-paw  is 
dead,  swears  to  the  statement.  Here  is  Cat's-paw's  signature  to 
his  own  affidavit,  however.  And  Cat's-paw,  be  it  remembered,  was 
one  of  Ongon's  trusted  braves.  It  was  not  as  if  it  were  any  enemy 
his  friend  testifies  against  him. 

Afterwards  they  had  found  the  pistol  in  the  field,  bloody. 

"Ongon,  is  this  your  weapon?" 

"It  is." 

"Did  you  throw  it  into  the  field?" 

"I  did." 

"Why?" 

"At  the  head  of  the  murderer,  not  having  it  loaded.'' 

Counsel  for  prosecution  threw  up  its  horrified  hands  at  such 
falsehood  in  the  face  of  overwhelming  evidence.  Such  proofs  ought 
to  make  a  man  confess  of  themselves ! 

"Would  the  prisoner  take  the  stand  ?" 

Thus  far  he  had  been  permitted  to  sit  beside  the  princess,  now 
he  must  be  put  in  the  prisoner's  box. 

"Does  the  prisoner  recognize  this  blouse?" 

Ongon  bowed  assent. 

"Did  you  not  wear  it  on  that  evening?" 

Again  the  affirmative. 

"How  came  this  blood? — from  the  dead  man's  wound? — 
exactly." 

The  bloody  garment  was  shown  at  every  angle  and  then  passed 
around. 

"You  buried  it  near  the  lodge?" 

"Yes." 

^'And  in  order  that  the  blood  might  not  excite  others  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  intended  to  have  it  washed?" 

"Yes." 

"But  never  dreamed  that  you  would  be  suspected  and  so  took 
your  time?" 

"Yes." 

So  went  on  the  questionings  until  the  chain  of  evidence  seemed 
complete.  Left  quite  in  such  way  that  the  defense  could  only 
strengthen  it  when  they  came  to  try  to  break  it  down. 

"Your  honor,  we  have  known  these  truths  many  days,  but  have 
delayed  prosecution  principally  to  have  all  of  our  witnesses  here,  as 

163 


Ongon 

well  as  to  give  the  defense  time  to  secure  its  counter  testimony.  We 
rest  the  case  at  this  point  asking  for  the  conviction  of  the  prisoner 
for  manslaughter." 

Chance  had  given  Catherine  a  seat  opposite  Clermont,  she  did 
not  meet  his  eyes. 

"Your  honor,"  said  the  counsel  for  the  defense,  rising  slowly 
and  somewhat  wearily,  "we  beg  the  court's  permission  to  bring  in 
our  principal  witness  veiled." 

Catherine  noticed  the  start  in  Buhl-Bysee's  eyes,  but  Clermont 
thought  she  had  not  looked  up. 

A  slender  form,  covered  from  head  to  foot,  was  led  into  the 
room  and  given  a  seat  between  Trenton  and  Buckingham.  On  a 
question  it  was  ruled  out  of  order  to  permit  the  witness  to  remain 
since  he  was  not  to  testify  first.  Therefore  the  veiled  figure  was 
led  away  again. 

Catherine  was  the  one  first  called  to  the  stand  by  the  counsel  for 
Ongon.  She  was  very  pale,  but  there  was  a  fascination  of  beauty  in 
her  face  that  filled  the  room  with  its  power.  Clermont  had  not 
dreamed  to  have  her  against  him  and  was  biting  his  lips  with 
displeasure.  He  had  not  wanted  one  who  might  be  his  wife  to  go 
down  with  Ongon. 

"Your  honor,  our  witness  has  a  letter  to  read." 

She  arose  with  the  unfolded  sheet  in  her  hand,  and  courtesied  to 
Ongon  first,  and  then  to  Minnetonka.  A  woman's  rapid  sentences 
with  a  woman's  tender  emphasis  made  the  letter  vivid  and  brought 
the  writer's  soul  before  them  all. 

"Know  ye  men  and  women  assembled  to  meet  Ongon.  In  a  far 
Virginian  valley,  where  the  peaceful  Shenandoah  runs  down  to  meet 
the  great  Potomac,  is  a  little  burial  ground  by  the  side  of  an  old 
stone  church  with  an  ancient  grove  of  oaks  between.  There  lie  the 
brave  and  the  beautiful,  sleeping.  It  has  an  Indian  name,  the 
Opecquon.  Indian  names  are  all  about  it.  Simple  are  the  tombs, 
for  the  ancestors  and  friends  of  the  settlers  of  Kentucky — and  of 
Chicago,  lie  buried  there.    On  one  little  marble  slab  are  these  words 

'Sacred  to  the  Memory 

of 

Lawrence  and  Margaret  Ames 

and  Their  Son 

Ogden.' 

"Beyond  the  tides  of  change  and  circumstance  lies  the  young 
husband  and  his  loving  wife,  who  lost  their  lives,  and  were  found 

164 


At   Last   the   Truth 

and  are  buried  side  by  side.  But  the  waves  that  washed  their 
bodies  to  the  shore  brought  not  the  body  of  httle  Ogden.  An  Indian 
tells  the  story  in  the  letter  also  sent  to  you  of  the  mother's  sad  cry 
that  reached  the  chief  in  the  darkness.  'Ogden,  oh  my  precious 
child,  Ogden !'  Already  the  Indian  was  making  through  the  forest 
with  the  child  repeating  to  him  softly  the  drowning  mother's  cry, 

as  he  understood  it "     Catherine  paused,  the  tears  were  in  her 

eyes,  the  words  could  scarcely  have  been  repeated  with  such  pathos 
by  other  lips  than  the  mother's 

"  'Ongon,  oh  my  child,  Ongon.'  " 

And  now  Catherine  had  crossed  the  floor  to  the  prisoner's  box 
to  let  him  read  the  words  and  take  the  rings  from  her  hand. 

"Oh,  sirs,"  cried  Ongon  rising,  "let  me  say  it  first  among  men, 
she  is  not  here,  she  cannot  say  it — she  is  my  sister  and  I  am  the  son 
of  Colonel  Lawrence  and  Lusette  Jean  Ames !"  No  one  forbade  his 
going  to  the  side  of  the  princess  to  kneel  there  as  a  child  as  he 
showed  her  again  the  initials  of  his  mother  and  the  tiny  band  that 
once  had  encircled  his  ov^^n  finger.  Then  he  hastened  back  amidst 
the  sound  of  women  weeping  to  the  prisoner's  box  that  he  might  not 
delay  the  court's  proceedings. 

Trenton  has  gone  out  softly  and  now  he  was  leading  in  the 
muffled  witness  whose  agitation  strangely  mingled  yet  contrasted 
with  that  of  the  audience. 

"Will  the  counsel  unveil  the  witness,"  said  the  court. 

Slowly  the  trembling  figure  was  unwrapped  of  the  concealing 
folds,  and — did  not  some  cry  escape  from  Buhl-Bysee  ? — it  was  Blue 
Earth. 

"Your  honor,"  said  the  lawyer  slowly,  "behold  the  murderer  of 
Corporal  Smith." 

"What !  man,  this  is  impossible,  this  is  my  friend ;  you  have  wrung 
from  him  by  some  diabolical  means  false  statements  in  an  hour  when 
you  have  terrified  him.  Speak  Blue  Earth,  who  killed  Corporal 
Smith?"    Buhl-Bysee  had  gone  to  his  side  to  assure  him  calmly. 

"I  did!" 

