Many-hued blankets hung fluttering in the sun, and rising
lazily were curling columns of blue smoke. The scene was picturesque
and reposeful; the vivid hues suggesting the Indians love of color
and ornament; the absence of life and stir, his languorous habit of
sleeping away the hot noonday hours.
The loud whoops, however, changed the quiet encampment into a scene
of animation. Children ran from the wigwams, maidens and braves
dashed here and there, squaws awakened from their slumber, and many
a doughty warrior rose from his rest in the shade. French fur
traders came curiously from their lodges, and renegades hurriedly
left their blankets, roused to instant action by the well-known
summons.
The hunter, led down the lane toward the approaching crowd,
presented a calm and fearless demeanor. When the Indians surrounded
him one prolonged, furious yell rent the air, and then followed an
extraordinary demonstration of fierce delight. The young brave's
staccato yell, the maiden's scream, the old squaw's screech, and the
deep war-cry of the warriors intermingled in a fearful discordance.
Often had this hunter heard the name which the Indian called him; he
had been there before, a prisoner; he had run the gauntlet down the
lane; he had been bound to a stake in front of the lodge where his
captors were now leading him.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84