Chapter XVII: A Souvenir of Love

Saunders had heard much about these Indian villages composed of tents made of buffalo skins, and he was not quite ignorant that there still existed nomadic tribes whom civilization drove into the desert; but all this had interested him but little, and now he, a peaceful merchant, a positive man of a practical mind, found himself transported into the midst of this strange world. Therefore, he examined with as much amazement as curiosity these primitive dwellings and strangely accoutred beings who were grouped together, thirty in number at least, before their tents, to receive the travelers. The latter alighted and advanced toward the Sioux. Butler, who walked ahead, approached the chief and made a little speech, which seemed to meet with general approbation. The Sioux answered him in a few guttural words, and the trapper, turning to his companions, said to them:

“Jimin, the Swift Deer, the chief of this village, gives a welcome to his brothers from the East--the pale-faces--and offers them hospitality beneath his tent.”

Then Butler added, ceasing to translate the words of the Sioux, but using his own language:

“I told Jimin that you were rich fur-merchants intending to open a shop at Omaha, and that your only object in coming to the prairie is to establish direct communication with its tribes in order to buy their skins on more favorable terms than those of the agents of the companies.”

“That is very ingenious,” answered William Dow.

“Good! I am now a fur-trader,” murmured Saunders.

As for Young, his bravery was humiliated at this new social situation, and without departing from his accustomed speechlessness, he protested by twisting his long moustache with a gesture more warlike than ever.

However, the presentation being over, the excursionists proceeded to the tent of the chief through the entire population of the village--men, women, and children--who thronged curiously around them.

Jimin’s tent resembled all the others excepting that it was a little larger. It was made of buffalo skins, rudely sewn together, and divided into two parts; one was occupied by the family of the chief, the other was intended for official receptions, when Jimin wanted his warriors in council. It was in the second part of the tent that the warriors were introduced.

Stout mats of braided maize carpeted the floor; the walls were adorned with weapons and fishing tackle; the only seats were boxes and piles of skins so badly dressed that they exhaled a detestable odor.

Saunders, like his companions, had to make the best of these primitive lounges; he sat down, or rather threw himself down, on one of them; milk and maize cakes were at once served, then the chief lighted his long pipe, and after smoking in silence for a full quarter of an hour, he entered into conversation with Butler, which the latter, in a measure, translated.

Jimin inquired about the disposition of the government towards the Indians, about the price of provisions, and he bitterly complained of the agents of the great fur companies, who in exchange for the hunting products of the Indians gave them only worthless gunpowder, wretched weapons, adulterated brandy, and execrable tobacco.

The trapper assured him, in the names of his friends, that his just grievances should be conveyed to the President of the United States, who would not fail to inquire into it, and he advised him to go himself to Washington to make out his complaints.

“Of what use would that be?” resumed Jimin, shaking his head, sadly. “Our brothers, the pale-faces, promise, but forget their promises. Four moons ago I went with ten of my warriors to Washington; they swore to us that our claims should be made right, but nothing has been changed. The Great Father forsakes his children.”

“Ask him,” said William Dow to Butler, having listened attentively to every word of the chief, “if he did not return full of wonder at the splendor of our cities?”

“The Indian,” answered Jimin, “sees nothing when he goes to your cities; his eyes, like his heart, bound over space to find his wigwam and prairies again. I should not have remained more than one day at Washington if I had not been waiting for two of my warriors who had wandered away.”

“Which ones?” asked Butler, at the detective’s entreaty.

“Washah and Winka,” said the chief, pointing to the two Sioux crouched at his right. “One of your people, whose wife had been carried off, asked them for the help of their arms. He knew that the Indian, oppressed himself, is always at the service of him who suffers. The pale-face was not ungrateful, and with the gold he gave to Washah and Winka they bought weapons superior to those the agents sell us so dear.”

Each of the two warriors, in fact, had a solid double-barreled carbine by his side.

As the trapper translated Jimin’s last words, William Dow’s face expressed a more and more lively satisfaction.

“Dear sir,” he said, addressing Saunders when the interpreter had finished, and pointing to the two Sioux, whose eyes shone with pride, “do you not recognize two of your guests?”

“Hey, what?” answered the merchant, whom fatigue, the smoke, the odor of the skins, and especially the indifference he felt in the conversation had half lulled to sleep.

“Those two Indians there at the right of the chief.”

“Yes; well, what of them?”

“Don’t you recognize them?”

“Where the devil do you suppose I have ever seen those monkeys?”

“At Miss Ada Ricard’s.”

