CHAPTER VI.
COMRADES TRUE.
The picture upon which Deerfoot looked recalled many similar ones in Ohio and Kentucky. There were six warriors seated on the ground, most of the party in lolling postures, three smoking long-stemmed pipes, and all had evidently partaken of food a short time before, for a faint odor of broiling venison or bison meat was in the air, and the signs within the camp showed that a meal had been prepared and eaten.
The burning sticks were piled against the base of a tree more than two feet in diameter and were burning so vigorously that the circle of light reached well beyond the group and pierced the shadows among the pines and cedars. A brief survey of the group left no doubt that they were awaiting the arrival of friends, as they had been doing for hours past, and might continue to do through the remaining night.
There was no reason why the Shawanoe should lose any time in surveying the Assiniboines, for he felt no interest in them. He was surprised to note that every one had a rifle, none being armed with the primitive bow and arrows. He tarried only long enough to decide in his mind who was the leader, and therefore the new proprietor of Whirlwind. Deerfoot had no special enmity against him, for it was Amokeat, the Nez Perce chieftain, who was responsible for the loss of the stallion.
The Shawanoe had straightened up and was silently withdrawing from his advanced position, holding the sheltering tree between him and the camp fire, when he was startled by a whinny from some point in the gloom close at hand. Turning his head he caught the dim outlines of Whirlwind making his way among the trees toward him. The sagacious stallion, through that wonderfully acute sense of smell which his species often show, had discovered the proximity of his master and had set out to find him. The space between the two was so brief that Deerfoot had hardly paused and looked behind him when the silken nose of Whirlwind was thrust against his face, and after his old fashion he touched his tongue to the cool cheek of his master and then affectionately rested his head on his shoulder.
It was a critical situation, for the steed had already warned the Assiniboines that something unusual was going on, but the delight and gratitude of the Shawanoe were so deep that he could not deny himself the pleasure of caressing his steed. He touched his lips to his nose, patted his forehead and neck and murmured:
"Whirlwind! Deerfoot's heart is thankful! He is happy, for he has found his best friend. No one shall part us again!"
But in that joyful moment the delicate situation could not be forgotten. Instead of leaping upon the back of the horse where the trees and limbs would interfere with a rapid flight, in addition to placing the rider at a disadvantage in case of attack, Deerfoot told Whirlwind to pass out of the timber and wait for him. The horse promptly obeyed, for he understood the whispered words. Then the youth placed himself directly behind the horse, ready to fight off any and all assailants, and followed the steed, thus forming his rear guard.
Between Deerfoot and the camp fire loomed the form of an Assiniboine warrior. His sensitive ear had heard the soft neigh, and even the low voice of Deerfoot. He knew that a thief was in the grove—he must have thought he was a Nez Perce—and was making off with Whirlwind, who was held in higher esteem than all the other horses together.
The Shawanoe saw that a fight was inevitable. He passed his rifle to the right hand, over whose arm his blanket was resting, and drew his hunting knife. Even in that crisis the chivalry of the Shawanoe would not allow him to take full advantage of the situation. He could have struck down his enemy without the least risk to himself. He chose rather to give his antagonist warning.
"Dog of an Assiniboine!" he muttered in the Blackfoot tongue. "The Shawanoe fears you not!"
The warrior leaped forward like a crouching tiger. He had caught sight of the lithe form in the faint glow of the firelight, and he assailed it with all the vicious vigor of his nature. The lightning-like blow of his knife made a hissing sound as it cut the air and buried its point in the blanket which Deerfoot thrust forward to receive it. Then the Shawanoe deliveredhisblow. Enough said.
Brief as was the terrific encounter, it occurred too close to camp for the other Assiniboines to remain in doubt for a moment. Moreover, when the victim of the Shawanoe's prowess went down not to rise again he uttered an ear-splitting screech which echoed through the grove.
Deerfoot turned and ran among the trees after Whirlwind. From some cause the stallion had changed his direction and was waiting on the edge of the wood several rods from where his master emerged. The latter glanced hastily around in the gloom without seeing him. He uttered a low signal which the horse instantly obeyed, and with another neigh of delight trotted to his master.
Deerfoot was about to vault upon his back, but hesitated. The sounds indicated that the whole five Assiniboines had rushed to the spot and were already within arm's reach of master and stallion. They would be so near when Whirlwind made his dash that they would fire a volley which was certain to kill one or the other, and not unlikely both rider and animal.
Nor could anything be gained by turning at bay and fighting the whole five, though the Shawanoe would not have hesitated to do that had no other recourse been left to him. With that quick perception which approached the marvelous in him he ordered Whirlwind to gallop along the side of the timber and again wait for him. Then Deerfoot dived among the trees as if in fear of the fierce warriors closing in upon him. His aim was to draw the attention of the party from the stallion to himself, and he succeeded.
