It was the turn of Deerfoot to laugh, and he did so with much heartiness, though without any noise.
"No; the hair of Deerfoot grows on his head; he would be sad if it covered his face."
"So would I, for it would make a confounded queer looking creatur' of you. I would like to see an Injin got up in that style; just think of Tecumseh with a big mustache and whiskers! Beavers!"
The conceit was equally enjoyed by Deerfoot, who fairly shook with mirth. He recalled the time when he confronted the mighty chieftain, with drawn knife and compressed lips, and the picture of that terrible being, with his face covered by whiskers, was a drop from the sublime to the ridiculous, which would have brought a laugh to any one.
Burt Hawkins evidently held his visitor in esteem, for, reaching out his horny hand, he gently passed his fingers over the cheek nearest him, and then drew it across the chin.
"No; there's no beard there. It's as smooth as the cheeks of my little five-year old Peggy at home. It always struck me as qu'ar that Injins don't have beards, but I s'pose it's because the old fellows, several thousand years ago, began plucking out the hairs that came on the face, and their children have kept it up so long that it has discouraged the industry in them regions. See?"
To assist Deerfoot to catch the force of his illustration, Burt gave him several digs in the ribs. This familiarity would have been annoying under most circumstances, but it was manifest from the manner of the warrior that he rather enjoyed the effusiveness of the magnificent fellow.
"Why is my brother in the woods alone?" he asked, when matters calmed down.
"I can't say I'm exactly alone, Deerfoot, for Kit Kellogg and Tom Crumpet ain't fur off, and that meat thar is gettin' cold waiting for them to come and gobble it; if they ain't here in a few minutes you and me will insert our teeth. We've been trappin' all winter down to the south'rd and have got a good pile of peltries; we've got 'em gathered, and loaded, too, and are on our way to St. Louis with 'em; warm weather is comin', and the furs are beginnin' to get poor, so we shall hang our harps on the willers till cold weather begins agin."
"My brothers are coming," said Deerfoot, quietly, referring to two other hunters who at that moment put in an appearance.
The new arrivals resembled Burt Hawkins in their dress and accoutrements. They wore coon-skin caps, hunting dress, leggings, coarse shoes, etc., and each carried a long rifle and hunting knife as his weapons. They were rugged, powerful fellows, whose long experience in the wilderness had given them a knowledge of its ways and mysteries, beyond that of ordinary men. They were hardy and active, with the faculties of hearing, seeing and smelling cultivated to a point almost incredible. They contrasted with Hawkins in one respect; both wore their faces smooth. Although far removed from civilization, they kept themselves provided with the means of shaving their cheeks. Perhaps through indifference, their beards were sometimes allowed to grow for weeks, but they made sure they were in presentable shape when they rode into the trading post of St. Louis, with their peltries, and, receiving pay therefor, joined their families in that frontier town.
The three men had been hunters and trappers for many years. Sometimes they pursued their work alone, and sometimes in the company of others. They trapped principally for beavers and otters, though they generally bagged a few foxes and other fur-bearing animals. A hundred years ago, there were numerous beaver runs in the central portions of our country, and for a long time many men were employed in gathering their valuable furs, hundred and thousands of which were brought from the mountain streams and solitudes of the West to St. Louis, whence they were sent eastward and distributed.
The trapper's pursuit has always been a severe one, for, aside from the fierce storms, sudden changes, and violent weather, the men as a rule were exposed to the rifles of lurking Indians, who resented the intrusion of any one into their territory. And yet there was an attraction about the solitary life, far beyond the confines of civilization, which took men from their families and buried them in the wilderness, frequently for years at a time. It is not difficult to understand the fascination which kept Daniel Boone wandering for months through the woods and cane-brakes of Kentucky, without a single companion and with the Indians almost continually at his heels.
When Burt Hawkins and his two friends left St. Louis, late in summer or early in the fall, each rode a mule or horse, besides having two pack animals to carry their supplies and peltries. They followed some faintly marked trail, made perhaps by the hoofs of their own animals, and did not reach their destination for several weeks. When they halted, it was among the tributaries of the Missouri, which have their rise in the Ozark range in the present State of Missouri.
The traps and implements which from time to time were taken westward, were not, as a matter of course, brought back, for that would have encumbered their animals to no purpose. When warm weather approached and the fur bearers began shedding their hair, the traps were gathered and stowed away until needed again in the autumn. Then the skins that had been taken from time to time through the winter, were brought forth and strapped on the backs of the animals, and the journey homeward was begun. There was no trouble for the trappers to "float their sticks," as the expression went; for the Northwest Fur Company and other wealthy corporations had their agents in St. Louis and at other points, where they were glad to buy at liberal prices all the peltries within reach.
No trapper was likely to accumulate wealth by the method named, but it cost him little to live, and frequently during the summer he found some other employment that brought return for his labor.
