Footprints in the Forest
by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #25980 · 402,996 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Footprints in the Forest
Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Release date: July 6, 2008 [eBook #25980]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Taavi Kalju, Mary Meehan and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTPRINTS IN THE FOREST ***
Produced by Taavi Kalju, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
FOOTPRINTS IN THE FOREST.
"LOG CABIN SERIES." NO. 8.
BY EDWARD S. ELLIS
AUTHOR OF "NED IN THE BLOCK-HOUSE," "NED IN THE WOODS," "NED ON THE
RIVER," "THE LOST TRAIL," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
COPYRIGHT, 1886,
BY PORTER & COATES.
[Illustration: AN UNWELCOME SUMMONS.]
CONTENTS.
I.--RETROSPECTIVE
II.--A VALUABLE ALLY
III.--THE CAMP OF THE STRANGERS
IV.--THE QUARREL
V.--SHAWANOE VS. PAWNEE
VI.--A DOUBLE FAILURE
VII.--A DISAPPOINTMENT
VIII.--THE FLIGHT OF DEERFOOT
IX.--THE PAWNEES ARE ASTONISHED
X.--SAUK AND PAWNEE
XI.--A REVERSAL OF SITUATION
XII.--INDIAN HONOR
XIII.--THE TWINKLE OF A CAMP-FIRE
XIV.--IN THE TREE-TOP
XV.--AN UNEXPECTED CALL
XVI.--A STARTLING CONCLUSION
XVII.--OTHER ARRIVALS
XVIII.--WITH THE RIVER BETWEEN
XIX.--JACK AND HAY-UTA
XX.--UNCONGENIAL NEIGHBORS
XXI.--JACK CARLETON MAKES A MOVE ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT
XXII.--A CLEW AT LAST
XXIII.--RECROSSING THE RIVER
XXIV.--A SUMMONS AND A SURRENDER
XXV.--LONE BEAR'S REVELATION
XXVI.--AN INTERESTING QUESTION
XXVII.--A STRANGE STORY
XXVIII.--A STARTLING INTERRUPTION
XXIX.--A FIGHT AND A RETREAT
XXX.--A SURPRISING DISCOVERY
XXXI.--A FATAL FAILURE
XXXII.--THE PRAYER OF HAY-UTA IS THE PRAYER OF DEERFOOT
XXXIII.--CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
AN UNWELCOME SUMMONS.
A DISPUTED POINT.
A CRITICAL SITUATION.
THE DEATH OF HAY-UTA.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE FOREST.
CHAPTER I.
RETROSPECTIVE.
Those of my friends who have done me the honor of reading "Campfire and
Wigwam," will need little help to recall the situation at the close of
that narrative. The German lad Otto Relstaub, having lost his horse,
while on the way from Kentucky to the territory of Louisiana (their
destination being a part of the present State of Missouri), he and his
young friend, Jack Carleton, set out to hunt for the missing animal.
Naturally enough they failed: not only that, but the two fell into the
hands of a band of wandering Sauk Indians, who held them prisoners.
Directly after the capture of the lads, their captors parted company,
five going in one direction with Jack and the other five taking a
different course with Otto. "Camp-Fire and Wigwam" gave the particulars
of what befell Jack Carleton. In this story, I propose to tell all about
the hunt that was made for the honest lad, who had few friends, and who
had been driven from his own home by the cruelty of his parents to
engage in a search which would have been laughable in its absurdity, but
for the danger that marked it from the beginning.
The youth, however, had three devoted friends in Jack Carleton, his
mother, and Deerfoot, the Shawanoe. But for the compassion which the
good woman felt for the lad, she never would have consented that her
beloved son should enter the wilderness for the purpose of bringing him
home.
One fact must be borne in mind, however, in recalling the two
expeditions. In the former Jack and Otto were the actors, but now the
hunters were Jack and Deerfoot, and therein lay all the difference in the
world. Well aware of the wonderful woodcraft of the young warrior, his
courage and devotion to his friends, the parent had little if any
misgivings, when she kissed her boy good-by, and saw him enter the
wilderness in the company of the dusky Shawanoe.
Something like a fortnight had gone by, when Deerfoot and Jack Carleton
sat near a camp-fire which had been kindled in the depths of the forest,
well to the westward of the little frontier settlement of Martinsville.
The air was crisp and cool, and two days had passed since any rain had
fallen, so the climate could not have been more favorable.
The camp was similar to many that have been described before, and with
which the reader has become familiar long ago. It was simply a small
pile of blazing sticks, started close to a large tree, with a little
stream of water winding just beyond. More wood was heaped near, and Jack
was lolling lazily on the blanket which he had brought with him, while
his friend sat on the pile of sticks opposite.
"Deerfoot, you remember I told you that while I was in the lodge of
Ogallah, an Indian came in who was one of the five that had taken Otto
away?"
The Shawanoe nodded his head to signify he recalled the incident.
"He made some of the queerest gestures to me, which I could no more
understand than I could make out what his gibberish meant, but when I
described his actions to you, you said they meant that Otto was still
alive--that is, so far as the Indian knew?"
"My brother speaks the truth: such was the message of the Sauk warrior."
"They say all the red men can talk with each other by means of signs,
but, without asking you to explain every word of the Sauk, I would like
to hear again what it was he meant to tell me."
"He said that Otto had been given to a party of Indians, and they had
started westward toward the setting sun with him."
"But why did they turn him over to the strangers?"
"Deerfoot was not there to ask the Sauk," was the reply of the young
Shawanoe.
"That is true, for if you had been, you would have known all about it;
but, old fellow, you can explain one thing: why do you not make your way
to the Sauk village and get those warriors to give you the particulars?"
Such it would seem was the true course of the dusky youth, on whom it
may be said the success or failure of the enterprise rested. He was
silent a minute as though the question caused him some thought.
"It may be my brother is right, but it is a long ways to the lodges of
the Sauks, and when they were reached it may be they could tell no more
than Deerfoot knows."
Jack Carleton did not understand this remark.
He knew how little information he had given his friend, and it seemed
idle to say that the real captors of Otto Relstaub could not tell more
of him.
Strange things happen in this life. Several times during the afternoon
Deerfoot stopped and glanced about him, just as Jack had seen him do
when enemies were in the wood. He made no remark by way of explanation,
and his friend asked him no question.
"It seems to me the Sauks can tell a good deal more than I; for
instance--"
Deerfoot suddenly raised his forefinger and leaned his head forward and
sideways. It was his attitude of intense attention, and he had signaled
for Jack to hold his peace. The tableau lasted a full minute. Then
Deerfoot looked toward his friend, and smiled and nodded, as if to say
it had turned out just as he expected.
"What in the name of the mischief _is_ the matter?" asked Jack, unable
longer to repress his curiosity; "you've been acting queer all the
afternoon."
"Deerfoot and his friend have been followed by some Indian warrior for
many miles. He is not far away; he is now coming softly toward the camp;
I have heard him often; he is near at hand."
"If he wants to make our acquaintance, there is no reason why he should
feel so bashful," remarked Jack, glancing at different points in the
darkening woods; "I don't see any reason why he should prowl around in
that fashion."
The lad's uneasiness was increased by the fact that Deerfoot was
manifestly looking over his head and into the forest behind Jack, as
though the object which caused his remarks was coming from that
direction.
"The Indian is not far off--he is coming this way--he will be in camp in
a breath."
"And, if I stay here, he will stumble over me and perhaps break his
neck," remarked Jack, who caught the rustle of leaves, and springing to
his feet, faced toward the point whence the stranger was approaching.
It can not be said that the youth felt any special alarm, for he knew
the sagacious Deerfoot would take care of him, but the knowledge that an
armed stranger is stealing up behind a person, is calculated to make him
nervous.
At the moment Jack faced about, he caught the outlines of a middle-aged
warrior, who strode noiselessly from the wood and stepped into the full
glare of the camp light. Without noticing Jack, he advanced to Deerfoot,
who shook him by the hand, while the two spoke some words in a tongue
which the lad did not understand.
But when the visitor stood revealed in the firelight, the boy looked him
over and recognized him. He was the Indian who came into the hut of
Ogallah, the Sauk chieftain, when Jack was a captive, and who went
through the odd gesticulations, which the lad remembered well enough to
repeat to Deerfoot, who, in turn, interpreted them to mean that Otto
Relstaub had not been put to death, as the two youths had feared.
It was strange indeed that he should come to the camp of the lads, at
the very time they were in need of such information as he could give.
While Jack identified the visitor as that personage, Deerfoot recognized
him even sooner as Hay-uta, the Man-who-Runs-without-Falling. It was he
who, while on a hunt for scalps, came upon the young Shawanoe and
engaged him in a hand-to-hand encounter. You will recall how he was
disarmed and vanquished by the younger warrior, and how the latter read
to him from his Bible, and told him of the Great Spirit who dwelt beyond
the stars, and whose will was contained in the little volume which was
the companion of the Shawanoe. Hay-uta showed he was deeply impressed,
and abruptly went away.
It will be remembered, therefore, that there were peculiar circumstances
which caused the two red men to feel friendly toward each other and
which led them to spend several minutes talking with such earnestness
that neither seemed aware that another party was near. Jack did not
object, but busied himself in studying the two aborigines.
Hay-uta has been already described as a middle-aged warrior. He was
strong, iron-limbed and daring, but was not to be compared as respects
grace, dignity and manly beauty to Deerfoot. What specially attracted
Jack's attention was the rifle which he idly held with one hand while
talking, the stock resting on the ground. It was the finest weapon the
lad had ever seen--that is so far as appearance went. The stock was
ornamented with silver, and the make and finish were as complete as was
ever seen in those days. It was a rifle that would awaken admiration
anywhere.
"I shouldn't wonder if he shot the owner so as to get it," thought the
lad.
But therein he did the Sauk injustice. The savage gave all the furs and
peltries that he was able to take during an entire winter to a white
trader from St. Louis, who with a similar weapon bought enough more
supplies to load him and his animal for their return trip to that
frontier post.
While Hay-uta and Deerfoot talked, they smiled, nodded and gesticulated
continually. Of course the watcher could not guess what they were
talking about, until he noticed that Hay-uta was making the same motions
that he saw him use in the lodge of Ogallah, adding, however, several
variations which the youth was unable to recall.
"By George!" muttered Jack, "they're talking about Otto; now I shall
learn something of him."
When the conversation had lasted some minutes, the talkers appeared to
become aware that a third party was near. A remark of Deerfoot caused
Hay-uta to turn and look at the young man, as though uncertain that he
had ever met him before.
"Hay-uta has traveled a long ways since my brother saw him," said
Deerfoot, who did not deem it worth while to explain why it was he had
made such a journey: "he followed us a good while before he knew I was
his friend; then he came to the camp that he might talk with me."
Hay-uta, though unable to understand these words, seemed to catch their
meaning from the tone of Deerfoot, for they were scarcely spoken, when
he extended his hand to Jack, who, of course, pressed it warmly and
looked the welcome which he could not put into words that would be
understood.
These ceremonies over, all three sat on the ground, Hay-uta lit his pipe
and the singular conversation continued, Deerfoot interpreting to his
friend, when he had any thing to tell that would interest him.
"What does he know about Otto?" asked Jack.
"He cannot tell much: the warriors who made him prisoner walked slowly
till the next morning; they took another path to their lodges; on the
road they met some strange Indians, and they sold our brother to them
for two blankets, some wampum, a knife and three strings of beads."
"How many Indians were there in the party that bought Otto"
Deerfoot conferred with Hay-uta before answering.
"Four: they were large, strong and brave, and they wanted our brother;
so he was sold, as the young man was sold by his brothers and taken into
a far land, and afterward became the great chief of the country, and the
friend of his brethren and aged father."
Astonished as was Jack Carleton to hear these tidings, he was more
astonished to note that the young Shawanoe was comparing the experience
of Otto Relstaub with that of the touching narrative told in the Old
Testament of Joseph and his brethren.
CHAPTER II.
A VALUABLE ALLY.
"But who were the Indians?" asked Jack Carleton.
Deerfoot shook his head, smiled in his faint, shadowy way and pointed to
the west.
"They came from the land of the setting sun; Hay-uta knows not their
totem; he never saw any of their tribe before and knows not whither they
went."
"I should, think that even an Indian would have enough curiosity to ask
some questions."
"He _did_ ask the questions," replied Deerfoot, "but the strange
warriors did not give him answer."
"Then all that we know is that Otto was turned over to four red men who
went westward with him."
Deerfoot nodded his head to signify that such was the fact, and then he
continued his conversation with Hay-uta.
Jack Carleton recalled that when he and Deerfoot were guessing the fate
of Otto, the suggestion was made that probably such had been the
experience of the poor fellow. He had been bartered to a party of red
men, who had gone westward with him, and beyond that important fact
nothing whatever was known.
My reader will remember also that I spoke in "Campfire and Wigwam," of
the strange Indians who were sometimes met by the hunters and trappers,
and well as by the red men themselves. They were dusky explorers, as
they may be termed, who like Columbus of the olden time, had the daring
to pass beyond the boundaries of their own land, and grope through
strange countries they had never seen.
The four warriors had come from some point to the west, and Hay-uta said
they could not speak a word which the Sauks understood, nor could the
Sauks utter any thing that was clear to them. But the sign-language
never fails, and had the strangers chosen, they could have given a great
deal of information to the Sauks.
A little reflection will show how limitless was the field of speculation
that was opened by this news. Beyond the bare fact, as I have said, that
the custodians of Otto Relstaub came from and went toward the west,
little, if any thing, was known. Their hunting grounds may have been not
far away on the confines of the present state of Kansas or the Indian
Nation, or traversing those hundreds of miles of territory, they may
have built their tepees around the headwaters of the Arkansas, in
Colorado (as now called), New Mexico or the Llano Estacado of Texas. It
was not to be supposed that they had come from any point beyond, since
that would have required the passage of the Rocky Mountains--a feat
doubtless often performed by red men, before the American Pathfinder led
his little band across that formidable barrier, but the theory that
Otto's new masters traveled from beyond, was too unreasonable to be
accepted.
Yet from the little camp where the three persons were lounging, it was
more than half a thousand miles to the Rocky Mountains, while the
territory stretched far to the north and south, so that an army might
lose itself beyond recovery in the vast wilderness.
The task, therefore, which faced them at the beginning was to learn
whither the four warriors had gone with the hapless Otto.
It need not be said that none understood this necessity better than
Deerfoot himself. Consequently he drew from Hay-uta, the Sauk, every
particle of knowledge which he possessed; that, however, amounted to
little more than has already been told. But that which the Shawanoe
sought was a full account of their dress, their looks, arms and
accouterments--such an account being more important to the young warrior
than would be supposed.
The information he gained may be summed up: the strangers were taller,
more powerful and better formed than Sauks. Each carried a rifle,
tomahawk and knife as his weapons; they had blankets, and their
clothing, while nearly the same as that of the Sauks, was of a darker
and more sober color. They had no beads or ornaments; their leggings,
moccasins, and the fringe of their hunting shirts, were less gaudy in
color than those of the other party. Their moccasins were well worn,
from which it was fair to infer they had traveled a long distance.
Hay-uta stated another fact which should be known: when the two parties
discovered each other, the strangers showed a desire to engage in a
fight, not that there was any special cause for so doing, but as may be
said, on general principles. Though the Sauks were five to their four,
they were afraid of the strangers, and they opened the negotiations for
the transfer of Otto, with a view of diverting hostile intentions. The
Sauks had the reputation of being brave and warlike, but they did not
feel safe until many miles of trackless woods lay between them and the
strangers.
So much, therefore, was known, and surely it was little enough. Hay-uta
added the remark that as nearly as he could tell, Deerfoot and Jack were
close to the very path which the strangers had taken on their way home.
It might be they were on the trail itself, if such a thing be deemed
possible, where no footprints in the forest existed, for since the
passage of the four dusky aliens and their prisoner, the wilderness had
been swept by storms which had not left the slightest trace on the
leaves that could be followed, and, though our friends might be stepping
in their very tracks, it was hardly possible that the lynx eyes of the
young warrior could detect it.
When Deerfoot and Hay-uta had talked awhile longer, the former turned to
Jack and amazed him by the remark:
"Hay-uta will go with us to give what help he can to find our brother
who is lost."
The news was as pleasant as it was surprising. It did seem singular that
the one who had helped take Otto Relstaub prisoner, and then sold him to
strangers, should now offer to do what he could to bring back the lad to
his friends. He could not fail to be a valuable ally, for, though
vanquished by Deerfoot, he ranked among the best warriors of his people.
"I wonder what led him to volunteer?" said Jack.
"Deerfoot asked him, and he was kind enough to do so."
"That's because you overcame him."
The young Shawanoe had given a short account of his extraordinary
meeting with Hay-uta, when the older warrior tried to take his life, but
Jack knew nothing more than the main incident. He had not been told of
the aboriginal sermon which Deerfoot delivered on that "auspicious
occasion".
It was only natural that the Sauk should feel a strong admiration for
the remarkable youth, but the Word which Deerfoot expounded to him had
far more to do with his seeking the companionship of the Shawanoe.
The latter made no answer to the remark of Jack, but turning toward
Hay-uta continued the conversation which had been broken several times.
Young Carleton, believing there was nothing for him to do, spread his
blanket near the fire, and, lying down, so as to infold himself from
head to feet, was not long in sinking into slumber.
Ordinarily his rest would not have been broken, for his confidence in
Deerfoot was so strong, that he felt fully as safe as if lying at home
in his own bed, but, from some slight cause, he gradually regained his
senses, until he recalled where he was. He was lying with his back to
the blaze, but the reflection on the leaves in front, showed the fire
was burning briskly. He heard too, the low murmur of a voice, which he
knew belonged to Deerfoot.
"What mischief can be going on?" he asked himself, silently turning his
head, so that he could look across to his friend.
The scene was one which could never be forgotten. Deerfoot was lying or
rather reclining on one side, the upper part of his body resting on his
elbow, so that his shoulders and head were several inches above the
ground. In the hand of the arm which thus supported him, was held his
little Bible, the light from the camp-fire falling on the page, from
which he was reading in his low, musical voice that is he was
translating the English into the Sauk tongue, seeking to put the words
in such shape that the listener could understand them. It would be hard
to imagine a more difficult task.
Between Deerfoot and Jack was stretched the Sauk, his posture such that
his features were in sight. He lay on his face, his arms half folded
under his chest, so that his shoulders were also held clear of the
ground. His dark eyes were fixed upon the countenance of the Shawanoe
youth, with a rapt expression that made him unconscious of every thing
else. Into that heart was penetrating the partial light of a mystery
which mortal man has never fully solved; he was learning the great
lesson beside which all others sink into insignificance.
Jack Carleton moved as softly as he could, so as to view the picture
without bodily discomfort. Deerfoot glanced at him, without checking
himself, but Hay-uta heard him not. Watchful and vigilant as he was, an
enemy might have stolen forward and driven his tomahawk through his
brain, without any thought on his part of his peril.
"I wish I could understand what Deerfoot is saying," was the thought of
Jack, whose eyes filled at the touching sight.
"A full-blooded Indian is urging the Christian religion on another
Indian. Even I, who have a praying mother, have been reproved by him,
and with good cause too."
By and by the senses of the young Kentuckian left him, and again he
slept. This time he did not open his eyes until broad daylight.
CHAPTER III.
THE CAMP OF THE STRANGERS.
The expedition on which Jack Carleton entered with his two companions
promised to be similar in many respects to those which have been already
described. It looked indeed as if it would be more dull, and, for a
while, such was the fact, but it was not long before matters took a turn
as extraordinary as unexpected, and which quickly led the Kentuckian to
conclude that it was, after all, the most eventful enterprise of his
life.
For nearly three days the westward journey was without incident which
need be given in detail. They swam several streams of water, climbed and
descended elevations and shot such game as they required. The weapon of
Hay-uta proved to be fully as excellent as it looked. Though its
flintlock and single muzzle-loading barrel would have made a sorry show
in the presence of our improved modern weapons, yet it was capable of
splendid execution. Jack Carleton was a fine marksman, but in a friendly
contest in which the three engaged, the Sauk beat him almost every time.
That this was due to the superiority of his gun was proven by the fact
that when they exchanged rifles, the young Kentuckian never failed to
beat the other, and the beauty of the whole proceeding was that when
Deerfoot took the handsome weapon, he vanquished both; in fact he did it
with the gun belonging to Jack Carleton.
