Vic came up before the trapper had time to reply, and called him away to participate in a council, the result of which was that the train lay by, while twelve of the best men, led by Wild Nat, were to take the trail. After considerable trouble this was found, and traced for about thirty rods, where the captors had evidently joined a party of nearly or quite two hundred. From there the trail was so cleverly covered that when, after going a short distance, it struck a sandy tract, only partially grassed, it broke into three sections, thus baffling pursuit for a rescue.
The men returned to camp, when it was decided that pursuit was simply impossible; and with gloomy forebodings and sad hearts, the emigrant-train prepared to move on. During these preparations, Wayne Kent stood a little apart in silence, his usually bright, frank face overclouded and troubled.
Wild Nat stood near, watching the breaking up of the camp, one elbow leaning on the saddle that covered the back of a large mustang, which he had procured from the train, and the other hand holding “Roarer,” as he termed his rifle.
When every thing was ready, Vic shook hands with Wild Nat, saying:
“As I didn’t engage tew guide the train only jist through the pass, I dare say ye’ll see my ugly picter some time in the course of a month. I’m kalkerlatin’ ter trap up this way somewhar.”
“Come up on Deep Creek an’ ye’ll find me,” said Wild Nat; “the beaver is so thick thar, thet they cover the ground, an’ thar tails lap by a piece. I’m bound for thar, at this present speakin’.”
“Will you take me along for company, Nat?” asked Kent, suddenly. “If you want a companion, I will act in that capacity. I have some curiosity to try a trapper’s life.”
“Take ye along?” said the trapper. “In course! Yer as welcum as the posies, my boy, an’ I hain’t enny kind o’ doubt but what, intime, ye’ll git tew know a thing or two about Injuns. All ready tew go?”
“Yes,” was the response; “all ready, and waiting.”
Bidding the emigrants good-by, the two men rode away, and were soon out of sight of the long train of white wagonsleft behind. For some time Kent was silent and thoughtful. He was thinking of Marion Verne, and wondering what her fate was. A desire to find, or at least be near her, had led him to stay with Wild Nat, rather than any great love for trapping, though it was curiosity to try life in the wilderness that led him to leave his home in Ohio and join the train. It was there he first saw Marion Verne, an orphan, who, in company with one of her mother’s sisters, was going to California. His musings were suddenly brought to an end by Wild Nat exclaiming:
“Thar’s suthin’ off yender. It’s Injuns tew, but they don’t see us. I’ll snatch ’em bald-headed if they cum close enough.”
“The party appears to be a very small one,” said Kent, rising in his stirrups to look at the distant object, which was so far off as to look to him like an indistinct mass, which might be buffalo, or Indians, or whites, though Wild Nat declared it was a party of seven Indians.
“My eyes are purty considerable sharp,” he said, in answer to Kent’s wondering remark, concerning the keenness of his vision. “In fact, I never yit saw the man who could see as fur as I could. Them Injuns are goin’ off north. I’d like tew have a chance to sp’ile sev’ral of thar purty picters. Blarst thar karkasses, anyhow!”
“Nat,” said Kent, suddenly, “what makes you feel so bitter a hatred of the Indians?”
“Beavers!” ejaculated the trapper, “I should think I’d hedreason. Younker, ten year ago I hed a little cabin an’ a wife an’ tew children. I war livin’ peaceably an’ mindin’ my own consarns. One night a band of Injuns come, took me prisoner, an’ butchered my wife an’ children afore my very eyes. Then they burnt my cabin, an’ took me off for torture. I got away the second night, an’ left seven dead red-skins as part pay. Since then, I’ve been an Injun-hater, an’ I’ll lift the head-gear off of every red devil thet I cum acrost.”
The trapper relapsed into silence, and spoke no more until they came upon several buffalo, feeding at some distance from the main herd. One of these the old trapper shot, and, after securing a considerable quantity of the meat, they again rode on, and sunset found them near Deep Creek, a small streamthat had its source in the mountains, and after making a winding course for many miles, was finally lost in the Sweetwater river.