Hawkins, Kellogg and Crumpet were on their way home, having started a little later than their custom, and they had reached the point referred to on the preceding night, when they halted and went into camp. In the morning, when they began to reload their animals, it was found that a rifle belonging to Kit Kellogg was missing. It had been strapped on the package which one of the mules carried, but had worked loose and fallen unnoticed to the ground. It was too valuable to be abandoned, and Kit and Crumpet started back to hunt for it. They went on foot, leaving the animals cropping some succulent grass a short distance away.
The quadrupeds underwent a hard time during the winter, when grass was scanty, so that such halts were appreciated by them. The spot where they were grazing was far enough removed to screen them from the sight of Deerfoot, when he was reconnoitering the camp. While two of the company were hunting for the weapon, the third remained behind, smoking his pipe, and, when the time came, prepared dinner against the return of the other ones. The meat was good, but not so delicate as the beaver tails on which they frequently feasted during the cold season.
It has been said more than once that the Indians along the western bank of the Mississippi were less aggressive than those who so often crimsoned the soil of Kentucky and Ohio with the blood of the pioneers. Such was the truth, but those who were found on the very outermost fringe of civilization, from far up toward the headwaters of the Yellowstone down to the Gulf, were anything but harmless creatures. As the more warlike tribes in the East were pushed over into that region, they carried their vindictive natures with them, and the reader knows too well the history of the great West to require anything further to be said in that direction.
When Hawkins went to the beaver-runs with his friends in the autumn preceding his meeting with Deerfoot, he had as his companions, besides the two named, a third—Albert Rushton, who, like the others, was a veteran trapper. One snowy day in mid-winter, when the weather was unusually severe, he started on his round of his division of the traps and never came back. His prolonged absence led to a search, and his dead body was found beside one of the demolished traps. The bullet hole through his forehead and the missing scalp that had been torn from his crown, told plainly the manner of his death.
This was a shocking occurrence, but the fate of Rushton was that to which every one of his friends was liable, and they did not sit down and repine over what could not be helped. The saddest thought connected with the matter was that one of the three must break the news to the invalid wife, who lived with her two children in one of the frontier settlements through which they passed on the way to St. Louis.
When Deerfoot told Hawkins the others were returning, the trapper turned his head and saw that Kellogg had found the missing rifle. The couple looked sharply at the warrior as they advanced, and evidently were surprised to see him in camp. Kellogg and Crumpet were men in middle life, strong limbed, sinewy and vigilant.
Deerfoot rose from the log whereon he was sitting, and extended his hand to each in turn, as Hawkins pronounced his name. Kit Kellogg scrutinized him and shook his hand with considerable warmth. Crumpet did the same, though with less cordiality in his manner. It was plain (and plainer to none than Deerfoot) that he was one of that numerous class of frontiersmen who regard the American Indian as an unmitigated nuisance, which, so far as possible, every white man should do his utmost to abate. He had been engaged in more than one desperate encounter with them and his hatred was of the most ferocious nature. It was not to be expected, however, that his detestation would show itself without regard to time and place. Kellogg and Hawkins watched him with some curiosity, as he extended his horny hand and shook that of the handsome Indian youth.
"You've heard of Deerfoot," added Burt, as he proceeded to divide the enormous piece of meat into quarters; "he is the youngster that helped Colonel Preston and his friends from the Wyandots at the time the block-house was burned."
"How should we hear of it," asked Crumpet with a growl, "when we was on this side of the Mississippi?"
"Wasn't I over in Kentucky about three years ago? I rather think I was, and would have been froze to death with Simon Kenton and a few of the other boys if it hadn't been for this copper-colored rascal—ain't that so, Deerfoot?"
And that the young warrior might not err as to the one who was expected to impart light on the subject, Burt gave him a resounding whack on the shoulder that almost knocked him off the log. The youth was in the act of conveying some of the meat to his mouth when saluted in that fashion, and it came like the shock of an earthquake.
"Why can't you talk with a fellow," asked Kellogg, "without breaking his neck?"
"Whose neck is broke?"
"Why that fellow's is pretty well jarred."
"Well, as long ashedon't object I don't see what it is toyou," was the good-natured response of Hawkins, who resumed chewing the juicy meat.
"Some of these days, somebody will give you a whack in return when you ain't expecting it, and it will be a whack too that will cure you of that sort of business. I believe, Deerfoot, that you are a Shawanoe, ain't you?"
"Deerfoot is a Shawanoe," was the answer, his jaws at work on the food just furnished him.
"I've heard tell of you; you're the chap that always uses a bow and arrow instead of a gun?"
The youth answered the query by a nod of the head. As he did so, Tom Crumpet, who sat further away, vigorously working his jaws, uttered a contemptuous grunt. Kit turned his head and looked inquiringly at him.
"Maybe you think he can't use the bow and arrow. I s'pose, Deerfoot, that's the bow you fired the arrow through the window of the block-house that was nigh a hundred yards off, with a letter tied around it, and fired it agin out on the flatboat with another piece of paper twisted around it—isn't that so?"
Despite his loose-jointed sentences, Deerfoot caught his meaning well enough to nod his head in the affirmative.
