The Hunters of the Ozark
by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #22646 · 424,589 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Hunters of the Ozark
Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Release date: September 17, 2007 [eBook #22646]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22646
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[Illustration: "Terry heard distinctly the footsteps of the warrior."]
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THE
HUNTERS OF THE OZARK.
BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author Of "Young Pioneer Series," "Log Cabin Series,"
"Great River Series," Etc., Etc.
Philadelphia:
Henry T. Coates & Co.
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Copyright, 1887,
by
PORTER & COATES.
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CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I.--AN ESTRAY, 5
II.--THE TINKLE OF A BELL, 15
III.--AN ABORIGINAL PLOT, 25
IV.--A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART, 34
V.--A FRIEND IN NEED, 44
VI.--FRED LINDEN RECEIVES A MESSAGE FROM THE OZARK CAMP, 54
VII.--THE HUNTERS OF OZARK, 64
VIII.--A WELCOME ACQUAINTANCE, 74
IX.--A MISHAP, 84
X.--A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE, 94
XI.--TRAMPING SOUTHWARD, 104
XII.--A STRANGE ANIMAL, 114
XIII.--A TROUBLESOME VISITOR, 124
XIV.--A WELCOME ALLY, 134
XV.--"DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT," 144
XVI.--AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE, 154
XVII.--A SUSPICIOUS SOUND, 164
XVIII.--LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT, 174
XIX.--SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO, 185
XX.--ANOTHER NIGHT VISITOR, 195
XXI.--THE CAMP OF THE WINNEBAGOS, 205
XXII.--"KEEP TO THE TRAIL," 215
XXIII.--AN INFURIATE SHAWANOE, 225
XXIV.--THE DEFIANCE, 236
XXV.--THE SIGNAL FIRE, 245
XXVI.--ON THE EDGE OF THE PRAIRIE, 257
XXVII.--A MORNING MEAL, 269
XXVIII.--A STRANGE RIDE, 281
XXIX.--A YOUNG HUNTER'S STRATEGY, 293
XXX.--TERRY FINISHES HIS RIDE, 305
XXXI.--THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL, 316
XXXII.--THE TERROR IN THE AIR, 328
XXXIII.--FRED LINDEN AWAKENS TO AN ALARMING FACT, 340
XXXIV.--THE CANOE, 352
XXXV.--AMERICA VERSUS IRELAND, 364
XXXVI.--AMERICA VERSUS AMERICA, 376
XXXVII.--THE LAST CAMP-FIRE, 388
XXXVIII.--CONCLUSION, 400
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THE HUNTERS OF THE OZARK.
CHAPTER I.
AN ESTRAY.
One day in the autumn Terence Clark came to the house of Frederick
Linden and urged him to join in a hunt for a cow that had been missing
since the night before. The latter got the consent of his mother and the
two lads started on a search that proved to be the most eventful one
they had ever known.
A few words in the way of explanation must be given at this point. The
date of the events I have set out to tell was toward the close of the
last century, and the scene the south-western part of the present State
of Missouri, but which was then a part of the vast territory known as
Louisiana. Though the town of St. Louis had been settled a good many
years before, there were only a few pioneers scattered through the
almost limitless region that stretched in every direction from the
Mississippi. Here and there the hunters and trappers were often absent
from their homes for months at a time, during which they suffered much
exposure and hardship. They slept for weeks in the open woods, or when
the severity of the weather would not allow this, they found refuge in
caves or hollow trees. Then, when enough skins had been gathered to load
their pack-horses they started on the long tramps to the French trading
post on the Mississippi. They followed faintly marked paths or trails
that converged from a score or hundred different points until they
reached the Father of Waters, where the peltries were soon sold and the
proceeds, too often, squandered within the succeeding few hours.
At the date of which I am speaking, a small settlement known as Greville
stood in the south-western section of the large State of Missouri, as it
is now known. The first cabins were put up only a few years before, and
the settlers, including men, women and children, numbered about two
hundred. Near the center of the straggling settlement stood a rude but
strong blockhouse to be used for refuge in the event of an attack by
Indians. As yet this emergency had not arisen, for the red men in that
section were far less warlike and hostile than those in Ohio and
Kentucky.
The father of Fred Linden was one of the hunters and trappers who made
regular visits to the wild section near the Ozark Mountains for the
purpose of gathering furs. He never had less than two companions, and
sometimes the number was half a dozen. As you are well aware, the furs
of all animals are in the finest condition in wintry weather, since
nature does her best to guard their bodies from the effects of cold.
Thus it came about that the party of hunters, of whom I shall have more
to say further on, left Greville in the autumn of the year, and as a
rule were not seen again until spring. Since they entered a fine,
fur-bearing country, these trips generally paid well. One convenience
was that the hunters were not obliged to go to St. Louis to sell them.
An agent of the great fur company that made its headquarters at that
post, came regularly to Greville with his pack-horses and gave the same
price for the peltries that he would have given had they been brought to
the factory, hundreds of miles away. He was glad to do this, for the
furs that George Linden and his brother hunters brought in were not
surpassed in glossiness and fineness by any of the thousands gathered
from the four points of the compass.
Among the daring little band that made these regular visits to the Ozark
region was an Irishman named Michael Clark, who had had considerable
experience in gathering furs along the Mississippi. It was at his
suggestion that Greville was founded, and one-half of their periodical
journeys thus cut off. On the year following, Clark was shot and killed
by a prowling Indian. Since his wife had been dead a long time, the only
child, Terence, was thus left an orphan. The lad was a bright,
good-natured fellow, liked by every one, and he made his home with the
family of one of the other hunters named Rufus MacClaskey. The boy was
fifteen years old on the very day that he walked over to the cabin of
Fred Linden and asked him to help him hunt for the missing cow.
The family of George Linden, while he was away, consisted of his wife,
his daughter Edith, fourteen, and his son Fred, sixteen years old. All
were ruddy cheeked, strong and vigorous, and among the best to do of the
thirty-odd families that made up the population of Greville.
"Has the cow ever been lost before?" asked Fred, as he and the Irish lad
swung along beside each other, neither thinking it worth while to burden
himself with a rifle.
"Niver that I knows of, and I would know the same if she had been lost;
we're onaisy about the cow, for you see that if this kaaps on and she
doesn't come back I'll have to live on something else than bread and
milk and praties."
"Our cow came back just at sunset last night."
"And so did them all, exciptin' our own, which makes me more onwillin'
to accipt any excuse she may have to give."
"Let me see, Terry; Brindle wore a bell round her neck, didn't she?"
"That she did, and she seemed quite proud of the same."
"Did you make hunt for her last night?"
"I hunted as long as I could see to hunt; she wasn't missed, that is
till after they got home. Whin I found that I didn't find her I started
to find her; but I hadn't time to hunt very long whin it got dark and I
had to give it up."
"And didn't you hear any thing of the bell?"
"Do ye think that if I heard the bell I wouldn't have found the cow? Why
was the bell put round her neck if it wasn't to guide friends? I
listened many a time after it got dark, but niver a tinkle did I hear."
"That is queer," said Fred half to himself; "for, when no wind is
blowing and it is calm, you can hear that bell a long ways; father has
caught the sound in the woods, when the Brindle was all of a mile off. I
wonder whether she could have lost the bell."
"I've thought of that, and said to meself that it might be also that she
had become lost herself in trying to find it."
Fred laughed.
"She hardly knows enough for _that_; and, if she found the bell she
wouldn't know what to do with it; but if that leathern string around her
neck had broken, it may be that she is close by. A cow after losing one
milking is apt to feel so uncomfortable that she hurries home to be
relieved; but what's the use of talking?" added Fred, throwing up his
head and stepping off at a more lively pace; "we've started out to find
her and that's all we have to do."
Perhaps a dozen acres had been cleared around the little town of
Greville. This had been planted with corn, potatoes and grain, though
scores of unsightly stumps were left and interfered with the cultivation
of the soil. Beyond this clearing or open space extended the immense
forests which at one time covered almost the entire face of our country.
On the south side of the town and distant a furlong wound a creek, which
after many shiftings and turnings found its way into the Mississippi and
so at last into the Gulf of Mexico. The course of this stream was so
winding that it extended on two sides of the town and ran in a westerly
direction, exactly the opposite of that it finally had to take in order
to reach its outlet.
As a rule, it was about twenty feet wide with a depth of from one or two
to six feet. It was subject to tremendous overflows which sometimes
tripled its volume and increased its width to that of a river. At such
times a series of enormous rocks through which the creek at "low tide"
lazily wound its way, lashed the turbid current into a fury somewhat
like that seen in the "whirlpool" below Niagara. Could you have stood on
the shore and looked at the furiously struggling waters, you would have
been sure that even if a man were headed up in a barrel, he could not
have lived to pass through the hundred yards of rapids, though there was
reason to believe that more than one Indian had shot them in his canoe.
Terry Clark told his friend that his search of the night before and of
the morning following had been to the north and west of the settlement,
so that it was hardly worth while to continue the hunt in that
direction. The cows sometimes stood in the water, where so much
switching of their tails was not needed to keep away the flies, and,
though there was quite a growth of succulent grass on the clearing, the
animals often crossed the creek and browsed through the woods and
undergrowth on the other side.
The boys were inclined to think that the brindle had taken that course
during the afternoon and had actually gone astray,--something which a
quadruped is less likely to do than a biped, though the former will
sometimes make the blunder. There was nothing unreasonable in the theory
that the bell had fallen from her neck and that the owner therefore
might be not far away.
At intervals, Terry shouted "_Bos! bos! bos!_" the Latin call which the
cow sometimes recognized, though she generally paid no attention to it.
It was the same now, possibly due to the fact that she did not hear the
call.
Reaching the edge of the stream, the boys began walking along the bank
toward the left and scrutinizing the spongy earth close to the water.
If the missing animal had crossed the creek she could not have failed to
leave distinct footprints.
CHAPTER II.
THE TINKLE OF A BELL.
The examination of the shore of the creek had lasted but a few minutes,
when Terry Clark, pointing to the moist earth at their feet, called out
in some excitement:
"Do ye mind that now?"
There, sure enough, were the footprints of a cow that had entered the
stream from the same side on which the boys stood. The impressions could
be seen for some distance in the clear water, which in the middle of the
stream was no more than a yard deep, and they were plainly observed
where the animal had emerged on the other side.
"I don't suppose there is any difference in the tracks of cows, but I
guess, Terry, that we are safe in making up our minds we are on the
trail of Brindle."
"I'm thinking the same," replied the other, who was not only looking
across the creek, but into the woods beyond, as though he expected to
catch sight of the cow herself; "though it may be the one that crossed
there isn't the one that we're after."
Fred Linden was asking himself whether there was not some way in which
they could reach the other side without going to the trouble of removing
their shoes and leggins, and hunting a shallow portion, or allowing
their garments to become saturated. He exclaimed: "Why didn't I think of
it? There's our canoe!"
A number of these frail craft were owned in Greville, and Fred had a
fine one himself, which was only a short distance off. Three minutes
later the two reached it.
The barken structure was moored by means of a long rope to a tree a
considerable distance from the water, so that in case of one of those
sudden rises that sometimes took place, it would not be carried away by
the freshet. The boat was quickly launched, and a few strokes of the
paddle carried the two to the opposite bank of the stream.
"I wonder whether there is any danger of a rise," remarked Fred, as he
carried the rope to a tree twenty feet distant and made it fast to a
limb; "there was a good deal of thunder and lightning last night off to
the east."
"But the creek doesn't come from that way," said the surprised Terry;
"so what is the odds, as me father said he used to ask when the Injins
was on all sides of him, and a panther in the tree he wanted to climb,
and he found himself standing on the head of a rattlesnake."
"The creek winds through every point of the compass, so it doesn't make
much difference, as you say, where it rains, since it is sure to make a
rise; the only question is whether the rain was enough to affect the
creek so that it will trouble us."
"If it was goin' to do that, wouldn't it have done so before this?" was
the natural question of his companion.
"That depends on how far away the rain was."
The boys were not idle while talking. The canoe was soon made fast, and
then they resumed their hunt for the estray. They were not skillful
enough in woodcraft to trace the animal through the forest by the means
that an Indian would have used, but they were hopeful that by taking a
general direction they would soon find her. If she still had the bell
tied around her neck, there was no reason why they should not be
successful.
But while walking forward, Fred Linden asked a question of himself that
he did not repeat aloud.
"Has she been stolen?"
This query was naturally followed by others. It certainly was
unreasonable to think that a cow would leave her companions and
deliberately wander off, at the time she was milked twice daily. She
would speedily suffer such distress that she would come bellowing
homeward for relief. If she really was an estray, she had missed two
milkings--that of the previous night and the morning that succeeded.
It was certain, therefore, that if she was stolen, the thief had
attended to her milking. But who could the thief be? That was the
important question that Fred confessed himself unable to answer.
There had been occasional instances of white men who had stolen horses
from the frontier settlements, but the lad could recall nothing of the
kind that had taken place in that neighborhood; all of which might be
the case without affecting the present loss, since it was evident that
there must be a first theft of that nature.
But, somehow or other, Fred could not help suspecting that the red men
had to do with the disappearance of the animal. I have intimated in
another place that Greville had never been harmed by the Indians, who
were scattered here and there through the country, for there was no
comparison between them and the fierce Shawanoes, Wyandottes,
Pottawatomies and other tribes, whose deeds gave to Kentucky its
impressive title of the Dark and Bloody Ground; but among the different
bands of red men who roamed through the great wilderness west of the
Mississippi, were those who were capable of as atrocious cruelties as
were ever committed by the fierce warriors further east.
What more likely, therefore, than that a party of these had stolen the
cow and driven her away?
There were many facts that were in favor of and against the theory; the
chief one against it was that if a party of Indians had driven off one
cow, they would have taken more. Then, too, the soft earth that had
revealed the hoof tracks ought to have shown the imprint of moccasins.
You will see, therefore, that Fred could speculate for hours on the
question without satisfying himself. He was sorry that he and Terry had
not brought their guns with them, and was half inclined to go back. It
was not yet noon, and they had plenty of time in which to do so.
"Terry," said Fred, turning suddenly about and addressing his friend,
who was walking behind him, "we made a mistake in not bringing our
guns."
The Irish lad was about to answer when he raised his hand in a warning
way and said:
"Hist!"
Both stood as motionless as the tree trunks about them, all their
faculties centered in the one of hearing.
There was the low, deep roar which is always heard in a vast wood, made
by the soft wind stealing among the multitudinous branches, and which is
like the voice of silence itself. They were so far from the creek that
its soft ripple failed to reach them.
"I don't hear any thing," said Fred at the end of a full minute.
"Nor do I," said Terry.
"Why then did you ask me to listen?"
"I was thinkin' be that token that we might hear something."
"What made you think so?"
"The tinkle of a bell."
"What!" exclaimed the amazed Fred, "are you sure?"
"That I am; just as I was about to speak, I caught the faint sound--just
as we've both heard hundreds of times."
"From what point did it seem to come?"
His friend pointed due south.
"Strange it is that ye didn't catch the same."
"So I think; it may be, Terry, that you are mistaken, and you wanted to
hear the bell so much that the sound was in your fancy."
The lad, however, would not admit this. He was sure there had been no
mistake. Fred was about to argue further when all doubt was set at rest
by the sound of a cow-bell that came faintly but clearly through the
forest.
"You are right," said Fred, his face brightening up; "we are on the
track of old Brindle sure enough. It's mighty strange though how she
came to wander so far from home."
"She got lost I s'pose," replied Terry, repeating the theory that had
been hit upon some time before.
"It may be, but it is the first instance I ever heard of, where an
animal lost its way so easily."
The boys were in too high spirits, however, to try to explain that which
puzzled them. The cow was a valuable creature, being the only one that
belonged to the family with whom Terence lived, and who therefore could
ill afford her loss.
The friends had pushed perhaps a couple hundred yards further when
Terry called to Fred that he was not following the right course.
"Ye're bearing too much to the lift; so much so indaad that if ye kaap
on ye'll find yersilf lift."
"Why, I was about to turn a little more in that direction," replied the
astonished Fred; "you are altogether wrong."
But the other sturdily insisted that he was right, and he was so
positive that he stopped short, and refused to go another step in the
direction that his friend was following. The latter was just as certain
that Terry was amiss, and it looked as if they had come to a deadlock.
"There's only one way to settle it," said Fred, "and that is for each of
us to follow the route he thinks right. The cow can't be far off and we
shall soon find out who is wrong. The first one that finds Brindle shall
call to the other, and he'll own up what a stupid blunder he has made."
"Ye are speakin' me own sentiments," replied Terry, who kept looking
about him and listening as if he expected every moment that the cow
herself would solve the question. Fred Linden read the meaning of his
action, and he, too, wondered why it was that when both had plainly
caught the tinkle of the telltale bell, they should hear it no more.
Strange that when it had spoken so clearly it should become silent, but
such was the fact.
Little did either suspect the cause.
CHAPTER III.
AN ABORIGINAL PLOT.
The boys tried the plan of Fred Linden; he swerved slightly to the left,
while Terry Clark made a sharp angle to the right. They never thought of
getting beyond hearing of each other, and, but for the plentiful
undergrowth they would have kept in sight. They had taken but a few
steps when Fred looked around and found that he was alone. He could hear
his young friend pushing his way among the trees, and once or twice he
caught snatches of a tune that he was whistling--that being a favorite
pastime of the lad when by himself.
"It's curious how he could make such a blunder," thought Fred, with a
smile to himself; "he will go tramping around the woods only to find
that he was nowhere in the neighborhood of the cow. Ah, the storm is not
yet over."
He was looking to the eastward, where the sky, as he caught a glimpse of
it among the treetops and branches, was as black as if overcast with one
huge thunder cloud.
"It was there it raged so violently last night, and the rain is falling
in torrents again. We shall find the creek a river when we go back."
The sturdy youth pressed on fully two hundred yards more, when the old
suspicion came back to him. There was something wrong. When he could not
explain some things he was satisfied that it was because there was an
element of evil in those things--something that boded ill to both him
and his friend.
"I have traveled far enough since hearing that bell to pass a long ways
beyond it," he said, compressing his lips and shaking his head; "and if
that was Brindle that rang it the first time, she would have done it the
second time."
Twice before Fred fancied he heard something moving among the
undergrowth a short distance in advance, and a little to one side. The
noise was now so distinct that he could no longer deceive himself;
there was some specific cause for it.
"I guess Terry has worked over this way, finding what a mistake he has
made--no! by gracious! it isn't Terry!"
Fred started in alarm, confident that it was an Indian that was moving
through the wood. It will be admitted that there was cause for his fear,
if such should prove to be the case, for he was without any firearms
with which to defend himself; but while he stood meditating whether he
should turn and take to his heels, he caught enough of a glimpse of the
object to make out that it was a quadruped instead of a biped.
