Part 32 (1/2)

The warriors rose from their rush mats at dawn and ate flesh of the buffalo and deer and their favorite wa-nsa. d.i.c.k's arms were unbound, and he, too, was allowed to eat; but he had little appet.i.te, and when the warriors saw that he had finished they bound him again.

”What are you going to do to me?” asked d.i.c.k in a kind of vague curiosity.

No one gave any answer. They did not seem to hear him. d.i.c.k fancied that some of them understood English, but chose to leave him in ignorance. He resolved to imitate their own stoicism and wait. When they bound his arms again, and his feet also, he made no resistance, but lay down quietly on the rush mat and gazed with an air of indifference at the skin wall of the lodge. All warriors went out, except one, who sat in the doorway with his rifle on his knee.

”They flatter me,” thought d.i.c.k. ”They must think me of some importance or that I'm dangerous, since they bind and guard me so well.”

His thongs of soft deerskin, while secure, were not galling.

They neither chafed nor prevented the circulation, and when he grew tired of lying in one position he could turn into another.

But it was terribly hard waiting. He did not know what was before him. Torture or death? Both, most likely. He tried to be resigned, but how could one be resigned when one was so young and so strong? The hum of the village life came to him, the sound of voices, the tread of feet, the tw.a.n.g of a boyish bowstring, but the guard in the doorway never stirred. It seemed to d.i.c.k that the Sioux, who wore very little clothing, was carved out of reddish-brown stone. d.i.c.k wondered if he would ever move, and lying on his back he managed to raise his head a little on the doubled corner of the rush mat, and watch that he might see.

Bound, helpless, and shut off from the rest of the world, this question suddenly became vital to him: Would that Indian ever move, or would he not? He must have been sitting in that position at least two hours. Always he stared straight before him, the muscles on his bare arms never quivered in the slightest, and the rifle lay immovable across knees which also were bare. How could he do it? How could he have such control over his nerves and body? d.i.c.k's mind slowly filled with wonder, and then he began to have a suspicion that the Sioux was not real, merely some phantom of the fancy, or that he himself was dreaming. It made him angry--angry at himself, angry at the Sioux, angry at everything. He closed his eyes, held them tightly shut for five minutes, and then opened them again. The Sioux was still there. d.i.c.k was about to break through his a.s.sumed stoicism and shout at the warrior, but he checked himself, and with a great effort took control again of his wandering nerves.

He knew now that the warrior was real, and that he must have moved some time or other, but he did not find rest of spirit. A shaft of suns.h.i.+ne by and by entered the narrow door of the lodge and fell across d.i.c.k himself. He knew that it must be a fair day, but he was sorry for it. The sun ought not to s.h.i.+ne when he was at such a pa.s.s.

Another interminable period pa.s.sed, and an old squaw entered with a bowl of wa-nsa, and behind her came Lone Wolf, who unbound d.i.c.k.

”What's up now, Mr. Lone Wolf?” asked d.i.c.k with an attempt at levity. ”Is it a fight or a foot race?”

”Eat,” replied Lone Wolf sententiously, pointing of the bowl wa-nsa. ”You will need your strength.”

d.i.c.k's heart fell at these words despite all his self-command.

”My time's come,” he thought. He tried to eat--in fact, he forced himself to eat--that Lone Wolf might not think that he quailed, and when he had eaten as much as his honor seemed to demand he stretched his muscles and said to Lone Wolf, with a good attempt at indifference:

”Lead on, my wolfish friend. I don't know what kind of a welcome mine is going to be, but I suppose it is just as well to find out now.”

The face of Lone Wolf did not relax. He seemed to have a full appreciation of what was to come and no time for idle jests. He merely pointed to the doorway, and d.i.c.k stepped into the suns.h.i.+ne. Lying so long in the dusky lodge, he was dazzled at first by the brilliancy of the day, but when his sight grew stronger he beheld a mult.i.tude about him. The women and children began to chatter, but the warriors were silent. d.i.c.k saw that he was the center of interest, and was quite sure that he was looking upon his last sun. ”O Lord, let me die bravely!” was his silent prayer.