"Impossible,  your  honor,  this  man  is  out  of  his  mind,  I  have 
proof  to  offer  that  he  is  often  out  of  his  mind.  Old  settlers  have 
seen  him  wandering  about  here  out  of  his  reason,  Indians  can 
testify  that  they  have  seen  him  so." 

The  attorney  for  defense  acknowledged  that  he  had  seen  Blue 
Earth  so.  Then  he  held  up  a  coat,  "Do  you  recognize  this  blood- 
stained garment  as  your  own?" 

"I  do,"  answered  the  hollow  voice. 

165 


Ongon 

"Subterfuge,"  cried  the  agent  excitedly. 

"May  I  speak?"  It  was  Blue  Earth  asking  to  be  permitted  to 
tell  his  story. 

"The  witness  shall  be  heard,"  spoke  the  court. 

Then  he  told  of  his  life.  How  he  had  been  a  club  man  in  New 
York.  Three  or  four  years  before — he  confessed  his  memory  was 
weak — he  had  taken  the  life  of  a  fellow  clubman  in  a  fit  of  anger, 
and  had  carried  his  body  to  the  basement.  There  he  found  another 
member  fallen  into  a  heavy  sleep.  The  idea  dawned  upon  him  that 
this  was  the  member  who  had  severely  denounced  the  murdered  man 
early  in  the  evening  and  had  drawn  angry  retort.  He  could  drug 
Buckingham  and  then,  when  the  dancing  resumed,  carry  him  up- 
stairs. It  was  all  that  Blue  Earth  could  tell,  but  a  newspaper  which 
he  drew  from  his  coat  told  the  rest. 

"How  came  you  to  quarrel  with  Corporal  Smith?"  asked  the 
court. 

"He  was  an  old  friend.  He  was  heavily  indebted  to  me,  for  we 
had  gambled  together.  He  saw  me  bring  up  Buckingham  and  lay 
him  beside  the  dead  man,  whom  I  had  brought  first.  A  year  ago, 
at  the  time  of  the  quarrel,  he  had  threatened  to  confess  if  I  did  not 
give  him  some  more  money " 

He  could  not  speak  another  word,  but  already  the  defense  were 
bringing  forward  another  witness.  It  was  Mrs.  Castor.  She  con- 
fessed that  on  the  night  of  the  death  in  New  York  she  had  over- 
heard conversation  between  Blue  Earth  and  Smith. 

"Your  honor  the  name  of  Blue  Earth  is  Tarney.  I  worked  in 
the  service  of  the  Tarneys,  but  being  taught  to  think  twice  before 
speaking  once,  I  kept  it  to  myself."  Then  she  related  the  words 
that  corroborated  the  confession  of  Blue  Earth. 

Chemicals  and  a  sponge  removed  the  paint  from  the  face  of  the 
guilty  man  and  there  were  no  eyes  that  cared  to  look  upon  him. 

And  so  the  innocence  of  Buckingham  was  established  in  the  ac- 
quittal of  Ongon.  Then,  without  warning,  was  paid  the  price 
sweetlv. 


LI 


Josie  brought  in  Mylo.  A  murmur  of  delight  was  on  the  lips 
of  every  woman  present  at  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  child.  The 
babe's  sweet  laughter  and  precious  innocence  of  all  that  had  hap- 

i66 


"  Lead  Me" 

•pened  was  a  relief  even  to  the  judge  who  begged  to  hold  for  a  little 
the  grandchild  of  his  old  friend,  Col.  Ames.  It  was  then  the  village 
proved  that  it  had  a  heart.  Mothers  asked  for  the  child's  name  and 
others  still  took  Minnetonka  into  their  arms  and  welcomed  her  even 
as  the  new  daughter  of  one  of  Virginia's  noblest  men. 

Now  Mylo  was  back  in  Minnetonka's  arms  and  his  little  hands 
were  playing  with  her  eyes  and  lips,  while  his  own  were  murmuring 
the  only  word  he  had  learned  to  say :  Mamma,  mamma,  mamma !" 
— how  the  recollection  came  back  long  afterward  of  the  fondness 
between  the  two ! 

"He  is  like  his  father  and  mother  both,  you  may  well  be  proud 
of  your  son,"  said  the  young  wife  of  an  army  officer. 

"Aye,  I  am  as  proud  of  my  son's  Indian  blood,"  said  Ongon, 
catching  up  the  child  before  the  Indians  and  all ;  "I  am  as  proud  of 
his  Indian  blood,  as  Randolph  of  Virginia  was  proud  to  own  that 
Pocohontas'  blood  flowed  in  his  veins !" 

Even  Tarney,  the  murderer,  with  the  stains  of  his  sin  upon  him, 
turned  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  child  as  the  officers  of  the  law 
were  leading  him  away. 

Minnetonka  saw  it  and  it  was  like  her,  they  remembered  at  night- 
fall, to  have  gone  to  the  prisoner  and  to  have  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"I  forgive  you,  I  pray  Heaven  to  forgive  you  too."  So  like  a 
prayer  she  spoke  it,  malice  died  from  the  eyes  of  those  who  hated  the 
murderer. 

Then  they  led  him  away  to  his  cell  and  afterward  it  made  his 
death  easier  to  repeat  her  prayer.  They  said  he  died  crying  the 
words  to  his  Creator,  "I  pray  Heaven  to  forgive  you  too." 

They  admired  the  beauty  of  the  princess  and  more  the  charm  of 
her  natural  grace,  for  her  quick  gliding  seemed  the  accord  her 
limbs  gave  to  some  inner  melody. 

"You  may  be  proud  of  your  wife  too,"  said  the  officer's  wife  to 
Ongon,  all  assenting. 

"Our  marriage  has  been  the  conforming  power  of  a  great  love, 
annihilating  the  differences  of  time,"  he  said  reverently. 

"A  vast  eternity,  Ongon,"  murmured  the  princess,  taking  her 
husband's  hand.  She  was  excited,  it  was  noticed,  over  the  reception 
given  her  and  turned  to  touch  the  pin  in  Mylo's  dress. 

"See,  it  is  thy  mother's — oh  to  find  her  once  more  and  hear  Jean 
speak  of  thee,  Ongon — Ogden  Ames ! — Oh,  Jean,  thy  love  so  pass- 
ing fair " 

Then  her  voice  lost  its  strength.  "Lead  me,"  she  murmured 
167 


Ongon 

faintly,  putting  her  hand  upon  her  heart  and  tightening,  only  to 
relax,  her  hold  upon  Ongon's  with  the  other. 

The  smile  that  had  come  with  the  mention  of  Jean  was  caught 
upon  her  face  and  refused  to  leave  it  until  some  higher  power  came 
to  release  it  forever  from  its  earthly  beauty.  Minnetonka  was 
dead.  Even  as  Ongon's  arms  were  wrapped  about  her,  and  Mylo's 
hands  were  playing  with  the  white  flowers  in  her  hair,  an  angel  had 
called  her  from  them.  Led  to  the  robes  that  were  whiter  than  snow ; 
led  to  the  beautiful  lands  beyond  which  no  ruler  could  remove  her ; 
led  into  the  light  surpassing  all  the  dreams  of  the  mornings  when 
she  had  sat  by  Ongon's  side  and  murmured  her  delight  at  being  a 
human  soul ;  led  by  the  angels  unto  the  King  of  kings.  Oh,  Minne- 
tonka, by  thy  life  the  inspiration  to  work  out  thy  love  and  thy 
patience  for  thy  people ! 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace." 
Buckingham  had  repeated  the  words  Ongon  had  left  for  him, 
and  gratefully  the  chief-king  bowed  his  head  in  acknowledgment. 
Then  they  went  out  one  by  one  until  Ongon  was  alone  with  his  sor- 
row.    His  eyes  had  seemed  to  wish  it. 

