CHAPTER VI.

A HAPPY MEETING.

Two months passed succeeding the events already recorded.

The scene is laid in an Indian village on the banks of the Sweetwater river, and the hour just before sunset.

In a lodge, considerably larger than the others, the curtain-door of which is lifted, sits a young girl, gazing out upon the river and woodlands.

Her head is supported on her hand, a look of deep sadness overspreads her features, and her soft, dark eyes are full of tears. It is Marion Verne, who, since the night of her capture, has been a prisoner among the Indians. She was adopted by the sachem of the tribe, to be a companion for his daughter, and had been treated with kindness. But she felt as if utterly forsaken—so far from home and friends, with no one but savages for company, and with no prospect of escape. Could she spend her life with these creatures? she asked herself for the hundredth time. No; a thousand times no; and yet how could she avert her fate? Of late a new trouble had come upon her. A young chief, named the Panther, had offered her the honor of becoming his squaw, and as An-ga-ta, (the sachem,) favored his suit, the poor girl was in despair.

Her musings were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Neenah, the daughter of An-ga-ta.

“My sister is sad,” she said, in broken English, which she had learned from Marion. “Can Neenah help her? She does not like to see the Dark Eyes unhappy.”

“Would not Neenah be sad if An-ga-ta wished her to marry a brave she did not love?” asked Marion.

The Indian girl nodded. “Neenah would. Does not the Dark Eyes love the Panther? He is very good and brave. Long ago he had eyes for Neenah and ears for her words. Since Dark Eyes came he sees only her,” said the girl, sadly.

“Why does he leave you, to seek one who is of another people?” asked Marion.

“His heart has forgotten Neenah,” replied the girl. “He is now talking with An-ga-ta. He wants my sister.”

“Oh!” said Marion, “I can not marry him! If your father would only let me go to my people!”

At that moment a shadow crossed the doorway, and the great sachem entered. Seating himself gravely, he continued in silence for some minutes.

“The Panther seeks the Dark Eyes,” he said at last. “He would have her to tan his skins, and keep his lodge-fire burning. When three suns shall pass, the marriage-feast will be eaten and the Dark Eyes be given to the Panther. Let her prepare.”

So saying the chief arose, and folding his blanket around him left the lodge, leaving Marion bewildered and despairing. She sat for a long time weeping bitterly, and paying little heed to Neenah’s expression of sympathy, and then retired to her couch.

All the long night she lay awake, thinking over the chief’s words, and trying to devise some plan of escape. So far from finding any, she only grew bewildered thinking of it, and with the first rays of dawn fell into an uneasy sleep.

The day passed drearily enough, and night came again and passed, and yet Marion was undecided how to act. The morning of the second day she arose, and dressing herself hastily, went out. She had always been allowed to walk about the village, the Indians knowing that there was no danger of her attempting to escape. To escape from them would only be to fall into the claws of some wild beast, or perish in the wilds from hunger and exposure. The day wore on while she rambled about, or sat in the shade of bushes on the river’s bank, gazing into its shining depths, and thinking of her circumstances. This was the last day of her freedom—if the morrow found her here, she would be made the wife of the Panther, according to Indian law. The thought was horrible! Every moment she grew more desperate. What could she do? Could she fly from the village and find her way to civilization? It was one hundred miles to Fort Laramie; could she ever reach there on foot? There was a bare chance of her falling in with some emigrants, yet it was hardly a chance, at all, so improbable was it. There were nine chances out of ten that she would perish before she could reach any fort or settlement, but death was far preferable to living with an Indian. She determined to try for her life.

Going leisurely through the village with some flowers in her hands, she attracted no unusual attention, and arrived at the chieftain’s lodge just after the hour of noon. She waited patiently till night, and retired as usual. She was somewhat puzzled to know how to leave the lodge without Neenah’s knowledge, as they occupied one couch. Trusting to Providence, she lay down as usual, and waited. For a while the Indian girl tossed about the couch, but, at length, her deep, regular breathing gave evidence that she was asleep. But not yet could our heroine start. The village had not subsided into quiet.

She waited, hoping and fearing, until it was midnight.

Neenah still slept.

Rising silently, Marion robed herself, and with great care not to arouse the Indian girl, nor the chief, stole into the outer room of the lodge. She knew that, in there, was some jerked venison, and a small cake, made of corn meal. These she meant to take with her.

In this room slept the sachem, and Marion’s heart beat rapidly as she entered. If he awoke, and saw her! His couch was in one corner, and the girl slowly and silently crossed the room. She had reached the venison and cake, and was returning, when the sachem moved, and evidently thinking he heard something, half arose! Quick as thought, Marion sunk down and waited. The chief glanced around the apartment, and not seeing the crouching figure, and hearing nothing, with a sleepy “Ugh!” composed himself for sleep.