Though the young Shawanoe clung to his bow, it was clear to his
companions that he admired the new piece. He turned it over and examined
every part, as though it possessed a special attraction.
"Deerfoot," said Jack, pinching his arm, "you could beat William Tell
himself, if he were living, with the bow, but what's the use of talking?
It can't compare with the rifle and you know it. Just because a gun of
yours once flashed in the pan, you threw it away and took up the bow
again, but it was a mistake, all the same."
"One of these days Deerfoot may use the rifle," he answered, as if
talking to himself, "but not yet--not yet."
Little did he suspect how close he was to the crisis which would lead
him to a decision on that question.
Toward the close of the three days referred to, the trio were in what is
to-day the southwestern corner of Missouri. Had the time been a hundred
years later, they would have had to go but a short distance to cross the
border line into Kansas.
A remarkable feature of their journey to that point, was the fact that,
while making the distance, they had not seen a single person besides
themselves. Not once, when they climbed a tree or elevation and
carefully scanned the country, did they catch sight of the smoke of a
solitary camp-fire creeping upward toward the blue sky. They heard the
crack of no gun beside their own, and the keen eyes which glanced to the
right and left, as they trod the endless wilderness, failed to detect
the figure of the stealthily moving warrior.
This was singular, for there were plenty of Indians at that day west of
the Mississippi, and it would be hard to find a section through which
such a long journey could be made without coming upon red men. But at
the end of the three days, our friends could not complain that there was
any lack of dusky strangers.
It was near the middle of the afternoon, when finding themselves in a
dense portion of the wood, on a considerable elevation, they decided to
"take another observation". To Jack Carleton it looked as if they were
engaged on a hopeless errand, and, but for his unbounded faith in
Deerfoot, he would have turned back long before in despair; it would be
more proper indeed to say, that he never would have entered alone on
such an enterprise.
There was no need for the three to climb a tree, so two stood on the
ground while Deerfoot made his way among the limbs with the nimbleness
of a monkey.
He went to the very top, and balancing himself on the swaying limb
carefully parted the branches before his face. His penetrating glance
was rewarded by a sight which caused an amazed "hooh!" to fall from his
lips.
A little ways to the westward flowed a rapid stream, a hundred yards
wide. The other shore, for a rod or two, was bare of trees and
vegetation, except some stunted grass, and in this open space was
encamped a party of Indians. The sentinel in the tree counted eleven,
and suspected there were others who just then were not in sight. Though
it lacked several hours of darkness and the air was pleasant, they had
started a fire, big enough to warm a large space. Some of them seemed to
have been fishing in the stream, for they had broiled a number of fish
on the coals, and the nostrils of the young Shawanoe detected their
appetizing odor.
Under ordinary circumstances there would have been nothing specially
interesting in the group, but Deerfoot had studied them but a minute or
two when he became convinced that they belonged to the same tribe which
held Otto Relstaub a prisoner. Their dress, looks, and general
appearance answered the description given by Hay-uta.
The heart of the youth beat faster over the thought that probably the
four warriors whom he was seeking to follow were among them, and the
fate of the German lad was about to be solved. He glanced down the trunk
of the tree, and saw Jack Carleton and the Sauk standing on the ground
and looking up at him, as though they suspected from his manner that
some important discovery had been made. Without speaking, Deerfoot
beckoned to the warrior to join him. The next instant the fellow was
climbing among the limbs with such vigor that Deerfoot felt the jar at
the very top.
Their combined weight was too great for such an elevation, and the
younger perched himself somewhat lower, so as to give Hay-uta the
advantage. A few words made known what Deerfoot had seen and that he
wished the elder to answer the questions which the Shawanoe had asked
himself.
Hay-uta was as guarded in his actions as Deerfoot could have been. He
spent several minutes in a study of the group on the other side of the
stream. Had he and the Shawanoe suspected they were so close to a camp
of red men, neither would have climbed the tree, for little, if any
thing, was to be gained by doing so; the strangers could have been
scrutinized from the ground as well as from the elevation. It was a
noteworthy fact that two such skillful woodmen as Hay-uta and Deerfoot
should approach so close to another party without discovering it.
While Hay-uta was inspecting the warriors, Deerfoot quietly awaited him
on a limb some ten feet below, and Jack Carleton, peering aloft from the
ground until his neck ached, wondered what it all meant.
The Sauk softly withdrew the hand extended in front of his face, and the
leaves came together with scarcely a rustle. With several long reaches
of his arms and legs, he placed himself beside his friend below and told
what he had learned. The two of course talked in the Indian tongue and I
give a liberal translation:
"What does my brother know?" asked Deerfoot.
"They belong to the tribe who took the pale-face; Hay-uta knows not
their name, but their looks show it."
"Then their village can not be far away."
"We must learn that of a surety for ourselves; two warriors among them
are the same that gave us the wampum and blankets for the pale-face
boy."
"Does my brother make no error?" asked Deerfoot, surprised to be told
they were so close upon the heels of a couple of the very red men whom
they scarcely hoped to find.
But the suspicion that such was the fact caused the Sauk to keep up his
scrutiny until no doubt was left. He assured Deerfoot of the truth,
adding that the taller was the one who handed over the wampum, and who
showed such a willingness to draw the Sauks into a fight without waiting
for provocation.
This was news of moment and raised several questions which the friends
discussed while perched in the tree. If two of the original warriors
were present, where were the others? Was it not likely they were out of
sight only for the time being? It seemed probable that the four while
journeying toward their own hunting grounds, had joined a company of
friends, with whom they were making the rest of the trip.
Then followed the question, _What of Otto Relstaub?_ Varied as might be
the answers to the question, all the probabilities pointed to his death,
and that, too, in the most painful manner; but it was idle to grope in
the field of conjecture. It was for the friends to decide on the means
of learning the truth.
In the hope of getting more knowledge, Deerfoot again climbed to the
highest point, and studied the group on the other side of the stream;
but was disappointed, and he and Hay-uta made their way to the ground,
where Jack Carleton was told all.
The eyes of the young Kentuckian expanded, and, when the story was
finished, he exclaimed in a guarded voice:
"They've got Otto--of course they have."
The expression of the Shawanoe's face showed he was not sure of the
meaning of his friend, who added:
"The whole four that had charge of him are with those fellows, and, if
Otto isn't there also we may as well give up and go back, for he is no
longer alive."
Deerfoot made no answer, but Jack was sure he shared the fear with him.
A discussion of the situation and the difficulties before them, led the
two warriors to decide on a curious line of action.
It was agreed that one should cross boldly over and mingle with the
strangers, while the other should reconnoiter the camp and learn what he
could, without allowing himself to be seen.
It would be supposed that, inasmuch as Hay-uta was acquainted with two
of the Indians, and had parted from them on friendly terms, he would be
selected to enter camp, while Deerfoot's matchless woodcraft would lead
to his selection to work outside; but these situations were reversed.
Since the strangers had journeyed far to the eastward into the hunting
grounds of the Sauks and Osages (probably to the very shore of the great
Mississippi), it followed that no surprise should be felt by them to
find that some equally inquiring red man had traveled toward the Rocky
Mountains, with a view of seeing the strange land and its people. It was
the intention of the young Shawanoe to assume such a part. Should any
mishap befall Hay-uta, he would give out that he was engaged on a
similar mission, and not knowing he was near friends, he was
reconnoitring the party from a safer distance.
There were several reasons for this reversal of duties, as they may be
called, but it is necessary to give only one or two. The appearance of
Hay-uta among them most likely would raise suspicion that it bore some
relation to the captive Otto. The red men, therefore, would be put upon
their guard and the difficulty of securing him--if alive--greatly
increased.
But the strongest reason was that Deerfoot would be sure to do better
when brought in contact with the Indians. He was greatly the superior of
the Sauk in mental gifts, and, with his remarkable power of reading sign
language, would be sure to extract knowledge that was beyond the reach
of Hay-uta.
Having decided on the course they were to follow, no time was lost in
talking over the plan agreed upon. Jack Carleton was informed of the
particulars by Deerfoot.
"I suppose it's the best thing to be done, though my opinion don't
amount to much in _this_ crowd. What am _I_ to do?"
"My brother may sleep," said the Shawanoe, with that slight approach to
humor which he sometimes showed.
"Yes; I would do a great deal of sleeping; but go ahead and I'll be on
the lookout for you. I don't suppose you can tell when you are likely to
get back?"
Deerfoot shook his head, but intimated that he hoped to learn all that
he sought to know before the coming night should end.
A few minutes previous to this, Hay-uta had walked down the stream,
keeping so far back that he could not be seen by any one on the other
side. The Shawanoe took the opposite direction, the purpose of each
being to act independently, and, in case circumstances brought them
together in the presence of the aliens, the agreement was that Sauk and
Shawanoe should comport themselves as though they had never met before.
When the time should come for the scouts, as they may be called, to
return to the shore from which they started, they would have no trouble
in finding Jack Carleton, with whom it was easy to communicate by means
of signals. The most trying task was that of the young Kentuckian
himself, who was left without any employment for mind or body.
Deerfoot walked several hundred yards up stream until he had passed a
bend, where he swam across. He kept his bow so far above surface that
the string was not wetted.
When he had surveyed himself, as best he could, he walked in the
direction of the camp of the hostiles, as he more than suspected they
should be classed. Had any one noticed him just then, he would have
observed that the Shawanoe walked with a limp, as though suffering from
some injury.
The readers of "Ned in the Block House," will recall that Deerfoot once
saved his life by feigning lameness, and the youth saw nothing to lose
and possibly much to gain by such strategy in the enterprise on which he
was engaged.
CHAPTER IV.
THE QUARREL.
Deerfoot was by no means free from misgivings when he limped from the
woods, and, crossing the narrow space that lined the stream, advanced to
the camp-fire around which the warriors were lounging.
Their appearance showed they were doughty fighters, and what Hay-uta had
told proved the same thing. But the Shawanoe had no fear that they would
rush upon and overwhelm him, and he had been in too many perilous
situations to hesitate before any duty.
The Indians turned their heads and surveyed him as he walked unevenly
forward, holding his bow in one hand, and making signs of comity with
the other. They showed no surprise, for such was not their custom; but
stoical and guarded as they were, Deerfoot could see they felt
considerable curiosity, and the fact that he carried a bow instead of a
gun must have struck them as singular, for he came from the East, where
the white men had their settlements, and such weapons were easily
obtained. These strange Indians had firearms, though beyond them in the
far West were thousands who had never seen a pale-face.
Deerfoot's friendly salutations were answered in the same spirit, and he
shook hands with each of the eleven warriors, who seemed accustomed to
the civilized fashion. He seated himself a short distance from the fire,
so as to form one of the dozen which encircled it. No food was offered
the visitor, but when one of the strangers handed him his long-stemmed
pipe, Deerfoot accepted and indulged in several whiffs from the red clay
bowl.
The two warriors whom Hay-uta had pointed out as members of the party
that had bought Otto Relstaub from the Sauks, were objects of much
interest to the youth. They could not have observed it, but he scanned
them closely, and when he sat down, managed to place himself between
them--one being on the right, and the other on the left.
Thus far, hosts and guest had spoken only by signs, but a surprise came
to Deerfoot when the warrior on his right addressed him in language
which he understood.
"My brother has journeyed far to visit the hunting grounds of his
brothers, the Pawnees."
The words of the warrior made known the fact that the party belonged to
the Pawnee tribe, but the amazing feature of his remark was that it was
made in Deerfoot's own tongue--the Shawanoe. The youth turned like a
flash the instant the first word fell upon his ear. He knew well enough
that no one around him belonged to that tribe, but well might he wonder
where this savage had gained his knowledge of the language of the
warlike people on the other side of the Mississippi.
"My brother speaks with the Shawanoe tongue," said Deerfoot, with no
effort to hide his astonishment.
"When Lone Bear was a child," said the other, as if willing to clear up
the mystery, "he was taken across the great river into the hunting
grounds of the Shawanoes; he went with a party of Pawnee hunters, but
the Shawanoes killed them and took young Lone Bear to their lodges."
"The Shawanoes are brave," remarked Deerfoot, his eyes kindling with
natural pride.
"Lone Bear staid many moons in the lodges of the Shawanoes, but one
night he rose from his sleep, slew the warrior and his squaw, and made
haste toward the great river; he swam across and hunted for many suns
till he found his people."
If this statement was fact, it told a striking story, but Deerfoot
doubted its truth. The reason was that, judging from the age of the
warrior, the exploit must have taken place when Deerfoot was very young,
if not before he was born. The capture of a Pawnee youth and his escape
in the manner named, formed an episode so interesting that it would have
been spoken of many times during the early boyhood of Deerfoot, who
ought to have heard of it, but he was sure that this was the first time
the story had fallen on his ears. Deerfoot's sagacity told him that Lone
Bear, as he called himself, was the only Pawnee who understood a word of
their conversation; that much was evident to the eye. It might be, too,
that there was a good deal of truth in the words of the warrior. At any
rate, it was easy to test him.
"Did Lone Bear dwell with Allomaug?"
"Allomaug was a brave chief; he was the father of my brother Deerfoot,
who is fleeter of foot than the wild buck."
That settled it. The reader will remember that Allomaug was the parent
of the youth, and that he was a noted sachem among the Shawanoes. Lone
Bear had told such a straight story that Deerfoot was convinced that he
must have dwelt at one time among his people.
All this was supplemented by the fact that Deerfoot himself was
recognized and addressed by the name he had received from the white
people. The young Shawanoe half expected the other to make some
reference to the youth's escape from Waughtauk and his revengeful
warriors, but Lone Bear had no knowledge of that episode, which took
place long after his flight from the tribe. Deerfoot was puzzled to know
by what means the warrior identified him, when he was certain he had
never seen Lone Bear until he surveyed him a short time before from the
tree-top.
Deerfoot noticed that during their conversation, the others seemed to
listen with as much interest as the American Indians ever allow
themselves to show, and Lone Bear, now and then, turned and addressed
them in their own tongue. When he did so, he spoke to the whole group
and every word was strange to Deerfoot. While the latter could
understand a number of dialects used by the tribes west as well as east
of the Mississippi, he knew nothing of that of the Pawnees.
"Why does Deerfoot wander so far from his hunting grounds?" asked Lone
Bear.
"Deerfoot has not wandered as far as the Pawnees," was the truthful
reply of the Shawanoe. "He once lived beyond the great river, but he
lives not there now."
The Pawnee looked as though he suspected Deerfoot was telling him
fiction, but he was too shrewd to express any such thought.
"Where are the companions of my brother?" was the pointed question of
Lone Bear.
"Deerfoot is alone and his companion is the Great Spirit."
The reader will observe that the reply of the Shawanoe partook of the
nature of a falsehood, inasmuch as it was accepted by Lone Bear (and
such was Deerfoot's purpose), as a declaration that he had traveled the
whole distance alone. Enough has been told to show the extreme
conscientiousness of the young Shawanoe, and no danger could lead him to
recoil from duty. He had imperiled himself many a time from that very
motive, but he believed it right to do his best to deceive Lone Bear. In
fact, his visit was of itself a piece of deception.
"Why does Deerfoot come to the camp of the Pawnees?" continued Lone
Bear, as though his guest was on the witness stand.
"Not many suns ago the Sauk warriors made captives of two pale-faced
youths; one of them has come back to his people, but the other has not.
He was a friend of Deerfoot; he went among the Sauks, but his friend was
not there; he was told that he had been bartered for wampum and blankets
and beads to the Pawnees. Can Lone Bear tell Deerfoot of his friend?"
This was coming to the point at once, but it was the wiser course.
Deerfoot saw that any other statement he might make would be doubted, as
most probably was the explanation itself. He looked into the face of
Lone Bear, so as to study his expression, while answering the question.
"The words of my brother sound strange to the ears of Lone Bear; he has
not seen his pale-faced friend."
"Has not _he_ seen him?" immediately asked Deerfoot, pointing to the
Pawnee on the other side.
Lone Bear exchanged words for two or three minutes with the latter, and
then replied to the visitor.
"Eagle-of-the-Rocks has not seen the pale-face friend of my brother; he
and Lone Bear have staid with their Pawnee brothers; they have met no
pale-faces in many moons."
Here was a direct contradiction of what Hay-uta had told. It might seem
that the Sauk had mistaken the identity of Lone Bear and
Eagle-of-the-Rocks, and had there been but one of them in question, it
was possible; but Deerfoot was satisfied that no such error had been
made. Hay-uta was positive respecting both, and he could not have
committed a double error.
Furthermore, the study of the Pawnee's face convinced Deerfoot that Lone
Bear was lying to him, though to ordinary eyes the expression of the
warrior's face was like that of stone.
Why this falsehood should have been used was beyond the power of the
Shawanoe to guess. The band was so far from the settlements that they
could feel no fear from white men. Nevertheless, Deerfoot was sure that,
had Lone Bear chosen, he could have told every thing necessary to know
about Otto Relstaub.
Two answers to the query presented themselves: the poor lad had either
been slain or he had been turned over to the custody of still another
party of Indians. As for escape, _that_ was out of the question.
The probability that the Pawnees had put Otto to death occurred to
Deerfoot more than once, and while seated on the ground, he had looked
for signs that might show what had been done. There were several scalps
dangling at the girdles of the warriors, but the hair of each was long,
black and wiry, showing that it had been torn from the crown of one of
their own race. The yellow tresses of the German lad would have been
noticed at once by Deerfoot.
The latter was angered by the course of Lone Bear, who had told an
untruth, without, so far as Deerfoot could see, any proper motive. So
sure was the youth on this point, that he did not hesitate to tell the
Indian his belief.
"My brother, Lone Bear, has spoken, but with a double tongue. He and
Eagle-of-the-Rocks have seen my pale-faced friend; they gave the beads
and wampum for him; Deerfoot knows it; Deerfoot has spoken."
Lone Bear, like all his race and the most of ours, was one of those who
looked upon the charge of falsehood (especially if true) as a deadly
insult. His dull, broad face seemed to crimson beneath its paint, and
turning partly toward the daring youth, he grasped the handle of his
knife.
"Dog of a Shawanoe! Who bade you come to the camp of the Pawnees? Do you
think we are squaws who are ill, that we will let a dog bark at our
heels without kicking him from our path?"
Lone Bear talked louder and faster with each word, until when the last
passed his lips, he was in a passion. He had faced clear round, so that
he glowered upon the youth. He now rose to his feet and Deerfoot, seeing
that trouble was at hand, did the same. As he came up, he took care to
limp painfully and to stand as though unable to bear any part of his
body's weight on the injured leg.
"Lone Bear is as brave as the fawn that runs to its mother, when it
hears the cry of the hound; he is in the camp of his friends and it
makes him brave; but if he stood alone before Deerfoot, then would his
heart tremble and he would ask Deerfoot to spare him!"
No more exasperating language could be framed than that which was
uttered by the young Shawanoe. He meant that it should fire Lone Bear
and he succeeded.
CHAPTER V.
SHAWANOE VS. PAWNEE.
Why it was Deerfoot sought a quarrel with the Pawnee can not be made
fully clear. I incline to believe that his quick penetration detected
signs among the warriors that they did not mean to let him withdraw,
when he should seek to do so, and his plan was to use the quarrel as a
shield to thwart their purpose. This may seem a strained explanation but
let us see how it worked.
It is not impossible that the wonderful young warrior brought about the
disturbance in what may be called pure wantonness; that is, his
confidence in his own prowess led him to invite a contest, which
scarcely any other person would dare seek.
His last words were the spark to the magazine. The knife griped by Lone
Bear was snatched from his girdle, and he sprang forward, striking with
lightning-like viciousness at the chest of the Shawanoe, who avoided him
with half an effort.
In dodging the blow, the youth moved backward and to one side, so as to
bring all the warriors in front, and to leave open his line of retreat.
He had been as quick as Lone Bear to draw his weapon, but he did not
counter the blow--that is to an effective extent. He struck his
antagonist in the face, but only with the handle of the weapon. Perhaps
a pugilist would have said that the younger "heeled" the other.
The stroke was a smart one, and delivered as it was on the nose,
intensified, by its indignity, the fury of Lone Bear. He lost all
self-control, as Deerfoot meant he should do.
This flurry, as may be supposed, centred the interest of the others upon
the two. The quarrel started as suddenly as it sometimes does among a
group of fowl, and, before it was understood, the combatants, with drawn
knives were facing each other. Few sights are more entertaining to men
than that of a fight. The Pawnees in an instant were on their feet, with
eyes fixed on the scene.
