The Prairie (Fiscle Part 3) Of 2, J Fenimore Cooper [best e reader for manga txt] 📗

A White Man,  And That Of An Indian,  In A

Sufficiently Striking Point Of View. In Short,  The Family Of Ishmael

Appeared Now To Be In The Plenitude Of An Enjoyment,  Which Depended On

Inactivity,  But Which Was Not Entirely Free From Certain Confused

Glimmerings Of A Perspective,  In Which Their Security Stood In Some

Little Danger Of A Rude Interruption From Teton Treachery. Abiram,

Alone,  Formed A Solitary Exception To This State Of Equivocal Repose.

 

After A Life Passed In The Commission Of A Thousand Mean And

Insignificant Villanies,  The Mind Of The Kidnapper Had Become Hardy

Enough To Attempt The Desperate Adventure,  Which Has Been Laid Before

The Reader,  In The Course Of The Narrative. His Influence Over The

Bolder,  But Less Active,  Spirit Of Ishmael Was Far From Great,  And Had

Not The Latter Been Suddenly Expelled From A Fertile Bottom,  Of Which

He Had Taken Possession,  With Intent To Keep It,  Without Much

Deference To The Forms Of Law,  He Would Never Have Succeeded In

Enlisting The Husband Of His Sister In An Enterprise That Required So

Part 3 Chapter 25 Pg 80

Much Decision And Forethought. Their Original Success And Subsequent

Disappointment Have Been Seen; And Abiram Now Sat Apart,  Plotting The

Means,  By Which He Might Secure To Himself The Advantages Of His

Undertaking,  Which He Perceived Were Each Moment Becoming More

Uncertain,  Through The Open Admiration Of Mahtoree For The Innocent

Subject Of His Villany. We Shall Leave Him To His Vacillating And

Confused Expedients,  In Order To Pass To The Description Of Certain

Other Personages In The Drama.

 

There Was Still Another Corner Of The Picture That Was Occupied. On A

Little Bank,  At The Extreme Right Of The Encampment,  Lay The Forms Of

Middleton And Paul. Their Limbs Were Painfully Bound With Thongs,  Cut

From The Skin Of A Bison,  While,  By A Sort Of Refinement In Cruelty,

They Were So Placed,  That Each Could See A Reflection Of His Own

Misery In The Case Of His Neighbour. Within A Dozen Yards Of Them A

Post Was Set Firmly In The Ground,  And Against It Was Bound The Light

And Apollo-Like Person Of Hard-Heart. Between The Two Stood The

Trapper,  Deprived Of His Rifle,  His Pouch And His Horn,  But Otherwise

Left In A Sort Of Contemptuous Liberty. Some Five Or Six Young

Warriors,  However,  With Quivers At Their Backs,  And Long Tough Bows

Dangling From Their Shoulders,  Who Stood With Grave Watchfulness At No

Great Distance From The Spot,  Sufficiently Proclaimed How Fruitless

Any Attempt To Escape,  On The Part Of One So Aged And So Feeble,  Might

Prove. Unlike The Other Spectators Of The Important Conference,  These

Individuals Were Engaged In A Discourse That For Them Contained An

Interest Of Its Own.

 

"Captain," Said The Bee-Hunter With An Expression Of Comical Concern,

That No Misfortune Could Depress In One Of His Buoyant Feelings,  "Do

You Really Find That Accursed Strap Of Untanned Leather Cutting Into

Your Shoulder,  Or Is It Only The Tickling In My Own Arm That I Feel?"

 

"When The Spirit Suffers So Deeply,  The Body Is Insensible To Pain,"

Returned The More Refined,  Though Scarcely So Spirited Middleton;

"Would To Heaven That Some Of My Trusty Artillerists Might Fall Upon

This Accursed Encampment!"

 

"You Might As Well Wish That These Teton Lodges Were So Many Hives Of

Hornets,  And That The Insects Would Come Forth And Battle With Yonder

Tribe Of Half Naked Savages." Then,  Chuckling With His Own Conceit,

The Bee-Hunter Turned Away From His Companion,  And Sought A Momentary

Relief From His Misery,  By Imagining That So Wild An Idea Might Be

Realised,  And Fancying The Manner,  In Which The Attack Would Upset

Even The Well Established Patience Of An Indian.

 

Middleton Was Glad To Be Silent; But The Old Man,  Who Had Listened To

Their Words,  Drew A Little Nigher,  And Continued The Discourse.

 

"Here Is Likely To Be A Merciless And A Hellish Business!" He Said,

Shaking His Head In A Manner To Prove That Even His Experience Was At

A Loss For A Remedy In So Trying A Dilemma. "Our Pawnee Friend Is

Already Staked For The Torture,  And I Well Know,  By The Eye And The

Countenance Of The Great Sioux,  That He Is Leading On The Temper Of

His People To Further Enormities."

Part 3 Chapter 25 Pg 81

 

"Harkee,  Old Trapper," Said Paul,  Writhing In His Bonds To Catch A

Glimpse Of The Other's Melancholy Face; "You Ar' Skilled In Indian

Tongues,  And Know Somewhat Of Indian Deviltries. Go You To The

Council,  And Tell Their Chiefs In My Name,  That Is To Say,  In The Name

Of Paul Hover,  Of The State Of Kentucky,  That Provided They Will

Guarantee The Safe Return Of One Ellen Wade Into The States,  They Are

Welcome To Take His Scalp When And In Such Manner As Best Suits Their

Amusements; Or,  If-So-Be They Will Not Trade On These Conditions,  You

May Throw In An Hour Or Two Of Torture Before Hand,  In Order To

Sweeten The Bargain To Their Damnable Appetites."

