 Chapter 1 of THE HALF-BREED, A TALE OF THE WESTERN FRONTIER, by Walt Whitman. THE HALF-BREED, A TALE OF THE WESTERN FRONTIER, by Walt Whitman. Chapter 1 Loudly rang merry peals of laughter from a group of children of almost every age and size as they emerged one afternoon through the door of the rude log schoolhouse in the little town of Warren, a place situated on one of the upper branches of the Mississippi. Less than seven years previously, the site on which the dwellings of the Warren Knights now stood had been a tangled forest, roamed by the savage in pursuit of game. An adventurous settler purchased a few hundred acres there, and with some companions took up his abode and gave it the name I have mentioned. The place numbered nearly three hundred inhabitants. Loudly rang the laugh of the liberated children. Master Caleb, the teacher, stood in the door of his schoolhouse, engaged with a cheerful smile upon their noisy merry-ment. He was a pale young man from the east, and because that his strength did not allow him to engage in the heavy labours of his comrades, for in the West all men are comrades. He gladly accepted an offer from the fathers of the village to take charge of the education of the small people. Hurrah! said one harem-scarom young elf, who was running and tearing like a mad tiger. Hurrah! The master is giving us a holiday next Thursday, because he is going to Peter Brown's wedding. Hey, hurrah! But Bill, said a larger and more sedate-looking youth, addressing the elf, Bill be quiet. Don't act so foolish. Can't you see Mr. Caleb is looking at ya? Well, rejoined the other. What if he— The sentence, which the exuberant child was about to utter, was cut short suddenly by a loud shout from seven or eight of his companions. Bodo! Bodo! they cried. Bodo is coming! And they pointed with their mischievous fingers to a turn in the road, at about ten rods distance, where a figure was seen slowly walking, or rather limping, towards them. More than half the party had started off on a gallop, and in a few moments they were at the side of him who had attracted their attention. Bodo, as the youngsters called him, and that was the name he went by all over the settlement, appeared to be a man of about seven and twenty years of age. He was deformed in body, his back being mounted with a mighty hunch, and his long neck bent forward in a peculiar and disagreeable manner. In height he was hardly taller than the smallest of the children who clustered tormentingly around him. His face was the index of many bad passions, which were only limited to the degree of their evil, because his intellect itself was not very bright. Though the sedulous care of someone had taught him even more than the ordinary branches of education, among the most powerful of his bad points, was a malignant peevishness, dwelling on every feature of his countenance. Perhaps it was this latter trait which caused the wild boys of the place ever to take great comfort in making him the subject of their vagaries. The Gaser would have been at some doubt whether to class this strange and hideous creature with the race of red men or white. For he was a half-breed, his mother an Indian squaw, and his father some unknown member of the race of the settlers. Why, Bodo, said the elf, Bill, howdy-do, you lovely creature, I haven't seen you for a week! And the provoking boy took the hunchback's hand and shook it as heartily as if they had been old friends for ever. Bodo scowled, but it was of no avail. He was in the power of the lawless ones and could not escape. What's the price of soap, Bodo? said another urchin, pointing to the filthy hands in face of the Indian, and they all laughed merrily. Devils! exclaimed the passionate half-breed, making an impotent attempt at blows which they easily foiled. Why, do you, pester me, go, go away, or shall I turn upon you? Oh, Bodo, dear Bodo, do not let your sweet temper rise! said little Bill, and he padded the Indian on his head, as a man would do to a child. Bodo glanced up to him with an expression of hate, which might have appalled any but the heedless one on whom he gazed. He turned round and round, like a wild beast in the toils. But wherever he cast his look he saw nothing but the villainous little fingers extended, and roguish eyes flashing. The poor fellow was indeed sadly beset, and was rapidly working himself up to a pitch of rage, which might have caused some of the thoughtless crew a broken head. At this moment, the tall boy who had reproved Bill in front of the school-house came up, and beholding the plight of the tormented one, offered his gentle interference. Boys, boys, he cried, don't let us bother this poor friend of ours any more. Come now. Are you not willing that he should go? He paused, and it was plainly a doubtful case whether his mediation would be successful. The boys had just come from a three-hour's confinement to their lessons, and they felt disposed for anything in the shape of mirth. So like a prudent arbiter, Quincy Thorne, the tall lad, offered a kind of compromise between both difficulties. I'll tell you what, said he. Bodo shall say all about where he has been this afternoon, and what after? For I see he has just returned from a long tramp. And then we'll let him go. Hey, boys! Agreed, said the band, and the hunchback, garrulous by nature and glad no doubt to be let off thus easily, at once commenced his recital. Which we shall take the liberty, however, for our reader's sake, of giving in our own style. You know, said he, of Peter Brown, the blacksmith's marriage, which is to take place soon. Well, this could not be managed, it seems, without the help of Bodo. A marriage needs a priest, and hereabouts one of that kind is not often met with. Now I, who so love to see my neighbour's happy, the hunchback rend, could not bear that the pretty sport should all be spoiled for want of priest. And so, rather say, interrupted the elf bill. You feared the loss of some drinks of rum, and meals of pork you had set your heart upon getting at the wedding. Bodo snarled at the saucy boy, and continued. So I said to Brown, that my worthy teacher and friend, Father Luke, the lonesome man of Oak Creek, might be brought hither. They say, as a priest, one not exactly of the right sort to suit the people here, perhaps, but when the nearest town is distant, three days journey, we are not apt to stand on trifles. The priest, then, this Catholic monk, I think he calls himself, being the only one near at hand, and even the place where he lives, not known to many of the people, Mr. Peter bid me to go and see him out, and deliver him a message written on paper. More than ten hours have I been wandering up and down the banks of the river, and through the wood, to discover the house of the lonesome man. I, Bodo, to whom every tree in the forest I thought was known, and every dent in the shore, and every swamp and thicket, could hardly find the place. Not that I have ever taken pains in search of it before, for I defy any of you, the cunningest boy of all, to hide a dead squirrel within five miles where I shall not ferret it out, so well do I know every spot. Well, after a long time, and when I had more than one's thought of giving up the search and coming back, which I might have done had I not reflected on the disappointment of Mr. Peter and the rest, what should... Don't lie, Bodo, interrupted the elf again. You can't deny it was fear of the trouncing you might get, and nothing else that made you keep on. The group did not laugh at this sally as at the former ones, for they were anxious to hear the end of the story. What should I see as I came out of a thicket? About two hours walk from here, but Father Luke himself, he was standing at the bank, at a high place, and looking down into the stream, quiet as one of the trees back of us. I approached him and told him of my errand. Though I knew not his residence, we were old acquaintances and times bygone, so I thought it strange that he should start and tremble like a frightened girl before I spoke a word. He took my letter and then asked me into his hut, for it was near at hand. He led the way and I followed, a few rods before us to the side of a crag, all covered with bushes and hanging trees. He parted them at a place where not one eye out of a thousand would have suspected odd else than the brown ground to lie underneath, and we were in a room dimly lighted in some way from above, whose sides were stone and dirt, half hidden by some domestic utensils. There stood a table in the middle of the room, covered with books and a pen, covered with books and paper. He sat down there and, taking a pen, told