The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

The old chief also perceived that such was the prevailing sentiment: and despite his pretensions to fair-play, he was evidently nettled at the reply. The father of Wakono was undoubtedly no Brutus.

After a momentary pause, he resumed speech, but in a tone entirely altered. He was now painting the reverse side of Hissoo-royo’s portrait, and as he threw in the darker touches, it was with evident pique and hostility.

“I honour the Spanish wolf,” he continued; “I honour him for his strong arm and his stout heart: I have said so; but hear me, Hietans – hear me, children and brothers! there are two of every kind – there is a night and a day – a winter and a summer – a green prairie and a desert plain, and like these is the tongue of Hissoo-royo. It speaks two ways that differ as the light from the darkness – it is double – it forks like the tongue of the rattle-serpent – it is not to be believed.”

The chief ceased speaking, and the “Spanish wolf” was permitted to make reply.

He did not attempt to defend himself from the charge of the double tongue; perhaps he knew that the accusation was just enough, and he had no reason to tremble for his popularity on that score. He must have been a great liar, indeed, to have excelled or even equalled the most ordinary story-teller in the Comanche nation; for the mendacity of these Indians would have been a match for Sparta herself.

The renegade did not even deny the aspersion: he seemed to be confident in his case: he simply replied —

“If the tongue of Hissoo-royo is double, let not the council rely upon his words! let witnesses be called! there are many who are ready to testify to the truth of what Hissoo-royo has spoken.”

“First hear Wakono! Let Wakono be heard! Where is Wakono?”

These demands were made by various members of the council, who spoke simultaneously.

Once more the crier’s voice was heard calling “Wakono!”

“Brothers!” again spoke the chief: “it is for this I would stay your judgment. My son is not in the camp; he went back upon the trail, and has not returned. I know not his purpose. My heart is in doubt – but not in fear Wakono is a strong warrior, and can take care of himself. He will not be long absent; he must soon return. For this I ask you to delay the judgment.”

A murmur of disapprobation followed this avowal. The allies of the renegade evidently mustered stronger than the friends of the young chief.

Hissoo-royo once more addressed the council.

“What trifling would this be, warriors of the Hietan? Two suns have gone down, and this question is not decided! I ask only justice. By our laws, the judgment cannot stand over. The captives must belong to some one. I claim them as mine, and I offer witnesses to prove my right. Wakono has no claim, else why is he not here to avow it? He has no proofs beyond his own word; he is ashamed to stand before you without proof – that is why he is now absent from the camp!”

“Wakono is not absent,” cried a voice from among the bystanders; “he is in the camp!”

This announcement produced a sensation, and I could perceive that the old chief partook equally with the others of the surprise created.

“Who says Wakono is in the camp?” inquired he in a loud voice.

An Indian stepped forth from the crowd of spectators. I recognised the man, whom I had met crossing from the horse-guard.

“Wakono is in the camp,” repeated he, as he paused outside the circle. “I saw the young chief; I spoke with him.”

“When?”

“Only now.”

“Where?”

The man pointed to the scene of our accidental rencontre.

“He was going yonder,” said he; “he went among the trees – I saw him not after.”

This intelligence evidently increased the astonishment. It could not be comprehended why Wakono should be upon the ground, and yet not come forward to assert his claim. Had he abandoned it altogether?

The father of the claimant appeared as much puzzled as any one; he made no attempt to explain the absence of his son: he could not; he stood silent, and evidently in a state of mystification.

Several now suggested that a search be made for the absent warrior. It was proposed to send messengers throughout the camp —to search the grove.

My blood ran cold as I listened to the proposal; my knees trembled beneath me. I knew that if the grove was to be searched, I should have no chance of remaining longer concealed. The dress of Wakono was conspicuous; I saw that there was none other like it: no other wore a robe of jaguar-skins, and this would betray me. Even the paint would not avail: I should be led into the firelight; the counterfeit would be detected. I should be butchered upon the spot – perhaps tortured for the treatment we had given the true Wakono, which would soon become known.

My apprehensions had reached the climax of acuteness, when they were suddenly relieved by some words from the Spanish wolf.

“Why search for Wakono?” cried he; “Wakono knows his own name; it has been called and loud enough. Wakono has ears – surely he can hear for himself, if he be in the camp. Call him again, if you will!”

This proposition appeared reasonable. It was adopted, and the crier once more summoned the young chief by name.

The voice, as all perceived, could have been heard to the farthest bounds of the camp, and far beyond.

An interval was allowed, during which there reigned perfect silence, every one bending his ears to listen.

There came no answer – no Wakono appeared to the summons.

“Now!” triumphantly exclaimed the renegade, “is it not as I have said? Warriors! I demand your judgment.”

There was no immediate reply. A long pause followed, during which no one spoke, either in the circle or among the spectators.

At length the oldest of the council rose, re-lit the calumet, and, after taken a whiff from the tube, handed it to the Indian seated on his left. This one, in like manner, passed it to the next, and he to the next, until the pipe had made the circuit of the fire, and was returned to the old warrior who had first smoked from it.

The latter now laid aside the pipe, and in a formal manner, but in a voice inaudible to the spectators, proposed the question.

The vote was taken in rotation, and was also delivered sotto voce. The judgment only was pronounced aloud.

The decision was singular, and somewhat unexpected. The jury had been moved by a strong leaning towards equity, and an amicable adjustment that might prove acceptable to all parties.

The horse was adjudged to Wakono – the maiden was declared the property of the Spanish wolf!

Chapter Ninety Eight.

A Rough Courtship

The decision appeared to give satisfaction to all. A grim smile, upon his face testified that the renegade himself was pleased. How could he be otherwise? He had certainly the best of the suit – for what was a beautiful horse to a beautiful woman, and such a woman?

Even the white-haired chief seemed satisfied! Perhaps, of the two, the old savage jockey preferred the horse? It might have been different had Wakono been upon the ground. I was much mistaken if he would so tamely have acquiesced in the decision.

Yes, the renegade was satisfied – more than that, he was rejoiced. His bearing bespoke his consciousness of the possession of a rare and much-coveted thing. He was unable to conceal the gratification he felt; and with an air of triumph and exultation, he approached the spot where the captive sat.

As soon as the sentence was pronounced, the Indians who had been seated rose to their feet. The council was dismissed.

Some of the members strolled off on their own business; others remained by the great fire, mixing among their comrades – no longer with the solemn gravity of councillors, but chatting, laughing, shouting, and gesticulating as glibly and gaily as if they had been an assemblage of French dancing-masters.

The trial and its objects appeared to be at once forgotten; neither plaintiff, defendant, nor cause, seemed any longer to occupy the thoughts of any one. The horse had been delivered to a friend of Wakono – the maiden to Hissoo-royo – and the thing was settled and over.

Perhaps, here and there, some young brave, with a pain in his heart, may have bent wistful glances upon the lovely captive. No doubt there were many who looked with envious thoughts upon Hissoo-royo and his fortunes. If so, their emotions were concealed, their glances furtive.