It was not with a light heart that I returned to Mickie's Hotel. I had made my cast, and fortune was against me. In the afternoon I had left Alisanda smiling down upon me from the balcony of her inn window; I was returning at nightfall to meet—Señorita Vallois. Though to the last she and Don Pedro might hold to the familiar "Juan," how little might even her smiles lighten the shadow of a hopeless parting!
As I entered the inn door, Mickie bustled forward to inform me, with an air of vast importance, that at the request of the Spanish grandee, he had arranged to serve the evening meal to the señor's party above stairs. When he added that a plate was to be laid for myself, I hastened to my own room for a change of linen.
My heart was too heavy for me to linger over foppish details of dress. It was not long before I found myself at the door of the room set apart for the private dining-parlor. Chita, who was overlooking the spreading of the cloth by the negro attendants of the inn, conducted me through to the balcony, where I found the don indolently puffing at his cigarro.
Before I could take the seat to which he waved me, Alisanda floated out into the moonlight from the window behind him. She was a vision all heavenly white but for her scarlet lips and sombre eyes and brows. Even the soft tresses of her hair were hidden beneath the gauzy white drape of tulle and lace which took the place of her black mantilla.
"Buenas noches, Juan," she greeted me, in a tone of liquid silver.
"God be with you, Alisanda!" I responded.
"Be seated, amigo," urged Don Pedro. "You have a weary look."
"I bring what to me is heavy news," I replied.
"You had in mind to ask a favor of General Wilkinson," said Alisanda. "You have asked the favor, and—he has refused it?"
The note of sympathy in her voice soothed my despairing anger. I did not stop to wonder at the intuition by which she had divined the object of my visit to the General. It was enough for me that she had perceived my heaviness, and held out to me her sympathy.
"It is true," I said, and in a few words I told them of my shattered plans,—how I had hoped to gain fame by leading an expedition of exploration to the West, as Lewis and Clark were exploring the Northwest, and as my friend Pike had explored the headwaters of the Mississippi; and how the statements of Colonel Burr had led me to hope for still greater fame as a sharer in the freeing of Mexico.
Don Pedro leaned toward me, his eyes glowing with friendly fire. "Por Dios! Your one thought was to help us break the yoke! You would give your life for the winning of liberty!"
I looked across at Alisanda, and the soft loveliness of her beauty in the moonlight filled me to overflowing with the bitterness of my blasted hopes.
"Do not think me so noble!" I replied. "I thought to fight for the freedom of your country, but it was in hope of a reward a thousandfold greater than my service!"
Alisanda raised her fan and gazed at me above its fluted edge with widened eyes,—I feared in resentful wonder at my audacity. But Don Pedro was too intent upon his own thoughts to perceive the meaning of my words.
"Por Dios!" he protested. "Those who have risen against Spanish oppression have ever met with short shrift. Shall not they who brave death in our cause look for glorious reward in the hour of victory?"
"That is true of those who may be blessed with the chance to join your ranks. As for me, the opportunity which I had thought to be golden has turned to ashes in my grasp."
"Sabe Dios!" murmured Alisanda in so soft a tone that the words came to me like a whisper of the evening breeze. Was it possible that after all I still had cause for hope?
Chita's voice, drawling the usual Spanish phrase, summoned us to the table. We rose, and Alisanda accepted my arm with a queenly graciousness of manner which in the same moment thrilled and disheartened me. I read it to mean that she was in a kindly mood, but that the kindliness was due to the condescension of Señorita Vallois, and not to the frank companionship of my fellow-traveller Alisanda. This surmise was borne out by her manner at table, where she rallied her uncle and myself upon our gravity, and with subtle skill, confined the talk to the lightest of topics. The Don was as abstemious as most of his countrymen, and Mickie's wine was a libel on the name, yet he soon mellowed to the gay chit-chat of his niece.
It was beyond me to enter into this spirit of merriment. I forced myself to smile outwardly and to meet their lively quips and sallies with such nimbleness of wit as I possessed. But it went no deeper than show on my part. The longer we sat, the heavier grew my heart. I had no joy of my food. Even the peaches and the other fruits of the lower river tasted bitter in my mouth. For with each fresh turn of the conversation I saw my Alisanda slipping farther away from me, her kindly glance giving place to the haughty gaze of the Spanish lady of blood, her familiar address cooling to stately condescension. I was no longer "Juan," but "doctor" and "señor," and, near the end, "Doctor Robinson."
We had come to the sweetmeats, and I noted with despair that she was on the point of withdrawing. She had even thrust back her chair to rise, when, with scant ceremony, a young soldier in uniform entered and stated that His Excellency, General Wilkinson, desired the immediate presence of Señor Vallois.
"Carambo!" exclaimed Don Pedro, looking regretfully at the sweetmeats. "He might have chosen a fitter time! It is in my mind to wait."
"Is not your business with him the affair of others no less than your own?" murmured Alisanda.
"Santisima Virgen! You do well to remind me! Juan, with your permission—"
"Adios! Good fortune to you!" I cried, as he rose.
Another moment and he and the soldier had left the room. I was alone with Alisanda. She rose, with a trace of inquietude beneath her calm hauteur. I moved around the table to join her.
"Spare yourself the trouble," she said, with repellent sharpness. "It is unkind to take a man of English blood from his wine."
"Señorita," I answered, "since we came in to table, you have told me all too plainly that you no longer wish to conform to the customs of the country. I do not wonder. Our voyage as fellow-travellers is at an end. There is no longer need for such slight service as I was able to render—"
"Service?" she repeated, with a curl of her scarlet lip.
Though cut to the quick, I could not give over.
"Alisanda," I said, "has it been nothing to you, all these golden days since we met on the Monongahela?"
She raised her hand to arrange her scarf, letting fall a loose strand of hair down her cheek.
"Santisima Virgen!" she murmured, with fine-drawn irony. "It has ever been a marvel to me—so chance a meeting."
"Chance, indeed!" I replied. "Chance that the utmost of my effort could not trace the road by which you left Washington; chance that Colonel Burr gave me the clew for which I sought; chance that of the nine horses I rode to a stand between Philadelphia and Elizabethtown, none failed me in my need."
She gave me a mocking glance over her fan. "Madre de los Dolores! What a pity! A little time, and the gulf will roll between."
"I will cross that gulf!"
"Not so; for it is the gulf of the Cross," she mocked. "I go the way of Vera Cruz—the True Cross. No heretic may pass that way."
The words struck down my last hope. It was the truth—a double truth. The way of my body was barred by the city of the Cross; the way of my spirit by that which to her the Cross symbolized.
