CHAPTER XXVIII

RUNNING ELK, THE SIOUX CHIEF

IN spite of their struggles the two boys were made prisoners, as was the Mandan warrior. There seemed to be fully a score of the hostile braves; but Dick, as soon as he could look around him, after such rough handling, told his cousin they were not on the warpath, because they had not painted themselves, nor did they wear the feathers in their hair that would indicate a foray, and an expected battle.

It was evidently a hunting party in quest of fresh meat, and they had taken chances of falling in with some of their enemies in thus coming to the salt-lick, hoping to find game there.

They seemed greatly interested in the guns taken from the white boys. Apparently these were an almost unknown thing among the Sioux, who hunted with bows and arrows in those early days, just as their ancestors had done before them.

"What do you suppose they'll do with us?" asked Roger, who looked forlorn. He had a scratch on his cheek, from which his face had become smeared with blood, although in answer to Dick's anxious question he said that it did not amount to anything.

"Take us to their village, I'm afraid," Dick answered, shortly, for he was trying to figure out some plan that offered at least a shred of hope; but, after many attempts, he was obliged to confess that he could see little relief ahead.

There followed considerable jabbering among the warriors. It seemed as though they were disputing about something, although Dick fancied that this was only their way of conversing.

"Do you think one side wants to put us to the torture right away, and the other is for holding out till they get back to their village?" asked Roger, nervously; for, in spite of his stout heart, the prospect was enough to alarm any one.

"No, I don't believe it's quite as bad as that," replied his cousin, trying to assume a confidence he was far from feeling. "They're just having a palaver about whether to head straight back home, or continue the hunt. That is, I guess as much from the way they point toward the northwest, and then at us."

"But what will happen when we get there, Dick? Can't you think up something to get us out of this scrape?" asked Roger, turning as usual to his stronger cousin, when trouble descended upon them.

"I'm trying the best I know how, Roger, but so far I've thought of nothing that would help us. But we must keep up brave hearts. Even the warlike Sioux have no reason to hate you and me. We have never hurt them in any way, and the most they can have against us is that we're white boys, and have come to their country without asking permission from Running Elk, their great chief."

"But will they put us to the torture, as they do their red enemies whenever they make them prisoner?" Roger asked.

"Perhaps not," answered his companion. "They may take a notion to adopt us into their tribe. Don't you think, Roger, that we'd make pretty good-looking Sioux braves? Both of us have dark hair, and, with some feathers in it, we'd pass for Indians right now. I've only got one little hope outside of that."

"Then please tell me what it is, Dick, because things look so dark ahead of us."

"Stop and remember, Roger, how it was when we were on that island, with the angry waters creeping up, and threatening to make us swim for it--we said then it was darkest before dawn, and didn't it turn out to be that way? Well, how can we tell but what the same thing may happen to us now, and that out of this capture by the Sioux great good may come?"

"I only wish I had half your faith, Dick," sighed Roger; "but they've made up their minds what to do, and are turning this way, as if meaning to start off on a long tramp. Tell me before they come for us what that one little hope is, that you said you could see. And I pray that it may turn out for the best."

"It is our guns, Roger," the other went on hastily.

"What about them?" demanded Roger. "We will never be given a chance to snatch them away from the braves who are now carrying them so proudly. And, even if we did, what would two shots mean among twenty foes?"

"You don't understand me," Dick replied. "Our guns are an object of curiosity to every warrior. They will be sure to carry them to the big chief, as his property. Of course not one of them knows a thing about how the 'shooting-sticks' are used to make the great noise, and cause the game to fall down, while no arrow is seen to shoot through the air. Then he will send for us, perhaps, and make us an offer to spare our lives if we will show him how to fire the guns, and be taken into the tribe. Yes, I think our only hope lies in the secret of shooting the fire and smoke from those guns. But here they come to get us now."

"And I'm tired already from our long walk," sighed Roger. "I hope they won't try to keep it up all night, for I'd drop in my tracks. And, Dick, we'd have shown more sense if we'd just stuck to the camp, and waited for Jasper to come in."

Dick was thinking the same thing himself; but then he was not much of a fellow to cry after the milk was spilt. What was done could not be helped and, instead of bemoaning their hard luck, Dick believed in cudgeling his brains in an effort to find some solution to the problem.

The Sioux had evidently decided to head direct for their distant village. Their unexpected luck in making prisoners of the two white boys had excited them considerably. They seemed to think that when those at home saw the palefaces they would forgive the lack of fresh meat. Antelope and buffalo could be killed at any time, but it was a rare event to have white prisoners in the strong lodge, and be given a chance to handle those wonderful "shooting-sticks" that, when pointed at an enemy, spat out flame and smoke, and in some mysterious way encompassed the death of the thing aimed at.