It must be believed that every one of the eleven Pawnees was sure it was
out of Deerfoot's power to elude the vengeance of Lone Bear. The only
fear of the ten was that he would dispatch the youth so quickly that
much of their enjoyment would be lost. When they saw him strike Lone
Bear in the face, a general shout of derision went up at the elder
antagonist, for permitting such an outrage. This did not add to the good
temper of Lone Bear, who compressed his lips, while his eyes seemed to
shoot lightning, as he bounded at Deerfoot, intending to crush him to
the earth and to stamp life from him.
But even though the youth seemed to be lame, he leaped backward and
again escaped him. Lone Bear dashed forward, to force him down, but
Deerfoot kept limping away just fast enough to continue beyond the reach
of his enemy.
"Lone Bear runs like the fowl that has but one leg," was the odd remark
of Deerfoot, who pointed the finger of his left hand at the other's face
by way of tantalizing him.
But the fierce Pawnee was now pursuing so swiftly that Deerfoot had to
whirl about and run with his face from him. He still limped, though had
any one studied his gait, the trick would have been detected; but the
sight of Lone Bear chasing a lame youth and failing to overtake him, did
not calm his rage.
The warrior, however, was fleet, and marvellous as was the speed of the
young Shawanoe, he was compelled to put forth considerable exertion to
keep beyond his reach. His course took him quite close to the edge of
the wood, along which he ran, so that, should it become necessary, he
could leap among the trees. He watched his pursuer over his shoulder, to
prevent his coming too close. His plan was to keep just beyond his reach
and tempt him to the utmost effort.
Faster and faster went the fugitive, while the pursuer desperately put
forth every effort, maddened beyond expression that the outstretched
hand failed only by a few inches to grasp the flying Deerfoot. The
spectators were amused to the last degree. Expecting quite a chase, they
ran forward, as persons along shore follow a boat race, so as not to
lose a phase of the struggle.
In the depths of his wrath, Lone Bear regained something of his
self-command, and called to mind the stories he had heard of the
fleetness of the young Shawanoe. That, with the fact that there was no
longer the least halt in his gait, told the disadvantage in which the
pursuer was placed.
If he could not reach the Shawanoe with his knife, he could with his
tomahawk or his rifle. Hastily thrusting back the knife, he whipped out
his tomahawk and raising it over his shoulder, hurled it with might and
main at the crown surmounted by the stained eagle feathers and streaming
black hair. At that moment, pursuer and fugitive were scarcely ten feet
apart.
But Deerfoot knew what was coming, and the instant the missile left the
hand of Lone Bear, he dropped flat on his side, as if smitten by a
thunderbolt. The shouting Pawnees, who were some distance behind,
supposed his skull had been cloven by the fiercely-driven tomahawk, but
it was not so.
Lone Bear did not see the trick of Deerfoot in time to escape its
purpose. The fall was so sudden, that before he could check himself, his
moccasin struck the prostrate figure, and he sprawled headlong over him,
heels in the air, and with a momentum almost violent enough to cause him
to overtake the tomahawk that had sped end over end several rods in
advance.
Before the Pawnee could rise, Deerfoot bounded up, sprang forward, and,
placing one foot on the head of Lone Bear, leaped high in the air and
spun around so as to face the party. Brandishing his bow aloft, he
emitted a shout of defiance and called out:
"Why do not the Pawnees run? Is none of their warriors fleet enough to
seize Deerfoot when he is lame?"
The only one of the company who could understand these questions was the
slightly stunned Lone Bear, who just then was climbing to his feet; but
the gestures and manner of the fugitive told the meaning of the
performance.
The young Shawanoe stood still on the edge of the wood, as if to show
his contempt for the Pawnees, who before Lone Bear could recover from
his discomfiture, sped forward in pursuit. One of them emitted several
whoops, which Deerfoot half suspected were meant as a signal, though of
course he could not be sure of their meaning.
It seemed like tempting fate to stand motionless, when only a few
seconds were required to bring his enemies to the spot, but Deerfoot
waited till Lone Bear was erect again, when he called to him,
"The heart of Deerfoot is sad because Lone Bear can not run without
falling; let him go to the lodges of the Pawnees and ask the squaws to
teach him how to run."
Lone Bear made no reply, for it is safe to say he could not "do justice
to his feelings". Few Indian tongues contain words that answer for
expletives, which in one sense was fortunate and in another unfortunate
for Lone Bear.
When several of the pursuers brought their guns to their shoulders,
Deerfoot shot like an arrow among the trees and vanished. It was time to
do so, for his enemies were close upon him.
Though the Pawnees had learned of the swiftness of the young Shawanoe,
they had no thought of abandoning the attempt to capture him. The flying
tresses would make the most tempting of scalps to dangle from the
ridge-pole of the wigwam, and because he could outrun all their warriors
was no proof that he could not be overcome by strategy.
When the fugitive disappeared, the same signal of which I have spoken
was repeated, and the Pawnees scattered--that is to say they plunged
into the wood at different points: they did not try to overhaul him by
direct pursuit.
Two of the Indians declined to join in the chase, but walked toward Lone
Bear, who having assumed the perpendicular again, was looking around, as
if uncertain of the best course to pursue.
The American Indian, as a rule, is melancholy and doesn't enjoy innocent
fun as much as he ought, but, as I have shown, there are few or none in
which the element of humor is altogether wanting. The two of whom I am
just now speaking, shook with laughter, as they saw Lone Bear sprawl
over Deerfoot, his heels flying in air, and their mirth became so great
when the young Shawanoe used his crown as a stepping stone, that they
paused from weakness.
Lone Bear knew nothing of this, and when he saw them approaching, their
faces were as long and grave as if on the way to attend the funeral of
their dearest friend. Perhaps he expected to receive a little sympathy,
but he must have felt some misgiving.
"Lone Bear runs like the wild buck," was the remark of one of the
warriors, though the observation itself did not amount to much, nor
could the one to whom it was addressed see why it should be made at all.
He, therefore, remained silent, feeling as though he would like to rub
some of the bruised portions of his body, but too dignified to do so.
"If the wolf or buffalo crosses the path of Lone Bear, he does not turn
aside."
"No; he runs over him."
"Even though he be a warrior, Lone Bear goes over him, as though he were
not there."
The party of the third part began to see the drift of these comments,
and he glared as though debating which one to slay first.
"Lone Bear has a kind heart; it is like that of the squaw that presses
her pappoose to her heart."
"He is kinder than the squaw, for he lies still and lets the Shawanoe
rest his weary foot on his head."
Lone Bear glowered from one to the other, as they spoke in turn, and
kept his hand on his knife at his girdle, as if to warn them they were
going too far. They seemed to hold him in little fear, however, and
continued their mock sympathy. One walked to where the tomahawk had lain
untouched since it left the hand of the Pawnee, and, picking it up,
examined it with much care.
"There is no blood on it," he remarked, as if talking to himself, but
making sure he spoke loud enough for the other to hear; "we were
mistaken when we thought it went through the body of the Shawanoe; the
hand of Lone Bear trembles like that of an old man, and he can not drive
his tomahawk into the tree which he reaches with his hand."
The black eyes of the Pawnees sparkled, and they seemed on the point
several times of breaking into laughter, but managed to restrain
themselves.
Still resting his hand on his knife, Lone Bear directed his first remark
to the last speaker.
"Let Red Wolf keep his tongue; he talks like the pappoose."
Red Wolf, however, did not seem to be alarmed. He glanced into the face
of his companion and added:
"Though Red Wolf talks like the pappoose, his heart is not so faint that
he lies on the ground, that his enemy may have a _soft place_ where he
may rest his moccasin."
This, beyond question, was a severe remark, and, as the two broke again
into laughter, Lone Bear was almost as angry as when he took a header
over the body of the Shawanoe; but the warriors were as brave as he;
without reply, he turned sullenly away, and walked toward the camp fire
which he had left a short time before.
CHAPTER VI.
A DOUBLE FAILURE.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe darted among the trees and ran a hundred yards
with great swiftness. He seemed to avoid the trunks and limbs with the
ease of a bird when sailing through the tree tops.
Coming to a halt, he looked around. He had not followed a direct course
into the woods, but turning to the right, ran parallel to the open space
which bordered the stream. He knew the Pawnees would do their best,
either to capture or kill him. So long as there was a chance of making
him prisoner, they would do him no harm, for the pleasure of acting as
they chose with such a captive was a hundred fold greater than that
which could be caused by his mere death. The American Indian is as fond
of enjoying the suffering of another as is his civilized brother.
The burst of speed in which the youth indulged gave him a position where
it would require some searching on the part of the Pawnees to discover
him; but they were at work, as speedily became evident.
A few seconds only had passed, when he caught sight of several forms
flitting among the trees. While they were separated from each other by
two or three rods, they were not far off, and their actions showed they
had observed him at the same moment he detected them. They made no
outcry, but, spreading still further apart, acted as if carrying out a
plan for surrounding him.
Deerfoot was too wise to presume on his fleetness of foot, and he now
broke into a loping trot which was meant to be neither greater nor less
than the gait of his pursuers. Glancing back he saw they were running
faster than he, whereupon he increased his speed.
Suddenly one of them discharged his gun, and a moment later another shot
was heard. The first bullet sped wide, but the second clipped off a dead
branch just above the head of the fugitive. There was no mistake,
therefore, as to the purpose of those who fired.
It was not the first time that Deerfoot had served as a target for the
rifle of an enemy, and though never wounded, his sensations were any
thing but pleasant. Where a good marksman failed, a poor one was liable
to succeed: for the most wonderful shots are those made by chance.
Deerfoot now ran as fast as he dared, where branches and tree trunks
were so numerous. Glancing to the rear, as he continually did, he
noticed that two of the Pawnees were leading in the pursuit. The thought
came to him that no better time could be selected for teaching them the
superiority of the bow over the rifle.
As he ran, he drew an arrow from the quiver over his shoulder and fitted
it to the string. This was difficult, for the long bow caught in the
obstructions around him and compelled him to slacken his pace. Then,
like a flash, he leaped partly behind a tree and drew the arrow to a
head.
The Pawnees must have been amazed to discover, while in full pursuit of
an enemy, that he had vanished as though swallowed by some opening in
the earth; for the action of the fugitive was so sudden that it was not
observed. They ran several rods further, during which Deerfoot made his
aim sure. As they had discharged their guns, and had not yet slackened
their pace to reload them, he had no fear of being hurt.
All at once the foremost Pawnee saw the long bow, with the gleaming eyes
behind the arrow, whose head was supported by the right hand which
grasped the middle of the bow.
"Whoof!" he gasped, dropping to the earth as if pierced through the
heart. His action saved his life, for a second sooner would have enabled
the matchless archer to withhold the shot, which was as unerring as
human skill could make it. Though the flight of the feather-tipped
missile could be traced when the spectator stood on one side of the
line, yet the individual who was unfortunate enough to serve as a
target, could not detect its approach.
Just as the leader went down, a quick whiz was heard, and the arrow
clove the space over him. Had his companion been in line he would have
been pierced, but he was just far enough to one side, to be taught a
lesson.
The strongly-driven missile went through the fleshy part of his arm, and
sped twenty feet beyond, nipping several branches and twigs before its
force was spent. No doubt the American race as a rule is hardy and
stoical, but the stricken Pawnee acted like a schoolboy. Dropping his
gun, he clasped his hand over the wound, and emitted a yell which
surpassed everything in that line that had been heard during the day.
Even the warrior on the ground called to him to hold his peace, and the
wounded Pawnee, awaking perhaps to a sense of the unbecoming figure he
was cutting, compressed his thin lips and became silent.
But the other took good care to reload and prime his rifle before
rising, and even then he came up with the utmost slowness, peering
toward the tree from which had come the missile. He was not surprised
because he saw nothing of the Shawanoe. Having discharged the weapon, it
was natural that the latter should shelter himself from the bullet that
was to be expected in return. Deerfoot (so reasoned the Pawnee), would
not dare show himself again; but therein the warrior made a mistake.
The latter slowly came up, his form in a crouching position, his head
about four feet above ground, while his eyes were fixed on the tree from
behind which had sped the well nigh fatal missile.
"He will soon show himself," must have been the thought of the Indian,
"the bullet can travel faster than the arrow."
At that moment his companion, who was still clasping his wounded arm,
uttered a warning cry. He had discovered the Shawanoe behind another
tree, aiming a second arrow at the breast of the leader.
With incredible dexterity, Deerfoot had run to a trunk fully twenty
yards from the one which first sheltered him. He crouched so low and
passed so swiftly that he reached the shelter before there was a
possibility of discovery. It was accident which led the second warrior
to detect the long bow, bending almost like a horseshoe, with the arrow
aimed at the other.
The latter could not grasp in an instant the full nature of the peril
which impended, though, as a matter of course, he knew it must be at the
hands of the Shawanoe. He cast one glance around him, and again dropped
on his face, but this time the arrow was quicker than he.
_Zip_ came the missile straight for the brawny chest which never could
have dodged from its path in time to escape; but, as if fate had
determined to interfere, the pointed flint impinged against a tiny
branch protruding from the tree nearest the Pawnee, clipping off enough
of the tender bark to leave a gleaming white spot, and glanced
harmlessly beyond.
Deerfoot was astonished beyond measure. He had discharged two arrows at
the foremost foe, and had failed to harm a hair of him. Such a double
failure had never before taken place in his history.
But the cause was self-manifest. The Indian dodged the first, and the
twig turned the second aside. All this was natural enough, but the fact
which impressed the young Shawanoe was that it would have taken place in
neither case had he used a rifle. Was it a wise thing, therefore, when
months before, he had flung aside his gun and taken up his bow again?
Deerfoot had asked himself the same question more than once since that
time, and the doubt had deepened until he could no longer believe he was
wise in clinging to his bow and arrow, great as was his skill in their
use.
But a third arrow was quickly drawn, and stepping from behind the tree,
so that he stood in full sight, he swung his hand aloft with a defiant
shout, and coolly walked away, as though the warriors were too
insignificant to be noticed further.
The wounded Pawnee was so much occupied with his hurt that he was
willing the youth should leave the neighborhood without further
molestation from him. Taking care to keep an oak fully a foot in
diameter between them, he was content to let him depart in peace.
Not so with the other, who, waiting only long enough to make sure the
back of the youth was toward him, straightened up and brought his rifle
to his shoulder. The distance was considerable, but he ought to have
reached the mark, and probably would have done so, had not a disturbing
cause prevented.
While sighting along the barrel, the startling fact broke upon him that
the face of Deerfoot was toward him, and he was in the act of drawing a
third arrow to the head: He had whirled about almost at the same instant
that the Pawnee leveled his gun. To say the least, it was very
disconcerting, and, anxious to anticipate the Shawanoe, the other fired
before he could be certain of his aim. The bullet went so wide that
Deerfoot heard nothing of its passage among the branches around him.
Although it looked as if the Shawanoe had the other at his mercy, yet he
refrained from discharging the arrow. In fact, his whole action was
designed rather to disconcert the Pawnee than to injure him. Not only
had Deerfoot's confidence in his bow and arrow weakened, but the two
escapes of the Pawnee gave him a half-superstitious belief that it was
intended the latter should not be injured. He, therefore, relaxed the
string of the bow, but, without replacing the arrow in the quiver, he
strode off, continually glancing back to make sure the Pawnee did not
use the advantage thus given him.
CHAPTER VII.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
You will understand that the pursuit of Deerfoot the Shawanoe was not
confined to the two Pawnees, whom he thwarted in the manner described.
Their superior activity simply brought them to the front and hastened
the collision.
It will be seen, therefore, that the incidents must have taken place in
a brief space of time: had it been otherwise, Deerfoot would have been
engaged with the entire party. No one could have known that better than
he. The whoops, signals and reports of the guns could not fail to tell
the whole story, and to cause the Pawnees to converge toward the spot.
In fact, when Deerfoot lowered his bow and turned his back for the
second time on the warrior, he caught more than one glimpse of other red
men hastening thither.
Dangerous as was the situation of the youth, he did not forget another
incident which was liable to add to the difficulty of extricating
himself. From the moment he began his flight several of the Pawnees gave
utterance to shouts which were clearly meant as signals. These had been
repeated several times, and Deerfoot could form no suspicion of their
full meaning. Had the red men been Shawanoes, Wyandots or almost any
tribe whose hunting grounds were east of the Mississippi, he would have
read their purpose as readily as could those for whose ears they were
intended.
The interpretation, however, came sooner than was expected.
Deerfoot ran a little ways with such swiftness that he left every one
out of sight. Then he slackened his gait, and was going in a leisurely
fashion, when he came upon a narrow creek which ran at right angles to
the course he was following. The current was swift and deep, and the
breadth too great for him to leap over.
He saw that if he ran up or down the bank too far, he was likely to
place himself in peril again. He could have readily swam to the other
side, but preferred some other means, and concluded to take a minute or
two in looking for it.
A whoop to the left and the rear made known that no time was to be lost.
He was about to run in the opposite direction, when he caught sight of
the bridge for which he was hunting. A tree growing on the opposite side
had fallen directly across, so that the top extended several yards from
the shore. The trunk was long, thin, covered with smooth bark, and with
only a few branches near the top, but it was the very thing the fugitive
wanted, and, scarcely checking his gait, he dashed toward it, heedless
of the Pawnees, a number of whom were in sight.
He slowed his pace when about to step on the support, and placing one
foot on the thin bridge, tested it. So far as he could judge it was
satisfactory, and, balancing himself, he began walking toward the other
shore. Only four steps were taken, when a Pawnee stepped upon the
opposite end, and advanced directly toward the Shawanoe.
It began to look, after all, as though Deerfoot had presumed too far on
his own prowess, for his enemies were coming fast after him, and now,
while treading the delicate structure, he was brought face to face with
a warrior as formidable as Lone Bear or Eagle-of-the-Rocks.
But there was no time to hesitate. The Pawnee had caught the signals
from the other side of the stream, and hurried forward to intercept the
enemy making his way in that direction. He advanced far enough from the
spreading base of the tree to render his foothold firm, when he braced
himself with drawn knife, to receive the youth. He had flung his blanket
and rifle aside, before stepping on the trunk, so as not to be hindered
in his movements.
His painted face seemed to gleam with exultation, for, if ever a man was
justified in believing he had a sure thing it was that Pawnee warrior,
and if ever a person made a mistake that Pawnee warrior was the
individual.
[Illustration: A DISPUTED POINT.]
Instead of turning back Deerfoot drew his knife, and grasped it with his
right hand, as though he meant to engage the other in conflict where
both had such unsteady footing. Had the young Shawanoe held such a
purpose, his left hand, but the Pawnee, having never seen him before,
could not know that, and he was confident that the slaying of the youth
was the easiest task he could undertake.
Deerfoot not only continued his advance, but broke into a trot composed
of short, quick steps, such as a leaper takes when gathering on the edge
of a cliff for his final effort. He still held his bow in his left and
his knife in his right hand, and tightly closing his lips, looked into
the eyes of the Pawnee.
Just as the latter drew back his weapon with the intention of making the
decisive blow, and when two paces only separated the enemies, the
Shawanoe dropped his head and drove it with terrific force against the
chest of the Pawnee. The latter was carried off the log as completely as
if he had been smitten with a battering ram.
He went over with feet pointing upward, and dropped with a splash into
the stream. The blow was so violent indeed that the breath was knocked
from him, and he emitted a grunt as he toppled off the support. As he
disappeared, Deerfoot, too, lost his balance, but he was so close to
land, that he leaped clear of the water. Then, as if he thought the
Pawnee might need his blanket and rifle, he picked them up and tossed
them into the stream after him.
Incidents followed each other with a rush, and the report of two guns in
quick succession reminded the youth that it would not do to linger any
longer in the vicinity; but assured now of the meaning of the signals
which he had heard, he scanned the woods in front, as much as he did
those in the rear. It was well he did so.
By calling into play his magnificent fleetness, he rapidly increased the
distance between him and his enemies, but was scarcely able to pass
beyond their sight, before, to his astonishment, he found he was
confronted by two other warriors, coming from the opposite direction.
They were doubtless on a hunt when signaled by the large party to
intercept an enemy fleeing from them.
It began to look to Deerfoot as though he had struck either a settlement
of Pawnees, or a very large war party, for, beyond question, the "woods
were full of them". To have continued straight on would have brought
about an encounter with the two, and there was too much risk in that,
though from what the reader learned long ago of Deerfoot, it is
unnecessary to say that he would not have hesitated to make such a
fight, had there been a call to do so.