"Did you see it done?" asked Crumpet, with a grin at Hawkins.
"How could I see it when I wasn't there?"
"I guess no one else was there," growled Tom; "I've noticed whenever that sort of business is going on it's always a good ways off, and the people as sees it are the kind that don't amount to much in the way of telling the truth."
These were irritating words, made more so by the contemptuous manner in which they were spoken. Deerfoot clearly understood their meaning, but he showed no offence because of them. He was not vain of his wonderful skill in woodcraft, and, though he had a fiery temper, which sometimes flashed to the surface, he could not be disturbed by any slurs upon his attainments.
Kit Kellogg was impatient with his companion, but he knew him so well that he did not discuss the matter. Had not the beard of Burt Hawkins hidden his countenance, the others would have perceived the flush which overspread it. He was angered, and said, hotly:
"It might do for some folks to say that other folks didn't tell the truth, but I don't thinkyou'rethe one to say it."
Crumpet champed his meat in silence, using his hunting knife for fork and knife, and drinking water from the tin cup which he had filled a short distance away, and from which the others, excepting Deerfoot, also drank. Instead of answering the slur of Hawkins, he acted as though he did not fully catch his meaning, and did not care to learn. What he had said, however, rankled in the heart of Burt, who, holding his peace until all were through eating, addressed the surly fellow:
"If you doubt the skill of Deerfoot, I'll make you a wager that he can outshoot you, you using your gun and he his bow and arrow, or you can both use a gun."
"He might do all that," said Kellogg, with a twinkle of the eye, "and it wouldn't prove that Tom was any sort of a marksman."
Crumpet was able to catch the meaning of that remark, and it goaded him almost to the striking point.
Neither Deerfoot nor the trapper wished to engage in the trial of skill suggested by Burt Hawkins. Crumpet feared that if such a test took place he would be worsted, in which event he would never hear the last of it from his friends. He might well shrink, therefore, from such a contest.
The Shawanoe knew he could surpass the trapper if he exerted himself, as he most certainly would do. Crumpet's ill-nature would be embittered, and matters were likely to take an unpleasant shape. When Hawkins turned toward him, therefore, expecting him to bound to his feet and invite the challenge, he shook his head:
"Deerfoot's arrows are few, and he saves them for game or his enemies."
"And therein is wise," added Kellogg, shrewd enough to see the situation in all its bearings.
Crumpet said nothing, but was greatly relieved, while Hawkins gave a sniff of disgust.
"Some folks are very free with their tongues, but when you come down to business they ain't there; howsumever, let that go; we've got our extra rifle, and I s'pose we might as well keep up the tramp toward St. Louis. Deerfoot, can't you go with us?"
He shook his head, and said:
"Deerfoot is hunting for two friends who are lost; he must not sleep nor tarry on the way."
"How is that?" asked Burt, while the others listened with interest. The young Shawanoe told, in his characteristic manner, the story which is already well known to the reader. While doing so he watched each countenance closely, hoping (though he could give no reason for such hope) to catch some sign of a shadowy knowledge of that for which he was seeking, but he was disappointed.
"One thing is sartin," remarked Burt Hawkins, when the story was fully told, "them boys ain't dead."
"I agree with you," said Kellogg, with an emphatic nod of the head, in which even the surly Crumpet joined. Deerfoot was surprised at this unanimity, and inquired of Hawkins his reason for his belief.
"'Cause it's agin common sense; when two young men go out in the woods to hunt game, both of 'em ain't going to get killed: that isn't the fashion now-a-days. One of 'em might be hurt, but if that was so, and the other couldn't get away, the Injins would take him off and keep him. More than likely the varmints carried away both, and if you make a good hunt for three or four thousand miles around, you'll get track of 'em."
"I think I know a better plan than that," said Kellogg, and, as the others looked inquiringly toward him, he said, "both of them chaps have been took by Injins who'll keep them awhile. One of these days the boys will find a chance to give 'em the slip, and they'll leave on some dark night and strike for home."
"It isn't likely both 'll have a show to do that at the same time," said Crumpet, speaking with more courtesy than he had yet shown, and manifesting much interest in the matter.
"No; one will have to leave a good while before the other, and then the one that is left will be watched that much sharper, but all he's got to do is to bide his time."
"When one of my brothers comes through the woods to his home, the other will come with him," said Deerfoot, confident as he was that neither Jack Carleton nor Otto Relstaub would desert the other, when placed in any kind of danger.
Deerfoot was confirmed in his theory of the disappearance of his young friends, for it agreed with what he had formed after leaving the settlement that morning. But, admitting it was the correct theory, the vast difficulty of locating the boys still confronted him. They might be journeying far southward in the land of the Creeks and Chickasaws, or to the homes of the Dacotah in the frozen north, or westward toward the Rocky Mountains.
Kellogg and Crumpet now fell into an earnest discussion of the question, for, though agreeing in the main, they differed on minor points, in which each was persistent in his views. Deerfoot listened to every word, for, like a wise man, he was anxious to gain all the knowledge he could from others.
