Book: The Shagganappi

E >> E. Pauline Johnson >> The Shagganappi




"Hi, boys, you're doing well!" he called gayly after them, when suddenly
a dark circle seemed to wheel about his head, drop over his shoulders,
then grip him around the arms. Instantly he felt the rope tighten.
Someone had thrown a noose--lassoed him as they lasso cattle on the
prairies. In another second he was thrown flat on his back, the gold
sack was jerked from his fingers by the concussion, and a dark, evil
face was leaning above his own. The man in the mackinaw had caught him
at last!

Oddly enough in that tense moment he seemed to hear his father's voice
saying to him, "Why, boy, you're built like an ox!" The memory was like
a match to tinder. He flung his hard young legs about the man's ankles,
bringing him down like a dead weight upon his own body. With the wind
half crushed out of him, he struggled and rolled to protect his
revolver. A dozen times the man snatched, plunged and parried to secure
it, and as many times Jack rolled on top of it, keeping it securely in
his hip pocket. Not a word was spoken, not a sound uttered. Only those
two, the evil, avaricious, brutal man, and the fair, weak-eyed, brave
boy, battling, rolling, lunging, each for the mastery. Then something
caused the rope to give, the knot slipped, and with a mighty effort Jack
wrenched one arm loose, felt for his revolver, drew it, and fired, once,
twice, not at his enemy, but straight into the air.

"No, you don't!" snarled the man, reaching for Jack's gun with one hand,
and his throat with the other. But with the agility of a cat the boy had
thrown the gun directly behind him, where it fell clear of the bank and
splashed into the river. The sound fell on Jack's ears like a death
knell. He had not thought they were so near the brink. One more struggle
and they would both be over. Then his breath left him, squeezed out by
the demon hand clutching at his throat.

But those two shots had told their story. With almost stunning horror
Larry and Fox-Foot heard them.

"He's got him! He's got Jack!" gasped the Indian, dropping the canoe,
and turning with the fleetness of a deer, he disappeared up the portage.
Spitting out the strange foreign word he only used in extreme moments,
Larry followed hard on his heels.

"He's got him down! He's choking him!" drifted back the Indian's voice,
shaking with dismay and rage. Then both would-be rescuers stood stock
still, awed by the sight before them. Jack had once again clutched his
sturdy legs about the man's knees, twisting him so that the iron fingers
relaxed from their grip at the boy's throat. The man was now clutching
the gold sack, but with a springy, rapid turn Jack wrenched it free. The
two rolled over and over, for a short, sharp struggle, and Larry and the
Indian appeared only in time to see the two shoot over the bank. Nothing
remained in sight but a single hand clinging to a cedar root that
projected from the rocks. It was the work of an instant to reach the
hand--Jack's hand, fortunately--to lift him from his perilous position,
while all but breathless he gasped, "Save him! save him! He's in the
river! He'll go over the falls!"

Then their horrified eyes discovered the man, by this time far out in
midstream, drifting more surely, more rapidly every second, towards the
rapids.

"Here, take this rope! Save him!" cried the boy, wrenching from his poor
bruised sides the very rope his enemy had secured him with.

Larry snatched it, crashing down the shore in the vain hope of reaching
the drifting body. The canoe was up in the woods where they had dropped
it at the sound of Jack's gunshots. He could not begin to get near
enough with that twenty-foot rope. There was but one hope left--a huge
overhanging pine tree a little above the falls--perhaps he could help
the struggling man from its branches. But before he could even reach the
tree, let alone crawl out above the river, the dark, drifting mass, with
its struggling arms and white face, had already been sucked far past
its furthest branches. Beside Jack, whose straining eyes watched for
the inevitable end, stood Fox-Foot, his arms folded tightly across his
chest, his gaze riveted on the drifting speck. Then both boys shuddered,
for the swirling speck seemed suddenly to stand erect, then plunged feet
foremost over the brink.

Larry returned very slowly, his legs lagging heavily at every step. All
day they searched in the river far below the falls, but not a trace
could be found of the man in the mackinaw.

"Is there a particle of chance that the poor fellow _could_ escape
death?" asked Larry of Fox-Foot that night, when, wearied and thoroughly
played out, they pitched their camp for the last night in the forest.

"Yes; one chance in fifty. My father he knows two men escape long
time ago."

"It strikes me," said Larry, grimly, "that if there is a ghost of a
chance he'll get it."

"I hope so," declared Jack, fervently. "My neck will be purple from his
claws for some time yet, but, oh! I _hope_ he escaped."