Truth to tell, the red men were firing off their guns too rapidly to
allow the fugitive to feel comfortable. Thus far, although he had swept
his foes from his path, as may be said, he had refrained from slaying
any one. He would not take life unless necessary, but he began to doubt
whether he had acted wisely in showing mercy. Had he pierced two or
three of his foes through and through, the others would not have been so
enthusiastic in pursuing him across stream and through wood.
At any rate, he decided to be more resolute, and when necessary, drive a
shaft "home".
The moment he observed the two Pawnees advancing from a point in front,
he made another change in his course. This time it was to the right, and
again he put forth a burst of speed the like of which his enemies had
never seen. He passed in and out among the trees, and through the
undergrowth, with such bewildering swiftness, that, though he was within
gunshot, neither would risk firing, where it was more difficult to take
aim than at the bird darting through the tree tops.
The last act of the fugitive had, as he believed, thrown all his
pursuers well to the rear. When he made the turn, the two whom he last
encountered tried to head him off by cutting across, as it may be
called, but they relinquished the effort when they saw how useless it
was.
Thus far, though Deerfoot had been placed in situations of great danger,
he had managed to free himself without any effort that could be deemed
unusual for him, though it would have been remarkable had it been
performed by any one else. But now, when it began to look as if the
worst were over, he was made aware that the most serious crisis of all
had come.
At the moment when he began to lessen his speed, simply because the
intervening limbs annoyed him, he made the discovery that still more of
the Pawnees were in front. He caught the glimmer of their dress between
the trees scarcely, more than a hundred yards in advance, and, instead
of one or two, there were at least five who were drawing near.
These were what may be called strangers, since they and Deerfoot now saw
each other for the first time. Had they known the exact circumstances,
they would have kept out of sight until the fugitive had run, as may be
said, into their arms; but, like the rest, they were moving toward the
camp, in obedience to the signals, keeping a lookout at the same time
for the enemy that they knew was somewhere in the neighborhood. The
reason they had not put in an earlier appearance was because they were
further off than the rest.
At the moment Deerfoot observed them, he was not far off from the
winding stream over which he had passed on the fallen tree. Like a
flash, he turned about and ran with his own extraordinary fleetness,
directly over his own trail.
It will be seen that the peril of this course reached almost a fatal
degree, for the other Pawnees could not be far off, and a very brief run
would take him in full sight of them.
The last comers showed more vigor than the others. The glimpse they
caught of the strange warrior dashing toward them, told the whole truth.
The sight of a man running at full speed with a whooping mob a short
distance behind, is all the evidence needed to prove he is a fugitive.
Besides, when the Pawnees bore down on Deerfoot they knew far more of
the neighborhood than he, and were sure he was entrapped.
The purpose of the Shawanoe was to put forth his utmost swiftness,
hoping to place himself, if only for part of a minute, beyond sight of
his enemies. Though he made the closest kind of calculation,
circumstances were against him, and he not only failed to disappear from
the last two, but, short as was the distance he doubled on his own
trail, it took him into the field of vision of the parties whom he had
eluded but a few minutes before. So it came about that he was in full
view of a number of enemies, rapidly converging toward him, while a
deep, swift stream was flowing across his line of flight.
The success of the pursuers now looked so certain that their leader
emitted several whoops, a couple of which were meant as a command for
none to fire: the Shawanoe was cornered and they meant to make him
prisoner.
It need not be said that under the worst conditions the capture of the
young warrior would have been no easy matter. He could fight like a
tiger when driven into corner, and his great quickness availed him
against superior strength. He had bounded out of more desperate
situations than any person of double his years, and, knowing that no
mercy was to be expected from the warlike Pawnees, it must have been a
strange conjunction of disasters that could compel him to throw up his
hands and yield.
Deerfoot had crossed one stream on his way to the Pawnee camp, and it
was no task to swim one of double the width; but the skillful swimmer
can advance only at a slow rate through the water, and, before he could
reach the other shore, a half dozen Pawnees would be on the bank in the
rear, waiting for him to reappear. He was a master of the natatorial
art, but he was not amphibious, and soon would have to come to the
surface or die. The watchers would be quick to detect him, and their
position was so much the superior of the fugitive that his capture was
inevitable.
Suddenly Deerfoot seemed to see that there was but the one thing to do;
turning again, he faced the stream which was but a few rods distant, and
ran toward it. The undergrowth was abundant, but his head and shoulders
were seen, as under the swift doublings of his limbs, they shot forward
as if borne on the back of an invisible express engine.
The thrilling run lasted but a second or two; then, having reached the
margin of the stream, the fugitive was seen to gather himself and rise
like a bird on the wing. He had made a prodigious leap toward the other
shore.
The Pawnees uttered several cries of exultation, for no doubt remained
of their success. For one instant the figure was suspended in mid air,
and then it descended. The pursuers heard the loud splash, and were on
the spot before the most skillful swimmer could have taken three strokes
or forced his body an arm's length through the water.
The leading Pawnee saw the ripples made in the swift current by the
Shawanoe, whose body was out of sight, for he had not been given time in
which to rise. As the current was too powerful to permit any one to swim
against it (besides which such an expenditure of strength could gain
nothing), it followed that the youth must either come up near the spot
where he went down, or some distance below it.
The supposition would be that, helped by the momentum of his own body,
Deerfoot would aim for the other shore. Fearful of attempting to climb
the opposite bank with a half dozen standing just behind him with loaded
guns, he would try to keep out of sight by thrusting just the point of
his nose above the water, so as to gain a breath of the indispensable
air.
But two facts rendered this impossible. In the first place, the water
was remarkably clear, so that a body only a fractional part of the size
of the youth, could not come within a foot of the surface without being
seen. Besides, the vegetation on the other side did not overhang the
current (as it did in one or two instances which perhaps my readers will
recall), so nothing there could serve to screen such a movement. A third
obstacle to such strategy may be mentioned: the stream along shore was
shallow, while with the two conditions first mentioned in his favor,
water to permit the most absolute freedom of movement was indispensable.
Enough has been said, however, to prove that the feat was beyond the
reach even of such a marvel as Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
The leader of the Pawnees repeated his warning against shooting the
fugitive--that is, against killing him. If there seemed to be danger of
his getting away, they were to fire so as to disable without slaying
him. It would be an easy matter to bring him down without endangering
his life.
As if to shut out all hope for the Shawanoe, three of the warriors who
seemed to be wandering everywhere through the woods appeared at this
moment on the other shore. They were given to understand the situation,
and joined the parties that waited for the reappearance of the youth,
who seemed to have disported himself like a very demon since coming into
that vicinity.
The Pawnees were so distributed along the bank that the very instant a
swimmer should approach the surface from below, he would be observed by
several spectators. And thus stood and waited the swarthy warriors for
the sight which was never to come to them.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FLIGHT OF DEERFOOT.
None could know better the length of time it is possible for a person to
live under water than did the Pawnees who lined the shore of the stream
from which they awaited the young Shawanoe to rise and surrender
himself.
At such times the seconds seem long, but in due time they grew into
minutes, until one, two, three, four, and fully five had gone by, and
still nothing was seen of the Shawanoe, who, they were assured, had
leaped into the river. Before this, the warriors looked wonderingly at
each other, unable to guess what it could all mean.
Had he bounded across the creek? Wide as it was, the possibility had
been considered from the first, and, when the seconds were well along,
the leader called to those on the other side to examine the margin for
the imprints of the Indian's moccasins. Striking with such force, the
dents would be in sight from across the stream. As it was easy to
identify the spot where he made the leap, it was equally easy to
determine the precise point where the telltale footprints should appear.
But the minute scrutiny of the edge of the creek proved that no moccasin
had touched it. And that being the case, the question came back as to
what had become of the fugitive.
"The dog of a Shawanoe is at the bottom," was the natural remark of the
leader. "He has gone down, and the Great Spirit is so angry with him
that he will not permit him to rise."
That was a curious explanation of the occurrence, but it appeared to be
about the only one left to the pursuers, who were not fully satisfied
even with that. We are aware that a person who springs into the water,
even if he can not swim a stroke, is pretty sure to come up once or
twice. The Pawnees knew of a verity that the Shawanoe must be an
excellent swimmer, and it certainly was inexplainable if he did not
reappear.
"Did he leave the shore?" asked one of those who had approached from the
side toward which Deerfoot had sped.
"We saw him run for it as runs the deer," was the reply.
"But the Shawanoe is like the weasel; he may have turned aside and sped
up or down the stream, with his head bent so low that he could not be
seen."
"The eyes of Wimmoroo were open," said the leader, who, in spite of his
assurance, began to feel suspicious that some trick had been played upon
them, though, as yet, he could not define its nature.
"What did the eyes of Wimmoroo tell him?" asked the other, showing a
Yankee-like persistency in his questions.
"They showed him the dog of a Shawanoe, as he bounded high in air and
strove to reach the other shore."
"Can Wimmoroo make sure the Shawanoe did not leap in the air and then
place his feet on the ground where they were before?"
Could it be possible that such a strategy had been used? He began an
examination, two of his warriors helping him. There were the footprints
of the delicate moccasins in plain sight, showing where he had leaped
clear from the ground, but not the faintest impression was visible
either to the right or left of the spot. Inasmuch as the fugitive could
not have fled in either direction without leaving a trail, and the
closest search failed to show any thing of the kind, the conclusion was
inevitable that no such flight had taken place.
Besides--how came Wimmoroo to forget it?--all caught the splash of the
body as it dropped in the water. As might be expected witnesses were not
wanting to declare they had seen the spray fly upward, and had caught
sight of the eagle feathers in the crown of Deerfoot as he swam for the
other side.
All which being so, the question came back again where could Deerfoot
be?
It is not often that a group of red men are so at their wit's end as
were the Pawnees. They stood looking about them, silent and bewildered.
Wimmoroo took a sly glance at the tree tops as though he half expected
to see the missing Shawanoe perched in the branches.
But among those red men was one at least with quick intelligence. He was
the last to approach the stream from the side toward which Deerfoot
leaped. He had not yet spoken, but when told the facts, he glanced here
and there, so as to take in all the points, and it was not long before a
suspicion of the truth dawned upon him.
Several facts, which were patent to the others, took connection in his
mind. Let me name one or two--Deerfoot possessed a fleetness which no
Pawnee could equal; he was seen to run toward the stream with the utmost
speed of which he was capable; he was observed to make the jump, and the
creek itself was a little more than twenty feet in width. The
conclusion, therefore, was certain--he had bounded across.
The leap, while a great one, was not beyond the attainment of the Pawnee
himself, who was studying the question. He was sure that with a running
start he could clear the water, though he could do no more. Still there
were no footprints on the margin that could have been made by the
fugitive; but, recalling the prodigious activity of the fugitive, the
Pawnee scrutinized the ground further back. He had done so only a half
minute when he discovered the truth. Making it known to the others, they
refused for a minute or two to believe him, but the proof was before
their eyes and they disputed no longer.
The young Shawanoe, finding that his only escape from the Pawnees, who
seemed to spring from the ground all around him, was by placing himself
on the other side the creek, turned and made for it, as I have already
told, with all the speed he possessed. The stream was of a width varying
from twenty to forty feet or more. Where he had crossed it before, it
was too wide for him to think of leaping. In fact, his hasty search
along shore failed to show a spot across which he could jump, and he did
not expect to do so in the present instance.
But the extremity of good fortune attended the fleet-footed Deerfoot,
who struck one of the narrowest portions. He anticipated falling into
the water, quite close to the other side, whence he meant to crawl
hastily out and continue his flight. Gathering his muscles, he made one
of the most terrific efforts of his life, and, rising in air, described
a parabola, which carried him fully six feet past the water, striking
the ground beyond a clump of bushes. There, as I have said, when the
search was made, his footprints were seen too plainly to leave any doubt
as to the exploit he had performed.
At the instant of alighting, he whirled around, stepped close to the
water, and struck it a sharp blow with his long bow. It was his
quickness of resource which led him to do this without a second's delay.
Well aware of the great leap he had made, he caused the splash, so as to
lead his pursuers to think he had dropped into the current. It has been
shown how he succeeded.
Crouching low, so as to keep his body hidden so far as it was possible
to do so, he ran along the stream, sometimes almost on his hands and
knees, until a point was reached where he was able to straighten up
without detection. His keen vision showed him the Pawnees advancing from
the side on which he had taken refuge, but he easily avoided discovery,
and had not far to go, when he felt that all danger was over.
It will be admitted that, from the moment when he entered the Pawnee
camp and fell into a dispute with Lone Bear, he had been given little
time to rest. It may be said that the sweep of incident kept him on the
jump, from the opening to the close. He was given no time to think of
Hay-uta nor of Jack Carleton, from whom he was separated by still
another stream of water, across which he was forced to swim, in order to
reach the war party. He had done his utmost to gather some information
respecting Otto Relstaub, for whom the three were searching, but had not
picked up the first grain of knowledge. Lone Bear, who could have told
him one or two surprising facts respecting the young German lad, sought
to mislead him. What his reason was for such a course was beyond the
power of Deerfoot to guess.
It can not be said that the Shawanoe felt any misgivings as to the
situation of the two who had come with him. The Sauk was skillful, and
would be quick to learn the peril in which the young warrior had become
involved. Such knowledge would enable him to guard against similar slips
himself.
Convinced that at last he had shaken off his enemies, Deerfoot resumed
his moderate pace, while he debated with himself the best course to
pursue.
He was back again on the side of the stream where he had first seen the
Pawnees encamped, and doubtless a number of them were scattered at
different points through the wood. There must have been twenty of them
in the neighborhood, for, when summoned by signal, they appeared to come
from all points of the compass. But none now was in sight, and who of
them all was able to outwit the Shawanoe in woodcraft and cunning?
The clothing which had been saturated by his plunge into the larger
stream was nearly dry, and an examination showed he had suffered no
damage in person or property. More than one bullet had been fired at
him, but not a hair of his head was harmed. The stained eagle feathers
still projected from his crown; the quiver of arrows rested behind his
right shoulder; the string of his bow was free from moisture; the red
sash around his waist, the fringes of his hunting shirt, his leggings,
his moccasins and even the double string of beads around his neck and
the golden bracelet which clasped one wrist, showed no evidence of the
ordeal through which their owner had so recently passed. Knife, tomahawk
and bow were as ready as ever for any emergency which might call for
them.
Deerfoot reflected that, so far as he was concerned, the result of his
enterprise was a failure--in truth, it was worse than a failure, for,
having learned nothing of the fate of Otto, he had put the Pawnees on
their guard against giving such information. Lone Bear showed an
unwillingness to tell any thing, and now it was to be expected that he
and his companions would take care to thwart the wishes of the Shawanoe
and what friends he might have.
The young warrior asked himself whether he must recross the stream and
join Jack Carleton with the confession that he had not been able to
learn any thing about Otto, and that he saw no chance of doing so. He
was loth to make such acknowledgment, and he determined not to do so,
until after making at least one more attempt to force the truth from
some member of the war party.
The afternoon was well advanced when he appeared in the camp of the
hostiles, and it would seem that the incidents which took place ought to
have carried him close to nightfall. But I must repeat that on account
of their hurricane-like rush, they took a small amount of time, and now,
when he found himself free of his pursuers, the sun was yet a couple of
hours above the horizon. Enough daylight remained for him to do a large
amount of work, always provided the work presented itself to be done.
He decided to take another survey of the camp before returning, in the
hope that possibly some "material" for labor awaited him. A quick survey
of his surroundings caused him to locate himself. The camp was not far
off, and he began making his way toward it.
In doing so he did not steal forward with the slow caution which his
race generally show when approaching an enemy, but he advanced briskly
among the trees, though his motion was as noiseless as that of the
shadow of the cloud overhead.
CHAPTER IX.
TWO PAWNEES ARE ASTONISHED.
Among all the chagrined Pawnees, there was none so humiliated as Lone
Bear, who had been thrown headlong by the trick of the young Shawanoe
dropping in front of him. That was bad enough, but it was made a
hundred-fold worse when Deerfoot stepped on the crown of his head before
he could rise, or prevent it. It was Red Wolf who cruelly remarked that
the reason for the youth taking that step was that he might have a _soft
place_ whereon to rest his moccasin.
Instead of replying to the chaffings of his two companions, Lone Bear
sat on a pile of fagots in the deserted camp, and smoked his pipe in
silence.
Red Wolf and the other Pawnee sat near, but neither lighted his pipe.
They had done all they cared to do in the way of tantalizing their
comrade, who had spent a part of his early boyhood among the Shawanoes
on the other side of the Mississippi. They saw he was in an ugly mood,
and would be likely to fight if provoked further. Though they did not
hold him in fear, they did not seek a quarrel. Besides, too, they saw
the serious side to the business: Deerfoot had already proved that he
was a remarkable warrior, for, amid the shooting and firing of guns,
which came from the forest beyond, there was heard no signal which told
that the daring youth had been shot or captured. The moment such a
result should take place, it would be made known by the exultation whoop
from the one fortunate enough to bring it about.
The question which presented itself to Red Wolf and his companion was,
whether it was probable the wonderful Deerfoot was alone. The Pawnees
were returning from a long excursion eastward, which had led them across
and into new hunting grounds, where their presence was sure to arouse
enmity whenever discovered. On that journey toward the Mississippi, the
Pawnees had come in collision with other parties of red men; guns had
been fired and one or two scalps taken, including one lost. In addition,
the invaders had destroyed much game, so that abundant ground for
complaint rested with the strangers. What more probable than that some
of those aggrieved tribes had determined on a retaliatory policy, by
sending a strong party to chastise the Pawnees?
Before Red Wolf could start a discussion on this question, the one at
his side became so interested in what was going on deeper in the woods
that he sprang to his feet and was off like a shot. This left Red Wolf
and Lone Bear alone, and the former felt much less disposition to pick a
quarrel than before.
"Are not the hunting grounds of the Shawanoes beyond the Great River?"
asked Red Wolf.
Lone Bear glared at him, as if doubting the sincerity of the question,
but, satisfied a moment later that the inquirer was in quest of truth,
he shook off his surliness and answered:
"Two suns' travel beyond the Great River lie the hunting grounds of the
Shawanoes and Wyandots."
"The Shawanoes are brave warriors?"
"Only the Pawnees excel them," was the reply of Lone Bear, who in those
words uttered the greatest compliment possible to the warlike tribe
which did more than any other to give Kentucky its baptismal name of the
Dark and Bloody Ground.
"Why is the Shawanoe whom you call Deerfoot journeying toward the
hunting grounds of the Pawnees?"
This was a pertinent question, which Lone Bear would have been glad to
have some one answer for him, but which, as might be expected, he sought
to solve without hesitation.
"He has come to look upon the woods and streams and prairies so favored
by the Great Spirit, where the bravest warriors, the Pawnees, are born,
and from which they drive all strangers."
Had Red Wolf chosen, he might have reminded the speaker of the bad taste
of this remark, when he had been so recently overthrown and disgraced by
one of the tribe which he placed lower in rank than his own; but Red
Wolf was disposed to take a more practical view of matters, and it was
natural he should go to the Pawnee who had once lived among the
Shawanoes.
"We saw only one Shawanoe, but there may be more hiding among the trees,
and waiting to fire at the Pawnees when they have their eyes closed in
slumber."
"Red Wolf has seen no Shawanoe!" exclaimed the other, wrathfully. "There
has been none here."
"Why does Lone Bear speak in riddles? What is the totem of the young
warrior called Deerfoot?"
"He _was_ a Shawanoe; his father was Allomaug the great chief; but
Deerfoot became a pale-face; he listened to the prating of the
missionaries, and turned away from the wigwams of his people; he has not
consorted with the Shawanoes for years; they would give a hundred scalps
if they could tear his from his crown. If the warriors of the Shawanoes
were in the woods," added Lone Bear, with a sweep of his right arm,
"Deerfoot would not be here, for he is a dog that runs when he hears the
call of his masters."
None could be more aware of the falsity of this than Lone Bear, who,
though he left the tribe before Deerfoot did, had heard of his exploits
since then, and knew him to be one of the bravest youths that ever
lived. And, again, he lost sight of his recent experience with him.
But when he reminded Red Wolf that the Shawanoe dwelt beyond the Great
River, whither the Pawnees had not penetrated, and that Deerfoot had
made known that his errand was to look for the captive pale-face, all
fear of his being in the company of a war party was removed.
