IN HONOUR BOUND.
"Hullo! What's up?" cried Elbridge Harland as he woke out of a deepsleep with a sense of being choked, while he struggled to free himselffrom the grasp of strong hands suddenly laid upon him. No answer camebut deep guttural grunts; his struggles were futile, his head waspressed hard into his blankets, and his hands were tightly held behindhim and tied there. The thongs seemed to cut into his wrists, and thenhis captors rose and relieved him of their weight. With difficulty heturned his face round, only to see the copper-hued forms of Indians allabout him, and their bead-like black eyes watching him.
"What is it?" he gasped, recovering his breath. "Tom, where are you? Areyou alive?" He was calling to his companion, Tom Winthrop, another youngHarvard man with whom he had been spending the last three weeks in campon the outskirts of Estes Park in the Rocky Mountains.
"I'm here," came the reply in a half-smothered voice. "I'm tied up fast.How are you? What's happened?"
"I don't know, but I'm tied up fast too," answered Elbridge, by aviolent effort turning over and raising himself to a sitting posture inspite of his bound hands.
The sight that met his eyes was alarming enough. A dozen armed red-skinswere in possession of their camp; they had seized the two young men'sguns, and were eagerly ransacking the rest of their belongings in searchof plunder. A bunch of Indian ponies stood a little way off. TomWinthrop was lying bound upon the ground close by.
"I never dreamed of this," said Elbridge with a groan. "The Longmontpeople said"--Longmont was the little town where they had fittedthemselves out for their mountain trip--"that no hostile Indians evercame up into these mountains, and that the Utes were always friendly,didn't they?"
"Yes," said Tom, turning stiffly towards his comrade; "I wonder whothese wretches can be. Hi there, amigo," he continued to an Indian thatstood guard over them with a pistol; "say, you Ute? you Ute?"
The redskin nodded; apparently he understood the question.
"Ute, Colorow; Colorow, Ute," he ejaculated, grunting out a string ofunintelligible Indian words as well.
"Colorow!" broke in Elbridge. "Of course. Don't you remember, Tom, thatold fellow in the store at Longmont who was talking about the differentIndians, and said that he wouldn't trust some of the Utes very far?Don't you remember he said there was a chief called Colorow who wouldbear watching; that his band of Utes was ripe for mischief?"
"What do you imagine they'll do to us?" asked his friend. "They'verobbed our camp, but they haven't tried to kill us. Do you think theymean to torture us, and that that's why they don't kill us at once?"
The tortures inflicted by Indians on their captives were before hismind. These young men from Harvard were new to the west, and had onlycome out for a summer holiday; but the cruelty of savage Indians was afamiliar idea to them, and they shuddered at the thoughts of it.
"Let's ask them what they want of us," said Elbridge; "it may be thatwe've been trespassing on what they consider sacred territory, orsomething of that sort. We might perhaps be able to satisfy them somehowif we could make them understand."
But the Indians could not or would not talk, and all attempts to parleywere vain; ponies were brought, and they were forced to mount and be ledaway wherever their captors chose.
All day long they rode; and at evening, tired and stiff from their bondsand the rough mountain ride, they reached the lodges of a large band ofinsurgent Utes. Here they were rudely pulled from their horses andthrown on the ground. An eager debate ensued as the captors proudlyexhibited their prisoners, and the helpless pair, though they could notunderstand a word, needed no interpreter to reveal the subject. Close bystood two long, upright sticks, and between them there dangled a smallhoop of willow, across which was stretched a round piece of what seemedto be parchment, kept tight and flat by a neat buckskin lacing. Whilethey were looking at this, a puff of wind caught the hoop and caused itto spin slowly round. The side of it now revealed to view was coveredwith a bushy mat of short, red, curly hair, and just off the centre awhite streak across it showed up as a parting.
Elbridge looked inquiringly at his friend. He saw Tom's face become astrange ashy grey. His lips were almost bloodless and seemed to movestiffly as he said in a thick voice, "That thing must be a scalp. It'sfresh, and it's a white man's."
"Yes, young man, that's a nice scalp, and yours'll look pretty besideit," burst in a harsh, rasping voice close behind them in tones thatmade them shiver.
"An American here among these Indians!" thought Elbridge; "why, he mustbe a renegade, another Simon Girty."
With an effort he twisted his head round to see who had startled themso. No white man was visible to his eye, but right above him towered ahuge Indian, a head and shoulders taller than the other Utes. He wore acruel face of mockery, as he opened his great mouth to speak. "You'llhave a high old time, won't you, when you're tied to the stake, and thefire begins to tickle up your toes." His English was perfect.
"Who are you, in the name of goodness?" cried Elbridge, "and what are weprisoners for?"