LII 

A  VISITOR  IN  THE  NIGHT 

At  midnight,  when  the  body  of  Minnetonka  lay  in  the  lodge 
awaiting  the  morning's  burial,  came  a  figure  moving  rashly  past  the 
Indian  guards.  He  entered  the  death  chamber,  and  when  he  re- 
moved his  hand  from  his  lantern,  he  was  armed.  Even  so  he  lifted 
the  sheet  from  the  face  of  the  princess  and  gazed  upon  her  calmly 
beautiful  features  in  a  manner  that  belied  the  man.  Again  with  utter 
indifference  to  the  danger  that  beset  his  progress  he  made  his  way 
into  the  room  where  Buckingham  rested.  He  was  not  asleep  and 
the  light  thrown  upon  his  face  made  him  start  up  and  seize  his  arms 
lying  on  the  chair  beside  him. 

The  intruder  wished  to  be  known,  for  he  turned  the  light  upon 
himself,  standing  straight  and  fearless  before  the  pistol  of  Buck- 
ingham. 

"What,  Buhl-Bysee,  are  you  mad,  to  venture  here!" 

"Hush,  follow  me." 

He  made  motion  to  go  out  by  the  way  he  had  entered,  but  Buck- 
ingham, aware  of  the  instant  vengeance  the  Indians  would  wreck 
upon  him  should  they  awake,  whispered  to  him  to  follow  him  in- 
stead.    His  door  led  directly  to  the  open  air.     "Not  yet,  beyond  this 

i68 


A  Visitor  in  the  Night 

place,"  said  Buckingham,  when  the  agent  halted.     "Here,  we  are 
safe,  what  message  do  you  bring,  Buhl-Bysee?" 

"Blue  Earth  is  my  cousin,  Fred  Tarney,  I  mean,  Buckingham, 
and  until  yesterday,  I  swear  to  you  I  thought  him  innocent  and  you 
guilty." 

"Go  on,  I  will  believe  you." 

"I  always  believed  you  guilty." 

"Yes,  go  on,  I  caught  that  before." 

"But  I  have  hated  Trenton  and  I  never  forgave  your  friend  for 
believing  that  I  changed  my  name  because  of  the  War  of  1 812.  I 
did  not  desert  my  company  in  181 3,  here  Buckingham  is  my  honor- 
able discharge,  give  it  to  Trenton,  will  you? 

"Very  well,  and  what  more?" 

"Ah,  my  change  of  name  was  partly  the  result  of  fun.  Bulbsy 
is  not  long,  neither  is  it  euphonious.  A  wager  was  made,  however, 
that  it  contained  the  stem  on  which  a  distinguished  name  could  be 
grafted.  Blue  Earth,  Tarney  I  mean,  suggested  to  begin  by  hy- 
phenating the  syllables  of  Bulb-sy.  They  made  it  Bul-bsy,  then 
Buhl-bsy,  and  rested  with  Buhl-Bysee.  That  name  I  seized  when  I 
went  abroad  as  having  more  dignity  and  power  to  it  than  Bulbsy. 
While  in  England  I  saved  the  life  of  a  senator  of  the  United  States, 
and  he  offered  in  return  to  use  his  influence  to  get  me  a  government 
position.     And  you  know  the  rest." 

"Yes." 

"And  I  believed  Ongon  guilty.  Do  you  know  Clermont  first  sus- 
pected me,  but  when  he  found  that  I  was  innocent,  he  was  a  staunch 
believer  in  my  methods  and  evidence." 

"Of  which  I  am  aware,  go  on." 

"I  am  an  innocent  man  to-day,  Buckingham.  Of  all  that  has 
happened,  I  am  free  from  murder ;  I  am  free  from  murder !" 

"You  came  to  tell  me  this?" 

"Partly  so,  it  is  better  than  life  to  tell  you  that  I  received  not 
one  cent  of  profit  from  the  Indian  treaty  closed  on  the  21st,  and  I 
am  guilty  of  no  man's  blood,  and  I  have  an  honorable  discharge 
from  the  war  of  181 2.  In  my  forty-two  years  of  life  I  have  kept 
from  dishonor,  from  guilt !" 

"There  is  no  fear  of  your  going  to  jail,"  said  Buckingham,  com- 
pleting the  negative  virtues  of  the  agent.  He  might  have  mentioned 
the  forgery,  but  when  Buckingham  saw  Buhl-Bysee  holding  the 
lantern  before  his  own  face  and  exulting  over  the  triumph  of  his 
character,  he  turned  away  to  hide  his  contempt  that  he  might  have 
more  pity. 

169 


Ongon 


"I  have  hated  Trenton  because  he  crossed  my  life- 


"Because  you  married  the  girl  who  was  betrothed  to  him  and 
saw  her  die  in  disappointment." 

"Aye,  if  she  had  shown  love  for  me  I  could  have  forgiven 
Trenton." 

"Go  on,  Buhl-Bysee." 

"To-night  I  had  determined  to  take  Trenton's  life — I  could  have 
done  it — they  are  sleeping  side  by  side  under  the  lindens  over  there. 
But  the  words  of  that  dying  princess  to  Blue  Earth  would  not  let 
me.  I  could  not  end  my  life  by  doing  that  which  I  have  refrained 
from  under  many  provocations  all  my  life  long.  I  might  have  but 
for  her  saying,  "I  forgive  you."  I  have  been  into  her  death  chamber 
to-night " 

"What,  you!" 

"Aye,  man,  and  her  face  makes  me  go  further.  To-night — in 
the  morning  at  dawn — they  blow  up  the  flag-room.  Everything  is 
set  for  it,  powder  and  all — and  I  think,  perhaps  it  is  only  a  fancy, 
that  somewhere  the  gypsy  is  kept  there  and  her  life  will  perish 
in  the  destruction." 

"You  guilty  man — how  dare  you — aye,  but  we  can  save  her  be- 
fore morning !"  Buckingham  started  up  with  haste,  but  Buhl-Bysee 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Nay,  listen  further,  you  cannot  find  the  fuses,  hunt  them  as  you 
will.  But  I  am  innocent  of  this,  Buckingham.  Others  have  done 
it.  Cat's-paw's  Indians,  jealous  against  Bat  Eye.  I  did  not  do 
this." 

"Cursed  be  your  innocency  man,  up ! — will  you  hunt  the  mines 
with  me?  Come  we  are  both  ready,  and  our  Hves  easiest  spared  to 
this  world.     We  can  save  the  girl !" 

"Nay,  Cat's-paw's  Indians  are  there  drunk.  They  have  picketed 
the  place  until  the  time  to  run  from  the  mines.  It  is  useless.  But 
I  am  innocent  of  Cat's-paw's  death,  Buckingham.     I  have  no " 

But  Buckingham  had  left  him  there  with  his  self-congratula- 
tions on  his  lips.  Already  the  east  was  paling.  No  time  was  to 
be  lost,  and  doubtless  all  the  Indians  could  do  would  be  to  throw 
a  spark  into  the  powder  at  the  time  of  the  explosion  if  there  w?r, 
to  be  any.  A  long  fuse  was  out  of  the  question  he  knew.  Perhaps 
Ongon  would  know  where — he  turned  to  speak  to  Buhl-Bysee.  "By 
the  young  wife  within,  you  owe  one  thing  more  to  your  innocency, 
go  do  what  you  can  to  save  the  gypsy's  life  even  for  Trenton." 