"Yes," echoed Larry, solemnly, "it would be miserable to think that
I had secured this gold at the price of a man's life, no matter how
degraded that man may be. No, I would not want the gold at that price."

So with this shadow surrounding them, their last day in the wilds was
very quiet, and, when at last they paddled into the little settlement,
it was with a sigh of both regret and relief that Matt Larson lifted
his gold sacks from the canoe.

The Hudson's Bay trader greeted them cordially. "Got any furs for me,
Larry?" was the first thing he asked.

Then Matt Larson threw back his head and laughed heartily for the first
time in days. He had forgotten all about that old tale that he was going
north for "furs." So now he related all his story, showing his gold to
the bluff, old, honest trader.

"You're lucky to get it to the front," said that person. "There's been
one of our notorious Northern 'bad men' up in the bush for weeks. If
you'd come across him now, you would never have got those nuggets here
safely. But you're all right from now on. He drifted in here to-day and
took the noon train west."

All three adventurers sprang to their feet.

"_What_!" yelled Larry. "Came here _to-day_! What did he look like?"

"Looked more like mincemeat than any human being I ever saw," replied
the trader. "Tall, dark, evil-looking man. Wore a mackinaw, was wringing
wet to the skin, had one arm in a sling made of a wild grapevine, face
slit up in ribbons as if he'd been fighting bears, limped as if he had
stringhalt. Said he was going to the hospital at Port Arthur."

Larry's reply was an odd one. He turned abruptly to Fox-Foot. "Boy," he
said, "you're coming East with us to-night. Right now! Don't say 'no,'
for I tell you you're coming. After the tricks you played on that
villain your life would not be worth the smallest nugget in those sacks
if you stayed here. We'll come back after a time, but you are coming
with me, _now_!"

Jack Cornwall found he could not speak a word, but just held out both
hands to the Chippewa. And that night as the three sat together in the
cozy sleeper, while the train thundered its way eastward, Jack wondered
why he was so wonderfully happy. Was it because he had proved himself a
man on this strange, wild journey? Was it because of those heavy sacks
beside him, filled with the King's Coin, which Larry declared he was to
share? He could hardly define the reason, until, glancing up suddenly,
he found himself looking into a pair of dark eyes of very rare beauty.
Then he knew that this strangely happy feeling came from the simple fact
that there were to be no "good-byes," that Fox-Foot was still beside
him.



A Night With "North Eagle"

A Tale Founded on Fact.


The great transcontinental express was swinging through the Canadian
North-West territories into the land of the Setting Sun. Its powerful
engine throbbed along the level track of the prairie. The express, mail,
baggage, first-class and sleeping coaches followed like the pliant tail
of a huge eel. Then the wheels growled out the tones of lessening speed.
The giant animal slowed up, then came to a standstill. The stop awoke
Norton Allan, who rolled over in his berth with a peculiar wide-awake
sensation, and waited vainly for the train to resume its flight towards
the Rockies. Some men seemed to be trailing up and down outside the
Pullman car, so Norton ran up the little window blind and looked out.
Just a small station platform, of a small prairie settlement, was all
he saw, but he heard the voices very distinctly.

"What place is this?" someone asked.

"Gleichen, about sixty miles east of Calgary," came the reply.

"Construction camp?" asked the first voice.

"No," came the answer, "_This_ line was laid about when _you_ were
born, I guess."

Someone laughed then.

"But what are all those tents off there in the distance?" again asked
the curious one.

"Indian tepees," was the reply. "This is the heart of the Blackfoot
Reserve."

Norton's heart gave a great throb--the far-famed Blackfoot Indians!--and
just outside his Pullman window! Oh, if the train would only wait there
until morning! As if in answer to his wish, a quick, alert voice cut in
saying, "Washout ahead, boys. The Bow River's been cutting up. We're
stalled here for good and all, I guess." And the lanterns and voices
faded away forward.

Norton lay very still for a few moments trying to realize it all. Then
raising himself on one elbow, he peered out across an absolutely level
open prairie. A waning moon hung low in the west, its thin radiance
brooding above the plains like a mist, but the light was sufficient to
reveal some half-dozen tepees, that lifted their smoky tops and tent
poles not three hundred yards from the railway track. Norton looked
at his watch. He could just make out that it was two o'clock in the
morning. Could he _ever_ wait until daylight? So he asked himself over
and over again, while his head (with its big mop of hair that _would_
curl in spite of the hours he spent in trying to brush it straight)
snuggled down among the pillows, and his grave young eyes blinked
longingly at those coveted tepees. And the next thing he knew a face was
thrust between his berth-curtains, a thin, handsome, clean-shaven face,
adorned with gold-rimmed nose glasses, and crowned with a crop of hair
much like his own, and a voice he loved very much was announcing in
imitation of the steward, "Breakfast is now ready in the dining-car."