This was a great relief, though it did not remove all fear, for he was
not in form to meet any of the wild beasts that one was liable to run
against at any time. The next minute, he broke into a hearty laugh, for
that which he saw was the lost cow, quietly browsing on the tender
herbs, as though just turned loose by her owner.
"Well, that is funny," said the youth, walking hastily toward her; "this
proves that I was right. You are a pretty one, old Brindle, to lead us
on such a chase!"
The cow, hearing the voice and footsteps, stopped cropping, and with her
motionless jaws dripping with leaves and buds, started at Fred as if she
wasn't sure of his identity. She knew enough, however, to see that he
was a friend, and so resumed her feeding.
Assuring himself that she was the estray, Fred looked at her bag to see
the condition of that. It was only moderately full, proving that she had
been milked later even than the preceding night.
Fred Linden had approached close enough to place his hand on the
handsome creature, when he noticed--what indeed he knew before--the bell
was not fastened to her neck; that explained why, after hearing the
sound, it was heard no more.
"The cord has broken just after the tinkle, and let the bell fall to the
ground; no wonder that it was not heard again. Some one has been kind
enough to give Brindle a milking."
The words were yet in the mouth of Fred when he received a shock that
for a moment held him speechless; a long distance to the right he
caught the sound of the cow-bell!
It was precisely the same that he and his friend had noticed, and since
the bell of Brindle was gone, there could be but one meaning to the
signal; it was made by some one for the purpose of drawing the boys into
a trap.
Without pausing to think over the dozen questions that came with this
conclusion, Fred set off at the most hurried pace possible to warn his
friend of his peril.
"He has no suspicion of any thing wrong, and is sure to do the very
thing that he ought not to do."
Fred Linden was right in this conclusion. It can be readily understood,
why no thought of peril should enter the brain of the Irish lad, who was
never so sure that he was right and Fred wrong when the two parted to
take different routes in search of the cow.
"It's a bright lad--is Fred," said Terry, "but there isn't any law that
I knows of by which he is to be right ivery time and Mr. Terence Clark
wrong. I'm going straight for the point where the tinkle of the bell
came from."
The same thought puzzled him that puzzled Fred Linden; after walking
more than the whole distance that first intervened, the cow was still
invisible. There was nothing in the fact that when she had strayed so
far from home, she should keep on in the same direction.
"It may be that she has heard something about the Pacific Ocean, and has
set out to see for herself whither the reports are correct," was the
quaint thought of the Irish lad, as he pushed vigorously through the
undergrowth, which was dense enough to turn him aside more than once and
compel him to keep his wits about him to prevent going astray
altogether.
Now and then he paused, naturally expecting (as did Fred), that he would
hear more of the bell; but it is not necessary to say that, like his
companion, he was disappointed. He had fixed the point whence came the
noise so firmly in his mind, that he could not go wrong, though a boy of
less experience in the woods would have been sure to do so.
Now, if any of you lads have ever driven cows or sheep, around whose
necks bells were hung, you have noticed the natural fact that they have
a sound peculiar to themselves. Referring particularly to cows, you may
have observed the _jangle_, _jangle_, made by the motion of the head in
cropping the grass, varied now and then by the confused jumble caused by
the animal flinging her head over the back of her neck or fore part of
the body to drive away the insects plaguing her. There is a certain
regularity in all this which will continue for hours, and that may be
said to be produced by the natural action of the animal, and which is
altogether different from that made by the swaying motion of the hand.
But Terry Clark inherited a sharpness of wits from his parents, and,
while pushing forward among the trees and undergrowth, it struck him
that there were several curious features about the matter.
"It was a mistake, as Fred said," he thought more than once, "that we
did not bring our guns with us."
Then the second sound of the cow-bell fell upon the ear of Fred Linden;
Terry was within a hundred feet of the point whence it came, and he
could not have heard it more distinctly had he been standing on the spot
himself. The noise was so peculiar that a flood of misgiving overwhelmed
him. The _tinkle_, _tinkle_, _tinkle_, was so regular that nothing was
plainer than that no living quadruped could have made the sound.
"That was not the cow," whispered the startled Terry; "she has more
sinse than to do any thing of the kind, as me uncle used to obsarve whin
he was accused of kaapin' sober; but I'll find out by the same token
what it all means."
Since he had no firearms with which to defend himself, and since he was
sure he was threatened by danger, he ought to have hastened homeward;
but his curiosity would not permit him to do so.
He advanced with all the caution possible, parting the obstructing
bushes in front and stepping as lightly on the carpet of leaves as
though he were a scout entering the camp of an enemy. He often stopped,
listened and peered, not only in front and the sides, but to the rear.
Whatever might take place, he did not intend to be surprised.
He had advanced a couple of rods in this manner, when a faint sound from
the bell caught his ear, but was instantly suppressed, as though some
one had stopped at the instant he started to sway it. Faint as was the
tinkle, however, he was able to locate the precise point whence it came,
and after a little hesitation he moved toward it.
All at once he caught sight of a figure in a crouching position,
stepping softly among the trees and undergrowth. He stood still, and a
moment later was able to distinguish the figure of an Indian warrior,
bending slightly forward, advancing inch by inch and holding the cow-bell
in his hand.
CHAPTER IV.
A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART.
The Indian warrior whom Terry Clark saw advancing stealthily through the
undergrowth, cow-bell in hand, was a frightful object. His head and
shoulders were bent forward, and he was stepping slowly and silently,
while he glanced from right to left, as if searching for some object, or
awaiting the occurrence of an expected event. His face was daubed with
black and red paint, his long hair, as coarse as that of a horse's tail,
dangled about his shoulders and alongside his neck, so that his eyes,
when staring through it, seemed to be blazing among so much tangled
brush. The ordinary hunting shirt, fringed in front, inclosed his chest,
and was gathered at the waist by a sash or belt into which were thrust
his hunting knife and tomahawk. The usual breechcloth, leggins and
moccasins completed his dress.
He carried a fine rifle in his left hand, in a trailing position, while
a powder horn and bullet pouch were supported by a string passing over
his shoulder. He was what may be called a thoroughly equipped warrior,
without taking into account the cow-bell, which was suspended by the
thumb and fingers of the right hand. It was thus he must have grasped
the implement when he caused it to give out the sound that caught the
ear of Fred Linden and Terry Clark. But at the moment the Irish lad saw
him, and for some minutes after, he held the bell in such careful poise
that it gave no sound at all.
The Indian probably suspected his imitation of the action of the animal
was so poor that it was likely to cause distrust, and therefore he was
sparing in resorting to the stratagem.
Now, nothing can be clearer than that if the warrior was in such a plain
view of Terry Clark, the latter was equally exposed to his eye. The
Indian was moving in his guarded fashion over a course at right angles
to that followed by the lad, who was quick to realize his peril. He knew
that every second he remained thus exposed he was likely to be seen. He
had hardly taken a glance of his enemy, when he stooped so that his
knees almost touched the ground, and moved as noiselessly and quickly as
he could to the nearest tree, behind which he took shelter.
This tree was an oak, large enough to hide two such boys, standing side
by side, so that the youth felt secure for the time.
"Ah, if I only had me gun," was the regret that naturally came to him;
"I would quickly settle with the spalpeen that stole old Brindle, and
now wants to run away wid me."
It will be admitted that the situation of Terry was peculiar, for he was
quite close to the warrior, who, there was every reason to believe, was
hunting for him, and who was so nigh that there was imminent danger of
discovery. It might be asked why the redskin should have taken this
course, for in some respects it had more than one absurd feature. If he
wanted to kill a white person, all this maneuvering with a cow-bell was
ridiculous, while his conduct from first to last was in some respects
unreasonable. The best explanation was that which was made sometime
afterward by a person, who as yet has not been introduced to the reader,
but who, when he does appear, will be admitted to be the best judge. I
allude to Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
The Indian with the cow-bell was a Winnebago warrior, whose home was a
long ways to the northward, but who had gone thither in company with
several others on what may be called a tour of investigation. The
driving off of the cow was probably an inspiration of the moment. The
Indians kept her until they had got all the milk they wanted, first
removing the bell so that her friends could not recover her until they
were through. The stratagem which I have been describing was an
afterthought. None of the Winnebagos except the one who tried the plan
would have any thing to do with it, though they were willing enough that
every white person in the settlement of Greville should perish, if the
same could be brought about without risk to them.
Left to himself, the Winnebago decided to make a prisoner of whomsoever
should be sent to find the cow. He had reason to believe that this
person would be a youth, and since every thing was so quiet in that
section, he was not likely to be armed. Hence, it would be an easy
matter to decoy him a goodly distance from the settlement, when the
warrior could pounce upon, make him a prisoner and compel him to go with
him. After the couple were far enough from the settlement the lad could
be put to death, if his captor or the party to which the captor
belonged, should so elect.
Terry Clark had stood behind the sheltering tree for perhaps five
minutes, when he became aware of an alarming fact: the warrior with the
bell was slowly approaching him. The faint tinkle that it gave out once
or twice told this, and when finally the lad ventured to peep around the
side of the tree, the sight was a startling one. The Indian had risen
almost to the upright posture, and holding the gun and bell as
described, was moving directly toward the oak behind which the boy
stood. Moreover at the moment the latter took the cautious look, the
visage of the Indian showed that he was looking straight at the tree.
"By the powers!" gasped Terry, "but the spalpeen observed me, and I'm
thinkin' that he saw me before I did him."
It was not at all unlikely that such was the case. The Indian may have
felt sure of his victim, and so he indulged in a little by-play, as a
cat often does with a mouse. Such a cruel proceeding was characteristic
of his race.
The belief that this was the case placed Terry Clark in a most trying
position. He was without the means with which to defend himself, and in
fact was hopeless. It was useless to try to run away, for if the warrior
could not overtake him at once, he could bring him down with his rifle.
You know how rare a thing it is for an Irishman to submit meekly, even
when there is no hope in resistance. Terry muttered:
"If he lays hands on me, there's going to be a fight; I wish Fred was
near, that he could see that I git fair play."
No person could have been more in earnest than was the Irish lad.
"I'll wait till his head comes round the corner of that tree and then
I'll give him a whack that'll tumble him over on his back, afore he
knows what's the matter wid him; then I'll amuse myself wid hammerin'
him after he is down till I git tired and then I'll take his gun and
knife and tomahawk and the bell and make him walk before me to the
sittlement."
The lad had just gone over in his mind this roseate programme, when a
soft tinkle told him that the Winnebago was within a few steps of the
tree; and at the same moment that the youth made this interesting
discovery, another still more astonishing one broke upon him.
Just fifty feet away and behind a trunk very similar to the one that
sheltered the lad, stood a second Indian warrior. His position was such
that he was in plain view of Terry, though the Winnebago could not see
him except when the latter should approach quite close to the shelter of
the boy. The strange Indian was closely watching the hostile one, and,
with that remarkable intuition that sometimes comes to a person in grave
crises, Terry was convinced that he was an enemy of the Winnebago,
though whether a friend of the youth was not so certain.
In his amazement, the lad for the moment forgot his own danger and gave
his attention to the stranger, who was the most striking looking warrior
he had ever seen. He seemed to be about eighteen or twenty years of age,
and was the picture of manly grace and beauty.
He had long, luxuriant black hair which hung about his shoulders, being
gathered by a loose band at the neck, so as to keep it from getting in
front of his eyes. In the crown of this natural covering were thrust
three stained eagle feathers, while there were two rows of colored beads
around the neck. The fringed hunting shirt which reached almost to his
knees was of a dull, yellow color and the sash or belt around the waist
was of a dark red. A small but handsome bracelet encircled his left
wrist, and the fringes of his leggins were of varied and brilliant hues,
as were the beaded moccasins that incased his shapely feet. A tomahawk
and knife were in his girdle, while he held a finely ornamented rifle in
his right hand, the manner in which he manipulated the weapon showing
that he was left-handed.
The face was strikingly fine, the nose being slightly aquiline, the
cheek bones less prominent, and the whole contour more symmetrical than
is generally the case with his race. There was something in the
situation that evidently amused him, for Terry saw him smile so
unmistakably that he noticed his small and regular white teeth.
It was plain that he was watching the movements of the Winnebago, though
he said nothing, and made no gesture to the lad, whose wondering look he
must have understood. Be that as it may, the sight of the strange
Indian, and the belief that he was an enemy of the other with the
cow-bell, inspired the Irish lad with a courage that he would not have
known had the other warrior been absent.
"He's waiting to see how I condooct mesilf when the spalpeen lays hands
on me," thought Terence; "he won't have to wait long."
The youth was right. The crouching Winnebago, doubtless feeling that he
had no immediate use for the bell that had served him so well, dropped
it to the ground beside him, and holding only his rifle in hand, stepped
forward with the same cat-like tread that had marked his advance from
the first. He knew that his victim was shrinking behind the trunk of the
oak, and he was having his own peculiar sport with him.
So intense was the attention of Terry that he heard distinctly the
footsteps of the warrior, who a moment later was close enough to touch
the tree with his hand, had he been so minded.
CHAPTER V.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, his
weight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with both
fists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himself
ready to use nature's weapons to his utmost ability.
He heard the soft moccasin press the layer of brown autumn leaves, and
the next moment the point of a knobby, painted nose came slowly in sight
around the side of the trunk, followed by the sloping forehead, the
hideous face and the shoulders of the warrior, whose right hand was held
so far to the rear with the gun that it was the last to come into view.
As the Winnebago caught sight of the white-faced boy, his countenance
was disfigured by a grin that made it more repulsive than before.
"Oogh! brudder!--oogh!--Yenghese--"
Just then Terry Clark let fly. He was a lusty lad, and he landed both
fists, one after another, squarely in the painted face, with such force
that the warrior was knocked completely off his feet. He went over
backward as though from the kick of a horse; but, contrary to the hopes
of his assailant, he did not let go of his gun. Had he done so, the
youth would have caught it up and shot him before he could regain his
feet.
The blow was most presumptuous, and would have insured the death of the
one who gave it but for the intervention of the second Indian, who
seemed to take but a couple of bounds from the tree near which he was
standing when he landed on the spot. The infuriated Winnebago was in the
act of clambering to his feet, when he caught sight of the lithe,
graceful warrior, standing only a couple of steps away, with loaded
rifle pointed at him.
"Dog of a Winnebago," he said in a voice slightly above an ordinary
tone; "if he harms the pale face, he shall die!"
There are some expressions so forcible that they can not be made more
so. The young Indian spoke in the lingo of the Winnebago, whose totem he
had recognized, but his posture, erect on his feet, with his cocked
rifle in such a position that he had only to pull the trigger to send
the bullet through the bronzed skull before him;--all this required no
words of explanation. The Winnebago grasped the situation, and, to use
the homely expression common at this day, he saw that the other "had the
drop" on him.
The Indian, though larger, older, heavier and stronger, was taken at
such disadvantage that he ceased his effort to rise, and looked up at
his conqueror with a helplessness so grotesque that under other
circumstances it would have caused a smile. Indeed, Terry Clark did
indulge in a slight laugh, for he saw that it was safe to do so; the
Winnebago was on the ground before his master.
"If ye want me to ring the old coow-bell, I'll be glad to obleege, for
the performance looks as if a little moosic would give tone to the same.
Howsumever, I'll step back and let this good looking young gintleman run
the show."
Thereupon Terry withdrew several paces and watched the proceedings with
a depth of interest that can be fully understood.
The look of the Winnebago, who was half reclining on his side,
supporting his body with the hand that grasped his gun, plainly
indicated the question that came from his lips.
"Why does my brother look with evil eyes on the Wolf, who has come from
the lodges of the Winnebagos? Are not all red men brothers?"
"Deerfoot is a Shawanoe, whose warriors have consorted with those of the
Winnebagos; but Deerfoot has left his lodge beyond the Mississippi and
lives alone in the woods. He will not hurt the brave Winnebago who
fights men, but he slays the Wolf that bites the children of the pale
faces, that have never harmed him."
Possibly the Wolf was inclined to argue the matter with the Shawanoe,
who had caught him at such disadvantage; but the manner and words of
Deerfoot showed that he was in no mood for discussion.
"What does my brother want?" asked the Winnebago, in a voice that
proved all fight had left him. The most, indeed, that he ventured to do
was gently to rub his forehead and nose, where the fists of the sturdy
Terry Clark had landed.
"Let the Wolf rise to his feet, but when he does so, his gun must lie on
the ground."
This was a harsh order, but there was no help for it; the Indian
hesitated a moment, and then, black and scowling, he slowly assumed the
upright posture, and, folding his arms across his chest, looked in the
face of the bright-eyed Deerfoot, to signify that he was awaiting his
next command.
"The Wolf shall now turn his face away from Deerfoot."
The Winnebago obeyed the order as promptly as if he were a soldier
undergoing drill.
"Let my brother now raise his eyes, until he sees the beech with the
white trunk," said Deerfoot, using the word "brother" for the first
time.
The object to which he alluded was perhaps fifty yards distant, the
light color of the bark showing only here and there among the branches
and undergrowth that happened to be less frequent than in other
directions. The Wolf signified that he recognized the tree to which his
conqueror referred.
"Now let my brother run; when he reaches the beech he can leap behind
it, and it will shield his body; if my brother is slow Deerfoot may fire
his gun and Wolf will never bite again."
The Winnebago wanted no explanation of this threat. It was hard for him
to depart, leaving his rifle, but it was harder for him to lose his
life, and he did not hesitate as to the choice. He made one tremendous
bound that carried him a dozen feet, and then sped through the wood like
a frightened deer. When he had passed half of the intervening distance,
he seemed to fancy that he was not making satisfactory time for the
Shawanoe, who, he doubtless imagined, was standing with leveled gun,
finger on the trigger. He therefore began leaping from side to side, so
as to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also of
further confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which added
such grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his head
and made the woods ring with laughter.
"I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show."
Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment the
Wolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flint
of the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the antics
of the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein of
humor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed,
but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyes
which showed how much he enjoyed the scene.
The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and for
the first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have been
reassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear of
the Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood.
By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the new
arrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able to
understand any of the words that passed between the two, though their
actions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. But
a person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feel
otherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interference
was made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached out
his honest hand.
"If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand of
yours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when he
catches the chills an' faver."
Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave him
his hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The young
Shawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly.
"My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makes
the heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend."
"Ye were a friend indade, though ye'll admit, Deerfut, that I toppled
over the spalpeen in foine style, now didn't I?"
"The Wolf who is a Winnebago, fell as though the lightning struck him."
"How is it," asked Terry with no little curiosity, "that ye, who are as
full-blooded an Injin as the Winnebago, can talk the English with almost
as foine an accint as meself?"
"Deerfoot has lived among the pale faces; when he was a small child he
went with the Shawanoes to harm the white men, but they took him
prisoner; they treated him kindly, and told him about God, who loves all
His children, whether they be white or red, or the color of the night;
they showed him how to read books, and to make his name and words on
paper, so that others might read."
"Can ye read and write?" asked the astonished Terry.
Deerfoot smiled and nodded his head.
