The Story of Red Feather: A Tale of the American Frontier — John Shaqi
The Story of Red Feather: A Tale of the American FrontierEllis, Edward Sylvester
General
The Story of Red Feather: A Tale of the American Frontier
Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Dakota Indians -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- Minnesota -- Fiction; Minnesota -- Fiction
When the Indian saw the head of the string groping its way through the
little hole in the door like a tiny serpent, he grasped the end, and
gave it such a smart jerk that the latch flew up.
But, fortunately, it was necessary to do more than draw the latch to
open the door. The massive bar was in place, and the Sioux, most likely
with a suspicion of the truth, made no effort to force the structure.
But while he was thus employed Red Feather had slipped from the back of
his pony and approached the house. He took the side opposite to that
from which Melville was looking forth, so that the youth did not notice
his action. He saw the idleness of trying to make his way through the
door, and formed another plan.
With little effort he raised the sash in the narrow window on the
right. About half-way to the top was a wooden button to hold the lower
sash in place when raised. The occupants of the house used no care in
securing the windows, since, as I have explained, they were too narrow
to allow any person, unless very thin of figure, to force his way
through them.
Red Feather seemed to forget that he had tried to take the life of one
of the white persons only a few minutes before; but, since no return
shot had come from within the building, he must have concluded the
defenders were panic-stricken, or else he showed a daring that amounted
to recklessness; for, after raising the sash, he pushed the curtain
aside, and began carefully shoving his head through the opening.
Now, the house being of logs, it was necessary for the chieftain to
force his shoulders a slight distance to allow his head fairly to enter
the room. This required great care and labor, and more risk on the part
of the Sioux than he suspected--since he should have known that it is
easier to advance under such circumstances than to retreat, and,
inasmuch as it was so hard to push on, it was likely to be still harder
to retreat.
Dot Clarendon, like her brother, was so interested in another direction
that she failed for the time to note that which was of far more
importance.
But the feeling that she and her brother were in a situation of great
danger became so strong that she felt there was only One who could save
them, and, just as she had been taught from earliest infancy, she now
asked that One to take care of them.
Sinking on her chubby knees, she folded her hands, shut her eyes and
poured out the simple prayer of faith and love to Him whose ear is
never closed to the appeal of the most helpless. Her eyes were still
closed, and her lips moving, when the noise made by Red Feather in
forcing himself through the narrow opening caused her to stop suddenly
and look around.
The sight which met her gaze was enough to startle the bravest man. The
head and shoulders of a hideous Sioux warrior were within six feet of
where she was kneeling. The Indian was still struggling but he could get
no farther, and, as it was, he was wedged very closely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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