“Little that I have ever seen is forgotten,” returned the trapper: “I am at the close of many weary days, but there is not one among them all, that I could wish to overlook.
I remember you with the whole of your company; ay, and your grand’ther, that went before you. I am glad, that you have come back upon these plains, for I had need of one, who speaks the English, since little faith can be put in the traders of these regions.
Will you do a favour to an old and dying man?”
“Name it,” said Middleton; “it shall be done.”
“It is a far journey to send such trifles,” resumed the old man, who spoke at short intervals, as strength and breath permitted; “a far and weary journey is the same; but kindnesses and friendships are things not to be forgotten.
There is a settlement among the Otsego hills—”
“I know the place,” interrupted Middleton, observing that he spoke with increasing difficulty; “proceed to tell me, what you would have done.”
“Take this rifle, and pouch, and horn, and send them to the person, whose name is graven on the plates of the stock,—a trader cut the letters with his knife,—for it is long, that I have intended to send him such a token of my love.”
“It shall be so.
Is there more that you could wish?”
“Little else have I to bestow.
My traps I give to my Indian son; for honestly and kindly has he kept his faith.
Let him stand before me.”
Middleton explained to the chief what the trapper had said and relinquished his own place to the other.
“Pawnee,” continued the old man, always changing his language to suit the person he addressed, and not unfrequently according to the ideas he expressed, “it is a custom of my people for the father to leave his blessing with the son, before he shuts his eves for ever.
This blessing I give to you; take it, for the prayers of a Christian man will never make the path of a just warrior, to the blessed prairies, either longer, or more tangled. May the God of a white man look on your deeds with friendly eyes, and may you never commit an act, that shall cause Him to darken His face.
I know not whether we shall ever meet again.
There are many traditions concerning the place of Good Spirits.
It is not for one like me, old and experienced though I am, to set up my opinions against a nation’s.
You believe in the blessed prairies, and I have faith in the sayings of my fathers.
If both are true, our parting will be final; but if it should prove, that the same meaning is hid under different words, we shall yet stand together, Pawnee, before the face of your Wahcondah, who will then be no other than my God.
There is much to be said in favour of both religions, for each seems suited to its own people, and no doubt it was so intended.
I fear, I have not altogether followed the gifts of my colour, inasmuch as I find it a little painful to give up for ever the use of the rifle, and the comforts of the chase.
But then the fault has been my own, seeing that it could not have been His.
Ay, Hector,” he continued, leaning forward a little, and feeling for the ears of the hound, “our parting has come at last, dog, and it will be a long hunt.
You have been an honest, and a bold, and a faithful hound.
Pawnee, you cannot slay the pup on my grave, for where a Christian dog falls, there he lies for ever; but you can be kind to him, after I am gone, for the love you bear his master.”
“The words of my father are in my ears,” returned the young partisan, making a grave and respectful gesture of assent.
“Do you hear, what the chief has promised, dog?” demanded the trapper, making an effort to attract the notice of the insensible effigy of his hound.
Receiving no answering look, nor hearing any friendly whine, the old man felt for the mouth and endeavoured to force his hand between the cold lips.
The truth then flashed upon him, although he was far from perceiving the whole extent of the deception.
Falling back in his seat, he hung his head, like one who felt a severe and unexpected shock.
Profiting by this momentary forgetfulness, two young Indians removed the skin with the same delicacy of feeling, that had induced them to attempt the pious fraud.
“The dog is dead!” muttered the trapper, after a pause of many minutes; “a hound has his time as well as a man and well has he filled his days!
Captain,” he added, making an effort to wave his hand for Middleton, “I am glad you have come; for though kind, and well meaning according to the gifts of their colour, these Indians are not the men, to lay the head of a white man in his grave.
I have been thinking too, of this dog at my feet; it will not do to set forth the opinion, that a Christian can expect to meet his hound again; still there can be little harm in placing what is left of so faithful a servant nigh the bones of his master.”
“It shall be as you desire.”
“I’m glad, you think with me in this matter.
In order then to save labour, lay the pup at my feet, or for that matter put him, side by side.
A hunter need never be ashamed to be found in company with his dog!”
“I charge myself with your wish.”
The old man made a long, and apparently a musing pause.
At times he raised his eyes wistfully, as if he would again address Middleton, but some innate feeling appeared always to suppress his words.
The other, who observed his hesitation, enquired in a way most likely to encourage him to proceed, whether there was aught else that he could wish to have done.
“I am without kith or kin in the wide world!” the trapper answered: “when I am gone, there will be an end of my race.
We have never been chiefs; but honest and useful in our way, I hope it cannot be denied, we have always proved ourselves.
My father lies buried near the sea, and the bones of his son will whiten on the prairies—”
“Name the spot, and your remains shall be placed by the side of your father,” interrupted Middleton.
“Not so, not so, Captain.
Let me sleep, where I have lived, beyond the din of the settlements!