Chapter XII AMONG THE TEPEES

 THE scene is a horseshoe cove, or basin, half a mile or more in average width, situated high up the mountain slopes. A rim of ragged rock hides and walls it away from the banks of hills and the peaks about it. A score of laughing streams, born of snow-fed springs, running generally toward the lower northwest end, combine there to make a strong stream which plunges into a craggy gorge and foams through it into the wider canyon below.   This gorge, the only break in the wall of the basin, is at the same time the only gateway into it. A risky way it offers to those who would enter the mighty mountain horseshoe. Yet a trail there is leading into this hole in the wall, fit only for the mountain sheep; and along this risky way Old Copperhead had led his band, and within this cliff-barricaded dell they had pitched their smoky-topped tepees.   For it was a dell, a glorious one too, with its patches of dark pines climbing the hillside slopes{130} and scaling the painted cliffs, its groves of bright quaking aspens, its meadows of mountain grass, knee-deep, out of whose tasseled green, fringed daisies, pink geraniums, bluebells, waxy columbines, and a hundred other kinds of wild flowers shone in starry profusion.   An artist’s heart would have leaped to see the picture that night when the sun, slowly wheeling down the west, flooded the dell with light, tinting with gold and pink and purple the cliffs and sleepy clouds that lingered and smiled brightly out of the clear blue above.   The tawny-topped wigwams pitched carelessly about among the open groves, the dusky savages variously grouped about the fires, the contented vari-colored ponies feasting on the fragrant meadows—all together made such a picture as might thrill the soul of a master.   But it was not the charms of the scene that had drawn Old Copperhead into this delightful cove. The place just now offered another more vital attraction for him and his band—safety from pursuit. It gave them a surer base of operations in the new business that they, under the lead of Bud Nixon, had begun. It was a perfect robber’s roost for the cattle-thieving outlaws. From this vantage place, by climbing to a certain point they could com{131}mand a full view of the valley below. Should they be pursued, the gorge offered a fine chance to ambush the enemy and beat him back.   With luxuriant grass in plenty and the purest of water, with berries in abundance, with trout enough to feed many multitudes, and with elk, deer, and other big game all around them, there was no need for man or beast to go hungry. There was little excuse, indeed, for the cattle-stealing and other mischief they had begun.   This part of the program, however, fathered in the spirit of revenge by Nixon, grew and thrived on the spirit of dare-deviltry in the Indians. It was native sport for them to steal out into the valley and lift the fat steer or heifer from right under the ranchers’ noses, drive the beast into the brush and kill it, then slip back with the meat, unobserved, much less caught. How they would chuckle over their exploits at night around the wigwam fires as they told with much bragging about their daring fun.   Nixon fattened on the success his thick-headed smartness was bringing him. The Indians were growing to look upon Ankanamp as a “heap big chief.” Old Copperhead had some cause to be a little jealous of the white man’s waxing popularity; but he was too crafty to let such a feeling show, if he had it. Bud was a good tool to{132} work out the Redskin’s revenge against the whites. If the tool got too sharp, it would not be hard to do away with it some dark night.   Just now, however, the old chief nursed no such thoughts. Instead, he was fostering a scheme to make his white ally a full-fledged member of the tribe by making him a squaw man. This suggestion had come, no doubt, to the watchful old chief from seeing Bud flirt with the young squaws. These dusky damsels received his sallies at first very shyly; but by degrees some of the bolder ones began to respond and chatter back in “Injun talk” when he joked with them. Bud was a socially inclined fellow. He mixed readily, and he was always girl-struck. It made little difference what the color or looks, so long as it was a girl. That he was white naturally made the young squaws more responsive to Ankanamp. He had his choice among them, but his favors were soon turned to Laughing Eyes, one of the brightest of the band, and a sister of Flying Arrow.   Of course with Bud the Indian love business was but lightly thought of. It was just a temptation thrown his way; and he didn’t resist temptation. He yielded to everything that promised satisfaction for the time being, caring no whit for the consequences. Never{133} mind the morrow; the night is here; and night is for sport—even among the Indians.   The wigwam fires were blazing merrily. Around them the squaws, young and old, were bustling about, carrying wood, cutting meat, mixing dough, and getting pots and pans ready to cook the feast for their hungry bucks, who had just come whooping into camp with their spoils, and had thrown themselves upon the blankets about the littered tepees to rest.   