"So this is the end," I replied. "We have come to the parting of the ways. Do not fear that I shall weary you with annoying persistence. I shall go my way before sunrise to-morrow. Only—let me ask that this last hour with you may hold its share of sweetness with the bitterness of parting,—Alisanda!"
"An hour?" she repeated. "The air in here is close."
She laid her fingers lightly upon my arm, and we passed out into the moonlit balcony. For a time we sat silent, she gazing out across the broken slopes of the town, I gazing at her still white face and shadowy eyes. Her loveliness was part with the night and the moonlight and the scarlet bloom of the climber upon the balcony rail.
At last I could no longer endure the thought that she was lost to me; I could no longer deny utterance to my love and longing.
"Alisanda! dearest one! Is there then no hope that I may win you? I have no gallant speeches—my love is voiceless; no less is it a love that shall endure always. Alisanda! my dearest one! is my love of no worth to you? Let your heart speak! Can it not give me one word of hope?"
My voice failed me. Throughout my passionate appeal I failed to see the slightest change in her calm face. I had failed to stir her even to mockery. Truly all was now at an end! I bowed my head and groaned in most unmanly fashion.
The low murmur of her voice roused me to despairing eagerness. She spoke in a tone of light inconsequence, yet I seized upon the words as the drowning man clutches at straws.
"Love?—love?" she repeated. "The word has become a jest. Men protest that they know the meaning of love—that they suffer its bitterest pangs. Yet speak to them of the days of chivalry, when gallant knights bore the colors of their ladies through deadly battle, and the ogling beaux turn an epigram on les sauvages nous ancêtres!"
"Show me the way to the battlefield—I ask no more!" I cried.
"Words—words!" she mocked. "The Cid would have found his way to the field of glory without asking. Were the way barred, El Campeador would have hewn his way through, though the barrier were of solid rock! But the men of to-day—!"
"Wait!" I broke in. "Have you not yourself said that the way of the gulf is impassable for me?"
"True," she assented, "true! And not alone the gulf, but the barrier—the gulf of water and of the Cross; the barrier of rock and of blood."
"Blue blood and red have been known to intermingle," I argued.
"With love for solvent!" she murmured. The softness was only for the instant. "Yet what of that other barrier?" she demanded. "Between your land and the land to which I go lies the blood of Christ."
"Is it then religion that is the insurmountable barrier—the impassable gulf? You have not lived all your life in Spain. I had hoped that not even your faith could close your heart against me, if only I might prove to you the greatness of my love."
She sat silent for what seemed an endless time, toying idly with her fan. When at last she spoke, it was again in that light, inconsequential tone: "To the eastward or northeastward of Santa Fe lies a vast snow-clad sierra. My kinsman once saw it from a great distance. He says it is called the Sangre de Cristo."
"Sangre de Cristo—the Blood of Christ!" I said, lost in wonderment. Then a great light flashed upon me. I knelt on one knee and caught to my lips a white hand that did not seek to escape my grasp. "The barrier—the barrier of rock!—Alisanda! you give me hope! If I come to you there—if I cross that barrier? Dearest one!—dearest! can you doubt it? Though I have to find my way alone among the fierce savages of the vast prairies; though I find that snowy range a mountain of ice and fire, I will come to you, Alisanda—my love!"
I saw the quick rise of her bosom and the blush that suffused her cheeks with glorious scarlet before she could raise her masking fan.
"Santisima Virgen!" she murmured, and broke into a little quavering, uncertain laugh. "They speak of the cold blood of your race!"
"Alisanda!—Dearest one! Tell me I may come!"
She rose quietly, already calm again, and cold as the moonlight which shone full upon her face. I rose with her, still clasping her hand.
"Tell me, Alisanda, may I come?"
"Why ask me that?" she said, in an even voice. "Could I prevent if you wished to try?"
"If I cross the barrier, may I hope?"
"There would yet be the gulf."
"Gulf or barrier, I swear I will find my way to you, though it be through fire and flood! I will seek you out and win you, though you hide your beauty beneath a nun's veil!"
Such was the force of my passion, I again saw her bosom rise to a deep-drawn breath and the edges of her sensitive nostrils quiver. Yet this time she did not blush, and her voice cut with its fine-drawn irony: "Words—words!"
"I offer love. I ask nothing in turn but a word or a token—nothing but—my lady's colors."
She turned and opened her eyes full to my gaze as she had opened them at our parting in far-off Washington, and I looked down into their depths, vainly seeking to penetrate the darkness. At last it seemed to me I saw a gleam far down in the wells of mystery—a glow, faint yet warm, that seemed to light my way to hope.
Suddenly the glow burst into a flame of golden glory—She was swaying toward me, a line of pearls showing between her curving lips. But even as I sought to clasp her in my arms, she eluded me and glided away, vanishing through the farther window.
Half mad with delight, yet unable to believe my own eyes, I sought to follow, the blood drumming in my ears from the wild intoxication of my love. None too soon I heard behind me the sharp call of Don Pedro: "Hola, amigo! Have you gone deaf, that you do not answer?"
This, then, was why she had eluded me! It was his return which had robbed me of that moment of all moments. My look as I turned was as bitter as his was keen. My voice sounded to me like that of another man: "What! Back so soon, señor?"
"Señor?" he repeated, taken aback by the formal address. "Yet it is as well, Juan. All our plans are blasted. Hereafter it would seem we are to be strangers. I have no faith in the promises of that man."
"You do well to distrust him," I said. "I might have foreseen the outcome of plans in which he was to play a part."
"Whom can we trust in this self-seeking age! I find myself doubting even the fair promises of your great statesman Burr."
"Of our discredited politician Burr!" I cried. "Don Pedro, he has no claim upon me, and you have many. Let me tell you, I begin to doubt him, even as I doubt our pompous General. I have reason to believe that Colonel Burr plans to take your country from Spain, not for the benefit of you and your friends, but for his own aggrandizement. He thinks himself a second Napoleon."
"Por Dios! I see it now. He plots to sell us to Spain, that Spain may aid his plot to make himself king of your Western country,—king of all that part which extends from the Alleghanies even here to New Orleans and north and west to the Pacific. I know; for did he not enter into negotiations with Marquis de Casa Yrujo?"
"With the Spanish Minister?" I exclaimed.
"With Casa Yrujo, after the death of Pitt deprived him of the hope of British ships and money."
"So—he is but a crack-brained trickster," I muttered. "We have chased his rainbows and landed in the mire. This is the end, señor. I go now. Tomorrow's sun will see me on my way up-river to St. Louis. May you find brave men enough in your own land to win freedom, without the costly aid of tricksters!"
"There are others than tricksters that share my plans—true-hearted men at New Orleans. The Mexican Association stands pledged,—three hundred and more loyal workers in the cause of my country's freedom."