"You don't know me, eh, Tenderfoot?" was the contemptuous reply. "I'mBig John, John St. Elmo. My father was old Colonel St. Elmo that St.Elmo's Fork's called after. Oh yes, you needn't be surprised at myspeaking English. Why, I was years at school in St. Louis with theChristian Brothers. You bet, folks all know me on the frontier now,though."
This was no empty boast. He was indeed well known, far too well known,on the frontier. Big John, the half-breed son of the old Frenchfur-trader, St. Elmo, was as entirely an Indian in his nature as in hisfeatures, though his superior intelligence as well as his gigantic framebore witness to the white blood that flowed in his veins. His crueltyand his cunning were known far and wide.
He stood over his victims for long, boasting of his own black deeds inthe past, and threatening them with the torture for to-morrow. Then theywere shoved into a lodge, a guard set over them, and they were left toget such rest as they might.
Darkness fell, and they lay silent and sleepless, stupefied with painand misery, until Elbridge rolled himself close to his comrade and beganin a low voice,--
"Tom, do you think there is any chance for us?"
"I can't see any whatever," replied Winthrop.
"This fellow, Big John, seems to me our only hope," said Elbridge. "Atleast he knows something. He could understand us if we were to offer hima ransom. That's our best lookout now. Escape is quite out of thequestion. Here we are, tied and watched, and even if we could slip awaywe should only get lost in these mountains, and be caught againdirectly. We must try and talk him into letting us go, somehow."
The hours dragged on wearily, till just before dawn they heard a suddentrampling of horses, followed by loud talking among the red men.Presently Big John rushed into the lodge and burst out,--
"The governor's sent the soldiers from Fort Russell, and it's got to bestopped."
He was furiously excited. Was he come to butcher his captives on thespot, or what did he intend?
"We're ready to make peace if the governor wants peace," he cried."We've driven every white man out of our country already, and we won'thave the soldiers coming into it. But if he'll call them back, we'lltreat."
"When did all this begin?" inquired Elbridge eagerly.
"Five days back," said John. "Oh, we've made the Americans pretty sick.In five days we've cleared the settlers all out of our country. But wewon't stand the soldiers coming now."
"Look here, John," exclaimed Elbridge, assuming a friendliness that hewas far from feeling; "if you want to let the governor know that you'rewilling to make peace, why not let us go and tell him? That's yoursafest way to let him know."
"And how am I going to get his answer if I do?" asked Big John.
"Why," replied Elbridge promptly, "of course he'll send some one to tellyou when and where to meet him."
"He'll none send," briefly interjected the half-breed. He paused amoment, revolving plans in his mind. "Look here; I don't mind doingthis. One of you go and take my mess
age to the governor, and I'll keept'other here till he gets back with the answer. If he don't come,then--" And with an expressive pantomime he indicated the torture andthe scalping-knife. Vainly they urged him to send both; he was obdurate.
"We pledge our honour to return," cried Elbridge Harland. "Be it peaceor war, we'll come back and give ourselves up to you."
"What's an American's honour worth?" retorted the half-breedcontemptuously. "I don't do business that way. One of you can go.There's my terms; take 'em or leave 'em."
"Then you must go, Tom," began Elbridge, but Big John cut him short.
"You stay here," said their captor, indicating Tom, "and you go,"pointing to Elbridge; "but first you give me your word of honour tocome back here in three days and surrender, whatever the governor says,and swear you won't tell where we are or lead any one here."
"I give it then," said Elbridge; and turning to his companion, "Tom,"cried he, "don't despair. If it be possible, I'll save you."
Eighteen hours later he stood, with an Indian guide beside him, upon asummit whence they looked into a dark valley where fires were glowing.
"Americans camp there," said the guide, pointing to the distant fires."You go talk governor one sun. When moon there," and he pointed to theeastern sky, "you come here find me." And thus Elbridge left him.
In two hours he reached the watch-fires of a company of Coloradovolunteers, hastily called out to resist the Ute outbreak. He learnedthat the governor of the state was actually on the spot. "You betterbelieve," said the guard who conducted him to the governor's quarters,"he ain't no slouch. He's a western man, he is. You don't find GovernorBates at home in Denver when there's a Ute war on. It's 'headquartersin the saddle' with him every time."
Elbridge was soon introduced to him, and told his story.
"Very rough on you and your companion, Mr. Harland," said the governorsympathetically, when Elbridge had finished. "I'm sorry for you both,but for Mr. Winthrop especially. It's too bad you should have justdropped in for such a reception as this in our Centennial State thisparticular year. We reckon to give eastern tourists a good time here,and we're particularly pleased to welcome to the Rockies culturedgentlemen from good old Harvard that can appreciate the splendour of ourmountain scenery. Now here's my idea. Mr. Winthrop's one solitary chanceis for you to lead my volunteers right to where these Indians are, sothat we can surround 'em, and it's just possible we may succeed inrescuing him alive."
"But," said Elbridge astonished, "I have just told you how I passed myword to return and put myself in their hands again, and show no onewhere they are."