me he would write an answer to the request I brought. In a few minutes it was ready. He put before me some drink and meat, and then, though he spoke not, I saw he wished my departure. Carefully noting the place as I emerged, in order that I might tell it again if occasion required, I bent my steps homeward. And now you have all of my story, and I must go, for it is time Peter Brown received his answer. The children made no opposition to his departure, with the exception of little Bill, who gave Bodo an extra pinch and stout pull of the hair, ere he scrambled off to engage in some new mischief. The house of Peter Brown was situated at one end of the village, a pleasant place, where the beams of the sun of a clear day dazzled the gazer's eye as they were reflected from the stream. Peter, contrary to the advice of his neighbours, had, in clearing up his land, left a number of the finest trees standing close to his dwelling, which divested it of that rather disagreeable aspect of newness, which a lately settled town almost invariably possesses. The house, too, was of better build and material than most of its fellows. It was of logs, to be sure, but it had a number of good glass windows, and two tall chimneys, and doors which swing on hinges and fitted tightly. The blacksmith lived in it now alone. A day or two more was to see him with a companion, however, and that companion a wife, the daughter of a respectable man of his own grade in life. Some three or four rods distant, on the other side of the road, was the shop of the blacksmith, with its smoky fire and bellows, and the anvil which, every morning, was heard to clink with rapid and ponderous blows. Leaning idly on the handle of the bellows stood the master of the establishment himself. He was a stout, well-made, strongly jointed young man, with light hair and clear grey eyes. Though not what is called handsome, he was far from being ill-looking. His lips were beautifully cut, and his neck might have been taken by the most fastidious sculptor as a model of that part of the human form in some fine work of art. What were Peter's thoughts about? Nothing more or less than love. He had dispatched Bodo many hours previous, and he feared the malicious creature had forgotten or disregarded the duty, and would not perform his bidding. A dozen times during the half-hour would he step to the door of his smithy, and strain his gaze to catch any glimpse of the returning hunchback, and in vain. When at last he beheld the messenger, and looking into his face, saw the expression of one who returns to a master with news he assure will be pleasant. He forgot his determinations to wring Bodo's neck and beat him with a bar of iron, and so on, and eagerly demanded the result of his mission. The hunchback told the story which the reader has already heard, as related to the school-children, and then gave to Peter the note which had been sent to him from the monk. Impatiently breaking the seal and opening it, the hunchback read as follows. Enanswered a Peter Brown, the black smith. A wretched man has come to me with the demand that I should perform the ceremonials of marriage between yourself and a maiden of your town. The messenger explains that no holy minister of your faith is at hand, and entreats me in your name to refuse him not. I am a Catholic monk for reasons of piety and choice, hiding myself aloof from any communion with my kind. But in this matter, though a strict interpretation of my priestly allegiance might keep me from granting what you ask, uniting two members of a church we condemn in bonds of marriage, I have thought fit, taking all things into consideration, to do as you desire. On the morrow I shall visit the village and will hold further conference with you on the subject. The monk, a plague on the roundabout way of his saying yes, exclaimed the black smith with a laugh, as if it made any difference whether our father sat in a meeting-house or heard mass before papal alters. In such a case is this. The briefly informing Bodo that, as he had been faithful and successful, he should be rewarded still farther, the happy Peter gave him a small coin and prepared to shut up his shop, for the purpose of walking over and telling the news to the family of his intended bride. End of Chapter 1, Chapter 2 of the Half-breed, A Tale of the Western Frontier, by Walt Whitman. Chapter 2 Master Caleb, the teacher, as usually happens in schools, had his favourites and his most to special likings among the young flock whose education he controlled. Of all the rest Quincy Thorn, the tall, gentle boy, was the one whom he loved and whose company he preferred. Any other choice would have created some envy and jealousy. But all the children themselves were attached to the teacher's favourite and gladly yielded to his good fortune without a mirror. It happened on the Thursday, when Peter Brown's wedding took place, that Master Caleb and Quincy stole away from the revelers in the middle of the afternoon and took a quiet roundabout stroll, bringing up at last at the dwelling of Quincy's father. The whole family had gone to the wedding, as in fact had all the inhabitants of the village, old and young, for the generous-hearted blacksmith would have it so. And the house was therefore quite deserted. The boy and the teacher took a seat on the doorstep in front and gazed at the pleasant prospect before them, a little in verdant grass-patch only, intervened between them and the river, which the dwelling frontage wore. They amused themselves by watching the gambles of the water-fowl, wild but with their wings clipped and thus partly domesticated, and by counting the various objects that glided along the stream, logs and torn-up trees, and now and then a fish leaping above the surface. Master Caleb, said the boy suddenly, is not that the figure of an Indian yonder on the hill? He pointed as he spoke to a spot forty or fifty rods distant, on the same side of the river where they were seated. Oh, it is indeed, answered the teacher, and he is coming this way. Poor fellow, he seems to be worn and sick. As the figure advanced, they had full leisure to survey him. He was one of the finest specimens of the red people, or rather had the evidence of having once been so. For his gait was now slow and uneven, his eyes dim and without brightness or glitter, and his cheeks sunken. It is aerotip, said Master Caleb and the boy simultaneously, as they had a review of the savage. It is our dear friend, aerotip. Quincy rose from his seat and stepped toward the newcomer with words of welcome. He led him to the door and into the house and bathed him rest himself. The Indian took these little kindnesses with the apathetic method of his race. It was plain, however, that they could but be acceptable to him, for he gasped with pain and exhaustion. We have not seen you here in Warren for many weeks, said Caleb, after a pause. And you are ill, it seems. I am, replied the savage. A dull heat, like the air of your iron-warmed rooms in the settlement, fills me from head to foot. Strength has gone, and aerotip might be beaten by a young boy. How long has this been, inquired Caleb? It first came, was the answer. When the buds started on the trees, now the forest is all green and dark with leaves. You have a fever, said Master Caleb, which I dare say some trifling medicine from our common physical chest in the land agent's room would cure at once. Aerotip made no reply. Surely, said the young thorn, looking at the worn moccasins upon the feet of his guest, surely you have not made this journey from your dwelling alone. Where was your brother, whoever came with you on your former visits? The dull eyes of the Indian glanced devoutly upwards. He who is your great spirit, and ours, said he, lives in the forest, and was with the sick chief. My people knew not of my coming, none but my brother's wife, to whom I confided my purpose, lest they might think some evil had befallen me. I had heard that the whiteness man knew a hundred remedies for ills of which we were ignorant. Ignorant both of the ills and remedies. The love of life was strong in my soul. I could not bear to pine away as a tree whose trunk has been girdled by the hatchet. I felt my arm, and said to myself, perhaps in the village of the pale faces, there may be something that will bring back its thickness and its nerve in the night when all were sleeping. I came out from my lodging, and bent my steps toward your town. The sun is now on his third journey over our heads, since I started. Both Quincy and the teacher felt their sympathies strongly enlisted for the unfortunate savage. The boy assured him that he might