The Talking Leaves: An Indian Story by William O. Stoddard (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗

ought to have made them suspect it at once.

Ni-ha-be's own eyes had been the first to notice that ripple, and she had set a couple of bright boys at the business of exploring it.

Of course the older squaws claimed the credit, when the ford was found, but Rita remarked to her sister,

"Let Too Many Toes say she saw it first. Too much talk. She'll be beaten again if she isn't careful."

"I saw it myself."

"I don't care. You and I have done enough, yesterday and to-day. We must keep still."

Rita was right, and Ni-ha-be knew it; but it was very hard to hear Too Many Toes so loudly assert her own acuteness and quickness of vision.

"She's the ugliest squaw in the whole band. Her children are ugly and her husband is too lazy to feed them, Rita."

"Hush. Father and the chiefs are coming. Walk away."

They did not go far and they were looking back all the while. Many Bears and his councillors marched dignifiedly down to the bank, and a tall brave walked right on into the river.

Not a word was spoken while he waded across and back, the water nowhere rising much above his waist, although it ran pretty swiftly.

His next business was to explore the width of the ledge, and that was found to be at least ten feet at the narrowest.

Long before that was done, however, Ni-ha-be had been reconciled to the policy of silence.

Too Many Toes could not be silent, and she disputed so loudly with another old squaw over their claim to the glory of finding that ford, that the chief and the councillors felt that something must be done for discipline.

Many Bears nodded sharply at the husband of Too Many Toes.

"Much noise. Warriors hear too big boasting. Teach squaw."

That was enough, and in a moment more the end of a heavy hide "lariat" or horse rope was falling rapidly upon the shoulders of the two offenders, Too Many Toes getting much the larger share of the beating. Her husband had been one of the braves who had wasted so much time in finding the other ford, and he agreed with his chief that somebody ought to be punished for it.

"Serve her right," said Ni-ha-be.

There was no question but what some kind of justice had been done, and that was a fair specimen of Apache household government.

If the poor, tired-out little mule who had served as an "omnibus" for Too Many Toes and her family happened to see the use made of that lariat, perhaps it comforted him too, for she had beaten him unmercifully all the way, and he was not her mule.

At all events, the discovery of the ford made that a safer place for a camp. Orders were given not to put up any lodges or unpack any baggage until morning, and the whole band prepared for a night in the open air.

It was a complete "bivouac" but there was no hardship in it. The air was dry and warm. There was very little wind. The grass on which they could spread their blankets and buffalo-skins was deep and soft. Besides all that, and more important than anything else, they were all used to it, and would have laughed at anybody who imagined it a hardship.

Even Rita and Ni-ha-be never thought of such a thing, but after they lay down together it seemed more than usually difficult to get to sleep.

Nowhere in the world is the air more pure, and there were no clouds, nor was there yet any moon. The sky was all one blaze of stars, and the two girls could hardly help gazing at them.

"They're so bright," said Rita.

"I've seen them all before. Just as bright as they are now.

"So many of them, too."

"No more than there always is in good weather. When it rains hard it puts them out and they have to be lighted again."

"There is something about them in the talking leaves."

"What do they say?"

"I could not hear it all, but I understood some of it. The wise pale-faces look at the stars and know all their names. All the tribes of them and families."

"Tribes and families! I don't believe it. They're all one tribe, and they all shine for the Apaches." There was no denying that, and Rita had not read or understood enough to say much more.

Long after Ni-ha-be was sound asleep, however, her adopted sister was lying wide-awake, and staring at all that glory overhead.

"I remember now. It was my father told me about the stars. That's why I knew what the talking leaves meant. He was very good to me. I can see him plainer and plainer all the while."

It was a matter of course that one memory should bring back another, but they were all pretty cloudy as yet. Not bright and clear like the great stars, but misty and dim like those white streaks in the sky.

Rita gazed and gazed and thought and thought, until at last her eyelids closed heavily, and she too was asleep. Not so soundly as Ni-ha-be, for many strange dreams came to her, and all she could remember of them was the very last and latest of all.

It was just like the picture which Many Bears had spoken about the day before, only that now the miners did not look like that, and Rita in her dream actually thought she saw Many Bears himself among the Indians who were attacking them.

"He said he was there. I see him. They are coming! The squaw I saw in the book! Mother!"

And suddenly Rita found herself wide awake, and all the rest of her dream was lost to her.

Ni-ha-be too was awake.

"What is the matter, Rita?"

"Oh, a dream!"

"Ugh! I never dream. That's the talking leaves. Dreams are big lies like them. What was it?"

"The fight in the picture."

"Miners? Pale-faces? Look, Rita, the braves are mounting to ride away. It is hardly sunrise, but they are going. Did your dream say there was any danger coming to us?"

"No, it did not say."

"I don't care. The Apaches are warriors, and Many Bears is a great chief. He will not let an enemy come near his camp."