Wild Nat halted at a little distance from the stream, among a thick growth of timber.
“Guess we’ll stop here. Tie yer hoss an’ I’ll show ye my den. This ar’ ’bout as nice scenery as ye generally find. This stream hurryin’ along over the stuns, an’ the woods here, an’ the mount’ins up thar—I can’t see how any one can like the towns. Givemethe wild peraries, an’ the woods, an’ mount’ins, an’ git away with yer towns an’ cities! Here, foller me.”
The two men turned back from the stream, and pursued a narrow, deep ravine, extending back toward the mountains that towered above them; the sides of which were covered with luxuriant bushes and wild vines tangled about them, often forming impenetrable thickets.
Among these the men advanced, the trapper leading the way, and neither of them aware of the dark face that looked after them from a thicket of bushes, nor the pair of malignant eyes that followed their movements with such keen scrutiny.
The trapper continued up the ravine the distance of ten rods, and then thrusting aside the thick vines from one side, removed a large stone, revealing a small, dark opening. Into this he crept, hastily calling Kent to follow. The young man obeyed, and in an instant the stone slid into its place, and the twisted vines, relieved of its support, fell down over it, effectually concealing all trace of the opening.
A moment after, the bushes, a few yards off, parted slowly, and the dusky face became visible. For many minutes the glittering eyes gazed about, and then a look of disappointment succeeded the previous one of triumph. After remaining in silence for a short time, the savage cautiously ventured forth. He had lost sight of the men and was trying to regain the lost clue. Stepping carefully forward, he bent down and earnestly examined the ground. But he was foiled; the ground betrayed no print of footsteps. After searching vainly for some time, the baffled Indian turned and strode away, shaking his tomahawk in futile rage at the silent covert behind him.
“Total darkness down here, isn’t there?” said Kent, putting out his hand to see how wide the passage was, and finding hard walls within a foot of where he stood.
“Yas,” answered Wild Nat; “but thet’s nothin’. Foller yer nose, an’ I’ll foller you.”
The young man cautiously advanced, feeling his way, and after going some ten paces, suddenly emerged into a cavern—how large it was impossible to tell, owing to the darkness. It was evident, however, that there was somewhere a communication with the outer world, as the air was not stifling or mephitic, as usual in caves, but quite fresh and agreeable.
“Do we stop here?” asked Kent.
“Yas; I’ll have a light in about a minnit,” replied the trapper, groping about in search of some torchwood, which he soon found and lighted, revealing the size of the cave. It was a small, oval-shaped room, not more than sixteen feet in length, and proportionately narrow. On two sides there was a small recess, beyond which were several openings or chambers communicating with each other by rugged passages, some of which were several rods in length—mere rifts in the rock.
Kent amused himself with looking at the different rooms, while the trapper built a small fire, and went out to take the horses to a more secure place. In one of the chambers adjoining the first cavern was a small pool of clear, cold water on one side, evidently a living spring, for the water ran bubbling over the stones, disappearing on the other side of the cave. The curious Kent followed the passages from one cave to another until he had passed five, and then came to a large hall or room, with which the cavern terminated. After examining these several subterranean wonders as well as the dim light would permit, the explorer returned to the outer room, and sat down to await Wild Nat’s return.
It was some time before the trapper returned, and when hemade his appearance his usually long face was considerably elongated.
“What is the matter?” asked his companion, noticing the hunter’s looks.
“Wal, sir,” said Wild Nat, “jist tew tell the truth in plain langwage, kalkulated for everybody’s understandin’, thar’s an Injun been doggin’ our steps. Gallernippers an’ centerpedes! I’d like to scratch his bald head!”
Kent smiled, despite his anxiety, at the trapper’s manner, and said:
“Dogging our steps, eh? How did you find it out?”