"Well, well, that bates ivery thing!" said Terry, who instantly repeated
the absurd belief of many of his race, by adding, "I didn't s'pose that
an Injin could learn."
Without replying to the last remark, the Shawanoe, looking the lad
steadily in the eye, said, "Deerfoot has a message for Fred Linden; does
my brother know him?"
"Do I know him?" repeated Terry; "I know the same better than I know
mesilf; he started wid me to hunt the coow, and I rickons that he can't
be very fur away."
"He's coming," quietly said Deerfoot, looking off to the left of Terry,
as if about to salute a new arrival. The Irish lad wheeled in his quick
way, but his sharp eyes caught no glimpse of his approaching friend.
CHAPTER VI.
FRED LINDEN RECEIVES A MESSAGE FROM THE OZARK CAMP.
As soon as Fred Linden discovered the deception respecting the cow-bell,
he made all haste toward the point whence came the sound, in the hope of
warning Terry in time to save him from treachery. You will understand
how quickly events passed when told that, although he came almost
directly to the spot, he did not reach it until Deerfoot the Shawanoe
asked for him. This wonderful Indian, of whom I shall have considerably
more to tell, heard the coming of the lad whom he had never seen, before
either the eye or ear of Terry Clark could detect his approach.
As may well be supposed, Fred Linden was amazed at what met his eyes.
The sight of Terry in friendly converse with a strange Indian was the
opposite of what he expected to see. He slackened his hurried walk and
looked inquiringly at Terry. The latter could talk fast when he chose,
and the few sentences he rattled off as his companion came up made the
matter tolerably clear.
While the questioning and talk were going on, Deerfoot stood leaning on
his long gun and gazing with a certain natural dignity at the two
friends. He said nothing nor did he appear to show any special
curiosity, though had any one studied his countenance, he would have
seen that he was watching Fred Linden. He had said that he carried a
message to him, and it was no more than natural that he should wish to
know something about him.
As for Fred himself he did not try to hide his profound interest in the
remarkable warrior who had appeared at such an opportune time, but of
whom he had never before heard a word. He knew that the settlers along
the frontier often found valuable allies in the friendly Indians, and he
concluded that this red man was one of those who, having been maltreated
by his own people or kindly used by the whites, had given his loyalty to
the latter; for in the brief narrative of Terry Clark, he had time only
to tell the leading facts about the rescue of himself. Just then,
therefore, the Irish lad knew more about Deerfoot than did the American.
But it takes only a little time for such a group to become acquainted
with each other. A general handshaking followed, and it happened more
than once that all three were talking at the same moment. Had any one
been able to translate the expression of Deerfoot's countenance, he
would have seen that he was pleased with both the lads whom he now met
for the first time. There was a rollicking good nature, a cheery courage
and ever bubbling hopefulness about Terry that were contagious, and like
so much sunshine that went with him wherever he went.
Fred Linden was of that manly mold and rugged appearance that he would
have drawn favorable attention wherever he might be.
Such a lad in these days would have been picked out as a born athlete,
one who was capable, with proper training, to become a first-class ball
player, oarsman or boxer. He was a swift runner, a strong leaper, an
expert rifle shot, and his rugged frame and rough, outdoor life gave
him an endurance that few men could surpass. He was as tall as Deerfoot,
with broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, clear, keen eyes, a fine
chest and a symmetrical frame.
The clothes of the two boys, it is hardly necessary to say, were of
homespun, for a hundred years ago it would have been hard for them to
procure any other kind of goods. The short coat was somewhat like those
used to-day by bicyclists, reaching only a short distance below the
waist, where the girdle was fastened in front. The trowsers, of the same
material, reached to the knees, below which were the hunting leggins,
common along the border. Then came the warm, woolen stockings and thick,
heavy shoes, while the head was surmounted by a woolen cap, made by the
deft fingers at home, and without any pattern. It was soft, and having
no forepiece, sat on the head in whichever position it happened to be
first placed. In this respect it resembled the valuable sealskins of the
present day. The coats of the lads were open in front, and within were
the pockets, which they used as required, the trowsers also being
provided with a couple of these prime necessities.
When the rattling conversation had gone on for several minutes, Terry
ran a few steps and picked up the bell that the Indian had placed on the
ground. The string which had held it about the neck of the animal was
missing, having probably been cut by the knife of the impatient Wolf.
"I'll take the same back home wid me and put it on Brindle if I iver
maat her; I shouldn't be so 'stonished that I couldn't spake if I should
find that the spalpeen had killed her."
"No," said Fred, "she isn't harmed; I found her off yonder, cropping the
buds and leaves, as innocently as though she hadn't done any thing wrong
in leading us on this long chase. I started her toward home, and if she
keeps up the gait she must be pretty near there by this time."
This was good news to Terry, for the loss of the animal would have been
serious to the family of Mr. MacClaskey, her owner. The Irish lad had
hardly picked up the bell when Deerfoot pointed to the gun lying on the
ground, where it had been left by the Wolf.
"That belongs to my brother."
The delighted Terry could hardly believe what was told him, and he stood
looking doubtfully at Deerfoot, as if suspecting he had heard him amiss.
"It was you who captured the gun, Deerfoot, and so, if it belongs to any
one, ye are the spalpeen."
The Shawanoe looked down at his own handsome weapon and shook his head.
He had no need of any other weapon. Besides, this singular youth could
not have conscientiously taken it. He did not feel justified in keeping
it for his own use, no matter if in sore need of such a weapon; but,
since the Winnebago had made his demonstration against Terry Clark, and
was compelled to leave the gun behind, when he was permitted to go, it
seemed proper that the prize should fall into the hands of the Irish
lad.
What gave special propriety to the act was the fact that, although Fred
Linden was the owner of a fine gun, Terry had none. When his father
lost his life, his rifle was never recovered, and though there was one
in the family of MacClaskey, the youth had no claim upon it. He longed
for such a weapon, with a longing that it would be hard to understand.
The prize, therefore, was appreciated to its full value. He picked it up
with an embarrassed grin, which quickly became natural when he turned it
over in his hands and saw what an excellent piece it was.
"More than likely it belonged to a white man in the first place," said
Fred; "so it is right enough that it should come back to one of his own
race."
"It's loaded," said Terry, slightly raising the hammer and noticing the
powder in the pan. Then he brought the gun to his shoulder and pointing
it at the white trunk of the beech, which partly showed through the
intervening branches and undergrowth, he said:
"If the spalpeen should peep out from behind that tree, I'm thinkin' I
could hit him a harder blow than when I landed me two fists on his
mug."
"The Winnebago is a long ways off," said Deerfoot, with a shake of his
head; "he may meet my brother some day, but it will not be in this
place."
The young Shawanoe having learned all that was to be learned about his
young friends, now reached his hand in the breast of his hunting shirt
and drew out a small, closely-printed Bible, from between the leaves of
which he took a piece of paper that had been folded several times. He
glanced at the superscription, as if to make sure it was right, and then
handed it to Fred, who, as may be supposed, took it with astonishment.
He recognized the penciled writing as that of his father.
Parting the folds, he read the following:
MY DEAR FRED:
You know that when we left home there were three of us, Hardin,
Bowlby and myself. There are three of us still, but Bowlby
considers himself of no account for some weeks to come, because of
a hurt to his foot which will prevent his getting around for a long
time. Such being the case, I have concluded, now that I have the
chance, to send for you to join us. You are old enough and strong
enough to make a full hand, and you can give us good help. Since we
have all the animals, you will come afoot, but you will find no
trouble in keeping to the trail, which has been traveled often
enough to make it plain. It is no more than a hundred miles from
Greville to our camp at the foot of the Ozark Mountains, so you
ought to have no difficulty in reaching here in the course of three
or four days. Love to your mother and Edith.
I send this by a young Shawanoe warrior, called Deerfoot. He is the
most remarkable Indian I ever knew. I shall have a good deal to
tell you about him when you reach here.
YOUR FATHER.
"Deerfoot bids his brothers good-by," said the young Indian, offering
his hand, when he saw Fred had finished reading his letter; "he hopes
that he shall see them again."
"It won't be our fault if he doesn't," was the cordial response of Fred
Linden, in which Terry heartily joined him. After a few more pleasant
words they parted, Deerfoot following in the footsteps of the fleeing
Winnebago, while the others moved to the northward in the direction of
the creek. They turned aside a little from the direct course so as to
hunt for Brindle, that Fred had seen, but she was not found. To their
delight, however, they saw her footprints on the edge of the creek,
proving that she had gone home with the directness of one who felt
remorse for wandering from the straight path. She had swum the stream,
and was doubtless before the MacClaskey cabin at that moment.
But standing close to the edge of the creek, the boys became aware of a
hard fact: it had not only risen with great rapidity during the last
half hour, so as to become a rushing torrent, but it was still rising so
fast that it was extremely dangerous for the boys to try to cross it in
the canoe. Indeed, they hesitated to make the attempt, but finally
concluded to do so.
CHAPTER VII.
THE HUNTERS OF OZARK.
I must tell you how it was that Deerfoot the Shawanoe came to bring the
important letter of George Linden to his son Frederick.
It has already been stated that it was the custom of a party of hunters
and trappers to leave the settlement of Greville in the autumn of each
year and spend most of the cold weather among the streams at the foot of
a certain part of the Ozark Mountains. At that period, the fur bearing
animals abounded in the section, as they were found in hundreds of other
portions of the vast area known under the general name of the Louisiana
Territory. You must bear in mind that there were thousands of square
miles that had not been trodden by a white man, and so sparse were the
Indian villages that large portions of the country remained to be
visited even by them.
Beaver, otter, foxes, bears, and buffaloes were the chief animals that
were afterward driven west by the advancing tide of civilization, until
the agents of the Missouri and Western Fur Companies were forced to do
most of their work in the far west and north-west, where they came in
collision with that vast monopoly known as the Hudson Bay Company,
which, until recent years, not only trapped and hunted throughout
Oregon, but along the Pacific coast as far south as California.
George Linden, Rufus Hardin and James Bowlby composed the party who, in
the autumn of the year of which I am writing, rode each a horse a
hundred miles to the south of the frontier settlement of Greville, and
pitched their tent at the foot of the Ozark range. Beside the animals
ridden, each hunter took a pack-horse to help bring back the peltries
that were to be gathered during the cold weather. As a matter of course,
they were provided with guns and plenty of munitions, and indeed with
every necessity for their limited wants. They had spent several winters
there and knew what was before them. They had hunted and trapped for
years in other parts of the great west, and more than once had made the
long journey to the post of St. Louis to dispose of their furs, a
necessity that, as I have explained, was removed by the annual visit of
the agents with their long train of pack-horses to gather up the
peltries.
And so, without giving any of the interesting particulars of the ride
southward from Greville, let us take a look at the little party gathered
at their primitive camp in the wild Ozark region.
The six horses had been relieved of their burdens on reaching the place,
and were turned loose to crop the grass that was plentiful in many
places. Although there was snow now and then through the winter, there
was hardly enough to cause any suffering on the part of the animals.
When the storms, however, were violent or prolonged, the hardy beasts
were provided with some of the stores of dried grass that was kept in
stock, as may be said. In case that gave out they could make shift with
the cottonwood and other trees, whose bark was not lacking in succulent
qualities.
Although a tolerable shelter could have been found in any one of the
numerous caves within reach, the hunters preferred to erect a rough
cabin, that was almost strong enough to withstand a cyclone. The keen
axes enabled them to trim off the interfering limbs, and they were
joined at the corners so well that very little, if any, rain or snow
could force its way through. Other logs and branches were laid across
the top and ends fastened to the logs beneath by means of withes, so
that the roof was not likely to be carried away unless the cabin itself
went with it.
On the top of the roof was a thick layer of branches and leaves, packed
so closely that little moisture could find its way through. There were
no windows, for none was needed. The single door in front was large
enough to allow free egress and ingress. At night, when there was a
possibility that some curious wild animal might come snuffing around,
the door was closed by means of a framework of thick limbs, also
fastened together with withes, swinging on leathern hinges, and made
secure by a brace leaning against it from the inside.
Within this structure were stored their supplies, and the blankets on
which they slept were spread upon the bare ground. Their slumber was
sweeter, too, than it would have been had they stretched themselves on
"downy beds of ease," for health and weariness are two soporifics which
art can never supplant.
The traps and appurtenances used in their toil were never taken away
from the place, for there was no call to do so. Such repairs as were
needed from time to time were made in the cabin or on the spot, as the
necessity arose. The rifles, of course, furnished the food needed, while
an abundance of fish could be taken at any time from the streams in the
neighborhood.
A diet solely of flesh and fish is not acceptable to any one. Therefore,
among the supplies annually brought to the cabin, were a quantity of
coarse flour, meal, sugar, coffee, salt and tea. It may be said, that in
one respect they were like modern campers out, except that they took the
wrong season of the year for what so many boys consider the acme of
enjoyment.
There was little in the appearance of the three men to call for special
description. All were in middle life, strong, rugged, and inured to
hardship. Linden was rather tall, his face covered by a heavy beard in
which not a gray hair had yet appeared. Hardin was fully as tall, with
shoulders somewhat bent, and his scant, dark beard was plentifully
sprinkled with gray. Bowlby was short and stocky in appearance. When in
the woods he allowed his black beard to grow all over his face, but at
home he was always smooth-shaven. He was of a swarthy complexion,
inclined to be silent, and often moody, but like his companions he was
brave, industrious and patient, holding a strong dislike of all Indians,
though not inclined to go to any unjustifiable length in his feelings.
The dress of the three men was similar to that of Fred and Terry, which
has already been described. No one of them knew any thing about the
modern overcoat or cloak. If there should come a spell of unusually
severe weather, they had only to wrap a blanket or buffalo robe about
the shoulders when compelled to visit the traps or remain long
outdoors. Should it become necessary to kindle a fire within the cabin
for the sake of warmth, a broad, flat stone was removed from an opening
in the roof directly over the blaze, and the smoke, if so inclined,
found its way to the clear air outside. The cooking was done under the
adjoining trees. Of course it was of the most primitive character, but
it suited, and that is all that is necessary.
The hunters reached their cabin about the middle of the forenoon of an
autumn day. They had eaten their regular morning meal, and they got to
work without delay. The horses were unloaded and turned adrift, the
stores safely housed, the blankets spread on the floor of simple earth
in the cabin, and then the men scattered to look after their traps. This
was a large job, for the implements had to be examined and many of them
slightly repaired, after which they must be carried long distances and
set.
These traps were of the ordinary pattern, such as have been in general
use for hundreds of years. The iron jaws was forced wide apart and kept
in place by a catch, which was sprung by a slight pressure on the broad,
flat portion in the middle. The trap being carefully hidden from sight,
the unsuspecting animal had hardly time to rest one paw on this plate,
when the fierce jaws, impelled by steel springs of prodigious strength,
came together with the suddenness of lightning, and the animal, whatever
he be, was in a grip from which there was no escape.
You can understand the care required to set these traps so that they
would do their work. The beaver is highly intelligent, and quick to
detect the signs of man's presence. Nothing can tempt him to venture
where he sees that his worst enemy has been before him. The fox is the
synonym of cunning, and will often outwit the shrewdest trapper. He will
walk around the trap and stealthily secure the bait without harm to
himself. One of those animals has been known to reach forward and spring
the implement, jerking back his paw quickly enough to escape the sharp
teeth. A fox, too, when caught in a steel trap will sometimes gnaw off
the leg just above where it is imprisoned, and afterward go through
life with little inconvenience on three legs. You may be sure that he is
never caught again in that fashion.
It was easy to see where the sagacious beavers were in the habit of
leaving the water and climbing the bank. The trap was carefully placed
below the surface out of sight, and often it had no bait at all, for it
would seem that the bait itself was liable to awaken the suspicion of
the beavers. Occasionally, however, when it was desirable to attract
them to the spot, an oily odoriferous substance obtained from the animal
itself was smeared over the ground near the bank.
The otters were scarcer than the beavers, but were hunted much in the
same manner. For foxes and fur-bearing animals that roamed the the
woods, the steel trap was baited with such food as they were fond of
(which was about every thing), and they were so numerous through that
part of the territory that the hunters had little difficulty in securing
what was wanted.
At the end of the second day all the traps were in position, and the
three friends were grouped on the outside of the cabin smoking their
pipes and talking over the outlook for the winter, which all agreed was
favorable.
The bison or buffaloes, of which mention has been made, were found in
the open spaces or prairies where there was plenty of grass. No such
multitudinous herds were seen as have been gathered in later years on
the western prairies, but there were enough to make very lively hunting
for the trio, who had shot and skinned several while on their way to the
beaver runs.
Within a half hour's walk of the camp was a beaver dam fully half a mile
wide, built with astonishing skill and strength. The backwater flooded
the country for many square miles, and gave the remarkable animals just
the place they wanted for their curious huts, of which I shall have
something to tell you further on.
CHAPTER VIII.
A WELCOME ACQUAINTANCE.
On the fourth day after the arrival of the hunters at their cabin, the
accident of which Mr. Linden made mention befell Bowlby. It was early in
the morning, when the three were making their round of visits to the
traps. Since no two inspected the same ones, they were quite widely
separated from each other. Bowlby was walking over a rocky stretch of
land alongside the creek when a loose stone turned under his foot,
giving his ankle such a wrench that when he tried to stand he found he
could not bear the least weight on it. It was one of those hurts that
are more painful and troublesome than a fractured limb.
"Here's a pretty go," he growled, as he sat down on the ground, his face
contorted with pain; "it'll be a long time before I'll be able to stand,
and the boys will have to bring one of the hosses here or else carry me
home. _Hello!_"
He shouted at the top of his voice, feeling no alarm, for he knew that
his friends would come to his relief before long, even if they did not
hear his voice; but then he reflected, as he sat on the ground beside
the two beavers that he had killed and was carrying to his home, that he
was in bad form if a wild animal should assail him, or there should
happen to be a hostile Indian prowling in the vicinity. He had left his
gun at the cabin, as was his practice, since he needed all his strength
to bring in the products of the traps.
He was startled, therefore, after his third shout; an Indian warrior,
fully armed, walked out of the wood and came toward him; but his signs
of peace, and more than all, the words he uttered, removed his fears.
"My brother suffers; Deerfoot will help him to his cabin."
"If that's so," said the greatly relieved Bowlby, "you're just the chap
I'm waiting for. We'll leave these beavers here for the others to come
after, and if you'll let me lean on your shoulder I guess I can hobble
back; but I'll have to lean heavy," he added, looking doubtfully at the
Indian, "and you ain't much more than a likely lad."
"Let my brother try me," said Deerfoot, with a smile.
The disabled hunter did try him, often compelled, as he was, to bear to
such an extent upon his new friend that it may be said the latter
sustained half his weight. The progress was slow, and when they reached
a small stream of water, Bowlby sat down and allowed the young Shawanoe
to bathe the inflamed limb. Great relief was felt.