Breathlessly, Marion crouched on the floor, not daring to stir, lest he should be aroused.

Ten, fifteen minutes passed; then the girl rose softly and flitted out. Gliding through her room, she noiselessly untied the outer door of skins and passed out. Closing it behind her, she paused a moment to look around. Every thing was quiet and in darkness. The night was rather cloudy, but still light enough for objects to be quite distinct at a few rods distant.

With a beating heart and a murmured prayer, the maiden threaded her way between the lodges, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, and moving with the utmost caution and silence. Meeting with no obstacles, she very soon cleared the village, and stood outside in the silence and gloom.

For a moment her heart failed her. Before her lay the wide forests and extended plains, the abode of wild animals and savage Indians, and but for these, and an occasional trapper, utterly in solitude!

Marion was not very courageous by nature, and the darkness and wildness before her made her tremble with dread; but, one thought of what lay behind nerved her, and she stepped boldly forward. At any moment her absence might be discovered, and this made her quicken her steps. The clouds obscured the stars, but, turning her face in the direction she supposed Fort Laramie to be, she hastened forward, not dreaming that, in her haste and excitement, she was going directly from it!

Wearily the girl traveled on, growing at length so tired that she could hardly stand; but, anxious to get away still further from the pursuers, who, she felt certain, were, before this time, on her track, she stumbled forward, until the first yellow light in the east drew her attention. Then, to her despair, she discovered her error. All these weary miles she had gone the wrong way!

Worn out and exhausted, she searched for a spot where she would be screened from observation, to lie down and rest. Besides, she dared not travel by day. Selecting a little thicket of bushes and vines she threw herself on the ground, and tired and weary, soon fell asleep.

All day long she thus rested, waking but once or twice; but late in the afternoon she was aroused by a rough touch on her arm. Starting up, she beheld the Panther bending over her, and several other Indians standing near!

Once more a prisoner!

The chief took her up without a word, and placed her on a mustang, which he evidently had brought for her use. Thus mounted, they started toward the village, the other Indians following at some distance on foot. The Panther made no remark, but he kept his hand on her bridle-rein.

They rode slowly for some distance. The wretched maiden had not uttered a word, and seemed to be totally passive. The Panther congratulated himself on his easy success. But, while Marion was silent, she was not unnerved. True, she was almost in despair, but she resolved that she _would not_ go back to the village. Yet, _how_ to escape?

While she was revolving the matter in her mind, the Indians behind got into some kind of a dispute, which attracted the Panther’s attention. Halting, he for a moment dropped the rein and began to talk to them. Taking advantage of his inattention, Marion suddenly raised her deer-thong whip and struck her horse a stinging blow. The enraged animal started off like a shot.

The savages behind, in their hot anger did not stop their dispute, until the chief yelled furiously at them, which he did in a very menacing manner. Seeing there was no likelihood of overtaking his charge, he called out to the others to shoot her horse, himself setting the example.

Meantime Marion, with the courage born of desperation, was urging her horse forward in the deep twilight of the woods, when a shower of bullets flew like hail around her. One, more steadily aimed than the others, struck her steed, and he fell beneath her. Springing off, as she felt him sinking, she darted forward into the thickest of the undergrowth, the fearful yells of the savages making her blood curdle.

As she worked her way forward in the thicket, she caught a glimpse, as she passed it, of a large cottonwood, growing within a small clump of bushes. Into this cover she drew herself. To her great surprise, she discovered a small opening in the giant tree. It was so nearly hidden as to be almost invisible. It appeared large enough to afford a retreat, and she hastily wedged herself in it, arranging the little clump of surrounding bushes so as to entirely hide it.

She had barely done so when the Indians burst into the opening, and ran whooping and yelling in every direction around the tree, and passing so close that Marion trembled lest the loud throbbing of her heart should betray her.

The savages beat the bushes all around, and for some distance in advance, of course without success. The constantly deepening darkness made every minute add to her security. In a half-hour’s time the savages were gone. Waiting awhile, she at length, with excessive caution, ventured out, and hurried away from the spot as fast as possible. After walking about three miles she came to the edge of the plain. It was very dark, and afar off she heard the howl of the wolves. She shuddered lest the fierce animals should get on her track. There was but little light from the stars, but shaping her course by the little there was, she went wearily on. She was getting fearfully tired, and feeling almost as if she did not care whether she lived or died, when she caught sight of a small light, apparently a couple of miles distant. It was evidently the camp-fire of some one, but whether of friend or savage foe she could not tell.

After considering the matter awhile she concluded to go forward, feeling confident that she could get close enough to ascertain whether it was whites or Indians before she would be discovered. Accordingly she hastened on, and when within twenty rods of the fire, began to be very cautious. The fire had died down to a bed of smoldering coals, and the light it afforded was not sufficient to reveal the forms around it.