"Creoles," I said. "You could count upon a hundred of my backwoods countrymen to do more, should it come to the setting of triggers."
"We shall see. But there are others than creoles in the association. Already Señor Clark has made two voyages to Vera Cruz, to spy out the defences. I go now to tell him more. You know something as to the power of our religious orders. At New Orleans are two such. But what is all this to you now?"
"Much, Don Pedro! My heart is with the success of your plans!"
"Muchas gracias, amigo! Would that you might journey with me to my people! But the gate at Vera Cruz is narrow for heretics. Adios!"
"Adios, Don Pedro. May we meet under brighter skies!"
"God grant it, Juan!" he cried, with unfeigned friendliness.
I clasped his hand, and hastened away. My heart was too full for words.
Early as I expected to start in the morning, I did not seek my bed. I could not sleep. Having bargained for my upstream passage with a St. Louis friend, in command of a keelboat, I wandered out and strolled through the sloping streets of the town. But even the wild revelry of the rivermen, for which Natchez is so evilly noted, failed to win from me more than passing heed. My own thoughts were in wilder turmoil. In beside the memory of the golden love-glory which had shone in her eyes, and fit mate to the bitter disappointment of the loss that Don Pedro's entrance had cost me, there had crept into my mind a maddening doubt that I had seen clearly,—a fear that the glow in her eyes, the swaying of her dear form nearer to me, had been only the fantasies of my passion.
Unable to endure the torment of such doubt, I hastened back, to linger in the shadow beneath my lady's balcony. After a time, so great was my longing, I found courage to murmur the refrain of a song we had sung together on the river. I dared not raise my voice for fear Don Pedro would hear and divine my purpose, and my low notes seemed lost in the drunken ditties and outcries of the carousers in the tavern taproom.
An hour dragged by its weary length, and no soft whisper floated down to me from above, no graceful vision appeared at the vine-clad balustrade. Despair settled heavily upon my heart. The cadenced Spanish vowels died away upon my lips. I turned to go. A small white object dropped lightly from above and fell at my feet.
In a trice my despair had given place to hope and joy no less extravagant. I snatched up the message, and rushed in to open it before the waxen taper, in the privacy of my room. The wrapping was a lace-edged handkerchief of finest linen, in the corner of which was an embroidered "A. V."—my lady's initials.
But when I opened it, thinking to find a written missive, there appeared only a great, sweet-scented magnolia bloom. Yet was not this enough? Was it not far more than I had expected—than had been my right to expect?
I held it close before my eyes, my thoughts upon the sender, whose cheeks were still more delicate in texture than these creamy petals. I turned the blossom around to view its perfections. She had held it in her hand!
Upon one of the delicate petals faint lines had appeared. They darkened into clear letters under my gaze, and those letters spelled "Au revoir!"
Had I been in funds, I should have preferred a horse for the up-river trip. As it was, I was glad of the opportunity to make the passage by boat with my friend the captain, and in so doing, to earn a pocketful of wages. It is not, however, a proceeding I should advise to be undertaken by one who lacks the strength and experience necessary for poling and cordelling.
At times, to be sure, we were able to relieve our labors by an occasional resort to the sails, when the wind chanced to be fair. But in the very nature of the case, this aid could never be more than temporary, since the windings of the river were bound, sooner or later, to make a headwind of what had been a fair breeze.
So, for the most part, our voyage all the way from Natchez to St. Louis meant one continuous round, from morning till night, of setting our poles at the boat's prow, each in his turn, and tramping to the stern along the side gangways, or walking-boards,—there to raise our poles and return to the prow, to repeat the laborious proceeding. I can say that keelboat poling is a splendid method of developing the muscles of the back and lower limbs, provided the man who attempts it begins with a sufficient stock of strength and endurance to carry him over the first week.
This does not mean that I enjoyed the trip. Softened by my Winter in Washington, the first few days out of Natchez were as trying to me as to the regular members of the crew after their carousals and excesses in New Orleans and Natchez. Our boat, which had come down with a cargo of lead from the mines about St. Louis, was returning with a consignment of the cheap calicos and the coarse broadcloth called strouding, which form the basis of the Indian barter in the fur trade; and cloth in bolts, closely stowed, is not the lightest of cargoes.
But, once we had worked ourselves into condition, we shoved our craft upstream from daylight till nightfall at an average speed of over three miles an hour. Whenever the bank and channel permitted, we eased our labor at the poles by passing a towline ashore and cordelling the boat, while our captain, one of the best on the river, was ever alert to hoist sail with every favorable breeze.
If I did not enjoy the voyage, I nevertheless had cause to feel thankful for the hard work which held my melancholy thoughts in check and sent me to my bunk at night so outspent that I slept as soundly as any man aboard. A man treading the walking-boards, bowed over his pole, may brood on his troubles for a week or two, but none could do so longer unless his system were full of malaria. For the constant, vigorous exercise in the open air is bound to send the good red blood coursing through every vein of the body, until even the most clouded brain must throw off its vapors.
Once free from the melancholy which had oppressed me the first few days, I gave most of my thought to the problem of how I should fulfil my vow to cross the barrier that was so soon to lie between my lady and myself. My main hope lay in the possibility of obtaining Lieutenant Pike's permission to join his expedition as a volunteer. But he was so strict in his adherence to the most rigid requirements of his position as an officer, that there was grave reason to doubt whether he would accept my services without an order from the General.
There were other plans to be considered, one of which was that I should throw in my fortunes with Señor Liza and his creole fellows. The idea was distasteful, yet, reflecting on what little I had learned of the plans of Colonel Burr and his friends, I was not so sure but that Liza's party were quite as loyal. At the least, I could see no harm in aiding Liza to carry a trading expedition into Santa Fe. So far as my own plans were concerned, the venture would promise more at the other end than if I joined Pike's party. If I reached that other end, I should be going among the people of New Spain in company with persons of their own blood.
There remained the most desperate plan of all. I could set out alone, and trust to my unaided craft and single rifle to carry me safe across the hundreds of miles of desert and the snowy mountains of which Alisanda had spoken. I had travelled the wilderness traces and the trackless forests too often alone to have any fear of wild beasts. But there was the uncertainty of being able to kill enough meat to keep from starving in the Western wilds, and on the other hand the certainty of encountering bands of the little-known Pawnees and Ietans.
Rather than not go at all, I was resolved to attempt this desperate venture. But my plan was to seek first to attach myself to my friend's party, and, failing that, to open negotiations with Liza.
After a brief stop at Kaskaskia, that century-old trading post of the French, we undertook the last run to St. Louis with much spirit. The greater part of the crew were eager to reach St. Louis in time for the celebration of Independence Day. In this we were disappointed, being so set back by headwinds that we did not tie up to the home wharf until the evening of the sixth of July.