Norton sprang up, pitching the blankets aside, and seized Professor
Allan by the arm. "Oh, Pater," he cried, pointing to the window, "do you
see them---the Indians, the tepees? It's the Blackfoot Reserve! I heard
the trainmen say so in the night."

"Yes, my boy," replied the Professor, seating himself on the edge of his
son's berth. "And I also see your good mother and estimable father dying
of starvation, if they have to wait much longer for you to appear with
them in the dining-car--"

But Norton was already scrambling into his clothes, his usually solemn
eyes shining with excitement. For years his father, who was professor
in one of the great universities in Toronto, had shared his studies on
Indian life, character, history and habits with his only son. They had
read together, and together had collected a splendid little museum of
Indian relics and curios. They had always admired the fine old warlike
Blackfoot nation, but never did they imagine when they set forth on
this summer vacation trip to the Coast, that they would find themselves
stalled among these people of their dreams.

"Well, Tony, boy, this _is_ a treat for you and father," his mother's
voice was saying, "and the conductor tells me we shall be here probably
forty-eight hours. The Bow River is on the rampage, the bridge near
Calgary is washed away, and thank goodness we shall be comfortably
housed and fed in this train." And Mrs. Allan's smiling face appeared
beside the Professor's.

"Tony," as his parents called him, had never dressed so quickly in all
the sixteen years of his life, notwithstanding the cramped space of a
sleeping-car, and presently he was seated in the diner, where the broad
windows disclosed a sweeping view of the scattered tepees, each with its
feather of upward floating smoke curling away from its apex. Many of
the Indians were already crowding about the train, some with polished
buffalo horns for sale, and all magnificently dressed in buckskin,
decorated with fine, old-fashioned bead work, and the quills of the
porcupine.

An imperial-looking figure stood somewhat back from the others,
exceptionally tall, with finely cut profile, erect shoulders, rich
copper-colored skin, and long black hair interbraided with ermine tails
and crested with a perfect black and white eagle plume; over his costly
buckskins he wore a brilliant green blanket, and he stood with arms
folded across his chest with the air of one accustomed to command.
Beside him stood a tall, slender boy, his complete counterpart in
features and dress, save that the boy's blanket was scarlet, and he
wore no eagle plume.

"What magnificent manhood!" remarked the Professor. "No college our
civilization can boast of will ever give what plain food, simple hours,
and the glorious freedom of this prairie air have given that brave and
his boy. We must try to speak with them, Tony. I wonder how we can
introduce ourselves."

"Some circumstance will lead to it, you may be sure," said Mrs. Allan,
cheerfully. "You and Tony walk out for some fresh air. Something will
happen, you'll see." And it did.

Crowds of the train's passengers were strolling up and down when the
Professor and Norton went outside. "I wish they would not stand and
stare at the Indians like that!" remarked the boy indignantly. "The
Indians don't stare at us."

"For the best of all reasons," said the Professor. "Indians are taught
from the cradle that the worst possible breach of politeness is to
stare." And just as they began a little chat on the merits of
this teaching, a dapper, well-dressed passenger walked up to the
distinguished Indian, and in a very loud voice said, "Good morning,
friend. I'd like to buy that eagle feather you have in your hair.
Will you sell it? Here's a dollar."

Instantly Norton Allan turned angrily to the passenger. "What do you
shout at him for?" he demanded. "He isn't deaf because he's Indian."

"Oh!" said the passenger, rather sheepishly, but in a much lower tone.
Then, still raising his voice again, he persisted, "Here's two dollars
for your feather."

The Indian never even glanced at him, but with a peculiar, half regal
lift of his shoulders, hitched his blanket about him, turned on his
heel, and walked slowly away. Just then the train conductor walked past,
and the bewildered passenger assailed him with, "I say, conductor, that
Indian over there wouldn't take two dollars for that chicken wing in his
hair."

The conductor laughed. "I should think not!" he said. "'That Indian' is
Chief Sleeping Thunder, and ten miles across the prairie there, he has
three thousand head of cattle, eighty horses, and about two thousand
acres of land for them to range over. _He_ doesn't want your two
dollars."

"Oh!" said the passenger again, this time a little more sheepishly than
before; then he wisely betook himself to the train.

