"I am a brave man," he said; "all the young men think me a great
warrior, and ten of them are ready to go with me to the war. I will
go and show them the enemy. Last summer the Snakes killed my
brother. I cannot live unless I revenge his death. To-morrow we
will set out and I will take their scalps."
The White Shield, as he expressed this resolution, seemed to have
lost all the accustomed fire and spirit of his look, and hung his
head as if in a fit of despondency.
As I was sitting that evening at one of the fires, I saw him arrayed
in his splendid war dress, his cheeks painted with vermilion, leading
his favorite war horse to the front of his lodge. He mounted and
rode round the village, singing his war song in a loud hoarse voice
amid the shrill acclamations of the women. Then dismounting, he
remained for some minutes prostrate upon the ground, as if in an act
of supplication. On the following morning I looked in vain for the
departure of the warriors. All was quiet in the village until late
in the forenoon, when the White Shield, issuing from his lodge, came
and seated himself in his old place before us. Reynal asked him why
he had not gone out to find the enemy.
"I cannot go," answered the White Shield in a dejected voice. "I
have given my war arrows to the Meneaska."
"You have only given him two of your arrows," said Reynal. "If you
ask him, he will give them back again."
For some time the White Shield said nothing. At last he spoke in a
gloomy tone:
"One of my young men has had bad dreams. The spirits of the dead
came and threw stones at him in his sleep."
If such a dream had actually taken place it might have broken up this
or any other war party, but both Reynal and I were convinced at the
time that it was a mere fabrication to excuse his remaining at home.
The White Shield was a warrior of noted prowess. Very probably, he
would have received a mortal wound without a show of pain, and
endured without flinching the worst tortures that an enemy could
inflict upon him. The whole power of an Indian's nature would be
summoned to encounter such a trial; every influence of his education
from childhood would have prepared him for it; the cause of his
suffering would have been visibly and palpably before him, and his
spirit would rise to set his enemy at defiance, and gain the highest
glory of a warrior by meeting death with fortitude. But when he
feels himself attacked by a mysterious evil, before whose insidious
assaults his manhood is wasted, and his strength drained away, when
he can see no enemy to resist and defy, the boldest warrior falls
prostrate at once. He believes that a bad spirit has taken
possession of him, or that he is the victim of some charm. When
suffering from a protracted disorder, an Indian will often abandon
himself to his supposed destiny, pine away and die, the victim of his
own imagination. The same effect will often follow from a series of
calamities, or a long run of ill success, and the sufferer has been
known to ride into the midst of an enemy's camp, or attack a grizzly
bear single-handed, to get rid of a life which he supposed to lie
under the doom of misfortune.
Thus after all his fasting, dreaming, and calling upon the Great
Spirit, the White Shield's war party was pitifully broken up.
CHAPTER XVI
THE TRAPPERS
In speaking of the Indians, I have almost forgotten two bold
adventurers of another race, the trappers Rouleau and Saraphin.
These men were bent on a most hazardous enterprise. A day's journey
to the westward was the country over which the Arapahoes are
accustomed to range, and for which the two trappers were on the point
of setting out. These Arapahoes, of whom Shaw and I afterward fell
in with a large village, are ferocious barbarians, of a most brutal
and wolfish aspect, and of late they had declared themselves enemies
to the whites, and threatened death to the first who should venture
within their territory. The occasion of the declaration was as
follows:
In the previous spring, 1845, Colonel Kearny left Fort Leavenworth
with several companies of dragoons, and marching with extraordinary
celerity reached Fort Laramie, whence he passed along the foot of the
mountains to Bent's Fort and then, turning eastward again, returned
to the point from whence he set out. While at Fort Larantie, he sent
a part of his command as far westward as Sweetwater, while he himself
remained at the fort, and dispatched messages to the surrounding
Indians to meet him there in council. Then for the first time the
tribes of that vicinity saw the white warriors, and, as might have
been expected, they were lost in astonishment at their regular order,
their gay attire, the completeness of their martial equipment, and
the great size and power of their horses. Among the rest, the
Arapahoes came in considerable numbers to the fort. They had lately
committed numerous acts of outrage, and Colonel Kearny threatened
that if they killed any more white men he would turn loose his
dragoons upon them, and annihilate their whole nation. In the
evening, to add effect to his speech, he ordered a howitzer to be
fired and a rocket to be thrown up. Many of the Arapahoes fell
prostrate on the ground, while others ran screaming with amazement
and terror. On the following day they withdrew to their mountains,
confounded with awe at the appearance of the dragoons, at their big
gun which went off twice at one shot, and the fiery messenger which
they had sent up to the Great Spirit.