My first inquiries relieved me of my fear that Lieutenant Pike had already started. He was waiting with his party, fourteen or fifteen miles upstream, at the Cantonment Belle Fontaine, established the previous year by General Wilkinson. I had already learned at Kaskaskia that the General had passed us in his barge far down the river, and had arrived in St. Louis several days before us. To this was now added the news that he had gone on up to Belle Fontaine.
Such an opportunity to meet the General and my friend together was not to be lost. I made my plans over-night in St. Louis, stored my chest, provided myself with a new hunter's suit, and obtained letters of recommendation to the General from two gentlemen of influence.
Dawn found me at the convenient river front which gives St. Louis such an advantage over the other up-river settlements of twice its size and age. The rock bank not only prevents the incutting of the current, but, owing to its lowness, gives easy access to and from the water, unlike the high bluffs upon which most of the settlements have been located.
Looking about for an up-river party, I was so fortunate as to fall in with Mr. Daniel Boone, who with his son-in-law, Flanders Calloway, had come down from La Charette with a bateau-load of furs. Seeing me in hunting dress, the old gentleman showed the keenest interest in my intentions, and upon learning that my immediate purpose was to reach Belle Fontaine, invited me aboard their bateau.
On the way upstream he made me sit beside him in the stern-sheets, and his look betrayed such an eagerness over my plans that I could not resist confiding them to him. It was sad to see the youthful fire flash and sparkle in his bright old eyes, only to dull and fade to the grayness of forced resignation.
"My days are past, John," he said, in his quiet, almost gentle voice. "You have heard me tell of the trip I took with your father through the Choctaw nation; but I'm now past my threescore years and ten, lad. Take off the ten, and I'd be with you on this traceless quest to the Spanish country. It's hard to be tied down to a scant fifty miles or so of free range. But my old bones stiffen and call for rest after their wanderings. I reckon, though, I've done a man's share in my time. Not that I make any boast of it; only I feel that I was an instrument in God's providence to open the wilderness to our people. I feel it none the less that there were all those others before me. Captain Morgan founded New Madrid in sixty-six—"
"But that was under Spanish rule," I exclaimed. "Yours was the first of the advanced American settlements in Kentucky. If only I may have a share in a like tracing of our great Western plains!"
He gave me a shrewd glance. "You fear they won't let you go with the expedition. Why not follow their trace, and join their party in the Pawnee country? This young lieutenant is your friend, you say. He will be sure to take you into camp."
Simple as was this stratagem, it had not occurred to me in all my scheming. Yet it was so practicable that I at once assured Mr. Boone I would, if need were, carry out the suggestion. A few minutes later he landed me at Belle Fontaine, and we parted with a warm handshake. Though deprived by litigation of the bulk of his Spanish grant on the Femme Osage, as he had been in the early nineties of his Kentucky lands, Mr. Boone remains one of the most even-tempered and kindliest men I know.
Upon reaching the cantonment, my first intention had been to seek out General Wilkinson. But within a few paces I caught sight of a company of the Second Infantry on parade, and one glance was enough to tell me that the officer in command was my friend Lieutenant Pike. Though I could see only his trim back, there was no mistaking the odd manner in which he stood with his head so bent to the right that the tip of his chapeau touched his shoulder.
Before many minutes he dismissed the company, and turning about, saw me waiting within a dozen paces. In another moment he was grasping my hand, his blue eyes beaming and his fair cheeks flushing like a girl's beneath their sunburn.
"Good fortune, John!" he cried. "I feared you had gone on down to settle in New Orleans. The General spoke of meeting you in Natchez."
"Did he tell you the cause of that meeting—and the outcome?"
"Surely you cannot blame him!"
"No, no, Montgomery!—since it was you who had forestalled me!"
"Yet you must have had your heart set upon leading the expedition."
"It was to obtain the leadership that I went on to Washington."
"No!"
"A wild goose chase, as you see. But, worst of all, I am now more than ever anxious to go."
"Yet—even if the General should remove me—"
"He would not give the place to me. Nor could I ask your removal. Yet I must go with you, Montgomery!"
"You are not in the Service."
"I will offer myself as a volunteer."
"Nothing could give me greater pleasure! And we need a surgeon. Still—"
"I am aware that the General does not regard me with favor. Yet if you should second my application—"
"By all means! Have you met the General's son, Lieutenant James Wilkinson?" I shook my head. "Here he comes. I will introduce you. He is my second in this expedition. Stop and talk with him, while I see the General. I will have you on with us if it can be done."
I turned and saw approaching a tall young lieutenant whose sallow but pleasant face was altogether unlike that of his father. Owing to this and to his cordial greeting when we were introduced, I was able to enter into a lively conversation with him, while my friend hastened away. A few remarks brought us to the subject of the expedition, and I found the Lieutenant so agreeable when I intimated my desire to volunteer that I ventured to ask his good services in the affair. To this he very readily assented, and upon the return of my friend, held a conference with him, the decision of which was that I should wait over a day, in view of the fact that the General had received Pike's intervention in my behalf with disfavor.
It was an irksome wait, little as was the time given me to brood. Young Wilkinson put me up in his own quarters, but Mrs. Pike insisted that I should take all my meals with the family. I repaid this hospitality as best I could by detailed descriptions of all that I had seen during my visit in Washington, which proved no less interesting to the Lieutenant than to Mrs. Pike. Also I was able to cure the children of a slight seasonable indisposition.
Of his own affairs my friend had little to say. His modesty and reserve prevented him from giving any other than the most meagre information as to his recent trip, while my first inquiry regarding the present expedition was met by the prompt statement that he was under orders not to discuss it. The most I learned was that, with few exceptions, his party was made up of the men who had proved themselves so brave and enduring on his Mississippi trip.
On my part, I contrived to say nothing about my dealings with Colonel Burr, and so little with regard to Alisanda that not even Mrs. Pike divined my romance. This was not that I shrank from confiding in them. My idea was to keep the information as a last resort, in the event that I should be compelled to undertake the stratagem suggested by Mr. Boone. The confession of my love-quest would then add strength to my appeal to be taken into camp.
Shortly after noon of the following day Pike brought me the welcome news that young Wilkinson advised an immediate call upon his father. I hastened over to headquarters, and, upon sending in my name, was shown into the presence of the General. He was still seated at table, and with the same gesture that dismissed his waiter, waved me to a seat across from him.
"So," he puffed, eying me curiously, "I understand that you have reconsidered the position you took at Natchez."
"I confess, Your Excellency, I have become so infatuated with the idea of this adventurous expedition that I wish to join it, even though in a subordinate position."