An air of unusual jollity accompanied the meal getting. They were to celebrate with a dance that night. The squaws chattered like magpies as they hurried up the meal. The papooses, catching the spirit, made themselves more numerous and mischievous than ever, for which privilege they frequently were sharply slapped. Even the dogs caught a whiff of the fun. One ragged cur, infected with the impish spirit, dared to snatch a choice bit of beef—an unpardonable crime for a dog, for which he was fetched a savage thump by an old squaw. The yelp of pain he gave woke the echoes; the dog dropped meat and tail and struck off for the woods, followed by a bunch of howling papooses, who pelted him with sticks and stones.   Then the feast was spread Indian fashion, about the various lodges, served to the bucks{134} first, who speared into the kettle with their hunting knives for pieces of meat. “Flapjacks” and coffee well sugared made up the rest of the feast. This was the common fare. Old Copperhead and the White Chief were given a somewhat choicer diet. They sat apart near their tepees. The best cuts of meat were served to them; and they had mountain trout. A dish of wild raspberries, too, was brought to Ankanamp by Laughing Eyes. He winked at her and smiled.   This was enough—a rich reward for her struggle through the thorny brush and up the shelving rocks to get the dainty fruit. Her heart laughed to feel that her White Chief was pleased.   This had been her reward, too, when a few days before she had laid before him a beautifully beaded pair of moccasins and a fringed and beaded buckskin shirt which she and his foster mother, Old Towano’s squaw, had made. Bud was really proud of that gift.   After the feast came the dance. Decked in their gaudiest feathers and fringes, the young bucks and squaws came from their tepees to the chosen spot, a level, grassy plat near the middle of the camp. At a signal, they formed in a circle and began their jigging, rhythmic movements to the tune of the tom-tom. Pyrotechnic{135} yells occasionally broke the monotony of the music. Bud did not join in the fun till some of the bolder young squaws grabbed and hustled him into the laughing group of dancers. Once started, he set the pace for the natives, much to their howling delight.   The fun waxed warmer. The dancers began to leap and scream like dervishes. It became a midnight revel of the Redskins. Bounding and yelling and flourishing their arms, the savages looked like dancing demons—a wild, weird picture in the light of the August moon. The fun was flying fast and furious when a sharp warning signal from Old Copperhead checked every lip and limb dead still. Another signal and they broke from the circle to scatter into their wigwams. A few moments more and every human sound was hushed. Only the sighing of the pine trees and the gurgling music of the streams blended to break the solemn stillness of the night.   But when all was quiet, two forms slipped out from beneath two different tepees and stole through the silent camp to meet each other in the shadow of the pines. It was Laughing Eyes and Ankanamp. A whispered word during the dance had brought them together at this trysting place.{136}   The Indian girl approached her burly lover shyly, half fearfully, and when he grabbed her hands, she shrank at their touch, drawing back with sudden impulse to turn and flee. But Bud pulled her close to him, and her love-filled heart held her there, instinctively resenting his rough caresses, yet yielding, slipping toward him as he poured his love flattery into her eager ears.   “You say you want me?” she echoed him.   “Sure!”   “What you want me for?”   “I heap like you.”   “You no love me”; she jerked from him and turned to run away, but he grabbed her.   “Oh, hold on, little one, don’t be so pertickler; sure I love you.”   “You want-a make me your squaw?”   “Yes, squaw, anything you like. I’ll fix it all right. Come on; you heap perty.” He threw his arm about her and kissed her glowing face upturned to his in the moonlight.   “Me love you, me heap love White Chief,” she responded.   A cloud glided over the face of the moon, making the gloom of the pines deeper. Some time later the moon shone out again, lighting the way of the lovers, stealing back to their tepees. They had almost reached their respective lodges{137} and Bud was chuckling to himself over the success of his scheme, when he caught sight of a tall brave standing by a wigwam watching them. Flying Arrow had risen to make sure that all was well in camp. Bud gave him a sneaking look as he passed, and caught the angry flash in the young chief’s eyes. Not a word was said, but Ankanamp felt that the Indian instinctively knew what had happened, and a withering fear struck his heart. He threw it aside, however, and rolled himself up in his blanket to drop into a heavy sleep.   With the trustful Indian maiden, however, there was neither sleep nor peace. The maddening joy of requited love was battling in her soul with anxiety and fear all through the long still night. When morning broke it brought with it a strange new world for her.