Nothing was stirring but one harmless brown bird, chirping among the branches.I was glad when I gained the open prairie once more, where I could see if anything approached.When I came to the mouth of Chugwater, it was totally dark.Slackening the reins, I let my horse take his own course.He trotted on with unerring instinct, and by nine o'clock was scrambling down the steep ascent into the meadows where we were encamped.While I was looking in vain for the light of the fire, Hendrick, with keener perceptions, gave a loud neigh, which was immediately answered in a shrill note from the distance.In a moment I was hailed from the darkness by the voice of Reynal, who had come out, rifle in hand, to see who was approaching.
He, with his squaw, the two Canadians and the Indian boys, were the sole inmates of the camp, Shaw and Henry Chatillon being still absent.At noon of the following day they came back, their horses looking none the better for the journey.Henry seemed dejected.The woman was dead, and his children must henceforward be exposed, without a protector, to the hardships and vicissitudes of Indian life.Even in the midst of his grief he had not forgotten his attachment to his bourgeois, for he had procured among his Indian relatives two beautifully ornamented buffalo robes, which he spread on the ground as a present to us.
Shaw lighted his pipe, and told me in a few words the history of his journey.When I went to the fort they left me, as I mentioned, at the mouth of Chugwater.They followed the course of the little stream all day, traversing a desolate and barren country.Several times they came upon the fresh traces of a large war party--the same, no doubt, from whom we had so narrowly escaped an attack.At an hour before sunset, without encountering a human being by the way, they came upon the lodges of the squaw and her brothers, who, in compliance with Henry's message, had left the Indian village in order to join us at our camp.The lodges were already pitched, five in number, by the side of the stream.The woman lay in one of them, reduced to a mere skeleton.For some time she had been unable to move or speak.Indeed, nothing had kept her alive but the hope of seeing Henry, to whom she was strongly and faithfully attached.No sooner did he enter the lodge than she revived, and conversed with him the greater part of the night.Early in the morning she was lifted into a travail, and the whole party set out toward our camp.
There were but five warriors; the rest were women and children.The whole were in great alarm at the proximity of the Crow war party, who would certainly have destroyed them without mercy had they met.They had advanced only a mile or two, when they discerned a horseman, far off, on the edge of the horizon.They all stopped, gathering together in the greatest anxiety, from which they did not recover until long after the horseman disappeared; then they set out again.
Henry was riding with Shaw a few rods in advance of the Indians, when Mahto-Tatonka, a younger brother of the woman, hastily called after them.Turning back, they found all the Indians crowded around the travail in which the woman was lying.They reached her just in time to hear the death-rattle in her throat.In a moment she lay dead in the basket of the vehicle.A complete stillness succeeded; then the Indians raised in concert their cries of lamentation over the corpse, and among them Shaw clearly distinguished those strange sounds resembling the word "Halleluyah," which together with some other accidental coincidences has given rise to the absurd theory that the Indians are descended from the ten lost tribes of Israel.
The Indian usage required that Henry, as well as the other relatives of the woman, should make valuable presents, to be placed by the side of the body at its last resting place.Leaving the Indians, he and Shaw set out for the camp and reached it, as we have seen, by hard pushing, at about noon.Having obtained the necessary articles, they immediately returned.It was very late and quite dark when they again reached the lodges.They were all placed in a deep hollow among the dreary hills.Four of them were just visible through the gloom, but the fifth and largest was illuminated by the ruddy blaze of a fire within, glowing through the half-transparent covering of raw hides.There was a perfect stillness as they approached.The lodges seemed without a tenant.Not a living thing was stirring--there was something awful in the scene.They rode up to the entrance of the lodge, and there was no sound but the tramp of their horses.
A squaw came out and took charge of the animals, without speaking a word.Entering, they found the lodge crowded with Indians; a fire was burning in the midst, and the mourners encircled it in a triple row.Room was made for the newcomers at the head of the lodge, a robe spread for them to sit upon, and a pipe lighted and handed to them in perfect silence.Thus they passed the greater part of the night.At times the fire would subside into a heap of embers, until the dark figures seated around it were scarcely visible; then a squaw would drop upon it a piece of buffalo-fat, and a bright flame, instantly springing up, would reveal of a sudden the crowd of wild faces, motionless as bronze.The silence continued unbroken.It was a relief to Shaw when daylight returned and he could escape from this house of mourning.He and Henry prepared to return homeward; first, however, they placed the presents they had brought near the body of the squaw, which, most gaudily attired, remained in a sitting posture in one of the lodges.A fine horse was picketed not far off, destined to be killed that morning for the service of her spirit, for the woman was lame, and could not travel on foot over the dismal prairies to the villages of the dead.Food, too, was provided, and household implements, for her use upon this last journey.
Henry left her to the care of her relatives, and came immediately with Shaw to the camp.It was some time before he entirely recovered from his dejection.
