Chapter 13

Story of Kosato, the Renegade Blackfoot.

IF the meekness and long-suffering of the Pierced-noses grieved

the spirit of Captain Bonneville, there was another individual in

the camp to whom they were still more annoying. This was a

Blackfoot renegado, named Kosato, a fiery hot-blooded youth who,

with a beautiful girl of the same tribe, had taken refuge among

the Nez Perces. Though adopted into the tribe, he still

retained the warlike spirit of his race, and loathed the

peaceful, inoffensive habits of those around him. The hunting of

the deer, the elk, and the buffalo, which was the height of their

ambition, was too tame to satisfy his wild and restless nature.

His heart burned for the foray, the ambush, the skirmish, the

scamper, and all the haps and hazards of roving and predatory

warfare.

The recent hoverings of the Blackfeet about the camp, their

nightly prowls and daring and successful marauds, had kept him in

a fever and a flutter, like a hawk in a cage who hears his late

companions swooping and screaming in wild liberty above him. The

attempt of Captain Bonneville to rouse the war spirit of the Nez

Perces, and prompt them to retaliation, was ardently seconded by

Kosato. For several days he was incessantly devising schemes of

vengeance, and endeavoring to set on foot an expedition that

should carry dismay and desolation into the Blackfeet town. All

his art was exerted to touch upon those springs of human action

with which he was most familiar. He drew the listening savages

round him by his nervous eloquence; taunted them with recitals of

past wrongs and insults; drew glowing pictures of triumphs and

trophies within their reach; recounted tales of daring and

romantic enterprise, of secret marchings, covert lurkings,

midnight surprisals, sackings, burnings, plunderings, scalpings;

together with the triumphant return, and the feasting and

rejoicing of the victors. These wild tales were intermingled with

the beating of the drum, the yell, the war-whoop and the

war-dance, so inspiring to Indian valor. All, however, were lost

upon the peaceful spirits of his hearers; not a Nez Perce was to

be roused to vengeance, or stimulated to glorious war. In the

bitterness of his heart, the Blackfoot renegade repined at the

mishap which had severed him from a race of congenial spirits,

and driven him to take refuge among beings so destitute of

martial fire.

The character and conduct of this man attracted the attention of

Captain Bonneville, and he was anxious to hear the reason why he

had deserted his tribe, and why he looked back upon them with

such deadly hostility. Kosato told him his own story briefly: it

gives a picture of the deep, strong passions that work in the

bosoms of these miscalled stoics.

"You see my wife," said he, "she is good; she is beautiful --I

love her. Yet she has been the cause of all my troubles. She was

the wife of my chief. I loved her more than he did; and she knew

it. We talked together; we laughed together; we were always

seeking each other's society; but we were as innocent as

children. The chief grew jealous, and commanded her to speak with

me no more. His heart became hard toward her; his jealousy grew

more furious. He beat her without cause and without mercy; and

threatened to kill her outright if she even looked at me. Do you

want traces of his fury? Look at that scar! His rage against me

was no less persecuting. War parties of the Crows were hovering

round us; our young men had seen their trail. All hearts were

roused for action; my horses were before my lodge. Suddenly the

chief came, took them to his own pickets, and called them his

own. What could I do? he was a chief. I durst not speak, but my

heart was burning. I joined no longer in the council, the hunt,

or the war-feast. What had I to do there? an unhorsed, degraded

warrior. I kept by myself, and thought of nothing but these

wrongs and outrages.

"I was sitting one evening upon a knoll that overlooked the

meadow where the horses were pastured. I saw the horses that were

once mine grazing among those of the chief. This maddened me, and

I sat brooding for a time over the injuries I had suffered, and

the cruelties which she I loved had endured for my sake, until my

heart swelled and grew sore, and my teeth were clinched. As I

looked down upon the meadow I saw the chief walking among his

horses. I fastened my eyes upon him as a hawk's; my blood boiled;

I drew my breath hard. He went among the willows. In an instant I

was on my feet; my hand was on my knife --I flew rather than ran

-- before he was aware I sprang upon him, and with two blows laid

him dead at my feet. I covered his body with earth, and strewed

bushes over the place; then I hastened to her I loved, told her

what I had done, and urged her to fly with me. She only answered

me with tears. I reminded her of the wrongs I had suffered, and

of the blows and stripes she had endured from the deceased; I had

done nothing but an act of justice. I again urged her to fly; but

she only wept the more, and bade me go. My heart was heavy, but

my eyes were dry. I folded my arms. ' 'Tis well,' said I; 'Kosato

will go alone to the desert. None will be with him but the wild

beasts of the desert. The seekers of blood may follow on his

trail. They may come upon him when he sleeps and glut their

revenge; but you will be safe. Kosato will go alone.

"I turned away. She sprang after me, and strained me in her arms.

'No,' she cried, 'Kosato shall not go alone! Wherever he goes I

will go -- he shall never part from me.

"'We hastily took in our hands such things as we most needed, and

stealing quietly from the village, mounted the first horses we

encountered. Speeding day and night, we soon reached this tribe.

They received us with welcome, and we have dwelt with them in

peace. They are good and kind; they are honest; but their hearts

are the hearts of women.

Such was the story of Kosato, as related by him to Captain

Bonneville. It is of a kind that often occurs in Indian life;

where love elopements from tribe to tribe are as frequent as

among the novel-read heroes and heroines of sentimental

civilization, and often give rise to bloods and lasting feuds.