The Prairie Chief | Page 8

It is better for
Whitewing to leave me and give his care to the young ones."
"The young ones can take care of themselves," replied the chief
somewhat sternly. "We know not what Manitou thinks. It is our
business to live as long as we can. If you cannot ride, mother, I will
carry you. Often you have carried me when I could not ride."
It is difficult to guess why Whitewing dropped his poetical language,
and spoke in this matter-of-fact and sharp manner. Great thoughts had
been swelling in his bosom for some time past, and perchance he was
affected by the suggestion that the cruel practice of deserting the aged

was not altogether unknown in his tribe. It may be that the supposition
of his being capable of such cruelty nettled him. At all events, he said
nothing more except to tell his mother to be ready to start at once.
The old woman herself, who seemed to be relieved that her proposition
was not favourably received, began to obey her son's directions by
throwing a gay-coloured handkerchief over her head, and tying it under
her chin. She then fastened her moccasins more securely on her feet,
wrapped a woollen kerchief round her shoulders, and drew a large
green blanket around her, strapping it to her person by means of a
broad strip of deerskin. Having made these simple preparations for
whatever journey lay before her, she warmed her withered old hands
over the embers of the wood fire, and awaited her son's pleasure.
Meanwhile that son went outside to see the preparations for flight
carried into effect.
"We're all ready," said Little Tim, whom he met not far from the
wigwam. "Horses and dogs down in the hollow; Brighteyes an' a lot o'
youngsters lookin' after them. All you want now is to get hold o' her,
and be off; an' the sooner the better, for Blackfoot warriors don't take
long to get over scares an' find out mistakes. But I'm most troubled
about the old woman. She'll niver be able to stand it."
To this Whitewing paid little attention. In truth, his mind seemed to be
taken up with other thoughts, and his friend was not much surprised,
having come, as we have seen, to the conclusion that the Indian was
under a temporary spell for which woman was answerable.
"Is my horse at hand?" asked Whitewing.
"Ay, down by the creek, all ready."
"And my brother's horse?"
"Ready too, at the same place; but we'll want another good 'un--for her,
you know," said Tim suggestively.

"Let the horses be brought to my wigwam," returned Whitewing, either
not understanding or disregarding the last remark.
The trapper was slightly puzzled, but, coming to the wise conclusion
that his friend knew his own affairs best, and had, no doubt, made all
needful preparations, he went off quietly to fetch the horses, while the
Indian returned to the wigwam. In a few minutes Little Tim stood
before the door, holding the bridles of the two horses.
Immediately afterwards a little Indian boy ran up with a third and
somewhat superior horse, and halted beside him.
"Ha! that's it at last. The horse for her," said the trapper to himself with
some satisfaction; "I knowed that Whitewing would have everything
straight--even though he is in a raither stumped condition just now."
As he spoke, Brighteyes ran towards the wigwam, and looked in at the
door. Next moment she went to the steed which Little Tim had, in his
own mind, set aside for "her," and vaulted into the saddle as a young
deer might have done, had it taken to riding.
Of course Tim was greatly puzzled, and forced to admit a second time
that he had over-estimated his own cleverness, and was again off the
scent. Before his mind had a chance of being cleared up, the skin
curtain of the wigwam was raised, and Whitewing stepped out with a
bundle in his arms. He gave it to Little Tim to hold while he mounted
his somewhat restive horse, and then the trapper became aware--from
certain squeaky sounds, and a pair of eyes that glittered among the
folds of the bundle that he held the old woman in his arms!
"I say, Whitewing," he said remonstratively, as he handed up the
bundle, which the Indian received tenderly in his left arm, "most of the
camp has started. In quarter of an hour or so there'll be none left. Don't
'ee think it's about time to look after her?"
Whitewing looked at the trapper with a perplexed expression--a look
which did not quite depart after his friend had mounted, and was riding
through the half-deserted camp beside him.

"Now, Whitewing," said the trapper, with some decision of tone and
manner, "I'm quite as