For three or four minutes he dodged in and out, where in the gloom he could not escape more than one collision with the limbs. The whole party plunged after him. They knew that the audacious stranger had slain one of their number and were determined he should not escape their vengeance, for with him disposed of the black stallion could be recovered at leisure.
All the time that Deerfoot was whisking here and there, leaping to the right and left, and getting forward as fast as he could, he held his knife grasped and ready to use on the instant the emergency arose. He was so handicapped by the obstructions and the darkness that he could do little more than hold his own. His enemies were too near for him to hide himself from them. Had he attempted to do so the whole lot would have descended upon him like an avalanche.
There was no chance to select his route; all he could do was to drive ahead and avoid being driven at bay. He took care not to pass near the fire, where the glow would have betrayed him. He feared his foes would shoot, though everything was so obscured that they were likely to wait in the hope of capturing him or gaining a fairer aim.
A faint lighting up in front showed that he was nearing the edge of the wood. Two bounds carried him clear, and then, with the utmost speed of which he was capable, he ran along the margin to a slight turn in the conformation of the grove, when he leaped out into the open air and was off with as great fleetness as he displayed on the home-stretch in his race with Ralph Genther, after the turkey shoot at Woodvale.
By his dodging and trickery he had gained an important start, but not enough to put him beyond sight of the Assiniboines, who debouched from the timber at the moment the form of the Shawanoe was fast dissolving in the gloom. They were fleet of foot, and in the belief that they could speedily run the fugitive to earth they made after him. Hardly had the singular race opened when the astounded pursuers saw no fugitive before them! He had been swallowed up in the darkness like an arrow launched from a powerful bow. The Assiniboines must have come to the belief that whoever the stranger was he knew how to run. You and I came to that belief long ago.
One of the chagrined pursuers fired in the direction of the flying fugitive. The bullet probably passed within fifty feet of him, certainly not near enough for Deerfoot to hear the whistle of the missile.
The Shawanoe was too wise to maintain his flight in a direct line, for there was no saying how long his enemies would hunt for him. He made a wide detour to the right and passed around the head of the lake, moving as silently as a shadow and issuing no call to Whirlwind to join him. Reaching the point he had in mind he stopped, peered around in the gloom and carefully located himself. Then he placed his thumb and forefinger between his teeth and pierced the stillness with that peculiar whistle which could have been heard a mile away.
Meanwhile, if we can believe that animals are capable of reasoning, Whirlwind must have had some uncomfortable thoughts. He was listening for the next orders of his master and could make nothing of the tumult going on near him. He would have been eager to lend a helping hand, or, rather, hoof, but did not know how to lend it. He might make matters worse by the attempt. He had received his commands and it only remained for him to obey them.
While thus waiting, the Assiniboine leader—he who claimed him as his particular property—assumed form in the starlight and drew near. Whirlwind snuffed suspiciously. He could not understand matters, but he had seen his master and comrade and resented any impertinence from others.
The Assiniboine hurried up and extended one hand to grasp the forelock of the stallion, in order to lead him back to his place on the other side of the camp. At that moment the signal of Deerfoot rang out.
Perhaps the Assiniboine suspected the meaning of the call, for he darted forward and seized the forelock. Whirlwind instantly reared, and with a single blow of his hoof knocked the red man senseless. He did not kill him, but it is safe to conclude that when the Assiniboine regained his senses he knew a good deal more than he ever knew before.
The waiting Shawanoe heard the sound of hoofs, and a minute later saw the form of the stallion as he galloped up and paused with his nose thrust forward, asking for another caress.
He received it and in his mute way expressed his own pleasure at being with his master again. The danger was not yet over, and the Shawanoe deferred further petting until the opportunity was more fitting. Resting one hand upon the neck of the stallion he leaped lightly astride of him, still keeping the blanket about his own shoulders, for the night was keen and the horse did not need the protection.
Whirlwind yearned to stretch his limbs and speed away with his master on his back. But it would have been unsafe. After leaving the vicinity of the lake the country was rough, and in the darkness the surest-footed horse was liable to fall. Moreover, there was no need of haste.
So the stallion passed out into the night at his usual graceful walk, while his rider for the time listened and peered into the darkness behind him for sound or sight of the Assiniboines who would have given much for a chance to revenge themselves upon the daring youth that had outwitted them.
At the end of half an hour Deerfoot slipped from the back of his steed and pressed his ear to the earth. If the Assiniboines were following and were near he would learn the fact through this better conductor of sound. He heard nothing and once more vaulted upon Whirlwind.