During this labored walk homeward, the two naturally talked a good deal
together and learned much about each other. Deerfoot said that he had
often hunted through the surrounding country, and he told why it was he
had found it necessary to leave his tribe on the other side of the
Mississippi. He said that he had spent more than one night in the
deserted cabin of Bowlby and his friends during the summer months, when
he found himself belated in the vicinity, and he once shot a wolf that
was resolved on entering against his protest. It was his intention to
make a call upon the hunters, and if they needed his aid, he was glad to
give it in the way of helping trap or shoot game. You need not be told
that though James Bowlby felt an innate dislike of the American race,
there was now one exception: henceforth he was the sworn friend of
Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
Linden and Hardin had got back from making their rounds, and were
wondering what could have delayed their friend, when they saw him
limping painfully on one foot, and supported by a fine looking young
Indian warrior. Their astonishment was great, for they could not
understand what it meant. Linden hastened to the help of Bowlby, but he
waved him aside and said no one could do as well as Deerfoot.
While Hardin went out to bring in the two beavers that had been taken
from the traps by Bowlby, the latter was assisted to a seat on the log
in front of the cabin. Then Deerfoot insisted on giving attention to the
injured limb. It had swollen a great deal since he bathed it. There was
nothing in the cabin in the way of ointment or liniment, but Deerfoot
hastened into the wood and soon came back with the leaves of some plant
whose virtues seemed to be well known to him. These were wrapped in a
piece of linen, which the establishment managed to afford, and pounded
to a pulp, and then the poultice was gently applied to the inflamed
ankle. Bowlby declared that it felt better at once, but his face
lengthened when Deerfoot told him that it would be a moon, or several
weeks, before he would fully recover the use of his limb.
"That will make us short-handed, and we need every one," said Mr.
Linden; "I wish Fred was here to give us help."
"I think I can ride my hoss to Greville," said Bowlby, "and bring him
back with me."
"That is hardly worth while."
"Where is the home of my brother?" gently asked Deerfoot.
"At the settlement of Greville, about a hundred miles to the north."
"Deerfoot knows where it is," he replied; "he will take a message for
his brother, for his footsteps lead him that way."
"You're a mighty clever Indian; I will be ever so much obliged to you,"
said Linden; "I will write a few lines to my boy, which will explain our
trouble, though I have no doubt you could take the message just as well;
but it is such an unexpected one that the boy might doubt it unless it
was in my own writing. See?"
The Shawanoe nodded his head to signify that it was all clear to him.
Linden passed within the cabin, where he hurriedly wrote the few lines
that are already known to the reader, folded the paper, and wrote on the
outside:
"FREDERICK LINDEN,
Grevil."
He then handed it to Deerfoot, saying:
"There is no special hurry, and if you are in the neighborhood of
Greville, and can make it convenient to leave that at my house, it will
be a great kindness to me."
"If the Great Spirit does not will different it shall be in his hands
before the setting of three more suns, but," added Deerfoot, looking at
the superscription on the back of the paper, "has not my brother made a
mistake?"
"What do you mean?"
"When Deerfoot writes the word 'Greville,' he adds two letters more than
does my brother; perhaps, though, Deerfoot is wrong."
No pen can describe the amazement that appeared on the faces of Linden
and Bowlby. Here was a young Indian teaching a white man old enough to
be his father how to spell in the English language! Was the like ever
known?
For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke. They were sitting on the
log, while Deerfoot was standing in front of them. He held his rifle in
his right hand and the folded piece of paper in his left, while he
looked inquiringly down in the faces of the two men, whose mouths and
eyes were open, as though they could not believe the evidence of their
own senses. Finally, with a deep sigh, Linden slowly rose to his feet--
"Well, by gracious! if that don't beat every thing! Do you mean to say
that you can read _writing_? Impossible!"
[Illustration: "For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke."]
Then, as if still in doubt, he reached out and took the paper. Drawing a
stump of a lead pencil from his pocket he completed the word properly,
opened the paper, and handing it back to the Indian, said:
"Let's hear you read _that_."
"My brother writes so that any one can read his words," observed the
young Shawanoe by way of introduction, and then in a low, soft voice he
read the brief note from beginning to end.
Bowlby, who had not yet spoken, seemed unable to express his emotions.
Unable himself to read, the attainment of the Indian was almost past
belief. As the best thing, therefore, that he could do, he solemnly
reached out his hand to Linden and shook it with great earnestness.
Settling painfully back on the log, he nodded his head several times as
if he was almost overcome, as indeed was the case.
I should state at this point that although Linden had not seen fit to
make it known, he had heard of Deerfoot the Shawanoe long before. He
knew of some of his exploits in Kentucky, as well as those of later
years on the western bank of the Mississippi (which are told in the
"Young Pioneer" and the "Log Cabin Series"), but he had never met the
youth, nor had he ever heard or suspected that he knew how to read and
write. Taking hold of his arm, he asked:
"Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you learn that? When I
wrote to Fred that I would tell him some things about you I did not know
of the most extraordinary of all--that which I have just seen. Sit right
down here, between me and Jim, and let us know all about it."
Deerfoot held back, but yielded, and finally answered in his modest way
the numerous questions with which he was plied. Bowlby had managed to
find his tongue, and his queries were about twice as numerous as those
of his companion. By the time that Deerfoot had time to rest, Hardin
came back, and there was little left to tell.
The Shawanoe had captured the Hunters of the Ozark. They insisted that
he should stay to dinner with them, and he did so. Then he was badgered
to enter into a shooting match. All were fine marksmen, and Linden was
the best shot in Greville. Using his own rifle, Deerfoot beat every one
of them. Then he exchanged weapons and allowed the crippled Bowlby to
rest his piece, and the Shawanoe beat all three just as badly as before.
They were delighted, and slapping him on the back, asked him to spend a
week with them, but he shook his head.
The sun was already beyond the meridian, and there were reasons for his
departure which he could not explain. They liked him too well to insist,
though they made him promise that on the first chance he would make them
a visit. Then Deerfoot gravely pressed hands with all and quickly
disappeared in the woods, taking the trail that led toward Greville. You
have already learned about his meeting with Terry Clark and Fred
Linden.
CHAPTER IX.
A MISHAP.
Fred Linden and Terry Clark were alarmed when, on their way home, they
came to the creek across which they had paddled only a short time
before. It was then the comparatively shallow stream that was scarcely
an obstacle in their path; now it was a rushing torrent, whose volume
was increasing with great rapidity. The sinuosities of the creek had
caused it to gather in a large part of the rain that had fallen some
miles away, and its usual boundaries were overflowed.
It was well that Fred had tied his canoe to the tree that was quite a
distance from the stream, for had he not done so it would have been
swept away like an egg shell. As it was, the water had reached the base
of the tree, while the boat was bobbing up and down almost in a straight
line with the course of the creek, as though it was tugging to get
loose.
"My gracious, Terry!" said Fred, "this is a little worse than I
expected; it is going to be hard work to get across."
"Ye are right for once," added the other, gravely shaking his head;
"them rapids are a little closer than I loike."
"It seems to me," added Fred, who was unwilling to admit that he was
afraid to try the task, "that I have gone over the creek when it was
just as high and rapid, and have crossed at this place, too."
"Who swung the paddle?"
"Father did once and Mr. Bowlby at another time."
"Did ye iver manage the paddle yersilf when the creek got onto one of
its tears?"
"I don't remember that I have, but that has been only because the need
did not arise; I am not afraid to try it, even if you are."
"Who said I was afraid?" demanded Terry; "I'm riddy to hop into the boat
and sway the paddle mesilf, and I'll do it, too."
He stepped into the water, which was up to his shoe tops, and began
drawing in the rawhide rope which held the frail boat from breaking
away. His companion laughed and said nothing until the canoe was at
their feet and drawn up on the land away from the rushing current.
"Don't be quite so touchy, Terry; that boat belongs to me and I can
handle the paddle better than you; anyway I shall try to take us to the
other side, and all that you have to do is to keep those limbs and trees
from capsizing us."
The time occupied in pulling the boat to the spot had given the Irish
lad a chance to regain his usual good nature, and he made no protest
against the decision of his companion, though Terry was no unskillful
handler of the paddle himself.
The creek was probably over a hundred feet wide, and the roiled current
abounded with limbs and trees that swung up and down, sometimes out of
sight and then popping up again, as though they were frolicking in the
swift waters. It would require a strong arm and a cool head to force the
birchen craft through these obstacles to the shore on the other side.
It must be admitted, too, that it was a piece of imprudence on the part
of the lads, who would have been wiser had they quietly waited where
they were until the overflow exhausted itself. A stream that rises so
fast subsides with the same quickness, and long before nightfall the
creek would shrink to proportions that would take away all peril to any
one in paddling across.
They would have been compelled to go a long distance up stream before
finding a place where the crossing was easier, and it would have been
almost impossible to drag the canoe thither. They would have held fast
to one end of the rope and allowed it to dance through the rapids, so as
to allow them to make the passage below, where the great peril was
removed, had they not known that the chances were ten to one that it
would be snatched from their grasp, thus shutting them out altogether.
Looking up and across the sloping clearing, the cabins forming the
settlement of Greville could be seen at no great distance. From several
of the stone chimneys the smoke was curling lazily upward, and now and
then glimpses could be caught of persons moving hither and thither, but
no one appeared to be looking in the direction of the creek, or if any
one was doing so, he saw nothing of the two boys standing on the further
shore and debating with themselves the best course to follow. At any
rate no one would think they were unable to take care of themselves.
Both Fred and Terry knew that there was but one prudent plan to follow;
that was quietly to wait where they were until near night, by which time
all danger would be gone. But neither proposed the course nor made
mention of it. It is natural for youth to be rash, and there was a
semblance of timidity in such a shrinking back that was repellent to
American and Irish lad alike. And so you will understand how it was that
each showed an eagerness to enter into the contest with the angry
current.
You will see, too, how foolish they were, when I tell you that during
the few minutes they stood by the tree to which the rope had been tied
discussing the situation, they saw the proof that the creek was
subsiding. There was a perceptible lowering of the surface, as was shown
by the soiled line against the trunk of the tree. Even Terry, when he
looked down, observed that he was not standing in quite as deep water as
he was a few minutes before. No danger, however, of his making mention
of it.
It took but a minute or so to untie the long thong that was wrapped
about the limb, and then, as Fred was on the point of flinging the coil
into the bottom of the boat, the end of which was drawn up on the bank,
and to take up the paddle and push off, Terry, with some excitement,
caught his arm and said:
"Plase wait a minute, will ye?"
"What for?"
"I'll not be gone long; howld the boat only for a twinkling."
He ran a dozen steps or so from shore to where was the stump of a tree
that had probably been splintered by a thunder-bolt, and around which
sprouted a number of bushes that were dense enough to hide a large
object within. Carefully parting these, Terry laid down his rifle and
the bell, and then as carefully smoothed the undergrowth in place. Then
he hurried back.
"There are plinty of lads about me own size," said he, "but there's only
one gun that belongs to me, and if the canoe should upsit and both of us
get drowned I want to be sure and save me gun."
Fred smiled at this Irish-like explanation, but he was glad that Terry
had left the gun on shore. It was safely hidden until he should wish to
get it again, while its presence in the canoe would be the worst kind of
encumbrance. The new owner was so charmed with his prize that he would
think more of saving that than of saving the boat. It was clear that the
task of Terry in fighting off the rushing timber would be almost as
difficult as that of guiding it across the swift stream.
"In with you!" said Fred to Terry, who carefully seated himself near the
bow of the canoe and took up the long pole that lay in the bottom and
projected some distance over the end of the boat. Fred Linden gave it a
vigorous shove, landed in the stern, caught up the paddle, and
instantly began his struggle.
You will see the difficulty and danger of his task, and must therefore
join with me in condemning the lack of judgment showed by both. They had
to paddle more than a hundred feet across a furious torrent in which
were scores of uprooted trees, wrenched-off limbs, and craggy stumps,
all speeding downward with great swiftness and force. The course of the
boat being at right angles to these objects, must bring it in collision
with some of them, at the great risk of overturning or shattering the
canoe, that was not calculated to withstand any such blows.
And yet, though the task was a hard one, there was little doubt that the
two lads could make their way across, provided they were given enough
time in which to do so; but there were the rapids, so near that their
roar was plainly heard. In case of an overturn or accident, the two
would be swept among them. It was the same, on a smaller scale, as if a
person should start to row across Niagara River, just above the falls,
where by vigorous work he could make the passage, provided he did not
drop a stroke on the way. You will say that any one making such an
attempt placed little value on his own life.
Fred Linden used his paddle after the manner of an Indian--that is, he
dipped the broad end first on one side of the boat and then on the
other. The paddle was not widened at each end, as is sometimes the case,
the one who wields it using the sides alternately and with great
rapidity. In calm water such a light structure as an Indian canoe can be
driven with great speed, and I have no doubt that the youths would have
made a speedy passage had it not been for the interference of the
floating objects to which I have referred.
Ten feet from land Fred was forced to back water suddenly to avoid a
jagged stump that danced in front like a bull getting ready to charge,
and finally did strike the bow with a thump that startled both the
occupants.
"Me pole slipped off the side of that," Terry explained, as he
brandished the stick in front on the lookout for the threatening
waste-wood; "have a care that ye don't drive the boat agin something
that is stronger than the boat itsilf."
By coolness, alertness and strength, Fred fought his way in safety until
probably one-third of the distance was passed. Then he saw the great
blunder he had made in trying to cross while the current was so high.
The constant fighting with the floating stumps and trees caused them to
lose so much ground--or rather water--that they were drifting
frightfully close to the rapids, whose roar grew plainer every moment.
But he had gone so far that it was as safe to keep on as to turn back,
and so he dipped the paddle and swung it with renewed vigor.
"Look out!" he called to Terry, who in parrying the rush of a stump a
couple of yards in advance, did not notice one that was coming broadside
on, its presence betrayed by a tiny branch that protruded a few inches
above the surface like the fin of a shark. Fred did his utmost to avoid
it, but he was too slow, and a second later the pointed log not only
struck the side of the canoe, but capsized it.
CHAPTER X.
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
The partly sunken log crashed into the side of the canoe with such
suddenness that the craft was overturned and ruined, and the occupants
struggling in the water, before either had time to utter more than a
single exclamation.
But they were powerful swimmers, and, but for the nearness of the
rapids, they could have afforded to laugh at their mishap. As it was,
Terry Clark shouted, as he blew the muddy water from his mouth:
"What a sinsible young gintleman I was to lave me gun on the other
side."
"We both would have been much more sensible had we left ourselves
there," rejoined Fred, who was struggling with might and main for the
land in front; "there's no time, Terry, to waste in talk; we've got to
swim as never before, for nothing else will save us."
The other seemed to rouse to his peril, for he made the only wise
response he could--which was putting forth every atom of strength and
skill that he possessed in the effort to breast the furious torrent.
It is singular how often the slightest advantage turns the scale for
life or death. At the moment the canoe was smashed and capsized Terry
Clark was seated some six or eight feet nearer the shore toward which
they were paddling than was Fred Linden, and this difference remained
when the two went into the water and began swimming. The Irish lad was
fully as skillful as the other, and he did not lose an inch of the gain
thus given him.
They were near the middle of the stream when the catastrophe took place.
Of course they would have done better had they been without any
clothing, but there was no time to remove any of that, and beyond
question the two made the most gallant kind of a fight for life.
Fully aroused to his peril, Terry swam with amazing power, his lips
compressed and his eyes fixed on the land in front, which seemed quite
near, and yet was never so hard to reach. The lad had proven by repeated
tests that he could swim faster on his left side then in any other
position. He quickly flung himself over and used his arms and legs like
one who knew fully the stake for which he was contending.
By this recourse he actually gained on Fred, who continued to breast the
water with all the strength at his command. Terry was hopeful, and now
that he was fully roused, he did not waste his strength in shouting to
his companion. As he advanced in his crab-like fashion, he frequently
flirted his face around so as to look in front, and thus to keep aware
of his progress.
"I'm doing well, and will make it," was his thought; "I hope Fred will
be as fortynate as mesilf."
An important point was gained by swimming on his left side; his face was
turned up stream, and he caught sight of the floating timber quicker
than when advancing with his face toward the land. Thus it came about
that he saw a plunging tree, or log, similar to that which had
destroyed the canoe, and when it was fully as close to him.
Like a flash, Terry dove, intending to pass clean under it. He could not
know any thing about the portion beneath the surface, and was a little
startled when he found himself among leaves and a lot of small branches;
but he swam with the same vigor and skill when below as when above the
surface, and quickly fought his way through, rising on the other side a
considerable distance nearer land.
But he gasped with terror, for during the brief period he lost a great
deal more than he gained. A furtive glance to the left showed him the
mist and spray flying high in air, as the muddy waters were tossed to
and fro by the rocks below: he was fearfully close to them.
But he was also close to land, and he saw his chance; indeed, his only
one. A tree growing out toward the creek curved downward so that the
lower part of the trunk was within a few inches of the water. A short
time before the current had washed against it, but was now falling away
from it.
The portion which inclined downward like a bow was several feet from
shore, and some distance below him. It will be seen, therefore, that the
thing for him to do was to bend all his efforts toward reaching that. If
he could advance far enough to allow the current to sweep him beneath,
or quite close to the tree, he could grasp it and save himself.
"That's what's got to be done," was his conclusion the instant he saw
the crooked tree; "or it's good-by to Terry Clark and his rifle."
He would succeed; he saw it the next moment. The curving tree seemed to
be sweeping up stream with frightful swiftness, but at the right second
Terry, by a supreme effort, threw himself partly out of the water, and
flinging both arms around the trunk, which was no more than six inches
in diameter, he held fast.
The strain was great, and he felt his fingers slipping over the shaggy
bark, but he held on like grim death, and by a skillful upward hitch of
his body, locked his fingers above the trunk, and was safe; he was then
able to hold double his own weight.
His next move was to throw his feet around the trunk, when it was an
easy matter for him to twist himself over on top, where he was as secure
as lying on his own trundle bed in the cabin at home.
The instant his own safety was secured his whole soul was stirred by
anxiety for Fred Linden, who, he knew, was placed at more disadvantage
than he. Since he was further from shore than was he, and since the
latter had been able to save himself only by a hair's breadth, it was
clearly beyond the power of Fred to escape in the same manner--though it
might be that there was some other remote chance for him.
The first glance that Terry cast over the muddy waters showed him his
friend, swimming manfully for shore, but so far out in the stream that
it was impossible for him to reach it before passing into the grip of
the rapids.
"It's no use," called out Fred, in a voice in which there was no tremor
or shrinking; "I'm bound for the rapids, and here goes."
And deliberately facing about, he swam coolly in the direction of the
boiling waters as though he were bathing in a still lake.
"Be the powers, but he is plucky," muttered Terence, thrilled by the
sight; "if he can get through there alive, I'll be proud of him!"
