CHAPTER VI.THE MESSAGE.
Julesand Jan waited for the trapper to speak. They knew by the expression of his face that the arrow meant something more than any ordinary shaft.
“What does it mean?” at length asked Jules.
“Ye don’t understand Injun signs. Look at the color—one half red, the other half white. That’s clear Injun. It says ez plain ez a man could speak, ‘Git out of this an’ we won’t hurt ye. Stay hyar an’ blood must flow.’”
“How do you know that?” said Jan. “I don’t see nottings like that on the arrow.”
“Course ye don’t. Wal,I does. That red half of the arrer means war. The white half sez thet they don’t car’ to kill us, an’ ef we go away quietly it’ll be all right. But ef westay, they’ll kill us. Whar did ye stand when the arrer fell, Jan?”
“I vas skinning te puffalo.”
“Yes, so ye was. Wal, thet’s all right, I guess. The chap is hid som’ers about yer, an’ I’m gwine to hev him out. Scatter an’ s’arch the woods.”
Jan did not like the idea of going alone through the woods, and he followed close on the heels of Ben.
“Git away,” said Ben. “None of thet. I want ye to git used to takin’ car’ of yerself an’ ye must do it. I saidscatter!”
Jan reluctantly went away and began to search. Ben glided from tree to tree, bending forward like a hound on the trail. He found at last a place where a moccasined foot had trod. The footmark was small and delicate.
“A gal or boy, by gracious!” said Ben. “Look sharp; I’ve found him.”
The others rushed to his side. The trapper stood at the root of a tree which in some way had been torn up by the roots, leaving a cavity below. Before this cavity Ben stoopedand looked in. A single glance showed him an Indian boy, crouching in the darkest corner.
“Come out hyar,” he said.
The boy did not move, and Ben addressed him in the Indian tongue, telling him to come out and fear nothing. The lad obeyed, and stood before them, in his simple Indian garb, a blanket thrown over his buckskin shirt. His moccasined feet were small as a girl’s. For an Indian, he had a fine, bold face, and his black eyes gleamed with a half-scornful light.
“What do you want here?” said Ben, in the Blackfoot language.
“The sons of the Blackfeet go where they will,” said the boy, calmly, toying with the bow which he held in his hand. “Who dares question them in their own land?”
“The son of a chief stands before me,” said Ben. “I can see that at once. No one questions the son of a chief as to hisright. But we are out upon the prairie and in danger. The brave youth can see that.”
“It is true,” said the boy. “My brother is in danger; it is well that he sees it, for when we know that danger is nigh we can avoid it, and pass away. My brother has seen the arrow?”
“Yes.”
“His head is getting gray; he knows the custom of the Blackfeet. They know that he is a just man, though he has killed some of their people. Good—they give him a chance. They let him go in peace when and where he will, so that he trouble the hills no more with his traps and rifle.”
“Listen,” said Ben, unconsciously adopting the language of an Indian while speaking in that tongue. “I have been a chief of the Crows for a long time; my head has grown gray among them; they taught me not to fear what man can do. Why should we fly from the face of the Blackfoot braves?”
“My father isverybrave,” said the boy. “But what can he do against so many? What nation is like the Blackfeet? What chiefs are like theirs? They are many, they are strong. Their horses speed like the wind. Their hearts are very strong. There are three white men; they can fight well, butthe braves will sweep them from the earth, when they come in anger.”
“We do not fear,” said Ben. “We have come to take beaver and we must do it.”
“The white men are wrong,” said the boy, stamping fiercely. “They think to drive the Indians from the land their fathers left them. I have heard of great tribes in the east, by the big water, who have been driven out and have perished one by one, until they have no longer a name or a place among the people. But it shall not be so with the Blackfeet.”
“They must do as they will,” said Ben. “We will not go.”
“Be warned. If you do not go, look for the blood-red arrow.”
“We shall expect it. Tell the chiefs that the Strong Buffalo said so old a head as yours has no business on the shoulders of a boy. Go. You will be a chief.”
The boy straightened himself up proudly and turned away. But Jules seized him by the arm.
“He must not go,” he said.
“What ye gwine to do about it?” said Ben. “Let go his arm. The fust thing ye know ye’ll git us into some kind of trouble with yer durned nonsense.”
