CHAPTER XV.
THE WHITE BUFFALO.
So soon as Natah Otann emerged from the cabin into which he hadconducted the Count, he proceeded towards the hut inhabited by WhiteBuffalo. The night was beginning to fall; the Kenhas, collected roundfires kindled at the door of each wigwam, were conversing gaily whilesmoking their long calumets. The chief replied by a nod of the head, asa friendly sign to the affectionate salutations the warriors made himwhom he met; but he did not stop to talk with anyone, and continued hiswalk with greater rapidity as the darkness grew denser. He at lengthreached a cabin, situated at the extremity of the village, on the banksof the Missouri. The chief, after taking a scrutinizing glance around,stopped before this hut, and prepared to enter. Still in the act ofraising the buffalo curtain that served as a doorway, he hesitated fora few seconds, and appeared to be collecting his courage.
This dwelling, externally, had nothing to distinguish it from theothers forming the village; it was round, with a roof shaped like abeehive, made of intertwined branches, with clay stuffed between them,and covered with matting. Still, after a moment's reflection, NatahOtann raised the curtain, walked in, and stopped at the threshold,saying in French--
"Good evening, my father."
"Good evening, child, I was awaiting you impatiently: come, sit down bymy side, we have to talk."
These words were uttered in the same language, and in a gentle voice.
Natah Otann took a few steps forward, and let the curtain fall behindhim. If, externally, the hut the Chief had just entered was notdistinguished from the others, that was not the case with the interior.All that human industry can imagine, when reduced to its simplestexpressions, that is to say, when deprived of tools and matters ofprimary necessity to express its thoughts, had been as it were inventedby the master of this house. Hence the interior of this hut was a sortof strange pandemonium, in which were collected the most discordantarticles, apparently least suited to be side by side. Differing fromthe other wigwams, this cabin had two windows, in which oiled paperwas substituted for glass; in one corner was a bed, in the centre atable, a few scattered chairs, and armchair by the table, but all thesearticles carved with an axe, and clumsily. Such was the furniture ofthis singular room.
On shelves, some forty volumes, for the most part out of their binding;stuffed animals hanging by cords, insects, &c.; in a word, an infinitenumber of things without name, but classified, arranged, and labelled,completed this singular abode, which more resembled the cell of ananchorite, or the secret den of a mediaeval alchemist, than the abodeof an Indian chief; and yet this hut belonged to White Buffalo, oneof the first Kenha chiefs. But, as we have said, this chief was aEuropean, and had, doubtlessly, kept up some reminiscences of his pastlife, the last rays of a lost existence.
At the moment when Natah Otann entered the hut, White Buffalo, seatedin the easy chair at the table, with his head resting on his hands,was reading by the light of a lamp, whose smoky wick only spread aflickering and uncertain light around, from a large folio, with yellowand worn leaves. He raised his head, took off his spectacles, whichhe placed in the book, and, turning the chair half round, the old mansmiled, and, pointing to a chair in a kindly way, said--
"Come, my child, sit down there."
The Chief took a chair, drew it to the table, and sat down, without anyreply. The old man looked at him attentively for a few moments, andthen said:--
"Hem! you appear to me very thoughtful for a man who, as I suppose, hasjust obtained a grand result so long expected. What can render you sogloomy? Would you hesitate, now you are on the point of success? or areyou beginning to understand that the work which, in spite of me, youwished to undertake, is beyond the strength of a man left to himself,and who has only an old man to support him?"
"Perhaps so," the Chief answered, in a hollow voice. "Oh why, myfather, did you let me taste the bitter fruit of that accursedcivilization, which was not made for me? Why have your lessons madeof me a man differing from those who surround me, and with whom I amcompelled to live and die?"
"Blind man! when I showed you the sun, you allowed yourself to bedazzled by the beams; your weak eyes could not endure the light; inthe place of that ignorance and brutalization in which you would havevegetated all the days of your life, I developed in you the onlyfeeling which elevates man above the brute. I taught you to think, tojudge, and this is the way in which you recompense me. This is thereward you give me for the pains I have taken, and the cares I havenever ceased to bestow on you."
"My father!"
"Do not attempt to exculpate yourself, child," the old man said, witha shade of bitterness. "I should have expected what now happens,ingratitude and egotism are deposited in man's heart by Providence,as his safeguard. Without those two supreme virtues of humanity, nosociety would be possible. I am not angry with you; I have no right tobe so; and, as the sage says, you are a man, and no human feeling mustbe alien to you."
"I make neither plaint nor recrimination, my father; I know that youhave acted towards me with good intentions," the Chief replied, "but,unfortunately, your lessons have produced a very different resultfrom what you awaited: in developing my ideas, you have, without yourknowledge or mine, increased my wants; the life I lead preys uponme: the men who surround me are a burden to me, because they cannotunderstand me, and I can no longer understand them. As respects myself,my mind rushes towards an unknown horizon. I dream wide awake ofstrange and impossible things. I suffer from an incurable malady, andcannot define it. I hopelessly love a woman, of whom I am jealous,and who can never be mine, save by a crime. Oh, my father, I am verywretched!"
