The Last of the Chiefs | Page 3

Joseph A. Altsheler
be glad of it, because then we'll be
coming to water and game."
"I'd like to be seeing them now," responded Dick; "but do you believe
everything that Bright Sun says?"
"Of course I do. Hasn't he brought us along all right? What are you
driving at?"
His voice rose to a challenging tone, in full accordance with the nature
of the man, whenever anyone disagreed with him, but Dick Howard
took not the least fear.
"I don't altogether like Bright Sun," he replied. "Just why, I can't say,
but the fact remains that I don't like him. It doesn't seem natural for an
Indian to be so fond of white people, and to prefer another race to his
own."
Conway laughed harshly.
"That shows how much you know," he said. "Bright Sun is smart,
smarter than a steel trap. He knows that the day of the red is passing,
and he's going to train with the white. What's the use of being on the
losing side? It's what I say, and it's what Bright Sun thinks."
The man's manner was gross and materialistic, so repellent that Dick
would have turned away, but at that moment Bright Sun himself
approached. Dick regarded him, as always, with the keenest interest
and curiosity mixed with some suspicion. Yet almost anyone would
have been reassured by the appearance of Bright Sun. He was a
splendid specimen of the Indian, although in white garb, even to the
soft felt hat shading his face. But he could never have been taken for a

white man. His hair was thick, black, and coarse, his skin of the red
man's typical coppery tint, and his cheek bones high and sharp. His lean
but sinewy and powerful figure rose two inches above six feet. There
was an air about him, too, that told of strength other than that of the
body. Guide he was, but leader he looked.
"Say, Bright Sun," exclaimed Conway coarsely, "Dick Howard here
thinks you're too friendly with the whites. It don't seem natural to him
that one of your color should consort so freely with us."
Dick's face flushed through the brown, and he shot an angry glance at
Conway, but Bright Sun did not seem to be offended.
"Why not?" he asked in perfect English. "I was educated in a mission
school. I have been with white people most of my life, I have read your
books, I know your civilization, and I like it."
"There now!" exclaimed Conway triumphantly. "Ain't that an answer
for you? I tell you what, Bright Sun, I'm for you, I believe in you, and if
anybody can take us through all right to California, you're the man."
"It is my task and I will accomplish it," said Bright Sun in the precise
English he had learned at the mission school.
His eyes met Dick's for a moment, and the boy saw there a flash that
might mean many things--defiance, primeval force, and the quality that
plans and does. But the flash was gone in an instant, like a dying spark,
and Bright Sun turned away. Conway also left, but Dick's gaze
followed the Indian.
He did not know Bright Sun's tribe. He had heard that he was a Sioux,
also that he was a Crow, and a third report credited him with being a
Cheyenne. As he never painted his face, dressed like a white man, and
did not talk of himself and his people, the curious were free to surmise
as they chose. But Dick was sure of one thing: Bright Sun was a man of
power. It was not a matter of surmise, he felt it instinctively.
The tall figure of the Indian was lost among the wagons, and Dick

turned his attention to the trail. The cooling waves continued to roll up,
as the west reddened into a brilliant sunset. Great bars of crimson, then
of gold, and the shades in between, piled above one another on the
horizon. The plains lost their brown, and gleamed in wonderful
shimmering tints. The great desolate world became beautiful.
The train stopped with a rumble, a creak, and a lurch, and the men
began to unharness the animals. Albert awoke with a start and sat up in
the wagon.
"Night and the camp, Al," said Dick cheerfully; "feel better, don't you?
"Yes, I do," replied Albert, as a faint color came into his face.
"Thought the rest and the coolness would brace you up," continued
Dick in the same cheerful tone.
Albert, a tall, emaciated boy with a face of great refinement and
delicacy, climbed out of the wagon and looked about. Dick busied
himself with the work of making camp, letting Albert give what help he
could.
But Dick always undertook to do enough for two--his brother
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