Meantime the boy with the scarlet blanket had not moved an inch, only
let his eyes rest briefly on Norton when the latter had reproved the
shouting passenger.

"And this," continued the conductor kindly, as he paused beside the boy,
"is Chief Sleeping Thunder's son, North Eagle."

Norton Allan stepped eagerly forward, raised his cap, and holding out
his hand shyly, said, "May I have the pleasure of shaking hands with
you, North Eagle?"

The Indian boy extended his own slim brown fingers, a quick smile swept
across his face, and he said, "_You_ not speak loud." Then they all
laughed together, and the Professor, who had been a silent but absorbed
onlooker, was soon chatting away with the two boys, as if he, too, were
but sixteen years old, with all the world before him.

That was a memorable day for Norton, for, of course, he met Chief
Sleeping Thunder, who, however, could speak but little English; but so
well did the friendship progress that at noon North Eagle approached
the Professor with the request that Norton should ride with him over to
his father's range, sleep in their tepee that night, and return the
following morning before the train pulled out.

At North Eagle's shoulder stood Sleeping Thunder, nodding assent to all
his son said.

Of course, Mrs. Allan was for politely refusing the invitation. She
would not for a moment listen to such an idea. But the Professor took
quite the opposite stand. "We must let him go, mother--let him go, by
all means. Tony can take care of himself, and it will be the chance of
his life. Why he is nearing manhood now. Let him face the world; let
him have this wonderful experience."

"But they look so wild!" pleaded the poor mother. "They _are_ wild.
Fancy letting our Tony go alone into the heart of the Blackfoot country!
Oh! I can't think of it!"

Fortunately for her peace of mind the train conductor overheard her
words, and, smiling at her fears, said, rather dryly:

"Madam, if your boy is as safe from danger and harm and evil in the city
of Toronto as he will be with North Eagle in the prairie country, why, I
congratulate you."

The words seemed to sting the good lady. She felt, rather than knew, the
truth of them, and the next moment her consent was given.

The face of North Eagle seemed transformed when he got her promise to
let Tony go. "I bring him back safe, plenty time for train," was all
he said.

Then Sleeping Thunder spoke for the first time--spoke but the one word,
"Safe." Then pointing across the prairie, he repeated, "Safe."

"That's enough, my dear," said the Professor firmly. "Tony is as safe as
in a church."

"Yes," replied Mrs. Allan, "the chief means that word 'safe.' And as for
that boy, I believe he would die before he'd let Tony's little finger be
harmed."

And as events proved, she was almost right.

Within the hour they were off, North Eagle bareback on a wiry cayuse,
Tony in a Mexican saddle, astride a beautiful little broncho that loped
like a rocking-horse.

At the last minute, Sleeping Thunder was detained by cattlemen, who
wanted to purchase some of his stock, so the two boys set out alone. The
last good-bye was to the conductor, who, after charging them to return
in ample time to catch the train, said seriously to Norton:

"Let nothing scare you, sonny. These Indians _look_ savage, in their
paint and feathers, but King Edward of England has no better subjects;
and I guess it is all the same to His Majesty whether a good subject
dresses in buckskin or broadcloth."

Then there was much waving of hats and handkerchiefs. The engineer
caught the spirit of the occasion, and genially blew a series of frantic
toots, and with the smile of his father and the face of his mother as
the last things in his vision, and with North Eagle's scarlet blanket
rocking at his elbow, young Norton Allan hit the trail for the heart of
the Blackfoot country.

For miles they rode in silence. Twice North Eagle pointed ahead, without
speech--first at a coyote, then at a small herd of antelope, and again
at a band of Indian riders whose fleet ponies and gay trappings crossed
the distant horizon like a meteor.

By some marvellous intuition North Eagle seemed to know just what would
interest the white boy--all the romance of the trail, the animals, the
game, the cactus beds, the vast areas of mushrooms growing wild, edible
and luscious, the badger and gopher holes, and the long, winding, half
obliterated buffalo trails that yet scarred the distant reaches. It was
only when he pointed to these latter, that he really spoke his mind,
breaking into an eloquence that filled Tony with envy. The young redskin
seemed inspired; a perfect torrent of words rushed to his lips, then
his voice saddened as he concluded: "But they will never come again,
the mighty buffalo my father and my grandfather used to chase. They
have gone, gone to a far country, for they loved not the ways of the
paleface. Sometimes at night I dream I hear their thousand hoofs beat
up the trail, I see their tossing horns, like the prairie grass in the
strong west winds, but they are only spirits now; they will never come
to me, and I have waited so long, so many days, watching these trails,
watching, watching, watching--but they never come; no, the buffalo never
come."

