CHAPTER XVII.

THE BOY EMBASSADORS.

“There’s more ways than one to kill a cat,” remarked Robbins, bringing his Yankee shrewdness to bear upon this perplexing question. “What’s to hinder Multuomah from crossing the river some distance above with half his force, and so prevent the Prophet from retreating back to his village?”

Glyndon brightened up at this suggestion.

“That’s the idea, by Jericho!” he exclaimed. “I’ve always heard that two heads were better than one.”

“Even if one is a cabbage-head,” supplied Robbins, laughingly.

“I didn’t say that—though I don’t know whose head you allude to,” rejoined Glyndon, with a grim facetiousness. “But you have just hit the idea. Let the boys go. You can give Smoholler a wrinkle of what’s in store for him, Percy, if he don’t give up the girl; and when you come back safe we’ll just wake up these Smohollers lively.”

“I am in hopes to bring Oneotah back with me,” responded Percy Vere. “There are some good traits in this Prophet, notwithstanding his objection to having a railroad run through his territory. Nor do I believe he can be surprised.”

“You don’t?”

“No; I think his familiarity with this country will afford him an avenue of escape.”

Glyndon shook his head in his dubious manner.

“Not if Multuomah and I get after him,” he rejoined. “I think we can make things unpleasant for the Smohollers, eh, chief?”

“If my warriors will second me, he can not escape us,” answered Multuomah; “but I prefer that he should give up Oneotah and depart in peace. I have no other cause of quarrel against him.”

“But if he will not?” said Blaikie. “If he still persists in obstructing our survey?”

“The Nez Perces will guard your advance, and if they are attacked by the Prophet’s braves, they will know how to defend themselves,” replied Multuomah. “They believe that the white man has power to break the strength of the Prophet’s medicine.”

“That’s lucky, and they’ll fight all the better for it,” said Robbins. “Our survey is all right; your party guarantees that. One good turn deserves another, and so we’ll do our best to get your girl for you. Let the boys go as embassadors to Smoholler—I don’t think they run any risk—and demand the girl, and give him an intimation of what he may expect if he tries to trouble us any further.”

Lieutenant Gardiner, Blaikie, and Glyndon were of this opinion, and so the boys prepared for their return to the Prophet. Percy Vere obtained a small branch of a tree to which he affixed a white handkerchief, to serve as a flag of truce. They left the rifles in the camp, but took with them their revolvers and bowie-knives, though they did not think they would have occasion to use either. Thus prepared they left the breastwork, and walked across the open place toward the mouth of the ravine.

The surveyors, the lieutenant, the old hunter and the chief watched the boys curiously, as they walked over this rocky plateau. The sun was sinking, and its declining beams streamed ruddily through the gap in the cliffs, and shed a kind of halo around the boys as they proceeded.

They stepped forward lightly, and with an easy carriage that showed no apprehension of danger lurked in their young hearts.

The watchers behind the breastwork had soon a startling evidence of the vigilance of Smoholler’s sentinels. Before the boys reached the mouth of the ravine, a light form sprung from between the rocks and bounded toward them—the form, apparently of an Indian boy, wearing an antelope’s head. Oneotah, thus attired, presented a grotesque appearance to the eyes of the beholders. It almost seemed to them as if the animal the head represented was advancing upon its hind-legs, in a series of graceful jumps, to greet the boys.

Oneotah was quickly followed by the tall form of the Prophet, in all his fanciful costume and hideous war-paint. Then, as if by magic, from behind rocks, and from the thickets that skirted the mouth of the ravine, sprung forth a score of Indian warriors, gorgeous in paint and feathers, and the glittering tinsel of their barbaric dress, and each one brandishing a rifle, whose bright barrel glittered in the sunlight.

“Great Jericho! there’s a slew of ’em!” cried Glyndon, as he beheld them. “Fifty of ’em, if there’s one. Ah! the Prophet’s playing a game of brag with us. Wants to show us that he has got enough braves, as he thinks, to wipe us out. He don’t know that Multuomah and his Nez Perces are here, that’s evident.”

