Читать книгу Giants in the Earth: A Saga of the Prairie - O. E. Rölvaag - Страница 31

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Store-Hans had been too absorbed in what was going on to notice the clash between his parents. As they went along, his whole being was athrill with excitement; he took long, manly strides, and chattered on in a low, rapid voice, but always returned to the same question:

--What was his father going to do to the Indians?

--Do? . . . Per Hansa's mind refused to act any further. The biting words of his wife, spoken in the plain hearing of all, kept ringing in his ears.

"Yes, Dad, what are you going to do?"

"We'll see about that later." . . . He tried to wrench himself out of his abstraction, repeating in a loud tone: "We'll see later--when the time comes!"

"Are you . . . are you going to fight them, Dad?"

Per Hansa gave the boy's hand a good squeeze. "I guess we'll have to be satisfied with a scalp or two!"

The only thing Store-Hans knew about scalping was that it was the most dreadful thing in the world; as to the actual process, he had only a hazy idea. Now he asked, fearfully, what did it mean, anyway--to scalp some one?

--Oh, nothing much. . . . Didn't he know how it was done?

"No. . . . Please tell me, Dad?"

Per Hansa shifted the empty pipe to the other corner of his mouth; he laughed as he said:

"You see, Store-Hans, when the hide begins to get good and dry on the heads of some people, then the Indians peel it off."

"Does it grow out new again?" Store-Hans gave a sidewise glance at the top of his father's head; before he realized it, his hand had gone up under his own cap.

"Oh, I suppose so."

"But . . . but doesn't it hurt awfully?"

"No, not at all . . . that is, when the skin is good and dry."

That seemed quite logical; Store-Hans grasped it immediately.

"But what do they do with the scalp?"

"What do they do with the scalp?" Per Hansa spoke slowly, as if his mind were elsewhere. . . . "They use it, I guess . . . for mittens, and things like that. . . . They turn the hair side in, you see." . . .

"Oh, you're only fooling!" cried Store-Hans, lengthening his stride in order not to fall behind.

"Maybe I am fooling. . . . I thought you knew all about it, though."

The boy was dying to ask about other things; but he was getting afraid to raise his voice now--his throat, too, seemed very dry. . . . And, besides, they were drawing so near to the Indian camp now, that his eyes kept him fully occupied.

There was a good deal to see, up there on the hill. . . . A big tent, or wigwam, had been pitched in the centre of the crescent, with four smaller ones on each side. A troop of brown, half-naked children were running around among the tents. . . . They seemed to be playing games, thought Store-Hans; and immediately he picked up courage. He saw women moving about, too. . . . There couldn't be any real danger here!

The rough tents, constructed of poles and hides, stood some distance back of the semicircle of oddly-assorted vehicles. Halfway between, a group of dusky squaws were busy at a fire, carrying wood from the wagons and throwing it on; around the fire several bronzed men were sitting motionless, with their legs crossed under them. . . . These men were smoking--that was the first thing that caught Per Hansa's eye. The flames of the camp fire threw a lurid glare over the figures sitting around it, turning their copper-coloured faces to a still deeper hue, their raven hair to a more intense and glistening black. They smoked on in silence.

When the two visitors had arrived within the illuminated circle, one of the Indians pointed to them with his pipe; a few words were spoken among them in a guttural tongue; beyond this the coming of Per Hansa and his son created not a ripple of excitement.

Per Hansa stepped forward and greeted them in English--he had picked up enough words for that. The greeting was returned in the same language. . . . One of the braves put something that sounded like a question; two of the others, sitting beside him, added to it. . . . Per Hansa stood helpless for a moment; he could not understand a word.

But in this crisis Store-Hans, who had been half hiding behind his father, came to his aid; he whispered, rapidly:

"They want to know if we live here."

"How the devil could you tell that? . . . By God! I guess we do!" Per Hansa nodded emphatically toward the Indians. "Tell them there isn't any doubt of it--not the least doubt in the world--but say it nicely, now!"

Store-Hans stepped out in front, facing the seated redskins; he tried his best to make them understand, using what little English he had learned during the past winter.

The visit was soon over; after that strange, impassive meeting there seemed to be nothing else for Per Hansa to say or do. The stray cows, all four of them, had finally lain down beside the Indian wagons; he would only need to round them up and drive them home. . . . Yet there was something that made it almost impossible for him to tear himself away. The odour from the pipes wafted to him so enchantingly on the evening breeze, enthralled and held him captive. He hadn't had a decent smoke for over two weeks, and he could smell that this was good strong tobacco.

At last the temptation grew altogether too powerful; he simply couldn't resist it any longer. He glanced around the circle, picked out the face that looked to him the most approachable, then took the empty pipe from his mouth and indicated by signs that he needed something to fill it with.

The man he had chosen understood him perfectly. He gave a laugh, remarked something to the others, pulled a large leather pouch from his shirt, and held it out with a dignified gesture. Per Hansa grasped the pouch with an eager hand, took a deep dive into it, and gave his pipe a good fill. . . . "Many thanks, good friend! If Hans Olsa happens to get back before you're gone, I'll see that you are well repaid! . . . Hans, translate that to him the best way you know how. . . . What a thundering shame that we can't talk with such good folks!" . . . Per Hansa went over to the fire, raked out a glowing ember, lit his pipe, and pulled at it long and deeply, while an expression of rare contentment passed over his face.