“He must not go, I say,” replied Jules, angrily. “Our lives are in danger.”
“Ye ain’t helpin’ us by techin’ the boy,” said Ben. “Let him go.”
“I will not,” was the reply.
“Ye won’t, eh?” cried Ben, throwing up his rifle. “Then I’ll bet my life I make daylight shine through yer karkidge in about half a minute. Drop yer hold.”
Jules obeyed sullenly, and the boy, turning a grateful look at the trapper, darted across the prairie. Jules turned to the trapper with a lowering brow.
“You have had your way, it seems. We will see what will come of it. But let me tell you one thing: do not point your rifle at me again, or something may happen to you.”
“Don’t git up on yer ear about it. I ain’t goin’ to hev no bloodshed thet kin be helped, I ain’t. S’pose ye’d ’a’ killed this boy—and a brave young feller he is too—what goodwould ’a’ come of it? ’Twould ’a’ brought them down on us all the sooner, thet’s all. So don’t say nothing to me.”
They finished cutting up the buffalo and returned to camp, walking by their horses’ sides, with the skins containing the choicest portions of the meat slung over their saddles. They found the camp as they had left it, and at once built a fire.
“I don’t reckon it will do much good to be very careful now, sence the Injuns knows whar we ar’. But, ther’s one thing we kin do: we kin make our hut stronger, an’ ef they git our sculps they’ll hev to fight for ’em. We’ve got a strong party, an’ we don’t go back fer no man; no, we don’t.”
“If we were alone we might do well,” said Jules. “But, this ignorant Dutchman—”
“Vat sort of a Doochman?” roared Jan. “You say dat again unt I valls on you unt smash you all mit little bieces so pig ash my thumb.”
“Do be silent, Jan,” said Millicent. “Do I understand that you have a fear of danger, Ben?”
“’Tain’t nothin’ new. It’s allers dangerous on the prairie,” said Ben. “Never you mind, little ’un. We’ll take keer of ye.”
“I am not afraid, but, I should like to know what the danger is.”
“Blackfeet,” said Ben. “We met one while huntin’ buffler.”
“Off you have anyt’ing to say to me, Shule Damant,” said Jan, breaking in on the conversation at this point, “I shall pe glad to have you do it. Put, ton’t sit dere unt look ash if you would like to eat me. I wouldn’t sit goot on your stomach.”
“I do not forget that you insulted me by placing your foot upon my breast this morning. You had better be silent.”
“Am I frait mit you, Shule? No. I ish not, I dells you blain. Off you like to pe frents mit me dat ish goot. Off you ton’t like it, vat do I care? Take your own vay.”
“I’ll give one of you a back-handed wipe in a minnit!” roared Ben. “Shet up, both of you. Jan, we have got to go and skin the bear you shot yesterday.”
“Who kilt ter pear, Penn Miffin?” cried Jan. “Vas itShule? Vas it you? or vas it a pig Doochman named Jan Schneider, eh? Vell, I coes mit you off you like.”
“I should like to see a bear before he is cut up,” said Millicent.
“Would you? Then you shall take Jule’s hoss, and ride with us. I’ll take mine, ’cause I like to ride, and Jan may take his because I want it to bring home the meat. You two stay and watch the camp.”
The three rode out of the camp together. When out of sight of the Frenchman, Ben beckoned Jan close to him.
“Why did ye tumble Jules over this morning, Jan?”
“Vell, he keeps sayin’, Doochmans, Doochmans, Doochmans, till I vas tire of hear him. Sh’pose I t’rows him town on his pack, den he knows ash I vill shtand no nonsense mit him no more. I pees not a vool.”
“I’m jubous you’ve made him yer innimy,” said Ben. “I don’t like that. I don’t want no quarrelin’ in my camp. When I take chaps out with me they must be the right kind of men, and not toohashin their ways. Now I don’t reckon it’ll hurt ye much to show him ye ain’t afraid of him.”
“You are speaking of your companion,” said Millicent. “Do you know that I am afraid of him? He has looked at me in a way I do not understand. Did your friend quarrel with him this morning?”
“Yes. Now ther’s one thing more atween Jan and me. It looks as ef we’d got to tramp the prairie together fer a long time. Now any man thet travels alongside of old Trapping Ben, must hev the right sort of pluck. Don’t ye see thar’s always danger in the life of a free trapper?”