Percy Cute was by no means intimidated by this display, for he immediately reversed his position by a hand-spring, and walking toward the Prophet on his hands, offered him one of his feet to shake hands with.

Instead of resenting this action, the Prophet entered into the spirit of it, for he caught Percy Cute by the foot, and with a vigorous motion, that showed his strength of arm, spun the boy up in the air, and Cute descended upon his feet, resuming his proper attitude, and making a bow, after the manner of a gymnast in a circus, as he did so.

During this, Oneotah gave her hand to Percy Vere, and they disappeared together through the mouth of the ravine. Smoholler and Cute followed them, and when the rocks hid them from view, not an Indian warrior was to be seen. They seemed to have melted away among the rocks and trees before which they had been standing, disappearing with a noiseless celerity.

As the tall form of the Prophet, rendered more conspicuous by his richly-bedizened cloak, was lost to view, the sun’s rays, which had illuminated this rocky gorge, were suddenly withdrawn, and a gloom, like a pall, settled over the little valley.

The change, though due to natural causes, came so suddenly as to appear peculiar; and the sudden disappearance of the Prophet and his warriors seemed almost supernatural. There is little doubt that the wily chieftain, knowing that the boys’ progress through the ravine would be watched by their friends, had artfully arranged the whole scene to make it as impressive as possible upon the minds of the beholders.

If this was indeed the case, the effect produced upon the inmates of the surveyors’ camp was all that he could have desired.

As the gloom of night descended, so also did a gloom settle upon Gummery Glyndon’s spirits, and he shook his long, gray locks discontentedly.

“There’s trickery here, and deviltry, and what not!” he cried. “Why, the Prophet was expecting the boys back—was all ready for them; and yet it was ten chances to one against their trusting themselves in his hands again.”

Robbins took a more favorable view of the matter.

“I differ with you there,” he said. “He must have seen Percy Vere’s great anxiety to learn tidings of his father, and so artfully worked upon his feelings to bring him back to him.”

Glyndon shook his head again; but he could not shake away the sudden foreboding that had seized upon his mind.

“Do you think he can tell the boy any thing about his father?” he returned.

“Ah! you are too much for me there; but it is not out of the range of probability. Who knows but what the father came this way, and that Smoholler knows something of his fate?”

Glyndon was impressed by this.

“That’s so,” he admitted.

“His spirits can tell him,” interrupted Multuomah.

The surveyors and Gardiner turned a surprised look upon the young chief.

“Do you believe in his spirits?” they demanded, in a breath.

The young chief smiled.

“Do not you, when you have seen them?” he rejoined.

“It’s all a flam!” cried Glyndon. “The only spirit I ever knew an Injun to have is whisky, and they are particularly fond of it. He can’t tell the boys any thing that way. You saw the Antelope Boy?” he added, suddenly, impressed by a new idea.

“Yes,” answered Multuomah.

“Was it Oneotah?”

“I can not say. Who could tell her in that dress?”

Glyndon shook his head sagely.

“He’s fixed her for a purpose that way so nobody can tell her—the boys said as much,” he responded.

“She—if it is she—is under no restraint, and does his bidding willingly. He’s cast some spell upon her, and that’s what he wants of the boys—he’ll humbug them to go to his village with him, and make them useful to him. He saw they were smart, and he wants them. His telling them about giving them news of Percy’s father is all a humbug.”

“Do you think so?” asked Blaikie, surprisedly.

“I just do.”

“Then, why did you let them go?”

“I was a dunce to do so! But I kind of thought the Prophet might know something, and then the boys were so anxious to go. However, that can’t be helped now; but we must surround the Prophet, and prevent him from carrying them off.”

“Let us set about it, and not waste any more time in anticipating an evil that may never occur,” suggested Lieutenant Gardiner. “Let Multuomah send half his force over here, and then intercept the Prophet’s retreat with the rest. We will wait here until morning, and then force a passage through the ravine. The sound of our rifles will be his signal to advance upon his side. With the force at my disposal, we can soon overpower the Prophet’s band.”

“Your head’s level, leftenant, and that’s just what we will do,” replied Glyndon; “and now let’s have some supper.”