Brand, Max - 1925 Read online

  He pointed to the streaking figures coming out of the south, far away.

  "They may get me," I said, speaking with lips that were stiffer than actual cold ever made them, "but they can never catch the gray mare."

  At that he turned on me with a frown, and Morris's frown, even when he was a boy, was something to remember.

  "Look here, Dorset," he said to me, "as long as I'm your friend, your luck is my luck. The minute I'm your enemy, I'll tell you about it, and then heaven help one of us. Now don't let me hear any more nonsense. Whatever comes to you today, comes to me."

  It seemed to me then, and it seems to me now, that was the finest speech I ever heard a man make. Afterward I was to learn what the second promise meant.

  I got the brown into a gallop after that, and we rolled straight on toward those teepees that meant either heaven or a very real hell to us. When we were a furlong from the tents, a swarm of young bucks came shooting out toward us, all armed to the teeth, but chiefly with bows and arrows. When they saw that there were only two of us, and that we were apparently running away from the horsemen to the rear, they opened up and let us go through to the teepees.

  As we galloped on, Morris turned his head to me and said: "Sioux!"

  My heart jumped into my throat with joy. "What'll we do in the village?" I called to Morris.

  "Keep your mouth shut and do what I do," he said.

  IN THE CAMP OF THE SIOUX

  The whole village was astir as we rode in. The women and the children were raising a tremendous ruction, and the men were leaping onto the backs of their horses and whirling away to meet whatever danger might be coming on. Morris made for the biggest teepee in the lot. When he came to it, he jumped down from the gray and walked up to a tall Indian who was standing in front of the tent. He was very big for an Indian - within an inch of Morris's own great height and very well made. He was partially gathered in a robe, but the folds of it had slipped from his right shoulder and exposed a huge arm that glistened and bulged with strength. He had the most savage and impassive face I have ever seen, even among his own kind. Behind him stood a squaw with his rifle ready. On the other side was a young girl, holding his horse by the reins. I dismounted as Morris had done and waited.

  Chuck went straight to the big chief and waved to his gray mare. He said something in a harsh guttural, and it was not hard for me to tell that he was offering the chief the mare as a present. It was as if he had offered part of his own flesh and blood. The big fellow gave the mare one glance, then he turned to my brown gelding and walked around it, searching it from head to foot. I could see what was going on inside his brain. That gelding was a beauty, as I have said before, and built for both strength and speed, yet it had been run to a rag, and here was the mare, carrying forty pounds more and comparatively as fresh as a daisy. When he had satisfied himself that the brown was a real horse, he gave one more glance at the mare, and then he turned to meet the Cheyennes.

  There were a dozen of them who had been brought into the village by a sizable escort of the Sioux. There were perhaps fifty more gathering beyond the outskirts of the little town, waiting to learn what luck their spokesmen would have. The oldest of the twelve walked in advance of the others. He was a wicked-looking old rascal, and, as he came closer, he gave me a glance that was a foretaste of fire and other torments that would be mine if he got me into his hands. From that instant I never left my revolver out of my grip. If they tried to take me, I was determined to die fighting and keep a last bullet for myself.

  Black Feather - for it was he - went to the Sioux chief and began to talk with a good deal of excitement. Now and again he turned to give a point to his remarks by waving at us, and every time he turned there was a red glint from his eyes and a white flash of his teeth. I've never seen anything so wolfish. Sometimes, as he talked, great shudders ran through his body, he was so eager to get at us.

  The Sioux let him talk himself out without saying a word. As Black Feather ended, he laid a perfectly good rifle and a quantity of beads at the feet of the big chief. Then the rest of the twelve came up and each had his say, most of them using fewer words than Black Feather, but every whit as much emotion. Each, as he finished, put down something in front of the big fellow. It was as plain as plain could be that they were offering a price for the pair of us. And in terms of Indian wealth, what a price they were offering in rifles, powder and lead, and beads and knives and little trinkets. When the last of the twelve had spoken, Black Feather stepped up for a final shot. He pointed to the heap of plunder at the feet of our host. Then he waved to the sky and struck his breast. He was declaring, I suppose, that, if the ugly giant would take the bribe, he would also receive the eternal friendship of the Cheyennes, both past and present.

