In the Rocky Mountains | Page 5

well-disposed," said Clarice, looking at the
Indian; "and even if he had not been suffering from hunger and thirst, I
do not think he would have been inclined to do us any harm. The

Redskins are not all bad; and many, I fear, have been driven, by the ill
treatment they have received from white men, to retaliate, and have
obtained a worse character than they deserve."
"Dere are bad red men, and bad white men, and bad black men; but, me
tink, not so many ob de last," said Rachel, who always stuck up for her
own race.
The red man seemed to fancy that they were talking about him; and he
tried to smile, but failed in the attempt. It was with difficulty, too, he
could drag on his weary limbs.
As soon as they reached the house Rachel made him sit down; and
within a minute or two a basin of broth was placed before him, at
which she blew away until her cheeks almost cracked, in an endeavour
to cool it, that he might the more speedily set to. He assisted her, as far
as his strength would allow, in the operation; and then placing the basin
to his lips, he eagerly drained off its contents, without making use of
the wooden spoon with which she had supplied him.
"Dat just to keep body and soul togedder, till somet'ing more 'stantial
ready for you," she said.
Clarice had in the meantime been preparing some venison steaks,
which, with some cakes from the oven, were devoured by the Indian
with the same avidity with which he had swallowed the broth. But
although the food considerably revived him, he still showed evident
signs of exhaustion; so Rachel, placing a buffalo robe in the corner of
the room, invited him to lie down and rest. He staggered towards it, and
in a few minutes his heavy breathing showed that he was asleep.
Uncle Jeff was somewhat astonished, when he came in, on seeing the
Indian; but he approved perfectly of what Clarice and Rachel had done.
"To my mind," he observed, "when these Redskins choose to be
enemies, we must treat them as enemies, and shoot them down, or they
will be having our scalps; but if they wish to be friends, we should treat
them as friends, and do them all the good we can."

Uncle Jeff forgot just then that we ought to do good to our enemies as
well as to our friends; but that would be a difficult matter for a man to
accomplish when a horde of savages are in arms, resolved to take his
life; so I suppose it means that we must do them good when we can get
them to be at peace--or to bury the war-hatchet, as they would express
themselves.
The Indian slept on, although he groaned occasionally as if in pain,--
nature then asserting its sway, though, had he been awake, he probably
would have given no sign of what he was suffering.
"I suspect the man must be wounded," observed Uncle Jeff. "It will be
better not to disturb him."
We had had supper, and the things were being cleared away, when, on
going to look at the Indian, I saw that his eyes were open, and that he
was gazing round him, astonished at seeing so many people.
"He is awake," I observed; and Clarice, coming up, made signs to
inquire whether he would have some more food.
He shook his head, and lay back again, evidently unable to sit up.
Just then Uncle Jeff, who had been out, returned.
"I suspect that he is one of the Kaskayas, whose hunting-grounds are
between this and the Platte," observed Uncle Jeff; and approaching the
Indian, he stooped over him and spoke a few words in the dialect of the
tribe he had mentioned.
The Indian answered him, although with difficulty.
"I thought so," said Uncle Jeff. "He has been badly wounded by an
arrow in the side, and although he managed to cut it out and bind up the
hurt, he confesses that he still suffers greatly. Here, Bartle, you are the
best doctor among us," he added, turning to Won, who was at work
mending some harness on the opposite side of the room; "see what you
can do for the poor fellow."

Bartle put down the straps upon which he was engaged, and joined us,
while Clarice retired. Uncle Jeff and Bartle then examined the Indian's
side.
"I will get some leaves to bind over the wound to-morrow morning,
which will quickly heal it; and, in the meantime, we will see if Rachel
has not got some of the ointment which helped to cure Gideon when he
cut himself so badly with his axe last spring."
Rachel, who