Relieved for the time of all cause for fear, Deerfoot now gave grateful attention to the proud stallion that was bearing him southward. He first tested his recollection of the words of command which he had taught him, and which you will remember were in a peculiar language known only to the two. Whirlwind proved his excellent memory by promptly responding to every order addressed to him. Then the Shawanoe guided him by pressure of his knees, and by a certain manner of striking the heels of his moccasins against his sides. The result could not have been more satisfactory.
"Whirlwind is a bad horse," said Deerfoot, feeling that it was time to have a little sport with him. "He ran away from Deerfoot on purpose. If he had had any sense he would have left the Assiniboines and set out to find Deerfoot instead of making Deerfoot travel so far to find him."
It would be absurd to pretend that a horse, even with the rare intelligence of Whirlwind, could grasp the meaning of these words. However, he understood the sharp pinch which his master gave him on the side of his neck, followed by a brisk slap with his hand. The stallion reached his head around and nipped at the leg of Deerfoot, who drew it back and flipped the nose of the animal.
Then Whirlwind flung his head around his other shoulder and snapped at the leg on that side, which was hardly snatched out of the way in time to escape. Deerfoot gently smote the nose to remind the steed that with all his strength and wisdom the youth was still his master. Thus they parried and played and plagued each other until Deerfoot, with that curious refinement of cruelty which we often show to those we love most, pretended to be offended.
"If Whirlwind wishes to bite Deerfoot he may do so."
And to show he meant what he said he reached forward and placed his hand between the lips of the horse. The latter instantly opened his jaws, so as to inclose the hand with his teeth. A slight effort would have crushed the fingers out of all semblance of symmetry and beauty. Whirlwind did bring his jaws nearly together, but took good care that the pressure was not sufficient to harm a fly.
Deerfoot's heart smoke him. He could not stand this cruelty to as true a friend as ever lived. Resting his rifle across his thighs, so as to leave his hands free, he leaned forward, and, inclosing the satin neck in his grasp, gave the noble creature as fervent an embrace as wooer ever gave to sweetheart.
"Deerfoot loves Whirlwind, and his heart would have been sad all his life if he had not found him. None shall take him away from Deerfoot again. Deerfoot knows that we shall meet in that land that our Father is saving for those who do His will, and then Deerfoot and Whirlwind shall hunt and roam the forests and prairies forever."
If the meaning of the words was vague to the stallion, he could not mistake the meaning of the embrace and the reposing of the side of the Shawanoe's face in the luxuriant mane. He was fully repaid for the indignities he had suffered and the grief that had come to him because of the separation of the two. Had Whirlwind been able to put his ideas in words it is conceivable that he would have reproached the Shawanoe for deserting and leaving him among strangers. Had he not done so, no search with its attendant dangers would have been forced upon the youth.
And had this rebuke been given to Deerfoot, surely he would have admitted the justice of the charge, for we know how he reproached himself for his conduct. But we blame others for ills which we know are caused by ourselves, and we chide unjustly those whom we love most, knowing all the time how unjust we are, and that if we loved less the reproof would not be given at all.
CHAPTER VII.
A MISHAP.
So Deerfoot the Shawanoe rode into the night, his heart aglow with gratitude because of the success of his venture. Whirlwind was his and he felt no misgiving over losing him again, and the steed himself would fight against recapture.
The animal kept to a walk, for to go faster would have been imprudent if not dangerous. He was not traveling over the course followed by Deerfoot in threading his way to the Assiniboine camp. The road was rough and strange to both horse and rider. All that the youth knew of a certainty was that he was journeying southward. He could tell that much by observing the stars that had served him so often as a compass.
Nor was there any necessity for haste. It was impossible for the Assiniboines to trail him until the sun appeared in the sky, when Whirlwind would easily leave the fleetest of their ponies out of sight. So no fear remained in the heart of the dusky youth. Speaking now and then to the animal, patting his neck and shoulder, or playfully pinching the glossy skin, he rode onward for several hours. He was not in need of sleep, and Whirlwind had been given nearly a whole day of rest. It was no task therefore for either to maintain the journey.
Deerfoot's intention was to ride until midnight, when the two would rest, resuming their journey at sunrise and pushing hard until they reached the villages of the Blackfeet. It was late when the stallion splashed through a small brook at the foot of a ridge, where Deerfoot decided to dismount for the remainder of the night. Slipping from the back of the horse he pressed his ear to the earth, but heard nothing to cause him disquiet. If the Assiniboines were hunting for him they were too far off to cause concern.