no doubt be welcome to stop with them, as at home, for a season, during which all should be done for his recovery. And Master Caleb averred that Ezekiel Barrett, the storekeeper of Warren, had in his youth spent half of an apprenticeship with a New England apothecary, and would probably be able to tell all about aero tips ailing, and what would affect his recovery. Chored nightfall, when Mr. Thorn and the members of his family returned from the wedding. It was readily arranged that aero tips should remain with them, as Quincy had suggested. Shame were it to me and my wife, said Thorn. Did we let one who saved a life so dear to us ask shelter here, and be refused? And he looked to his son Quincy while he spoke. Master Caleb saw that something which had taken place in former years, now served as a memento of goodwill between the settler and the chief. He made inquiry by a glance toward Thorn. Yes, said the latter. We have indeed reason to be grateful to this sick man. For many years ago he saved Quincy's life. And he told the teacher how it happened. It was before they came to live in Warren. Further acquaintance with aero tip dated many years back. The child, then small, was swept away by a freshet in a river, and aero tip had dashed into the foaming waters and brought him safe back again. As may readily be supposed, Thorn and his family were unbounded in their expressions of gratitude. And through all the future years of their existence, never lost an opportunity of showing that gratitude. Aero tip, as he was called in the figurative style of his people, though possessing now but little of the power of a chief, was descended from the satchems of his tribe. He and a younger brother named for his swiftness the deer. Frequently had intercourse with the white settlers of that region in the way of trade. They brought the furs and skins collected by their people, and exchanged them for powder, blankets, hardware, and other things which habit made necessary to them. The deer generally accompanied his brother on these excursions. The two loved each other, for they were the remnants of their family, and had none else to distract their affection. Bodo, the hunchback, had a claim also to be considered as indirectly of the same tribe with aero tip and the deer. But no one knew exactly his relationship, and few thought it worth investigation. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Half-breed. A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chuck Williamson. Chapter 3 A week must have passed away since the events of the last chapter. In the course of that time another personage had arrived upon the stage where are little dramas being enacted. The Village of Warren. This personage was AeroTip's brother, the deer, informed by his wife of the course intended to be taken by the sick chief. A few days after the departure of the latter, and thinking of a thousand mishaps that might possibly befall him on the road, the deer filled a pouch with food, strapped his bow and quiver on his back, and commenced a rapid progress toward the settlement. He arrived in time to witness the favourable change in AeroTip's illness, which was but the precursor of still more improvement. It needed indeed, but that he should continue a few days longer in the hospitable house of Thorn, and under the medical auspices of Master Caleb and the storekeeper, Barrett, to have his health and strength wholly restored. One morning, when Mr. Thorn came in to partake with his family of their early meal, he looked disturbed and somewhat agitated. To the inquiries of his wife, he for a time returned no answer. But I don't know, said he at length. Why, I may not as well inform you of the cause of what moves me. For two or three mornings past, ongoing as I usually do at daylight to take care of my cattle and feed them, I have missed something from the storehouse where I keep my grain and farming utensils. Occasionally I find merely that matter not very valuable is taken away. But then, again, an article of great use to me is stolen. I certainly have no idea who is the thief. But it becomes us all to be on the lookout, and see if we can not discover him. It was a painful thing for Aero Tip, who sat in the chimney room while Mr. Thorn was speaking, that the eyes of nearly every one in the room, with the exception of Thorn himself and his eldest son, were turned upon him. He was too proud to answer any suspicions, and he moved not, or spoke under their gaze. This morning continued Mr. Thorn. A large piece of bear-meat, which I purchased yesterday of a man sent here by Bodo, and which I intended to be our dinner today, is taken off, where and by whom it is impossible to say, again were the eyes of the group directed toward Aero Tip. The savage was deeply pained. But as before he evinced it by no sign. In truth the suspicion, if any such were harbored, was unjust, and in no small degree unreasonable. From the nature of the articles perloined they could have been of no value to an Indian, unless he sold them, and that were a difficult undertaking without risk of discovery. Aero Tip rose and left the room, uttering not a word. For the first time Mr. Thorn reflected upon the grief he must have inflicted by his remarks. With true good taste, however, he forbade to make the matter worse by attempting an apology. He bade his children abstain in future from any illusion to the subject, and particularly any sign that they looked upon Aero Tip himself as an object of doubt. In course of the afternoon, Peter Brown, the lately married blacksmith, came over to Thorn's to speak of a contemplated hunting party the next day in the forest. I am told, said Peter, that there is a fine herd of deer which some of our folks have several times seen in the neighborhood of Oak Creek. What say you? If the day be fair will you join us? Certainly was Thorn's answer, and our friend Aero Tip here shall make another of the party, if he will. The chief rejoined the one last spoken to. We'll be glad to go. Quincy stood near while this conversation was taking place. Father, he said, do you not remember your promise that I might hunt with the next party? Thorn smiled upon the eager boy and assented. So it was arranged that, soon after sunrise, they should all start together, a number of the men from neighboring houses having agreed to join them. As Aero Tip retired that evening to a kind of out-house where he slept, Thorn would have had him on his first arrival, repose in the main dwelling, but the savage pertinaciously refused. Quincy tapped him on the arm and bade him with a smile to be up in time. And lest I should oversleep myself, said the boy, come to my window, which opens on the river, and knock upon it to wake me. It were hardly amiss to guess that the dreams of the young hunter that night were interwoven with huge buffaloes, and springing deer, and mighty bears, and most admired confusion. Aero Tip rose some time before daylight. He pushed open a small swinging door, and stood a few minutes gazing over the river in the direction of his distant tribe. His thoughts were with them, with his brother whom he expected to visit him that day. The deer had his abode at a dismantled hut in the neighborhood of the village, and with his far-off friends. Of a sudden, while his gaze was thus fixed, he saw a figure stealthily stepping, or rather crawling, through the farmyard, toward the building used by Thorn for a grainery. His sight convinced him that it was none of the host's family. The figure was smaller than Quincy or his father, and much stouter than any of the younger children. The savage immediately remembered what had been said respecting the thefts the preceding day, and he felt that he should now be able to clear up the mystery, and also remove any doubts that might have been held respecting his own integrity. The Indians silently drew back into the shadow, and watched the figure. Like a thief indeed, did it move, and directly toward the door of the grainery, which it opened and passed. Aerotip cautiously emerged from where he had been standing, and favored by the shadow of a huge tree, he stood near the door which the figure had entered, and waited his coming forth. He had not to wait long. With the same halting and stealthy gait, the thief appeared directly, staggering under a bag born upon his shoulder, and evidently containing grain. When he had got a couple of rods forward, Aerotip sprang upon him as a cat would spring on a mouse. Now, said he, who comes forth like an owl in the night to take his brother's goods? I have him. A dismal howl sounded out from the startled thief, and he struggled to get free, but his