"Child!" the old man exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders in pity. "What,you are unhappy! Your grief inclines me to laughter. Man has in himselfthe germ of good and evil; if you suffer, you have only yourselfto blame. You are young, intelligent, powerful, the first of yournation: what do you want for happiness? Nothing. If you wish to be sopermanently, stifle in your heart that insensate passion which devoursit, and follow, without looking to the right or left, the gloriousmission you have traced for yourself. What can be more noble or granderthan the deliverance and regeneration of a people?"
"Alas! can I do it?"
"What! you doubt?" the old man shouted, striking the table with hisfist and looking him in the face; "then you are lost: renounce yourplans, you will not succeed; on a road like that you follow, hesitationor stoppage is ruin."
"Father!"
"Silence," he said, with redoubled energy, "and listen to me; when youfirst revealed your plans to me, I tried by all arguments possibleto make you abandon them. I proved to you that your resolves werepremature. That the Indians, brutalized by a lengthened slavery, wereonly the shadow of their former selves; and that to attempt to arousein them any noble or generous feeling was like galvanizing a corpse.You resisted; you would hear nothing; you went Headlong into intriguesand plots of every description--is it not so?"
"It is true."
"Well! now it is too late to return; you must go on at all risks. Youmay fall, but you will do so with honour; and your name, cherished byall, will swell the martyrology of the chosen men who have devotedthemselves to their country."
"Things are not yet sufficiently advanced, I think, for me----"
"Not to be able to withdraw--you mean?" he interrupted him.
"Yes."
"You are mistaken; while you were engaged in collecting your partisans,and preparing to take up arms, do you fancy I remained inactive?""What do you mean?"
"I mean that your enemies suspect your plans; are watching you; and ifyou do not prevent them, will lay a trap, into, which you will fall."
"I?" the chief said, violently. "We shall see."
"Then redouble your activity; do not let yourself be taken unawares;and, above all, be prudent, for you are closely watched, I repeat."
"How do you know it?"
"That I know it, is sufficient, I imagine; trust to my prudence. I amon the watch. Let the spies and traitors fall
asleep in a doubtfulsecurity; were we to unmask them, others would take their place,and we are better off with those we know; in that way none of theirmovements escape us, we know what they are doing and what they want,and while they flatter themselves with the idea of knowing our plans,and divulging them to their paymasters, we are their masters, and amusethem with false information, which conceals our real plans. Believe me,their confidence produces our security."
"You are always right, my father. I trust entirely to you. But may Inot be permitted to know the names of the traitors?"
"For what end, since I know them? When the time arrives, I will tellyou all."
"Be it so."
There was a lengthened silence; the two men, absorbed in thought,did not notice a grinning head over the curtain in the doorway, andwhich had for a long time been listening to their conversation. Butthe man, whoever he might be, who indulged in this espial, every nowand then gave signs of ill temper and disappointment. In fact, whilelistening to the two chiefs, he had forgotten one thing, that he couldnot understand a word of what they said, for they spoke in French, andthat was a sad disappointment to the spy. Still he did not despair, butcontinued to listen, in the hope that they might at any moment revertto his idiom.
"And now," the old man continued, "give me an account of your trip.When you went away, you were happy, and hoped, as you told me, to bringback with you the man you wanted to play the principal part in yourconspiracy."
"Well, you saw him here today, my father. He is here. This evening heentered the village by my side."
"Oh! oh! explain that to me, my child," the old man said, with agentle smile, and settling himself in the easy chair to listen at hisease. By an imperceptible movement, and while seeming to listen withthe greatest attention, he drew towards him the heavy pistol that laybefore him.
"Go on," he said; "I am listening."
"About six months ago, I do not know if I told you of it then, Isucceeded in capturing a Canadian hunter, to whom I owe an old grudge."
"Wait a minute. I fancy I have a confused remembrance of it. A certainBright-eye, I think, eh?"
"The very man. Well! I was furious with him, because he had mocked usso long, and killed my warriors with extraordinary skill. So soon as hewas in my power I resolved he should die by violence."
"Although, as you know, I do not approve of that barbarous custom, youwere in the right, and I cannot offer any opposition to it."
"He, too, made no objection; on the contrary, he derided us; in aword, he rendered us so mad with him, that I gave the order for thepunishment. At the moment that he was about to die, a man, or rather ademon, appeared all at once, rushed among us, and careless as it seemedof the risk he ran, unfastened the prisoner."
"Hum! he was a brave man, do you know?"