However, no matter what explanation was given, it brought forward other
questions which could not be explained away. One of these was the
natural one, that, if the Pawnees had happened to have the German lad in
their custody, by what means did he hope to recover him? He brought with
him nothing in the shape of a ransom, so far as could be seen, and it
was hard to imagine what other method he expected to employ.
When Otto was bought of the Sauks, a pretty fair price was paid for him,
and it was not to be expected that his purchasers would discount that
compensation. The conclusion that the daring Shawanoe relied upon other
means, which were not apparent, gave a vague misgiving to Lone Bear and
Red Wolf, as they sat near the camp-fire talking over the stirring
incidents of the last half hour.
Now and then they ceased and listened to the sounds which came from the
forest, wherein the efforts were pushed to make prisoner the young
Shawanoe, who was dodging hither and thither as if running a gauntlet.
The temptation was strong to mingle in the general melee, as it may be
called, but the treatment Lone Bear had received at the hands of the
Shawanoe filled him with a fear that he had never known before, for
there was a tinge of superstition in it, as appeared in the next remark
he made.
"Deerfoot calls himself a Shawanoe; he was born with the people, but
when he left them he became an Evil Spirit."
This was Lone Bear's method of saying that the devil bore an active part
in the exploits of the youth, an opinion which was shared by Red Wolf.
"The Evil One is his friend: if he was not, he would have fallen by the
bullets that were aimed at him. Lone Bear would have slain the greatest
warrior, when he was running before him as Deerfoot ran, but he could
not slay Deerfoot, because the Evil One was his friend."
This was the kind of remark to please Lone Bear, for it implied that the
best possible reason existed for his failure; his enemy was of the
supernatural class, and, therefore, beyond the power of any human being
to overcome.
Lone Bear turned his head toward the woods, while he held his lips
closed over his pipe-stem. The sharp report of a rifle had reached their
ears, and the two Pawnees listened for a minute without moving or
speaking. Deerfoot just then was doing wonders in the way of dodging and
running, and the warriors sitting by the camp-fire could almost read the
narrative, as you have done from these printed pages.
Red Wolf leaned forward and lighted his pipe from the glowing coals, and
then seated himself a little closer than before to his companion. They
were at the end of the fire, as may be said, and so near each other that
when they talked and gesticulated their heads almost touched.
"They will not harm the Shawanoe," was the truthful remark of Lone Bear,
though in his heart he hoped they would bring his reeking scalp into
camp. "The Evil One runs at his side, and when the bullet is aimed by
the brave Pawnees, he catches it in his hand and holds it that it may
not harm the Shawanoe."
This was an ingenious explanation, for it helped to release the warrior
from a questionable situation. Red Wolf, who was sitting cross-legged,
like a tailor, sent an enormous puff of smoke over his shoulder, and
nodded several times with much vigor, to signify that he indorsed the
sentiments of his comrade.
"He can not be harmed until the Good Spirit shall drive the Evil One
away; then the bullet of Lone Bear and the tomahawk of Red Wolf and the
knives of the Pawnees shall reach him. He shall then die as dies the
rattlesnake coiled in our path."
At intervals the two ceased speaking, and, looking toward the wood,
listened, but an interval of silence followed. Both began to hope that
in spite of the armor they had thrown around the Shawanoe, he had been
brought down by some of the Pawnees, who were making such efforts to
destroy him.
It will be remembered that the wood from which Deerfoot had caught sight
of the Pawnee war party came down to the edge of the broad stream over
which he swam in order to reach them. On their side, the growth of the
forest ceased some rods away from the water, so that for a considerable
distance, a broad band of open land lined the river. In this cleared
space the camp-fire of the Pawnees was burning, and they were grouped
around it, with nearly as many warriors at varying distances in the
wilderness beyond. When they looked, it was toward the nearest trees,
from which they expected almost every moment to see some of their
comrades emerge, escorting the prisoner.
Red Wolf seemed to glow with anger, because the Shawanoe persisted in
keeping out of the hands of the Pawnees, who, it may be said, surrounded
him. Removing his long-stemmed pipe from between his teeth, he held it
poised in his left hand, while he gesticulated with his right.
"Who are the bravest warriors that hunt through the wilderness and over
the prairies?" he asked, launching out in that vain-glorious boasting,
so characteristic of his race: "who drove all other red men before them?
Whose war-whoop makes the pale-faces run to their cabins and hold their
doors closed? Whose shouts cause their enemies to tremble and call on
the Great Spirit to protect them? Who is it that sweeps--"
A splintering crash broke in upon this series of questions, and the bowl
of Red Wolf's pipe was shattered into a hundred fragments, the atoms
flying into the faces of the startled Pawnees, who, accustomed to
surprises, leaped to their feet and glanced right and left to learn the
cause of the astounding occurrence.
At that instant something like the flitting of a bird's wing twinkled in
front of their eyes, and the quick "chuck" which followed showed them an
Indian arrow with its head buried in the ground fifty feet beyond, and
the feathered point still a-tremble from the force with which it had
been driven from the bow.
Like a flash they looked toward the opposite point, and that which met
their gaze was perhaps the most alarming sight they had ever seen.
Scarcely a hundred feet away, on the edge of the wood, stood Deerfoot
the Shawanoe. He had already launched two arrows, and, when they caught
sight of him, he was standing with a third drawn to the head, and
apparently in the very act of letting fly at one of the terrified
warriors.
The American Indian as a rule is not powerful, and his muscular
development is moderate; but his life accustoms him to quickness of
movement, and he generally excels in running and leaping. Any one
looking upon Lone Bear and Red Wolf at that moment would have set them
down as the champions of their tribe. When they identified the archer
and saw that he was on the point of discharging another missile, they
made a break for shelter.
Red Wolf headed for the river, possibly because he didn't dare to lose
the time it would take to turn partly on his feet. He ran as if he meant
to make the effort to leap entirely across, or at least to outrun the
arrow which he believed was chasing him.
He hadn't far to go, and it didn't take him long to travel it. A bound,
a splash, and he vanished.
Lone Bear knew he was closer to the wood than to the water, and he was
equally determined to attain shelter. In his tremendous effort, he
seemed to think he could dodge the shafts that were whizzing through the
air in quick succession after him. He bent his head so that he was
crouching half way to the ground, and leaped from side to side, ducked
and dodged and contorted himself in an indescribable fashion. When he
bounded among the trees, he must have felt he had made the escape of his
life.
But the third arrow did not leave the bow. Deerfoot had not sought to
harm either of the Pawnees, but in obedience to that disposition to
humor which he sometimes displayed, he took pains to fire as close as he
could without hitting them. When he saw their dismay, he shook from head
to foot with silent laughter.
But his mirth was brief. A slight noise caused him to turn his head.
There stood two other Indians directly behind him, one with his gun
leveled directly at his heart.
CHAPTER X.
SAUK AND PAWNEE.
When Hay-uta, the ally of Deerfoot, parted with him so that the
reconnoissance of the Pawnee camp could be made separately, he went down
stream--that is, in the direction opposite to that taken by Deerfoot. He
moved faster than the Shawanoe, and emerged from the river at the moment
the other entered it.
Before this, he had taken another scrutiny of the two warriors, whom he
had pointed out as members of the party that bought Otto Relstaub from
the Sauks. He thought it unlikely that a mistake could have been made,
and the second inspection proved he was right beyond all doubt.
Without any reason for such belief, Hay-uta concluded there were other
Pawnees in the vicinity. The appearance of the camp suggested in some
way that several were missing. He therefore conducted his movements as
though danger threatened him from all points.
Hay-uta was daring and skillful. He had been engaged on more than one
similar enterprise, with the difference that the camps where he
reconnoitered previously were those of bitter enemies. Having met the
Pawnees before, on what may be considered neutral if not friendly
ground, he would have felt no great misgivings while marching into their
camp, without any effort at concealment.
But, if discovered prowling through the woods, the case would be
different. It would be hard to offer any explanation, and, therefore, it
was the more necessary to avoid detection while thus employed.
The Sauk was as much puzzled as Deerfoot to guess what had become of
Otto. Two of the warriors, if not all of them, were able to tell, but
Hay-uta could not expect to draw the information from them. Perhaps
Deerfoot might do so.
There was good ground to fear the poor lad had been put out of the way
forever, but the Sauk was still more convinced that he was not only
alive and well, but was at no great distance from the camp of the
Pawnees.
Instead of going directly toward the latter, as did Deerfoot, the Sauk
started out on what may be described as a large circle, inclosing the
war party near the river. His action was based on the somewhat curious
theory that the Pawnees which he had seen did not compose the main body
that would be found grouped somewhere within the woods. It may as well
be said that he was mistaken in this supposition, though the reader has
learned that a number of Indians were scattered at different points, and
it was their rapid convergence which kept Deerfoot on the move.
Hay-uta had not gone far on the edge of the semi-circle, when the shouts
and sounds of firearms from that direction of the camp left no doubt
that trouble had broken out there. Desirous of learning what it meant,
he moved toward the point, but before he went near enough to discover
any thing, he detected one of the Pawnees doing the same thing.
The warrior was just far enough in advance for Hay-uta to catch a
glimpse of his figure as it twinkled among the trees. He was going on a
long, loping trot, which, if not very rapid, was sufficiently so to
carry him beyond sight within a few seconds after the Sauk observed him.
The unexpected turn which events had taken led Hay-uta to stop and
question himself as to the right course to follow. His intelligence told
him that Deerfoot was fleeing through the woods, with an indefinite
number of enemies in pursuit. The Sauk grimly smiled.
"The Pawnees will overtake the young Shawanoe when they outrun the eagle
as he flies among the clouds. The arrow of his own bow is scarce faster
than he."
The confidence of Hay-uta in the prowess of Deerfoot was warranted, as
we can not help agreeing, but suspecting the truth, as the Sauk did, we
can hardly understand how he believed he would succeed in extricating
himself.
Making sure that no one was in the vicinity the Sauk stood for perhaps
fifteen minutes, while he listened closely to the sounds which came from
different points in the wood. He was able to form a pretty fair idea of
what it all meant, though of necessity much was left to conjecture.
It was the training of Hay-uta, from his earliest youth, which led him
to keep his glances flitting here and there in all directions, while
using his ears to determine what was going on. Had he not done so, he
would have failed to note a suspicious proceeding on his right.
Although looking toward a different point just then, he detected
something which led him to believe that one of the strange warriors was
trying to steal close to him. It seemed as if a Pawnee, having
discovered the Sauk, was trying to get close enough to make the aim of
his gun sure.
The first glance toward that point convinced Hay-uta that his enemy was
making for the trunk of a tree, less than a hundred yards distant. Its
diameter was so great that it would have sheltered two persons at the
same time; and it exceeded to such an extent all the others near it,
that it was natural for one to seek its protection.
The Sauk was sure that the warrior was several rods beyond this tree,
toward which he was stealing, while striving to keep the trunk between
him and Hay-uta. So long, therefore, as the Sank remained motionless,
the Pawnee would be protected, though there were other trees of less
size behind which he could escape should it become necessary.
It is not to be supposed that the Sauk was stupid enough to stand like a
wooden Indian, and allow his enemy every advantage he sought. There were
plenty of trunks, also, which he could use as a screen while engaged in
a characteristic duel with the other Indian; but, instead of doing so,
he began striding off toward the right, keeping his gaze fixed on the
larger trunk, and holding his rifle at full cock, so that it could be
aimed and fired on an instant's call. At the same time, he swung his
right arm about his head, and then struck the left hand over his heart.
This was the sign of comity, and the moment it should catch the eye of
the Pawnee, he would be sure to recognize it as such, though whether he
would accept it remained to be seen.
The action of the Sank was so prompt, and apparently so unexpected, that
the crouching savage was caught unawares. He was uncovered with great
cleverness, and indeed Hay-uta could have "winged" him had he chosen to
do so. It was not from lack of inclination that he held his fire, but
because prudence demanded it. As it was, he was confident of his ability
to anticipate any hostile movement on the part of the other.
Flanked in this fashion, the Pawnee was equally prompt in reciprocating
the gestures of good-will which greeted him. While in the act of
straightening up, he imitated the salutations which, though somewhat
different from those to which he was accustomed, were too plain in their
meaning to be mistaken.
When two strangers open negotiations by declaring themselves friends, it
is natural they should advance and shake hands (provided that manner of
salutation is in vogue), and such was the next proceeding of the red
men.
"The heart of Hay-uta bounds with joy when he looks upon the face of his
brave brother of the unknown totem," said the Sauk.
"The Flying Deer, of the Pawnees, would weep till the Great Spirit in
sorrow for him called him home, had he been made to wait for this brave
warrior, who has journeyed so many suns that he may look upon his face,"
was the substantial response of the Pawnee.
All this was very fine, but one drawback remained--neither Indian
understood a single syllable uttered by the other, but the beaming
expressions scarcely needed literal interpretation. Truth makes it
necessary to add that, with all this effusiveness, the warriors
distrusted each other.
Now began a conversation by means of signs, which it would be tedious to
give in full. Fortunately for Hay-uta, he was so far removed from the
scene of action in which Deerfoot and the others were playing such an
active part, that he was quite secure against interruption, unless the
fleeing Shawanoe should happen to take a turn in his flight which might
bring the swarming pursuers in that direction.
It was impossible for Hay-uta to know the real sentiments of the other,
but, as a matter of precaution, he sought to draw him further away from
the theater of action. The Pawnee must have understood, from the signals
which had reached him, that an enemy was making a great stir, and that
his own presence was desired.
Furthermore, as the Sauk was a stranger, the natural supposition would
be that he was an ally of the enemy. This could not fail to cause
suspicion, but, having just vowed eternal friendship, policy required
him to conceal his real sentiments.
On the invitation of the Sauk, the other accompanied him a few rods,
during which they conversed as well as they could in pantomime. While
they managed to communicate a great deal, yet the limit was speedily
reached. When Hay-uta tried to ask after the missing Otto, the other did
not comprehend him, or, if he did, failed to make his sentences clear.
In that respect, therefore, the mission of the Sauk was as barren of
results as was that of Deerfoot.
The Pawnee had not gone far, when he seemed to awake to the fact that he
was doing an imprudent thing. He came to a halt and showed by his manner
that he would go no further. Hay-uta could not urge him, and the two,
therefore, stood face to face in the depth of the forest, while they
talked to each other.
The Sauk asked himself more than once whether, in a hand to hand fight
with the other, the struggle being fair on each side, he could vanquish
him. The Pawnee was tall, well-formed, athletic, and the knife thrust in
the skin-sheath at his girdle looked as if it was longer and keener than
the one Hay-uta carried, without sheath at all. The Pawnee was certain
to be a formidable antagonist in such a contest, but the Sauk would not
have hesitated to assail him, except through fear that others would be
brought to the spot.
No doubt the Pawnee took the measure of the stranger in the same manner,
and it is reasonable to conclude that he felt no special fear of him. In
fact, the two were like a couple of bull dogs, ready to fly at each
other's throat, without once thinking of what the issue was likely to
be.
But while they were holding their conversation, the Sauk carried out a
singular thought. He asked himself whether he could not make a friend of
the stranger--that is to say, a genuine friend, who would be held to him
by gratitude.
As to the method by which this was to be attained, even the ingenious
mind of the warrior was unable to determine. All he could do was to seek
to keep him company until some way should be open. The coming of any of
the Pawnees, who were trooping at the heels of the Shawanoe, would be
liable to scatter all such plans to the wind.
The diplomats were doing their best to entertain each other, when a most
unlooked-for interference took place.
From where they stood, they were able to locate the clearing by means of
a thinness of the trees, a few more rays of daylight penetrating from
that direction. Hay-uta happened to be looking toward that point, when
he caught the outline of a figure stealing along the margin of the
opening.
The sight was so unexpected that the manner of the Sauk betrayed the
discovery, the instance being one of those rare ones in which he was
caught off his guard. He reproached himself, for the back of his
companion was turned toward the other, who was moving as silently as the
shadow over the face of a sun-dial.
The head of the Pawnee turned quickly, and he muttered a soft "--st!" At
the same moment he began moving toward the other, with the absolute
silence that the trained Indian shows when creeping into a hostile camp,
where the rustling of a leaf brings discovery.
Hay-uta could not but admire the skill of the Indian. At the same time,
the action of the Pawnee in moving away from the Sauk, while his eyes
were turned from him, thus placing himself at the mercy of Hay-uta, was
an appeal to the honor of the latter, which, of itself, was the
strongest safeguard of the Pawnee.
Hay-uta fell in behind him, and the two advanced in their stealthy
fashion among the trees for some twenty steps, when they gained full
view of the third Indian, whose course was rather peculiar. He had
stepped from the woods into the clearing, and was standing facing the
other way, with his attention fixed on something too far off to be seen
by the couple that were watching him.
Hay-uta was astounded almost into betraying himself again when he saw
that the Indian was Deerfoot the Shawanoe. He was watching the two
Pawnees near the camp-fire, and was in the act of discharging the first
arrow which broke the pipe of Red Wolf and threw him and Lone Bear into
such consternation.
It may have been because the youth carried a bow and arrow, instead of
firearms, that the Pawnee thought he was a wanderer from beyond the
Rocky Mountains, who had drifted into that section and was now making
his way home. Certainly he could have had no suspicion of the prowess of
the Shawanoe, nor could he have dreamed that he had been the sole cause
of the hubbub that had reigned among the Pawnees, and even then was
hardly ended. He appeared to believe, however, that he was one of a
party who were their enemies, for he signed to Hay-uta that he meant
that the stranger should not escape him.
CHAPTER XI.
A REVERSAL OF SITUATION.
The situation was most peculiar for all three concerned. Despite the
vigilance and woodcraft of Deerfoot the Shawanoe, he had allowed an
enemy to creep up behind him and secure an advantage which could not be
overcome. In the common parlance of the West, the Pawnee had the drop on
the Shawanoe.
But Hay-uta the Sauk was too deeply attached to the matchless young
warrior to permit harm to befall him. He learned from his companion that
it was not his purpose to shoot Deerfoot, but simply to keep him covered
with his gun until he surrendered. Hay-uta decided to permit this,
because he believed no harm to his friend could result, and he saw the
possibility of showing a chivalry toward the Pawnee which might win his
friendship.
Having made sure the warrior did not mean to fire, Hay-uta kept a few
paces in the background, while the two noiselessly advanced a half-dozen
steps or more. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for the
Sauk to apprise Deerfoot of his danger! a slight rustling of the leaves
was all that was wanted. But it was not done, for, as I have said,
Hay-uta was convinced that no immediate danger threatened his friend.
Sauk and Pawnee stood motionless until Deerfoot was seen to be shaking
with silent laughter. The sight of the two warriors running for life
from the camp-fire in the open space satisfied the Pawnee that the youth
had done his best to kill them, and was amused to see their fright at
the moment when they were not in the slightest peril.
The Pawnee now purposely rustled the leaves with his moccasin. The
Shawanoe faced about like a flash. As he did so, Hay-uta, standing just
back of the captor, made a gesture to his friend. Deerfoot "caught on",
and dropped his hands to his side, to signify his surrender. He divined
the situation, and, schooled as he was in self-control, it was hard for
him to restrain a smile over the thought of the trick played on the
Pawnee. Probably no man was ever "fooled" to a more astounding extent
than he was at that moment.
The only thing feared by Deerfoot was that some of the other Pawnees
would soon reach the spot and complicate matters, but, while the
apparent conqueror was sanguine that he commanded the situation,
Deerfoot knew he was master from the first.
Looking straight at the Pawnee, he slowly said:
"My brother the Sauk is wise; his companion is a Pawnee; let no harm
befall him, for he has done no harm to us; but other Pawnees may soon be
here; let Hay-uta point his rifle at the Pawnee so that he will turn his
gun away from Deerfoot."
While speaking the Shawanoe kept his eyes fixed on those of the Pawnee,
who, of course, supposed the words were addressed to him. He could not
catch their meaning, but no doubt believed they referred to the
completeness of the surrender just made. Had he been an aboriginal
linguist, how different would have been his feelings!
Having dropped his hands, and spoken his sentences, Deerfoot waited the
action of Hay-uta.
The latter still held the hammer of his rifle at full cock, and he
instantly leveled it at the Pawnee, harshly ordering him to lower his
weapon.
The Pawnee was surprised. I am aware that this is stating it mildly, but
so would it be if I used the strongest words at command. He seemed
transfixed, and actually was unable to stir or even to lower his gun.