"Rubbish," said Governor Bates--"positive rubbish, my dear sir. Indiansdon't keep faith with us, so we're not bound to do it with them. Youbring us to them, and we'll fix things."
"I couldn't do it," said Elbridge quickly, his colour rising; "I passedmy word, and I must go back alone."
"That you'll not do," said the governor, "if I have any authority here.I'll have to put you under arrest if you try," and with a forced laughhe added, "We can't have you communicating with enemies of the UnitedStates, you know."
And rather than yield, Elbridge actually passed the day under honourablearrest at the governor's quarters. He remained proof both againstridicule and upbraiding.
"Well, sir," said Governor Bates finally, "I can only hope that CaptainWaldo himself may arrive. He's the one man that really knows thesenorthern Utes and speaks their lingo, and they think a heap of him. Hecan do anything with them almost. The moment they broke out Itelegraphed to Washington for him. He might be here to-night, but hehasn't come; and if he don't, I wouldn't give a red cent for yourpartner's chance."
Elbridge took his arrest so easily that the guard believed him to besecretly glad to find an obstacle put in the way of his return to theIndians. Consequently he found little difficulty in escaping at midnightand rejoining his guide. They reached the Indian camp once more on thefollowing evening.
"Governor don't want peace, eh?" said Big John. "Then we're going tojust sicken him of war."
Elbridge again spent the night in bonds with his comrade. In the morninga council was held by the Indians, at the end of which two stakes wereplanted in the ground on the outskirts of the camp, and firewood heapedround them. The preparation for the torture had begun.
The two victims were brought out of the lodge, and dragged to the spotamid the taunts of Big John. Elbridge cast a despairing look on the ringof dark faces encircling them, but no glance of pity met his. Indiansare cruel.
"Tom," he cried, "this is the end. We must bear it as best we may.Good-bye, old man."
Suddenly there was a great shouting among the Indians. The crowd partedasunder, and they caught sight of the figure of a horseman in army blueriding out of the timber towards them. He reined up his horse sharply,and then extended both hands with the two forefingers interlocked. Itwas the peace-sign. Some of the Indians ran forward to meet him,uttering cries of recognition. Others, of whom Big John was one, hungsullenly back.
"Elbridge," said Tom, "who can this be?" His voice shook with thenerve-strain he was undergoing, but he mastered it and went on. "Whatcan he be doing here among the Indians? They seem to mind him."
"It must be Captain Waldo. He has come to save us," said Elbridge infirm tones. He would let no hysteric emotion betray to the red men howbitter the prospect of the torture had been to bear.
Captain Waldo it was. He came up to them and spoke.
"I fear you have had a sad experience, gentlemen," said he, "but I havehopes that all may yet be well. I have some little influence over thesepeople, but they are terribly excited just now. I must leave you for awhile to speak to the chiefs in council. Till they decide I think youwill be safe."
"Can we do anything to help you?" asked Elbridge eagerly.
"No; there is nothing to be done," said Captain Waldo, "except to waitfor the end patiently. Make no struggle or attempt to escape. It alldepends on moral force now."
"You have no soldiers with you, then?" inquired Tom. "You are alone?"
"Quite alone," said Waldo, with a look of deep seriousness in his eyes."We can look for no human help;" and turning away, he strode over to thecouncil tent and disappeared.
Their bonds were now untied, to their intense relief, and they were leftto stroll where they would within the bounds of the camp. Hour afterhour they could hear from within the tent the voices of the Indianorators, and sometimes they were able to recognize the calm tones ofWaldo addressing them. Then the strident voice of Big John was heard;and presently a messenger came and signed to them to come to the counciltent. Anxiously they approached and entered.
"Look at this young man, you John St. Elmo," said Waldo, pointing toElbridge Harland. "You tell the chiefs that if they trust me and come inand make peace they will all be massacred. They are not to trust us,because no white man ever keeps his word. Here is a young white man whomyou made prisoner; whom you set free on the promise of his return; whowas arrested by the governor to keep him from returning; and who, ratherthan break his promise to you, escaped secretly from arrest, and cameback to you to face the torture. I pledge you my word, and so will he,that if the Utes come in and make peace, and give up their captives, noone of them shall suffer for it."
Big John was silent, and Waldo said it over again in the Indian languageto the chiefs. Then an old grey-haired red-skin arose and deliveredtheir decision. "We know you, captain," said he, "and your word isstraight. Other white men have told us many lies. But here is a whiteman"--and he pointed to Elbridge--"whose word is true. We will come."
The crisis was over; the momentous decision was for peace, and thefrontiers were to be spared the horrors of a prolonged Indian war.Captain Waldo, accompanied by the two released prisoners, led the way toa point where the insurgent Utes could safely surrender themselves tothe authorities; and Elbridge Harland had the consciousness that he hadnot only saved his honour, but had helped to save his countrymen aswell.