Tell this thieving Sioux, then, that I come to claim the conditions of our solemn bargain, made at the foot of the rock.”
When the trapper had rendered his meaning into the Sioux language, Mahtoree demanded, with an air of surprise—
“Is my brother cold? buffaloe skins are plenty.
Is he hungry?
Let my young men carry venison into his lodges.”
The squatter elevated his clenched fist in a menacing manner, and struck it with violence on the palm of his open hand, by way of confirming his determination, as he answered—
“Tell the deceitful liar, I have not come like a beggar to pick his bones, but like a freeman asking for his own; and have it I will.
And, moreover, tell him I claim that you, too, miserable sinner as you ar’, should be given up to justice.
There’s no mistake.
My prisoner, my niece, and you. I demand the three at his hands, according to a sworn agreement.”
The immovable old man smiled, with an expression of singular intelligence, as he answered—
“Friend squatter, you ask what few men would be willing to grant.
You would first cut the tongue from the mouth of the Teton, and then the heart from his bosom.”
“It is little that Ishmael Bush regards, who or what is damaged in claiming his own.
But put you the questions in straight-going Indian, and when you speak of yourself, make such a sign as a white man will understand, in order that I may know there is no foul play.”
The trapper laughed in his silent fashion, and muttered a few words to himself before he addressed the chief—
“Let the Dahcotah open his ears very wide,” he said ‘that big words may have room to enter.
His friend the Big-knife comes with an empty hand, and he says that the Teton must fill it.”
“Wagh!
Mahtoree is a rich chief.
He is master of the prairies.”
“He must give the dark-hair.”
The brow of the chief contracted in an ominous frown, that threatened instant destruction to the audacious squatter; but as suddenly recollecting his policy, he craftily replied—
“A girl is too light for the hand of such a brave.
I will fill it with buffaloes.”
“He says he has need of the light-hair, too; who has his blood in her veins.”
“She shall be the wife of Mahtoree; then the Long-knife will be the father of a chief.”
“And me,” continued the trapper, making one of those expressive signs, by which the natives communicate, with nearly the same facility as with their tongues, and turning to the squatter at the same time, in order that the latter might see he dealt fairly by him; “he asks for a miserable and worn-out trapper.”
The Dahcotah threw his arm over the shoulder of the old man, with an air of great affection, before he replied to this third and last demand.
“My friend is old,” he said, “and cannot travel far.
He will stay with the Tetons, that they may learn wisdom from his words.
What Sioux has a tongue like my father?
No; let his words be very soft, but let them be very clear. Mahtoree will give skins and buffaloes. He will give the young men of the Pale-faces wives, but he cannot give away any who live in his own lodge.”
Perfectly satisfied, himself, with this laconic reply, the chief was moving towards his expecting counsellors, when suddenly returning, he interrupted the translation of the trapper by adding—
“Tell the Great Buffaloe” (a name by which the Tetons had already christened Ishmael), “that Mahtoree has a hand which is always open.
See,” he added, pointing to the hard and wrinkled visage of the attentive Esther, “his wife is too old, for so great a chief.
Let him put her out of his lodge.
Mahtoree loves him as a brother.
He is his brother.
He shall have the youngest wife of the Teton.
Tachechana, the pride of the Sioux girls, shall cook his venison, and many braves will look at him with longing minds.
Go, a Dahcotah is generous.”
The singular coolness, with which the Teton concluded this audacious proposal, confounded even the practised trapper.
He stared after the retiring form of the Indian, with an astonishment he did not care to conceal, nor did he renew his attempt at interpretation until the person of Mahtoree was blended with the cluster of warriors, who had so long, and with so characteristic patience, awaited his return.
“The Teton chief has spoken very plainly,” the old man continued; “he will not give you the lady, to whom the Lord in heaven knows you have no claim, unless it be such as the wolf has to the lamb.
He will not give you the child, you call your niece; and therein I acknowledge that I am far from certain he has the same justice on his side.
Moreover, neighbour squatter, he flatly denies your demand for me, miserable and worthless as I am; nor do I think he has been unwise in so doing, seeing that I should have many reasons against journeying far in your company.
But he makes you an offer, which it is right and convenient you should know.
The Teton says through me, who am no more than a mouthpiece, and therein not answerable for the sin of his words, but he says, as this good woman is getting past the comely age, it is reasonable for you to tire of such a wife.
He therefore tells you to turn her out of your lodge, and when it is empty, he will send his own favourite, or rather she that was his favourite, the ‘Skipping Fawn,’ as the Siouxes call her, to fill her place.