Tony did not speak. What was there to be said? He only shook his head
comprehendingly, and bit his under lip hard to keep back--something, he
scarcely knew what. But he, too, watched the buffalo runs with longing
eyes, hoping, hoping that even _one_ glorious animal would gallop up
out of the rim of grass and sky. But young North Eagle was right--the
buffalo was no more.

Tony was just beginning to feel slightly sore in the saddle when the
Indian pointed off to the south-west and said, "There is my father's
tepee," and within five minutes they had slipped from their mounts, and
stood on the Chief's domain. A woman, followed by three children, came
to the door. She was very handsome, and wore the beautiful dress of her
tribe. Her cheeks were painted a brilliant crimson, and the parting of
her hair was stained a rich orange. North Eagle turned and spoke rapidly
to her for a moment in the Blackfoot tongue. She replied briefly. "Here
is my mother," said the boy simply. "She speaks no English, but she
says you are welcome and her heart is warm for you."

Tony lifted his cap while he shook hands. The woman noiselessly put
back the door of the tepee and motioned for him to enter. For a moment
he thought he must be dreaming. The exterior of the tepee had been
wonderful enough, with its painted designs of suns and planets and wolf
heads and horses, but the inside betokened such a wealth of Indian
possessions that the boy was fairly astounded. The tepee itself was
quite thirty feet in diameter, and pitched above dry, brown, clean
prairie sod, which, however, was completely concealed by skins of many
animals--cinnamon bear, fox, prairie wolf, and badger. To the poles were
suspended suit after suit of magnificent buckskin, leggings, shirts,
moccasins, all beaded and embroidered in priceless richness, fire bags,
tobacco pouches, beaded gun cases, and rabbit robes. Fully a dozen suits
were fringed down the sleeves and leggings with numberless ermine tails.
At one side of the tepee lay piled quite a score of blankets in mixed
colors, a heap of thick furs, pyramids of buffalo horns, and coils and
coils of the famous "grass and sinew" lariats for roping cattle and
horses.

The contents of that tepee would have brought thousands of dollars in
New York City.

Across Norton's mind there flashed the recollection of the passenger
offering his paltry two dollars to Sleeping Thunder for the eagle plume
in his hair. No wonder the train conductor had laughed! And just here
North Eagle entered, asking him if he would care to see the cattle that
were ranging somewhere near by. Of course he cared, and for all the
years to come he never forgot that sight. For a mile beyond him the
landscape seemed blotted out by a sea of gleaming horns and shifting
hoofs--a moving mass that seemed to swim into the sky. It was a great
possession--a herd like that--and Norton found himself marvelling at the
strange fact that he and his parents, travelling in luxurious Pullmans,
and living in a great city, were poor in comparison with this slender
Blackfoot boy who was acting host with the grace that comes only with
perfect freedom and simplicity.

The day was very warm, so supper was prepared outside the tepee, North
Eagle showing Tony how to build a fire in a prairie wind, lee of the
tepee, and midway between two upright poles supporting a cross-bar from
which the kettles hung. Boiled beef, strong black tea, and bannock, were
the main foods, but out of compliment to their visitor, they fried a
quantity of delicious mushrooms, and, although the Blackfeet seldom eat
them, Tony fairly devoured several helpings. After supper North Eagle
took him again into the tepee, and showed him all the wonderful buckskin
garments and ornaments. Tony was speechless with the delight of it all,
and even begrudged the hours wherein he must sleep; but the unusual
length of the ride, the clear air, and the hearty supper he had eaten,
all began to tell on his excitement, and he was quite ready to "turn in"
with the others shortly after sunset.

"Turning in" meant undressing, folding a Hudson's Bay blanket about him,
and lying near the open flap of the tepee, on a heap of wolf skins as
soft as feathers and as silvery as a cloud.

Night crept up over the prairie like a grey veil, and the late moon,
rising, touched the far level wastes with a pale radiance. Through
the open flap of the tepee Tony watched it--the majestic loneliness
and isolation, the hushed silence of this prairie world were very
marvellous--and he loved it almost as if it were his birthright, instead
of the heritage of the Blackfoot boy sleeping beside him. Then across
the white night came the cry of a wandering coyote, and once the whirr
of many wings swept overhead. Then his wolfskin couch grew very soft
and warm, the night airs very gentle, the silence very drowsy, and
Tony slept.

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