struggles were useless. Aerotip held him with a grasp of iron, and dragged him to the dwelling of the family, where he knocked loudly. Not many moments elapsed before Thorn and his people, disturbed by the racket, came rushing together into the porch in front. Aerotip in brief terms explained the matter to them, and shoved his prisoner toward them. Ha! Ha! As I hope I may shoot a deer today! said Quincy with a loud burst of laughter. It is none other than Bodo! The boy spoke truth indeed. The mischievous and now detected hunchback stood before them. He hung his head in stupid obstinacy, and spoke not a word in excuse for his crime. It is very wicked, said Aerotip as he stood with folded arms, and a flush of shame passed over his face. And it sickenes the chief soul that one who owns blood of an honest tribe should be cut thus. Bodo looked up, and scowled on the Indian with a furious expression of devil-tree and hate, that plainly said he would lose no convenient opportunity for revenge if such occurred. Come, come! said Mr. Thorn. Though I did not expect such conduct, even from Bodo, I am willing to let it pass. We all know the infirmity of the poor fellow, and I dare say this will be a salutary lesson to him. Come! we forget that today we hunt the deer. And our breakfast is to be prepared, and a dozen matters attended to yet, which we best set about immediately. As the hunchback turned from the spot to walk away, he cast another glance at Aerotip. It was full of malice and hate. But the chief did not deign to heed it by the slightest notice. He calmly set himself about the necessary business of the hour. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the Half-breed, A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chuck Williamson. Chapter 4. Who could be more happy than Peter Brown's bride? She was a young and handsome woman, possessed of much good sense, and a strong faculty of making people become attached to her. On no occasion was this latter trait illustrated more pleasantly than in the intercourse in friendliness between her husband and herself on the one part, and him who has been spoken of in a preceding page as the lonesome man on the other. Ever since the hour when the monk, or Father Luke, as he was also sometimes called, united them in marriage, he had apparently found a new impulse to be sociable by visiting the house of the blacksmith. There was a considerable of mystery about the character of the holy man. No one knew his life. Sometimes he would be absent for months, and then would suddenly appear in his rude dwelling once more, as if returned from a distant journey. It was generally supposed that, in these intervals, he went away to the convents of his brethren in Canada. No one sought to pry into his designs or wishes, yet he was by no means of an austere disposition, and might probably have answered their questions, had they seen fit to proffer any. But in the West, where everyone is in some degree or other an adventurer, few wish to investigate the former history of their neighbors. Inquisitiveness does not prevail there, as in some other sections of our republic. Much more frequently than before, as has been intimated, the monk now sought communion with the villagers, and most of all the browns. On the day of the hunting-party he came there, and though Peter himself was absent, he was invited by the young wife to rest himself and remain and chat with her. So kindly were her requests proposed, and so yearning, if the truth be told, were the lonesome man's wishes for some kind of comradeship, that he made little demure to accepting the invitation. The hours passed on quite pleasantly, each mutually entertained with the presence and cheerfulness of the other. Father Luke, said the hostess, after a long pause in her conversation, I know you will not be offended if I tell you. I have wondered how you can be comfortable in that cold cave of yours, where they say you reside. The monk smiled quietly. I have long learned, said he, to be content with course fare and course accommodation. It is part of the duty of such as I. And were you always content? Not always, was the subdued answer. The monk saw that his companion would probably have spoken further. Had she not feared intruding on his wish for concealment? Daughter, said he, perhaps I have been looked upon by the good people here about too much as being of mystery. I have little that I wish to conceal. I will, if you have patience to bear it, tell you my story. Long few items, your good sense will inform you. It were better to pass no further. The young woman was certainly not so far superior to the foibles of her sex, thus to turn away from anything in shape as a secret. She made a gesture of ascent, and the monk proceeded. I was born in a country town, in Ireland. My parents were in the humbler walks of life, and of all their children, I alone received what might be called a respectable education. Even in my early boyhood, I was destined for the church. When I was about eighteen years old, my mother died. A sad loss to us all. A year passed away. Before the end of which, my father, finding the cares and troubles of his family to press heavily upon him, took unto himself another wife. I had a sister, a lovely girl, some two years younger than myself. My sister possessed in her character some of the most excellent, as well as some of the weakest propensities of her sex. She was capricious and headstrong, but tender and very affectionate. Her beauty gained her many suitors, whom her whim induced her to discard, as they were generally of our own lowly condition. One summer there came to reside for a few days in our village, a citizen named Arnold. It was a dark hour for poor Mary when he made his entrance there. He was handsome, and a confirmed rake. They met this man in my sister. Arnold saw what a prize the place had hitherto unconsciously contained, and determined to win it, if she would have but taken warning, for she was warned. To make the tale short, Mary, refusing to hear the advice of her well-wishers, received Arnold to her love. He protracted his visit to many weeks. Before he returned to the city, he added another to his triumphs. My sister fell. Oh, when will the false tone which pervades society make it needful to hold beyond the pale of its promiscuous communion the man who acts as Arnold acted? But what am I saying? From whom could such sentiments come with a more ill grace than me? Me, who have been guilty of a similar—an even worse course of conduct—a few months passed on, and my sister's frailty could no longer be concealed. Our stepmother was a severe woman. Her cold and haughty looks and her sharp taunts drove poor Mary almost insane. My father, too, when he knew his daughter's disgrace, expressed a determination to cast her off—forever. Had her own mother been alive, the case would no doubt have resulted differently. She might have stormed for a time, but at least the fatal termination which, as things were, came to pass would have been prevented. One day my sister was missing. She was decamped in the night, and no doubt was wandering about homeless and shelterless. We caused search to be made, which, at the end of a couple of days, ended in the discovery of the lost one. She was completely deranged, and when found was seated upon the bank in a wide forest. She died within a week from that time. Death, they say, blots out all misdoings. We were all grieved and agonized at the fate of our hapless Mary, but none with that passion which filled my own bosom. I pondered, night and day, upon the wickedness of her seducer, Arnold. A hundred schemes for revenge were fixed upon in my mind, and then abandoned. Happening to go about this period, upon business in a neighboring city, I was accidentally called upon at my lodgings by an itinerant teacher of sword-fencing. Suddenly a new method of vengeance struck me. Upon the instant I engaged the man to give me lessons. I applied myself diligently to my new study, and within a short time had the satisfaction of hearing my teacher pronounce me one of the most proficient pupils he ever had. I challenged Arnold to combat. He accepted my challenge. Perhaps you may wonder that, in view of the profession I intended to follow, I should have thought fit to act thus. I was blinded by my hate for my sister's betrayer. I was engrossed by no other thought than that of revenge. Arnold met me as I demanded. Whether it was that a just cause nerved my arm, or that his was powerless with conscious guilt, I know not. But he fell when I left the place of the fight. He lay there, a stiff and senseless corpse, my antagonist. I thought