Missouri -- Fiction; Outlaws -- Fiction; Western stories
We must hasten to remark that nearly all Indian tribes on the borders
of Canada understand and speak French, at all events, they did at the
time of which we speak. This was the more fortunate as Oliver did not
know one word of Huron.
The guests did honour to the feast, that is to say, they left nothing
but the bones.
The meal, which was washed down by several draughts of French brandy,
was merry, enlivened by jokes and witticisms. The Indians are always
thus among themselves. It is only when in the presence of the whites,
whom they hate, that they are grave, silent, and sullen, never
unbending except under the influence of drink, when their conduct is
that of beings under the influence of delirium tremens.
Brandy, or rather spirit in every shape and form, is doing the work of
extermination for the American.
As soon as the repast was finished, they began to smoke, speaking of
indifferent things. It was the design neither of Bright-eye nor Oliver
to hurry the young chief. Indian etiquette is excessively severe on
this point. It is a proof of intense ill breeding to question a chief,
or even a simple warrior, when he appears anxious for silence.
And yet the sun had disappeared from the horizon; night had spread over
the desert, blotting out the landscape, and mixing up forms in the most
fantastic and strange manner. The sky, of a deep blue, was dotted with
stars. The moon, in its second quarter, began to show itself above the
trees, floating in ether, and spreading on every side its silvery rays,
that lit the prairie here and there with fantastic gleams. The night
wind shivered through the branches of the trees producing plaintive and
melodious sounds, like those of the Æolian harp.
The sombre dwellers in the desert, roused by the setting of the sun,
moved slowly about in the darkness, breaking the silence occasionally
by their wild brays, their sharp barks, and their deep roars. Under
every blade of grass murmured the never silent world of grasshoppers.
The night was cold. It was the period of the great autumn hunts.
Several white frosts had already cooled the earth, soon the temperature
would be below zero. The rivers and streams would be frozen, and snow
would cover the desert as with a shroud.
The adventurers, after throwing on an armful of dry wood to revive the
flame, had wrapped themselves in their ponchos, and, sheltered by the
trees, continued smoking silently.
"This is the hour of the second watch," suddenly observed Numank,
drawing from his belt the medicine calumet, which is only used by
chiefs in council; "the blue jay has sung twice, all rests around us.
Will my pale friends sleep or listen to the voice of a friend?"
"Sleep is for women and children," replied Bright-eye; "men remain
awake when a friend desires to speak of serious things. Speak."
"We listen," added Oliver, bowing.
"I will speak, since my friends desire it; but as what I have to say is
grave, it will not be a talk but a medicine council."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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