Yellowstone Jack: Trappers of the Enchanted Ground — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

.£ whoop of Creeping Panther, the white __ sub-chief of the Blackfeet. “Tt’s the Eagle. I don’t think he'll dare dispute my will, after what has passed between us, but if he does—well, I willlose an Indian brother, that’s all,” muttered Mat Mole, as he drew arevolver _ and stood erect, though all but his head Was concealed behind the rock. _ “You seem surprised to meet me here, brother,” the outlaw said, using the Siksikaga dialect, which is but little different from that of the other two divisions of the Blackfoot tribe. “ There is 2 cloud between us,” gloomily replied the chief. “ You have killed a brave who was under my protection. The pledge of a Blackfoot chief is not to be broken like that of a pale-face squaw.” “1 have taken the life of an enemy, of one who has long followed my trail _with blood in his eyes. Would you have me sit still and let him tear off my scalp P Is that the advice you give a brother?” _ Pethonista hesitated, and cast a glance back to where Minnie and Ada crouched sobbing upon the ledge, tightly locked in each other’s arms. He seemed in a quandary. There is one especially sacred bond among the Blackfeet. It is where one brave declares another his brother by a peculiar ceremony. He fills his mouth with pure water, winds his arms around the chosen one’s neck, and while kissing him, ejects the liquid into the other's mouth. If swallowed, the pledge is ratified, and the chosen drother has entire controi over the other’s future life. His will is law, in small as well as great matters, An Indian would suffer a thousand deaths rather than disgrace himself and family by proving false to his pledge.* Mat Moie had once saved the Eagle’s life, nearly losing his own in the attempt, and the grateful savage had proclaimed Creeping Panther his brother before the - entiretribe. Upon this pledge Mole now depended. He had fired upon the impulse of the moment, directly upon recognizing Frank Maynard, whom he regarded as a success- _fulrival. Knowimg that Pethonista was an inveterate enemy to all pale-faces outside of his own tribe, he naturally *A fact. the spring of ‘60. An instance was known as late as YELLOWSTONE JACK, supposed the chicf had captured them, and as an Indian is bound to defend with | his life, if need be, the captive who has yielded to his prowess, Mat Mole feared — to await recognition, lest his enemy should escape hm, through the Hagle’s sense of honour. Pethonista silently bowed his head at this hint of the bond between them, and Mole saw that his words had not been in vain. “Let my brother, the Eagle of the steat Blackfeet, listen,” continued the — outlaw, resolved to strike while the iron was hot. “A hunter finds him a trail, iat deer. He sets out upon its trail, and never pauses for rest or food or drink, but keeps on and on until the swift deer tires and grows weak, until its steps are short and feeble, and it is ready to he down and die. Another hunter comes by, and puts out his hand and catches the deer that is too tired to escape him, just as the first hunter comes up. Now will my brother tell me which one of the hunters has the best claim upon the ame?” abruptly concluded Mat Mole. “The long trailer,” promptly responded Pethonista. “Good! the eyes of the Eagle are clear, they can read the truth through the deepest cloud. Brother, J am the long trailer; you are the hunter who puts out his hand to stop the game I had run down. For six moons I have been on the trail of this deer; which is best—your claim or mine ?” Petbonista cast a quick glance back upon the sobbing, terrified maidens, and then keenly gazed into the outlaw’s eyes. His eyes were boidly met. Mole was playing for a high stake, and had summoned all his wits. “The Hagle is right. The light- haired squaw is the game I have trailed so long and far. She belongs to me. Whose right is better than mine? If my brother started the game first, let him speak, and I will give way to him. If not, then he must not interfere, un- less he has forgotten that we are brothers.” “A chief never forgets,” coldly replied Pethonista. “ The light-haired squaw is my brother’s, But he does not speak of the other. Does he claim her, as well ?” ‘No; I care not for her, though she is fair to look upon. She would fill the lodge of a Blackfoot chief well.” EGomicboo <S com