"Stop !"   whispered  the  agent. 

But  Buckingham  heeded  not  his  words,  already  he  was  waking 
Ongon  and  Trenton. 

170 


True  Innocence 

LIII 

TRUE  INNOCENCE 

Jean  and  her  aunt  had  promised  each  other  to  sit  up  together  and 
talk  all  the  night  through,  following  the  day  when  Ongon  should 
know  that  he  had  a  sister.  The  one  favor  she  had  asked  of  Bat  Eye 
had  been  the  permission  of  the  letter  to  the  court.  But  Bat  Eye 
had  granted  them  two.  Their  feminine  heart  had  been  rejoiced  by 
the  Indian's  bringing  on  this  great  afternoon  their  stock  of  clothing 
— two  old  leather  trunks  full  of  civilization,  Jean  had  said,  dancing 
savagely  before  the  delighted  Indian.  She  had  even  made  him  sit 
down  while  she  entertained  him  with  various  costumes  from  the 
trunks.  Exhibitions  of  silk  capotes,  large  sleeves,  rich  mantillas, 
negligee  hats  of  tissue  straw  kept  in  wooden  boxes,  aprons  of  moire 
in  deep  colors,  blue  sapphire  satins,  rich  emerald-green  velvets, 
dazzling  reddish  modes — how  the  deep  colors  fascinated  the  hungry 
Indian  eyes ! 

"Like  color,"  said  the  redman  simply. 

"And  you  didn't  know  when  I  dressed  in  Aunt  Mary's,  or  when 
in  my  own  colors,  did  you  ?"  laughed  the  happy  girl.  "You  see  I'm 
quite  tall  too,  but  you  don't  appreciate  a  slender  waist  from  the 
fulness  of  maturity,  do  you  Bat  Eye!" 

"Nay,  she  could  not  be  stopped,  her  spirit  was  bubbling  over. 
"We  call  you  Beauty  when  we  are  alone.  Friend  Eye,  you  have 
been  so  good  to  us  lone  palefaces.  Tell  me,  will  you  stay  with  us 
and  help  Ongon  always?" 

The  Indian  nodded  his  agreeability. 

"Will  you  be  our  household  Indian?" 

"Ugh,  others  call  Bat  Eye  coward  then,  a  woman's  man,  couldn't 
do  that." 

"But  you  will  be  friends — you  and  Wautoma,  and  drive  out 
with  us?" 

"I  must  keep  my  Indians  first,"  said  the  chief,  thinking  of  his 
duties.  "My  Indians  are  drunk  to-night  and  disagreeable  to 
manage." 

"Oh,  pity,  and  who  gave  them  Hquor  to  drink,  Bat  Eye?" 

"Buhl-Bysee." 

"Never  mind,  Friend  Eye,  we  should  be  happy  to-day." 

But  he  could  not  help  minding,  for  by  and  by  he  asked  to  go  to 
see  how  the  Indians  were  doing  about  the  place.  It  was  ten  o'clock 
and  he  must  see. 

171 


Ongon 


And  so  he  had  gone,  but  with  Jean's  spirit  scarcely  clouded. 

"This  is  Ongon  day.  We  have  to  be  merry,  Aunt  Hardscrabble 
Devere,  wilt  thou  attire  and  thy  niece  also?" 

At  eleven  the  girl  was  kneeling  in  her  chally  dress  with  the 
small  bouquets  blossoming  over  the  white  ground,  and  the  high  body 
crossed  over  with  epaulettes  on  the  sleeves.  She  must  first  smooth 
her  aunt's  lilac  lawn  and  add  to  her  head  a  small  cap  of  black 
blonde  and  floral  work. 

"There,  polished  ceilings  of  cedar  and  devoted  women  in  odor- 
able  dry  goods,  let  us  talk  of  Ongon !" 

Gently  her  aunt  held  her  hands  and  kissed  the  radiant  face  of 
the  girl  and  told  her  with  her  eyes  that  now  her  faith  had  con- 
quered. 

"Yes,  auntie,  by  this  time  Ongon  knows !  Listen,  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it.  He  saw  Catherine  arise  with  my  letter  in  her  hands. 
She  was  beautiful  in  this  hour.  She  held  what  a  true  woman  would 
have  loved  to  read  softly  and  tenderly.  When  she  read  of  the  In- 
dian names  in  Virginia,  Ongon  smiled  and  looked  proudly  at  Min- 
netonka.  He  wot  not  then  that  Virginia  should  mean  so  much  to 
him.  With  her  deep  emotion  and  true  artistic  feeling,  Catherine 
stepped  softly  through  old  Opecquon  to  our  tomb.  But  we  will 
not  be  sad  to-day — she  hurried  on  to  tell  of  the  babe  and  of  the 
cry  'Ongon,  my  child,  Ongon.'  Hark,  auntie,  I  hear  the  Indian 
woman  tell  it  yet.  Think  of  the  impression  it  made  on  my  mind 
four  years  ago.  It  was  sweet  sixteen  to  learn  that  brother  might  be 
alive.  Then  we  sent  and  searched  for  him  in  vain.  But  we  re- 
membered that  steamboat  ride  of  our  own,  and  how  the  Indian 
woman  had  told  the  story  to  her  grandchildren  the  night  we  camped 
with  them.  She  believed  that  somewhere  this  Ongon  lived,  a  won- 
derful chief.  Then  when  other's  failed  after  a  year,  you  listened 
to  my  pleas — we  began  the  'women's  willowy  and  emotional  search'. 
'Veni,  vidi,  vici.'  Nay  auntie,  I  never  saw  him,  but  you  did  that  day 
when  I  came  too  late,  tell  me  how  he  looked  again  ?" 

"He  was  greatly  tall,  Jean,  with  all  the  Roman  in  him  that  made 
your  dear  mother  so  commanding " 

"Alas,  poor  papa  and  his  daughter!" 

"Dark  as " 

"As  all  the  Deveres." 

"Yes,  with  my  black  hair " 

"And  you  haven't  a  gray  hair  in  it  yet.  Auntie !" 

"And  a  voice  of  such  manliness,  yet  gentleness,  the  very  birds 

drew  near  him " 

172 


True  Innocence 

"Minnetonka  taught  him  that — but  that  was  my  thrush,  Auntie, 
It  even  drew  near  to — Major  Trenton !" 

"Suppose  Major  Trenton  should  love  you,  Jean?" 

"I  think  he  does,  auntie,"  confided  the  girl;  "and  during  these 
long  days  I've  wondered  what  answer  I  can  truly  give  him  when 
next  our  eyes  walk  together — beyond  even  my  dreams  when  alone." 

"You  are  too  honest,  Jean." 

"How  do  the  Scotch-Irish  lovers  behave,  Auntie?" 

"Oh,  they  come  to  it  abruptly,  Jean." 

"Then  abruptly  I  will  tell  Major  Trenton  I  like  his  name. 
Listen  Auntie,  John-Jean,  Jean-John,  Jean-Jean-John — are  they 
cathedral  tones,  or  do  they  sound  like  a  breakfast  gong?  If  I'm 
Scotch-Irish,  then  I  can  say  quickly,  boldly  here  aloud  in  this 
scented  chamber  of  Ongon's,  when  the  wedding  bells  ring,  I  want 
them  to  say  nothing  else  but  John-Jean,  Jean-John !" 