While Deerfoot was thus employed, Whirlwind stood as motionless as a statue, waiting for his commands. The Shawanoe was in the act of rising to his feet when the steed emitted the slightest possible sniff. He was looking toward the top of the ridge immediately in front, standing like a pointer dog, with his ears pricked forward and head high in air.
Glancing in the same direction, Deerfoot saw the figure of a buck that had come up the other side of the ridge and halted on the crest, as if he scented something amiss. He could not see the two below him, but his own form was thrown into relief against the starlit sky. The beautiful creature with the branching horns, the delicate ears, the shapely head and body, looked as if stamped in ink in the dim star-gleam.
Deerfoot touched the shoulder of Whirlwind as a warning for him to keep still. The intelligent animal maintained his statue-like pose, and the youth began stealing toward the buck, his cocked rifle grasped with both hands and ready to bring to a level and fire on the instant. The space between the two was fifty or sixty yards, which would have been nothing by daylight. The youth wished to decrease it as much as he could because of the darkness, so as to run no risk of missing his aim.
It may not sound poetical, but it is only simple fact that with the sight of the buck unconscious of his danger the dominant emotion of the Shawanoe was a sense of ravening hunger. It was a long time since he had partaken of food and his appetite was worthy of Victor Shelton. He meant that that buck should fill the aching void that vexed him.
A phantom gliding over the ground would have given out no more noise than was made by the moccasins of the Shawanoe; but the timid animal snuffed danger and wheeled to dash away. At the instant of doing so, Deerfoot fired, sending the ball into the body just back of a fore leg. Thecervusspecies rarely or never fall, even when stricken through the heart, knowing which, Deerfoot dashed up the slope, knife in hand, and made after the wounded buck, which could be heard threshing among the stones and underbrush. He was still floundering and running when overtaken by the youth, who quickly ended his suffering.
The next act of Deerfoot was to reload his rifle, after which he cut a goodly piece from the side of the game and carried it back to where Whirlwind was waiting. The venison was washed and dressed, after which the youth groped about for fuel with which to start a fire. This proved quite a task, but he succeeded after a time, and then made one of the most substantial meals he had eaten in a long while. When it was completed hardly a fragment was left, and he felt he was provided for in the way of nourishment for a day or two to come, though he saw no reason to fear any such deprivation of food.
The Shawanoe could never forget his caution. While there was little probability of any of the Assiniboines being in the neighborhood, yet it was possible there were, and it might be they had observed the twinkle of the fire he had kindled and then allowed to die out. He remounted his horse and headed more to the westward, for he had a long way to travel to reach the Blackfoot country on the other side of the Rocky Mountains.
The youth was riding forward, glancing to the right and left, on the lookout for a suitable place for camping, when he noticed that while the ground over which he was passing was more level than usual, a high ridge loomed up on the left, rising in some places to a height of several hundred feet. After a time a similar formation appeared on the right. This showed that he was passing through a valley-like depression, but he had gone a comparatively short distance when he observed that the two mountain ranges, if such they might be considered, gradually converged. He turned to the left and at the base of the ridge dismounted.
"Here we will stay for the rest of the night," he said to Whirlwind. "Deerfoot feels that hard work is before us and it is wise to save our strength."
Since there was no saddle or bridle to be taken from the stallion, his master turned him loose, first kissing his nose and affectionately patting his neck. The horse wandered off a few steps to spend the hours by himself, while the youth laid his blanket on the ground and wrapped himself in it. No water was near, nor was there enough grass growing for Whirlwind to crop, but neither cared for a little thing like that.
Deerfoot slept soundly till roused by the licking of his cheek by his faithful friend, who was standing at his head and looking down in his face as revealed in the dim morning light. The night was gone and it had brought no alarm to either. Casting aside the blanket, Deerfoot sprang to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.
That which first attracted his attention was the convergence of the massive walls to the southeast. Less than half a mile away they came within a hundred feet of each other, thus forming one of the cañons that are common in mountainous countries. The question which Deerfoot asked himself was whether it was probable the two joined. If so, he was entering a pocket from which he would be forced to withdraw. The middle of the valley showed that at certain times, perhaps when the snows melted, a stream coursed its way through the cañon, but the water came from the front and flowed toward the horseman into the open country to the rear. Had it taken the opposite course there would have been no hesitation on his part, for he would have known that an outlet was in advance through which Whirlwind could pass. On the other hand, it might be that the ridges united and the torrent had its source in the water which poured over the rocks at the head. If this proved to be the fact, Deerfoot would be obliged to retreat and make a change of course.