But he noticed that for several minutes Burt Hawkins took no part in the conversation. He had sat down again on the log, thrown one leg over another, and was slowly stroking his handsome beard, while his gaze was fixed on the ground in front. He was evidently in deep thought.
Such was the fact, and just as the lull came, he reached his conclusion. Deliberately rising to his full height, he walked over to where Deerfoot stood, and with another slap on his shoulder, said:
"See here, young man!"
The warrior faced him, earnest, attentive, and interested. Burt shifted the weight of his body, so that it rested on his right leg; he looked down in the eyes of Deerfoot, his brow wrinkled as in the case when a man is about to deliver himself of the most important and original thoughts of his life. Then he began wabbling the index finger of his right hand in the face of the warrior, as a man with the important and original thought is inclined to do. He commenced to wabble quite slowly, gradually increasing the amplitude of the vibrations, and passing his finger so close to the countenance of the Shawanoe that it seemed almost to graze the end of his nose. He spoke slowly, pointing his words with his swaying finger:
"Deerfoot, I've got the question answered; listen to me: them boys have been tooken away by Injins; I know it; now where have the Injins gone? You ought to know as much about your race as me, but you don't; do what I tell you; go to the south till you come to some Injin village; make your inquiries there; if they haven't got the boys, they'll know whether the tribe that took 'em passed through their country, 'cause they couldn't very well do so without some of their warriors finding it out. If none of them don't know nothing about no such party, you can make up your mind you're barking up the wrong tree; then take an excursion west and do the same thing; then, if you don't learn anything, try toward the north; there ain't any use in going eastward, for common sense will teach you they haint been tooken that way; a chap with your good sense will pick up some clue that'll show you the way through."
"My brother speaks the words of wisdom," said Deerfoot, who was much impressed by the utterances of the trapper: "Deerfoot will not forget what he has said; he will carry his words with him and they shall be his guide; Deerfoot says good-bye."
And with a courteous salute to the three, the young warrior walked a few steps, broke into a light run, and was out of sight before his intention was fairly understood. The trappers looked in each others' faces, laughed, made some characteristic remarks, and then turned to their own business.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe had determined to follow the advice given by Burt Hawkins the trapper. It certainly was singular that such an extraordinary woodman as the Indian should profit by the counsel of a white man, even though he was a veteran; but Deerfoot had studied the problem so long that his brain was confused, and, having fixed his own line of conduct, he only needed the endorsement of some sturdy character like the hunter. He had received that endorsement, and now he could not use too much haste.
His intention was to journey rapidly southward, in the direction of the present State of Arkansas, until he should reach some of the Indian villages that were there a hundred years ago. He would push his inquiries among them, just as Burt Hawkins had suggested, pressing the search in other directions, until able to pick up some clue. After that, it would be an easy matter to determine the line of policy that would lead to success.
Any one engaged in such a task as that on which the young Shawanoe had entered, needs to take all the observations he can, for the knowledge thus gained is sure to be of great help. The Indian scanned the country opening to the southward, and, as was his custom, turned his face toward the first elevation which would give him the view he was so desirous of obtaining.
The elevation was similar to those with which the reader became familiar long ago, and the sun had not yet reached the horizon when the lithe warrior had climbed to the crest of the ridge, and was scanning the wilderness which opened to the south and west. He was in a region where he was warranted in looking for Indian villages, and his penetrating eyes traveled over the area with a minuteness of search hardly imaginable by the reader. The country was so broken by mountain, hill, and wood, that the survey was much less extended than would be supposed. He was disappointed in one respect, however: he could detect no Indian village in the whole range of vision.
But, besides the dim smoke from the camp he had left a short time before, he observed another to the westward, and a third to the south; he concluded to make his way to the last, though he half suspected it was the camp of another party of trappers, from whom he could not gather the first morsel of information.
Deerfoot pushed toward the valley, less than a mile distant, from which the tell-tale vapor ascended, and was quite close to the camp, when he became aware that an altogether unexpected state of affairs existed. Despite his usual caution, his approach was detected, and the Shawanoe found himself in no little peril.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to make clear how it was Deerfoot discovered this singular state of affairs; but he was more than a hundred yards from the camp, which was screened by a dense undergrowth and rocks, when he stopped abruptly, warned to do so by that subtle instinct which is like a sixth sense.
He did not leap behind a tree, nor fall on his face and creep to the rear of the large boulder on his right, but he stood erect, using the faculties of hearing and sight with a delicate power and unerring skill which were marvelous in the highest degree.
The black eyes glanced around, as he slowly turned his head from side to side, and he saw everything in front, rear, at his right, left, and above, among the limbs and on the ground. He heard the silken rustling of several leaves in the top of a beach overhead, and he knew it was caused by one of those slight puffs of wind which make themselves known in that manner.