"Yes, but his daring action would have cost him dear; when suddenly, ata signal from myself, all my warriors fell at his feet, with marks ofthe most profound respect."
"Oh! what are you telling me now?"
"The strictest truth: on looking this man in the face, I perceived onhis face two extraordinary signs."
"What?"
"A scar over the right eyebrow, and a black mark under the eye, on thesame side of the face."
"That is strange," the old man muttered, pensively.
"But what is still more so, this man exactly resembles the portraitwhich you drew, and which is in that book."
"What did you do then?"
"You know my coolness and rapidity of resolution. I let the man departwith the prisoner."
"Well! and afterwards?"
"I pretended as if I did not wish to meet him."
"Better and better still," the old man said, with a nod of his head,and with a movement swift as thought, he cocked the pistol he held inhis hand, and fired. A cry of pain was heard from the door, and thehead disappeared suddenly under the curtain. The two men jumped up, andrushed out, but saw nothing, except that a rather large pool of bloodclearly indicated that the shot had told.
"What have you done, my father?" Natah Otann exclaimed, in astonishment.
"Nothing. I have merely given a lesson, rather a rough one, to one ofthose spies I mentioned to you just now."
And he went back coolly, and eat down again. Natah Otann wished tofollow the bloody trail left by the fugitive, but the old man checkedhim.
"Stay! what I have done is sufficient; continue your story, which isdeeply interesting. Still you can see you have no time to lose, if youwish to succeed."
"I will lose none, father, you may be assured," the Chief exclaimed,wrathfully, "but I swear that I will know the scoundrel."
"You would do wrong to seek him. Come, proceed with your narrative."
Natah Otann then described in full detail his meeting with the Count,and in what way he had made him consent to follow him to his village.This time no incident interrupted his story, and it seemed as if thelesson read by White Buffalo to the listener was sufficient for thepresent. The old man laughed heartily at the experiment with thematches, and the Count's surprise when he perceived that the man he hadhitherto taken for a coarse and half-idiot savage was, on the contrary,a man endowed with an intellect and education at least equal to his own.
"And what shall I do now?" Natah Otann added, in conclusion. "He ishere; but with him is Bright-eye, in whom he places the greatestconfidence."
"Hum!" the old man answered, "all this is very serious. In the firstplace, my son, you did wrong to let him know you as you really are: youwere much stronger than he, so long as he merely fancied you a stupidsavage: you allowed your pride to carry you away through the desire toshine in the eyes of a European. It is a great fault, for now he doubtsyou, and keeps on his guard."
The young man looked down, and made no reply.
"However," the old man went on, "I will try to arrange matters; but Imust first see this Bright-eye and have a talk with him."
"You will obtain nothing, my father; he is devoted to the Count."
"The greater reason, child. In which hut have you lodged them?"
"In the old council lodge."
"Good! they will be convenient there, and it will be easy to hear allthey say."
"That is what I thought."
"Now, one last remark."
"What is it?"
"Why did you not kill the She-wolf of the Prairies?"
"I did not see her. I was not in the camp; but I would not have doneso."
The old man laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Natah Otann, my son," he said to him, in a stern voice, "when a manlike yourself is intrusted with the fortunes of a people, he mustrecoil before nothing. A dead enemy makes the living sleep quietly. TheShe-wolf of the Prairies is your enemy. You know it; and her influenceis immense over the superstitious minds of the Redskins. Remember thesewords, uttered by an old, experienced man:--As you would not kill her,she will kill you."
Natah Otann smiled contemptuously.
"Oh!" he said, "a wretched, half-mad woman."
"Ah!" White Buffalo replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, "are youignorant that a woman lurks behind every great event? They kill men ofgenius for futile interests, and paltry passions cause the finest andboldest prospects to fail."
"Yes; you are, perhaps, right," Natah Otann said; "but I feel I cannotstain my hands with that woman's blood."
"Scruples, poor child," White Buffalo said, with disdain; "well, I donot insist; but be assured that scruples will ruin you. The man whowishes to govern others must be made of marble, and have no feelings ofhumanity, else his prospects will be nipped in the bud, and his foeswill ridicule him. That which has ever ruined the greatest geniusesis, that they would not comprehend this fact; but worked for theirsuccessors and not for themselves."
In speaking thus, the old man had involuntarily let himself be carriedaway by the tumultuous feelings that still agitated his mind. His eyesparkled; his brow was unwrinkled; his glance had an irresistiblemajesty; he had returned, in thought, to his old days of str
ugglingand triumph. Natah Otann listened to him, yielding to the dominatingascendency of this prostrated giant, who was so great even after hisfall.
"What am I saying? I am mad! pardon me, child," the old man continued,sinking in his chair despondingly. "Go, leave me; tomorrow, at sunrise,I may, perhaps, have some news for you."
And he dismissed the Chief with a sign. The latter, accustomed to theseoutbursts, bowed, and departed.