that my antagonist had relatives and friends of Frank, and it was plainly dangerous for me to remain in Ireland. I gathered together what funds I could raise on so sudden an emergency and fled. I directed my course to this general country of refuge, for the oppressed and the unfortunate, America, good daughter. I am now coming to a part of my fortunes which I must feign hurry over with a rapid and casual narration. My desire for adventure led me west. Even to this region, which at the time I speak of, nearly thirty years since, was far more wild and uncultivated than at present. A party of hunters and traders with whom I travelled encamped on this very spot during one entire winter. We were in the neighbourhood of a tribe of Indians whom they wished an opportunity of extended intercourse with in the way of traffic. There was a young maiden of the tribe of, why does the tale-tale colour rush up into my face, and mantle it with a hue of shame. An Indian girl, who visited our camp now and then, saw something in the young Irishman that awoke in her breast the flame which burns as brightly in the midst of the great new world force, as in the populous places of the old hemisphere. She loved me and I had nothing to interrupt the tedium of our long stay. We were both with the hot blood of young veins. At the coming of the spring I left the place, some four or five seasons afterward, I came hither again. They showed the child of the Indian girl, my son. I almost shrieked with horror at the monstrous abortion. The mother herself had died in giving it birth. No wonder. Never had my eyes been blasted with so much ugliness as that hunchback boy, daughter. That child even now moves among you, an object of pity and disgust. Can you wonder when I tell you it is no other than the half-idiot, half-devil? Bodo, my wild and wayward course of life for the next few years, I shall not pause to dwell upon. In the course of time, a poignant sense of my ill deeds and a sickening feeling of the vanity of all human enjoyments led me to take the vows of the order I now form a humble member of. One of the rules of our rigorous piety is that a full and open confession of any sins that lie upon the breast shall be given ere a man can become one of our community. By the advice of my superior and prompted, too, by my own conscience, I have been aware that the least return I can make the wretched Bodo for having been the author of his existence is to do my best toward opening his mind to the blessing of the true faith. For this purpose I come every few months hither. I have labored diligently to educate and imbue with devout feelings the unfortunate young man, but his besotted nature and willful peevishness lead me to believe that my labors will too probably be in vain. Your look seems to ask me why I do not take him to a more congenial region for giving him the benefits of religion. Of what use would it be? Now no one knows the degree of relationship that exists between us except yourself and my holy intimates. Bodo himself is, of course, totally ignorant of it. Leaving the matter in the hands of Providence and painfully conscious that not which I could do would benefit the condition of the poor creature, I have made up my mind that when I leave this place, as I shall shortly do, to return to my convent and my brethren, it will be to spend the rest of my days there, and to see this spot and my miserable offspring. No more. Chored the latter part to Father Luke's narration. He had been somewhat interrupted by sundry distant shouts and sounds of tumult. Mrs. Brown, deeply interested in the story, had paid but little attention to them. But now the claim came nearer and nearer, and loud and agitated voices sounded out in the road near the door. A moment longer, and the door opened quickly, and a man, the elder brother of the young wife, rushed chored her with his face very pale, and every sign of horror and agitation. Oh, sister! he cried. Peter Brown is murdered in the forest by the Indian arrow-tip. The startled woman looked a moment in his face, as if to assure herself that she had heard her right. She saw crowding in at the door, and out upon the road the forms of many of the neighbors. Then all swam before her eyes, and she fainted in her brother's arms. End of chapter four. Chapter five of the Half-breed, A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter five. Just out from the village when the hunting-party started that morning. They had been joined by arrow-tip's brother, the deer. He, accompanied by a favorite dog, was watching the evolutions of a large bird that lazily skimmed near the surface of the cascade nearby. A charming spot that, were it in the neighborhood of our eastern cities, would be visited by thousands for its beauty. Call the dog from me, brother, said the deer. He frightens the bird. Arrow-tip did as he was desired. The party had passed on, bidding the two Indians to follow. And the chief sat himself down a moment, at the foot of a large tree, and waited till the successful aim of the deer should bring the bird to the ground. One hand grasped his hunting-bow, and with the other he caressed the dog. The plot of the narrative makes it preferable, not to detail minutely hear all the events that took place during the day. One of those events, a startling and bloody one, has already been intimated to the reader at the conclusion of the last chapter. Soon after arrow-tip and the deer came up with the rest of the party, whom they found proceeding onward with light in buoyant steps. They all arrived at the destined point of their enterprise. It is unusual, in such cases, for a band to be subdivided into smaller groups, each having its section or lookout-spot. The animals to be hunted are thus encompassed and met at every turn, and seldom fail of becoming, soon or later, a prey to the sportsmen. I think, said Mr. Thorn, it will be best for Quincy to come with my party. Arrow-tip, suppose you and Peter Brown take the bend at Oak Creek for your station. That will suit me, answered the blacksmith. Arrow-tip also expressed his consent to the arrangement. Four or five other groups, of two or three in each, were dispatched to their various posts, and the business of the day soon commenced in good earnest. It was fine sport, and the young villagers of Warren, in this case, found their labours attended with that alternate good and ill fortune, which makes such amusements more agreeable, even than the continued current of success. A hunt in the western forests. To those who have tasted of the fun, and know its pleasures, we need say but little. With the great woods all about, and no sign of man's neighbourhood, accept the cheerful voices of your companions. With the wide, solemnly wide stretching of unpeopled territory, to a distance it would take the journey of months to compass. With the blue sky overhead, clear and not murky from the smoke of a million chimneys, with that strange and exhilarating and pervading sense of freedom, which strikes into all your sense and body as it were, from the illimitable and untrammeled, the boundless nature of everything about you, is it not a right manly and glorious sport? There are no appearances of the artificial about such a hunt, no park walls, and no cultivated and regularly laid out grounds to be crossed. It is all nature, all wide, beautiful, and in spiriting business, which no systematic chasing of a poor deer within fences, and by trained packs can equal. One week of such fine and wholesome recreation would do more good to our inner-vated city gentry than a hundred gymnasiums, or all the medicines of a drug-shop, during the morning and the early half of the afternoon. The various groups of the parties saw each other at intervals, and those who had been most successful threw out merry jibes against their less fortunate companions. The day advanced, and the sun wanted but a couple of hours to his setting. Mr. Thorn, and one or two others, who, being the elder and more experienced, had, by general consent, been called upon to act as leaders of the party, began to think of collecting their scattered forces and returning homeward. It was at this period that the following incident happened, casting a gloom over the occasion, and throwing the whole of the village when it became known, in a paroxysm of agitation and horror. Two of the hunters, young men who had come out with the rest of the party, had to pass on their return to the general rendezvous, near the station assigned to Peter Brown and the Indian. The young men made themselves a rude raft, and were floating down the river toward their destination, for this was an easier and