The Prairie Chief | Page 9

able as you are to carry that old critter. If you'll
make her over to me, you'll be better able to look after her, you know.
Eh?"
"My brother speaks strangely to-day," replied the chief. "His words are
hidden from his Indian friend. What does he mean by `her'?"
"Well, well, now, ye are slow," answered Tim; "I wouldn't ha' believed
that anything short o' scalpin' could ha' took away yer wits like that.
Why, of course I mean the woman ye said was dearer to 'ee than life."
"That woman is here," replied the chief gravely, casting a brief glance
down at the wrinkled old visage that nestled upon his breast--"my
mother."
"Whew!" whistled the trapper, opening his eyes very wide indeed. For
the third time that day he was constrained to admit that he had been
thrown completely off the scent, and that, in regard to cleverness, he
was no better than a "squawkin' babby."
But Little Tim said never a word. Whatever his thoughts might have
been after that, he kept them to himself, and, imitating his Indian
brother, maintained profound silence as he galloped between him and
Brighteyes over the rolling prairie.
CHAPTER THREE.
THE MASSACRE AND THE CHASE.
The sun was setting when Whitewing and his friend rode into Clearvale.
The entrance to the valley was narrow, and for a short distance the road,
or Indian track, wound among groups of trees and bushes which
effectually concealed the village from their sight.
At this point in the ride Little Tim began to recover from the surprise at
his own stupidity which had for so long a period of time reduced him to
silence. Riding up alongside of Whitewing, who was a little in advance

of the party, still bearing his mother in his arms, he accosted him thus--
"I say, Whitewing, the longer I know you, the more of a puzzle you are
to me. I thowt I'd got about at the bottom o' all yer notions an' ways by
this time, but I find that I'm mistaken."
As no question was asked, the red man deemed no reply needful, but
the faintest symptom of a smile told the trapper that his remark was
understood and appreciated.
"One thing that throws me off the scent," continued Little Tim, "is the
way you Injins have got o' holdin' yer tongues, so that a feller can't
make out what yer minds are after. Why don't you speak? why ain't you
more commoonicative?"
"The children of the prairie think that wisdom lies in silence," answered
Whitewing gravely. "They leave it to their women and white brothers
to chatter out all their minds."
"Humph! The children o' the prairie ain't complimentary to their white
brothers," returned the trapper. "Mayhap yer right. Some of us do talk a
leetle too much. It's a way we've got o' lettin' off the steam. I'm afeard
I'd bust sometimes if I didn't let my feelin's off through my mouth. But
your silent ways are apt to lead fellers off on wrong tracks when there's
no need to. Didn't I think, now, that you was after a young woman as ye
meant to take for a squaw--and after all it turned out to be your
mother!"
"My white brother sometimes makes mistakes," quietly remarked the
Indian.
"True; but your white brother wouldn't have made the mistake if ye had
told him who it was you were after when ye set off like a mad grizzly
wi' its pups in danger. Didn't I go tearin' after you neck and crop as if I
was a boy o' sixteen, in the belief that I was helpin' ye in a love affair?"
"It was a love affair," said the Indian quietly.

"True, but not the sort o' thing that I thowt it was."
"Would you have refused to help me if you had known better?"
demanded Whitewing somewhat sharply.
"Nay, I won't say that," returned Tim, "for I hold that a woman's a
woman, be she old or young, pretty or ugly, an' I'd scorn the man as
would refuse to help her in trouble; besides, as the wrinkled old critter
is your mother, I've got a sneakin' sort o' fondness for her; but if I'd
only known, a deal o' what they call romance would ha' bin took out o'
the little spree."
"Then it is well that my brother did not know."
To this the trapper merely replied, "Humph!"
After a few minutes he resumed in a more confidential tone--
"But I say, Whitewing, has it niver entered into your head to take to
yourself a wife? A man's always the better of havin' a female
companion to consult with an' talk over things, you know, as well as to
make his moccasins and leggin's."
"Does Little