His belief was that the ridges did not join and it was therefore prudent for him to go on. Two causes led him to this conclusion: the ground was favorable for the hoofs of his horse, and the course of the cañon was the direction he wished to follow. It was a small matter anyway, for an hour or two loss of time could make no special difference. He spoke to Whirlwind, who stepped off with his usual proud stride. Now that daylight had come and the ground was inviting, the steed of his own accord broke into an easy gallop, which his rider did not check.
Arriving at the farthest point visible at the moment of starting, Deerfoot found that though the walls drew somewhat closer they did not meet for at least a half mile in front, where again a change of course hid the actual truth. He was now following the black, sandy bed of a stream, packed so hard that it gave an ideal floor for a horse's hoofs.
The Shawanoe had not reached the turn in the cañon when he made an alarming discovery. Looking to the rear he discovered fully a dozen horsemen coming toward him on a walk. They were probably a half mile off, and no doubt were pursuing him. He would not have felt any misgiving but for the instant suspicion that these Indians were Assiniboines and the other division of the party from whom he had retaken Whirlwind. They must have recognized the black stallion, and, if so, of course knew he had been captured by the Nez Perce, as they supposed him to be. On no other supposition could their action be explained.
Without checking his steed, Deerfoot turned and pointed his glass at the red men. One glance was sufficient. They were Assiniboines, and no doubt those for whom the other group were waiting in the grove miles distant.
Where they had come from with such suddenness was more than the Shawanoe could guess. It mattered naught since they were there, and his situation was not only unpleasant, but likely to prove dangerous. If the cañon closed he was fairly caught and would have to make a desperate fight to extricate himself. If it was open in front he had little to fear.
He spoke to Whirlwind, who instantly increased his speed. The Assiniboines seemed to make no effort to lessen the distance between themselves and the fugitive. This looked bad, for it indicated that the Shawanoe was riding toward a shut door and would fall into their power like ripe fruit shaken from a limb.
When Deerfoot reached the next curve in the cañon he perceived that only a little way in front it curved again. He decided at once to settle the doubt in his mind, for, if the cañon was a blind one, every rod of advance added to his danger. The walls drew steadily nearer and he began to fear that they really met not far off. If obliged to turn back he should do so without further delay.
Checking Whirlwind he slipped to the ground and ran to the side of the ravine. He left his blanket on the back of the horse, and leaned his rifle against the base of the rocks, up which he began climbing with the nimbleness of a sailor ascending the rigging of a ship. His intention was to reach the level ground above, from which he could gain a view that would tell him whether it was safe to go any farther into the cañon or whether he must make instant retreat.
From the foot of the mountain wall to the top was fully forty feet, and it was perpendicular all the way; but the face was so rugged that he went up without trouble, only turning a little to the right now and then to gain a better support for his hands and feet. The stallion stood motionless and watching him with what must have been wondering interest.
As he ascended Deerfoot glanced down the ravine and saw the Assiniboines still coming with their horses on a walk. This pointed to the probability that the Shawanoe had really entered a pocket and his enemies saw no need of haste, since they felt sure of their victim. And yet with all his acumen the Shawanoe erred in explaining the deliberation of his pursuers.
At last the agile climber reached the upper edge of the ravine, and it only remained for him to lift himself a foot farther to gain the view which would reveal the truth of the situation. He extended his hand upward to secure the grip that was to raise his head above the level. As he did so he rested it on something cold and soft, which he instantly recognized as a coiled rattlesnake.
Deerfoot shared the shivering disgust which nearly every person feels for crawling reptiles. Nothing was so hideous to him as thecrotalus, and when he caught sight of one he rarely allowed it to escape. An electric shock thrilled through him as he snatched back his hand in time to avoid the sting, for the snake must have been as much astonished as he by its disturbance. In the horror of the contact the Shawanoe forgot everything else for the instant, and letting go his hold, dropped to the bottom of the gorge.
He realized his mishap the instant it took place and tried desperately to seize some obstruction that would check his descent, but could not do so. He struck the bottom of the cañon, landing on both feet, with a twinge of pain that was like a dagger thrust in his ankle.
But brief as was Deerfoot's descent, he had seen something terrifying while it was going on. The rattlesnake so rudely disturbed as it lay in coil (though it sometimes strikes when not in that position), darted its gaping mouth at the hand which flashed out of its reach. Strange as it may seem, it was lying on the very edge of the gorge, so close indeed that the blow which struck vacancy carried it over, and it came tumbling, looping and writhing after Deerfoot, at whose feet it fell, bruised and stunned by the impact. Before it could strike again he had seized his rifle and crushed out its life.