As she flitted about, continually changing her position to enable her to see better, and gradually drawing nearer the fire, she was electrified by hearing a rough but good-natured voice exclaim:

“Would it be ill-mannered in me tew politely ask ye whar ye might be goin’?”

The maiden stopped with a joyful cry. It was the voice of a friend, although a stranger. While she stood silent, a tall, slab-sided, long-nosed man advanced from the darkness, and came up to her, trailing a long rifle.

“’Tain’t offen I see a woman,” he said, looking at her as if struck by a sudden idea; “tharfore ye’ll considerately excuse my manners. Jist let me ask if yer name is Marion Verne?”

“It is,” replied Marion. “May I ask who you are, and how you happened to see me?”

“Nat Rogers, at yer sarvice,” replied the trapper, for it was none other than he. “An’ as for seein’ ye, I ginerally have my optickles peeled. I’ve been follerin’ ye ’round ever since ye ’gan tew look at thet fire out thar. Ye’ll find some friends out thar. Let’s be pokin’ thet way. I konklude thet ye got away from the Injuns.”

“I escaped last night,” replied Marion, as they approached the fire.

As they came up, Vic Potter sprung to his feet with wild ejaculations, and Marion saw behind him a dark visage, distorted with a broad grin of wonder and pleasure.

“Varmints! Is it actually Marion?” cried Vic, taking her hand and giving it a hearty shake.

“It certainly is,” replied the girl, with a smile. “Why—Wayne!”

The young man came forward, his handsome face aglow with pleasure.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said, simply; but the words brought a blush to Marion’s face. “How glad you may imagine, when I tell you that I never expected to see you again. How in the world did you come here?”

“I will tell you presently,” she replied, shaking hands with the grinning Scip. And then she relayed to her earnest listeners all that had befallen her.

“It is fortunate I found you. I don’t think I could have reached Fort Laramie alive.”

“Know ye couldn’t,” said Wild Nat. “Ye’d starved tew death ’fore ye got half-way there.”

The little party felt very merry and laughed and talked till a late hour. Wild Nat was “moved” to relate some large stories.

“Golly,” said Scip. “Dese skeeters is mighty sassy. Der _awful_ big, too! Yah, but dey bites sharp!”

“Pooh,” said Wild Nat, “these ain’t _nothin’_ tew what I’ve seen. When I war down in Texas I seen _skeeters_. They war big as woodpeckers.”

“Oh, g’way now!” remonstrated Scip. “’S if I didn’t kno’ dar neber war no skeeters big ’s dat ar’! ’Tain’t in de line o’ reason, dat ain’t.”

“It’s so,” said the trapper, gravely. “Ye see, Scip, in the hot countries they grow bigger. I’ve seen ’em quite often as big as young turkeys, an’ skeeters the size of woodpeckers warn’t nothin’ uncommon!”

Scip said no more, but became very serious.

“Let’s roll up an’ snooze,” said Vic. “I’m gittin’ sleepy, an’ we must be off airly. The Injuns will be arter the lady, an’ we’ll stan’ a chance of gittin’ rubbed out ef we don’t make tracks lively. S’pose we’ll have tew go tew the cave for the present, an’ lay low till thar animosity cools off a little, ’fore startin’ for civilization.”

“How far is it to the cave you speak of?” asked Marion.

“’Bout fifteen miles,” replied Vic.

And then they lapsed into slumber.

Morning broke bright and clear, and the little party were off for the cave in good season. There was no immediate danger apprehended, and they rode at a moderate pace, enjoying the fresh breeze and the exhilarating influence of the ride. When about ten miles from their rendezvous, they perceived a large herd of buffalo quietly feeding about a mile distant.

“I’d like some sport with ’em,” said Wild Nat. “It’s tew bad tew let sich a chance as thet go. But we’ll have tew, I opine. ’Twon’t do tew keep the little ’un here an’ have her in danger of Injuns.” And the trapper gazed after the herd with a sigh.

“Tell ye what I’ll dew,” said Vic, halting his horse. “I’ll take Marion to the cave, an’ ye can all stay an’ hunt ef ye like. ’Twould be a good plan tew hev some fresh meat. What say?”

“E-pluribus,” exclaimed Wild Nat; “jist the show! Kent, ye jist hand Marion tew Vic, an’ in about tew jerks of a beaver’s tail we’ll snatch some o’ them bufflers by the tail, an’ pull thar skins off over thar horns.”

Accordingly, Marion, who for want of a horse had been obliged to ride behind Kent, mounted behind Vic, and the two kept on their way to the cave, while the others started on the hunt.