The Prairie Chief | Page 6

little trapper, with an intelligent chuckle; "go
ahead, my boy. I'll give it out fit to bu'st the bellows."
Instantly Whitewing shot from the wood, like the panther rushing on
his prey, uttering at the same time the tremendous war-cry of his tribe.
Little Tim followed suit with a roar that was all but miraculous in its
tone and character, and may be described as a compound of the
steam-whistle and the buffalo bull, only with something about it
intensely human. It rose high above the din of battle. The combatants
heard and paused. The two horsemen were seen careering towards them
with furious gesticulations. Red Indians seldom face certain death. The
Blackfoot men knew that an attack by only two men would be sheer
insanity; the natural conclusion was that they were the leaders of a band
just about to emerge from the thicket. They were thus taken in rear. A
panic seized them, which was intensified when Little Tim repeated his
roar and flourished the instrument of death, which he styled his "little
carving-knife." The Blackfeet turned and fled right and left, scattering
over the plains individually and in small groups, as being the best way
of baffling pursuit.
With that sudden access of courage which usually results from the
exhibition of fear in a foe, Bald Eagle's men yelled and gave chase.
Bald Eagle himself, however, had the wisdom to call them back.
At a council of war, hastily summoned on the spot, he said--
"My braves, you are a parcel of fools."
Clearing his throat after this plain statement, either for the purpose of
collecting his thoughts or giving his young warriors time to weigh and
appreciate the compliment, he continued--
"You chase the enemy as thoughtlessly as the north wind chases the
leaves in autumn. My wise chief Whitewing, and his friend Leetil
Tim-- whose heart is big, and whose voice is bigger, and whose
scalping-knife is biggest of all--have come to our rescue alone.

Whitewing tells me there is no one at their backs. If our foes discover
their mistake, they will turn again, and the contempt which they ought
to pour on themselves because of their own cowardice they will heap
on our heads, and overwhelm us by their numbers--for who can
withstand numbers? They will scatter us like small dust before the
hurricane. Waugh!"
The old man paused for breath, for the recent fight had taken a good
deal out of him, and the assembled warriors exclaimed "Waugh!" by
which they meant to express entire approval of his sentiments. "Now it
is my counsel," he continued, "that as we have been saved by
Whitewing, we should all shut our mouths, and hear what Whitewing
has got to say."
Bald Eagle sat down amid murmurs of applause, and Whitewing arose.
There was something unusually gentle in the tone and aspect of the
young chief on this occasion.
"Our father, the ancient one who has just spoken words of wisdom," he
said, stretching forth his right hand, "has told you the truth, yet not
quite the truth. He is right when he says that Leetil Tim and I have
come to your rescue, but he is wrong when he says we come alone. It is
true that there are no men at our backs to help us, but is not Manitou
behind us--in front--around? It was Manitou who sent us here, and it
was He who gave us the victory."
Whitewing paused, and there were some exclamations of approval, but
they were not so numerous or so decided as he could have wished, for
red men are equally unwilling with white men to attribute their
successes directly to their Creator.
"And now," he continued, "as Bald Eagle has said, if our foes find out
their mistake, they will, without doubt, return. We must therefore take
up our goods, our wives, and our little ones, and hasten to meet our
brothers of Clearvale, who are even now on their way to help us. Our
band is too small to fight the Blackfeet, but united with our friends, and
with Manitou on our side for our cause is just, we shall be more than a

match, for them. I counsel, then, that we raise the camp without delay."
The signs of approval were much more decided at the close of this brief
address, and the old chief again rose up.
"My braves," he said, "have listened to the words of wisdom. Let each
warrior go to his wigwam and get ready. We quit the camp when the
sun stands there."
He printed to a spot in the sky where the sun would be shining about an
hour after daybreak, which was already brightening the eastern sky.
As he spoke the dusky warriors seemed to melt from the scene