He resolved to imitate as nearly as he could the bearing of an Indian warrior in his position, and made no resistance as Lone Wolf led him on, with the great thong following. He glanced around once for Bright Sun, but did not see him. The fierce chief whom they called Ite-Moga' Ju (Rain-in-the-Face) seemed to be in charge of d.i.c.k's fate, and he directed the proceedings.

But stoicism could not prevail entirely, and d.i.c.k looked about him again. He saw the yellow waters of the river with the sunlight playing upon them; the great village stretching away on either sh.o.r.e until it was hidden by the trees and undergrowth; the pleasant hills and all the pleasant world, so hard to leave.

His eyes dwelt particularly upon the hill, a high one, overlooking the whole valley of the Little Big Horn, and the light was so clear that he could see every bush and shrub waving there.

His eyes came back from the hill to the throng about him. He had felt at times a sympathy for the Sioux because the white man was pressing upon them, driving them from their ancient hunting grounds that they loved; but they were now wholly savage and cruel--men, women, and children alike. He hated them all.

d.i.c.k was taken to the summit of one of the lower hills, on which he could be seen by everybody and from which he could see in a vast circle. He was tied in a peculiar manner. His hands remained bound behind him, but his feet were free. One end of a stout rawhide was secured around his waist and the other around a sapling, leaving him a play of about a half yard. He could not divine the purpose of this, but he was soon to learn.

Six half-grown boys, with bows and arrows, then seldom used by grown Sioux, formed a line at a little distance from him, and at a word from Rain-in-the-Face leveled their bows and fitted arrow to the string. d.i.c.k thought at first they were going to slay him at once, but he remembered that the Indian did not do things that way. He knew it was some kind of torture and although he s.h.i.+vered he steadied his mind to face it.

Rain-in-the-Face spoke again, and six bowstrings tw.a.n.ged. Six arrows whizzed by d.i.c.k, three on one side and three on the other, but all so close that, despite every effort of will, he shrank back against the sapling. A roar of laughter came from the crowd, and d.i.c.k flushed through all the tan of two years in the open air. Now he understood why the rawhide allowed him so much play. It was a torture of the nerves and of the mind.

They would shoot their arrows by him, graze him perhaps if he stood steady, but if he sought to evade through fear, if he sprang either to one side or the other, they might strike in a vital spot.

He summoned up the last ounce of his courage, put his back against the sapling and resolved that he would not move, even if an arrow carried some of his skin with it. The bowstrings tw.a.n.ged again, and again six arrows whistled by. d.i.c.k quivered, but he did not move, and some applause came from the crowd.

Although it was the applause of enemies, of barbarians, who wished to see him suffer, it encouraged d.i.c.k. He would endure everything and he would not look at these cruel faces; so he fixed his eyes on the high hill and did not look away when the bowstrings tw.a.n.ged a third time. As before, he heard the arrows whistle by him, and the s.h.i.+ver came into his blood, but his will did not let it extend to his body. He kept his eyes fixed upon the hill, and suddenly a speck appeared before them. No, it was not a speck, and, incredible as it seemed, d.i.c.k was sure that he saw a horseman come around the base of the hill and stop there, gazing into the valley upon the great village and the people thronging about the bound boy.

A second and third horseman appeared, and d.i.c.k could doubt no longer. They were white cavalrymen in the army uniform, scouts or the vanguard, he knew not what. d.i.c.k held his breath, and again that s.h.i.+ver came into his blood. Then he heard and saw an extraordinary thing. A singular deep, long-drawn cry came from the mult.i.tude in unison, a note of surprise and mingled threat.

Then all whirled about at the same moment and gazed at the hors.e.m.e.n at the base of the hill.