  The manner of the Sioux, in the meantime, was thoroughly Roman and perfectly delightful. Not a muscle in his face stirred. He looked each man in the face, in turn. When Black Feather had ended his second jargon, the Cheyenne horse thief turned on me, because I was nearest, and reached out a hand toward me. I was ready to sink a bullet in his brain when I heard a deep-voiced monosyllable from the Sioux. I did not need a translator to tell me that the word was "No!" Oh, sweetest of all music and most beautiful of all words.

  There stood the Sioux, pointing down to the heap of loot and shaking his head. The price was not high enough. There began a hurried roar of voices, each of the twelve registering his protest, but the Sioux stopped it with a single wave of his hand. After that, all talk ended. Each of the twelve emissaries in silence picked up his rejected gift, and they trooped out. Each, as he went, gave me a side glance that cut like a whip.

  Black Feather, the rearmost of the procession, turned suddenly around and delivered himself of half a minute of concentrated hate and defiance. I knew that he was telling the Sioux that another day was coming when the memory of what was happening now would be poison. Our host said nothing in reply. Not until the Cheyennes were well out of the village - not until on their return a wild yell of disappointment and rage had gone up from their fellow wolves - did the big man speak, and then it was only a guttural murmur. It brought another squaw straightway from the tent. She went to the gray mare, stripped off saddle and bridle, and led the gentle beauty away by the mane, until they disappeared behind the tent. Oh, wise chief. He had been able to read horseflesh value with a very sure eye. Now that the mare was his, he turned on his heel, lifted the flap of the teepee, and disappeared inside. The two other squaws went off. Morris and I were left alone, except for a few gaping, naked children.

  "I'm sorry about the mare," I told him.

  He gave me a frowning glance that said it would be best to avoid that tender topic. Then he said: "I don't know whether we're lucky or unlucky. This fellow who has turned the Cheyennes about their business is Standing Bear himself."

  "I never heard of him," I said.

  "You've never heard of a great deal that you ought to know," said Morris tersely. "Anyway, he is a great man in his nation. No one agrees about him. Everyone admits that he's a bang-up warrior... a real fighter fit for any company. But some say he's a cunning devil. Others swear that he's a fine fellow. The first guess looks nearest the truth to me."

  "A great deal," I agreed. "He's taken one of our horses, and now he as much as says ...go about your business. He's saved us from the Cheyennes for a moment, but what will happen when we try to leave this village?"

  Morris nodded. He dropped his head for a moment in thought, then he nodded to me, as much as to say: "I have it." Then he stepped forward, lifted the flap of the teepee, and entered. I was at his heels. Inside we found the three squaws I had noticed already, together with a fourth one. By that I knew that whatever he might be in war, Standing Bear was certainly a great man in time of peace. There was much more comfort in this teepee than I had expected to find in an Indian's habitation. The tent itself was stretched around very long, strong poles, and it was made of buffalo skins sewed firmly together with rawhide. These skins were painted
on the inside with flaring pictures of hunting scenes. As studies of anatomy the figures were not masterpieces, of course, but they always seemed wonderfully bright and cheerful to me. There were four small basket beds, filled with buffalo robes, and one big one. In a corner were packages of dried meat. There were clumsily made racks, here and there. Some of them were filled with bows and arrows. And there were three excellent rifles of the latest make. I could not help wondering if the chief had secured them by honest purchase. There were other things in the tent. For instance, there were heaps of buffalo robes for everyone to sit on. The other details I can't remember. At least, these were the main articles of every Indian household.