“Found out by virtew of my opptickles, in course! When I went out I see sign plenty—broken twigs an’ misplaced bushes thet I knew dogoned well we didn’t dew, an’ then I perceeded tew look about a little, an’ on lookin’ about I see the catapiller’s tracks. Yes, I did.”
“Do you think he saw us come in here?” asked Kent.
“Can’t say,” replied Nat. “Might or mightn’t ag’in. I’m sumwhat afeard he did. But, ef he did, an’ I git a chance at him, I’ll bet a holler cottonwood full of beaver-tails thet he’ll wish he’d died afore he saw me.”
“What will be the consequence if he has seen us?”
“Be down on us with a whole tribe, like bagpipes and wolf-preachin’; but I’m not goin’ tew leave this place jist yet, till I see. When I pre-empt a spot, I generally squat thar for sum time, as I shell on this present occasion, ef nothin’ turns up wuss’n a red nigger’s moccasin. Let’s have a little grub. I’m ’ginnin’ tew feel empty as an old sugar-cask.”
Seizing the piece of broiled meat, the trapper tore it in twain and tossed his companion half. This being discussed, ere long they relapsed into slumber.
The next morning the two men were out early, setting traps.
“We’d better keep our opptickles peeled,” said Nat, “or we might git sick with lead pills on the stomach. I persume tew say thet thar’s copper-skins ’round. Jist toss me over thet hatchet, will ye?”
When the traps were set, both men proceeded up the stream. As they were passing through a small open spot, they were suddenly surprised by half a dozen Indians, who rushed out at them from the bushes.
“Yahoo!” shouted Wild Nat. “Here’s for a scrimmage. Come on, ye yaller-skinned alligators. I’m ekal tew any ten of ye!” and drawing his bowie-knife with his right hand, and his revolver with his left, he plunged at them, striking right and left, and firing at the same time.
Wayne, meantime, was not idle. With his rifle he brought down one of the savages, and then, as the other barrel was empty, he clubbed it, and swinging it about his head dealt blows right and left with terrible fury.
In a moment half the Indians were down, and the remainder, surprised and bewildered by the decision and effect with which they were met, when they had counted on a complete surprise, took to their heels and vanished in a twinkling.
“Purty well done,” said the trapper, coolly. “We’ve unkivered four greasy nobs, an’ the rest, residew, an’ remainder has measured sile. He! he! I guess they thought the climate warn’t healthy—not adapted to thar peculiar constitutions, so tew speak. Let’s lift ha’r.”
“Heavens!” ejaculated Kent, “you are not going to scalp them?”
“I consider Ibe!” returned the trapper. “Wild Nat Rogers ain’t the feller tew let ’em off with thar top-knots unmerlested. Kinder mortifies ’em, ye see, tew hev thar ha’r lifted, an’ any thin’ to morterfy a red nigger, I say.”
“Only the savages practice that barbarity,” said Kent. “Why are you better than they if you follow their customs?”
“By virtew of bein’ born a white man,” replied the trapper, proceeding to remove the scalps of the fallen foe, while his companion went aside, not caring to witness the operation.
The scalps the hunter carried to the cave, where he hung them up as “trophies,” he said, “an’ ter remind him of the scrimmage.”
“Well,” said Kent, “I’d rather the ‘noble red-man’ should keep away from here. I don’t relish the idea of having them discover this cave, and likely enough keep us in here until we starve.”
“I should objeck tew thet thing, myself,” said the trapper, “but, I guess they won’t find us. I’ve ockepied this domicilfor several seasons, an’ I hain’t been walled in yet. Fact is,” said the old hunter, waxing eloquent, “I never was born an’ reared for the purpose of bein’ killed by an Injun. I’ve lived in this kentry for a number of years, an’ been in some four hundred an’ thirty-two scrimmages, reckonin’ it by arithmetickal progression, an’ snatched some half-dozen copper-skins bald-headed in each one; an’ I’m now goin’ on my fifty-tooth year, an’ at this present speakin’ I’m a whole individual, an’ endowed with sartin unailyunable rights, among which is life, liberty, an’ the pursuit of Injuns.”