So  she  had  told  the  one  who  had  been  to  her  as  mother.  If 
in  the  night,  or  at  daybreak  some  sad  wreckage  of  her  hopes  should 
come,  it  was  worth  the  while,  aye,  it  was  worth  the  while  for  the 
dear  lips  to  move  at  last  into  the  utterance  of  all  her  soul. 

Oh  Heaven,  that  hearest  the  holy  resounding  joy  from  beautiful 
lips,  speaking  to-day  before  to-morrow  dawns  with  its  crushing 
weight  of  sorrow — yet  is  it  not  best  to  have  loved  and  lost ! 

"Aunt  Mary,  you  are  so  still." 

"I  will  not  speak  my  thoughts." 

"Then  I  will  laugh  at  your  closely  set  teeth,  beautiful  Miss  Mary 
Devere! — but  you  do  like  Major  Trenton?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Then  look  not  dark  as  Beauty  when  he  left  to-night.  Come  we 
must  talk.    'Tis  only  two  and  I  have  much  to  say." 

Catherine  should  marry  some  wise  philosopher,  she  said,  and  goj 
with  him  and  her  art.  Yes,  Catherine  would  finally  put  some  one 
before  her  art — and  they  should  spend  their  days  with  Ongon  for 
the  Indian.  No,  she,  Jean,  would  not  follow  Ongon.  Three  months 
in  the  year  she  should  spend  with  her  brother,  her  children  playing 
with  Ongon's,  and  every  girl  of  them  learning  to  shoot  like — a  very 
gypsy,  as  all  the  Ames'  girls  had  learned  to  shoot.  But  the  rest  of" 
the  year  they  should  spend  for  the  whole  nation. 

"My  husband  must  go  to  congress  and  sit  in  grandpapa's  seat — 
figuratively  speaking — and  plead  for  our  country's  honor  and  high 
duty.  Will  not  his  wife  make  a  brilliant  Washingtonian  lady, 
Aunt  Mary?  They  will  speak  of  her  silken  sunset  locks — to  wit, 
her  reddish  hair;  and  of  her  large  and  glorious  orbs,  namely  her 

173 


Ongon 


mischievous  eyes ;  and  of  her  wit  and  fascinating  learning ;  c.  g.,  her 
charming  motto,  best  foot  forward !  Nobody  will  believe  that  she 
paid  a  hundred  dollars  in  gold  to  learn  to  manage  a  circus  serpent, 
and  an  old  grizzly  bear,  or  another  and  another  hundred  to  'loan' 
them.  Ugh,  it  took  hope  of  meeting  Ongon  to  go  through  that 
training!  But  the  fangs  were  out,  and  I'd  have  had  them  draw 
the  snake's  muscles  too,  if  Coilie  could  have  survived.  And  then  to 
think  Cat's-paw  did  not  need  the  serpent  for  his  final  conviction ! 
But  we  have  gained  the  day.  So  shall  my  husband  approach  his 
problems.  I  shall  ask  him  every  night  what  plans  he  has  made, 
what  courage  he  dared.  But  he  shall  never  know  I  ask  him,  for  it 
must  be  charmed  out.  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  never  tell  a  woman 
anything  if  she  had  not  the  subtilities  to  draw  out  more  than  I  had 
in  me." 

"Oh,  Jean,  you  were  enthusiastic  from  the  time  you  first  talked 
at  ten  months !" 

"Softly,  Auntie,  Bat  Eye  has  fired  the  first  shot  to  tell  us  of  the 
dawn  as  he  has  said  he  would.  We  are  now  to  talk  only  of  Ongon 
until  the  second  shot  announces  the  rising  of  the  sun." 

"It  was  not  as  Bat  Eye's  shot,  my  dear." 

But  Jean  had  no  ear  for  the  protest.  "Auntie,  when  I  meet 
Ongon,  I  shall  tell  him  that  he  has  already  lived  beyond  the  meas- 
ure of  even  a  great  man's  life.  Every  day  hereafter  is  a  day  loaned 
to  him  out  of  eternity.  Far  beyond  his  day  he  has  mapped  the  con- 
stellations and  taken  up  the  light  from  the  stars.  His  constructive 
work  depends  from  now  for  its  success  upon  others'  understanding 
the  Indian's  nature.  More  psychology  and  more  of  the  eternity  of 
old  Opecquon  shall  be  needed  ere  the  Indians  become  no  more  aliens 
but  citizens  of  America.  I  shall  say.  Thank  God,  Ongon,  for  the 
problem.  And  he  will  talk  to  me — oh,  when  we  shall  talk  together 
what  shall  we  not  see,  perhaps,  even  before  the  year  is  ended  we  shall 
meet,  but  how  can  I  talk  to  him  when  I  should  want  an  angel's  lips 
to  speak  to  him  my  thoughts,  but — hush !" 

The  sentence  was  never  finished  for  a  second  shot,  followed  by 
a  third,  and  a  fourth,  came  down  with  metallic  distinctness  through' 
the  ventilating  shafts.  Then  a  long,  rumbling  roar,  succeeded  by  a 
shock  that  was  wrenching  the  very  posts  from  their  foundations. 


74 


The  Charge  upon  the  Ruins 

LIV  ■  ' 

THE  CHARGE  UPON  THE  RUINS 

"Jean  in  danger,  did  you  say?" 

The  men  were  on  their  feet  with  the  first  whisper  from  Buck- 
ingham. Rapidly  the  latter  told  of  how  Buhl-Bysee  had  entered 
the  lodge  and,  seeing  Minnetonka's  face,  had  been  led  to  tell  of  the 
drunken  Indian's  frenzy  and  the  plot  to  blow  up  the  flag-room. 
Ongon  realized  in  an  instant  where  Jean  might  possibly  be — strange 
that  he  had  never  thought  of  her  being  imprisoned  there — but  he  had 
never  dreamed  that  Cat's-paw  knew  of  the  place 

He  was  not  a  man  to  run  before  his  plan.  "Pause  a  minute,"  he 
said",  his  voice  was  calm,  but  how  on  fire  his  eyes !  Buhl-Bysee  is 
right.  The  places  where  powder  can  be  placed  are  many.  If  one 
drunken  brave  will  let  his  own  life  be  blown  up,  and  has  hidden 
himself  in  the  recesses  around  the  flag-room,  it  will  be  impossible  to 
find  him  in  time.  But  we  must  charge  straight  into  the  men,  and 
as  soon  as  I  can  get  past  them,  I  will  go  into  the  study  hall,  if  I  can 
get  to  it.  You  are  to  take  care  of  the  men,  one  of  you  go  wake 
Wautoma  and  his  men.  Leave  one  to  guard  the  body  of  Minne- 
tonka.     Trenton,  you  come  with  me  !" 

Buhl-Bysee  had  heeded  Buckingham's  parting  words  and  they 
could  see  him  searching  for  the  powder.  "Go  into  the  lodge," 
shouted  Ongon  to  him.  "Into  the  lodge,  the  flag-room  lodge,  call 
off  the  Indians  there,  never  mind  us !" 

The  agent  had  heard,  for  Ongon  seemed  to  have  been  gifted 
with  a  far-reaching  power  to  his  voice  then,  that  carried  his  orders 
like  a  trumpet. 