  It was an ideal scene of domestic thrift, in a way. Standing Bear was looking over the mechanism of a rifle, taking it carefully apart and knotting his brows over it. I knew by that he was an exceptional Indian, for as a rule they are willing to take a rifle for granted. They class all machinery with the mysteries of life. The four squaws were beading moccasins. Every hand in the group was busy. Their tongues were not a whit less active. Only Standing Bear went on with his work without giving us a glance, but the women poured out a tide of talk that never ended. All the time they were prying at us with their eyes, making new discoveries, and then talking over their opinions with one another in the most naive manner. I was frightfully embarrassed, both because of their chatter, and because I felt that we were forcibly intruding ourselves on the chief's household. However, Morris was magnificent. He took a pipe out of his pocket and lighted it. He went on smoking as though this were the most ordinary scene in his life, and he gave them back look for look. Those big, clear blue eyes of his were always a heavy weight for even a white man to bear, and I have never seen an Indian, man or woman, whose glance did not flick downward after fronting Morris for a moment.

  After a time he finished his pipe, knocked the ashes out, and made a motion with his hand to his lips. The youngest squaw got up at once and brought us some dried buffalo meat. It was tough chewing, but I was famished and thought I had never tasted anything so good. After that, they brought us water. And there we sat. What would be the end of the play I could not imagine.

  Presently Standing Bear got up, threw open the flap of the teepee, and, looking at us, he pointed outdoors. He could not have said more plainly: "You have rested enough. Now kindly take yourselves off." I got ready to stand up until I saw that Morris had no intention of stirring. He was smoking again, and he continued to puff in a dreamy, contented way, looking at big Standing Bear as though the chief were no more than another painting on the side of the tent.

  I would not have been surprised if the Indian had snatched out his knife and come for us, but after a frowning moment he went out. Then the squaws tried their hands at us. Gestures, fluent Indian prattle, were nothing to Morris. He kept a face as composed as granite. The youngest sat down beside him, began to smile and nod, and then rose, still talking, and went toward the entrance, looking back at him. Even this was not enough. Morris looked at her with a bland lack of understanding.

  Night dropped over the village. The fire in the center of the teepee threw a wild, red light on the faces of the Indians and over the long golden hair of Morris. Then Standing Bear returned. He gave us a dark look, then muttered a word to the squaws, and they brought us two buffalo robes apiece. Morris had won again.

  A LAST STAND

  There we spent the night. At first I thought that I should never close my eyes in so strange a place. For, if I did, might I not be wakened by the point of a knife? Might not my last glimpse of life be the thousandth part of a second during which the blade slid into my heart? My own scalp would not be very highly prized, of course, but the long blond tresses of Chuck Morris would be an immense addition to the trophies of even so great a chief as Standing Bear. Just as this thought came to me, I heard the deep, regular breathing of Morris, and an instant later I was buried under a towering wave of sleep.

  In the morning we were up at daybreak, as the whole camp began to stir. Standing Bear's squaws gave us breakfast, and then we ventured out of the teepee. The first thing we saw, on a hillock outside of the village, was a Cheyenne, sitting on his horse like a copper statue, waiting. Waiting for us, of course. The moment we left the Sioux, the wolves would be after us. Morris and I stared at that rascal and then at one another. We did not need to speak, but we decided silently at that moment that nothing but sheer physical force should drive us out of the village.

  We received a good deal of attention and quite a bit of admiration. Afterward we understood why. The Cheyennes, in telling their reasons for wanting us, had described the night attack on them, and that description put us down as great warriors in spite of our youth. We were allowed to go where we pleased, and we put ourselves out to be agreeable, smiling and nodding whenever anyone looked at us. I asked Morris if we were safe now, and he said that he did not know. One could never tell what would come into the heads of Indians, whether they were Sioux or others. What most impressed me was the immense cheerfulness in that little town. There was a continual babble of voices, and there was a great air of industry. That was given by the women, of course. Your real Sioux warrior knows that work is beneath him. He supplies the food and does the fighting. As for the disagreeable duties that must be performed about the teepee every day, he does not even notice them.

