The Great Sioux Trail: A Story of Mountain and PlainAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
General
The Great Sioux Trail: A Story of Mountain and Plain
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Dakota Indians -- Fiction; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
Then he sat down and rejoiced in the use of his eyes. Had they been
faced by a dazzling light when the bandage was taken off he might not
have been able to see for a little while, but the darkness was tender
and soothing. Gradually he was able to see all the warriors at work
making a camp, and Heraka, as if the captive's command had appealed to
his sense of humor, had one man bring him an abundance of water in a
gourd, and then, when a fire was lighted and deer and buffalo meat were
broiled, he ate with the rest as much as he liked.
After supper Inmutanka replaced with a fresh one the bandage upon his
head, from which the pain had now departed. Will was really grateful.
"I want to tell you, Dr. Inmutanka," he said, "that there are worse
physicians than you, where I come from."
The old Sioux understood his tone and smiled. Then all the Indians, most
of them reclining on the earth, relapsed into silence. Will felt a
curious kind of peace. A prisoner with an unknown and perhaps a terrible
fate close at hand, the present alone, nevertheless, concerned him.
After so much hardship his body was comfortable. They had not rebound
him, and they had even allowed him to walk once to the bushes, from
which he could see beyond the clear pool at which the Indians had filled
their gourds and from which the ponies drank.
One of these ponies, Heraka's own, was standing near, and Will with a
pang saw bound to it his own fine repeating rifle, belt of cartridges
and the leather case containing his field glasses. Heraka's look
followed his and in the light of the fire the smile of the chief was so
malicious that the great pulse in Will's throat beat hard with anger.
"They were yours once," said Heraka, "the great rifle that fires many
times without reloading, the cartridges to fit, and the strong glasses
that bring the far near. Now they are mine."
"They are yours for the present. I admit that," said the lad, "but I
shall get them back again. Meanwhile, if you're willing, I'll go to
sleep."
He thought it best to assume a perfect coolness, even if he did not feel
it, and Heraka said that he might sleep, although they bound his arms
and ankles again, loosely, however, so that he suffered no pain and but
little inconvenience. He fell asleep almost at once, and did not awake
until old Inmutanka aroused him at dawn.
After breakfast he was put on the pony again, blindfolded, and they rode
all day long in a direction of which he was ignorant, but, as he
believed, over low hills, and, as he knew, among bushes, because they
often reached out and pulled at his legs. Nevertheless his sense of an
infinite distance being created between him and his own world increased.
All this traveling through the dark was like widening a gulf. It had not
distance only, but depth, and the weight it pressed upon him was
cumulative, making him feel that he had been riding in invisible regions
for weeks, instead of two days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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