“I nefer dinks dere vas so mooch, Penn. Off I dinks so, I would not coom.”
“All right. Hyar ye ar’ an’ hyar ye’ve got ter stay this season. Now I’ve noticed thet when they b’ar ye right down to it ye kin fight ez well ez the best man among ’em. But, ye’r’ apt to shirk danger ef ye hev time to think an’ see it comin’. Now, thet ain’t the way with a free trapper. They don’t like to fight, nuther will they shirk danger, nor go a step out of the way to git cl’ar of it.”
“Yaw. Dat ish vat I dinks. You likes to vite. Now I vould soonerrunden fight, if I can.”
Millicent laughed at thisnaiveconfession on the part of the Dutchman, whose face was the very picture of truth.
“I’ll cure ye of that before I quit ye, my boy,” ejaculated Ben. “Take my word for it. I ain’t goin’ to hev no cowardly cuss in my camp. Now ef we meet an Injun, what ar’ ye goin’ to do?”
“I dinks I vould run avay so hard ash efer I can,” said Jan, with refreshing candor. “I not likes Plackfeet no more ash hogs.”
Again the merry laughter of Millicent rung through the pass. Old Ben looked at her with a fatherly smile.
“You’d run away, would ye? Now, don’t ye ever go to do it. Fer ef ye do, ez sure ez a gun you git it right through the back. I won’t hev no skulkin’. It’s no wonder the gal laughs at you. But hyar’s our b’ar.”
The leaves had rattled down during the night, and drifted so that the body of the animal was completely covered. Ben brushed them away with his hand and exposed the huge body to view. Millicent had never seen a grizzly bear, and it was something so terrible that she could not repress a cry. The wound which the roer had made was exposed to view. Indeed, the top of the head was completely blown off.
“Dere!” cried Jan, in high good humor. “I kills dat pear mit mine roer.”
“It was a bold thing to do.”
“Vell, I dinks off I vas not kill dat pear, ter pear vould kill me,” said Jan. “So I kills ter pear.”
“That showed great discretion on your part,” laughed Millicent. “But, what is the sound that seems to come from below?”
Ben stopped pulling at the body of the bear and listened. There was a pattering sound, like drops of falling rain, and then the pass below them was filled with a moving mass, and that mass was a pack of prairie-wolves, coming on at
“Their long gallop, which can tireThe hounds’ deep hate or the hunter’s fire.”
“Their long gallop, which can tireThe hounds’ deep hate or the hunter’s fire.”
“Their long gallop, which can tireThe hounds’ deep hate or the hunter’s fire.”
“Their long gallop, which can tire
The hounds’ deep hate or the hunter’s fire.”
A pack of wolves, mad with hunger. There is nothing more fearful to a trapper. They know too well the vindictive fury with which the black brutes pursue and drag down their prey.
“Togs?” queried Jan.
“Wolves!” shouted Ben. “Heel it, Jan! Git up a tree as lively as you kin. I wouldn’t give a beaver-pelt fer yer life ef ye don’t, and ez fer the b’ar—umph! Run for it. Turn the hosses loose.”
Snatching Millicent from the horse, he put her into the branches of a low pine and ordered her to clamber higher. She obeyed without a word, and he took another tree close at hand. The horses ran toward the camp.
Jan needed no second bidding, but ran away, with a face which betokened his earnest hate of the animal in question. Wolves! He had heard their ominous howl near his house on the borders of the Black Forest many a time. The ferocity of the animal is wonderful. Jan knew that well. He recognized the lolling tongue, the white teeth. He had heard his father tell of peasants taken in the forest, far from home and dragged down, screaming in vain for aid. Next day their friends would find their bones whitening in the sun’s rays.
The pack uttered fierce yells at the sight of the man, and rushed at him. But Jan got to a tree in season, taking his gun with him. Down came the pack, snarling, snapping at each other, and scattering the leaves on either side. In a moment they surrounded the trees in which the trappers had taken shelter, leaping up against them, gnashing their white teeth and clawing at the bark. Millicent uttered a cry of terror.