The inhalation through his nostrils brought the faint odor of the elm, the oak, the hickory, the chestnut, the sycamore, and the resinous pine. He identified them, I say, as well as the peculiar and indescribable odor given off by the decaying leaves, the mossy rocks, and even the rotting twigs and branches; but among them all he detected nothing of a foreign nature.
But it was his hearing upon which he mainly depended, though his eyes were forced to their highest skill. When the pinnated leaf of a hickory was shaken loose by the wind puff it had hardly floated from its stem before he caught sight of it, and followed it in its downward course until it fluttered slowly to the ground.
It may be said that the danger which threatened Deerfoot was "in the air," if it be conceivable that there is anything in the expression. He was as certain of it as he was of his own existence, and yet he stood motionless, displaying an incredible confidence in his ability to discover the nature of the peril before it could take effective shape.
Had he leaped lightly behind a tree, he might have placed himself on the side which would have left him exposed to the stealthy shot; had he dropped to the ground and crept to one side of the moss-covered boulder, the same fatal mistake was likely to be made. Therefore he stood as rigid as iron, until he could learn the direction from which he was threatened.
A rustling no louder than that made by the oscillation of a falling leaf came from a point some distance ahead and on his right. So soft indeed was the sound that it cannot be explained how the human ear could be trained to the point of hearing it.
But it was that for which Deerfoot the Shawanoe was waiting, and it gave him the knowledge he sought.
At the instant the almost inaudible rustling struck the ear of Deerfoot the Shawanoe, he caught sight of a rifle barrel as it was thrust among the undergrowth and aimed at him. It was the faintest possible sound, caused by the pushing aside of the leaves which he heard, and which he was expecting for a full minute to hear. The lightning-like glance cast toward the point showed him the dark barrel, and the ferocious gleam of the face of an Indian, crouching on one knee just beyond.
The warrior who aimed the weapon meant to send the bullet through the chest of the youth, whose approach, stealthy as it was, he had detected. The distance was so slight that the briefest possible time was required to make his aim certain; but while in the very act of doing so, the sinewy youth vanished like a puff of vapor.
The savage was dumfounded, for nothing of the kind had ever occurred, so far as his experience went, and it was unexplainable to him. He had used the proverbial caution of his people, and he knew from the expectant position of the youth that his suspicions were excited, but he could not comprehend by what means he had passed so suddenly from sight. The red man was in the very act of pressing the trigger when he discovered he was not aiming at any target.
If the Indian tongue contained an execration, it may well be imagined that a most vigorous one escaped the lips of the baffled redskin, who was shut out from his prize at the moment of closing his fingers upon it.
The warrior was a brawny, full-grown Indian, almost in middle life, who had sunk on one knee and brought his gun to his shoulder, after briefly studying the form which had approached his lurking place. He had never seen the stranger until that moment, and he only knew that he belonged to some totem unknown to him. It was probable that his home was on the eastern shore of the Mississippi, and he resented the intrusion upon his hunting grounds as he did that of a white man: consequently he was as quick to take the life of one as of the other.
Finding that his intended victim had disappeared beyond all question, the next step of the fierce assassin was to solve the meaning of the unaccountable occurrence. He noiselessly straightened up, and craning his head forward peeped through the undergrowth. All that he saw was the huge boulder or rock, within a few feet of where the youth had been standing. It followed, therefore that he had flung himself behind it, and was hiding there at that moment.
The painted visage glowed with a baleful light, for he was assured his triumph was postponed only for a few moments. The boulder might serve as a shelter while the relative positions of the two were the same, but it was in the power of the savage to change that by putting forth only moderate skill.
Taking care not to reveal himself, he began a guarded movement to the right, his course being the same as if starting to describe a circle about the hiding place. It will be seen that if he could accomplish this without exposing himself to the fire of the other, he would not need to go far before gaining a view of the opposite side of the boulder, and necessarily of him who was seeking to screen himself from discovery. To do this, however, the victim must remain where he was, for manifestly, if he shifted his position correspondingly, he would continue invisible, but he counted himself fortunate that he had noticed the peculiar configuration of the boulder, which rendered such a man[oe]uvre beyond the power of an ordinary warrior. As for himself, he had no personal fear, for the trees were so numerous that he could use them to shield his body while leaping from one to the other, while in many places he could steal along the ground without the possibility of detection.
If the fool had but known the woodcraft of the youth against whom he was so eager to pit himself, he would have turned and fled from the spot as from a plague; but he had never heard the name of Deerfoot, and little dreamed of the skill of the extraordinary youth.
The warrior stooped, crept, leaped, and stole through the wood with a celerity that was astonishing. Within a very short time after beginning the movement, he had described one-fourth of the circle and gained the view he wished. It must be remembered, too, that he had kept the boulder under such close surveillance as to be morally certain the youth could not shift his position without being observed.
But to his amazement he saw nothing of his victim. The flat slope and the leafy ground were free from anything resembling a human being. He stood peering from behind the tree, and at his wit's end to know what it meant. He held his rifle so that the hammer could be raised the moment the necessity came, and he must have felt that the wiser course was for him to leave the spot without further search.