"Your reasons?" he demanded, with unconcealed suspicion.
"There is the love of adventure for its own sake, Your Excellency. I was born on the frontier. For another thing, I should perhaps gain some little standing by reporting on the mineralogical and other scientific features encountered by the expedition."
"You would be willing to give your services as surgeon?"
"Certainly, sir!"
He pushed across a glass and his whiskey bottle, and I thought it discreet to accept the invitation. As I sipped my toddy, he drew a sealed document from his pocket, and fixed me with what was meant for a penetrating stare.
"You are willing to do all within your power to further the success of the expedition?"
Though certain that this covered something more than my medical services, I answered without hesitancy: "Anything within my power, sir!"
"Good," he replied, and he nodded. "Here is a question to test that—Supposing the expedition, in exploring our unknown boundaries, should chance to find itself in the vicinity of the Spanish settlements—"
I started, and leaned toward him, eager-eyed. "Yes!" I cried. "You mean—?"
"By ——!" he muttered. "What do you mean? You're like a hound on a blood trace!"
"Who is not eager to get at the secrets of El Dorado?" I parried.
"So?" he said. "I fear that Colonel Burr has been plying you with his harebrained schemes."
"He spoke to me of the Mexican mines."
"You are not the first of his dupes."
"Dupe, sir! I thought that you were yourself one of his friends."
"Friend?—to him!" The General swelled with what seemed to me over-acted indignation. "But I forgive you your ignorance, sir. Let us return to the point under discussion. The question is, would you, under the supposition I have stated, be willing to risk yourself among the Spaniards?"
"You mean, sir, as a spy?"
"It is a question of patriotism, sir, patriotism!" he puffed. "Though war now seems averted for the time being, hostilities may occur even before this expedition can return. In the event of war, I need hardly mention to you that information bearing upon the situation of the Spanish in their northern provinces would be of inestimable value to our country."
"Your Excellency," I said, "I bear the Spanish authorities no love, and my country much. I will undertake what you have mentioned, so far as lies within my power."
"Lieutenant Pike has assured me as to your abilities. You speak French and some Spanish?"
"Some French, sir; very little Spanish."
"Enough to serve." He took up the document, with its beribboned seal. "Here is a paper for your consideration. It is a claim upon the Spanish authorities, prepared according to the treaties between the United States and Spain. Two years ago Mr. William Morrison of Kaskaskia intrusted one Baptiste Le Lande with a large stock of trade goods for barter among the Western tribes. According to reports which have lately come to Mr. Morrison through the Indians, Le Lande has reached Santa Fe and there settled, without intention of accounting for the property intrusted to him."
"I understand, Your Excellency," said I. "This claim is to serve as a cloak for my spying."
"No need to use so harsh a term," he mumbled.
"It is the term the Spanish authorities will use if they detect me," I answered.
"We are at peace with Spain. I reached a good understanding with General Herrera before coming up the river. There will be no hostilities for some months, at the least. The Spaniards will not dare to resort to extremes against you."
"Their authorities bear us no love," I rejoined. "Those in so remote a province as Nuevo Mexico may well argue that it will be quite safe to hang a spy, war or no war."
He took up the document, with a frown. "Then you do not care to venture it?"
"Your Excellency mistakes me. I wish merely to point out the risk. In my opinion, the danger could be no greater if hostilities had already begun."
"And if I admit the risk?" he demanded.
"It is, in a sense, a military service. Supposing it successful, is it not Your Excellency's opinion that a recommendation to a commission might be in order?"
He studied me for some moments. Then: "A commission as a subaltern—possibly."
"Sir, I could obtain that by means of a little political begging. I had in mind a captaincy."
"Captaincy!" he repeated, taken aback by my audacity. "Captaincy! That is beyond all reason."
"Yet if I succeed beyond reason—?"
"In such event—But let that wait until your return."
"If ever I do return," I added.
"True; but you can thank yourself that you are thrusting your head into the noose, with your eyes open."
"Then Your Excellency gives me leave to join as a volunteer?"
"We shall see—we shall see."
"But, Your Excellency, a man likes time for preparations."
"That is your own affair, sir,—though I may say that, at present, I feel disposed to grant you the favor. I shall let you know in good time."
With this I was forced to be content. The General rose to enter his office, with a pompous gesture of dismissal.
But upon my return to my friend's quarters, he and Mrs. Pike and Lieutenant Wilkinson joined in assuring me that, since the General had not refused me point blank, I had every reason to expect a favorable decision.
It was well in line with the General's character that he kept me on tenterhooks until the very afternoon before the intended day of marching. Then, as it were at the eleventh hour, he included in his written orders to Lieutenant Pike, to march the following day, a brief paragraph to the effect that I was to accompany the expedition as a volunteer surgeon.
Notwithstanding the orders of the General, we did not start in the morning, but were forced to wait over until the fifteenth of July, owing to the unreadiness of our savage charges, the Osage captives who had been rescued from the Pottawattomies and who were to be returned to their people under our escort.
The first stage of our journey, up the devious Osage River, was one tedious to all and exceedingly laborious to those whose duties confined them to the navigation of the boats. In confirmation I need only add that the Summer was fast nearing its close before we arrived at the Osage towns.
There, instead of the generosity which we had a right to expect from an Indian tribe to whom we had restored so many members, we were delayed many days by their ungrateful reluctance to supply us with horses, and in the end obtained with greatest difficulty only a few of their least desirable animals.
Yet, relieved of the boats and our Indian charges and possessed of these few pack-beasts and saddle horses, our march on toward the Pawnee Republic, when at last we did get under way again, soon carried us into the prairie which lies westward of the three-hundred-mile belt of half-forested lands along the Mississippi. We had come to that vast extent of desert plains which, though abounding in game, is all but destitute of timber. In consequence of this fact, young Wilkinson and I agreed with Pike that the arid waste is destined to serve forever as the Western boundary of the Republic's settled population.
About the middle of September I was sent on ahead of the party to the Pawnee Republic, accompanied by a young Pawnee called Frank, one of the half-dozen of his people attached to the expedition at St. Louis. We were well mounted, and travelled rapidly in a northwesterly direction, across the lower fork of the Kansas River and the three branches which flow into the Republican Fork from the south and west.
At first we kept a sharp outlook for hunting and war parties of the Kans, who at the time were not on the best of terms with their cousins the Osages. But throughout our trip we saw nothing more dangerous than the numerous panthers which thrive on the superabundant game. Though bold, these tawny beasts were too well fed to trouble us. The same was true of the gray wolves, a small pack of which followed us day after day to feast upon the carcasses of the buffaloes we killed.