The  first  bullet  from  a  drunken  Indian's  gun  whistled  an  answer 
past  Ongon's  ear  as  he  shouted  to  Buhl-Bysee.  Trenton  was  by  his 
side,  and  soldier  that  he  was  his  eye  caught  greater  fire  and  en- 
thusiasm from  noting  the  spirit  of  battle  in  the  chief-king.  He  had 
fought  against  the  use  of  arms  except  as  a  last  resort  and  now  it 
had  come.  With  Buckingham's  brace  of  pistols  belted  to  his  side  he 
ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  second  and  third  shots  before  he  drew  an 
arm.  A  savage  was  aiming  at  Trenton  when  Ongon  sent  him  stag- 
gering backward  with  a  bullet  in  his  neck. 

"Come  on,  Trenton,  it  will  not  kill  him,  charge !" 

It  was  then  that  Ongon's  strength  proved  to  be  the  strength 
of  three.  One  Indian  was  picked  up  and  literally  used  as  a  club  to 
beat  down  a  group  of  five.     Twice  Trenton  was  able  to  return  the 

175 


Ongon 

compliment,  as  he  shattered  the  hands  that  were  reaching  for  tin 
neck  of  the  chief-king. 

"Ongon,  do  you  not  know  Ongon !"  shouted  Trenton  to  the  two 
Indians  who  had  started  to  run,  "help,  make  way  for  Ongon !" 

Already  the  way  was  clear  to  the  chief-king  to  make  the  fla;?- 
room  in  safety  and  Trenton  bade  him  go  on.  "The  Indians  have 
recognized  you,  we  are  safe!" 

The  earth  shook  as  Ongon  descended  the  steps  whose  way  was 
open  to  him.  Then  he  was  thrown  back  by  a  recoil  of  falling  earth 
as  the  first  explosion  shook  the  underground  structure.  But  if  On- 
gon escaped  it  was  only  because  he  had  not  entered  a  rod  farther. 
As  the  flying  debris  fell  about  him,  the  bodies  of  two  men  were 
hurled  toward  him.  One  was  an  Indian,  the  other  Buhl-Bysee. 
Attracted  by  the  groans  of  the  latter  Ongon  crawled  out  from  the 
mass  of  timbers  and  hastened  to  the  agent's  help. 

"I  am  dying — is  it  Ongon  ? — I  am  innocent,  Ongon !" 

"Die  in  peace,"  said  the  chief-king,  lifting  him  carefully  to  a 
clearer  place  in  the  open  air.  But  already  Buhl-Bysee  was  dead. 
Whether  driven  by  passion  to  set  fire  to  the  powder,  could  never  be 
known  this  side  of  the  grave,  except  from  his  words. 

Back  again  into  the  ruins,  groping  at  first  in  the  dark,  then  seeing 
suddenly,  all  too  well,  by  the  fire  which  had  broken  out  below.  At 
last  he  had  pushed  and  thrown  aside  obstructions  until  he  saw  the 
door  he  was  seeking.  The  burning  of  the  furs  and  the  smoke  stifled 
him,  but  he  had  seized  a  beam  and  with  one  great  blow  had  shattered 
the  barrier  between  him  and  the  corridor  leading  to  Jean  and  her 
aunt.  Even  as  he  dropped  the  beam  he  was  conscious  that  the  ceil- 
ing above  was  shaking,  then  he  had  sprung  to  the  door.  i 

"Jean,  my  sister !" 

"Yes,  my  brother  Ongon,  we  are  safe!" 

The  key  Ongon  had  always  carried  with  him,  and  soon  but  not 
too  soon  the  bolt  flew  back,  and  brother  and  sister  were  in  each 
other's  arms  amidst  the  crashing  of  the  ceiUng  of  the  corridor. 

"This  is  your  Aunt  Mary  too,  we  kept  the  secret  from  you,  just 
to  have  it  for  you,  oh  Ongon !" 

But  again  the  rumbling  overhead,  and  then  a  second  explosion 
that  rocked  the  place  where  they  stood.  The  pillar  was  falling  that 
supported  the  ceiling. 

"Fly,  Jean,  Aunt  Mary,  my  treasures,  for  the  second  shot  of 
powder  has  cleared  the  Vv^ay  for  you,  see,  thank  God!" 

He  was  holding  up  the  pillar  with  his  great  strength  and  until 
it  fell  he  was  safe.    Jean  saw  that  the  only  hope  for  him  was  their 

176 


The  Charge  upon  the  Ruins 

instant  obedience.  They  had  greeted  each  other  only  to  part 
almost  in  the  same  second.  Woman  like  she  turned  to  kiss 
him  there  even  as  he  stood  holding  the  ceiling  from  crushing  on 
their  heads.  "Oh,  my  brother,  I  love  you  so,"  then  she  followed 
after  her  aunt,  only  to  find  her,  alas,  struck  down  by  a  falling  timber 
that  must  have  killed  them  both.  But  the  way  was  clear  and  Ongon 
needed  her  flying  feet.  Beyond  where  the  corridor  had  begun  she 
met  Trenton. 

"Go  to  Ongon,  Major,  through  that  pass  behind  the  fallen  cedar. 
I  will  send  Wautoma  immediately.     Ongon  needs  you." 

Neither  had  paused  a  second,  though  Trenton  had  seized  the 
beam,  at  Jean's  motion,  that  Ongon  had  used  to  strike  in  the  door 
and  was  staggering  on  under  its  great  weight. 

At  last  she  was  in  the  open  air,  past  the  body  of  Buhl-Bysee  into 
the  arms  of  Josie  and  Catherine. 

"Aunt  Mary  is  killed,  where  is  Wautoma?" 

"Here,"  came  from  the  lips  of  both  Wautoma  and  Bat  Eye  at 
the  same  time. 

Jean  had  only  to  look  towards  the  place  whence  she  had  come, 
and  to  repeat  the  name  of  Ongon,  to  tell  Bat  Eye  all  he  needed  to 
know;  pulling  Wautoma  after  him  he  was  within  the  ruined  struc- 
ture by  great  leaps. 

The  women  had  no  time  to  speak  to  each  other,  for  an  Indian  had 
run  forward  repeating  a  sentence  in  broken  English.  "Comes  on 
board,  Ongon  and  Wautoma  bring  soldier  on  board,  dying!" 

The  sight  followed  the  warning;  on  a  plank  of  cedar,  which 
they  were  using  as  a  stretcher,  two  strong  figures  were  carrying  out 
the  helpless  form  of  the  wounded  man.  Jean's  lips  had  moved 
wildly  with  the  first  cry  of  the  Indian,  and  it  was  now  she  who  was 
first  to  observe  the  Indian's  mistake.  Not  believing  it  were  pos- 
sible, when  told  to  announce  that  Wautoma  and  Trenton  were 
carrying  Ongon,  in  the  belief  that  Ongon  was  immortal,  Wautoma's 
Indian  had  cried  that  it  was  Trenton  dying. 

"He  lives,"  said  the  soldier  tenderly,  as  Jean  met  them  with 
clasped  hands  and  tightened  lips. 

The  task  of  holding  the  ceiling  even  until  Trenton  had  arrived, 
had  been  too  great  for  mortal  strength.  Slowly  it  had  lowered  upon 
the  chief-king  and  he  could  not  spring  far  enough  to  escape  the 
timbers.  Mercifully  the  terrible  weight  had  fallen  upon  his  chest 
when  he  had  almost  protected  himself  by  pulling  the  pillar  upon  the 
trunks  as  he  leaped  and  slid  forward. 

"I  did  my  best,  Jean,"  said  Ongon  smiling  in  spite  of  the  pain. 
177 


Ongon 

■"I — I  have  burst  a  blood-vessel,  come  nearer,  my  sister — I  am 
growing  weaker  fast :  ah,  I  shall  know  your  face  in  heaven — God 
bless " 

Fondly  Jean  bent  over  him  fearing  to  touch  him  lest  she  add 
to  his  distress.  His  lips  moved  again ;  the  words  seemed  to  come  to 
him  in  the  Indian  tongue,  as  he  quoted  St.  Paul. 