"Besides, we can cross the river."

"Yes, by my ford."

"Ni-ha-be, remember what came to Too Many Toes!"

"She talked too much—when the chief and the braves were troubled in their minds. I know better than to do that. I'll talk to you, though. It's my ford!"

Mother Dolores was already busy at the nearest camp-fire, for she had not allowed the great chief to ride away without a nice bit of something to eat. Meaner braves could go hungry or pick a cold bone as they rode along. Not so the mighty husband of Dolores, the best cook of the Apaches. She knew too well where all her importance and dignity came from, and Many Bears was particularly glad to get his hot venison-steak that morning. No orders were left behind with reference to moving the camp, but all the second-rate braves and half-grown boys were busying themselves over their weapons and ponies with as much importance in their manner as if they had been so many chiefs.

Some of them were well armed with repeating-carbines and good revolvers. Others had old and inferior guns. Many of the "boys" had nothing but bows and arrows, but they knew how to use them, and there is nothing much more effective in a close fight. Nothing except a revolver or a lance, and they all had lances.

On the whole, it was clear that Many Bears could muster quite a strong "reserve," as the soldiers call it, after all his tried and chosen warriors had ridden away with him at their head.

The fighting fever seemed to be spreading after breakfast, and the squaws too got out their bows and arrows, and so did the smaller boys. It looked as if any enemy who should ride into the camp of that band of Apaches that day would find it a sort of hornets' nest, with all the hornets, big and little, practising their stings.

Ni-ha-be and Rita were like the rest, and more than one "young brave," who had never yet been in any kind of a battle, looked enviously at the pretty young chief's daughter who could already boast of having sent an arrow through the arm of a full-grown paleface warrior, and helped defeat him and his dangerous companions.

That was a bright feather for the cap of any Indian girl, and she had been compelled to tell the story of it over and over again to the other squaws.

They came to hear it over now, for it was closely connected in their minds with the warlike preparations and the evident anxiety of their chief.

"Ugh!" scornfully remarked old Too Many Toes. "Pale-face have soft arm. Hold it up for little girl to shoot at. Then laugh at her. S'pose pale-face come here. I show 'em."

"Yes," rejoined Ni-ha-be, with a flash in her black eyes. "Pale-face look at you, see your face, run right away. Afraid you'll talk. Hear you once, then they never come again."

The laughter among the other squaws sounded as if they were not disposed to admire Too Many Toes, but she had something else to say.

"Little girl take prisoners and then let them go. Just like pale-face blue-coat. No sense. I kill every one. You see!"

"You?" said Ni-ha-be. "The only prisoner you ever took was a little rabbit of a mule. He's alive now. You couldn't even talk him to death."

"She talks too much now," added a dignified middle-aged squaw. "Get beaten again. We want to know what's coming. Warriors keep it all to themselves. Did Ni-ha-be hear of many pale-faces?"

"No. Heard Send Warning tell Red Wolf there is danger coming. Believe what he said. Great chief and all the old men believe too. Good friend. Young warrior good friend too. Come see us some day. Squaws cook big dinner."

The questioning was by no means over, but the mention of her last beating silenced Too Many Toes. Public opinion was against her, and there were a good many others who had something to say.

Rita, too, came in for her share, and it was remarkable how closely she and Ni-ha-be were able to describe every article of clothing worn by their two white friends and their three white enemies, with the color of their eyes and hair, and every noticeable thing about their arms and equipments. The girls had eyes of their own, and they had used them to good purpose. The fact is, Indians can read almost everything excepting books.

CHAPTER XIX

Many Bears did not seem disposed to hurry his return to his camp after his meeting with Steve and Murray.

Perhaps he was the more willing to ride slowly because it gave him an opportunity to ask a great many questions, and to consider the answers given. He did not seem very curious as to the past history of his new friends. Indian politeness compelled him to let them keep their own affairs to themselves. Besides, the account they gave sounded well.

"Send Warning and Knotted Cord find mine? Ugh! Good. Apache not want him. Friend keep him. Then other pale-face come for mine? Ugh! Bad. Drive off friend. Too many rifle. Too many big strong. You not like it. Ugh! Apaches drive 'em all away. Take every scalp. You see."

"We're in no hurry about the mine," said Murray. "Stay away now. Go back for it some day. Too many Lipans."

"They go away too. Go beyond mountains. Never come over here before. Apaches must teach 'em a lesson."

That was the great trouble in the mind of Many Bears at that moment. He wanted to travel westward as fast as possible, and yet here was a band of his tribe's worst and most ancient enemies within easy striking distance. Not to speak of Captain Skinner and his men, and the "plunder" there might be in their "outfit." He felt that it was no small thing to be a great chief, and to be compelled to decide questions of such importance.

"What you say? Send Warning tell friend what do."

"Let 'em