This was said while the old trapper proceeded with the manufacture of a pair of moccasins which he “wanted tew fool the reds with. Ye see,” he said, cutting away at the leather, “thar’s Injuns ’round, an’ I want tew scout a bit, an’ seein’ these moccasin-tracks they’ll naterly suppose it’s an Injun made the tracks.”
Several days passed without any signs of Indians, and the young man was enjoying himself. This wild, free life greatly pleased him. He went and came, with no cares nor duties to hinder or perplex.
One day Wild Nat was busy cleaning his gun, which he averred had been “consarndly bamboozled in some way. Why, it’s a solemn fackt, thet yesterday when I shot at thet wild turkey it held fire, an’ it’s suthin’ it never done afore since I got it,” he continued, giving the wiper a vicious jerk.
“Well,” said Kent, taking up his rifle and examining the priming, “I believe I’ll go out a while, and see if I can get a wild turkey. I can’t say that I appreciate buffalo-hump as a regular diet.”
He shouldered his rifle and started, followed by the trapper’s warning words:
“Keep yer eyes open for Injuns, or they might ask ye to taste tomahawk. I don’t doubt but they’re ’round.”
“All right; I will keep a sharp look-out,” was answered, as the young man emerged from their retreat in the hill, and started up the ravine.
Passing from the gorge, Kent turned up the creek, which he followed for a considerable distance, and then struck off to the south. From this point there was a beautiful view of the mountains, and the young hunter resolved to explore further.Accordingly he shaped his course toward the desired point, and walked briskly for the space of half an hour, paying, meantime, but little heed to Wild Nat’s injunction about keeping a look-out for Indians. His thoughts were with Marion Verne, and he wandered on abstractedly, till the extreme beauty of the scene before him drew his attention, and he stopped to look about him.
Before, the mountains reared their heads, and at the left a high cliff shot upward, crowned with a few stunted cedars, and draped with a profusion of wild vines. He stood on a slight eminence, which sloped away to the right, terminating in a series of gorges, deep and shadowy, and covered with a thick growth of slender trees, laced and interlaced with bushes and vines, till they were almost impenetrable. Around him huge trees reared their heads, and bushes and vines grew in the wildest confusion, and high in the ether a large bird screamed harshly as it flew slowly over.
As the young man stood silently contemplating the scene, and wondering at the deep silence which pervaded it, he was startled suddenly, by hearing deep, guttural voices near him.
He had barely time to spring aside in the bushes, when, standing precisely where he had stood a moment before, he beheld eight or nine hideously-painted savages. Evidently the noise of his retreat had startled them, for they stopped and listened attentively. He scarcely dared to breathe, so close were the savages to him—the nearest one standing not more than six feet distant. He was so situated that he could see the Indians, while they could not see him, but, unfortunately, in his haste, he had neglected to get his gun concealed, and about six inches of the muzzle protruded from the bushes. He dared not withdraw it, well knowing that the slightest movement would betray him, and with bated breath he stood, hoping they would not discriminate between it and the stems of the bushes.
The hope was a vain one. The Indian nearest him turned his head an instant, and his eyes fell on the unlucky rifle. With a ferocious grunt, he darted forward, followed by the rest. For Wayne there was nothing to do but run, and, firing both barrels at the advancing foe, he turned and fled towardone of the gorges before mentioned, the whole pack at his heels.
The young man was an expert runner, but running on open ground was quite a different thing from running in this wilderness, as he soon found. However, he made pretty good progress, scrambling over logs, leaping rocks, and dodging under lodged trees, over stones and dead boughs, “ducking” his head to avoid limbs, and diving through thickets of vines, with a celerity which would have astonished any one new to the business, and utterly impossible, had it not been for the “motive power” behind.