But the action of his companion told the truth, and it must be believed
that he was filled with biting chagrin because he was not acute enough
to know that the aliens (one of whom seemed to come from the east and
the other from the west) were allies.
However, the tables were turned and no choice was left him. Down came
his gun, the hammer was lowered and the stock dropped spitefully to the
ground. It was the Shawanoe and Sauk who now "had the drop" on the
Pawnee.
By way of putting matters in a business-like shape, Deerfoot called to
Hay-uta to keep his gun at a level, while he disarmed the prisoner. The
Sauk obeyed, and Deerfoot walked quietly forward, and in the most
matter-of-fact manner drew the knife of the Pawnee from its sheath at
his girdle, extracted his tomahawk, and then gently removed the rifle
from his nerveless grasp. Distributing the first two weapons about his
person, the Shawanoe stepped back several paces, holding his bow in one
hand and the gun in the other.
Supposing Hay-uta had not been present, what would have been the result?
I haven't a particle of doubt that the Pawnee would have been vanquished
by Deerfoot. The former could not have stood forever with his gun aimed,
and when he lowered it he would have presented an "opening" of which the
Shawanoe would have availed himself with the quickness of the lighting
stroke.
While Deerfoot was disarming the sinewy warrior, Hay-uta explained his
wish to show him such consideration as to win his friendship. That being
done, probably some way would open by which he could be used in tracing
Otto Relstaub.
"My brother is wise," commented Deerfoot, who admired the cleverness of
the Sauk, "but let him beware that the Pawnee does not betray him."
No one would have supposed from the deliberation of the Shawanoe that he
was in fear of any thing, but, if it can be said that he was ever
nervous over any thing, such was his condition now, through fear of
irruption by a part or all of the Pawnee war-party. He felt that the
danger increased every moment.
No time, therefore, was lost. The Pawnee was directed to move on, the
course taken being directly away from the camp-fire, and close to the
open space between the woods and river. No fault could be found with the
promptness displayed by the captive, who strode off as though on his way
to a marriage feast.
It was not necessary to keep a close watch over the prisoner, since the
most he could do was to try to ran away, and he was not likely to
attempt that when two loaded guns almost touched him.
But the Pawnee did do something, which, under the circumstances, was a
daring act.
The procession had proceeded for a hundred feet or so, when he gave
utterance to a ringing whoop, which could have been heard a half mile.
Deerfoot was astounded, and half raised the gun with the intention of
shooting him, but he changed his mind before the weapon reached his
shoulder.
But never did the Shawanoe display quicker readiness of resource than
then. The Pawnee acted as though he believed his life would pay for what
he had done, for, being a barbarian, he must have felt from the first
that no mercy awaited him. Wheeling around, he folded his arms,
straightened up and looked defiantly at the Shawanoe, saying plainly by
his actions:
"I am ready; look and see a warrior die!"
But Deerfoot did a much wiser thing. Convinced that the whoop was a
summons for help, he managed to impress the Pawnee with the fact, that
the only way to save his life was to send a second signal, the import of
which would be that he was in no need of help and had no news to give,
but would be glad to receive any tidings his friends possessed.
It required some vigorous sign language on the part of Deerfoot to bring
the Pawnee to his views. One of the most convincing arguments, however,
was the thunder-cloud on the face of the Shawanoe, and the upraised
tomahawk, poised and ready to be buried in the skull of the captive.
And so the desired message was sent from the throat of the frightened
Pawnee. Deerfoot could not be certain that the cry conveyed the meaning
he desired, but he noticed that the modulation of the voice was
different and he was almost satisfied on the point.
As a matter of precaution, he now fell to the rear, directing Hay-uta to
take care of the captive. He was at liberty to shoot him if he made a
break for freedom, and there was little doubt that Hay-uta would do so.
As for the Shawanoe, he meant to keep watch for the other Pawnees, who
were now all behind them. Even if their prisoner had countermanded his
call for help, little time could elapse before Lone Bear and Red Wolf
would make known how recently they had seen the dusky demon. Of course
they would suppress the part they had played in the proceeding, but
would be likely to send a large party after the Shawanoe, as soon as it
could be brought together.
Deerfoot, therefore, dropped a hundred feet to the rear, still carrying
the captured gun and his bow, and half disposed to make a compulsory
trade with the Pawnee. He could hardly convince himself, however, that
such a proceeding would be pleasing to the Great Spirit, and he put the
temptation behind him.
He was on the lookout for the warriors who had shown themselves so
plentiful only a short time before. His purpose was to apprise Hay-uta
the moment they appeared, when without a second's delay, the two would
dash off, leaving their prisoner to return to his friends. In the event
of such an issue, as it would be impossible to make a friend of their
captive, the Sauk favored sending a bullet through him before parting;
but Deerfoot was so emphatic in protesting against such savagery, that
Hay-uta promised to obey him.
Succeeding events left no doubt that the prisoner did precisely as
ordered by his captor; that is to say, he recalled his first signal and
notified his comrades that he had no need of their presence.
When, some minutes later, several of the Pawnees straggled back to camp,
they found Red Wolf and Lone Bear awaiting them. The former looked as if
he had been put to soak for several days in the river, while Lone Bear
was weak from the fright he had received. He did not blush, when he made
the statement that the young demon had appeared but a few minutes before
on the margin of the wood, accompanied by seven warriors, and that they
instantly opened by launching arrow after arrow in the direction of the
Pawnees.
Red Wolf said that he hastened to the river bank with a view of securing
a spot from which to reconnoiter their enemies, but he caught his foot
in a root and fell into the water; that accounted for his moist
condition.
The warrior had hardly reached that point in his narrative, when he
perceived that he had gone too far. Indian scouts, when stealing along
the banks of a stream, are not apt to roll into it and under the
surface, either accidentally or for the fun of the thing. The Pawnee,
therefore, told the truth, except that he joined Lone Bear in declaring
that their foe was accompanied by seven others, who seemed as eager as
he to slay them.
It would seem that the fact that none of the other Pawnees had
discovered any of the seven, would have discredited the statement of Red
Wolf and Lone Bear; but the two were so strenuous in their declaration
that it produced the effect desired. Some of the listeners believed
there was a large party of enemies at hand, and prudence demanded that
their own warriors should be called together and precautions taken
against surprise.
It was accordingly so done.
CHAPTER XII.
INDIAN HONOR.
By this time the sun had reached the rim of the horizon, and the shadows
were deepening under the trees. Deerfoot dropped further behind the Sauk
and Pawnee, the three still pushing westward, which was opposite the
course that would have been taken to reach the camp-fire. The highly
trained senses of the young Shawanoe could hear and see nothing to show
that his enemies were near at hand.
Every minute now lessened the danger, for only a little more obscurity
was required to prevent the keenest eyes of an American Indian from
detecting the footprints in the forest. He concluded that, from some
cause or other, the Pawnees had given over the pursuit.
So soon as Deerfoot was convinced on this point, he hastened to overtake
Hay-uta, who was walking almost on the heels of the captive. The latter
was not lacking in a certain dignity. He did not shamble along, as
though his courage had been driven from his body. He walked erect, with
head high, scarcely deigning to bend it to avoid an occasional
interfering limb. He preferred to flank rather than stoop to such an
obstruction. His carriage was so proud indeed that it looked as if he
were a conqueror, with his two slaves walking behind him. Not once did
he look about, or act as though he suspected the presence of friend or
foe.
This curious procession lasted until the three were nearly a half mile
from camp. By that time, night was closing in, and the gloom was such
that Deerfoot was persuaded he need give no further thought to the
Pawnee war party.
Hay-uta had acted the part of conductor, without much thought as to the
course they were taking. Swerving to the right, they were soon beyond
sight of the open space, and for a while the march was through the
trackless forest; but, while the red men deviated very little from the
path, the river, like all streams, took a winding course, and, just at
the moment that Deerfoot joined the Sauk, the three debouched from the
woods and (inasmuch as the open space had dwindled to a mere ribbon)
found themselves close to the edge of the stream. There of necessity
they halted.
The Pawnee now glanced over his shoulder and stopped, as if waiting for
some command. Receiving none he started along the stream, but was
checked by a word from Deerfoot, whose gesture explained what he meant.
The warrior paused, and folding his arms confronted them with the same
calm defiance as before.
There was something in his demeanor that compelled the admiration of his
captors. It proved that whatever the Pawnee might be, he was not a
coward, and it recalled to the young Shawanoe, the days when he wandered
through the forests and cane brakes of Kentucky, like a raging cat o'
mountain in his hatred of the pale-faces. There were depths in the
nature of the youth which were rarely sounded; but now and then he
caught glimpses of the possibilities within himself which caused him to
shrink back, as if from the presence of a supernaturally evil being.
For the last part of the march the same thought occupied the minds of
both Deerfoot and Hay-uta: in what manner could they win the friendship
of the captive, and thus open the way to a solution of the mystery
respecting Otto Relstaub?
Now that the journey was over for the present, the captors consulted
together. When Deerfoot called on Hay-uta for the method that had
presented itself to him, the Sauk replied that the only thing of which
he could think was to make the Pawnee believe that he had but a few
moments to live that there was no possible escape; and then, when that
view was impressed on the prisoner, they would present him with his
liberty.
Such was the plan also of Deerfoot, but when Hay-uta proposed that the
Pawnee should be soused into the water and held under the surface until
on the point of drowning, the Shawanoe shook his head.
Deerfoot showed a far-seeing mind in the course which he adopted, and to
which Hay-uta assented without fathoming its full purpose. The youth
felt that the circumstances were such that it was more important for the
Sauk to figure as a merciful captor than for himself to play that part.
Deerfoot, it may be said, had proved his ability to take care of
himself, where it was possible for a human being to do so. The Sauk was
skillful, but in the perilous times close at hand, he was likely to
stand in greater need of a friend "at court" than was the Shawanoe. It
was this motive which actuated the latter in what he now did.
"Deerfoot will make ready to slay the Pawnee," said he, "and then
Hay-uta will stay his hand."
The Sauk nodded to signify he understood the arrangement.
"Let my brother wait till all is ready; let him stand still till the
Pawnee has no hope: when Deerfoot raises his tomahawk, then shall my
brother forbid."
There was something touching in the dignity of the Pawnee, when he felt
that no hope remained to him. He had no blanket, and all his weapons had
been removed. He stood perhaps twenty feet, or slightly less, from
Deerfoot, in plain sight, though the twilight had given place to that of
the moon, which was partly full and shining from a sky in which were a
number of drifting clouds. He was only a step or two from the woods,
which it would seem offered a temptation too great to be resisted.
Doubtless some such thought entered his mind, but the Shawanoe never
turned his face, and maintained such unremitting watch, that the captive
must have felt he was shut in on every side.
Deerfoot had laid aside his bow and rifle and grasped his tomahawk--that
weapon which in his hands was as unerring for a short distance as was
the arrow from his bow. On the first motion of his captive toward
flight, no matter how quickly made, the tomahawk would split the skull
as if it were a rotten apple.
The Pawnee made no such attempt. He remained with his fine figure drawn
to its full height. The weight of his body supported mainly on his right
foot, while the left rested lightly a few inches in front, the posture
similar to that which a trained athlete would assume when about to leap
over a slight obstruction.
His arms were folded across his chest, his shoulders thrown back, while
his eyes were fixed on the face of his captor a short distance away.
Once or twice they flitted to the gloomy woods on his left, as though a
faint hope fluttered in his heart that his friends would rush to his
relief; but he knew that if such a thing were possible, it would have
been done long before. Night and darkness had shut out all help from
them.
The words between Deerfoot and Hay-uta were few, for the arrangements
were so simple that many were not required. Hay-uta stepped back, and
Deerfoot gathered himself like a marksman about to fire at a target.
The slightest incident did not escape the Pawnee. He saw that his last
minute was at hand. Without changing his posture or unfolding his arms,
he leaned forward and bowed his head, so that the crown was presented to
his master, and his eyes, had they been open, would have looked directly
on the ground. But they were closed, and his attitude was that of the
devout worshipers in the congregation who, having risen to their feet
and joined in the singing, bow their heads while the minister pronounces
his benison.
The feet of Deerfoot were placed similarly to those of his victim, and
his tomahawk was held idly in his left hand, the blade pressing the side
of his knee. When necessary it would be raised over and back of his
shoulder like a flash of light, and sent crashing into the brain of his
victim.
The stillness became more impressive from a sound which blended with,
rather than broke into it; a low monotone, like the sweeping of the wind
over the strings of some rude instrument of music, issued from the lips
of the Pawnee. It became broken, but at no time lost its distinctive
character. It never rose to a high key, and from the beginning to the
end, its variation in tone was no more than two notes of the musical
scale. Had the volume been less, it would have called to mind the
crooning of the housewife by her spinning wheel or over the cradle of
the infant she was lulling to sleep.
But there was a depth, and a certain sonorous resignation in the
death-song of the Pawnee, which rendered it unlike any thing else. The
Shawanoe and Sauk had heard it sung more than once, and, accustomed as
they were to the most dreadful scenes, they were always relieved when it
ended; it was too much like a despairing refrain from the grave itself.
Gradually the volume of the Pawnee's death song deepened. For a time it
was as if the voice were swaying from side to side in the struggle to
free itself from some weight holding it down and smothering it. The
weight was flung off, when, throwing up his head again, the Pawnee
defiantly confronted the Shawanoe. The unspeakably dismal monotone
sounded loud and clear as a trumpet blast borne on the wind, which,
having blown at angles to the line of sound, suddenly becomes favorable,
and throws the notes forward as if on eagles' wings.
The death song was ended; the Pawnee had finished his preparation for
the leap into the dark, and he calmly awaited the pleasure of his
master.
Instead of whirling his tomahawk aloft, Deerfoot slowly brought it above
his head, the blade making a gleaming circle, as it swung over and
finally paused, the handle so held that it pointed upward and backward,
at an angle of forty-five degrees. He seemed to be gathering his muscles
for the supreme effort, which should extinguish life in the defiant
Pawnee as quickly as if he were smitten by a bolt from heaven. But,
before the missile could leave his hand, the Sauk uttered an
exclamation, and, having laid aside his gun, strode forward with both
hands raised in protest.
His first two steps were rapid, and then, making a great bound, he
seized the left arm of Deerfoot with both of his hands. The Shawanoe
seemed to struggle fiercely to free himself, and his voice sounded harsh
and angry as he ordered the other to step aside and leave him alone. But
the Sauk, with no abatement of earnestness, refused, and, for a second
or two, the contest was so desperate that the wonder was the prisoner
did not make a break for life. Possibly he did not understand the nature
of the struggle until it was over, or it may have been that, having made
his preparations for death, he was loth to change the programme.
But the dispute ended as quickly as it began. The Sauk triumphed, as,
judging from the size of the two, he was likely to do in such a wrangle.
The hand of Deerfoot became nerveless and dropped to his side. He stood
silent and sullen, as though he had no more interest in the matter.
Using mild language again, the Pawnee was surprised when the Sauk walked
forward, and handed back the rifle, which Deerfoot had taken from him a
short time before. The prisoner hesitated a moment as if in doubt, but
the manner of Hay-uta was too plain to be mistaken. He accepted the
weapon, giving utterance to what was probably meant as an expression of
thanks.
Returning a few steps, the Sauk picked up the tomahawk and knife from
the ground, and advancing once more in front of the Pawnee, presented
them to him with the grace of the Crusader. His pleasure in giving was
surely equal to that of the Pawnee in receiving them.
All this time Deerfoot remained like a statue of sullenness, glowering
on the two, as though he would have been pleased to tomahawk both actors
in the singular drama.
The Pawnee was quick to catch the purport of his friend in need. He
shoved the blade of his knife into the skin-sheath at his girdle; he
thrust the handle of his tomahawk through the same support, but further
to one side, as if to balance the other weapon. Then he grasped his gun
near the flint, and was ready for the next step in the proceedings.
Placing his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, Hay-uta turned him partly
around, so that he faced up stream and in the direction of the camp,
where so many of his friends were gathered. Pushing him gently forward,
he exclaimed in an undertone and in his own language:
"_Go!_"
The Pawnee obeyed, the same dignity marking his movement as when he
stood in the presence of death. He strode forward until he reached the
darkness of the wood, into which he seemed to blend as if a part of the
gloom itself.
When within the shelter, however, he laid aside his courtliness, as it
may be called, and used the utmost haste in placing himself beyond
danger.
Having played a part so long, he seemed to "go all to pieces", and
dashed under the limbs and among the trunks like a terrified deer.
This panic, however, was soon over, and he came to an abrupt stop when
only a short distance away. Standing a second or two, as if in deep
thought, he turned, and began stealing toward the narrow open space
where he had stood a few minutes before, with bowed head, while he
chanted his death song. His movement was noiseless, and he speedily
peered from among the trees upon the forms of the Shawanoe and Sauk, who
were in the act of moving off. They were in plain sight, and the swarthy
countenance gleamed, as, carefully muffling the sound of the hammer, he
drew it back and brought the rifle to his shoulder.
The distance was short and he could not mistake his aim. Though his life
had just been spared by the couple, he fairly held his breath in his
eagerness to take their lives. Could he have done so, he would have
waited till they were in range, in order that he might bring both low.
But only a moment elapsed, after raising his rifle, when he pressed the
trigger.
The dull click of the flint was followed by a whirring flash, as the
powder vanished in a white puff, but there was no report. Deerfoot,
while carrying the weapon, had quietly withdrawn the charge, leaving the
priming, however, in the pan. He knew just how far it is safe to trust
the average American Indian.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE TWINKLE OF A CAMP-FIRE.
Slight as was the noise made by the flashing of the powder, Deerfoot not
only heard it, but knew what it meant. He was so angered that he bounded
back among the trees like a tiger leaping upon the hunter that has
wounded him. He grasped his knife and sought the treacherous Pawnee,
with a fierceness that seemed could not be denied.
Hay-uta stepped softly in the other direction, where he was under the
shadow of the trees, and waited for events to develop before doing any
thing further.
In the depth of the woods where the vegetation was dense, the darkness
was impenetrable. Keen as were the eyes of the Shawanoe, they were not
those of the owl or cat, and his enemy was wise enough to remain still.
So long as he did so, he was in no danger.
Had Deerfoot been able to find the traitor, he would have made short
work with him, but suspecting what he was doing, or rather what he was
not doing, he did not tarry. He withdrew so cautiously that no
straggling ray of moonlight could fall on his figure, as he moved among
the trees. Rejoining the Sauk, they passed down stream.
They had not gone far when they stopped near the edge of the water.
There was none of the band on the open space on which the Pawnee
camp-fire had been kindled a half mile or so above, so they were covered
by all the shelter they could wish.
From the moment of turning their backs for the last time on the Pawnee
who had sought to shoot one of them, the Shawanoe and Sauk had not
spoken a word. They understood each other too well to need conversation;
but, remembering the click of the flint lock and the useless flash of
the powder, they made sure that no chance was given for a second
attempt.
The Pawnee, who understood why he failed to bring down one of them, was
wise enough to withdraw and make his way back to the camp-fire,
pondering on the road the explanation which he would add to the store of
extraordinary narratives related by his comrades, who had been brought
in contact with the young Shawanoe.
The sky was cloudy and the light of the moon treacherous and uncertain.
Sometimes the surface of the swiftly flowing river in front was lighted
up, and the shadowy line of wood on the other shore stood out clear, and
again it seemed to recede, when the face of the moon was obscured.
It was not far to the other bank, and the Indian friends expected to
swim across, as they had done scores of times under similar
circumstances. Fully two hours had passed since they left young Jack
Carleton. During that period not the slightest sign was received from
him, and he might have been dead or a thousand miles distant, for all
that indicated the contrary.
And yet, it is not to be supposed that either the Sauk or Shawanoe felt
any concern for the lad. They had seen no hostiles on that side of the
stream; besides, the experience of Jack ought to have kept him from any
possible harm.
But the understanding was that the three were to come together at
nightfall, or as soon thereafter as possible. Consequently, Jack would
be looking for them.
Deerfoot and Hay-uta stood by the margin of the wood, listening and
looking. The soft murmur of the forest and the ripple of the current, as
it twisted around some gnarled root along shore or struck against the
dipping branch of a tree overhanging the water, were the sounds which
first fell on their ears. But a moment later the wailing scream of a
panther came from the depths of the wilderness, answered a moment after
by a similar cry from a point a mile away.