Forming around the prisoners, the warrior band started off. Both boys felt as though a heavy weight had been attached to their shoulders, their spirits had so fallen. Just a short half hour before they had been full of eager anticipation concerning the expected meeting with Jasper Williams; but now the heavens had clouded over, and all was gloom.

Still, they took pattern from the jaunty manner of the Wolf. He had been sorely wounded in his fight with the three Sioux who had pounced upon him, after a descending brave had knocked him down and clutched him, but not for worlds would the Wolf show the white feather.

"We can do no less than a red heathen, Roger," Dick had said, when calling the attention of his cousin to the proud manner of the other prisoner; and somehow this seemed to have a great influence upon both white boys, so that they forced themselves to appear quite at their ease, even while inwardly groaning with physical pain, and mental tortures respecting their uncertain future.

Long did the Sioux walk in that steady manner. Night fell, but they gave not the slightest evidence of feeling distressed, although doubtless they, too, had been on the go since early dawn.

When some hours had passed since the sun went down, Roger complained that his legs were actually giving out under him. Perhaps some of the Indians had noticed that his gait was becoming rather wobbly; for a word was spoken, and to the great relief of the white prisoners they came to a halt.

The Sioux took the precaution to tie their ankles with deerskin thongs; but no fire was kindled, nor were there any signs of a meal in prospect. Perhaps some of those prostrate braves chewed at dry pemmican as they lay there, resting; but, even though they had not a single bite, that would have mattered little, so great were their powers of endurance when out on the hunt, or the warpath. The same warriors would doubtless loiter around the village for days and weeks, and appear to be the most indolent and lazy of their kind, until an occasion arose for them to once more display their ability to withstand fatigue and hunger.

The weary boys slept, in spite of their discomfort. Nature would not be denied; and while Dick woke up several times during the night, he found himself much refreshed as dawn broke once more.

Again was the march resumed, and all through the day, with only a short stop at about noon, did they keep heading into the northwest.

Roger would have given out but for the earnest pleas of his cousin, and his own natural dislike to appear weak in the eyes of these brawny braves. They had been given some dry food in the morning, before the start was made, and also at noon, and, though neither had much heart for eating, Dick advised that they force themselves to do so, because they would surely need all their strength in order to pull through.

Again and again did Dick continue to paint a possible rainbow of promise in the blank heavens; but Roger could not see it, no matter how earnestly he looked.

"I'll try to keep going, just to please you, Dick," he would say; "but I'm feeling so terribly that it would almost be a mercy if one of these fellows put an arrow through me right now."

It was toward the end of the afternoon that the Indians with them set up a loud and triumphant series of whoops.

"We must be near the village!" declared Dick, and even forlorn Roger brightened up a little.

"I hope so," he remarked, with a sad smile; "because it'll be a change anyway, no matter what comes. And I tell you, I've just about got to the end of my rope."

"There, I can see something moving over at the brow of that low hill," Dick went on to say.

"And I hear dogs barking, too, which is a sure sign," Roger remarked.

Soon afterwards there remained no longer any doubt that they had arrived at the Sioux village; for over the crown of the hill came a flood of running figures--warriors and boys and old men, as well as squaws, all eager to see what it was that brought the hunting party back so soon from their foray. And at sight of the two white prisoners they manifested great delight; for it was evidently the first time most of them had ever set eyes on a real paleface, though they may have known some of the half-breeds who had wandered up this way.

Surrounded by a shouting and dancing throng, the two boys and the proud Mandan brave were conducted into the Sioux village. They may have more than once manifested a natural desire to look upon such a settlement; but somehow it did not give them much satisfaction now. As prisoners, with a dark outlook ahead of them, the pioneer boys could hardly be expected to take much interest in the odd sights that met their eyes among the wigwams of the warlike Sioux, concerning whom they had heard so many stories of cruelty and valor.

Some of the brown-faced boys even pinched the prisoners to see whether they could stand pain. Roger was too hot-tempered to put up with this, and proceeded to kick savagely at one of his persecutors, but the other jumped to one side, and, as the paleface had his hands tied behind him, he stumbled and fell on his back, at which a shout went up from the delighted Sioux boys.

Thus escorted they were taken to a big council lodge, the outside of which was decorated with all manner of colored pictures of battles, the Sioux always being the victors in this historical catalogue. Just as Dick expected, the great chief of the Sioux tribe, Running Elk, was sitting there, cross-legged, on a bearskin rug, waiting to look at the prisoners, and hear the story of the capture from the lips of the participants.

The chief was a powerful-looking man, and wore a head-dress of magnificent feathers that trailed down his back to the ground. His deerskin garments were decorated with colored porcupine quills, and beads, as well as small shells. It must have been his "court dress," as Roger called it, in which he was accustomed to preside at the councils of the tribe.

