CHAPTER XXIX

THE WORD OF AN INDIAN CHIEF

"WHAT is he going to do, Bob?" demanded Sandy, who had opened his eyes, after a minute or so had passed without the expected blow, and who heard Pontiac's demand that the guns of the prisoners be handed to him without understanding what the meaning of the order could be.

"Watch and see!" replied Bob, in a husky voice, and without taking his eyes off the sachem a second. He himself, as yet, had only a vague suspicion concerning any benefit that might spring from this action on the part of Pontiac.

Almost as in a dream, then, Sandy saw first one musket thrust out to the famous chieftain, and then the second. Pontiac examined them eagerly, and, after handling the gun belonging to Bob, once more gave it back into the possession of the keeper. But, as he raised that which Sandy himself had owned, a look of intelligence flashed across the dark face of the Indian.

He even raised the musket to his nose as though to smell the odor of burnt powder that must have still clung to it after the recent discharge. Then he turned upon the two young prisoners.

"Yours?" he demanded, his flashing eyes fastened on the astonished face of Sandy, just as though he had been able to read the nature of both lads in that single earnest look, and understood how impulse swayed one more than the other.

Sandy might have wished to deny all ownership of the weapon; but somehow he was unable to do so, with those impelling eyes fastened upon him. So, still unable to use his tongue, he simply nodded his head.

"You shoot at French trader?" continued Pontiac.

Another nod in the affirmative answered him; and then Bob saw a change begin to spread over the dark features of the chief. He looked at Sandy; but his brother failed to grasp the wonderful meaning of the miracle that had been wrought in their behalf. To his mind all this talk only served as a forerunner to the dreadful fate that was surely to be their portion.

"Why white boy shoot French trapper?" asked Pontiac.

Realizing that Sandy was unable to frame a coherent reply, Bob boldly took it upon himself to make answer.

"You ask why, great Pontiac?" he said. "Because he could not lie there and see a cowardly snake creep up behind a brave man to strike him in the back. He sent his lead into the arm that held the warclub, and saved the life of Pontiac!"

Then, Indian though he was, the great Pontiac smiled. Perhaps he understood how these paleface boys must have known that, if the traitorous Frenchman had been allowed to carry out his will, it would have been much to the advantage of the border settlements; but that Sandy, unable to control his impulse to rebuke such rank treachery as Larue exhibited, had been unable to hold his fire.

Pontiac turned to the surging crowd of Indians. He held up his hand, and every shout was stilled; even the murmuring ceased, such was his magnetic influence over the wild spirits of hot-headed young warriors whom their own chiefs could not restrain.

"Listen!" he said, in a voice that reached easily to the further extremity of the gathered throng. "Pontiac sat on yonder log. Your chief Kiashuta had left him to seek for something that was in his lodge. In the mind of Pontiac many things dwell to give him cause for thought. He heard not the coming of the snake in the grass who crawled up behind, and swung aloft the club with which he expected to dash out the brains of a chief.

"Listen. In the bushes and the grass lay two paleface boys. They had guns. They had come many miles from their cabin on the running water to the south. They had no reason to love Pontiac, who has ever been the enemy of their race; but they had hate in their hearts for a snake that could sting in the heel. So, quickly did this gun speak. The arm that was raised fell helpless. And then Pontiac closed with the treacherous Frenchman.

"Listen yet again, warriors. Had it not been for this paleface boy, where now would be your leader? How could Pontiac strike the flint that will make the whole border blaze with fires, if he lay here on this ground, dead?"

He looked around him as though expecting an answer; but not a single voice was raised. Slowly the truth was penetrating the brains of those who heard. They understood that, no matter what his motive may have been, the paleface boy had saved the famous chieftain to those who hung upon his every look or word, as though he had charmed them with his magic.

"Release them!" Pontiac continued, making an imperious gesture toward the warriors who were clutching the two lads; and immediately they hastened to obey his will. "They belong to Pontiac; let one of you from this hour lay so much as a finger on them at his peril!"

When Sandy heard these words he seemed to regain his power of speech once more, for he clutched Bob's arm convulsively as soon as he found himself free, and exclaimed:

"Bob, do you hear that? He says we are his prisoners, and that we will not be harmed! Oh! if only we could get him to give us Kate now, what a blessed thing it would be! Perhaps after all, Bob, my hasty nature did better for us than all the planning. Ask him if he will help us, won't you, Bob? 'Strike while the iron is hot,' father always says. Speak to him, now."

But Bob held back, for he saw that the chief had more to say, since he was once again turning toward them. To the delight of the boys he gravely held out his hand, white man fashion, for Pontiac had been brought up among the French, and knew almost as much of the white men's ways as though he had been born a paleface.

"We are friends," he said, as he pressed each hand firmly. "You have saved the life of Pontiac. Ask what favor you will, and, if it is in his power, so shall it be granted. First tell me what you seek, so far away from your home?"

"In a cabin, where the swift water runs between the hills, lives our mother," said Bob. "Our father has gone over the big hill to Richmond to bring back with him some of the things a white woman needs. Besides my brother and myself, there was one child, a sweet girl, about so high," and he held his hand below his shoulder to indicate that his sister was much shorter than himself.

Pontiac bowed his head gravely to indicate that he understood what the boy was saying.