As if the night was to be given no rest, a husky whistle, like that
which a locomotive sends faintly through many miles of fog and damp,
reached their ears. Deerfoot and Hay-uta recognized it as a signal from
one of the Pawnees who were so numerous in the neighborhood. It came
from a point near where Deerfoot had caught his first sight of the group
around the camp-fire.
But the friends were in a section where they had never been before, and
were playing battledore and shuttlecock with a warlike tribe of whom
they knew nothing. It was impossible, therefore, for them to understand
the meaning of the signal, for whose response they listened with close
attention.
They were astonished that no answer was returned. They would have heard
it had there been any, but for several minutes the stillness was
unbroken. It was as if one of the Pawnees had called to another who was
too distant to be reached, and consequently no response could be sent.
But the next interruption was the report of a gun, sounding startlingly
distinct on the quiet air. That, so far as could be judged, came from
near the spot whither was sent the first signal.
The Sauk and Shawanoe waited further, but nothing was heard that threw
the least light on the plans or doings of the warriors with whom
Deerfoot had had such a sharp brush.
"My brother has learned naught of the pale face?" remarked the Shawanoe,
inquiringly, when his companion had related the experience through which
he passed, after their separation during the afternoon.
"The lips of the Pawnees are shut to the Sauk," replied Hay-uta,
alluding to the tongue of the red men, which was unintelligible to him.
"Their lips are shut to Deerfoot, but Lone Bear speaks the words which
Deerfoot can understand."
"What were his words to my brother!" asked Hay-uta.
"He says he and Red Wolf have never looked upon the pale face."
"Lone Bear and Red Wolf speak lies!" exclaimed the Sauk with more
feeling than would be expected. "What does Deerfoot think?" he asked, as
if his opinion was a matter of vital importance.
"Deerfoot believes the word of Hay-uta; he told Lone Bear, while looking
in his eyes, that his tongue was double and his heart was full of lies;
Lone Bear rushed upon Deerfoot and sought to slay him for his words."
This reply was gratifying to Hay-uta, who held the young Shawanoe that
had vanquished him with such brilliancy, in higher esteem than any one
else in the world. He was silent, as if unable to express his feelings,
and the Shawanoe continued:
"Hay-uta has talked with the Great Spirit; he has listened to the words
of the kind Father who looks down from the moon behind the clouds; the
whisperings of the Great Spirit have been sweet in his ears; Hay-uta
could not speak with a double tongue, when he thinks of his goodness."
As the Sauk replied, he looked upward at the sky. The ragged cloud which
a moment before was passing across the face of the moon, glided off, and
the soft light shone full upon the coppery countenance that glowed with
a feeling, such as only a close communion with God stirs in the recesses
of the heart.
"Hay-uta has heard the voice of the Great Spirit," said the Sauk,
speaking in low tones, "but his words were whispers and Hay-uta did not
hear them all, and sometimes he could not hear aright."
This confession that the mists had not cleared from before the Sauk's
vision did not surprise Deerfoot, for his own gropings after light were
too distinct for him ever to forget the winding path over which he trod.
"The Great Spirit never sleeps," replied Deerfoot, in a voice almost as
low as his companion's; "he listens for the words of his children and
his ear is always open; he will hear Hay-uta, if he calls upon him and
speaks and acts so that when the Great Spirit looks down he will smile."
"Hay-uta will talk with the Great Spirit, so that the whispers which he
now hears shall become so loud that Hay-uta can not mistake them."
Deerfoot added a few words of encouragement, and then, having paused
long enough on the shore, they addressed themselves to the duty before
them.
This was simply to cross to the other side, so as to rejoin Jack
Carleton. As there was but the one means of passing over, it was idle to
hesitate. The Shawanoe stepped carefully a few paces, when the water
reached his armpits, and he began swimming. He did so, holding his bow
above the surface with one hand, so as to protect the string from
moisture. This was one of the disadvantages of that weapon, though the
rifle was not free from a similar inconvenience; but Hay-uta fastened it
to his back, so that the muzzle projected above his head and the water
could not run into the barrel. Sometimes he used a cork-like piece of
wood to keep the load from wetting, and again he took no precautions,
but drew the charge after leaving the stream. Even with all the care
that could be taken, the clumsy hammer and flint let down in the pan
often failed to protect the powder.
But both were splendid swimmers, and, though the current was powerful,
they advanced with steady, even strokes until their feet touched bottom,
when they walked out on the opposite side. There the shore was similar
to the one just left, so that when their moccasins pressed dry land
again, they stood in the shadow of the overhanging trees, millions of
which, at that day, covered the vast western wilderness.
Their course had been such that (supposing Jack Carleton remained near
the spot where the parting took place), it was now necessary to make
their way for some distance up the stream. As there was reason to
believe that the broad, swift current interposed between them and the
hostiles, Deerfoot and Hay-uta looked back at the land just left behind.
The view was so similar to what has already been described, that no more
words are needed. The clouds were still floating in front of the moon,
and quaint shadows moved across the river, forest and openings, but the
searching vision failed to show the twinkle of any camp-fire, nor could
the keen eyes of the Shawanoe catch the faintest glimpse of any shadowy
figures stealing along shore.
Though it was the mild season, the night was quite cool, and it will be
remembered that neither carried his blanket with him. Most persons would
have shivered with discomfort, but the American Indian is educated to
the severest exposure and inured to sudden changes of temperature. It
would have been more pleasant had they been arrayed in dry clothing
rather than in their clinging garments, yet neither acted as if he cared
for the difference.
They were moving along the river bank in their usual guarded manner,
when both came to an abrupt stop; they had caught the twinkle of a
camp-fire among the trees just ahead.
CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE TREE-TOP.
When Deerfoot and Hay-uta parted company with Jack Carleton, he feared
he had several hours on his hands without any means of employing mind or
body. The active operations of the campaign, so to speak, were in charge
of the Sauk and Shawanoe division, while the young Kentuckian in reserve
had little prospect of being called upon to take part in the engagement.
But Jack, it will be noted, was almost opposite the open ground, whereon
burned the Pawnee camp-fire, and, by using care, he could hold it under
inspection as long as he chose. He had his choice of peeping from the
trees and undergrowth along shore, or of climbing the tree from whose
top the Shawanoe and Sank gained their first knowledge of the Pawnees.
Nearly every one would have stayed on the ground, but in obedience to a
whim, the lad climbed to the perch where his friends held themselves a
short time before. He carried his gun with him, for though it would have
been much more convenient to leave it below, the act would have been a
piece of remissness unpardonable in his situation. When, however, he was
half-way to the top, he carefully shelved it among some branches, where
it could not fall. He continued to climb until the limbs bent with his
weight. Cautious at all times, Jack then softly pushed aside the
branches in front of his face and found he was looking directly across
and down upon the Pawnee encampment.
At the moment of doing so, a slight incident caused him some uneasiness.
Among the group on which he gazed with such interest, he observed a
warrior standing on the other side of the fire, rifle in hand, with his
face turned toward the young Kentuckian. Not only that, but he seemed to
be watching Jack himself. So startling was his appearance, that the
youth shrank back, allowing the vegetation to close in front of his
face. This was done with a certain abruptness, which (if he was right in
his suspicion), was unfortunate, since the action would be the more
noticeable to the Pawnee. Then Jack stealthily parted the leaves and
peered out again.
The warrior was motionless, the stock of his gun on the ground, while
his right hand lightly clasped the barrel, his left thumb inserted at
his girdle, close to the handle of his knife, much after the fashion of
some of us who use the arm holes of our vests for that purpose.
The distance, slight as it was, prevented Jack Carleton from verifying
or disproving his suspicion. The painted face was turned directly toward
him and held stationary, as is often the case when a person is trying to
identify some sound which faintly reaches his ear. Had he been gazing
straight at the lad, he would have appeared just as he did when
stealthily viewed by the youth.
"I wonder whether that rascal is looking at me," said Jack to himself,
when he peeped timidly out the second time; "they're as sharp-eyed as
owls, but he never could have thought of any one in this perch, if he
hadn't accidentally looked at the spot. I'm afraid it would mix things
for Hay-uta and Deerfoot, if any of them should get a sight of me."
He was reminded of the experience of himself and Otto Relstaub when,
some weeks before, they were made captives by the Sauks, within a short
distance of Martinsville. At that time, one or two of the warriors,
while the boys were watching them, walked away from the camp in such an
off-hand manner, that neither dreamed their real purpose was to pass to
the rear of the prowlers and make them prisoners.
"I'll keep my eyes on him," was the wise conclusion of Jack, "and if he
starts off in the woods, I'll slide down this tree and make a change of
base in short order."
To the great relief of Jack the warrior did not maintain his impressive
pose, nor did he do what was dreaded and half expected. One of the red
men addressed him and he immediately gave attention.
"It was only an accident," was the conclusion of the youth; "he couldn't
have seen me--helloa!"
Jack had full warrant for his excitement, for, at that moment, who
should walk into his field of vision but Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe.
He advanced from the wood as I have already described, and saluting the
astonished Pawnees with a certain stateliness, opened the conversation.
He was not long in discovering that Lone Bear was the only one with whom
he could converse intelligently, and the two, as you remember, were soon
seated beside each other. It was Lone Bear who, at the first glance,
Jack Carleton thought was looking at him.
The dread that the boy felt, when first left alone, that time would hang
heavily on his hands was gone. He knew the Shawanoe well enough to feel
certain that he would keep things moving.
And so he did. I will not repeat the story of Deerfoot's experience,
which partook more of a comedy than of a tragedy. The young Kentuckian
held his breath when Lone Bear drew his knife and rushed upon the
Shawanoe, and his excitement was almost irrestrainable as the latter
began dancing backward with his infuriated assailant plunging and
striking at him. When the Pawnee sprawled, with his feet kicking the
air, Jack forgot where he was and laughed with delight.
"Hurrah for Deerfoot!" he called; "the whole crowd ain't enough for you!
you are worth all of them!"
The Pawnees were on their feet hurrying toward the combatants, and
scarcely less excited than the young Kentuckian perched in the tree-top.
But, stirring as was the incident, it was very brief. With the
exceptions already made known, the red men dashed into the woods in hot
pursuit of the fugitive.
"Deerfoot against the world!" exclaimed Jack, jerking off his cap, as
though he was about to fling it toward the clouds, but he restrained
himself and the cheer which could not be locked between his lips was so
impeded in its escape that it reached no ears on the other side the
river.
"Deerfoot beats the beaters," he added, bringing his feelings under
control; "I don't believe there ever was such a fellow; it must be that
Providence intends him for some work, and like Washington he can not be
killed until that work is done."
Jack had made a similar remark to his mother, when they were talking
about the Shawanoe some weeks previous, and he now recalled with a
shudder her comment, to the effect that the slightest of causes would
bring death to him just as quickly as to any one else, and, sooner or
later, he must succumb to the inevitable. It seemed not unlikely that
the prowess of the young Shawanoe was an element of peril to him, since
he relied too much upon it.
But the youth had eluded the hostiles, when they seemed about to
overwhelm him, and Jack was confident now that he had the cover of the
woods, where he was at home, that he could laugh his enemies to scorn.
The reports of guns, however, which reached his ears, could not but
produce a disquieting effect, which the lad felt for a long time
afterward.
"I wonder whether any one could have heard me," he muttered some minutes
later, when his nerves became calmer. "I forgot myself, as the Indians
themselves did, but I guess no one noticed it."
That prudence which should never leave the frontiersman, suggested that
he ought to descend the tree, and seek some other place of hiding.
Unfortunately, he decided to stay for awhile where he was.
There was much to occupy his attention, and keep alive his interest; for
the discomfited Lone Bear and his mock sympathizers were in plain sight,
and the gesticulations were so clear that it seemed to Jack he could
comprehend the words spoken.
But the most stirring scenes lose in time their interest, and, despite
the situation of Jack Carleton, it was not long before his thoughts
reverted to Otto Relstaub.
"Poor fellow," he muttered, "it does seem as if every thing went wrong
with him; I have no father, but if I had, he could love me no more than
mother. With Otto, however, it is a thousand fold worse, for he is
treated as if he were an intruder in his own home. He has been abused,
almost starved, and, to crown all, sent into the woods to look for a
horse that was lost a long time before, and of which there remains not
the faintest footprint. I wonder whether they will ever grieve for Otto
if we go back and tell them he is dead?"
When Jack pondered over the cause which led his friend to leave home, he
could not express his feelings. To him there was something
incomprehensible in the brutality of the parents toward their only
child. He was tempted to believe it was all a great mistake.
But second thought showed there was no error, and he asked himself
whether there was any ground to hope that the German lad was alive, and,
if so, whether he could be restored to his friends.
The fact that Otto was not among the group on the other side of the
stream, added to the misgiving. Hay-uta had made known that he
recognized members of the strange party of Indians to whom the boy was
sold. If they had kept their captive, where else could he be except with
them?
"Every thing points to his death," was the sad conclusion of Jack; "it
isn't likely they would trade him off to some one else."
Indeed, to believe such a thing would be to give the captive an
unreasonable value as a circulating medium; it was far more likely that,
finding his presence a burden, his captors had settled it in the most
natural manner that presented itself.
A still darker side to the picture caused Jack to shudder. If the
captors of Otto Relstaub had put him to death, was it by a quick taking
off, or had he been subjected to torture? Alas, that Jack Carleton was
forced to answer the query as he most dreaded.
"But, if he _is_ dead," he added, with a sigh, "he perished long ago,
and it can make no difference _now_ to him; but I ain't ready to give up
all hope and I won't do so, so long as Deerfoot holds on."
Forcing the distressing subject from his mind, the youth compelled
himself to give attention to what could be seen on the other side of the
river. Lone Bear and Red Wolf were seated by the camp-fire, talking
together, as has been told elsewhere, but the rest of the hostiles were
out of sight. Jack naturally wondered the cause of the sudden quarrel
that had sprung up between Deerfoot and the warrior who figured so
ridiculously in it, but he could only await the return of the Shawanoe
to hear the explanation.
The excitement of the lad boiled over again, when, with eyes roaming up
and down the open space, he caught sight of his old friend, standing,
bow in hand, on the edge of the wood. His pose showed he was making
ready to give attention to the unsuspicious hostiles.
"I wonder whether he means to send an arrow through one, and follow it
up with a second through another, before he can get out of their way. It
may be that Deerfoot isn't as chivalrous as he pretends to be; give him
a chance, and, if he thinks no one sees him, he will swing his tomahawk
and use his knife right and left."
But we know that Jack did his friend an injustice, as speedily became
apparent, when none of the arrows which sped from the large bow harmed
either of the Pawnees. Their frantic flight and the laughter of Deerfoot
proved that he had done precisely what he set out to do; he had given
the couple a shock which they were not likely to forget for many a day.
The occurrence was so amusing that Jack parted the branches in front of
his face and waved his hat to Deerfoot. If the latter saw the act of
forgetfulness, he was so displeased that he paid no attention to it.
When he vanished from sight in the wood behind him, he gave no
responsive salute to that of his enthusiastic young friend.
CHAPTER XV.
AN UNEXPECTED CALL.
Three separate times Jack Carleton noticed a peculiar jar of the tree in
which he was perched. He felt no alarm, but some curiosity to know the
cause.
Peering downward between the limbs, he could see nothing to explain the
occurrence. The first time he concluded it was imagination, but when it
was repeated twice he knew there was "something in it". Still, as the
most careful search failed to reveal the cause, he was at a loss to
explain it. His first thought was that some animal might be chafing his
body against the trunk, but that was unlikely, because no creature was
visible. Then, when he noticed there was enough air stirring to cause a
gentle swaying of the branches, he concluded that the disturbance was
due to the friction of some of the limbs against others. The theory was
more ingenious than reasonable, but was accepted in lieu of a better
one, and once more the lad fixed his eyes on the open space across the
stream.
The other Pawnees had not put in an appearance, and before they did so,
the young gentleman in the tree-top found he had something on hand which
required his whole attention.
A fourth time a jar went through the trunk from base to summit, and the
disturbance was more marked than before.
"There must be some animal down there--"
Jack Carleton grasped a limb above him, leaned far over and peered among
the branches below, but his examination was not finished when he saw the
hand of an Indian warrior reach around the trunk, at a point half way
between the top and the base, and grasp the rifle which the young
Kentuckian had skewered between several supports. The stock caught
slightly, and, while disengaging it, the savage brought his head into
view.
He wore no scalp-lock, as was the fashion among many tribes, but the
long, coarse hair dangled about his shoulders, and yellow, crimson and
blue paint were mixed in that on his crown. There were no feathers,
however, such as Deerfoot was fond of displaying, and the body was
covered with a thin shirt of deerskin above the waist.
The Indian must have glanced aloft from the ground and taken in the
situation at once. He had climbed with great care, and, when he stopped,
was slightly below the point were rested the rifle of the youth. Had the
latter taken the alarm, when he felt the first jar, he could have
scrambled down and secured his gun ahead of the Indian. It would have
been a stirring race between them, but as I have shown, the first
knowledge of the truth came to Jack when he descried the extended arm
and saw the coppery fingers in the very act of closing about his
property.
Inasmuch as the dusky thief was forced to reach upward to seize the
weapon, his face was lifted enough for the lad to gain a partial view of
his countenance. It was similar to many he had seen among the Sauks and
elsewhere. The forehead was broad at the base and narrow at the top
(which was close to the forehead) and very retreating. The protuberant
temples, small eyes, heavy nose, wide mouth and retreating chin--the
whole smeared with daubs of paint, such as soiled the horsehair-like
covering of his head, rendered the features the most repulsive on which
the lad had ever looked. He certainly had never beheld a more unwelcome
visitor.
Having secured the property of the lad, the warrior now threw his head
further back, and looked directly up at him. The face, ugly as it was,
appeared the worse because of the grin that split it in twain and
displayed the white teeth which gleamed like those of a ravenous beast.
The expression and action said as plainly as could the words themselves:
"It's no use, young gentleman; you may as well come down."
The Indian did not speak, and his frightful smile gradually relaxed
until his mouth assumed its normal width. Then, holding the captured
rifle in one hand, he began descending, Jack Carleton remained astride
of the upper limb, watching the warrior, who went down with the
nimbleness of a monkey. Viewed from above, the sight was odd. He seemed
to see nothing but a mass of dangling hair and an indefinite number of
arms and legs which were sawing back and forth, and moving up and down,
while the body to which they were attached, remained stationary. The
illusion, however, was dispelled, when the Indian made a slight leap and
landed on the ground.
Immediately he turned, and standing close to the trunk (the better to
see among the limbs), fixed his eyes on Jack Carleton, and solemnly
beckoned with his arm for him to descend.
"My gracious!" thought the latter, "I don't believe there's any help for
it. Ah, if Deerfoot only knew!"
It occurred to the youth that possibly the Shawanoe could be reached by
signal. He hastily drew aside the leaves and looked toward the spot
where he saw him but a short time before. But the scene had changed.
Deerfoot was gone, and the Pawnees were swarming back to camp, a number
listening with rapt attention to the monumental yarns which Lone Bear
and Red Wolf were pouring into the ears of their credulous listeners,
whose experience having been what it was, prepared them to believe
almost any thing.
"No help from _there_," concluded the youth with a sigh, as he let the
leaves come together and shut out his view of the other shore; "I wonder
what this warrior will do with me; I suppose he will run me over to the
rest, and they'll even up matters by taking their vengeance on
_me_--helloa! there's no need of _that_!"
Looking downward, Jack saw that his captor was no longer beckoning for
him to descend. Like the old farmer, who, finding there was no virtue in
grass, resorted to stones, the Indian had substituted the gun, and held
it pointed at the youngster, who was slow in moving from his lofty
perch.
There was no call to fire; the youth grasped the situation at once and
began lowering himself with great promptness. While doing so, he
occasionally took a peep between his feet, and each time saw the warrior
standing erect and following his movements with the gun, as a hunter
does when aiming at a gyrating bird.
"I hope I'm giving satisfaction," muttered Jack, who felt the cold
perspiration breaking out all over his body; "if he isn't satisfied,
I'll let go and drop. I wish I could do it, so as to fall on his head
and break his neck." When almost to the ground, Jack was relieved to
observe the red man lower his weapon. He heard the click of the lock, as
he let the flint down in place. It was a vast relief from suspense, but
it may be doubted whether, after all, Jack's danger was any less than
before. Whatever sinister thoughts were in the mind of the red man
remained when the young Kentuckian stood before him an unresisting
prisoner.