The rapids, of which I have made mention several times, were caused by a
series of irregular rocks, extending a hundred yards, in the space of
which the stream made a descent of a dozen or twenty feet. At ordinary
times the creek wound languidly around these obstructions, forming many
deep, clear pools of water, that afforded the best kind of fishing.
There was so much room for the current that there was no call for it to
make haste.
But you can understand how different it was when the creek was swollen
by violent rains. It then dashed against the rocks, was thrown back,
plunged against others, whirled about and charged upon still others, by
which time it was a mass of seething foam, with the spray flying high in
air, and a faint rainbow showing through the mist when the sun was
shining. After fighting its way between and around and over these
obstructions, the current emerged at the bottom one mass of boiling foam
and dancing bubbles, which continued for several hundred feet before
the effects of the savage churning that the water had received could be
shaken off.
Now, it would be idle to say that these rapids were as dangerous as the
famous whirlpool below Niagara Falls; for it would not only be untrue,
but it would shut me out from taking Fred Linden safely through them:
for I am bound to do that, since he is too good a fellow to sacrifice at
this early stage of my story, and you would not forgive me for doing so.
But all the same the danger was great, and was enough to cause the
bravest man to shrink from attempting the passage. Fred would have been
glad to shrink from going through, but since that was beyond his power
he did the wisest course--faced about and kept his wits with him.
There was one consolation--the suspense could last but a few moments; he
was sure to emerge from the lower falls within the space of a minute,
whether alive or dead.
The first object that caught his eye was his broken canoe. Naturally it
was but a short distance below him, though it had gained a little while
he was struggling so hard to make land. It was turned on its side,
spinning sometimes one way and then whirling the other, according to the
whim of the current; then sea-sawing up and down, until all at once it
shot upward like a huge sturgeon, which sometimes flings its whole
length out of the water.
Another point must be named that was gained by this facing about of Fred
Linden. Since he was going with the current he kept pace with every
thing else that was afloat, and he was therefore in no danger from the
trees and branches that had caused him so much, and, in fact, nearly all
his trouble.
At the moment he was about to enter the boiling rapids he found himself
partly entangled in the branches of a large uprooted tree that was
dancing about in a crazy fashion.
"This may help to shield me from being dashed against the rocks," was
his thought, as he seized hold of a thick limb close to the point where
it put out from the trunk; "at any rate I don't see that it can make
matters any worse."
The act of Fred Linden in grasping the limb saved his life. The next
moment he was whirled hither and thither, half strangled with foam, head
now in air, now beneath the surface, his body grazing the jagged rocks
by the closest possible shave, and all the time shooting forward with
dizzying rapidity, until at last he emerged into the calmer water below
as well and hearty as he ever was in all his life.
CHAPTER XI.
TRAMPING SOUTHWARD.
An ejaculation of thankfulness escaped Fred Linden when he found himself
floating in the comparatively still water below the rapids, and he knew
that although he was pretty well bruised, none of his bones was broken.
He let go of the limb of the tree that had served him so well, and
flirting the water from his eyes, struck out with his old time vigor for
the shore, toward which he had started in the canoe.
When Terry Clark saw his friend go spinning into the whirlpool, he
scrambled back from the trunk of the tree, on which he had found refuge,
and ran at full speed down the bank. Fast as he went, he was just in
time to see Fred swimming through the foaming waters toward the land.
"Give me yer hand!" called out the delighted youngster; "there isn't
any body in the wide wurruld that could bate that onless it is mesilf,
and I couldn't do it."
"Whew!" exclaimed Fred, as he laboriously clambered up the steep bank;
"that was the biggest lot of swimming and diving crowded into the space
of a minute or two that I ever knew; I wouldn't like to take such a trip
each day."
"And I'm thinkin' that it'll be a few days after this whin we try it
agin," added Terry, delighted to see his loved comrade before him
unharmed; "I jist give up when I seen you plunge in among the rocks, and
was wonderin' how your father and mother and sister Edith would faal
when I should be luggin' your dead body home."
"I'm thankful that you haven't _that_ to do," said Fred with an
earnestness that could not be mistaken; "but come, the clothes of us
both are dripping, and we can't get away any too soon."
It was not far to walk, and a few minutes later they reached the other
side of the clearing, where the cluster of cabins stood. The first
living object on which their eyes rested was Brindle, lying on the
ground and chewing her cud with an air of contentment which belongs
exclusively to her kind, or rather kine.
The boys laughed and Terry said:
"If she had such a thing as conscience she wouldn't be takin' things in
that aisy style, after givin' us a duckin' that come nigh bein' our last
one."
"You are right, Terry, but what did you do with that bell that Deerfoot
took away from the Winnebago?"
"I lift it wid my gun on the other side of the creek; I didn't want it
tollin' our funeral knell all the time we was goin' through the rapids
and splittin' the rocks to pieces by bangin' our heads agin them."
"It is just as well, for the creek will be so low that there will be no
danger in crossing it to-morrow, and you can get the bell again; well,
here we are at home."
The boys separated, and at the same moment, each entered the cabin where
he lived. They were only a short distance apart. Several men and a
number of the lads, some older and some younger than the two in whom we
are interested, were moving about, and looked curiously at the dripping
figures. A couple asked an explanation of Fred, but he laughingly
answered that he would tell them after he had got dry, and immediately
disappeared in his own house.
Mrs. Linden and Edith, her daughter, who was two years younger than
Fred, looked up in surprise when they saw the state of the lad.
"Terry and I started to paddle across the creek, that is higher than
usual, and were overturned by a tree that stove in the side of the boat
and gave us a ducking."
Having heard this explanation his folks seemed to feel no more curiosity
about it. The lad passed into his room, he being one of those fortunate
ones who had two complete suits of clothing, with the exception of cap
and shoes. It took him but a short time to effect the change, when he
reappeared, placing his foot and head gear near the fire, where they
would soon dry.
The home of Fred Linden may be taken as a type of the best that were
found on the frontier. As a matter of course, it was made of logs, with
a stone chimney so huge that it projected like an irregular bay window
from the rear. The fire-place took up the greater part of one side of
the house, where the immense blocks of oak and hickory not only diffused
a cheery warmth through the lower portion, but sent fully one-half the
heat up the enormous throat of the chimney.
The large room, which served for parlor, sitting and dining room, was
furnished simply, but comfortably, with plain chairs, a bench,
spinning-wheel, a rocking-chair, table, a few cheap pictures and the
indispensable cooking utensils. There was no stove, every thing being
prepared in the fire-place. At that day, as you well know, no one had
ever dreamed of using coal as an article of fuel, and the old-fashioned
stoves were exceedingly few in number. Carpets, of course, were not
thought of, though the rough floor was kept clean enough to serve as a
table for food.
A rifle rested on two deer prongs over the mantel-piece, and there
seemed to be any number of knick-knacks about the room, though it would
have been found that nearly every one had a distinct use in the
household.
Two rooms were connected on the same floor with the larger apartment.
One of these served as the sleeping quarters for the parents when Mr.
Linden was at home, and the other for Edith, while Fred occupied the
loft, which had the rafters for a ceiling, and extended over half the
lower floor. During the absence of the father, Edith and her mother used
one room, while Fred had the other.
Noon had passed when the son came home, and his substantial dinner of
venison--procured some days before by Fred himself--brown bread,
potatoes, butter and milk, were awaiting him. Taking his place at the
table, he ate as only a rugged, growing boy of sixteen can eat.
He made no further mention of the dangerous adventure that had just
befallen him, but gave the full particulars of Terry Clark's encounter
with the Winnebago Indian, who stole the bell from the cow, and tried to
have a little sport at the expense of the boy. It was an interesting
story, and mother and daughter listened with rapt attention. Edith, who
was a bright girl, and very fond of her brother, asked many questions
as to how the Winnebago looked, what he said, and whether he really
meant to kill poor Terry. Then her interest suddenly transferred itself
to Deerfoot, and she plied Fred with all sorts of queries, until he
laughingly told her that she was asking them two and three times over,
and really he had nothing more to tell.
Then Fred drew out the moist and soiled bit of paper that he had taken
from his other clothes, and which contained the message of his father.
This, of course, caused a sensation, for it made known the fact that the
son was to join his parent for several months. It would be supposed that
this would cause some inconvenience, but in such a primitive community
all were neighbors, and the chores and work that would have been done by
Fred Linden would be cheerfully attended to by others. It was not until
many years afterward, when the settlements became towns, that the social
distinctions between families were formed.
During all the conversation, after it had been agreed that Fred should
start alone on a hundred mile journey through the wild forest, nothing
was said about such a thing as the personal danger attending it. And
that, too, directly on the heels of the Winnebago's attempt on Terry
Clark. The habit of self-reliance was taught to the children of the
pioneers at such an early age, that their parents felt no solicitude,
where in these times they would have been tortured by anxiety, and, no
doubt, with abundant reason.
Mrs. Bowlby was told of the mishap that had befallen her absent lord,
when she was asked by Edith to come over in the evening, but she was
assured that there was no cause for alarm, and so she felt none. She
wrote a letter to her husband, as did the wife of Hardin, and Fred's own
mother. These constituted all the extra luggage that he was to take, for
it would have been oppressive to load him with any thing in the nature
of a burden when the hunters had been absent only a few days.
The decision was that Fred should make his start at early dawn the next
day. It was his purpose to reach camp on the fourth day; that would be
only an ordinary tramp for a rugged youngster like him, and he was
confident that he would have no trouble in keeping to the trail that had
been ridden over so recently by his friends.
The little personal articles, as they may be called, which the lad would
require, were mostly the same as those of his father, and could be
utilized by the son. Such, as from the nature of things, could not
answer for both were tied into a compact package with his linen and
strapped over his shoulders with a thick blanket. His powder horn and
bullet pouch were not forgotten. An extra flint for his rifle was placed
in his pocket, and the weapon, which belonged to the lad himself, was
slung over his shoulder after the manner of a professional hunter. Then
making sure that nothing had been left behind, Fred gave his sister and
mother a warm hug and kiss apiece, called to them a jaunty good-by, and
set his face toward the Ozark mountains.
It had become known that he was to start on quite a lengthy journey, and
those who were astir at that early hour called their hearty good wishes
to the lad, who was popular with all. Fred looked for Terry, and seeing
nothing of him, shouted his name as he passed by his door, but receiving
no response, concluded that he was still asleep.
The heart of the boy was light as he strode at a rapid pace across the
clearing. He felt no inconvenience from the bruises received the day
before, during the passage of the rapids, and his natural buoyancy
caused him to look upon the tramp through the woods as a school boy
views his long expected vacation. There was no fear of any peril in the
stretch of unbroken forest that opened before him. It was fortunate
indeed for his peace of mind that he did not know what was awaiting him
in the dark arches and labyrinths of the almost interminable
wilderness.
CHAPTER XII.
A STRANGE ANIMAL.
When Fred Linden reached the creek where he had met with his stirring
adventure the day before, he could not help smiling. It had shrunk to
its usual volume, and was winding along as lazily as usual, the only
sign of the violent freshet being the _debris_ left along the bank and
the slightly roiled appearance of the current.
The pioneers had so many occasions to cross this stream of water that
they had made several attempts to put up a rude but strong bridge; but
no matter what pains they took, they could never erect a structure
strong enough to withstand the furious freshets which, as you can well
understand, were often resistless.
The result, therefore, was a reliance upon the canoes, some of which lay
on one side of the stream and some on the other; but a surprise awaited
young Linden. Seeing no boat in sight, he walked along the shore in
quest of one, for he was resolved to keep out of the water as long as he
could, though a lad on the frontier makes far less ado about dripping
garments than you or I.
That which surprised him was the sight of a long, uprooted tree which,
coming down the creek, when the water was rapidly falling, had swung
around in such position that the roots caught fast in the clayey soil on
the bank, and the limbs were imbedded in the sand and mud on the other
shore. The result was as good a bridge as a foot traveler could want.
"That will do until there comes another rise," he said, as he carefully
stepped upon the limbs, using them to reach the trunk, along which he
walked across the water, leaping to the ground on the other side.
He stepped off with his elastic gait, keeping so close to the path that
he and Terry had taken the day before that he caught sight of the bushes
around the splintered trunk of the tree where the rifle captured from
the Winnebago had been hidden.
"He'll be over early to get his prize," thought Fred; "for it is beyond
all worth to him. If it wouldn't make him feel so bad I would plague him
a little by hiding it."
He parted the bushes and peered within. The first object on which his
eye fell was the battered old cow-bell that had played such a curious
part the day before, but he saw nothing of the gun itself; a brief but
hurried search convinced him that it was gone.
"That will break Terry's heart," said he to himself; "he never owned a
gun, and now, to lose such a handsome one when it has been in his
possession only a brief while, will grieve him as much as the loss of a
dear friend."
Just then young Linden caught the faint but clear notes of some one
whistling. He had but to listen a second or two, when he recognized it,
as he did the hearty laugh that followed. Looking to his right, he saw
Terry himself standing but a few paces away, and, so to speak, in his
"war paint." Bullet pouch, powder-horn, bundle on his back, and, more
than all, the splendid rifle was there. The round, chubby face, clear
eyes, and pug nose of the Irish lad seemed to radiate delight as he
made an elaborate salute to his friend, and, with mock gravity, doffed
his hat and scraped his foot along the ground. "Why, Terry," said the
delighted Fred, asking the useless question, "what is the meaning of
this?"
"I'm going wid ye to the camp in the Ozark Mountains; do ye think I
could rist aisy, knowin' that ye had to travel such a long distance wid
no one to take care of ye?"
"Well, now, that just pleases me more than I can tell you," said the
overjoyed Fred, slapping him on the shoulder; "there isn't any one in
the wide world whose company I want as bad as yours; I lay awake half of
last night trying to get up some plan by which I could have you with me,
but I couldn't think of any, and had to give it up. Father sent only for
me, and I didn't suppose that Mr. MacClaskey would spare you. Tell me
how you managed it."
A quizzical expression came upon the face of the Irish lad, who, leaning
on his rifle, took off his hat and scratched his head for a few seconds
before answering.
"Wal, bein' it's yersilf, Fred, I don't mind sayin' that it took some
strategy, as I suppose Deerfut would call it. Last night, after we had
eat our supper, and the chores were done wid, and Mr. MacClaskey had
took his seat by the fire and lit his pipe, and Mrs. MacClaskey had
started her spinning-wheel a-hummin', and the children had been packed
off to bed, I told the folks the whole story. I managed it in such a
style that the owld gentleman, who, you know, has spint two winters in
the mountains, said it would make the folks out there desprit short of
hands. I observed, in me careless way, that such was the case, and that
Mr. Linden had sent word to ye that he wanted ye to come, and, from
things that I knew, me own prisence would give great satisfaction to
sartin parties. Ye understand that I had yersilf in me eye, though I
didn't think there was nade of making it all plain how it was.
"Wai, the owld gintleman wouldn't listen to me goin' away, but I managed
it so well that after awhile he kind of remarked that if the folks
wanted me, he'd no objection to me goin', as he belaved that I would
make more there than I would at home.
"_That_ was the p'int," added Terry, with a wink, as he replaced his
cap; "and there was where me genius showed itself; I spoke about the big
lot of furs that had to be gathered, and how much money the hunters
would make, and what a chance there was for a risin' young man of
industrious habits. The owld gintleman took it in, and at last said,
bein' as I had the new gun, why he didn't know but what I might give it
a trial.
"Wal, that was all I wanted. I started to run over last night to tell
ye, but afore I got to yer house I thought of this 'cute plan of
s'prisin' ye. I got all ready last night, ate breakfast airly, and was
down here and had me gun just as I observed ye makin' yer way across the
clearin' toward this spot."
And so it came about that on this beautiful sunshiny day in autumn, Fred
Linden and Terry Clark set out, each with ammunition and loaded rifle,
for a hundred mile tramp toward the wild region of the Ozark Mountains.
The air was crisp and cool, and every thing joined to give them a
buoyancy of spirits such as falls to the lot only of rugged, growing
boys in bounding health.
The two, however, had seen enough of life in the woods to know that the
sunshine and clear air would not last. They might continue until they
reached camp, but more than likely clouds, rain, chilly weather and
possibly a flurry of snow would overtake them. Winter was at hand, and
though, as I have shown, they were in quite a temperate clime, it was
subject to violent changes, as trying as those in a much more northern
latitude.
Besides, the trail, although distinctly marked, did not lead over any
thing like even ground all the way. Long before they could reach the
vicinity of the camp the character of the country told of the wild,
rocky region, covering thousands of square miles, and known as the Ozark
Mountains. No route could lead to such a distance through an unsettled
country without crossing a number of streams, and passing through
regions that were any thing but attractive to the traveler.
All this, however, gave just the element of danger and difficulty to the
enterprise that was one of the most delightful features to the young
lads, who stepped off with swinging gait to the southward. Had the
journey been smooth and even, it would have lost the major part of its
charms.
The boys carried enough with them to give them all they were likely to
need in the way of food for twenty-four hours. It would have been little
trouble to take enough to last through the four days; but there was
something unprofessional in such a course which caused their souls to
rebel. The magnificent forest contained plenty of game, and they would
have been poor sportsmen, indeed, had they confessed by their action
that they distrusted their ability to procure it.
The trail over which the two walked, Fred slightly in advance, was
marked with such distinctness by the hoofs of the six horses that had
passed along it in Indian file but a short time before that it was no
trouble for the boys to recognize it, nor were they likely to have any
difficulty in keeping to it throughout the whole distance.
It was a little past noon, when they reached a small brook whose
current was so cold and clear that they took a long draught from it, and
then sat down and ate their simple lunch. They felt little fatigue, and
as a goodly number of miles remained to be traveled, according to the
schedule of Fred Linden, they leaped lightly across the waste and were
soon under way again.
"Do you know," said Fred, later in the afternoon, "that I've been
thinking we have not paid enough attention to one or two important
matters."
"What are they?"
"I don't know what has become of Deerfoot, and we may not see him again;
but we know enough of him to understand that whatever he says is worth
remembering. Now, he told us yesterday that that Winnebago, from whom he
took that rifle, belonged to a party of those warriors, and it seems to
me that if they are anywhere, it is between us and the camp, and we are
likely to see more of them."
"I'm of the same opinion with yersilf, but jest now there is somethin'
else that gives me concern."
"What is that?" asked the surprised Fred, stopping and turning around.
"Some person or animal has been followin' us for the last half hour.
I've heard it more than once, and it ain't fur off this very minute."
The two boys stood still and looked over the trail along which they had
been traveling. Fred Linden's fear was that Terry had discovered the
presence of some of the very Winnebagos whom he dreaded, but he was
mistaken. That which they saw was not a person, but a strange animal of
such fierce mien and hostile intent that they instantly looked to their
rifles, knowing that a savage fight was inevitable.
CHAPTER XIII.
A TROUBLESOME VISITOR.