The excitement of the moment sustained him, but with the blow he sank to the ground as if shot through the heart. His left ankle had been severely wrenched and could not support an ounce of his weight. The pain was so intense that but for his iron will he would have swooned. With wonderful pluck and self-control he carefully raised himself and stood on the right foot, with the other leg bent at the knee and its foot held clear of the ground. A red-hot needle driven into and through the ankle could not have caused more agony.
But though his face and compressed lips were pale, not a murmur of complaint escaped him. Looking up at his steed he said, with his old, winning smile:
"Will Whirlwind take care of Deerfoot, for he cannot take care of himself?"
CHAPTER VIII.
ENEMIES AND FRIENDS.
The black stallion knew his master was in trouble. Stepping forward he thrust forward his nose and licked his face. Deerfoot rested one arm on his mane, the other hand holding his rifle. Then Whirlwind, without a word, kneeled on one knee, so as to lower his shoulders. With a single hop the young Shawanoe leaped upon his back and the steed immediately stood on all-fours.
"Now, my friend, show them what you can do in the way of running."
The incident had taken only a few moments, but brief as was the time it had allowed the Assiniboines to decrease the space between them and the Shawanoe. Singular as it seemed, they still failed to hurry. They held their horses at a walk, and Deerfoot for the first time began to suspect the truth.
Whirlwind was off with the speed of the wind. His motion gave pain to the rider, but it was less than when he stood with one foot on the ground. So long as he had the steed under him he felt little cause for fear.
The theory which had suddenly assumed shape in the mind of Deerfoot was that the pursuers wished to hold him in the ravine while another party passed around to the other entrance. He would thus be placed between two fires and his position made tenfold more perilous than ever. It may be said that if this trick succeeded the doom of both Deerfoot and Whirlwind would be sealed.
And it was precisely the stratagem which the Assiniboines had attempted.
It will now be understood why the Shawanoe sent his steed flying up the gorge at such a tremendous burst of speed that he rapidly drew away from the group behind him. He meant to get out of the ravine before he was shut off in front. No doubt longer remained that it was open at no great distance in advance.
The space was less than a third of a mile after making the last turn. Deerfoot would have been glad had it been greater, for that much more opportunity would be given for the use of the stallion's fleetness.
The Shawanoe descried the open door. The walls fell away, leaving an interval of a hundred yards between, the bottom of the ravine slightly ascended, the ridges gradually dropped to the level of the earth, and the country was spread out as before he rode into the cañon the night previous.
From the back of the flying steed Deerfoot kept his eye on the space, expecting every moment to see the other Assiniboines dash into view and sweep down upon him. He had fixed his line of action. He would charge straight at them, even if they numbered a dozen, using first his rifle and then his knife, should a chance present itself to bring the latter into play.
With every bound of Whirlwind the hopes of his rider rose. It looked as if the race had been won by the superb stallion. A few more strides and all his enemies would be thrown to the rear.
The next moment Whirlwind burst out of the ravine into the open country, and in the same instant came face to face with another horseman. He was the Assiniboine chieftain, who alone had ridden hard along the side of the cañon on the ground above, in order to head off the flying fugitive, and had arrived just in time to do so. He scorned to take any companion with him, for he feared no living man and was sure of overcoming the audacious stranger that had roused his fury.
The Assiniboine must have heard the thunder of the approaching hoofs, for he had checked his own horse, on which he sat awaiting the appearance of the Shawanoe. When the latter caught sight of his face he had his rifle at his shoulder and was in the act of pressing the trigger.
Deerfoot saw he had no time to use his own weapon, for quickly as he might aim it the other would be discharged first. In the language of the modern West, the Assiniboine "had the drop" on the Shawanoe.
There was but one thing to do, and Deerfoot did it in the twinkling of an eye. He flung his body to the other side of his steed, sustaining himself by bending his toes over the base of the stallion's neck. When I add that the foot with which he performed this remarkable bit of horsemanship was the one with the sprained ankle, you may faintly imagine the wrenching torture he suffered. Only by a superhuman effort did he keep control of his senses.
The Assiniboine fired at the moment of the lightning-like shift of position, and Deerfoot heard the zip of the bullet as it sped across the space covered less than a second before by his body.
There is a lurking devil in the most saintly disposition, and that which slumbered in the breast of the young Shawanoe now flamed to a white heat. Swinging back to the upright posture he called:
"Now, Whirlwind, run him down!"
"Now, Whirlwind, Run Him Down.""Now, Whirlwind, Run Him Down."
The stallion felt the pressure of the knees, understood the command, and ablaze with rage, charged like a cyclone for the other horse. In a flash he crashed into the animal, hurling him sidelong to the earth and rolling him completely over from the terrific force of the impact.
