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.
