Chapter VIII: The Manitou Must Be Obeyed

The circus-rider was not yet done. He wished to show what his horse could do in the way of tricks, and for half an hour he kept up the performance. The white steed was a celebrated trick horse, and could waltz in a manner truly surprising.

All who have been to the circus know the many tricks performed by a horse. All of these Barry showed off before the Comanches, and the Indians enjoyed it all very much.

At length he thought it was time to stop, and going over to where the prisoners were still standing, he cut the bonds of the two whom he had saved by his beating the Comanche selected to ride with him. The medicine-man did not like this, and he stepped forward to put a stop to it.

Before he could open his mouth, a voice, coming as all the Indians thought from above them, cried out the words:

“Let Muchanaigo beware. He has dark thoughts in his brain. Let him not attempt to carry them out. His hand will be useless if he attempts to lift it above the head of one of the prisoners. He gave his word, let him break it if he dares. It is the Great Manitou that speaks. He _must_ be obeyed.”

Instantly the Indian stopped still in his tracks.

There was no disobeying this order.

He said not a word, but turning, he sought his lodge, and did not make his appearance during the rest of the day.

He had found his match in the pale-face.

But for the superstition of the Indians, Barry could never have played this trick upon them.

The Indians lost no time in giving back to the prisoners every thing that had been taken from them.

The little Frenchman danced for joy when he once more got his hands upon his case and umbrella.

He examined the former carefully to see that none of the vials were missing, but found to his great joy that it had only sustained a little injury while in the hands of the Indians.

All the time Monsieur Tierney kept up a rattling volley of words which were a mingled crowd of thanks for the aid of Barry, denunciations on the heads of the Indians, and exclamations of delight when he found some valuable specimen uninjured.

Indeed, the Indians had only got at the vials, and the fellow that had got at these would never do so again.

The Indians grinned to see the curious little fellow marching up and down with the umbrella fastened to his back and his case in his hand. He had a revolver in his belt, about five inches long, which might make a man sick _if discharged down his throat_.

The trapper had his revolvers, rifle, knife and every thing that belonged to him. One of the Comanches tried to keep his tobacco-pouch, but Ralph missed it, and Red Buffalo, fearing to bring down the vengeance of the Manitou upon the village, made the warrior give it up, much to his disgust, and to the great delight of the trapper, who immediately went to business and took a “chaw.” Then the two mounted their horses and rode off, carrying with them all of their possessions.

The trapper had a piece of paper in his hand which had been slyly given him by Barry before they left the village.

The trapper did not intend to go far. He would not leave the son of his old friend to his fate.

He intended hiding somewhere until dark, and then seeing what could be done for Chauncy. Suddenly he remembered the paper he held in his hand. He tried to read the few lines that were written on it, but being no scholar and knowing only the capitals, he found it impossible.

_What_ should he do?

Maybe the naturalist could read it; at any rate it would do no harm to ask him. No sooner thought of than acted upon. To the great delight of the guide the Frenchman declared that he could read it, and took it from the former’s hand.

It read as follows, being written in lead pencil:

“Ride to the bank of the river, about six miles from here, and hide
until dark. Then I will join you with the young fellow. I will give
the hoot of an owl and you answer with the cry of the loon.

Barry Le Clare.”

The Frenchman read this to the trapper, and then the latter could not help expressing his joy.

“Snakes an’ catamounts,” ejaculated he, “thet’s good az far az it goes. That feller’s sharp an’ he’ll get Cha’ncy away if anybody could. Didn’t his hoss knock spots out o’ the gray ’un?”

“Oui, monsieur, he be very fine man. He make good hunter. He von magnificent rider, von elegant jumper, von splendid racer, von superb ventriloquist, von excellent—” exclaimed the naturalist.

“That’ll do, mounsheer. We’ll make tracks for the river now. It’s past noon, and I want ter git ter the river so that we can hev some dinner. What d’ye say ter that?” said the trapper, breaking in upon the Frenchmen, who, after the manner of his nation, was getting excited and was about to launch forth into a vivid and startling string of praise.

“Begar, I do feel hungry, monsieur. I could eat von dozen frog-legs now, vid relish. Oh, dey are superb,” cried the naturalist.

“Bah, ye think o’ nothin’ but frogs. I wish I had a dozen ter give ye. For my part I want a good hunk o’ buffler or venison.”

“Le ’Mericans have no taste. Dey know not vat is good. Mon Dieu! in la belle France de frog is de best esteemed meat. Here de boys throw stones at them, an’, sacré, kill them just for fun. Diable! vat I come out here for?” exclaimed the little man.

“Ter find somethin’ az would make yer fortune. So ye’ve told me many a time,” said the guide.

“Just so. You are right, monsieur. Ven I find dat, den I be happy. Every von vill talk about Monsieur Tierney, de great naturalist. Oh, den I vill have my reward for all dis trouble and expense. But vat have we got to eat?”

“Nothin’ az I knows on. The pesky reds didn’t offer to give us a bite, but then we’ve got our firearms an’ an ol’ hunter like me, what’s got his shootin’-iron, desarves to starve if he can’t knock over somethin’ on the plains. If we war on the desert now it would be a different matter. We’ll git somethin’ when we reach the river.”

The two owned very good horses. The guide owned his while the Frenchman’s had been borrowed from a friend in Austin.

The Comanches had come upon them the night before, and had captured them, though not without a vigorous resistance on the part of both of them. The hunter had killed three of the reds before he was captured, and the Frenchman managed to give his enemies several sound cracks with his huge strong umbrella before he was pulled down. He entirely forgot the revolver that he had thrust in his belt to make himself look fierce.

The little man was a curious body, but he had pluck, as the reader will see before this story comes to a close.

The river was at length reached and the two camped.

While the naturalist was building a fire out of some light dry wood, the guide went off to see if he could shoot something.

The river was pretty wide at this point, but it was shallow, and both sides were covered with trees and bushes.

The guide was not long in sighting a deer, and soon the crack of his revolver sounded its death-knell.

The two men were soon busy cooking venison-steaks over the fire. They ate their dinner and then cooked the remainder of the deer over the fire. The guide knew that if Chauncy was rescued the whites would have to make tracks pretty lively, for the Indians would be terribly mad. They intended to torture the young man in every conceivable manner for he had got the young Donna away from them. They did not know about the panther, and thought that had it not been for the young man the Donna would never have got away the second time.

Darkness at length came upon the scene. At length the moon arose and lighted up the earth with her beautiful light.

Several hours passed away and then the tramping of horses came from the plain. Then the loud, mournful hoot of the owl echoed through the trees.

“It is them,” cried the guide, and immediately the cry of the loon startled the Frenchman. It was the guide returning the signal.