Probably such would have been his course had he not heard a most alarming sound directly behind him. It was the faint cough of a person seeking to clear his throat. The Indian turned like a flash, and saw the dusky youth a rod distant, holding his bow loosely in his right hand, while his terrible left was drawn back over his shoulder, the fingers clenching the handle of his tomahawk. His position was precisely that of one who was on the very point of launching the deadly missile which would have cloven the skull, as though made of card-board. He had taken the posture, and then uttered the slight cough with a view of "calling the attention" of the party of the first part to the fact, and he succeeded. The elder was in the position of the hunter who while seeking the tiger awoke to the fact that the tiger was seeking him.
The warrior, whose face was daubed with red, black and yellow paint, was literally struck dumb. He had been engaged in many an encounter with strange Indians, but never had the affray been introduced in a more favorable manner to himself, and never had he been more utterly overwhelmed.
He saw that the youth was merely holding his tomahawk; the very second it was needed, he could drive it into his chest or brain. He was too proud to ask for mercy, for he had no thought it would be granted. He could only face his master and await his doom.
Deerfoot was not the one to prolong the wretchedness of another, no matter if his most deadly enemy. He stood with his left foot slightly advanced and his muscles gathered, so that he did not require the slightest preparation, and, having held the pose just long enough to make sure it had produced its full effect, he slowly lowered the tomahawk, keeping his eyes fixed on his enemy. When the weapon was at his side, he said:
"The Sauk is a wolf; he steals behind the hunter that he may leap on his shoulders when he sleeps; but the hunter heard the sound of his claws on the leaves and turned upon him."
These words were uttered in the mongrel tongue of the Sauk, for Deerfoot, after a careful inspection of the painted warrior, was quite sure he belonged to that restless and warlike tribe. He had encountered the people before, though at rare intervals, and he had hunted with a pioneer who was familiar with the tongue. The youth detected so many resemblances to other aboriginal languages with which he was familiar that he quickly mastered it and could speak it like a native.
The warrior, as has been said, was a brawny savage, well on toward middle life. He was attired in the usual fashion among the Indians, his dress looking slouchy and untidy. His straggling black hair, instead of being ornamented with eagle feathers, was gathered in a knot, so as to form what is often called a scalp-lock, and to proclaim the fact that the wearer of the same challenged any one to take it if he could. Besides his long rifle, he carried his knife and tomahawk, after the manner of his people. He would have proved a dangerous foe in a hand-to-hand struggle, but he was deprived of whatever advantage he might have possessed by being taken at such overwhelming disadvantage.
He caught every word uttered by Deerfoot, who had not mistaken his totem. He had no thought that the youth intended to show him mercy, but believed he was indulging in a little preliminary sermonizing—so to speak—before claiming his scalp for the ridge-pole of his wigwam.
The words of Deerfoot served to awaken the Sauk from his paralysis, and, throwing his head back, he said:
"The Sauk is no wolf; the Shawanoe is the fox that steals upon the hunting grounds of the Sauks."
"The lands that stretch to the rising and setting sun belong not to the Shawanoe nor Sauk nor Huron, but the Great Spirit, who loves his children to chase the buffalo and hunt the deer and bear where they can be found; but why should the Sauk and the Shawanoe be enemies?"
And to give point to the question, Deerfoot advanced and offered his hand. The Sauk concealed his surprise and gave the fingers a warm grasp, but while doing so each looked distrustfully in the face of the other. The frightful stains on the broad face of the elder did not alarm Deerfoot, who had seen much more frightful countenances among his own people. He gazed calmly into the eyes of the warrior, as the two stood close together with their hands clasped. The Indian is an adept in concealing whatever emotions may stir him, but Deerfoot saw the savage was puzzled over his action. He could not but know that the Shawanoes were the most warlike Indians in the Mississippi Valley, and one of the last weaknesses of which they could be accused was that of showing mercy to an enemy.
One point was necessary for Deerfoot to establish. If the Sauk was alone, nothing was to be feared from him; but if he had brother warriors within call, the youth had need to be on his guard.
"Why does the brother of Deerfoot hunt the woods alone?" asked the young Shawanoe, introducing himself in this characteristic fashion.
"Because Hay-uta fears not to go everywhere alone; from the ridge-pole of his wigwam flutter the scalps of the Shawanoes, the Hurons, the Foxes, the Osages, and the strange red man whom he has met and slain in the forest."
The old nature in Deerfoot prompted him to take this vaunting warrior to task. The answer of the Sauk was indefinite, but the youth could wait a few minutes for the information he sought.
"Hay-uta, the Man-Who-Runs-Without-Falling, has not taken the scalp of Deerfoot,and cannot do so!"
The flash of the eye which accompanied these words added to their force. Before they could receive reply the youth added:
"Hay-uta is a brave man when he talks to squaws; less than twenty great suns have passed over the head of Deerfoot, but he is not afraid of the Man-Who-Runs-Without-Falling."