Evening of the fourth day brought us into the vicinity of the Pawnee Republic. We were riding along over a broken, hilly country, and my savage companion was telling me, in a mixture of bad French and worse English, that we should soon come within sight of the Republican Fork and his home village, when suddenly we rode into a broad track which could only have been made by a large body of horsemen, over two hundred at the very least.
"Hold!" I cried, reining up and pointing at the signs. "Look. Many people went south, on horses, two or three weeks ago. Your people? They have gone to the Arkansas?"
"Non!" grunted Frank, and leaping off, he caught up and handed to me a tent pin. "Pawnee? non! Stick no grow in Pawnee hunting-ground. White man's knife cut him. Voilà!"
"White man!" I repeated in amazement.
How was it possible that there could have been so large a party of white men traversing this remote wilderness? As I sat staring at the wooden pin, studying its grain and shape, Frank circled around through the beaten grass in search of further signs. A guttural cry from him compelled my attention.
He was holding up a broken spur.
"España!" he called.
One glance was enough to convince me that he was not mistaken. The spur was of Spanish make.
More puzzled than ever, we clapped heels to our horses, and galloped up the track, which Frank declared led direct from the village. Within a few minutes we topped a line of high hills, and found ourselves looking down into the valley of the Republican and upon the rounded roofs of the big Pawnee lodges.
One look was enough to relieve our fears regarding the safety of the village. I had never seen a more peaceful-appearing Indian town. The women were at work dressing buffalo robes near the lodges or harvesting their corn and pumpkins in the little patches of field near-by. The children were scattered far and wide, the girls playing with their puppies or tagging their mothers, the boys practising with bows and arrows or watching the hoop-and-pole games of the few men who were to be seen. The young warriors, probably, were off on hunting or war parties, and of the men who remained in the village, most were dozing in their lodges or lolling in the shade outside.
But I did not look long at the savages. My eye was almost immediately caught by a red-and-yellow flag afloat above the front of the great council-lodge. Even at that distance I could not fail to recognize it as the flag of Spain. So astonished was I at the sight that I drew up short, unable to credit my eyes. The flag solved the mystery of the track, only to raise the puzzling question of the presence of so large a body of Spaniards at so great a distance from their present boundaries.
A loud shouting and commotion in the village roused me from my bewilderment. We had been sighted. The women and children were fleeing to the lodges, and all the men capable of bearing arms were advancing toward us, with threatening guns and bows and lances. However, Frank at once made the wolf-ear sign which showed them that he was a Pawnee, while I held up the wampum belt intrusted to me by Pike. A moment later Frank was recognized, and the news shouted back to the village.
At the same time the men, both mounted and afoot, charged down upon us, whooping and piercing the air with their shrill war whistle and flourishing their weapons as if about to tear us to pieces. A man unused to Indians, no matter how brave, might well have trembled at finding himself thus confronted by hundreds of yelling, half-naked savages. The Pawnee warriors are particularly formidable-looking, being tall and well shaped, and their height accentuated by the bristling roach of short hair which runs back over their shaven heads to the feathered scalp-lock. I was, however, too well versed in the Indian character either to show or to feel any trepidation.
As the wild band closed about us in mock attack, a stately warrior whom Frank said was Characterish, or White Wolf, the grand chief of the nation, forced his horse through the mob and greeted me with a guttural "Bon jour!" Upon my return of the salute, he invited me to his lodge. This was gratifying, for I could see by the Spanish grand medal he wore suspended from his neck that he had been particularly favored by the Spaniards, and so might very well have felt ill-disposed toward all Americans.
When we advanced, escorted by the warriors, we were met by all the rest of the population, running and shouting and leaping with excitement at the arrival of their fellow-tribesman and the white man. But at a word from Characterish, not only the women and children but the warriors as well quitted their clamor and gave us free passage into the village.
Unlike the mat and slab lodges of the Osages, the Pawnee houses are substantial structures. Their wattled walls and grassed roof, supported by a double circle of posts, are covered with a thick layer of sods and earth above and over all. This makes them cool in Summer and warm in cold weather; yet, like the Osages, the Pawnees always move down into the timbers for the Winter.
Arriving at the lodge of White Wolf, I was shown in through the covered portico which gave the lodge quite the aspect of a civilized home. Within I found the chief's wives and men-servants busily cooking a meal for us on the fire in the middle of the wide pit which occupied the greater part of the lodge's interior. That there might be no doubt of his hospitality, the chief at once assigned to me one of the snug little curtained compartments built against the wall, around the edge of the pit. My room was in the place of honor, beneath the sacred medicine bundle, on the far side of the lodge.
By the time I had my rifle and saddle stowed away, the chief's cook, a maimed old warrior, called us to come and eat. I sat down with my host and his two sons to a none too savory stew of dried buffalo meat, thickened with pumpkin. To this was added a mess of corn cooked in buffalo grease. But a prairie traveller is seldom troubled with a dainty stomach, and I managed to compliment my host by making a hearty meal of it.
As soon as we had eaten, White Wolf sent out a crier to call in the chiefs and a few of the foremost warriors of the village. They seated themselves with us in a circle, and the head chief's calumet was passed around without any man refusing to smoke.
When the pipe came back around to White Wolf, he addressed me in Pawnee, which was interpreted by Frank: "Let the white man speak; tell why he come Pawnee terre."
I held up the wampum belt, and answered briefly: "I come in friendship from the war chief of the great white father at Washington."
"Ugh! Washington!" grunted the least stolid of the warriors. Even these remote prairie savages knew that illustrious name.
"—From the war chief sent by the high chief of my people to bring gifts and peace to the Pawnee people," I continued. "It is his wish that you send out your young men to guide him to your town as a guest."
As Frank interpreted this I thought I could detect a shade of change beneath the stolid look of the grim warriors. What was still more ominous, when the pipe was passed around the second time, no one smoked. But when it came back to White Wolf, after some delay and hesitation, he smoked, and thereupon announced laconically: "I go—heap grand comp'ny meet white capitan."
Again the pipe was started around. It was taken by one of the sub-chiefs. When he had smoked, he rose majestically, and, drawing up his buffalo robe about his naked body, pointed dramatically to the westward. There could be no mistaking the menace in his terse, guttural declamation.
I looked to Frank, who explained, with evident trepidation: "He Pitaleshar, grand war chief. He say: ''Merican white braves no go to setting sun; no march over Pawnee hunting-grounds. España chief grand—heap big; Pawnees grand—heap big; 'Merican soldiers non!' Voilà! Comprenez-vous?"
"That's to be seen!" I muttered. "Tell them: What the white chief will do is for him to say when he comes."
Whatever impression this made, none present gave any sign, and the emptying of the ashes of the sacred calumet by White Wolf's pipe-bearer brought the council to an end.