There is no reason to discredit the truth of the accounts given by
hunters in the west of wild beasts of prodigious activity, strength and
ferocity, and that, belonging to no distinct class of animals, are a
mixture of the fiercest. Trappers and explorers in the wild regions of
the Rocky Mountains, sometimes meet a beast to which they have given the
expressive name of "Indian devil," whose power and daring are such that
a party of veteran hunters have been known to withdraw from a section
frequented by him, simply to avoid a fight. While the stories about them
may be exaggerated at times, there is no doubt that such animals exist,
and there is good reason to hold them in dread.
The beast that Fred Linden and Terry Clark saw in the path before them
resembled a panther more than any animal they could call to mind. It
might have been described as a cross between a tiger and panther, had
that been possible. Fred had heard his father speak of those creatures
that were detested and feared, and he was sure that they were going to
have trouble with this one. How fortunate that each boy held a loaded
gun in his grasp!
The action of the hybrid was as peculiar as his appearance. He seemed to
have been trotting quietly along the trail with his nose down, as though
following the scent, when he became aware that his game had stopped, and
were surveying him with some interest. The beast also came to an abrupt
halt and threw up his head, as though he was equally curious to learn
something about the party of the first part.
Standing thus, with his nose quite high in the air, it struck both boys
that he showed a resemblance to a wolf as well as a panther. He was
larger than either, and there could be no doubt that he was amazingly
muscular, active and courageous.
Thus stood the opposing parties, as they may be called, for a full
minute. Each looked steadily at the other, the space between them being
no more than fifty yards. Had it been less, both boys would have fired
at him, but they were afraid that such wounds as they could inflict
would only rouse his fury. One of the most marked peculiarities of the
"Indian devil" is his toughness, some of the stories in this respect
being almost incredible.
All at once the beast seemed to be overcome with disgust for the two
youngsters. He whisked squarely about and trotted away, showing a bushy
fox-like tail that almost swept the ground.
"I call that an insoolt!" exclaimed Terence Clark, bringing his gun to
his shoulder, taking quick aim and letting fly, before his companion
could object. He insisted that he had hit the animal, but it is likely
he was mistaken, for it gave no sign of being touched, trotting with the
same even step until it passed from sight around a bend in the path.
"I hit him hard," insisted Terry, who proceeded to reload his piece;
"there's no doubt of the same."
"If you had done so, he would have given some evidence of it, but there
was not the slightest."
"Ye know that such creatures are tough," coolly remarked Terry; "and the
bullet has glanced off his side as from a rock."
"If I could believe that," said the other, "I would hide somewhere until
he went away, for it would be only a waste of powder and ball to shoot
at him."
"Hasn't he gone off? What are ye talking about?"
"Gone away? Yes; for awhile, but we are not done with that beast yet; we
shall have trouble with him."
"If we keep our guns loaded and our powder dry, we'll open on him, and
if we can't kill him we'll fill him with so much lead that he won't be
able to travel fast, and we'll bid him good-by and walk from him."
The boys waited a few minutes, thinking possibly that the strange
creature would show himself again, but he did not appear, and they
turned about and resumed their journey.
They were now on one of the best stretches of the trail. The ground was
even, there were no bowlders or rocks in the path to make walking
difficult, and the undergrowth, which in some places was quite an
obstruction, did not interfere. By the middle of the afternoon, Fred was
confident they were twenty miles at least on the road, and he said that
if they came upon an inviting place, they would go into camp for the
night. The package which each carried on his back was wrapped in a
blanket that could be used to lie upon by the fire, or in severe
weather, though they would have cared little had they owned nothing of
the kind.
Their good spirits continued, and they were walking at a leisurely pace,
when a rustling in the bushes on the left caused them to look in that
direction. There stood the strange beast, not fifty feet away, head
erect, and staring at them with the same inquiring look that he showed
some time before.
"I wonder how he likes a side view of us," said Terry, partly amused,
but somewhat frightened; "I think he is close enough for us to fetch him
this time."
Fred was inclined to give him a shot, but he felt some doubt, and while
he was considering the question, the beast whisked about and vanished
like a flash.
"He is a strange animal," said Fred, lowering his gun, which he was in
the act of raising; "and I am more satisfied now than ever that we shall
have trouble with him. The first time that we gain a fair shot, that is,
like we had just now, let's tumble him over. He may be as daring and
tough as the hunters say, but there isn't any animal tough enough to
withstand a couple of well-aimed bullets."
"I agree wid ye--that is, after one was fired. That shot of mine was
well aimed and struck, but it takes somethin' more to bring him down, as
a colored friend of mine once said when a house tumbled over on his
head."
"You saw how spry a creature he is, and if he should happen to drop down
upon us from the branch of a tree, those sharp claws of his would play
the mischief with us."
Since there was no place in sight that suited for camping, Terry
reloaded, and they kept on. After the fright they had received, you may
be sure they maintained a close watch of the wood in every direction. As
yet they had seen no game from which to procure food, but they wanted
to go into camp near a spring or stream of water. The latter is
generally looked upon as one of the indispensables by a party of
campers, and it was not likely that the youths would have to travel far
before finding what they wanted.
The sun had not yet dropped below the horizon when they struck the very
spot. There were the bubbling brook, lined by mossy banks, the small
open space, the tall column-like trunks; and the heavy overhanging
boughs, which, late though it was in the season, would allow but few
drops of a shower to find their way through. The air was cool, but there
were no signs of a storm.
"There couldn't be a better place," said Fred, when he had noted all the
points; "here is every thing that a party can want, except it be supper,
which they ought to bring with them."
"And somebody has been here ahead of us," added Terry, kicking apart the
ashes at the base of a large tree; "there's where the fire was
kindled."
"No doubt it is where father and the rest of them spent the first night
after leaving home: that shows that we have made good progress, and, if
no accident happens, we shall arrive on time."
"There is no need of our hurryin', as I understood that a gintleman once
obsarved whin they were goin' to hang him; if we are two or three days
late in gettin' there, what's the odds?"
"None--though this fine weather can not last long, and when it is over,
I should like to be at the end of our journey, where we shall have good
shelter. I wonder what has become of the wild beast?"
"Be the powers! but there he comes!"
The words had hardly passed the lips of the startled Terry Clark, when
the strange animal was seen in the path in front of them, in precisely
the same position as when first noticed. He had evidently passed around
to the front, as though determined to study the boys from every point of
view. He seemed to have been standing for some minutes before discovered
by the boys, and was now observed approaching, as the Irish lad had
announced.
He did not gallop or trot, but walked slowly, just as though having made
up his mind to take a select meal off the youngsters, he was going to do
so with the deliberation of an epicure that extracts the fullest
enjoyment from his delicacies.
There was something unnerving in the sight of the frightful animal
approaching in this noiseless fashion, his jaws parted just enough to
show his long, white teeth, but giving utterance to no growl, or
threatening act, beyond the mere advance itself. His large, round eyes
had a phosphorescent glow, and the long, sinewy body and limbs were the
repository of a strength and activity that might well make a veteran
hunter timid about encountering him.
"By gracious!" said Fred Linden; "we're in for it now; he doesn't mean
to wait for us to attack him, but is coming for us."
"If I was called on to make a wager," said Terry, as cool as ever, "that
would be the view that I would take of the same."
"You fire first and I will follow; take good aim, and send your bullet
right between the eyes."
There was no time to spare, for the beast at that instant was within a
dozen yards. Terry Clark brought his rifle to his shoulder, sighted
quickly, and pulled the trigger.
That he struck the creature was proven by his snarling growl and slight
upward leap; but instead of stopping, he broke into a gallop and came
straight on.
Then Fred Linden aimed and fired, but he also failed to check the
advance of the animal.
CHAPTER XIV.
A WELCOME ALLY.
Fred Linden, like his companion, aimed directly between the eyes of the
strange beast, and, like him, he struck the mark; but both shots only
served to awake the irrestrainable ferocity of the animal, which, with
another rasping howl and parted jaws, bounded toward them. Since both
weapons were discharged, and they had no other firearms, the boys were
almost helpless, and it may be said their enemy was upon them.
"Run!" called out Fred, wheeling about and leaping toward a tree, behind
which he took refuge; but sturdy Terry had no thought of turning away
from such a foe. Throwing one foot back so as to steady himself, he
seized his fine rifle with both hands, near to the muzzle, and held it
so as to use it as a club or shillaleh.
The brute was so close that he had no more than time to gather his
strength, and swing the heavy stock with might and main, when the animal
bounded at him straight from the ground.
There was a "dull thud," as it may be called, and the stock crashed
against the side of the beast's head, knocking him a couple of yards to
the left, and almost at the feet of Fred Linden; but in point of fact
the blow did no harm except to thwart the creature for a second or two.
He was now snarling, and gave utterance to one or two peculiar barking
sounds like a dog or wolf. His eyes were ablaze, and there could be no
doubt that his fury was at white heat. Crouching for an instant, he made
a bound for Terry, before he had time to balance himself to deliver his
second blow with the same power as the first.
Fred Linden could not stand still and see his companion torn to shreds
in that fashion. He leaped from behind the tree, with his gun also
clubbed, and hastened to strike with all his might; but he was too
late.
It was a curious fact, not understood at the moment, that the savage
creature, although he leaped straight at Terry, passed fully two feet
over his head, and that, too, when the lad was standing erect, and
braced to deliver his second blow.
Striking on his belly, several paces beyond, the beast rolled over and
over, clawing, snapping, snarling, and beating the air, with
lightning-like blows. The leaves and dust flew in all directions, and
the foam which he spat from his jaws was flecked with blood.
He continued rolling and struggling until he was a rod distant, and then
suddenly stopped, stone dead.
In the excitement and swirl of the moment both Fred and Terry were
conscious that their guns were not the only ones that were fired. At the
instant the brute was in the act of rising from the ground a second time
for his leap, the sharp report of another rifle was heard. The peril was
so imminent that the lads could give no attention just then to any thing
but the immediate business in hand; but now, seeing their fearful foe
was dead, they knew that it was the third bullet that had done it, and
they glanced around to see who their friend was.
No one was in sight, and they advanced to the carcass, which they were
somewhat timid about touching, even though convinced that it was beyond
the power of doing any more harm. They saw that both of their bullets
had struck the skull, though not at the precise points at which they
aimed. One had passed near the right eye of the nondescript, and must
have inflicted serious injury, but its toughness would have enabled it
to keep up the fight, and to have slain both of the boys before they
could have reloaded and fired a second time.
A little search showed where the fatal wound had been given. Just in
front of the fore leg the lead had entered and gone through the heart.
No animal, so far as known, amounts to any thing after his heart has
been torn in twain, though he may live and move for a time.
"I tell you, Terry, that I don't believe there is another beast in the
country that, after receiving two bullets in the head, like that, could
make such a fight."
"I begs to corrict ye," said the other; "it was three shots, for do ye
not mind that I bored a hole through him when we first made his
acquaintance?"
"So you claimed, but you haven't explained how it was that such a shot
could be made without leaving any wound?"
"It may have healed up since then," suggested the Irish lad, who knew as
well as his companion that the first bullet did not touch the beast.
"I hadn't thought of that," meekly observed Fred; "but there is one
thing certain, that if that last shot hadn't been fired, it would have
been the last of us: where could it have come from?" he asked, looking
around and finding the answer to his question in the sight of Deerfoot
the Shawanoe, who came from behind a clump of bushes on the other side
of the small stream.
Fred uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the graceful
young warrior, who was holding the stock of his gun in his left hand,
with the barrel resting idly in the hollow of his right arm. Fred
jumped across the brook, with hand extended to greet him.
"I'd rather see you than any person in the world," was the truthful
exclamation of the youth: "when you gave me the letter yesterday I
thought what a splendid trip this would be if Terry would go with me,
and behold, he has come! I would have liked to have you too but I didn't
dare say so, for I didn't think it was possible: but ever since we
started I have felt that we only lacked _you_ to make the party
complete. Now, ain't I glad to see you, and how are you, old fellow?"
The lad in his boisterous way wrung the hand of Deerfoot and slapped him
on the shoulder; then laughed, and shook hands again with an enthusiasm
that left no doubt of the cordiality of his welcome.
As for Deerfoot, he showed a gentle dignity that was never absent. His
faint smile lit up his handsome face, and he was pleased with the
pleasure of the others.
"Deerfoot has seen the faces of his brothers not many times, but it
brings sunshine to his heart to meet them again."
Then his countenance was crossed by an expression of gravity like an
eclipse passing over the face of the sun.
"Is my brother ill, that he suffers so much?"
This question referred to Terry Clark, Deerfoot looking over the
shoulder of Fred at the Irish lad behind him. Fred heard a curious
noise, and turned to learn what it meant. His friend had leaned his gun
against the nearest tree, so as to give his limbs free play, and was
flinging his arms aloft, and dancing a jig with a vigor that made it
look as if his legs were shot out, and back and forth, by some high
pressure engine. Now and then he flung his cap aloft, and, as it came
down, ducked his head under and dexterously caught it. His mouth was
puckered up most of the time, while he whistled with might and main,
though the energy of his general movements shut out all resemblance to a
tune. Occasionally he stopped whistling and broke into snatches of song
which, from the same cause, could not be identified.
Fred Linden laughed. He was demonstrative, but not so much so as Terry.
Looking sideways at Deerfoot, he saw his eyes sparkling and the corners
of his mouth twitching. Rarely had he been amused as much as he now was
by the extravagant manifestations of the Irish lad, for whom he had
formed a strong regard.
Deerfoot and Fred having turned their glances toward Terry, the latter
appeared to catch sight of them for the first time. With a whoop he
flung his hat higher than ever in the air, caught it with right side up
on his crown as it came down, and then shouted:
"How are yees, me friends?" and made a dash for them.
In his enthusiasm he forgot the brook running through a small hollow
between them. His feet went down in the depression without any knowledge
on his part, and he sprawled headlong, his cap rolling at the feet of
Deerfoot, who pushed the toe of his moccasin under the edge, and flung
it to him as he rose to his feet.
"It's all the same, and a part of the show," laughed Terry, "as the wife
of the bear-keeper obsarved when the bear ate him up, and it's how are
ye, and how do ye ixpect to be, and what have ye to say for yersilf, and
why are ye so long answerin' me quistion?"
Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his
cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun
leaning against the tree, and said:
"When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of
his arm."
"Yer moral sentiments are corrict," remarked Terry, hurrying back--this
time without falling--to regain his piece. When he once more stood
beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both:
"Are the guns of my brothers loaded?"
Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of
the hunter's life, which is that the first thing to be done after
discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not
remember that he had ever forgotten it before.
"It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be
ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a
beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?"
The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name
for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew,
that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed,
all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals
of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys
from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later,
or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury.
CHAPTER XV.
"DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT."
"We are on our way to the camp in the Ozarks," said Fred Linden; "and am
I mistaken in believing that you will go with us all the way?"
"Such is the wish of Deerfoot," replied the Shawanoe, whereat Terry
Clark gave signs of breaking out again; but at a warning look from Fred
he restrained himself.
"Deerfoot loves the Hunters of the Ozark; he has promised to make them a
visit; he will do so with his friends that he has found in the woods,
and who forget to keep their guns loaded."
"No use!" exclaimed Terry, bounding in the air, striking his heels
together, and flinging his hat aloft with a loud whoop; "I must give
gintle exprission to me emotions, even though it makes a war with
England."
The others showed no objection to this harmless ebullition, and he
speedily became quiet again.
Had Fred Linden been intimately acquainted with Deerfoot, he would have
noticed that he was not entirely at ease. Now and then he darted glances
about him, as though he half expected the appearance of some unwelcome
person. The glances were so quick and furtive that neither Fred nor
Terry noticed them.
"Deerfoot," said Fred, the three still standing; "we have concluded that
there isn't a better place along the trail for a camp."
To the surprise of the boys, he shook his head in dissent.
"Why, this is where father and the rest spent the night when they last
went this way."
He nodded to signify that he agreed with them.
"There were three of them, and they had their horses, that could not be
well hid; when my brothers go into camp for the night, they should take
a place where all who went by would not see them."
It struck the others as curious that the Shawanoe should talk in that
fashion, when they could not see any cause for alarm; but they had
enough faith in him to accept his judgment on such an important matter.
He added:
"Come with Deerfoot and he will show his brothers where they may slumber
in peace."
Without any more explanation the Shawanoe moved down the bank of the
brook, following a course parallel to the flow of the water, the other
two keeping at his heels. He did not look around until he had gone more
than a hundred yards. Then it was that the little party found itself in
a rocky section, with a rough cavern on their right--that is, the
bowlders and rocks were jumbled together in such a fashion that there
was some resemblance to a cave. The chief merit of the place, however,
was the privacy that it afforded, rather than the strength as a means of
defense against an enemy.
"This suits very well," said Fred, taking in all the points at a glance;
"here is a rocky bed on which we can start a fire, and the other rocks
and bowlders will keep off the wind, if there happens to be any; the
water is handy, if we should need it, and it is certain that we are not
as likely to be seen here as where we first selected."
"Deerfut," said Terry, who was nosing about, "I obsarve ashes here, as
though somebody had been ahead of us."
"Deerfoot built a fire but a few moons ago, and staid over night."
"If it was good enough for ye, I can stand it," said Terry, "which is
the remark me uncle made when the Duke of Argyle asked him to stay to
dinner."
The boys unfastened the bundles from their backs and prepared to spend
the night where they were. The blankets were spread on the flinty floor,
and Deerfoot, setting down his gun beside theirs, helped to gather the
wood with which to keep a fire burning. The three were so active that it
took but a short time to collect all that was needed. This was thrown
into one pile, from which it could be withdrawn as wanted.
I must give you a better idea of the spot where the three decided to
spend their first night in the woods together. They had walked northward
from the trail, and, so far as they could see, the country was of the
most broken nature, though the abundance of trees and undergrowth did
not permit an extended view. Two masses of stone rose to the height of a
dozen feet, and were separated by about the same distance. These rough
walls extended back to a distance of three or four yards, where they
came against a similar formation. Thus, as may be said, there were three
sides to an inclosure, that part facing the brook being entirely open.
On top of these supports were tumbled an irregular mass of bowlders and
rocks which formed the roof. The latter had so many openings that it was
as well ventilated as the roof of the house about which the Arkansas
Traveler tells us.
The rear part of the cavern, if it may be allowed that name, was stone,
while the front was earth. Near the center, Deerfoot had kindled his
fire when he staid there, the smoke finding ready escape through the
openings above. Such a fire might give some warmth were it needed, but
the blaze was so well hidden by the surrounding walls that it was not
likely to be seen by any one passing no nigher than fifty feet: therein
lay the reason why it was selected by Deerfoot.
After piling up the fuel for the night, the youths threw some branches
on the ground, near the rear of the cavern, and then spread their
blankets over them. The Shawanoe carried no blanket with him, so it was
expected that he would share the couch of his friends.
While the three were busying themselves in this manner, Fred Linden was
disturbed by a suspicion that had been growing from the moment Deerfoot
expressed dissatisfaction with the spot selected for their camp. This
suspicion was that the young Indian had a fear of something to which, as
yet, he had made no reference.