  When the mid-morning sun grew hot, almost the entire lot of young braves and boys went down to the river that flowed near the village. We dived in with the rest, where the current flowed wide through a little lake. The water was warm and clear; the bottom was sprinkled with shining pebbles and great golden drifts of sand. It was very pleasant to drift down the stream, then turn and fight one's way up again. I soon saw that I was the worst swimmer in the lot. Morris was magnificent in the water, as he was on the land. His long, powerful strokes carried him along with the foam bubbling around his big shoulders. But for actual speed Morris could not compare with even the worst of the Indians. Boys and men, they glided along like watersnakes. They seemed almost as fast under the surface as on top, and they were repeatedly going down for pebbles and coming up laughing with a prize, only to throw it away again when, out of the water, it appeared as merely a dull rock.

  In the midst of the fun, a gleaming, copper shadow slid along under me. I was caught suddenly by the neck, and down I went. I struck out with my fists, but the water dulled the force of my blows. I had only a confused impression of a bronze-skinned monster, dragging me down. When I was almost choked, he released me, and I came gasping and spitting to the surface with the laughter and the mockery sounding far and faint through the roaring in my ears.

  Just as my head began to clear, the attacker shot through the water again and dumped me under the surface once more. I was furious because he was making a fool of me. This time, when I came up to the surface, I had sense enough to head in for the shore. By the time I had reached the shallows, the big fellow was after me once more, but now I could turn on him with a firm footing to hold me up. That made a different story of it at once.

  I grappled him, and, although he was a full-grown warrior, he was nothing in my hands. My grip was twice his. In addition, he knew little of wrestling, because the Indians show little science in that art. So, after a brief flurry, I had him lying on his face in the water, struggling and kicking in vain. Not until he began to grow weak did I let him out. Then he was so far gone that I had to drag him ashore. He lay for a time on his back, gasping and coughing. Then he got up and went slowly back into the village. I looked about, expecting a little applause, but everyone was very sober. Morris came up to me at once.

  "Go ashore," he said as he came by. "You've made a fool of yourself, and maybe you've put us bom in danger again."

  "What have I done?" I asked. "Was I to get myself half drowned without hitting back?"

  "Play is play among the Sioux, and nobody ever dreams of making a fight out of a game."

  I could see that he was rather disgusted with me. But I
saw nothing wrong in what I had done until Standing Bear himself came over the horizon and made for me, riding Morris's beautiful gray mare. He pulled up in front of us, but he addressed Morris, not me. He spoke to us in very good English, the rascal, though I had not dreamed that he understood a word of the language.

  "A wise chief," he said, "keeps his young men in order. Spotted Buck" - that was the name of the young brave who had had the tussle with me - "is very sad and is stringing his bow. The Cheyennes have gone. The trails from this city are easy to follow, friend."

  Morris nodded, then he answered: "This young man," he said, pointing to me, "is very simple. He knows how to fight, but not how to play. He is not a beaver at home in the water. He is a badger. He is very sorry about Spotted Buck and wishes to smoke a pipe with him. Besides, he says that Standing Bear is his father, and he wishes to give his father a knife which cuts leather as the sun cuts through ice. It has an edge that never turns."

  With that, he reached out and took my hunting knife out of its sheath and gave the handle into the palm of Standing Bear. The chief weighed it for a moment with a blank face. Then he flipped back his hand and shot the knife down. It was buried to the hilt in the hard ground and remained there, humming. Then Standing Bear turned his back on us and rode away.

  "You see?" Morris said. "You've managed to get us thrown out of the camp by your infernal fighting. Great heavens, Lew, were your hands given to you for nothing but tussling?"

  I was sorry we were in such a scrape, but I was glad to have that knife back, and I reached for it.

  Morris caught me by the shoulder and jerked me upright. "You idiot," he said. "After giving a thing away, do you think you can take it back again? Standing Bear will probably send a squaw after that knife pretty soon, and, if he finds that it is gone, he'll probably turn us out of the village at once."