more agreeable method of travelling, than breaking their way through the thicket of the forest. As they came off against the mouth of Oak Creek, they heard sounds of human voices in the wood, in loud and angry talk. They paused and listened. They soon distinguished the voices to be those of the blacksmith and aerotip. From where they were situated, the hunters could not distinctly see the quarrelors. But the latter were within a few rods, and their voices, and much of what they said, might easily be heard. Brown was plainly wrought up to a high pitch of passion, and swore most terribly. Not many moments elapsed before the two men upon the raft were convinced that the dispute had ended in a scuffle. Fearful that some more than ordinary harm might be the consequence, they seized their poles, and rapidly pushed the raft to the shore. Upon landing there, to penetrate the wood, and reach the place of the combatants, took them but a few moments. They started an alarm as they came in close view of the spot. They no scuffling or angry words were there now. Brown, the blacksmith, lay upon the ground with a heavy gash on the side of his head. An aerotip stood leaning calmly and sullenly against a tree. Good God! exclaimed one of the intruders. He has murdered him. They stepped quickly to Brown's prostrate form, and raised him up in a sitting posture. But it was too late. All sense was gone, and they saw that what they could do to restore him would be of little avail. Horror struck the terrible nature of the whole affair. The impulse of both the men was first to fly the place and bring some of their companions. Then a very natural sentiment of indignation arose in their bosom toward the murderer, who stood there with so much apathy. They feared that if they left the spot, he would escape. Chief, said he who had first spoken, you have done a damned action and must go with us to answer for it. Aerotip made no sign of repugnance. Had he done so indeed, the result might have been somewhat unfavorable to the others. He was a strong and agile man, and held in his grasp the gun, which they recognized as belonging to Brown. Once only, as a remark was passed between them about the propriety of binding his arms, the savage looked towards them with a face which caused them to desist from their intention. Aerotip then, as they signed him to follow, walked after them. He spoke not a word, and offered nothing in the shape of remonstrance, excuse, or justification. Aerotip left the ground. One of the hunters took a blanket, which he happened to have with him, and threw it over the senseless body. It was to be there but a few minutes, when they would return and bear it to the village, in company with the criminal, whom they desired first to place in security. End of chapter 5 Chapter 6 Of the Half-breed A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chuck Williamson Chapter 6 Return We to the Scene of the Conflict and to the Senseless Body The hunters were mistaken in supposing it dead. Though severely injured, Brown was not deprived of life. The blow had stunned him, and the loss of blood had made him faint. Some fifteen minutes elapsed, and the flickering consciousness of existence came back to the wounded man. It came at first, painful and dreamlike, then fuller and with more distinctness. When he awoke to a knowledge of his situation, and realized why it was that he lay there with a bloody gash upon his temple, and his hair clotted, and his limbs quite nervous, he remembered the altercation. And the blows passed between himself and the Indian. Cooler and temper now. He thought of twenty little things wherein he had been in the wrong. And he determined to make up the quarrel the first time he and the chief met. He shut his eyes a moment, conscious of a drowsy and disagreeable sensation. What impish creature was that who met Brown's gaze as he looked again? The leaves and the twigs crackled, and a form which mocked the outlines of humanity bent over him. It was Bodo. Ah! said the half-breed, an expression of dissatisfaction settling upon his face. Is he alive? I thought the blow had killed him outright. And a second time, and more plainly, disappointment was events upon his features. How came you here? said Brown in a weak voice. I saw it all. I answered the hunchback, chuckling. I saw it all. I have followed him, cursed him forever, since the morning. And I thought he had killed you. Don't you call that murder? The wounded man made a sign of ascent. And then he would have been hung. Oh! that it might! Bodo paused, for he saw that he was going too far. He had a species of cunning notwithstanding his natural dullness, and that taught him, on the present occasion, to repress the remarks he was going to make. Nothing more or less than sorrow, because the savage had not indeed made himself amenable to the severest punishment of the law. I am as weak as a baby, said Peter. What would I give for a drink of cool water, and a quiet rest of an hour or two? And a spasm of agony passed over the countenance of the speaker. He was evidently under much suffering. There is a place, rejoined Bodo. Nearer at hand, perhaps, than you imagine, where you might get what you wish. The blacksmith looked up with a mute glance of inquiry in the other's face. Yonder, continued Bodo. Where you see the crooked oak is the cave of Father Luke. I have been there, and know the spot. Help me thither, said Brown. And when I am taken home, I will remember your kindness. He slightly raised his body, and waited for the hunchback's further assistance. See, said the malicious personage, grinning. How important is your Bodo in cases of extremity. All long no people care for him except to mock him until they are harmed. Then they ask his aid. Brown, that he possessed his strength, would have found a summary way of replying to the provoking speech. But he was now famed to submit and silently wait his pleasure. The hunchback bent at the side of the blacksmith and assisted him to rise. It was hardly until that moment that Brown felt how much injured he had really been. He could hardly hold himself up, and he shivered with a chill and felt deadly sick, so with slow and unsteady pace, leaning upon Bodo, and often stopping to rest against a trunk of a friendly tree. He traversed the few rods which intervene between the place of the quarrel, and the rude dwelling of the lonesome man. Bodo parted the shrubs around its entrance, and showed his companion the method of the safest ingress. For either by accident, or from its occupants' labor, there were certain thorny plants in various twistings and dark turns, which required some heed to read uninjured. When they came into the room of the monk, they found it untenanted, without life or noise. They saw from the appearance of things that its dweller had probably left it that morning, and no doubt would be back ere long. Take that vessel, said Peter faintly, pointing to a large tin cup which hung on the wall. Bring me some water from the nearest spring. I am dizzy and thirsty. Bodo did as he was desired, and the sick man threw himself on a heap of bare skin that lay in one corner. He felt strangely and miserably. Perhaps even now the death-aerotip had failed of inflicting might not be far distant. He would have given half his little estate had he been at home, and with his wife, to soothe his sickness. The indolent half-breed, loitering on his way to the spring, notwithstanding the emergency of the time, heard a step along a path nearby, and, turning, saw Father Luke, winding his way with hasty strides and agitated features. No you ought of this terrible business, my son, said he, addressing Bodo, with a title which the poor wretch little knew his right to, in a worldly sense, as well from the usage of the church. They tell me in the village that Peter Brown is murdered by aerotip. What they say in the village is often false is true, replied Bodo with a sneer. The monk saw that the hunchback could relate more of the business, and a hope sprung in his mind that he should perhaps hear a refutation of the fearful rumour. Good son, said he, do not tamper with me. Describe what you may of the matter at once. Well then, continued the other. The plain truth is that the Indian would have killed Peter, and did so try. But Peter, having a very thick skull, his life was saved. I saw it myself. They came and took aerotip away, and probably have him at the village at this moment, where, I know that, interrupted the Holy Father impatiently. I am just from war in myself, and know all about that. Tell me, where is Brown now, seeing the poor fellow in such distress? Bodo went on. Though, to tell the fact, he did not know it himself for quite a long while. I, with my usual good-kindness, walked round him and round him, and prayed for his recovery. The hunchback leered. Blaspheme not, said the monk sharply, hastened with your narration, and used no more such wicked ridicule. Shortly he came to himself, and I have taken the liberty of showing him the way to your luxurious dwelling, where he is at this moment reposing. Being dry, he wished a cup of water, which I am now to bring. God in heaven be blessed, was the fervent ejaculation of the monk, as he heard Bodo's recital. The curse of the Avenger of Blood will not fall on the chief's head, and the misery and crime be saved. Then bidding Bodo make speed, he turned toward the cave with a lighter heart. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Half-Breed. A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chuck Williamson Chapter 7 Peter Brown was indeed much injured. When the monk looked upon him, he saw that it would be dangerous to have him carried the distance between the cave and the village. Father Luke, as is frequently the case with those of his profession, had considerable knowledge of surgery and medicine, and he determined to tax that knowledge to its utmost for the benefit of his guest. He prepared a simple plaster, and washing the wound, bound it round the blacksmith's head. Some cooling drinks were then given him, and he felt less faint. Tell me, said he to the monk, What was done in the village, where you say you heard of this silly matter? Father Luke thought the talk might while away his patient's thoughts from his suffering, and he readily acceded to his request. You may imagine, said he, with what horror we first heard the story of your death, and in such a manner. Your poor wife, with whom I had been for a couple of hours, was like one distracted, and wished it once to start forth for the scene of the calamity. We, of course, prevented her, for that would have done no good, even had the case been as bad as was stated. Shortly on going into the heart of the village, I saw the hunting party themselves. Aerotip was there in custody between two of your neighbours, of whom I inquired more particularly with respect to your death. They stated that it was too true, that they had themselves seen your corpse. From what Bodo there has told me, it must have been while you were lying senseless after the blow. Bitterly grieving that such sad thoughts should disturb the happiness of our peaceful settlement, I questioned the men over and over again with regard to the details of their story, but they told that story with evident truth, and I could not but believe them. It was hastily arranged that a party should be immediately dispatched for your dead body, and in the meantime Aerotip was to be strictly guarded and prevented from any chance of escape, until proper measures could be taken for his punishment. Judging from the fierce glances of your neighbours towards him, and their strongly uttered sentiments of revenge, the poor Indian's fate, had you indeed been killed, would have proved quite as painful as yours, and indeed he would have followed you before many hours. A band of six are to keep watch day and night in the strong room where he is confined. Painful as was the situation of the blacksmith, he could not help feeling some sympathy for Aerotip, to whose proud nature he knew the scoffs and threats of the villagers would be scathing agony. Confinement too, even for a few hours, was a terrible inflection to such a being as the Indian chief, apart from the disgrace, which in itself was no small matter. Let Bodo go at once to the village, said the blacksmith, and tell the truth of the story. And I would not have my wife come hither, at least at present, for I think of no good she can do. Now let us talk no more, for I feel a strange drowsiness all over me, and would sleep. Tell me, Father, how long do you think will be the duration of my illness? That, answered the monk, is in the hands of God. But judging from the best of my knowledge, I may be able to recover you in three days, so that you can travel to your own house. At present you are not fit to walk a rod. At this very moment you are falling into a fever, which will require all of my watchfulness. Now, my son, compose yourself to sleep, drawing down a rude curtain that served the double office of door and of shade, if the latter were needed and so obscure an apartment. The monk took Bodo by the hand, and stepping into the outer part of the hut, gave him his directions, and his message, and made him hasten to the village. The hunchback sullenly listened, and made no rejoinder, as he started forth on his errand. Then, softly stepping in again, the lonesome man took a seat beside the blacksmith, who already slumbered. He saw that his patient would indeed need his closest and most unremitting care. Let us go with Bodo toward the village. Why, as this hapless creature arrived beyond sight of the entrance to Father Luke's dwelling, why did he stop and gaze cautiously around a moment, sit himself down upon a bank, and remain there a long hour, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation? What thoughts passed through the miserable young man's brain as he rested there? What strange wishes, or petty resolves of evil, or hopes for revenge? In the early light of that very day it will be remembered. The hunchback had been detected by Aerotip and the Theft, and exposed before all of Mr. Thorn's family. Bodo, used as he was to all kinds of scorn and insult, had times when the bestowal of such an insult would plant itself so deeply within his breast that it could never be blotted out, but by signal revenge. Once he was known to have kept for nearly two years the memory of a blow given him by a boy, and taken vengeance for it at last, by destroying a pet dog of his young injurer. Another time, when refused by an irritable dame a drink of water, he, ten months afterwards, frightened the woman half to death by wrapping a white garment around him, and starting out before her as she returned home alone one evening from a tea-party with some of her gossips. Numerous worthy instances in which he would suddenly verge from his some time patient endurance of contempt, such as that related at the opening of this tale, and resolve upon a signal scheme of retaliation. The present case, as he turned it over in his mind, might afford him an opportunity of repaying aerotip for the shame of the event of the morning. The chief was now in custody in the village, and according to Father Luke's account, surrounded by those who had little good will toward him. Bodo felt sure that the course of justice were the people allowed to remain with the unquestionable belief of Peter Brown's death, would neither be very lenient, nor wait very long to be carried to its consummation. Suppose he should not do his errand, as enjoined upon him by Brown in the monk. The monk himself in all probability would be unable to leave the cave to visit the village, and they had desired him to request the absence of the immediate friends of the blacksmith. Would not his revenge then triumph? The malignant hunchback laughed in his heart as he determined upon carrying out his plan. He rose, and with the swiftness of a deer, more than that of a man, he soon gained the neighborhood of the village. Within a hundred rides thereabouts of the outermost house, Bodo beheld a party of eight or ten men approaching with sedate and gloomy demeanor. Among them was Quincy Thorn. They paid no attention to the hunchback, although he was directly in their path. But that personage, suspecting their errand, determined on accompanying them. He attached himself to Quincy, entered into conversation with him, and walked on with the rest. You have seen the body, you say, asked the boy in rejoinder to something the hunchback was telling him, and you are sure it was quite dead? Without design Quincy looked full into the other's eyes. Bodo, resolute and impudent as he was, could not stand that gaze. His countenance expressed something from which young Thorn strongly judged. He knew more of the matter than he felt disposed to tell. It was cold and stiff as a nail, answered Bodo, and I was frightened, and ran away from the place. Less than an hour brought them to the limits of the spot. The two hunters who had heard the conflict and carried Aero-tip to the rendezvous a prisoner were with them and pointed out the way. How were they amazed upon coming to the exact place to find the blacksmith's body missing? There were tracks and signs of a struggle, and the blood lay thick upon the leaves where the hunters told Brown's body had been, but the corpse itself was nowhere to be seen. For a minute or two they gazed on one another, without knowing what to do or say. Comrades, said one of them suddenly, a new light breaks upon me. We all know that the brother of this cursed Aero-tip is near at hand. He was with us in the hunt. Without doubt he has concealed the body in the hope to give the murderer a chance of escape from justice. The glances which, from each to his fellow, followed this opinion, showed that everyone assented to it. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the Half-breed. A Tale of the Western Frontier by Walt Whitman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chuck Williamson. Chapter 8. In many of the towns of the West and South it is well known the punishment of crime is without the delays and necessary forms and statutable restrictions of our older cities and states. The only law, in fact, to some of the more remote of these places is public will and public feeling. A dangerous state of things in a large and vicious city, but far from being attended with the evils which many people imagine when exercised in the places we allude to. At all events it is better to be under this sovereign and self-constituted power than to have no law at all. When the men returned to war in that evening, with the strange news of the disappearance of the corpse the same sentiment prevailed among the villagers which has been mentioned in the concluding glimes of the last chapter. It served perhaps to deepen their indignation and make them anxious for a more hasty retribution on the head of him who was considered as the murderer. Let us, said they, let us not wait in this affair and give the savage a chance of escape, but let us act as determined men and have blood for blood. The watch that night had been arranged for six persons who were thought to sufficient surety that Aero-Tip could not get away. But so sanguinary was the spirit of the inhabitants that half the young men in the place turned out and surrounded the strong room where the prisoner was confined, lest some little opportunity might occur which would lead to a failure in the fulfilment of their gloomy purpose. The brother of Aero-Tip, the deer, appeared among them. As he approached they lowered fierce glances upon him which he returned not. He made a simple request to be permitted to see Aero-Tip which they at once and without parlay refused. He turned and calmly left the place. One or two among them spoke of the propriety of placing the deer also in durance. But this, upon further consideration, was abandoned. No one knew the thoughts of the imprisoned chief that weary knight but his great spirit. He spoke not to those about him, preserving a calm and lofty aspect and making no answer to their scoffs and taunts. Day came again. They found him. When they went in the room at the first streak of light, impelled by a feverish jealousy, lest he might have still evaded their vigilance and got away. They found him. When they went in the room at the first streak of light, impelled by a feverish jealousy, lest he might still have evaded their vigilance and got away. They found him standing there still and silent and haughty. His hair, part of it, had fallen down over his forehead and his eyes. He was too abstracted even to lift his hand and push it away. The morning meal which they gave him he partook of in moderation. And as the people of the place, men, women and children, came during the course of the forenoon to gaze in upon him as upon some strange monster brought from a distant climb. He preserved the same attitude and even brushed not the hair away from his eyes where it had fallen again. About an hour past noon three of the oldest men in Warren, the oldest of the three was but five and forty years, and came in apparently upon important business connected with the prisoner in his crime. Chief, said the leader of the trio, it is needless for us to tell you why you are confined here and what may be the nature of the punishment for the deed you have committed. Aerotip glanced upon them with apathy and made no reply. Chief, said the first speaker again, it is ill that you act so obstinately and preserve this childish silence. A grown man should not be stubborn like a dumb brute that has no knowledge. It is not ill, said the savage quietly. I am silent because I have seen no fit occasion to speak. What would you have me say? My companions and myself have been sent hither, answered the other, to learn from you what you can tell us of the quarrel and the fight which ended so fatally. Aerotip paused a moment in thought, then waving his hand toward the door he said, I have little to tell, but let it be told to all, not to three only. Let me speak to your brothers and kinsmen also. As you desire, was the reply. One of the three opened the door and gave some directions to a person without. They then emerged altogether and walked onward to an open green, on one side of which was the schoolhouse, and on the other was the church. It was a kind of public assembly ground, and there four-fifths of the people were at that moment gathered. As Aerotip and company with the three approached this, what was to be in some sense his tribunal? There was a silence throughout the whole spot, and all eyes were directed toward him. He told his story. It was a plain tale, and bore not strongly either toward his guilt or innocence. Brown and he, as most of these present knew, had been dispatched together to the Benz station. In the course of the day they were frequently seen like the others, and had themselves seen the others. When they first arrived at the station we are giving the substance of the story of Aerotip himself. The chief made a banter with a blacksmith that the latter would kill no game. In a merry vein he bet his tobacco-pouch against a rude kind of weapon, half hatchet and half poignard, that Brown had made himself and then carried in his girdle. The day passed on, and it was plain that the chief would, in all probability, gain his wager. Brown was a man of considerable heat of temper, and his ill success in the sport and the laughing jibes of Aerotip. For it is an error to suppose that our American Indians invariably retained their sedateness. Caused him to become more than ordinarily fretful. At last the signal for their return to the rendezvous was heard, and they prepared to obey it, carrying nothing to the common stock. The chief still continued his provoking railery, and the blacksmith was rapidly losing all command of his passions. It was at this unfortunate juncture that Aerotip was heedless enough to attempt seizing the weapon at Peter's girdle, which was now become his prize. The difficulty merged at this point into a scuffle, and in the scuffle the blow was given, which was supposed to have caused the blacksmith's death. Thus the chief concluded his story. He himself entertained no doubt that Brown was dead. But when told that his brother had taken away the body, he made no answer but a glance of scorn. Of all those there convened, only one, the hunchback Bodo, knew the full truth, and could have set the whole matter right, and the prisoner free, and poured joy into the hearts of the wife and Brown's friends had he so chosen. But he did not choose. A short communion took place between the men of Warren. There was no judge and no jury. Each grown man was admitted to the conference, and listened to with respect. For each knew that the present case was a matter which touched the happiness and interest of his neighbor as much as himself. Perhaps the time which was consumed in this deliberation upon the fate of the chief might have been an hour, perhaps less, certainly not more. Reader, such deliberations and such methods of administering justice may perhaps appear to you as fictitious, as part of a tale of fiction. It is not so. There may be found in the region of the scene of these transactions. Many a place were the same course as held in criminal cases. And it may be doubted whether, after all, the result is being at the risk of being more inconsistent with justice than in the courts of law in our Atlantic towns. Chief, said the one who had acted as messenger two hours before, We look upon you as guilty of murder. We shall take your life for that of our brother. We shall kill you. Tomorrow, when the sun is at the highest, you will look for the last time on the light. Aerotip's countenance changed not, nor did his lip quiver. One passionate wild glance only he cast around him, as if in quest of his brother, or of some other look of sympathy. He found neither. End of chapter 8