I have already shown that it was not generally considered a dangerous
business in which the hunters of Ozark engaged. The rough, outdoor life
sometimes brought with it hardships, and occasionally sufferings, but
chief among the dangers was not that from Indians. It was known that
now and then the red men fired spiteful shots at the invaders of their
hunting grounds (as was the case with Michael Clark, the father of
Terence), but in this section of the west that particular peril was
deemed less than that which threatened from wild beasts. There was no
instance of the hunters having been molested on their way to and from
the trapping regions: why then this special caution of Deerfoot?
Fred Linden, while turning these thoughts over in his mind, gave but the
one answer--_the Winnebago_. He was an intruder in that part of
Louisiana, and he had shown by his acts how ready he was to shed the
blood of innocent white persons. It was not a supposition merely that
this fierce warrior had companions. The keen eyes of Deerfoot had
discovered the proofs that there were a half dozen, at least, with him,
and from whom he separated for a short time while he entered into the
"side speculation" with Brindle and her bell; so it will be seen that
Fred Linden was not only right in his suspicion that the Wolf had to do
with the unrest of Deerfoot, but that the latter possessed good cause
for his misgiving.
The Winnebagos, having drifted so far away from their own hunting
grounds into this part of the world, were either going further from
home, or were on their way back. Had the Wolf behaved himself, the band
would have gone and come without the knowledge of any of the pioneers,
unless there was a chance meeting in the wood, when it is not likely
that any harm would have resulted.
But one of the Winnebagos was struck in the face by a white boy, while a
young Indian, a friend of the latter, having "got the drop" on the Wolf,
had taken his gun from him. In other words, the crime of assault and
robbery had been committed.
Would the rest of the Winnebagos pocket the outrage and meekly withdraw
from the country?
That, it would be seen, was the all important question, upon which great
events, as affecting the friends in whom we are interested, hinged.
It was in violation of the nature of the American race that any member
thereof should refuse to resent an indignity, when there was a chance
of doing so. The Winnebagos had the best of reasons for believing that,
by prowling around the settlement, or along the trail leading thereto,
they would soon gain an opportunity to wipe out the disgrace put upon
the Wolf, and, if not able to get back the gun that had been taken from
him, would be able to procure another.
The fact that this valuable weapon was carried in the hands of a boy,
who had started to tramp through the woods to a point a hundred miles
off, and that it was not at all impossible that the Winnebagos found, or
would find it out, gave emphasis to the cause of Deerfoot's uneasiness.
It is worthy of note that, while Terry Clark never once took this view
of the situation, it occurred to his friend Fred, who waited for the
Shawanoe to make some reference to it.
"He knows best, and if he doesn't choose to say any thing about it,
there is no call for me to do so."
The shadows of night were creeping through the wood when the fire was
started, and the smoke began stealing upward through the openings in
the rocky roof.
"Deerfoot," said Fred, when the fire crackled brightly, "the rule is,
that a party in camp like this, must have some one on guard while the
others sleep. I don't know as there is any need now, but if you think
so, let Terry and me do it, for we are not in need of sleep."
The Shawanoe looked at him intently for a moment as though he would read
his thoughts, and then quietly said:
"Deerfoot will be sentinel to-night!"
CHAPTER XVI.
AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was
wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour,
when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but
he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from
a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted.
Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern,
where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light,
and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough,
but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites
were such as wait on high health.
It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much
as each of the others. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from
the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he
would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him.
When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was
a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out
the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance.
He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight,
was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the
incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I
could not have detected, would have told their full story to him.
But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood
fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small
brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he
paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the
cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream once more,
brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to
climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have
made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened
with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern
within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together
in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would
have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the
large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its
way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below.
The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no
sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place
where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in
the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most
exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered
the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had
just thrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like
that of noonday.
Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the
Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for
the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered,
so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth
floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling
attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and
through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a
similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth
of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way
between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did
not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental,
though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe.
The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make
the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always
showed a deliberation in his speech, as if he weighed each word before
allowing it to fall from his lips.
Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and
since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions
until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long
conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe
chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a
small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white
people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death,
that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people
against the white settlements.
He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that,
but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the
world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to
harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost
children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt
attention, and all in time (as you have been told in another place),
the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek
and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing
him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and
devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men.
Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences
with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton
and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had
rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions
of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst:
they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into
their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them.
Finally the efforts to take him prisoner became so far reaching that he
saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The
rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their
campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young
renegade, whom they hated with a hatred like that of the tigers of the
jungle.
You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as
an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to
them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such
high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the
country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory.
There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end
his days.
"Deerfoot," said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended,
"Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better
satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with
you."
"Why does my brother think of danger?"
"Because _you_ do; I know it by your actions."
The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think
that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend
was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions,
Fred added:
"I don't know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you
started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am
quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and
the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the
lookout for a chance to revenge themselves."
Deerfoot's face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head.
"My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of
Deerfoot."
Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment.
"How come ye to know all that, Fred?"
"I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the
actions of Deerfoot since he joined us to-day. In the first place, he
wouldn't have made us change our camping place if he hadn't had some
misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and
his decision to keep watch to-night: why what could tell the story more
plainly?"
"Begorrah," said the admiring Terry, "ye are not such a big fool as you
look to be; I never thought of that."
"Which looks as if you are a bigger dunce than you seem; but," added
Fred, turning toward the Shawanoe, "have you seen any thing of the
Winnebagos?"
"Deerfoot has seen their footprints in the woods; they are on the watch
for his white brothers that they may gain their scalps, because the gun
of the Wolf was taken from him."
"They seem to have hard work in finding us: where do those Winnebagos
come from?"
Deerfoot pointed to the northward, or rather to a little east of north.
"Their hunting grounds are many suns' travel that way."
"Why do the spalpeens come down in this part of the world, and why don't
they behave thimselves whin they do?" demanded Terry, with some
indignation.
Deerfoot shook his head, as though the question was more than he could
answer.
"Deerfoot has met Shawanoes and Sacs and Wyandottes and Pawnees far away
from their villages and hunting grounds, besides the strange Indians
who come much further from the setting sun. The red men travel whither
they will. Why the Winnebagos passed near the home of my brothers only
they can tell."
"Well, they're a bad lot," said Terry, "to try the mean trick they did
on me; though," he added the next moment, "I'm glad they done the same,
for if they hadn't, how would I've got hold of this lovely gun? Do ye
think we shall have any more trouble with them?"
"Deerfoot believes there will be trouble, and it will come soon!"
"Well, if it does, all ye have to do is to take away the rist of their
guns and set 'em on the run home agin."
CHAPTER XVII.
A SUSPICIOUS SOUND.
By and by Fred Linden and Terry Clark became drowsy. Devoutly kneeling,
they spent several minutes in prayer, and then stretched out on a single
blanket, with their backs toward each other, and the face of Fred in
such a position that he could look across the blaze at Deerfoot on the
other side. The latter had remained still and motionless, while the
lads, remembering the lesson they had learned at their mothers' knee,
asked their Heavenly Father to hold them in His keeping. The young
Shawanoe, who spent many an hour in communion with his Maker, was
touched to see that his friends did not forget their duty.
Deerfoot stirred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and
then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came
directly in his face (the worst direction possible), he drew from
beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to
him by the Preston family, and began reading it.
Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his
drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him
turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had
in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his
elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he
seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his
surroundings.
Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this
remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his
eyes misty with emotion.
The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they
could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair,
with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming
beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and
arms to the wrists, on the left one of which shone the golden bracelet;
the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the
brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small,
ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure;
but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any
thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the
figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could
not help saying to himself:
"There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he."
And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the
young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the
person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his
whole speed.
"He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to
meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet
fired at him."
I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind.
"And he is reading his Bible! I never in all my life saw an Indian who
could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross
or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to
teach school for us at Greville."
Fred thought a great many queer things about his new friend, but lay
watching him fully ten minutes before he spoke. Then, when he saw him
turn a leaf, he said in a low voice:
"Deerfoot, will you please read aloud?"
Fred expected that the Shawanoe would start and look up in surprise; but
he never raised his eyes, or gave the least sign that these words of his
were unexpected. He knew that Fred was watching him from the first, and
so, before the words were more than fairly out of his mouth, Deerfoot
began reading in a low, impressive monotone, as though he had merely
resumed, after turning over the leaf.
"After this I beheld, and lo! a great multitude, which no man could
number, of all nations, and kindred, and people, and tongues, stood
before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and
palms in their hands;
"And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders,
and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces and
worshiped God.
"Singing, Amen; blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor
and power and might be unto our God for ever and for ever, Amen.
"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, Who are these which are
arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?
"And I said unto him, sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me, these are
they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and
night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among
them.
"They shall hunger no more, neither shall they thirst any more; neither
shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.
"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and
shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe
away all tears from their eyes."
Deerfoot read a few minutes longer from his favorite part in the New
Testament and then ceased. He had not lifted his eyes from the page, but
he knew that Fred Linden was asleep. He observed it in his breathing,
which was as soft as that of an infant.
The rocky cavern, the smoldering camp-fire, the two sleeping boys, the
motionless Indian stretched out and reading his Bible by the faint
light, the great, solemn forest walling them in, the profound stillness
that reigned everywhere: these were elements in a picture the like of
which it may be said (except where Deerfoot was one of the figures), had
never been seen anywhere else, and was not likely ever to be seen again.
The fire sank lower and the light on the printed page became so dim that
even the keen eyes of the young Shawanoe could not trace the words. He
looked at the embers as if asking himself whether he should renew the
blaze and continue reading. But the hour for meditation had come, and he
closed the book. Looking fondly at the stiff, wooden cover, he touched
his lips with infinite tenderness to it, and carefully placed it in the
inner receptacle of his hunting-shirt, murmuring as he did so:
"The best friend that Deerfoot ever knew!"
O light of life! Comforter of the sorrowing heart! Consoler of the
stricken soul!
In the flush of bounding health, when the passions throb high, we may
not heed thy blessed teachings, but when man's promises prove false, and
the head bows before the endless strife, and woes overwhelm us like a
flood, there is relief, there is light, there is life in Thee. The
wicked may jeer, the learned may scoff, the powerful may despise, the
favored may turn away, but there comes the time when learning, gifts,
wealth, power, beauty and all the world can give turn to ashes, and they
have no boon compared to Thine. "And God shall wipe away all tears from
their eyes." The pampered monarch, the dying beggar, the statesman, the
slave, the mother bowed with woe, the father shaken with grief,
childhood in its innocence, man in his strength, beauty in its scorn,
trembling old age, can find no balm but in Thee. Better that the sun
should be blotted from the heavens and the earth left a trackless void
than that Thy light should be denied the world.
Deerfoot lay flat on his face, his arms crossed so that his head and
shoulders were held a few inches above the flinty floor, and his dark
eyes were fixed on the embers in front. It was his favorite enjoyment,
when the stirring incidents of the day were done, and he had read from
the only Book he ever wanted to read, to spend a time in meditating on
the truths that it may be said had become a part of his very being.
Many a time had he lain thus, as motionless as if dead, while the
wonderful brain was busy with thoughts that stirred the profoundest
depths of his nature. There are beliefs that come to us at which reason
may laugh, but which it can not shake or disturb. There are questions
that the glib unbeliever may ask that we can not answer. But away down
in our hearts is a faith which the whole world can not remove, and which
can be uprooted only by ourselves. Woe to him who dares lay violent
hands upon it!
Deerfoot no more doubted that he and every one was in the direct keeping
of God than he doubted that he breathed and moved. He knew that the
Great Spirit had caused him to be made a prisoner by whites so that he
might learn the way of life; he knew that He had given him an insight
into the mysteries of His word that was denied to many others. A deep,
outstretching sympathy for those less favored than he suffused his whole
being. Gladly would he have given up his life in pain and torture and
agony, as did One in the dim long ago, if by so doing he could earn the
smile of his Heavenly Father.
But this remarkable young Christian felt that he was doing the work
appointed for him to do. Here and there he dropped a word that proved to
be seed sown upon good ground, and which had borne its fruit. He had met
his enemies in fair combat and had never taken wrong advantage of them:
his marvelous bow and arrow, and his still more effective rifle, had
brought many a dusky miscreant low, but he had used his amazing gifts in
the line of duty, and for the good of others. Would that he could have
won them by love, but it was not in the nature of things that he should
do so. He had "broken the Bread of Life" to more than one, and he hoped
that ere he should be called home, he should point the way to others.
Suddenly he raised his chin from his hands and turned his head slightly
to one side. His ear, whose acuteness was almost beyond belief, had
caught a suspicious sound. Profound as might be the meditation of the
Shawanoe, he could never forget his surroundings.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.
The crisp autumn night had not reached its turn when the full moon
climbed from behind the straggling clouds obscuring her face, into the
clear air above, and shone down on the wilderness, with the same calm
splendor with which it had shone during the ages before the foot of a
white man had rested on the soil of our country. Here and there, at
widely-separated points, as the orb moved toward the zenith, could be
seen the star-like twinkles of light which showed where the sparse
settlements had been planted by the pioneers. At intervals, too, miles
away from the clearings, could be distinguished the glimmer of the
hunters' camp-fires, where the hardy men had lain down wrapped in their
blankets, and to sleep the sleep of health. Still further away, by the
side of some calmly flowing river or creek, were the ragged tepees of
the wild Indians. Mountain, forest and stream made up the landscape,
that was illuminated by the moon on the night when Fred Linden and Terry
Clark lay down in slumber by the fire in the cavern, and Deerfoot the
Shawanoe took upon himself the duty of acting as a sentinel over them.
It was not yet midnight when the figure of a crouching Indian emerged
like a shadow from the little gully which marked the course of the tiny
stream in front of the camp. Just at the point where he appeared, a few
rays of the moonlight found their way among the limbs, and added
impressiveness to his appearance. A glance would have told that he had
approached at the most stealthy gait of which he was capable, and was
still using all the skill at his command.
Finding himself within the faint light of the moon, he straightened up,
like one who is not certain of his surroundings and is using his eyes
and ears to their utmost. Standing erect in this manner he showed
himself to be a full-grown warrior in middle life, of strong limbs and
frame, and attired in the usual dress of his people.
The long, coarse hair dangled about the shoulders, some of the strands
having fallen forward in front of the chest, at the time his head drew
it over while in a crouching posture. It grew so low on his forehead
that no more than an inch was between the roots and shaggy eyebrows.
Beneath these the eyes glittered like those of a snake. The ugly
features were made more ugly by the different colored paints--most of it
black--that was daubed over them, and the countenance was distorted by a
swelling recently produced.
The breast and arms were covered by deerskin, a fringe running down in
front to the belt, which held his tomahawk. The frightful horn-handled
knife was tightly grasped in his right hand. Below the belt was
breechcloth, followed by leggins and moccasins, but it was noticeable
that he carried no rifle with him.
Perhaps you have guessed the reason; he had none to carry, for he was
the Wolf who had been deprived of his valuable weapon on the day before
by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
As was learned in due time, the Winnebago, after being despoiled by
Deerfoot, had made all haste to rejoin his band, that were encamped at
no great distance from Greville. When he told his brother warriors of
the indignity to which he had been subjected, they were as rampart as he
for revenge. They were on the point of starting for a settlement,
intending to await the chance to shoot down some of the unsuspecting
people, when the leader, a man of iron will, interposed.
He said that according to the story of the Wolf himself, his gun had
been taken from him by a single warrior. A Winnebago ought to be ashamed
to confess such a thing, and the only way by which the Wolf could redeem
himself was to recover his gun unaided by any of his people. Let him
come back to the party with his rifle and then they would risk their
lives a dozen times over to repay the young Shawanoe and his youthful
friend (they knew nothing about Fred Linden) for the insult they had put
upon one of the leading warriors of the Winnebago tribe.
You can well understand how displeasing this decision was to the Wolf,
but there was no help for it. The warrior who gave the order was not
only the leader of the company, but the principal chief of the tribe. No
one dared to dispute his command, and he intimated that it was not only
necessary for the Wolf to recover his gun in order to enlist the
services of the rest, but his standing at home would be compromised if
he went back without his rifle and the story that it had been taken from
him by a single warrior of another tribe.
From this you will understand the eagerness with which the Wolf set out
to regain the weapon.
The fact that Fred Linden and Terry Clark left Greville the next morning
after the affair, mixed matters to that extent that, for a time, the
Winnebago was at fault. It was his intention to prowl around the
settlement, awaiting his chance, for he suspected that Deerfoot had gone
thither with the lad who had given the Wolf such a blow in the face; but
the discovery of the footprints of the two boys leading to the southward
mystified the Indian. He was quite close to the creek, and the sun had
crossed the meridian at the time this discovery was made. It was natural
that he should look for the trail of the Shawanoe, but he could not find
it.
Finally, with a half-suspicion of the truth, the Wolf went into the
settlement to make inquiries. He could speak enough broken English to
make himself understood, and, as it so happened, it was Mr. MacClaskey
himself whom he accosted. He told the inquirer the truth, adding that
Terry took with him a gun that was captured from a vagabond Indian. But
for that he would not have been allowed to go, for there was but one
rifle in the family, which the settler would trust in no hands but his
own for any length of time.
The Winnebago was shrewd enough to disarm any doubt that might have been
felt about himself. It was the rule in the settlement to show kindness
to every wandering Indian that visited them, and no one dreamed that any
thing was to be feared from the Wolf. But his heart was full of exulting
malignancy. He knew who had the gun, and aware that the two boys had
started for the camp of the Ozarks, he understood where to look for it.
The fact that the Winnebago had no gun with him would have caused the
belief that he was the vagabond Indian, had he not explained that he
left it in the woods as a token of comity.
The Wolf sauntered back until he was across the stream and out of sight.
Then he sped along the trail, with a long, loping trot, which his race
can maintain for hours without fatigue. He had a long distance to
travel, but he reached the scene of the encounter with the strange
animal, just as it was growing dark.
At this point, he showed admirable woodcraft. The signs on the ground
puzzled him for a time, but there was the carcass of the animal, and by
and by he found the imprints of the small moccasins, which told him that
the young Shawanoe had rejoined the others at this point.
As you can well believe, this was any thing but a pleasant discovery,
for, superior as was the strength of the Winnebago, he would have
preferred to meet the two boys, even though both were armed, than to
find himself face to face again with the remarkable Indian youth.
But there was no help for it, and the dusky Winnebago compressed his
coppery lips with the resolve that the gun should be in his hands before
the rising of the morrow's sun.
The light was rapidly fading among the trees and he improved what was
left of it. Prowling around the spot in a circle, with his nose close to
the ground, he discovered that the three youths had started along the
bank of the brook toward its head.
Thereupon the Winnebago formed the correct conclusion; they had moved
from the main trail (doubtless on the suggestion of the young Shawanoe),
in search of some place to encamp where there would be less danger of
detection.