“At Ada’s! Come, now, dear Mr. Dow, ah, ha!”

Poor Saunders’ exclamation expressing that he was beginning to understand, his friend took pity on his brain, already so shattered, and continued:

“Yes, at Miss Ada Ricard’s, at the ball. Those Indians are two of the three masks who carried her off.”

“But the third?”

“He was her husband.”

“James Gobson?”

“His very self; there is no doubt of it.”

“The man who carried her off took her to Colonel Forster; it cannot be her husband, for he would have kept her for himself.”

“You go too fast; we shall come to that later. Meanwhile do you wish to assure yourself in regard to the part those two men played that famous night?”

“I believe I do; but tell me quietly, for I swear to you I do not see through it at all.”

The good man, indeed, holding his head in his hands, looked imploringly with his great eyes at Captain Young, who, feeling very much interested in this unexpected scene, did not take his eyes off of William Dow.

“Your two valiant warriors,” said the latter to Jimin, through the medium of Butler, “have this day rendered a great service to one of my friends. Knowing that I was coming to the reserves, he charged me to thank them again. Do they remember his features?”

“The Indian never forgets the man from whom he receives a benefit,” answered the chief, sententiously.

The two Sioux, by way of affirmation, clicked their carbines.

The detective had taken from his pocket-book the photograph of James Gobson, which he handed to Jimin, who passed it on to his warriors.

The latter immediately exclaimed: “Yes, it is really the pale-face whose wife we helped carry away from an infamous man.”

At this epithet, which Saunders had to take to himself, he looked so completely astounded that his two companions and Butler himself could hardly keep serious.

Dow, who had put the picture of Miss Ada’s husband back in his pocket, arose, and after saying to Jimin that they thanked him for his hospitality, but that they could not enjoy it any longer, as they wished to return to Fort Dakota that evening, he begged him to accept as a souvenir one of his revolvers.

The chief took the weapon which his guest held out, and not being able to conceal the pleasure which the gift caused him, he thanked him in a rigmarole of metaphors, quite worthy of the Indian of the prairies.

“Look there behind you,” just then said Captain Young to William Dow, “on the arm of that young girl.”

He pointed to quite a pretty Indian, crouching with both hands on her knees. On her left wrist shone a large gold bracelet.

“Is it the wife or daughter of either of you?” the detective asked Washah and Winka.

“It is my wife,” answered the latter.

“Will you allow me to look at the gold bracelet she wears on her arm?”

Visibly embarrassed, the warrior spoke a few words, and the Indian woman, raising her great black eyes to the stranger, allowed him to take her hand.

“Look, Mr. Saunders,” said William, showing him the bracelet; “see if you do not recognize this.”

The stout man leaned over the young woman and exclaimed:

“Why, it is one of Miss Ada’s bracelets; I gave it to her. I offered her two alike. They came from Jefferie Muller’s. Our initials, twined together, are engraved on the inside.”

The tender Yankee was quite touched at the sight of this pledge of his love to the woman.

“Do you suppose that she would like to sell it to me?” he ventured with a sigh.

Butler conveyed this proposal to the Indian woman, who immediately drew back her hand.

“It was the wife of the pale-face who gave me that gold bracelet,” said the Sioux; “I gave it to Makeni; it belongs to her.”

“More likely that man stole it from Miss Ada,” answered Young, when the trapper translated the warrior’s answer.

“The wife of the pale-face is dead,” said William Dow, “and he would be very happy if we should bring back from the prairie this souvenir of his companion. I offer you for it twenty pounds of powder, thirty of tobacco, and twenty-five bottles of brandy. You will come with us to the fort, and it will be given to you. Besides, in the name of the Great Spirit, I promise to send to Makeni by Butler on his next visit to the reserves a bracelet even heavier than that.”

It was a bargain in gold which the detective offered the Sioux warrior, so he hastened to accept it. At his order, the young Indian girl, with tears, slipped the jewel from her bronze arm. Saunders seized and opened it and showed to Dow, engraved inside, two initials lovingly entwined, and the date of the day he had made this present to Miss Ada. While he stood with his eyes fixed on these initials and date, which awoke memories so varied, his face expressed so much anger, mingled with love, that Young, unable to hold in any longer, burst out laughing, to the amazement of the Indians. But William Dow, to whom everything was serious, preserved his gravity, and said to Saunders:

“Trust me with this bracelet, I will return it before long.”

Without a word, but not without a sigh of regret, the good man handed the jewel to the detective, who immediately gave the signal for departure.