As it was now close upon sunset, and I was greatly wearied from my long journey, I at once sought my fur-padded couch in the rear of the lodge, and gave myself over to profound slumber.
Upon wakening, I was astonished to find that the sun was well up the sky, and that White Wolf and Iskatappe, the second chief of the town, had already set out, with a large party, to meet the expedition. The old warrior cook, who had been left to attend me, and who spoke a little French, went on to explain that Frank, having like myself been found asleep, had also been left undisturbed. At this I hurriedly bolted my buffalo stew, and stepped outside the lodge, intending to look for Frank.
But as I paused before the entrance of the huge council-lodge to glance about and drink in the pure, sunny air, the flapping of the Spanish flag in the morning breeze compelled my attention.
The first glimpse of those red and yellow folds was sufficient to catch and hold my gaze. They spoke to me of my lady—of my Alisanda!—and of the tyrannical power of that Government whose hatred of foreigners interposed between us a barrier harder to pass than the snowy sierras of which she had told me. Such at least was the dread that seized upon me as I gazed up at that symbol of lust for gold and blood.
Presently, as I yet stared at the mocking banner, my glance was caught by a little tracing of white lines on the outer corner. Prompted by idle curiosity,—or it may have been by an unconscious premonition,—I waited until a lull in the breeze brought the flag drooping down within my reach. I grasped it to look closer at the tracing.
Whether I stood gaping at that little sign for a few brief seconds or many minutes I cannot say. I was too overcome with wonder and delight to sense the passage of time. All I can say is that, rousing at last to action, I slashed off the corner of the flag with my knife and thrust it into my bosom.
The tracing was a duplicate of that upon the lace handkerchief which, wrapped about a withered magnolia blossom, I carried in an inner pocket of my hunting-shirt. It consisted of two letters embroidered in white silk, and those two letters were—"A. V."
What a volume of joyous news those few stitches of dainty needlework conveyed to me! My lady had arrived at Chihuahua before the starting of the Spanish expedition; she had known at least something of the plans of the Spanish commander, and she had placed her initials upon the flag as a message to me should I be attempting to cross the barrier and chance to meet her countrymen.
The escort party led by White Wolf returned three or four days after their start, but without the expedition. They had gone almost due east, which had brought them north of our party. Great was their disgust when Frank explained how, when leaving the Osage villages, our Osage guides, in their dread of the Kans, had led our party far around to the south of the direct course.
At once Frank was sent out with two or three other runners on the right track, and by forenoon of the next day one of the scouts came back with word that the others were bringing in the Americans. Immediately the chiefs rode out with all the warriors, to receive the visitors in state. The ceremonies opened with a mock charge, during which the balls from the old fusils and trade guns of the savages flew about far too promiscuously for comfort. There followed a horse-smoke, in which some of the Pawnees presented ponies to the few Osages with the party.
After this White Wolf shook hands with Pike, and invited him and myself to dine at his lodge. We did so, while Wilkinson marched the party on across the river to a strong position on a hill.
This welcome to the village could not have been more ceremonious and friendly. But a few days later, when we met the chiefs and warriors in grand council, the situation took on a much less favorable aspect. Lieutenant Pike effected a burial of the hatchet between the Osages and three or four Kans warriors who had come down from their village on the Kansas River. He then distributed honorary presents and a quantity of goods to the Pawnee chiefs, explaining that President Jefferson was now their great father, instead of the Spanish Governor-General Salcedo, and that he had been sent with these gifts to show the good-will of their new father.
The Pawnees accepted the presents readily enough, but I doubt if they either understood or cared about the transfer of Louisiana Territory. To them the prairies,—north, south, east, and west,—were their own land so far as their guns and bows could hold back the other prairie tribes. Judging from what little they knew of the two rival nations of white men, they had better reasons to turn to the Spaniards than to us, for the Mexican expedition had come among them with a force fifteen times greater than our little band.
Yet in the face of this disadvantage, Pike was determined to press home his point to the great ring of chiefs and headmen which encircled us and to the crowds of younger warriors without. Owing to the great number who had wished to share in the council or to witness the proceedings, we had met in the open space before the entrance of the council-lodge. Standing thus in the midst of the hundreds of red warriors, with none but Wilkinson, myself, and Baroney the interpreter to back him, Pike turned and pointed to the Spanish flag.
"Men of the Pawnee nation, how comes that flag here?" he demanded. "Is that the flag of your father in Washington, from whose people you receive in barter all your guns and powder and lead, your strouding and beads? No! it is the flag of a far-off chief, who lives beyond your deadly foes, the Ietans. This land is no longer under his hand; that flag has no right to float over these prairies. Take it down and give it to me."
"It is a gift to us from those other white men," protested White Wolf.
"It is the flag of a people who have no right in this land," rejoined Pike, and he unrolled the glorious Stars and Stripes which he held in his hand. "Chiefs and men of the Pawnee Republic, this is the flag of your great father. I command you to hand over that flag of Spain to me and raise instead the banner of my chief!"
At this audacious demand, even the stolidity of the chiefs could not hide their concern, and the warriors began to mutter and scowl. Yet Pike stood stern and resolute, awaiting the answer. After a full minute, one of the older warriors rose, took our flag, and going to the lodge, raised it in the place of the Spanish banner, which he handed to Pike. At this I am not ashamed to confess that inwardly we all breathed a sigh of relief. I say inwardly, for it was no time to show other than a bold front.
The Pawnees were not so successful in the concealment of their feelings. It was all too evident from their looks that they were in deadly fear that this insult to the Spanish flag would bring upon them the vengeance of the white men of the Southwest. For it seems the Spanish leader had told them his people would return the following year in great numbers, to build a large town. But Pike, having gained his point, relieved their fears by at once returning the flag, under condition that it should not again be raised during our stay.
Throughout this exchange of colors, my apprehensions of a treacherous outbreak had not prevented me from watching for some one to discover and remark upon the tattered corner of the Spanish banner. But if it was noticed at all, the mutilation was probably laid to the thieving hand of some young brave who might have thought himself in need of a bit of bright cloth.
Pike now stated the wish of the great father at Washington that the Pawnee chiefs should make him a visit, in company with a few of their Kans brothers. To this White Wolf replied that the matter would be considered. Next Pike explained that he wished to secure the services of one of their Ietan, or Comanche, prisoners, to act as interpreter on our westward trip; also that he wished to barter for several good horses. Again White Wolf replied that the wishes of the white chief would be considered. With that the council rose.
There followed some days of anxious waiting, during which our savage hosts suddenly took on a hostile attitude. In the end we were given to understand that they would not comply with any of our requests, but on the contrary would seek to prevent our marching on westward, according to their agreement with the Spaniards.