“I dinks I puilds a ’ouse in a dree,” said Jan, despairingly. “I has peen drove to a dree more ash dree times sence I cooms here. I dinks dat it vas von coonthry vere dey lifs in der drees.”
“Ye oughter be glad ye’vegota tree so nigh,” said Ben. “The durned animiles would ’a’ tore ye to pieces in half a minnit more. Thar! They’ve found yer b’ar. Don’t holler, gal. They kain’t get at ye.”
A dozen fierce jaws were tearing at the rough hide of the grizzly, and others struggling to get a taste of the coveted flesh. Jan was in a rage. His “pear,” the trophy of his valor, the beast he had killed with his own hand, to be devoured before his eyes by a pack of hungry wolves! He was in a towering passion.
“I dinks dat pymepye I gets down unt kills auvery volf in dat flock. Look! See how dey shpile my pear! I kills dat pear myself.”
“I’m satisfied thet ’tain’t our hide the’r’ a-tearin’,” said Ben. “Thet’s all right. Let ’em eat. Then mebbe they won’t be so hungry for us. I guess we may ez well drop a few of them while we’ve got the light.”
He raised his rifle and was about to fire, but a second thought caused him to lower it. “No, ’twon’t do to make them any madder then they ar’, or the obstinate brutes will stay hyar a week but they’ll hev us. Durn a wolf, anyhow. What do they want to chase us for jest now?”
“Shpose I shoots my cun at dem vunce,” said Jan. “I shoots fiviff or sax mit one dime. Look; I shoots dat vun over dere.”
Jan leaned forward and fired.
The charge flew among the wolves about the body of the bear, wounding several of them more or less. At the same time the branch upon which the Dutchman was sitting broke, and he fell to the ground. The wolves fell back at first, but, seeing only one man, rushed at him on every side.
The German then showed that he was brave enough, if need be. The heavy gun was swung above his head, and the iron-bound butt descended on his foes with mighty force. The first brute fell with a crushed skull. Ben Miffin was not the man to see a comrade in danger and not come to his aid. He sprung down, scattering the cowardly creatures right and left.
The diversion enabled Jan to get back to the tree. Ben made a last rush at the wolves and then climbed to his perch again, leaving a portion of the flap of his hunting-shirt in the jaws of the foremost brute.
“Git a stronger limb this time,” said Ben. “Don’t fall ag’in; ef ye do, durned efI’llhelp ye.”
The pack now recommenced the struggle for the possession of the bear. Here and there an old or weak wolf was being throttled and torn in pieces by his comrades.
“A hungry lot,” muttered Ben. “I wish they’d clear out. I don’t want to stay up hyar all night, an’ I ain’t goin’ to. Come sassies, git done yer meal an’ clear out.”
“Penn,” said Jan in a slightly tremulous voice, “can volfs climb drees?”
“Climb trees, ye durned fool!Ofcourse they kin. If they was in any hurry for ye they’d ’a’ been up thet thar tree half an hour ago. Oh, I reckon yer cat’s-meatnow. Say yer prayers, ef ye’ve got any. I think ye’d better, anyhow. It’s the last chaince ye’ll hev.”
“Don’t talk dat vay, Penn,” said Jan. “Vy you likes to scare a poor Doochman all to bieces? I dells you I don’t like volfs. Dey ish got long teeth like nails. I dinks dey pe very hoongry. Vell, shpose I gits to St. Louis once more, I goes pack to Yarmany mit a backet. I not shtays here.”
“I judge ye won’t git back to St. Louis,” said Ben. “Them chaps don’t look much ez ef they meant to let ye, do they? I judge not. Anyway, I’ve got my opinion, and I’ll back it, thet they begin to gnaw ye in just ten minnits by the sun. They make short work of a Dutchman.”
“Don’t I know you, Penn Miffin? Don’t I know you so vell ash never vas? Dey can’t climb no more as a pig. You’s a liar, unt you knows you pe a liar. I never sees a vorse vun.”
“Jest wait a bit, my lad,” said Ben. “I’ll come to you by and by.”
“I’d rather pe licked py a man dan swallowed py a volfs,” whimpered Jan. “I fights dem, anyway. I pees not afraid of dem no more ash you. Coom; vy you no shoots?”
“Shet up!” said Ben. “Somebody is coming. Hark!”