It had been decided that Washah and Winka should accompany the strangers as far as Fort Dakota, in order to receive the promised articles.

Five minutes later all were in the saddle, and our travelers, after shaking hands with Jimin and saluting the village with a discharge from their carbines, set off again across the prairie.

Mounted on excellent little horses, the two Sioux warriors escorted them on their flanks. In two hours the little band traveled the distance which separates the reserve from the American post.

Night began to fall, and Saunders, overcome with fatigue, did not ask the detective a single question that evening, but the next morning, when the latter came to announce that they must start again, he thought he would ask for an explanation of several things.

“My dear sir,” answered our mysterious hero, “we will talk about all this at Sioux City, where we shall part. Meanwhile, believe me, we have not made a useless trip across the prairie. I have brought back, as I hoped, an end of the rope by which James Gobson will be hung.”

Without insisting further, Willie Saunders mounted his horse, and the four travelers left Fort Dakota. Forty-eight hours later they re-entered Sioux City.

“Here,” said William Dow to his companions, the next day after breakfast, “we part; we have completed all that we had to do together; you are now free.”

Then he added, addressing the trapper: “As for you, Butler, your help has been valuable to me, and here is the hundred dollars I promised to give you on our return from our expedition; and, in addition, here is an extra hundred dollars, for I have really brought back from the Indians all that I went to find. Mr. Saunders will not forget to give you at the Union Hotel, in Jefferson, the bracelet intended for Winka’s wife.”

Miss Ada’s former lover confirmed the detective’s promise, and the trapper, who had slipped the two hundred dollars into his belt, shook hands with the three friends and left them.

“Then,” Saunders asked William, “you are not to return with us to New York?”

“No,” answered the latter; “I am going to the opposite coast--to San Francisco.”

“To San Francisco?”

“Yes, it is there I expect to find the rest of the rope which I intend for James Gobson. You will soon hear from me, in a month at the latest, but promise me, at my first despatch, to come and join me.”

“If it is not too far.”

“You will have only a few hours on the railroad.”

“Now, before separating, let us talk more about this matter.”

“I confess that I ask nothing better. It is time that I understood a little, and I am sure the captain is of my opinion.”

Young, who sat smoking his cigar, with his chair tipped back and his feet on the table, nodded assent, and Dow continued:

“We gained at Jefferson City the certainty that James Gobson was there several days before Miss Ada was carried off; and, among the Sioux, that it was really he who performed the kidnapping.”

“Yes, it is indisputable,” said Saunders, “and it proves that if that man is a wretch, his former wife is not much better than he, for after letting her former husband give her up, she not only saved the scamp from the gallows, but pardoned him besides.”

“Even more than that, dear sir, she has become again his lawful wife.”

“His lawful wife! Gobson has married Ada?”

“By a second marriage since they were divorced.”

“The wretches!”

Poor Willie Saunders could say no more. Loving still, he retained the hope of meeting Miss Ada again, and here was a new barrier raised between her and himself.

“But, my dear Dow,” observed Young, speaking in his turn; “how in the devil can this testimony we have just received serve you?”

“Yes; how?” murmured Saunders.

“This Gobson,” resumed the captain, “carried off a woman, whether she did or did not belong to him matters little; then this woman, forgiving the abuse she had formerly received, accepted his name a second time. It is odious, but the law has no power in such a matter. It was neither a crime nor an offence, and, what is most curious, even if it were a crime or offence, James Gobson would not be disturbed, since the court revised his case and acquitted him.”

It was weeks, and perhaps months, since the captain had indulged in so long a speech and had reasoned with so much logic. He was astonished himself, and waited for the answer of his friend Dow with the air of a conqueror.

“My dear Young,” said the latter, “you talk of guilt. James Gobson was acquitted by the jury, it is true, but he has not been acquitted by William Dow, and William Dow is keeping for him as well as for you, a surprise. Ask me no more; return to New York and hold yourself ready to join me when I send you word.”

The captain and Saunders knew their friend too well to address any more questions, and the travelers separated after this conversation. A few hours later Young and Saunders took the cars at Sioux City for New York, going east, while the detective, returning over the route already traveled, went in the direction of the West.

The next day, when Saunders, delighted at enjoying his ease again, was having an excellent dinner with the captain in the luxurious dining-room at the Sherman House, in Chicago, William Dow was on the train to Omaha, which he was to leave at Benton, in Wyoming Territory.

Ten days after his departure from Benton, when, perhaps, Young and Saunders were no longer thinking of him, he arrived at San Francisco.