But the face of Running Elk was stern, and Dick felt his heart grow cold as he looked upon it. Surely they could expect no mercy from such a man. Several times had some of the Sioux attacked the expedition which Captain Lewis was leading into the northwestern country; and, because of their fierce daring, they had not always issued from these conflicts unscathed. Perhaps wounds had been received, and even the death of a warrior might have resulted from the fire of the explorers' guns. And if this were the case, the Sioux would believe that the Great Spirit had purposely thrown these two paleface boys into their hands in order that they might be tortured, and put to death, so that the departed brave would have slaves with him on his way to the Happy Hunting Grounds.

Standing there, the boys felt the keen eyes of Running Elk upon them. It was as though the chief was figuring in his mind what species of torture should be tried upon the palefaces, in order to appease the grief of the widow of the departed warrior.

"Now he is motioning for them to hand him my gun, Dick," declared Roger, who was doing the best he knew how to appear at his ease, while all the time he could feel his heart thumping against his ribs like a trip-hammer.

Dick watched eagerly to see what the chief would do next. He examined the long rifle all over, but apparently looked upon it as a dangerous thing for any one not familiar with its working to handle.

Finally his eyes again lighted on Dick, and he made motions to his guards, at the same time saying something in his quick, harsh voice.

Apparently the word of the chief was law, for immediately one of the warriors hastened to loosen the withes that were wrapped around the wrists of the boy. Then the chief motioned to Dick, and held out the gun.

"He wants you to show him how it works, Dick!" exclaimed Roger, eagerly, as though a gleam of new hope had come into his soul.

When he had rubbed his hands until the blood circulated once more, Dick accepted the gun from the chief. It gave him a queer feeling to touch it again; but he knew well that his only chance of escape lay in his being able to interest the chief so greatly in the "shooting-stick" that he would spare the lives of the palefaces in order that they might teach his braves how to use the wonderful thing.

So Dick beckoned to them to let him walk outside, which was agreed upon. Surrounded by a mob of moving figures, the boys were allowed to emerge from the council lodge. Dick was looking for some target at which to shoot. This he quickly discovered in a crow that had alighted on the top of a dead tree some distance away. Quickly leveling the gun, he took aim, and fired.

As Dick was a splendid marksman he had no trouble in bringing down the crow, at which there was tremendous excitement among the assembled Indians. One boy ran and brought back the dead bird, after which every one had to poke a finger into the hole the bullet had made. (Note 9.)

Then Dick, taking his powder-horn, showed them just how he charged the rifle. He put a greased piece of rag about the bullet, as was usual in those days, and rammed it home, after which he primed the pan, making motions that the chief was to try the next shot. But, although Running Elk was known as the bravest man of his tribe, he shook his head, as if to signify that he preferred not having anything to do with such a wonderful invention of the Evil Spirit.

Still, Dick had high hopes that the desire to make use of such a powerful agency against the foes of his tribe might yet influence Running Elk to spare the lives of his white prisoners.

While the assemblage was still engaged in discussing these strange things in an excited manner, the two boys were once more taken in charge by their guards, who led them through the village and thrust them into a log cabin that was undoubtedly the prison, or strong lodge.

It was growing dark, and the boys could hardly see each other's face as they sat there, with their backs against the rough wall of the cabin. At least their hands had not been fastened again, and for that they had reason to be grateful, though it was such a small thing after all, when their lives might be at stake.

Long they sat there, trying to squeeze some hope out of the situation, and listening to the strange sounds that came to their ears from without.

"Hark!" exclaimed Dick, when perhaps an hour had passed since darkness set in, and they had eaten the bowls of food thrust into the strong lodge by one of their dusky guards; "what can that fresh shout mean, do you think?"

"It sounds to me as if they had brought in another prisoner," Roger declared. "But it may only be that they are holding a council to settle our fate. I remember old Pat O'Mara saying that was what they always did. We might peep out through some of these wide cracks on this side, and see if it is so."

But, just as they were about to do this, the door of the cabin was opened again, and the figure of a man thrown in. He landed in a heap on the hard ground, and gave a grunt.

"That might have broken my neck, if my arms had been tied!" they heard the newcomer say, with what seemed to be a half chuckle; and it was at once apparent to the boys that the last prisoner of the Sioux was also white, like themselves.

Dick coughed, to inform the other that he was not alone.

"Who's there?" asked the unseen man, quickly.

"Two white boys who have been made prisoners by the Sioux," replied Dick. "We belong to Captain Lewis's party, and came out to the salt-lick to see if we could meet a scout who was to report there to a Mandan brave; when the Indians dropped down on us from the branches of the trees. Who may you be, sir, I'd like to know?"

"I? I'm the scout who was to leave word at the salt-lick; and my name is Jasper Williams!" came the astonishing reply.

What a meeting, after they had come all these hundreds upon hundreds of miles especially to find this man; and now all of them were prisoners in the hands of the savage Sioux!