But his rider was a fine horseman and leaped to the ground before the collision. Whirling about he faced the Shawanoe, with knife drawn, for there was no time to reload his gun.
He was now at the mercy of Deerfoot, whose weapon was loaded. But for the disabled limb he would have leaped to the earth and assailed the other. He would have done the same had there been two enemies before him; he would have done the same had there been three; but he was not the fool to engage in a fight when he had but a single leg to stand upon.
The panic-stricken horse, having clambered to his feet, dashed away. Whirlwind assumed his statue-like pose and Deerfoot brought his rifle to a level, with the Assiniboine staring into the muzzle.
The fight had been of the cyclone order, but, brief as it was, Deerfoot had become himself again. He was the Christian who could not shed the blood of one that was unable to defend himself, even though that one was his deadly enemy.
The Assiniboine had dropped his gun when assuming his position at bay, and it lay several feet away on the ground. Lowering his own weapon, Deerfoot pointed after the fleeing horse and said sternly in the tongue of the Blackfeet:
"Run! run after the horse!"
The gesture, as much as the words, explained the command. It was so unparalleled, so utterly unexpected, that the Assiniboine stood in a daze. Deerfoot knew that the report of the gun would speedily bring the warriors to the spot, and there was not a minute to spare. He repeated his order more sharply than before and accompanied it with a threatening lifting of his gun to a level.
The other could not misunderstand the significance of voice and gesture. He stepped forward to pick up his rifle.
"Stop!" shouted the Shawanoe, before the other could stoop. "Leave it where it is! Follow the horse."
The hammer of the leveled rifle was at full cock. Still unable fully to comprehend all that had taken place, the chieftain faced about and broke into a lope after his horse, which acted as if it would keep up its pace for the remainder of the day.
Deerfoot waited till the chief had gone a hundred paces, when heading the other way he gave the word to Whirlwind, whom, however, he held down to a walk. The rider wished to witness developments.
Looking back he saw the Assiniboine motionless and gazing after him with emotions that can hardly be imagined or described. He stood thus for a minute, when he started on a run to recover his rifle from where it lay on the ground. Just before reaching the spot the party of horsemen emerged from the mouth of the cañon and paused while their leader rejoined them.
It would be interesting to know how he squared matters with his warriors. It would have required a vivid imagination and a genius in the way of invention to explain how it was his horse was just vanishing in the distance; how the chief was in the act of recovering his weapon, and more than all, how it came about that the youthful warrior of a strange tribe, who had already slain one Assiniboine—though that was yet unknown to this party—was riding leisurely off on the back of the special pet of the chieftain. If the Assiniboine was wise he made a clean breast of it, and insisted that the dusky stranger was a marvel in his way whom it was exceedingly unwise to push into a corner.
The chagrin of the Assiniboine party was not soothed by the action of Deerfoot, who, having spared the life of an enemy, felt himself justified in "rubbing it in," so to speak. He faced Whirlwind toward the group, held him motionless, and, swinging his rifle over his head, indulged in a series of tantalizing shouts that were anything but soothing to the chief and his friends. How they ached to get the terrible young warrior into their power! What exquisite vengeance they would have wreaked upon him!
But such bliss was impossible. They knew what speed the black stallion possessed, and it was not supposable that his rider meant to challenge all of them to combat. So they maintained a glum silence as he rode from view.
Meanwhile, Deerfoot found he must give attention to the ankle, whose condition had been aggravated by the fight with the Assiniboine leader. It was much swollen and the pain was torturing. Still his bravery and self-command prevented anything in the nature of murmuring. In truth, he would have suffered death without outcry.
The remarkable youth found a strange consolation. He was familiar with the story of the Saviour's death on the cross and remembered the nails that were driven through the hands and feet.
"Hesuffered from four wounds, besides having a spear thrust into his side. Deerfoot has only one hurt in his foot and that does not bleed.Hehad the weight of the world's guilt crushing his heart. What are Deerfoot's sufferings compared with His? It is my Father's will and therefore the heart of Deerfoot is glad."
Failing to see a sign of strangers in the neighborhood, the Shawanoe drew Whirlwind down to a walk and halted at the first mountain stream, which happened to be no larger than the one where he had broiled his supper the night before.
The moment Whirlwind saw that his master wished to dismount he sank upon both knees. His sympathetic act touched Deerfoot, who, stepping carefully upon the well limb, patted the neck of the steed and thanked him.
"Deerfoot would be helpless but for Whirlwind. They must now stick together as never before."