Indian nature is quick to resent such taunts, and beyond a doubt the hot blood flushed the skin beneath the paint. Deerfoot noted the glitter of the eye, and a twitch of the muscles of the arm whose hand rested on the knife, as he made answer:
"The Shawanoe is a dog that crept up behind the Sauk, without giving him warning; the rattlesnake speaks, but the Shawanoe does not."
Deerfoot was angered by these words because they were untrue.
"The Shawanoe was walking through the wood, when the Great Spirit whispered, 'Take care; a snake is crawling through the grass; he is called Hay-uta; he will strike his fangs through the moccasin of Deerfoot, unless he crushes him with his heel; Hay-uta was not brave, because he hid behind a tree, and he pointed his gun through the bushes, meaning to shoot the Shawanoe before he could chant a word of his death-song.'"
This charge was an exasperating one, and instantly raised the anger of the warrior to white heat.
"The dog of a Shawanoe holds his tomahawk and bow; let him lay them aside as Hay-uta does his weapon, and then it shall be shown who is the brave warrior."
It was a curious fact that while this wrathful conversation was going on, the couple had been steadily backing away from each other. The act showed that in spite of the token of comity that had just passed between them, they were mutually so suspicious as to be ready to fly at each other. The last taunt forced the quarrel to the exploding point. Deerfoot slipped the cord which held the quiver of arrows in place over his head, by a motion so quick as scarcely to be perceptible, flung his bow a rod from him, tossed his tomahawk a dozen feet away, and whipping out his hunting-knife, grasped it with his left hand, and defiantly confronted the Sauk, who was scarcely behind him in taking up the gauge of battle.
The North American Indian is treacherous by nature, and will take any advantage over a foe, no matter what its nature. The Sauk had failed to bring down Deerfoot by the same unscrupulous means he had employed in other instances, but he was on the watch to repeat his tactics.
When uttering the taunt which brought about the personal collision, he flung his gun from him, and seized the handle of his tomahawk, as if with the purpose of throwing that also aside, the manner of his challenge implying that he meant the battle should be fought with the knives alone. Even the sagacious Deerfoot did not suspect him for the moment, when, on the point of grasping his knife, as he did when defying Tecumseh, the Sauk drew back his tomahawk and hurled it with incredible swiftness at the head of Deerfoot. There was a vicious spitefulness in the act which sent the missile as if fired from a gun.
Nothing could have attested the Shawanoe's miraculous activity and quickness of eye so clearly as did the ease with which he dodged the weapon. The flirt of his head was like that of the loon which dives below the path of the bullet after it sees the flash of the gun. The tomahawk struck the ground, went end over end, flinging the dirt and leaves about, and after ricocheting a couple of times, whirled against the trunk of a small sapling and stopped.
The act placed the two on the same footing. Each held only his hunting-knife. The treachery of the Sauk took place without a word being spoken either by himself or his foe. It was unnecessary, for there could be nothing to say.
Having avoided the tomahawk, Deerfoot advanced upon Hay-uta with his knife grasped in his left hand, while the Sauk did precisely the same thing as regarded him.
They were stripped for the fight, and were in deadly earnest. The Sauk had learned of the panther-like agility of the Shawanoe, and he knew no light task was before him. It would not be child's play to wrench the scalp-lock from the crown of the handsome warrior who was not afraid of any man, but Hay-uta was warranted in feeling a strong confidence in his own strength and prowess.
The warriors approached each other with the watchfulness of a couple of gladiators, seeking each others' lives for the sake of giving amusement to a Roman populace. Both slightly crouched, with their heads bent forward, their eyes fixed, while they stepped softly about, seeking an opening into which the keenly-pointed hunting knife might be driven with a furious vigor, that would render a second blow useless.
The situation was one where the slightest forgetfulness or mishap would prove fatal to him who made it. Both realized the fact, and did their utmost to guard against it.
When a couple of yards separated the combatants, they approached no closer, but began slowly circling around each other in the same stealthy fashion. The action of the Sauk convinced Deerfoot that his enemy had no friends in that section, for, if any were within call, he would have summoned them before the quarrel had gone so far. He could have called any one to his help by signal, and neglect to do so was proof that there was none to summon. Had Hay-uta done anything of the kind, Deerfoot would have leaped upon him and ended the battle in a twinkling.
Partly around, and then back again, the two seemed to oscillate, their motions corresponding so closely that it was as if both were moved by the same delicate machinery between them.
Suddenly Deerfoot feinted, like a skillful boxer, with the hand which grasped his knife. The vigilant Sauk was equally quick to parry and counter. He was as spry as a cat, and never once took his burning eyes from the face of the hated youth. Then he feinted in turn, and the Shawanoe, by his action, showed he was prepared for any demonstration, no matter what.
These preliminaries continued several minutes, when Deerfoot, in moving to the left, caught the toe of his moccasin in some obstruction and stumbled. He threw up his arms, as one will instinctively do, and for a single second was off his guard, though he recovered with incredible quickness. Any spectator of the strange combat would have given a gasp of terror, for the instant the stumble took place, the Sauk bounded forward with upraised knife and brought it down with a sweep like that of a panther's paw.
