The Frontier, May 1926 — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

90 the pandemonium. With difficulty the mounted warriors saved their captive from the raging squaws, who struck at him with knives and sticks, screeched insults and spat at him. Aletes was hauled from the mule and thrown into a tepee. The “dog sol- diers,” or camp police, drove back the excited mob, and, under Petuspa’s di- rection, the owner of the tepee was given charge of the prisoner. As an additional precaution against escape, the Indian had bound the feet of his prisoner. In the center of the tepee a tiny fire blazed fitfully. The Indian jailer lay at ease upon a willow bed covered with robes. Naught to him were the sufferings of the white man. Now and then he roused up to push the sticks, laid like the spokes of a wheel, a little farther into the fire, and to stare at the captive with the cold malignancy of a vulture. At times he recited to the white man the various tortures he was to endure on the mor- row. This seemed to amuse him, al- though it was plain to him that the captive did not understand a word of his guttural talk. He fumbled in a beaded bag and drew forth several scalps. Aletes saw that one scalp was that of a woman, He shuddered inwardly as he stared at the long golden-brown hair. The In- dian grunted his satisfaction. It was pleasant to lie comfortably on a wil- low bed and taunt a white man. Aletes had come to accept the gnaw- ing pain of his wound and the throb of his tortured wrists as a part of the scheme of life, and thus had conserved his nerve force and vitality. Thirst, however, gave him no rest. He was continually thinking of the cool, bub- bling springs from which he had drunk, Particularly did he remember a spring near his home town, Visions of that little spring, ice-cold, clear and sparkling, taunted him cruelly. What wouldn’t he give to return to that spring, and drink and drink and drink! Yet, save for the visions prompted by thirst and exhaustion, his calm, practical spirit held imagination in check. He was helpless, but he re- fused to give way completely to de- spair. He knew that he could expect no mercy from the Dakotas, for they had bound his hands and feet and permit- ted him to suffer hunger and thirst. His only hope was that they would kill him quickly, though he gave little en- couragement to that hope. His nature, grim, stubborn and practicai, simply stood at bay, prepared to endure what- THE FRONTIER ever agony Fate held in store for him. He thought of Joe, trying to remem- ber the precise moment the little man had disappeared. It seemed to him that Joe had faded from view a breath before the arrows had wrought their deadly work. Yet it scarcely was pos- sible that he had escaped. wpm LETES relaxed as ™ best he could, al- though the bedlam of Indian night made rest impossi- ble. Not far away some fiend was pounding a drum. To the dull monotonous tunking, the dancers chanted in wild chorus. Squaws lifted piercing shrieks for the dead, and the dogs barked continually. The whole village seemed to be en- gaged in a talking contest. He had once read an account of the taciturnity of the Indian. He now realized that most of the written accounts of the habits and customs of the Indians were written by men who had never suf- fered a night of torture in an Indian camp. There came a faint scratching at the tepee flap, and a low, guttural sum- mons, “Brother, one who talks with spirits desires to look on the face of the white man that his medicine may be strength- ened,” said the voice, The old Indian did not stir from his bed. A medicine-man desired to look on the face of the white captive. Who was he to cross the desire of one who talked with spirits? “It is good,” he droned, “O talker with spirits.” The medicine-man entered the tepee. He was wrapped from head to foot in a white robe. Aletes caught a glimpse of a burning eye through the folds of the robe. For a moment the medicine man stared at him, and then half- turned to the Indian, “Too loose,” he grunted, pointing at the bonds of the captive. Grunting a little, the old Indian rose from his comfortable bed, shambled over to the captive and knelt down to examine the bonds. Aletes felt the cold, clawlike fingers on his swollen wrists, Then something rose from the robe of the mysterious visitor and descended on the head of the kneeling warrior. Aletes felt the weight of a limp body across his legs. Again the robed fig- ure struck the Indian, and then seized his legs and dragged him to the far side of the tepee. The next moment the youth felt a knife sever his bonds, and caught the warning whisper, “It’s Joe!” The little frontiersman hauled his partner to his feet and wrapped the robe of the dead Indian about him. “Straight ahead to the crick,” he whispered. “Your hoss is in some cot- tonwoods under a big sandstone cliff, about two miles down. Float—take far side of crick! Wait fer me! Skip!’ Aletes did not try to think. By some miracle Joe had released him, and he would obey the resourceful little man to the letter, and trust to his good for- tune. Covered from head to foot with the robe, he made a slow exit from the tepee. The dogs, as he stalked toward the creek, gave him several thrills. Excit- ed by the white man’s scent, they barked furiously, and one even ven- tured to nip at his heels, but he strode on with what he conceived to be the slow, dignified stride of an Indian war- rior. The dancing and excitement made the barking of the dogs seem trivial and commonplace. Robed fig- ures were passing to and fro constant- ly. A short distance from the fires every shape became blurred and indis- tinct, Once a warrior addressed the youth, but he did not pause. This aroused no suspicion on the part of the Indian. The one wrapped so tightly in his robe was communing with his guardian spirit. As he entered the cottonwoods, a young squaw suddenly appeared and catne toward him slowly, thinking him a seeker of love. He turned away from her. She put her hands over her heart and ran toward the camp, burn- ing with shame. She had approached a watrior in the dark, supposing that he was seeking a maiden, and had been spurned. For days she would hang her head and look at no man. The youth’s one desire now was to feel the cooling waters of the moun- tain stream, yet he knew that he must not halt until he was out of hearing of the noises of the camp. Without mis- hap, he passed through the protecting gloom of the cottonwoods and slipped through the willows that lined the creek. It took all his will power to wade the stream, for his throat mus- cles were jerking for a gulp of the cool water, But he resolutely pressed on down the far bank until he was out of hearing of the din of the camp. Now and then a rattlesnake buzzed Eom ECOMmIiGcbooks