Hopping to the brook the youth slipped off his moccasin and removed the stocking. The swollen ankle was as sensitive as a boil. Dipping the stocking in the icy water he rang it almost dry and rubbed the limb, gently at first and then more vigorously until it was in a glow. This was soothing and gave partial relief, but much pain remained. An injury of that nature takes a long time to subside.
Having never suffered from illness or wounds, the Shawanoe was without any remedy at command, nor did he know aught of the many medicaments which his race, as well as the white people, use. Had the hurt been a simple cut or wound he would have given it no heed, but his sprain forced itself upon his notice.
He finished rubbing the ankle and carefully drew on the stocking, with Whirlwind sympathetically watching him, and doubtless longing for some method of giving relief. I wonder whether the creature recalled that day, many weeks before, when his young master rubbed his injured knee so tenderly and ministered to him until he had fully recovered. We cannot fathom the mysteries of the brain in animals of a high order of intelligence, and it is not for us to deny that such might have been the fact.
Suddenly the stallion turned toward a pile of rocks to the left and emitted his faint, warning neigh. Deerfoot was up in a twinkling, despite the additional suffering caused by his action, and seized his rifle resting near. As he did so an Indian appeared from behind the rocks and came toward him. A glance showed him to be the dwarf with whom Deerfoot had had his singular meeting when journeying northward.
The red man of short stature took long wabbling strides, made numerous gestures and grimaces and rapidly uttered words, not one of which was understood by the Shawanoe. Still chattering, gesticulating and grinning he came forward, without heeding the black steed, flung his long bow to the ground, and kneeling down, gently lifted the foot of Deerfoot, who had not yet drawn on his moccasin. The visitor saw that the limb was injured and tenderly rested the foot upon his knee, the owner thereof making no objection, gently turned down the stocking and spent a minute or two in inspecting the swollen ankle. Then with a sympathetic aspiration he slowly stroked it with his hand. In doing so he drew downward each time and never rubbed the surface upward.
There is something in magnetism, and Deerfoot was sure of a slight cessation of the pain, though the relief was not marked. When the caressing had been repeated a number of times, the dwarf softly laid the foot on the ground and rose to his feet. Another vigorous discharge of unintelligible words followed, and he wabbled rapidly off beyond the rocks from behind which he had come a short time before.
Since he left his bow lying on the ground where he had flung it, Deerfoot knew he had gone in quest of some remedy and would soon return. He therefore kept his seat on the ground and patiently awaited the other's coming.
In a few minutes the dwarf reappeared, bearing in his hand a bunch of green leaves. The twigs were pinnated, and at the base of each leaflet, where it joined the common peticle, was a single crimson berry, resembling the common wintergreen, but the genus was unknown to the Shawanoe, though he knew something of medicinal herbs.
Dividing the twigs with their leaves and berries into halves, the good Samaritan laid one pile on the ground, pointing to it, and still chattering. Deerfoot knew he wished to direct his attention to the healing plant, and he nodded his head to signify he understood and would remember his request.
Then, as deftly as a girl, the dusky friend picked the berries from the twigs in the other bunch. They filled the palm of one hand, which he held out for Deerfoot to inspect. The Shawanoe nodded again. The other wabbled back to the rocks, but did not pass out of sight. Picking up a bit of stone, he began crushing the berries upon a projection of the rocks. It took but a brief time to turn them into a yellow, sticky mass which emitted a slightly aromatic odor. Returning to the patient, he skillfully spread the poultice on several of the larger leaves, laid them over and around the swollen ankle, and then, as gently as a mother with her babe, drew the stocking over it, so as to hold the poultice in place.
Deerfoot leaned back, resting his body on his elbows, and heaved a long, grateful sigh. The relief was bliss itself. For a minute or two he believed the injury was fully healed, but a slight movement of the foot proved that this was not the fact. Nevertheless, the effect of the crushed berries was magical. As he looked up in the homely, twisted countenance, his expression spoke his gratitude. The dwarf grinned. The language of thankfulness needs no interpreter. Deerfoot came to the upright posture, and, reaching forward, took one of the stranger's hands in his own and patted it, murmuring his thanks.
The dwarf pointed to the twigs and berries remaining untouched and said something, which was made clear by the rapid flitting of his forefinger from them to the wounded member. The meaning was plain. The patient was to use them as the others had been used. Deerfoot signified in his usual way that he understood the direction.
The dwarf stood for a few minutes silent, with his eyes on the face of the Shawanoe seated before him. Then he spoke again, and Deerfoot would have given much to have understood the words, but he could not form the remotest idea of their meaning. The visitor stopped and picked up his bow from the ground, turned and swung with his awkward gait up the slight slope, passed from sight behind the pile of rocks, and the Shawanoe never saw or heard of him again.