It was in the midst of the stress and anxiety caused by this delay and the menacing actions of the Pawnees, that we received from two French traders the joyful news how Lewis and Clark had brought their expedition safely back from the far Pacific, and should by now have gone on down the Missouri to St. Louis.
A few days later, near the beginning of the second week in October, having at last secured a few miserable horses out of the splendid herds of the Pawnees, we struck our tents and packed for the march. It was a ticklish moment, for there was not a man among us who did not fear that noon might find our scalps dangling above the Pawnee lodges. Our little party, barely over a score, all told, was about to defy the power of an Indian town which numbered over five hundred warriors.
For the first time since our start at Belle Fontaine I had occasion to observe the mettle of our eighteen soldiers. Not one among them required the admonitions of the lieutenants to ram full charges into their muskets, to fix bayonets, and look to their priming. I was no less ready, having provided myself with a sabre, in addition to my rifle and tomahawk and brace of duelling pistols. I told Pike that I did not consider myself bound by his orders to reserve fire, in the event of an attack, until the enemy were within half a dozen paces. After a little argument on the point, he consented that I should seek out their chiefs with my rifle the moment the savages commenced hostilities. With Indians, no less than with whites, it is good strategy to pick off those in command at the beginning of an engagement.
By way of explanation of what followed, it is as well to state that during the night two of our horses had been stolen by our light-fingered neighbors, and though one had at once been delivered up when we sent over to the village, the other was still missing. As we fell in about the pack horses, I saw Pike turn back to address a question to young John Sparks, his waiter. The bright-eyed lad saluted and stepped out, with evident eagerness, to mount one of the led horses. Pike signed him to take position at the head of our little column, and himself rode forward with Baroney.
The moment they reached the van, he gave the order to march, and we swung away down the hill toward the river. Across in the village we could see that the savages had made preparations which bore out in most menacing fashion their threats to oppose our march westward. Every woman and child had been sent away during the night or else hidden in the lodges. This of itself was a most ominous sign. But that was the least of it. All about the lodges we could see swarms of warriors, armed with guns, bows, and lances, while here and there one of the naked young braves showed the hideous black and vermilion markings of the war paint.
But if the savages thought to awe and turn us back by this warlike display, they were never so mistaken. The Osages had slipped off at dawn, with the explanation that they wished to hunt, and would join us later in the day. None of our men wished to hunt. They swung along down the slope as steadily as on parade, some of the younger ones a trifle flushed, some of the older a shade paler beneath their tan and sunburn. Sergeant Ballenger marched along as stiff as his ramrod. Sergeant Meek rocked a little in his step from sheer exuberance of feeling over the prospect of a fight. His grim, scarred face fairly glowed.
We came down to the river bank a little above the town, and crossed over without breaking column, those on foot holding their muskets and powder horns well up above the water. When all were across, command was given to halt and look to the primings. Again the order was given to close up and march. We swung steadily up the bank, but obliquely, that we might pass by the village. Already we could see every movement of the savages, who swarmed over to the near side of the village, waving their buffalo-hide shields and their weapons and shouting insults at us. Once or twice we heard the shrill Pawnee war whistle. In the midst of this wild uproar, when we were directly opposite the upper side of the village, Pike wheeled and raised his hand.
"Halt!" he shouted. "Stand ready to repel attack according to orders. Baroney, Sparks, follow!"
Wheeling again, he galloped straight at the yelling mob of savages, followed closely by Baroney and Sparks. The Pawnees trained their guns upon him and levelled their lances. Without checking the pace of his horse, he held out his bare palm to them. They opened their ranks to let pass the three mad white men, and closed quickly in their rear. But Pike and his two followers galloped on without check until they came to the lodge of White Wolf.
We now perceived that the head chief was standing before the entrance of the lodge, wrapped about in his buffalo robe; but whether or not he held his weapons concealed beneath the cloak we could not tell. He waved back with a grand gesture the warriors who would have crowded around, and stood like a statue while Pike, sitting his horse no less calm and impassive, addressed him with the aid of Baroney.
The savages, yet more astonished than ourselves at this strange parley, for the most part turned to stare at the mad white chief who had so dauntlessly ridden into their very midst. We had looked to see them instantly fling themselves upon our three lone comrades and massacre them before our eyes. In anticipation of the murder, more than one among us picked his man for reprisals, Wilkinson singling out Pitaleshar, the war chief, while I drew a bead on White Wolf. Iskatappe was not to be seen.
The very air seemed to tingle with that feeling which thrills a man's nerves and sends the blood leaping through his veins when lives hang by a thread. More than one of the younger warriors, infuriated at the delay in the attack, bent their bows. Had a single arrow been shot at us another instant would have seen us in the midst of a bloody battle. All hung upon the will of White Wolf. He had only to make a sign, and my ball would pierce his brain, Pike and his companions would be stabbed and mutilated, and we ourselves rushed by a furious mob of bloodthirsty savages.
Fortunately for all alike, White Wolf had arrived at years of wisdom. As they watched his impassive face, the warriors gradually stilled their ferocious yells and gestures. Within two minutes all was so quiet that we could hear the quick, guttural syllables of Baroney's translations.
"It is over!" said Wilkinson, as White Wolf suddenly made a gesture of assent. We saw Pike turn to Sparks, who promptly dismounted and walked into the chief's lodge. Baroney took the riderless horse in lead, and rode back to us with Pike, through the now silent but still scowling crowds of warriors.
The moment they had joined us, our leader, as cool and steady as throughout his daring venture, gave the word to march. The savages continued to stand silent and motionless, watching us slip out of their clutches without so much as a parting yell. Yet had it not been for the unequalled courage and firmness and sheer cool audacity of our leader, there can be no doubt we should have been in for a most desperate fight.
In justice to the rank and file, I must add that the men had borne themselves throughout the affair in a manner fully creditable to their leader, who afterwards told us that he had counted upon our disposing of at least a hundred of the enemy before being ourselves rendered hors de combat. The men, I believe, half regretted that they had not had the opportunity to test the accuracy of this estimate. This was certainly true of Meek, than whom no man was ever more maligned by his name.
Baroney was no less courageous than the enlisted men, as was shown by the cool manner in which he returned the following day to look for Sparks. Both the brave lads overtook us during the afternoon, safe and sound, and Sparks riding the stolen horse!
They arrived shortly before we came upon the first outgoing encampment of the Spaniards, and relieved by their safe return, we swung away at our best pace in the tracks of the invaders. Our immediate purpose was to follow the trace made by these soldiers of His Most Catholic Majesty, and so discover in what direction their expedition had turned after the visit to the Pawnees.