But what seemed an accident on the part of Deerfoot was done with deliberate intent. He wearied of the idle circling, and, confident of his own ability to outwit his antagonist, he dropped his guard for the very purpose of drawing out the other. Hay-uta was so certain of his own triumph that he made the mistake which the skillful fighter never makes; he drew upon his own strength and self-poise by emitting a shout of exultation; but the downward sweeping arm clove vacancy only, and ere he could recover he was struck in the chest by the head of Deerfoot, who butted him with the force of a Japanese wrestler, sending the warrior several feet over on his back. The shock was so unexpected, as well as tremendous, that the knife flew from his hand, and he nearly fainted from sheer weakness.
Inasmuch as Deerfoot was able to butt him in that style, it will be admitted that it would have been equally easy for him to have buried his knife to the hilt in the body of his enemy, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he quietly picked up the weapon and held one in each hand, while the Sauk was entirely disarmed. The latter had been frightfully jarred. The blow in the stomach fairly lifted him off his feet and drove the wind from his lungs. He lay for a moment, with his lips compressed, his body griped with pain, and with no more ability to defend himself than an infant. He kept his black eyes fixed on the youthful conqueror while writhing, and the latter stood off several paces and calmly confronted him, as though viewing the natural phase of such a contest.
But the Sauk was quick to recover, and his old enmity seemed to blaze up with ten-fold intensity.
"The Shawanoe is a buffalo," said he, from behind his gleaming paint; "he fights like the buffalo when his foe is stronger and braver than he."
Deerfoot flung the knife of the warrior to him.
"The Shawanoe will fight as a buffalo no more; he will now use his knife; let the Sauk do what he can."
A brave warrior could take no exception to this declaration, accompanied as it was by such significant action; but it cannot be conceived that the Sauk was free from misgiving, when knowing, as he did, that he held the position of contestant only through the grace of his youthful antagonist, who a moment before could have pierced his heart with his hunting knife.
Having displayed the character of a battering ram, Deerfoot now assumed another.
"The Sauk is afraid of Deerfoot; he dare not attack him until he stumbles; Deerfoot's heart was oppressed with pity when he saw the fear of Hay-uta, and he stumbled that it might give Hay-uta the courage the Great Spirit did not give him."
These were taunting words, but, convinced they were spoken with the purpose of disturbing his self-possession, the Sauk only compressed his lips the tighter, and held himself ready to seize the first chance that presented itself. His recent experience had taught him a lesson which he could not forget.
Bending his knees until he assumed a crouching posture, the Sank centered his burning gaze on the face of Deerfoot, drew back his lips until his white teeth showed like those of a wild cat, and uttered a tremulous, sibilant sound, as if he were a serpent ready to burst with venom.
If he meant to frighten Deerfoot he failed, for the mishap of the Sauk was too recent to allow such impression to be made. The figure of the crouching warrior was startling in its hideousness, but there was never a moment from the opening of the singular contest, when the young Shawanoe did not feel secure in his mastery of the situation.
The feinting and retreating went on several minutes longer, when all at once Deerfoot caught an expression, which the paint on the face of his antagonist could not hide, that showed he had resolved on forcing the fight to a conclusion. A couple of quick feints followed, and then Hay-uta leaped forward, meaning to force Deerfoot to the earth. Had the Shawanoe remained quiet, such would have been the result, but he was too supple to be entangled in that manner. He withdrew, so that when his enemy landed on the spot, he found himself still confronted by the defiant youth, who had recoiled but the single step necessary to escape the blow. Hay-uta, without a second's pause, bounded toward him again, and brought down his right arm like a flash; but, as before, it cleft the empty air, and the youth confronted him with his shadowy smile and defiant expression.
Then, as if feeling he had retreated far enough, the Shawanoe advanced on his muscular foe, who drew back as if to brace himself for the assault. Deerfoot uttered no sound, but when he bounded lightly from the ground, Hay-uta knew the crisis had come; the trifling had ended.
The Shawanoe, when close enough to strike, made a dozen circular sweeps of his good left hand, as though he had rested it on the rim of a wheel that was spinning with bewildering swiftness. No eye could follow the knife in its circlings. There was one smooth gleam like the polished periphery of the "driver" of a locomotive.
The foes, as is always the case, looked straight in each other's eyes, but every limb and portion of the body, being in the field of vision, was clearly seen. The peculiar act of Deerfoot produced the effect intended. The vision of Hay-uta became confused and dizzy, and before he could rally the Shawanoe struck his blow.
He could have killed the other as easily as he would have slain a bear, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he brought his fist down on the upper part of his right wrist with a quick violence, which, for the second time, knocked the knife from the grasp of the more sinewy warrior. So deftly was the trick done that the weapon of the Sauk flew a dozen feet straight up in the air, turning rapidly end over end and falling between the two.