 

"Ah! Lad,  It Is Little They Would Hearken To Such An Offer,  Knowing,

As They Do,  That You Are Already Like A Bear In A Trap,  As Little Able

To Fight As To Fly. But Be Not Down-Hearted,  For The Colour Of A White

Man Is Sometimes His Death-Warrant Among These Far Tribes Of Savages,

And Sometimes His Shield. Though They Love Us Not,  Cunning Often Ties

Their Hands. Could The Red Nations Work Their Will,  Trees Would

Shortly Be Growing Again On The Ploughed Fields Of America,  And Woods

Would Be Whitened With Christian Bones. No One Can Doubt That,  Who

Knows The Quality Of The Love Which A Red-Skin Bears A Pale-Face; But

They Have Counted Our Numbers Until Their Memories Fail Them,  And They

Are Not Without Their Policy. Therefore Is Our Fate Unsettled; But I

Fear Me There Is Small Hope Left For The Pawnee!"

 

As The Old Man Concluded,  He Walked Slowly Towards The Subject Of His

Latter Observation,  Taking His Post At No Great Distance From His

Side. Here He Stood,  Observing Such A Silence And Mien As Became Him

To Manifest,  To A Chief So Renowned And So Situated As His Captive

Associate. But The Eye Of Hard-Heart Was Fastened On The Distance,  And

His Whole Air Was That Of One Whose Thoughts Were Entirely Removed

From The Present Scene.

 

"The Siouxes Are In Council On My Brother," The Trapper At Length

Observed,  When He Found He Could Only Attract The Other's Attention By

Speaking.

 

The Young Partisan Turned His Head With A Calm Smile As He Answered

"They Are Counting The Scalps Over The Lodge Of Hard-Heart!"

 

"No Doubt,  No Doubt; Their Tempers Begin To Mount,  As They Remember

The Number Of Tetons You Have Struck,  And Better Would It Be For You

Now,  Had More Of Your Days Been Spent In Chasing The Deer,  And Fewer

On The War-Path. Then Some Childless Mother Of This Tribe Might Take

You In The Place Of Her Lost Son,  And Your Time Would Be Filled In

Peace."

 

"Does My Father Think That A Warrior Can Ever Die? The Master Of Life

Does Not Open His Hand To Take Away His Gifts Again. When He Wants His

Young Men He Calls Them,  And They Go. But The Red-Skin He Has Once

Breathed On Lives For Ever."

 

"Ay,  This Is A More Comfortable And A More Humble Faith Than That

Which Yonder Heartless Teton Harbours. There Is Something In These

Part 3 Chapter 25 Pg 82

Loups Which Opens My Inmost Heart To Them; They Seem To Have The

Courage,  Ay,  And The Honesty,  Too,  Of The Delawares Of The Hills. And

This Lad--It Is Wonderful,  It Is Very Wonderful; But The Age,  And The

Eye,  And The Limbs Are As If They Might Have Been Brothers! Tell Me,

Pawnee,  Have You Ever In Your Traditions Heard Of A Mighty People Who

Once Lived On The Shores Of The Salt-Lake,  Hard By The Rising Sun?"

 

"The Earth Is White,  By People Of The Colour Of My Father."

 

"Nay,  Nay,  I Speak Not Now Of Any Strollers,  Who Have Crept Into The

Land To Rob The Lawful Owners Of Their Birth-Right,  But Of A People

Who Are,  Or Rather Were,  What With Nature And What With Paint,  Red As

The Berry On The Bush."

 

"I Have Heard The Old Men Say,  That There Were Bands,  Who Hid

Themselves In The Woods Under The Rising Sun,  Because They Dared Not

Come Upon The Open Prairies To Fight With Men."

 

"Do Not Your Traditions Tell You Of The Greatest,  The Bravest,  And The

Wisest Nation Of Red-Skins That The Wahcondah Has Ever Breathed Upon?"

 

Hard-Heart Raised His Head,  With A Loftiness And Dignity That Even His

Bonds Could Not Repress,  As He Answered--

 

"Has Age Blinded My Father; Or Does He See So Many Siouxes,  That He

Believes There Are No Longer Any Pawnees?"

 

"Ah! Such Is Mortal Vanity And Pride!" Exclaimed The Disappointed Old

Man,  In English. "Natur' Is As Strong In A Red-Skin,  As In The Bosom

Of A Man Of White Gifts. Now Would A Delaware Conceit Himself Far

Mightier Than A Pawnee,  Just As A Pawnee Boasts Himself To Be Of The

Princes Of The 'Arth. And So It Was Atween The Frenchers Of The

Canadas And The Red-Coated English,  That The King Did Use To Send Into

The States,  When States They Were Not,  But Outcrying And Petitioning

Provinces,  They Fou't And They Fou't,  And What Marvellous Boastings

Did They Give Forth To The World Of Their Own Valour And Victories,

While Both Parties Forgot To Name The Humble Soldier Of The Land,  Who

Did The Real Service,  But Who,  As He Was Not Privileged Then To Smoke

At The Great Council Fire Of His Nation,  Seldom Heard Of His Deeds,

After They Were Once Bravely Done."

 

When The Old Man Had Thus Given Vent To The Nearly Dormant,  But Far

From Extinct,  Military Pride,  That Had So Unconsciously Led Him Into

The Very Error He Deprecated,  His Eye,  Which Had Begun To Quicken And

Glimmer With Some Of The Ardour Of His Youth,  Softened And Turned Its

Anxious Look On The Devoted Captive,  Whose Countenance Was Also

Restored To Its Former Cold Look Of Abstraction And Thought.

 

"Young Warrior," He Continued In A Voice That Was Growing Tremulous,

"I Have Never Been Father,  Or Brother. The Wahcondah Made Me To Live

Alone. He Never Tied My Heart To House Or Field,  By The Cords With

Which The Men Of My Race Are Bound