Indians are admirable listeners, and, in the easy natural attitudes into which they fell as they lent forward to catch Oluski’s words, they formed a charming tableau.
The venerable chief, with dignified action, measured speech, and great skill in modulating his voice, held their attention as much by the manner as the matter of his narrative.
As the incident he was relating developed pathos, chivalry, horror or revenge, so did his audience yield themselves to its influences. By turns they lowered their eyes, shuddered, stared wildly around with knit brows and clenched hands.
Like all people constantly communing with nature, they were easily moved to joy or sorrow; and not civilised enough to make any attempt at concealing it.
As Oluski sat in their midst, the observed of all observers, he looked the picture of a patriarch.
The time and piece were both in harmony with the subject.
Oluski’s story drew to a close. His hero had achieved his triumph. The distressed Seminole maiden was rescued, and joy and union wound up the tale, which had for more than an hour held his listeners enthralled.
“So now, children, away! The sun is sinking in the west; the hour of council is at hand, and I must leave you. Return to-morrow, and I will relate to you some other episode in the history of our tribe.”
The young people rose at the chief’s bidding, and with “thanks” and “good nights,” prepared to depart; Sansuta among the rest.
“Where are you going child?” asked her father.
“Only to the spring, father. I shall be back soon.”
As the girl said this, she turned, as if wishing to avoid her father’s gaze. The other people had all departed.
“Well,” said the old man, after a pause, “do not forget to return soon. I would not have you abroad after nightfall.”
She murmured a few words, and sauntered away from the spot.
Oluski did not immediately depart, but stood leaning against the spear that stood up in front of his dwelling.
The old man’s eyes were filled with tears, while a hand was laid upon his heart.
“Poor girl,” he reflected, as he watched her form disappearing in the fast darkening twilight; “she never knew her mother. I sometimes think I have been but a poor guardian of Sansuta’s steps. But the Great Spirit knows I have tried to do my duty.”
Sighing heavily, he brushed the tears from his eyes, and strode off to the council house.
Chapter Ten.
An Appointment Kept by Deputy
Let us follow the steps of Sansuta.
Once out of sight, and conscious that she had eluded her father’s observation, she quickened her steps, not in the direction of the spring, but towards a thick clump of live oaks which grew at the foot of the hill.
As she approached the spot, her pace gradually became slower, until she at length came to a stop.
As she paused, a shiver ran through her frame.
She was evidently in doubt as to the propriety of what she was doing.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, and darkness was rapidly falling over the landscape.
A distant murmuring alone gave token of the proximity of the Indian village upon the hill.
After a few moments, and while Sansuta still stood beside the grove, these sounds ceased, and perfect silence reigned around the spot.
Presently a cuckoo’s note was heard – followed by another nearer and louder – that in its turn succeeded by three others.
Whilst the echo of the last still vibrated on the evening air, the maiden was startled by a sudden apparition.
It sprang into view at her very feet, as if the ground had opened suddenly to give it passage.
When the girl regained courage sufficient to look upon it, her fears were in no way lessened.
Standing in a grotesque attitude, she beheld a negro, with arms enveloped in a ragged garment, moving about like the sails of a windmill, whilst a low chuckle proceeded from his huge mouth.
“He! ho! ho! brest if de ole nigga didn’t skear de galumpious Injun. He! he! he! ’gorry if de Injun beauty ain’t turn white at de show of dis chile!”
It was Crookleg who spoke.
He seemed to enjoy the fright he had given the maiden; for, after having ceased to speak, his gurgling cachinnation was continued.
It was some time before Sansuta recovered presence of mind sufficient to speak to the black deformity before her.
“What do you want?” was all she could gasp.
“Ha! ha! ha! It warn’t dis ugly ole nigga what the big chief’s chile ’pected to meet – war it? No, I know it warn’t. But don’t be skeared, ole Crookleg won’t hurt ye. He’s as innercent as a angel. He! he! he! as a angel.”
Here another caper, similar to the one with which he had introduced himself, placed him in a still more impish attitude.
The Indian girl had by this recovered from her first surprise, seeing that some attributes of humanity appertained to her strange interlocutor.
“Again, what do you want? Let me pass. I must return to the village.”
“Gorry, an it arn’t Crookleg dat will hinder you,” the negro answered, standing directly in her path. “He only want say a word to you – dat is if you is de beautiful Sansuta, de darter of de chief?”
“I am the chief’s daughter; that is my name. I am Sansuta!”
“Den de young gen’l’m’n tole dis old darkey true wen he say I find you down by de live-oak grove at sunset – he told de old nigga true.”
A blush overspread the girl’s face as Crookleg spoke. She did not answer him.
“He said to me,” continued the negro, “dat I were to tell de lady” (here he chuckled), “dat he de gen’l’m’ couldn’ come to meet her to-night, on accoun’ o’ de ole man his bossy wot hab gib him somethin’ ’tickler to do. He send ole Crookleg to tell her dat, and gib her sometin’ what I’ve got hyar in my pocket, he! he! he!”
Saying these words, the monster made a series of movements, having in view the discovery of his pocket.
After a most elaborate and vigorous search for its aperture among the multitudinous rags, he succeeded in finding it. Then, plunging his long right arm therein up to the elbow, he drew forth a small parcel wrapped in white paper, and tied with a string of dazzling beads.
With another acrobatic bound, he handed it to the trembling girl.
“Dere it am, safe and soun’. Dis ole nigga nebba lose nuffin and offen find a good deal. Dat, says de gen’l’m’, is for de most lubbly of her seek, de Missy Sansuta.”
The