"One day there came some Senecas to the settlement," Bob went on, eagerly. "They, held up their hands in the peace sign, and we met them as friends. They told us they had been on a long journey into Kentucky, to visit another tribe. They were without tobacco, and their stock of maize had dwindled low. We gave them of each, enough to last until they could reach their lodges on the Great Lakes.

"But one young Seneca, who bore the feather of a chief in his hair, looked long on the sweet face of the white girl. He remembered that in his lodge, far away, no longer the voice of his own sister was heard; and that the old squaw, his mother, mourned each day for the one who was not.

"So he made up his mind to steal the paleface girl, and bear her away to the village of the Senecas on the big water to the north. When my brother and myself were in the forest hunting for meat he stole our sister away. We have followed him from the rushing Ohio to the Great Lakes. Our sister is here. Will the great Pontiac keep his word by giving her back to our charge, and letting us depart for the cabin where a mother mourns?"

Bob knew how to put the case before the one who must be their judge, so that, as an Indian, Pontiac could grasp it readily; and he saw from the face of the other that he had succeeded in his effort. When an Indian gives his word it is ever afterward sacred.

"Listen!" said the chief, impressively. "Look around you. There are many Senecas here, braves and chiefs. Does the paleface boy see the one who took tobacco and maize from the white man's hand, and then stole his daughter?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Sandy, finding his voice. "I saw him just then, among those Indians yonder. There, he is trying to steal away; for he fears the frown of the great and just Pontiac. It is Black Beaver!"

The young chief, seeing that escape was useless, returned, and, standing before Pontiac, folded his arms across his naked chest. Words in the Indian tongue passed quickly between them. Black Beaver seemed defiant at first; but presently he came under the persuasive eloquence of the marvellous orator. He let his chin fall on his breast, and finally, when Pontiac dismissed him with an imperious gesture, the subdued young chief stalked away, heading straight for his wigwam.

"When he comes back he will bring the white girl," said Pontiac. "She shall go with the brave young boys who have sought her so far; and not a warrior will lift a hand to do them harm. More than this, because of what you have done this night, you and your family are forever the friends of Pontiac. Danger and death will never come near your cabin while he lives. There will be a dead line drawn about it, and woe to the Indian who molests the friends of the chief. I have spoken!"

Loudly did his voice ring out as he said these thrilling words that would never be forgotten by either of the two lads as long as they lived. And far and wide would the command be sent that the little brood of David Armstrong was to be immune from all the perils of an Indian war, even though flame and destruction swooped down upon their nearest neighbor.

"Look! he is coming back, and our sister is with him!" cried Sandy, unable to restrain his delight at sight of the one they loved so dearly.

Black Beaver did not show any emotion as he drew near. He realized that, when Pontiac spoke, it was for him to obey. And as a true Indian, he was ready to accept the fortunes of war, no matter how it hurt.

The Indians made a passage-way to allow them to approach. Pontiac himself took the trembling hand of the frightened girl, and led her to where her two gallant brothers stood with outstretched arms.

"Weep no more, paleface girl. You are going home to the white squaw who mourns in the cabin on the bank of the swift water," said Pontiac, as he released her in front of the boys.

Another instant and Kate, with a cry of joy, had flung her arms about the neck of first one brother and then the other, while Pontiac stood and watched the happy reunion without his face expressing the feelings that must have been struggling in his heart; for so has an Indian been trained never to betray emotion.

How like magic had the scene been changed! Only a few minutes before and poor Sandy was deeply dejected, in the belief that his hasty and ill-advised act had forever ruined their only chance for a rescue. And now they stood there, not only free, and with their dear sister given into their charge, but safe in the pledged friendship of the most powerful of all Indians, Pontiac himself.

"It seems like a dream, Bob!" cried Kate. "I can hardly believe it to be true. How did you manage it, you and dear Sandy? Oh! how happy I am to think that soon I shall see my own mother again! Not that Black Beaver has been cruel to me. He tried to be a brother after his way. I am sorry for him; but there is no one can take the place of father, mother, Bob and Sandy."

"In good time you will hear it all, Kate," said Bob. "It is a strange story. But I wonder whether Pontiac will extend his favor to our good friends who have come with us to try and influence Black Beaver to give us back our sister. The whites and the Senecas are at peace, for the hatchet has not yet been dug up between them, so we hoped to win Kiashuta to our side; to have him say that Black Beaver had done wrong when he smote the hand that fed him."

Pontiac heard what he said, for he immediately gave the assurance Bob requested.

"If others have come with you to bring the white girl back, they, too, shall not be harmed until they have reached the swift water. Because they are your friends, Pontiac has said this. So let them appear. They shall walk among us in safety, for the word of the chief is given."

But, though Bob raised his voice and called, none of the other four cared to accept the invitation to come into the village and meet the sachem of the Sacs.

Perhaps it was just as well. Both Simon Kenton and Pat O'Mara were well-known Indian fighters, and belonged to a class of men who threatened to be thorns in the side of Pontiac in his ambitious designs to head a new confederation of tribes.

Doubtless they would be quickly recognized by some of the Indians present from other tribes; and even the word of Pontiac might not keep these warriors from seeking to avenge their kin who had fallen in times past before the rifles of Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton and their fellow borderers.