"Noon  gum  dush  ween " 

"Yes,  brother.     Tor  now '  " 

Brokenly  he  whispered  the  sentence  with  Jean  nodding  that  she 
understood  him  and  repeating  his  words  to  him  in  English,  while 
she  forced  back  the  tears  bravely 

"For  now  I  see  through  a  glass  darkly.  .  .  .  but  then  I  shall 
know,  even  as  also  I  am  known."  Ongon  was  dead, -with  Jean 
•communing  with  him  that  it  was  "from  darkness  to  perfect  light; 
from  earthly  mystery  to  Heaven's  love." 

Then,  not  knowing  of  the  princess'  death,  she  asked  some  one 
to  go  tell  Minnetonka  gently,  Catherine  thought  it  best  to  mur- 
mur that  the  princess  had  been  waiting  just  beyond  the  shadows. 

And  when  they  feared  that  her  heart  would  break  with  its  bur- 
den of  sorrow,  the  sweet  mastery  of  the  girl  who  had  lived  for  this 
hour  of  meeting,  proved  that  she  was  not  apart  from  her  brother. 
Heaven  had  not  left  the  heart  of  the  orphan  child  desolate.  "It  is 
well,"  she  said.  Then  she  begged  a  moment  with  Ongon.  "If  you 
could  bring  the  maple  leaves,"  she  whispered.  And  they  understood 
her.  Afterwards  when  Trenton  had  attended  gently  to  the  care 
of  her  Aunt  Mary,  Jean  looked  up  gratefully.  "Come,"  she  mur- 
mured, putting  her  hands  in  his.  And  when  he  knelt  by  her  side, 
they  were  sorrowing  as  one. 

Beautiful  were  the  autumn  leaves.  "Help  them,  John,"  she 
whispered.  And  w^hen  the  two  dear  ones  were  bannered  about 
with  the  foliage,  again  Jean  answered  that  it  was  well. 

LV 

CONCLUSION 

The  afternoon  before  All  Halloween,  the  third  since  Ongon  went 
home.  In  August,  after  a  wild,  weird  night,  the  Indians  had  been 
removed  in  a  body  to  the  Far  West.  Of  the  few  remaining,  three  or 
four  have  gathered  at  the  lodge  for  a  last  greeting  and  parting. 

Jean  in  her  bridal  dress  moves  softly  through  the  old  scenes  to 
which  she  has  returned  after  two  years.  She  is  a  woman  now, 
though  Heaven,  which  keeps  for  her  the  brother  with  the  father  and 

178 


Conclusion 

the  mother,  will  not  ever  take  from  her  all  of  the  girlish  spirit  with- 
its  joyous  earth  gladdening.  But  John  Trenton,  who  suffers  her  to 
glide  almost  from  his  sight  and  hears  her  whisper  to  the  trees 
the  name  of  Ongon  and  call  it  softly  over  the  plain,  knows  the  in- 
finite tenderness  within  the  heart  of  his  bride. 

She  has  turned  back  to  him  at  last  and  has  half  sheltered  her 
head  under  her  lover's  cloak.  They  are  standing  together  on  the 
dear,  old  prairie,  and,  while  her  thoughts  are  inward,  he  is  looking* 
as  if  he  were  challenging  the  horizon  to  do  her  harm.  He  under- 
stands that  she  is  thinking  of  her  brother  when  she  speaks 

"John,  it  is  a  large  question — ",  and  in  the  pause  her  face  has  in 
it  the  wealth  of  up-lifting  affection  that  Trenton  had  seen  in  Minne- 
tonka's  when  she  had  passed  away  speaking  of  Jean  and  of  the  vast 
eternity  in  her  marriage  to  Ongon. 

"The  bride  of  Halloween  is  the  vaster  question  of  questions^ 
whose  life  will  surround  her  husband's  with  its  inquiry,"  he  an- 
swered, exalted  with  fervor  that  was  almost  devoutness. 

"It  is  a  large  question  for  this  day  of  days,  John,  but  can  Chicago 
remember  those  who  helped  to  lay  its  foundations,  when,  like  the 
slaves  of  Egypt  who  built  the  pyramids  and  the  Greeks  who 
achieved  the  Parthenon,  her  children  shall  soon  be  scattered  through- 
out all  lands,  with  some  already  taken  above?" 

His  answer  was  not  far  from  her  thoughts.  "You  asked  that 
we  kindle  sacredly  to-night  once  more  a  fire  in  the  old  fireplace  in 
the  lodge,  Jean ;  I  have  had  part  of  the  wood  brought  many  miles."" 

When  she  looked  up  again  from  within  the  blue  depths  of  her 
eyes  that  watched  with  all  life  for  him  and  through  him  and  untcv- 
him,  he  told  her  of  his  fearful  boldness.  On  her  ancestors'  great 
estate  in  Virginia,  whence  they  had  come  to  Chicago  to  be  mar- 
ried, he  had  found  a  dying  tree.  A  friend  of  the  family  had  shown 
it  to  him  and  had  told  him  how  all  Winchester  had  seemed  to  love  it. 
On  this  maple  tree  when  Ongon  was  born  her  father  had  carved 
with  pride  his  son's  name,  "Ogden  Ames." 

"I  had  the  tree  cut  down,  Jean,  and  sent  it  hither.  And  when 
we  see  it  turning  to  ashes  to-night  as  we  pass  through  the  Halloween 
it  will  be  a  memento  in  our  hearts,  I  think,  to  live  more  truly  than  if. 
we  had  tried  to  keep  the  wood." 

"Yes,  John." 

"Oh,  Jean,  speak  not  so  sacredly.  I  fear — I  fear  it  is  too  good' 
for  Heaven  to  lend  your  life  long  unto  mine." 

"Nay,  John,  I  have  a  strong  body.  It  will  be  a  long  marriage,. 
I  am  thinking.    Does  not  that  make  your  soul  draw  back  ?" 

179 


Ongon 


"Oh,  Jean,  will  you  love  me  forever  in  heaven  too?  I  fear  that 
thou  art  almost  as  God  to  me." 

"Hush,  John." 

"Aye,  I  love  Him  too,  but  I  see  him  through  the  wonders  of  his 
creation/'  And  they  spoke  words  too  near  the  bridal  hour  for 
us  to  hear,  until  they  gave  a  thought  at  last  to  the  existence  of 
others. 

"Oh,  John,  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  think  that  this  is  not  all 
our  wedding  day.     Four  others  are  as  happy  as  we !" 

"When  did  you  first  know  that  Catherine  was  willing,  Jean?" 

"Two  years  ago  and  more,  sir,  when  Catherine  stood  with  me 
at  the  river,  talking  of  the  pictures  destroyed  in  the  ruin,  and  he 
drew  near.  When  she  turned  to  lift  her  eyes  to  him  across  the 
stream,  even  then  they  were  softened  with  the  beginning  of  a  wom- 
an's great  love." 

"When  he  knew  it  not,  nor  as  yet  can  believe  it  true !" 