I need not say that while Jack Carleton was descending the tree he
thought hard and fast. He was in a situation of the gravest peril, and
there was no human arm on which he could rely for help. His hot Kentucky
blood was aroused, and he resolved that if his captor offered him harm
or indignity, he would give him the hottest fight of which he was
capable. The youth still had his knife and he meant to keep it. While
coming down the tree, he quietly shoved it inside of his coat where it
could not be seen, but was available for instant use.
He feared the warrior had several comrades with him, but was relieved to
find that such was not the case.
"He must have seen me from the other side," was the conclusion of the
youth, "and slipped across without my noticing him, just as those Sauks
got behind Otto and me when we never dreamed of danger. He ain't the
Indian that was looking at me; I suppose that one who tumbled over
Deerfoot told this dog, and here he is."
Dropping the stock of the captured rifle on the ground, the red skin
grasped the barrel near the muzzle, standing in an easy attitude, with
the weight of his body resting on one foot, and looked into the eyes of
Jack Carleton, as if trying to read the secrets of his breast.
The youth was almost as tall as his captor, and he returned the
scrutiny. He did not assume any defiant manner, for he was far from
wishing to exasperate him who was master of the situation.
"I think I could give him a pretty good tussle," was the conclusion of
Jack, "and whenever he chooses to sail in, I am ready, but I wish things
were nearer even between us."
It was noticeable that the only rifle in sight was the one belonging to
the prisoner. It seemed incredible that the warrior should have left
camp without the indispensable weapon, though, if he had brought it
away, it was now invisible.
But, in addition to the stolen piece, he carried the tomahawk and knife
at his girdle, and there could be no question that he was an adept in
their use.
When Jack looked down from his place in the tree top on the countenance
of his captor, he perceived a curious distortion, which was now
explained. At some time in his history the Indian had received a slash
across the face, which clove the bone and cartilage of the nose and laid
one of the cheeks open. The cicatrice, combined with the natural
ugliness of the features, and the greasy ocher and paint, daubed and
smeared over the skin, rendered the countenance of the warrior as
frightful as can be conceived.
But Jack Carleton had met too many hideous Indians to be disturbed by
their appearance. It was the _action_ of this one in which he felt
interest.
It was a noteworthy feature of the young Kentuckian's capture, that he
was angered by the evidence that the Indian had brought no gun with him.
Such a course implied that the youth was held in light regard, and not
deemed the equal of a warrior in a hand-to-hand struggle.
"They think I am nothing but a boy," he thought, "and so they sent a
warrior so horrible of face that they hope he will scare me out of my
wits; at any rate, they don't believe it worth while for him to bring a
gun; may be he'll regret that before he is through."
Having scrutinized the captive from head to foot, the captor seemed to
be satisfied. Without attempting any words, he beckoned as before for
Jack to follow him. The gesture was made at the moment the warrior
turned and began walking over the course parallel to the river and
leading toward its mouth.
The action placed Jack behind his master, instead of in front, and it
could not but suggest several desperate expedients to him, who was
resolved not to allow himself to be taken across the river. He had
witnessed enough from his elevated lookout to convince him that the
stream on his right was his Rubicon; if he once passed _that_, there
would be no return.
CHAPTER XVI.
A STARTLING CONCLUSION.
Jack Carleton stealthily pressed his left hand against his breast; his
knife was where he could whip it out when wanted.
Why couldn't he draw it, and leaping forward, bury it in the side of his
captor before he could save himself?
"It will be a dreadful thing," he reflected, compressing his lips, "but
it is the only chance I have; _I'll try it!_"
He began insinuating his hand under his coat, and groped for the only
weapon on which he could now rely. In his eagerness he stepped more
softly and slightly crouched, as one is apt to do at such a time.
It may have been that his captor took the lead for a short distance with
a view of tempting him to make some such demonstration; but more than
likely, the excessive caution of the lad betrayed him; for, before he
could draw his knife, the face was turned, and stepping aside, he
motioned Jack to assume the leadership--that is, under his direction.
The captive did not think it wise to refuse, but moved promptly to the
front and continued the march in the same direction they had followed
from the first.
"I wonder whether he is deaf and dumb," said Jack to himself; "he acts
just as though he had no use of his tongue. Well, I don't know as it
will make any difference, for I can't understand a word he says, and it
isn't likely he knows any thing about English. But these redskins have a
way of talking with their hands, heads and shoulders which almost any
one can comprehend."
The change of positions caused Jack Carleton a new uneasiness. Having
made ready for an attack on the Indian in front, it was only natural
that he should suspect his captor would take the same course toward him.
As indifferently as he could, the youth again slid his right hand under
his coat, until it grasped the bone-handle of his hunting knife. He held
it firmly, and listened closely for the first movement which would
betray the other's intention.
But the youth erred as to the immediate purpose of the warrior. He
strode along in his deliberate way, stepping in the footprints of his
captive, so as neither to recede from nor approach him. Less than ten
feet intervened between the two.
The couple were so near the river, that, when not able to catch a
glimpse of its shining surface, it was located by the sparseness of the
trees. Jack was so anxious to avoid the stream, that he began bearing to
the left, hoping the individual behind him would not notice the
deviation, but the lad was unwise to think such a thing possible.
The result of this weak piece of strategy was the proof that the red man
was the owner of a voice.
"_Waoof!_"
The sound resembled the cough of a wild beast, and startled Jack.
Glancing around, he saw the eyes of the warrior snapping, while his
right arm was extended, and the finger pointing toward the river.
"All right," responded the lad, as though glad to be reminded of his
forgetfulness; "we won't quarrel over the matter."
Jack, however, was too prudent to make an abrupt turn, which would bring
him to the shore before going more than several rods. His divergence was
perceptible, though the angle was obtuse.
The prisoner was astonished and mystified by what followed, and it may
be said that he never fully understood its meaning.
"The rascal has proven that he has the use of his tongue--that's
certain. I don't like the idea of keeping in front of him and leading
the way to the river's edge. When we reach that, he can call to the
others and bring over all he wants to help him--that is, if he feels he
needs the help, which isn't likely. I'll keep on till we are close to
the river, and then I'll make a fight!"
When only a few yards separated him from the river, the warrior emitted
an exclamation precisely like that which first arrested the footsteps of
the youth. He stopped, as before, and awaited the will of his captor.
The latter advanced to the front, and, while the other stood still, the
Indian made his way to the water's margin, parted the bushes and looked
out.
The feature of the movement was its caution. The redskin acted as if his
whole care was to escape being seen by any on the other side. Why he
wished to do so was beyond the power of the youth to guess.
"They are his friends, and I should think he would want to let them know
of his success."
The warrior stood fully two minutes leaning over the water, one hand
grasping the gun and the other holding the undergrowth apart, while his
eyes roved up and down, as if searching for that which he expected and
yet dreaded to find. He was but a brief distance below the camp of the
Pawnees, who were in sight. The sun had set and twilight was creeping
through the wood and over the river. Soon objects would become
indistinct; but, for a few minutes at least, it would be to the warrior
as if the sun were in the sky.
The view was unsatisfactory, for he drew back, allowing the bushes to
come together, and muttered some impatient expression. Looking angrily
at Jack, he extended his arm and finger so as to point away from the
stream, and signified by gesture that the youth was to take that course.
"Nothing will suit me better," was the thought of the latter, as he
obeyed; "I don't understand what the mischief you are driving at, but I
am glad to get as far as I can from the river."
As nearly as Jack could judge, this odd march lasted until he had
tramped a hundred yards, when it was terminated by another emphatic
"_Waoof!_"
They were in the woods, where the trees were close and there was little
undergrowth. So far as could be seen, the nearest water was the river,
but the captor showed that his purpose was to go into camp, as may be
said, for a time at least. He broke off some dead limbs, threw them on
the ground at the base of a large oak, and motioned to the captive to do
the same. Jack's previous experience had taught him that the wisest
course, under such circumstances, is promptly to obey, and he sprang to
work with such vigor that it did not take him long to collect a large
pile. As he always carried a flint and steel with him, he hoped to
conciliate his captor to a slight extent by starting the fire, though
the latter had also a stone in hand, from which, it is probable, he
would have extracted fire with but little trouble. He stood still and
watched the lad.
It was many years before such a thing as a lucifer match was known, and
our ancestors acquired a deftness in igniting a flame from the simple
contrivance named, which leads us to doubt whether they gained a great
advantage when they threw it aside for the modern invention.
With the help of dried leaves, small dead twigs, and the swift blows of
the steel across the face of the flint, a spark speedily darted to the
combustible material and stuck there. Jack did not use the rag soaked in
chemicals, which was common among the settlers, but caught the fire from
the direct source, as it may be called. The tiny twist of flame was
fanned and nursed by gently blowing until, in a brief space, a big fire
was roaring, and scorching the shaggy bark of the oak.
It was impossible to tell from the looks of the Indian whether he was
pleased or not. He stood a few paces off, watching the operation, and,
when the fire was well under way, sat down cross-legged like a Turk,
where he could feel the warmth, though, as I have stated in another
place, the weather was not cold.
It was now growing dark. The shadows were on every hand, and the trunks
of the trees looked grim and ghostly, as revealed by the fire, which
Jack continually fed, until the circle of illumination was several rods
in extent.
"I would give a good deal to know what he is thinking about," said the
lad to himself, furtively watching the face on the other side of the
fire; "something seems to have gone wrong with him, though why he should
want to keep his movements from his friends across the river is more
than I can guess; may be he has had a quarrel; they have taken his gun
and set him adrift."
This theory, however, did not sound reasonable, and the lad was
unsatisfied; whatever the cause of the redskin's erratic conduct, his
captive could not explain it.
For a half hour the warrior was as mute and motionless as the oak
against which the fire had been kindled. All that time, he sat six or
eight feet from the flames and about the same distance from the captive.
The fire, the Indian and the youth, each formed the corner of a
triangle. He who was master of the situation retained his Turk-like
pose, the captured gun between his arms and knees and his small eyes
fixed on the flames, which the industry of the prisoner never allowed to
grow less.
Strange musings must have stirred within the bronzed skull, but it is
useless to speculate, since we have no more means of knowing their
nature than had Jack Carleton, who wondered and guessed without
satisfying himself.
But one thing was certain: whatever the thoughts of the warrior, they
were of a disturbing nature. Jack could not mistake the scowl which
wrinkled the brow, while now and then an evil light shone in the eyes.
"He doesn't think of supper, or, if he does, he knows there is no way of
getting any thing to eat. He must make up his mind pretty soon what he
intends to do with _me_. If he decides to stay here all night, I know I
shan't close my eyes for a single second."
But the test did not come, and it can not be known, therefore, what the
result would have been. The Indian seemed to rouse all at once to a
sense of the situation, probably concluding that he was wasting time by
indulging in such musings. His awaking was characteristic. He sprang to
his feet, threw his gun aside, and placed his hand on the knife at his
girdle. As he did so, his countenance flamed with ferocity, and the
meaning of the look he bent on Jack Carleton could not be misjudged.
"It has been decided that mine shall be the same fate as that of poor
Otto," was the thought of Jack, who displayed genuine Kentucky pluck in
facing the peril.
He was only a second or two behind the warrior in bounding to his feet,
and as he came up he whipped out his hunting knife from under his coat,
and confronted his foe. The latter probably was unaware until then that
his captive had a weapon about him, for otherwise he would have deprived
him of it at the muzzle of the rifle; but surely it would seem he had no
cause to fear the youth, who could not have been his equal in strength,
activity or skill in handling such a weapon, though much his superior in
courage.
Jack Carleton was as self-possessed as if he were awaiting a friendly
wrestling bout with Otto Relstaub, though he knew that the assault meant
death to one, and the chances were against himself.
"He will bound like a dog at me," was the thought of Jack, who, after
the manner of a skillful boxer, kept his eye fixed on that of his foe,
in the hope of reading his purpose; "and I will make believe I am
bewildered by his style of attack (and may be I will be), but I'll jump
to one side, as he comes, and, with the help of heaven, will show what a
Kentucky boy can do when cornered."
Just then Jack Carleton smiled, and right good cause had he for doing
so.
CHAPTER XVII.
OTHER ARRIVALS.
The Indian warrior was the picture of ferocity, as he crouched a few
steps away, and, with his fingers griping the handle of his knife,
slowly drew it from the skin sheath at his girdle. The end of his
abstraction was the resolution to slay his captive then and there.
But, as the plucky youth faced the fierce red man and looked him in the
eye, he saw another form rising to view in his field of vision. It was
that of a warrior who slowly appeared behind the first, as if lifted
upward from the ground, and peeped over his shoulder into the face of
Jack Carleton. So perfect was the silence which marked the extraordinary
manifestation, that it was like the shadow made by the firelight itself.
Just beyond and a little to one side of the second form, a third came to
view, dimly revealed by the lesser firelight, but with a stillness of
movement as absolute as that of the other. Had it been otherwise, the
redskin would have discovered their approach.
The third Indian, indistinctly shown in the yellow glow, was recognized
by Jack as the Sauk Hay-uta; the second was Deerfoot the Shawanoe. The
latter smiled in his shadowy way, and shook one finger as a warning to
his friend not to betray the presence of himself and companion.
Looking in the face of his foe, as though addressing him, the lad said:
"It's all right; the next time I wish you would not be so slow in
getting here; if you'll keep still, I'll give this rascal a tussle that
he don't expect."
The warrior must have thought it strange to be addressed in that
fashion, and he must have noticed, too, the smile and flitting glances
of his victim, but he could not have suspected the meaning of either, or
he would have faced the other way.
With a partially suppressed shout, he stooped, as if gathering his
muscles, and then, like a lion on the edge of a chasm, he made a
terrific bound at the captive.
But he didn't reach him. A quick blow of the upraised arm sent his knife
spinning in the darkness, and a dexterous flirt of Deerfoot's moccasin
in front of the foot of the Indian, flung him headlong, after the manner
of a beginner taking a header from his bicycle. His discomfiture was
more complete than that of Lone Bear while pursuing the Shawanoe, for
not only was he thrown forward with great violence, but (as was the case
with Hay-uta, when he attacked Deerfoot), the knife was knocked from his
grasp, by a blow so cleverly given that it seemed to have fractured his
forearm.
Using mild language again, it might be said that the warrior was
surprised. Whatever the cause of his overthrow, he could not mistake its
meaning; it notified him that he ought to leave the spot without any
tarrying. Fortunately, he had enough sense to do so. Despite the
stinging pain in his arm, he scrambled to his feet, glanced over his
shoulder, and seeing two strange Indians, darted off like a deer,
vanishing among the trees with a suddenness which, it is safe to say, he
never equaled before or afterward.
"What a good fellow you would be to figure in a story!" exclaimed the
delighted Jack Carleton, wringing the hand of Deerfoot, and feeling as
though he would like to fling his arms around his neck and embrace him.
The Shawanoe evidently was in good spirits, for his even white teeth
showed between his lips, and his handsome black eyes sparkled in the
firelight. He enjoyed the figure the Indian cut when charging upon his
captive.
"My brother speaks words which Deerfoot does not know."
"What I mean to say is, that you have such a way of turning up when
you're wanted very bad, that you're just the scamp to figure in a lot of
story books; I wonder whether some simpleton won't undertake to use you
that way. The only trouble will be that if he invents yarns about you,
he'll make a fizzle of it, and, if he tells the truth, he will hardly be
believed; but," added the youth, as if the mantle of prophecy had fallen
on him, "it will depend a good deal on who it is that writes your life.
Like enough it will be some fellow who won't be credited, no matter what
he says--so he will be apt to pile it on."
Although Deerfoot possessed a good knowledge of the English language, he
failed to understand his young friend, and awaited his explanation.
Meanwhile Hay-uta came forward and shook hands with Jack, muttering a
word or two in broken English, expressive of his pleasure over his good
fortune.
"What I meant to say," added the lad, turning again to Deerfoot, "is,
that you've got such a habit of dropping down on your friends when they
are in trouble, that some day it will be put in a book, just as your
Bible is printed."
"Put Deerfoot in a book!" repeated the young Shawanoe, blushing like a
school-girl; "he who will do that will be a fool!"
"Like enough," replied Jack, with a laugh; "but all the same, he will
come along one of these days, long after you and I are dead."
"How will he know any thing of Deerfoot?" asked the young warrior, with
a dismay as great as that of other parties since then who, contemplating
such a calamity, have burned their private letters and papers; "if
Deerfoot is dead, who shall tell him any thing about him?"
"Why, my dear fellow," laughed his young friend; "don't you know that
Ned Preston, Wild Blossom Brown, and all the folks over in Kentucky who
know you, will tell their friends and children what you have done; and
here on this side the river it will be the same; till some time it will
all be gathered together and put in a book that will be read by hundreds
and thousands of people not born?"
Deerfoot showed by his expression that he did not fully understand the
meaning of his young friend, or, if he did, he believed he was jesting.
The idea of him ever figuring on the printed page could not be credited.
He smiled and shook his head, as though he wished to talk of something
else.
The young Shawanoe, as a matter of course, was the director of all the
movements of the little party, and he now said that it was best to leave
the spot and spend the night somewhere else. The Indian to whom they had
given such a scare might steal back, when he judged the three were
asleep and take revenge.
"He hasn't any gun," remarked Jack, who had picked up his own weapon
which the other left behind him, "so he can't shoot us."
"He has a tomahawk and knife--them he would use, though he had a rifle
as good as Hay-uta's."
"How was it, Deerfoot, that that Indian was roaming through the woods on
this side of the river, without a gun?"
The Shawanoe shook his head to signify he did not know: it was, to say
the least, a curious incident.
"I thought possibly he was a stranger to the war party across the river;
he acted as though he was afraid they would see him."
"He is a Pawnee," observed Deerfoot, who had gained a view of him, "and
is one of their best warriors."
"Why, then, should he act as he did? You must have some explanation even
though you can't be sure."
"He was a passionate warrior; he may not have been right _there_," said
Deerfoot, touching his finger to his forehead; "perhaps he was so evil
the Great Spirit placed darkness where there was light."
"But when an Indian is unfortunate enough to be unbalanced in mind, the
others become more kind to him than before; he would have no need to be
afraid of them."
The Shawanoe reminded Jack that the stranger might hold the rest of his
people in mortal fear, without having cause for doing so.
The Kentuckian was inclined to accept this explanation, and he told how
curiously the other had acted from the beginning, and especially into
what a reverie he sank while sitting near the fire.
But when Jack Carleton had convinced himself on this point, Deerfoot
chose to express doubt. To him it seemed more probable that the Indian
had had a quarrel with his tribe, or had committed some offense for
which he was proscribed. It was not unlikely that one feature of his
punishment was that he should go forth into the wilderness without
firearms. When he sat by the camp-fire, he was doubtless meditating over
the wrongs he had suffered, and when his passion flamed out, he sprang
to his feet to kill the youth who had done him no wrong.
"I know one thing," said Jack, compressing his lips and shaking his
head, "I wouldn't have stood still and allowed him to work his pleasure
with his knife; I almost wish you had let him come on."
The Shawanoe gravely dissented.
"My brother is brave, but he could not prevail against the fierce
Pawnee; he might have saved his own life, but his wounds would have
hurt; _now_ he has no wounds."
"May be you're right, Deerfoot; you know more about the woods in one
minute than I'll ever know in a lifetime; so I'll drop the subject."
Jack asked his friend about the experience of himself and Hay-uta on the
other side the stream, and Deerfoot gave a summary of what had befallen
them. When he recalled the overthrow of Lone Bear the first time, and
afterward of him and Red Wolf, he laughed with a heartiness which
brought a smile to the faces of Jack and Hay-uta. The sight of Red Wolf
as he plunged into the river, his head down and feet pointed toward the
sky seemed to delight the young warrior, who shook with silent laughter.
The Shawanoe never displayed his woodcraft in a more marked degree than
at the moment he was telling his story and enjoying the picture he drew.
While he seemed to be lost in mirth, Jack Carleton noticed, what he had
seen before, his eyes flitted hither and thither, and occasionally
behind him, and, between his words and laughter, he listened with an
intentness that would have noted the falling of a leaf. Subtle would
that foe have had to be in order to steal up to those who seemed to be
thinking of every thing except personal danger.
Jack Carleton had learned that neither of his friends had gained any
tidings of Otto Relstaub. At the fount where the Shawanoe expected to
receive knowledge, he was shut out as though by an i
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