"Is this your love for the pale-face?" returned the infuriated chieftain. Then die you first!"
Upon this, seizing the defenceless old man, he drew his knife and made a heart-thrust. The intended victim, however, grasped the descending blade in his bare hand and arrested its course — but his fingers were nearly severed in so doing. Here the wife of Bull Eagle rushed up to her husband and seized him by both
16 Previously, he had been presented with a citizen's dress to secure him for the company's interest.
17 Yellow-hair. The Indian name for our trader.
18 This term implies death, or the act of dying.
arms, while others interfered, and the scene of conflict was removed from the apartment to the space in front.
Now was a general fight. The women and children, crying for terror, ran about in the utmost confusion and dismay, —while raving combatants yelled and whooped, as knives, clubs, and tomahawks were busily dealing wounds and scattering blood.
Soon after, the parties retired to their village, and the melee ended with only six wounded.
In a brief interval the Bull Eagle again returned, accompanied by his wife, —the latter earnestly endeavoring to dissuade him from his purpose.
A shot was his first salute, on entering the door, which a timely thrust from the squaw averted from its object. The kind-hearted creature then grasped the bow. Relinquishing it in her hands, the madman made a pass at the trader with his tomahawk, —this blow was dodged, and the heroine, rushing between the two, prevented its repetition. Dropping his tomahawk, he then fell upon the object of his hatred, butcher-knife in hand.
But here he found himself in the firm grasp of several friendly Indians, by whom he was borne from the room.
This state of affairs was the signal for another engagement between Bull Eagle, at the head of his partizans, and the friends of the whites, more desperate and bloody than the former. With great difficulty we retained our arms from the forcible grasp of the contending factions. This, to us, was a moment fraught with extreme peril — not knowing friend from foe, and instantly apprehensive of the knives and arrows of the avengeful throng. It was, indeed, a moment when the agony of suspense quivered with thrilling intensity upon every nerve, and vibrated in every sinew. To fight, would have been a relief. But, whom should we fight? It might have been our best friends — for who could discriminate? The death of one connected with either party, at our hands, would have proved the signal for our instant slaughter. Both would have united to exterminate us, —and, beset as we were, upon all sides, prudence dictated a strict neutrality. Sometimes fifteen or twenty would be struggling for our arms at once, a strong temptation, as the reader may rest assured, for us to use them in self-defence.
Meanwhile the conflict continued with unabated fury. Several attempts were made upon the life of Bull Eagle, but without success. Two were killed and others wounded, when a final stop was put to the further effusion of blood by the withdrawal of the chieftains to his lodge.
In about an hour subsequent, he returned for the second time, —but reason had now resumed her sway, and he came to apologize for his bad conduct. Calling our trader his "very good, his best friend," he cried for grief that he had attempted to kill him. He averred that liquor had made him a fool, and said he should never
cease to regret the great wickedness he had thought of doing to his "best friend." Ever after this affair,