"But  we  know  it  all,  John.  How  Mr.  Clermont  came  to  her 
confessing  a  broken  faith  at  last  in  the  worth  of  his  profession,  and 
offered  his  heart  anew  and  his  desire  to  give  his  life  and  means  for 
the  perpetuation  of  the  work  of  Ongon.  He  was  in  earnest,  and  true 
to  her  fervent  wish  to  make  Mr.  Clermont's  life  at  last  triumphant, 
she  gave  him  her  hand  in  the  sweet  promise  that  she  would  try  to; 
be  a  faithful  help  to  him  in  the  new  life  they  both  had  chosen.  But 
she  told  him  that  it  was  not  in  her  power  to  give  him  her  heart." 

"Poor  Clermont !"  said  Trenton  gently.  "He  had  the  acumen  to 
see  that  Buhl-Bysee  was  innocent,  but " 

"Softly,  John." 

"Aye,  he  went  with  Ongon's  blessing  on  him." 

"And  Catherine  is  as  happy  and  feels  as  unfit  for  her  happiness 
as  Mr.  Buckingham.  See  they  are  walking  so  softly  together  under 
my  lindens  how  reverently  they  meet  each  other's  eyes,  John ;  are 
they  not  two  handsome  figures  to  stand  with  us  at  the  altar  to- 
night ?" 

"What  more  is  it,  Jean?" 

"Do  you  know  that  once  I  thought  that  you  and  Catherine  were 
destined  for  each  other,  and  it  made  my  heart  tremble  as  if  the 
whole  world  had  been  shaken." 

Then  he  told  her  for  the  first  time  of  the  morning  at  four  when 
her  thrush  saved  them  from  a  living  sacrifice,  as  Providence  guided 
its  flight  to  mingle  its  timeliness  with  Catherine's  dream.  He  almost 
dreaded  to  tell  her  that  at  midnight  he  had  kissed  Catherine,  but 
Jean  only  smiled  at  his  halting  confession. 

i8o 


Conclusion 

"You  will  kiss  her  again  to-night,  John,  but  perhaps  Mr. 
Buckingham  will  be  satisfied  with  the  returns  of  the  season." 

But  we  cannot  linger  over  the  many  scenes  that  took  place 
that  afternoon  around  the  lodge  where  now  the  city  has  tramped 
and  noised  aside  the  last  vestige  of  the  virgin  beauty.  How  in  the 
twilight,  in  the  hour  when  Ongon's  lantern  men  were  wont  to  go 
forth  to  call  the  chiefs  to  the  flag-room,  Josie  stood  with  Wautoma, 
Catherine  with  Buckingham,  and  Jean  Ames  with  John  Trenton  be- 
fore the  fireside  altar  of  Ongon  and  Minnetonka. 

And  when  they  were  united  in  the  bonds  of  marriage,  Bucking- 
ham brought  forth  his  sweet  surprise  for  Jean,  Bat  Eye  helping  him 
carry  it  into  the  room. 

"It  is  part  of  the  side  of  the  Mississippi  Belle  as  you  see  from 
the  lettering,"  said  Buckingham.  "I  found  from  Bat  Eye  that  once 
a  year,  at  Christmas  time,  Ongon  was  accustomed  to  take  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Mississippi.  On  one  of  these  occasions  Bat  Eye  accom- 
panied him  and  witnessed  Ongon's  opening  of  a  long  cache.  Being 
informed  by  Bat  Eye,  together  we  went  lately  and  brought  back 
this  piece  of  the  vessel  in  our  canoe.  This  letter  of  Ongon's  tells 
its  own  beautiful  story.  Ere  we  light  the  fire  let  me  read  it  to  you — 
or  Trenton — or  Catherine?" 

He  held  the  letter  out  modestly,  with  his  eyes  asking  Jean's  di- 
rection. 

"Nay,  do  you  read  it  Mr.  Buckingham,"  said  Jean  with  a  voice 
of  tender  gratefulness. 

Never  was  scene  more  simple  than  that  of  the  long  log 
hall  lighted  by  candles  and  decorated  with  autumn  leaves  from  the 
forest ;  and  never  greater  grandeur,  as  the  tall  form  of  one  friend  of 
the  dead  chief-king  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  bridal  group,  and  read 
the  touching  heart-words  of  him  who  all  his  life  long  had  seen 
through  a  glass  darkly. 

"Some  day  when  I  have  won  the  hearts  of  my  people,"  read  the 
letter,  "I  shall  seek  those  that  knew  them  whose  lives  were  re- 
sponsible for  mine.  It  is  a  growing  desire  of  my  heart  to  learn  of 
my  father  and  my  mother  who  must  have  perished  when  this  barque 
went  down.  For  six  years  each  Christmas  time  I  have  come  here  to 
open  this  cache.  Various  have  been  my  feelings  as  I  have  gazed 
upon  the  name  of  the  great  canoe  which  bore  my  parents,  and  upon 
which  their  eyes  have  looked  and  smiled — the  Mississippi  Belle. 
Had  I  brother  or  sister  who  went  down  with  them?  Shall  I  know 
them  in  the  world  to  come  ?  Do  they  know  me  now  ?  Thought  of 
this  must  keep  more  sacred  the  Providence  that  took  them  and  left 

i8i 


Ongon 


me  to  touch  this  great  work.  Oh,  that  some  one  after  me  may 
see  its  beauty  and  promise!  But  I  come  here  most  of  all  to  think 
of  my  mother.  How  I  should  have  loved  to  live  and  grow  to  man- 
hood beneath  her  smiles.  Not  having  seen  her,  I  love  her;  shall 
I  have  eyes  to  know  her,  as  on  Transfiguration  Mount  the  disciples 
knew  Elijah  though  they  had  never  seen  him?  The  great  text  of 
my  life  has  been,  'Then  shall  I  know,  even  as  also  I  am  known.' 
Aye,  the  human  heart,  given  to  live  my  life,  would  wait  upon  eternity 
calmly.  If  other  eyes  ever  look  upon  this  relic  of  my  parents' 
history  and  feel  their  hearts  go  out  to  me — and  Ongon  has  craved 
the  love  of  his  fellow  beings — friends,  it  is  well ;  beyond  hope  lies  the 
long  eternal  Spring  when  we  shall  be  with  God  who  is  eternally 
young,  as  Christ  remains  crucified  youth.  Farewell — perhaps  it  is 
so  that  Ongon  shall  return  no  more  to  gaze  upon  these  letters — 
farewell," 

"Jean,  you  are  so  brave,"  said  Catherine,  folding  Trenton's  wife 
in  her  arms. 

"Let  us  light  the  Halloween  fire,"  whispered  the  girl  as  she 
knelt  before  the  letters. 

And  they  watched  the  flames  wrapping  themselves  about  the 
fallen  tree,  after  the  men  had  started  the  fire  and  upon  it  had  laid 
the  old  witness  of  the  joy  that  had  attended  Ongon's  natal  mom. 
Softly  the  light  fluttered  over  the  name  that  had  been  cut  in  the 
maple.  After  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  tree,  finding  no  heart  to 
cover  the  child's  name,  had  kept  its  depressed  bit  of  tenderness  at 
first,  then  fashioned  with  the  years  into  a  firm  covert  of  memory, 
to  tell  its  old,  old  story  to  those  who  had  come  to  walk  in  the 
beautiful  Shenandoah  Valley. 

Why  should  Mylo  have  crept  nearer  the  fire,  murmuring  that  it 
was  pretty?  When  Catherine  knelt  by  the  side  of  Jean,  it  was  like 
Josie  and  Wautoma  to  repeat  tenderly  the  words  that  were  in  the 
thoughts  of  all,  as  the  name  of  Ogden  Ames  was  turned  to  ashes — 
•"In  the  Spring  the  maple  leaves  return." 


182 


PS 


^.r