By the time the Wolf had satisfied himself on this point, it had become
too dark among the trees for his eyes to detect the trail, which at
mid-day would have been as distinct as a beaten path. He therefore
adopted the plan of which I have made mention elsewhere: he followed a
general rule.
The conclusion being that the parties for whom he was searching had
located themselves somewhere along the creek, it was useless to try and
follow the footprints, though there were points here and there where the
sense of touch might have helped him. He decided to creep stealthily up
stream until he found the camp, and then bide his time.
It is hard to form an idea of the extreme care with which this was done.
Had the Winnebago not known of the presence of Deerfoot, he would not
have taken half the time consumed, but he had seen enough of that
wonderful youth to know that it would require more than a child to
outwit him.
At a point about half way between the trail and the camp among the
rocks, the Wolf thought his hands touched some imprints in the earth
which showed that the three had turned to the right and gone deeper into
the woods. It required reconnoitering before he discovered his mistake.
With the same amazing patience he renewed his stealthy progress up the
stream, until at last he emerged into the moonlight and found that at
last he had reached the spot for which he had hunted so long.
It so happened that as he straightened up, he looked directly into the
mouth of the cave and saw the dull glow of the camp-fire, like the open
eye of some monster. Not only that, but he observed the three forms
stretched out by it. The heart of the savage throbbed with pleasure, for
he felt that success had come at last.
With the same absolute noiselessness he began creeping into the mouth of
the cavern. One of the embers fell apart with a soft rustle, which
caused him to stop and hold his breath lest the sleepers should awake.
But they did not stir, and in a minute he resumed his advance.
The two white lads had flung the blankets from their faces, so that he
saw Fred Linden plainly, and enough of the other to identify him as the
one who had smitten him. Nearer to the Winnebago than they was the third
form, which he knew equally well.
"It is the Shawanoe," was his thought; "I will bury my knife in his
heart and then slay the others."
A minute later he reached forward his upraised right hand and suddenly
brought it down with a force that pinned the blanket to the earth. But
to his unspeakable disgust Deerfoot was not within it.
CHAPTER XIX.
SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO.
While Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay in that part of the cavern where
the floor was of rock, the blanket of Deerfoot was spread on the earth.
Consequently when the Winnebago brought down his knife with such vicious
spitefulness, it went through the folds of the blanket and was buried to
the hilt in the ground underneath.
You know that, despite the marvelous quiet with which the Winnebago
approached the cavern, he was heard by Deerfoot, who, pausing only long
enough to make sure that an enemy was approaching, whisked outside.
There he stood in the impenetrable shadow under the trees, and saw the
Winnebago at the moment he emerged into the faint moonlight and stood
upright.
The first look confirmed his suspicion that it was the Winnebago, who
had come back to avenge himself for the affair of the preceding day.
Deerfoot smiled to himself, for there was a tinge of absurdity about the
whole business that was sure to become still more so.
The Shawanoe paused a few seconds before darting out of the cavern,
until he could arrange his blanket, so that it would appear as if it
infolded his sleeping form, and then he quietly awaited events.
It must be admitted that it looked like leaving Fred and Terry in great
peril to permit such a savage enemy to creep so close to them while they
were sound asleep; but Deerfoot knew that the first thing that the Wolf
would do would be to attempt his life, precisely as he did attempt it.
Before he could do any thing more, the Shawanoe concluded to impress his
presence upon the visitor.
At the moment, therefore, that the Winnebago stopped his advance and
slowly raised his knife, as he supposed over the breast of Deerfoot,
that gentleman, kneeling on one knee, brought his rifle to bear upon the
Winnebago, the dull light from the fire shining along the barrel, whose
muzzle was within a yard of the unsuspicious Wolf.
The blanket through which the keen-pointed knife had been driven was no
more firmly transfixed for the moment than was the Wolf when a slight
hissing noise caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dreaded
Shawanoe in a kneeling position with his gun leveled at him, the finger
on the trigger, and the bright eye glancing along the barrel.
The Winnebago was literally unable to move or speak, and Deerfoot,
motionless himself, held him thus for several seconds. Then with the gun
still pointed, he said in a low voice:
"Dog of a Winnebago! Deerfoot has spared the life of the Wolf, and he
now seeks to strike him in the dark."
This address loosened the tongue of the terrified warrior, who, seeing
his captor raise his head from sighting along the barrel, though he
kept the weapon leveled, obeyed the beckoning motion of Deerfoot, and
crept noiselessly out of the cavern. On the alert for any chance, he was
ready to seize it, but the first object on which his eye rested in the
dim moonlight was the figure of the young Shawanoe holding his gun in
such a position, that, should it be necessary, he could fire like a
flash.
Deerfoot would not have hesitated to lay his gun aside, and, drawing his
knife, give the Winnebago the same chance with himself; but the Wolf had
left his weapon where he forced it through the blanket into the ground,
so that he had none except his tomahawk, and he was not likely to
attempt any thing with that.
Besides, while Deerfoot had not the least fear of his enemy, he did not
wish to fight with him. He did not engage in his many desperate
encounters through love of victory, but because it had seemed to him
that it was his duty, and there was no other way out of the trouble.
It must be said, too, that at this hour the Shawanoe happened to be in a
mood which rendered such encounters more than usually distasteful to
him. After he had closed his Bible and lay on his face, looking into the
embers and meditating, the same thought that had stirred him many a time
before filled his mind again.
Why do men strive to kill each other?
It was a question which has puzzled many a wise man in the past and has
not yet been answered. Thousands of affectionate husbands unlock the
white arms of the loving little children from their necks, kiss the
heartbroken wife good-by, and then rush out to try to murder one whom
they have never seen, who has also just torn himself loose from his
family. There is something in the thought that mystifies beyond all
explanation.
The problem which directly interested Deerfoot was whether the day would
not come when the red men of every tribe could meet the pale faces in
friendship instead of hatred. Why should they always be at war? Could he
do a little to bring about that day of universal peace? Was there not
some work which the Great Spirit had laid out for him by which he could
help to soften the feeling of the two peoples toward each other?
But Deerfoot had asked himself the same question many a time before, and
the only answer was that the most he could do was to follow the light
within him: that is, aid to remove a part of the antagonism between the
two races.
Alas, too, that while he was considering the question, his ear caught
the soft rustle that told him one of his own race was seeking his life.
Deerfoot was sorrowed more than angered. He wished that the Winnebago
had taken some other time to make his stealthy attack.
Joined to this emotion was that of another akin to sympathy for the
Winnebago in his complete discomfiture. He had come back to regain his
rifle, but not only had failed, but had lost his knife, and now was
standing at the mercy of a Shawanoe young enough to be his son. The
latter resolved that, though the Wolf had earned death, he would not
harm him, unless forced to do so in self-defense.
For half a minute the warriors, with ten feet separating them, looked
straight at each other in silence. Fred Linden and Terry Clark slept
soundly, for as yet there had been no noise sufficient to awake a light
sleeper.
"Why does the Wolf seek the life of Deerfoot?" asked the latter, willing
to relieve the embarrassment of the other.
"The Wolf sought the gun that had been stolen from him."
"But it was not hidden in the blanket, that he should drive his knife
through it."
"The Wolf believed it was," was the curt response.
"Does the Wolf strike with his knife at his own gun?" asked the
Shawanoe, without betraying any emotion.
"He would rather do so than that it should stay in the hands of an
enemy."
"It never would have been in the hands of an enemy had the Wolf acted as
a brave warrior; but he sought the life of the young pale face who had
never done him harm."
"Has not his people stolen the hunting grounds of the red man?" demanded
the Winnebago, who, seeing that some grace was to be allowed him, burst
into the argument that multitudes of his people have used before and
since. Before he could proceed further, Deerfoot asked: "Are these the
hunting grounds of the Winnebagos?"
"They are the hunting grounds of his race, though they may not be of his
totem; Deerfoot should join with his brother the Wolf in driving the
white men into the sea."
"There was a day when that might have been done," replied Deerfoot, who
felt that faint throb and thrill which sometimes came to him, as if to
tell him that his Indian nature was not yet entirely dead within him;
"once the pale faces were but a handful, and the red men hunted over all
the ground that lies between the great waters. They could have swept the
pale faces into the sea, but they would not be brothers with themselves;
they fought each other. So the pale faces grew, and the day will never
come when they need fear the red men."
"The brave warrior does not ask what can be done, but does with all his
might that which he knows the Great Spirit wishes him to do."
"The Great Spirit does not tell him to kill his pale face brother; for
they are all His children and He loves them. The Great Spirit has spoken
to Deerfoot and told him that all His children should love one another."
"Does Deerfoot do so?"
"He does; he never strikes but when the Great Spirit tells him to do so;
if he was the Wolf and the Wolf was Deerfoot, he would have slain the
Shawanoe long ago."
The Winnebago would have denied this had he not seen that it was idle to
do so. What would he not have given at that moment could he have
exchanged places with the handsome and triumphant young warrior?
"The _true_ Great Spirit loves all His children, whether they be pale or
red or of the color of night; He smiles when they meet each other as
friends, and He will reward in the spirit land those who do His will on
the earth. Let the Wolf bury the words of Deerfoot in his heart, for
they are the words of truth, and if they are heeded he will be
happy--Go!"
The amazed Winnebago doubted for a moment that he had heard the command
aright; but the wave of the hand which accompanied it, and the fact that
it was in perfect consonance with the words he had just heard, satisfied
him there was no mistake about it.
"The Wolf thanks his brother for what he has done."
The heart of the Winnebago forced the words between his lips as he
turned his face away and walked down the bank of the stream in the
direction whence he came. He vanished the next instant in the darkness.
Deerfoot did not stir until every sound of the soft footsteps had died
out. Then he lowered the hammer of his gun, bent his shoulders slightly
forward, so as to walk freely, and entered the cavern where his friends
were still sleeping.
CHAPTER XX.
ANOTHER NIGHT VISITOR.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe was convinced of one thing--the Wolf would trouble
him no further that night. What he might do in the future must be left
for the future to tell. Whether the few words that he had dropped should
prove the good seed of which I have spoken, or whether they should be
choked up by thorns, not even the Wolf himself could tell.
The young warrior showed his convictions by flinging some wood on the
fire, so that its blaze filled the cavern, and preparing for sleep. He
first sat down and pulled out the knife of the Wolf, whose blade took on
an additional gleam from the cleansing it had received in being forced
into the flinty earth. He examined it with no little curiosity, though
it was similar to his own.
A glance, however, showed that it was an inch or two longer. It was
straight and oval-shaped, the blade not quite two inches wide, with a
handle that had been cut from a deer's horn and fitted with no slight
skill. Whether it was the product of aboriginal ingenuity or was the
work of some cutler of the Caucasian race could only be guessed, the
matter really not being worth the trouble of guessing. Its two edges and
the point were very sharp. Deerfoot having laid aside his gun, grasped
the blade in his left hand and circled it through the air like a
swordsman at play. He was so pleased with it that he decided to keep it.
He would not throw away the one that had served him so well, but would
present it to Fred Linden, while he retained the one with which he was
sure he could do better work.
It was singular that while the Shawanoe was turning the weapon over in
his hand, and examining it with so much interest, that the occasion for
its immediate use should come, but so it was.
He was on the point of shoving it in behind his belt and lying down to
sleep, when a movement of the bushes outside was heard. It was so
distinct indeed that he knew it was not caused by a person.
The rustling was accompanied by a scratching sound and low growl.
Turning his head, he saw an immense wolf standing at the entrance of the
cavern, his whole figure revealed in the firelight. With his jaws parted
and his form erect, he was a formidable creature, before which almost
any one would have recoiled. He would have advanced straight to an
attack upon the young warrior but for the fire which partly interposed.
Even as it was, he seemed making ready to leap at the throat of the
youth, who was sitting on the blanket, looking coolly at him.
It would have been the easiest matter in the world for Deerfoot to catch
up his gun and shoot him dead, but he chose to do otherwise. Drawing one
of the embers forth by the end that was not burning, he held it before
him in his right hand, and, grasping the knife in his left, ran lightly
toward him, as though he meant to jam it into his eyes.
The bravest animal can not stand unmoved before such an attack, and the
namesake of the human enemy whisked about and darted out of the cavern
with the Shawanoe close behind him. The former bounded a half dozen
steps, pausing on the very spot where the hostile warrior was first
seen, and facing about, as if to observe whether his foe dare follow him
any further. But Deerfoot had him now where he wished, and he flung the
torch aside among the undergrowth, where it lay smoking for a few
minutes before it went out.
The fierce animal must have been of the opinion that he too had his
antagonist where he wanted him, for, without the least hesitation, he
uttered a snarling growl and made two leaps straight at him. The first
carried him a little more than half the intervening distance, and the
second was meant to bear Deerfoot to the earth.
The young warrior, however, stepped lightly to one side, so that the
wolf missed him altogether, and would have been forced to wheel about
and make a second attack had the chance been given him, but at the
instant it landed, the left hand, grasping the long, keen knife, shot
forward with great force and lightning-like swiftness, and was buried to
the hilt in the throat of the brute.
It was a blow as effective as a cannon ball could have been, for the
knife clove the seat of life in twain, and the beast rolled over on the
earth dead, almost before it could emit a single yelp of agony.
Deerfoot stood a moment surveying the carcass before him, and then, with
no more excitement than he would have shown in speaking to Fred or
Terry, he said: "'Tis a good weapon, and will serve Deerfoot well."
Then he walked to the tiny brook, carefully washed the gleaming blade,
shoved it behind his belt, where it was held in place without the sheath
that clasped the other, and walked back to the cavern. The boys had not
been disturbed by the outcry of the wolf, and Deerfoot, throwing some
more wood on the flames, lay down on the blanket, drew it partly about
him, and in ten minutes was asleep, not opening his eyes again until the
light of morning streamed into the cavern and only a few smoldering
embers were left of the camp-fire.
He smiled when he looked upon the two youths, who were still soundly
sleeping, all unconscious of the stirring events that had taken place
during the darkness. There was no call for a renewal of the fire, and,
after spending a few minutes in communion with the Great Spirit, he
passed outside the cavern, drank from the clear water in the brook, and
laved his face and hands.
Just as he finished, Fred Linden emerged, rubbing his eyes and yawning,
while Terry Clark was close behind him.
"Good morning, Deerfoot!" called the former; "it was just like you to
let us sleep all night while you kept watch: to-night you must let us
take our turn."
"Fred has exprissed me own sintimints," added Terry; "we have had so
much slumber that we can kaap awake for a month. Helloa!"
The gaze of the boys at that moment fell on the body of the wolf,
stiffened in death.
"You have had visitors," said Fred; "my gracious, but he's a big fellow!
Killed by a knife thrust too, that looks as if it had gone half way
through his body; how was it, Deerfoot?"
The Shawanoe waited until they had finished bathing their hands and
faces, and then he quietly told them the story, including the account of
the warrior's visit. As you may well suppose, the boys opened their
eyes, and Terry, running inside, brought out the blanket, which had been
folded in such a manner that the knife of the Winnebago passed through
three thicknesses of the cloth.
"And to think that we slept through it all!"
"Begorrah, but wasn't it lucky that we didn't have the blanket wrapped
about us?" gasped Terry, who was in earnest in his momentary belief of
the narrow escape of himself and companion.
"It is well that you kept guard last night; neither of us would have
heard the approach of the Winnebago; and wouldn't have known any thing
about the other wolf until he lit on our shoulders."
"My brother is mistaken," said Deerfoot; "he is like the rattlesnake; he
gives warning before he strikes; I heard him growl, and he stopped at
the entrance to the cavern, afraid of the fire."
"Why didn't you shoot him?"
"Would he have died more quietly, or with less pain than from the knife?
It is the knife that the Winnebago left; Deerfoot wanted to learn
whether it would serve him well."
"And I should think ye ought to be satisfied, as a cousin of me own once
remarked after working five years for a man without any pay excipt
starvation and kicks."
"The knife proved itself a good one," said Fred; "but the poorest knife
would be just as effective in your hands."
Deerfoot withdrew his own weapon from its skin sheath, and handed it to
Fred.
"Let my brother carry that, for the hour may come sooner than he thinks
when it will be of use to him."
Fred accepted it gratefully, saying, as he managed to find place for it
somewhat after the manner of Deerfoot:
"If I can handle it with half of your skill, it will serve me well
indeed, but that can never be."
Deerfoot placed the larger weapon within the sheath from which he had
withdrawn his own and made no reply to the compliments of his friends.
He had heard many such before, but he placed no value upon them. He
regarded himself as simply trying to use in the best way the gifts of
the Great Spirit. His many escapes from death and injury were due solely
to God's protecting care, and he could never take to himself any credit
for what he did.
The excitement of the boys having subsided, the three sat down in front
of the cavern to eat their breakfast. Enough of the food brought by Fred
was left to give each and all the meal needed, but when they were
through, not a particle was left; henceforth they must depend upon what
their rifles brought them for support while on the way to the camp in
the Ozarks.
"We have two or three days' travel yet before we can reach camp," said
Fred, while they were making ready to resume their journey; "but I don't
think we shall want for food. What troubles me the most is that scamp of
a Winnebago. You have spared him twice, but I don't believe it will
make a friend of him."
"He was so boilin' mad," added Terry, "because he lost his gun that now
that he has also lost his knife he may get so much madder that he'll
flop over and become pleased again."
This, however, was a kind of philosophy to which the others could not
agree. Deerfoot owned that he was in doubt; the sentiment of gratitude
is not one of the chief virtues of the American race, though many
story-tellers would have us believe that it is. There have been
instances known where a red man has shown something of the kind, but as
a rule they have no more of it than had the frozen serpent that was
warmed in the bosom of him who proved his foolishness by making the
experiment.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE CAMP OF THE WINNEBAGOS.
Now that the little party had started once more toward the camp in the
Ozark Mountains, they moved at a brisk pace. It took them but a short
time to reach the main trail, where there was a short pause while
Deerfoot made what may be called a microscopic scrutiny of the ground.
The result did not please him, for he saw the proof that the Wolf had
turned to the right, and had preceded them over the route which they
were to follow. He would have been better satisfied had he crossed the
trail or turned the other way. The fact that he had gone southward meant
that the main party which he was seeking to join were in that direction,
though the keen eyes of the Shawanoe could detect no signs that they had
trodden the same ground. That signified nothing, however, as they might
have pursued a slightly different route, falling back upon the main path
further on.
Deerfoot, in telling his young friends what he had learned, added that
he had no doubt that they would hear from the Winnebagos again, and
possibly at an hour when least expected. Fred Linden was disturbed more
by the knowledge that the party were approaching the camp where his
father and his companions were unsuspicious of the danger. They could
easily steal close enough to the cabin to shoot down all three without
warning.
When he mentioned his fear to Deerfoot, that sagacious young warrior
told him that he saw no cause for anxiety, though he could not deny that
something of the kind might take pl
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