Gradually he found he was distancing his pursuers, though they still were not far behind. Hurrying forward, he scrambled through a tangled thicket, and plunged down a narrow gorge, half filled with bushes, through whose rocky bottom a little stream bubbled, and which terminated in a sort of broken dell, intersected by ravines and gulf-like fissures in every direction. Darting into one of these, he followed it until the sound of pursuit grew faint, and then, panting and exhausted, he sunk down against the rocky bank and drew a long breath. As he sat there, mentally congratulating himself on his escape, and thinking of the discomfiture of his enemies, his musings were suddenly interrupted by a vise-like grip on his arm, and a guttural voice saying, in most execrable English:
“Ugh! White man go with us.”
Looking up he found himself surrounded with Indians, painted similarly to the ones he had just left behind.
He was a prisoner!
In an instant the woods rung with the wild whoops of his captors, and directly the Indians who had pursued him arrived, rejoicing at the capture, and brandishing their tomahawks with savage glee. After a short consultation, the white man was bound securely, and mounted on a small nag, whose powers of locomotion evidently had been exhausted years before, and the whole party set out on the march.
As they journeyed on, the young man’s thoughts were of any thing but a pleasant nature. A prisoner in the hands of these merciless savages, with no one who knew of his whereabouts, what hope was there? If Wild Nat knew of hisplight there might be a rescue, and yet, what was one man against so many?
They traveled steadily on until late in the afternoon; then halted in a wood, and all dismounted. Wayne was considerably puzzled by the proceedings. The Indians held a short council, and finally an old, grave-looking fellow, who, Kent thought, might be a chief from his appearance, and from the deference paid him, arose and made a speech of some length. The prisoner, ignorant of the Indian tongue, of course did not comprehend a word, but he saw that the chief’s wishes met with approbation, from the nods and grunts of the august assembly.
The chief sat down and the consultation ended. Kent was most unceremoniously taken from his horse and bound to a small tree. The savages evidently were greatly pleased, and while wondering what it all meant, their prisoner saw several Indians busily engaged in gathering wood, which they deposited near him. The mystery was explained! He was about to be burned at the stake!
The Indians, of whom there were fifteen or sixteen, began to yell and jabber violently, and jumped about, brandishing their war-clubs and tomahawks alarmingly near the prisoner’s head, who heartily wished they would strike a hatchet into his skull, and save him from the fearful death before him. He could meet death bravely in any form, but to be burned at the stake—to die by inches in excruciating torture—the thought was one of horror.
The wood was piled about him, at a little distance, to the hight of a couple of feet, built up artistically with dry fagots, that looked as if they carried in their gray hearts a world of heat and flame.
At last all was ready; the match was applied, and the little tongues of fire began to curl up among the fagots, creeping slowly, but surely, among the dry wood, and lapping hungrily about the sticks as if impatient for its victim.
The young man resolved to die bravely, and as the heat increased so that he began to feel its effects, he mentally commended his soul to heaven and breathed a prayer for the safety and welfare of his aged parents, who would mourn his unknown fate.
The savages were executing a wild war-dance, mingled with shouts and songs, and accompanied by waving of clubs and tomahawks, and brandishing of knives. In the shadow of the falling twilight their dusky forms swayed to and fro, and their painted faces, lit by the increasing flames, looked more like the faces of fiends than human beings.
The forked tongues of fire crawled on, increasing in strength and fury every moment. Already Kent began to feel their scorching effects. His knees were almost blistered, and the dense, rising smoke nearly suffocated him.
Suddenly he heard the brands behind him rattle as if thrown aside by a hasty hand; the same instant he felt the bands that bound him loosened, and a voice which he instantly recognized as that of Vic Potter, shouted:
“Run for yer life! Take thet, ye yaller rips!” and he fired his rifle with such effect that two savages rolled in the dust, and, drawing his knife, struck another who stood in his path; then snatching Kent’s gun and powder-horn, which leaned against a tree near at hand, he bounded away into the woods, closely followed by Kent, and vanished in a twinkling!
So intent were the Indians on their barbarous work, that this sudden onslaught of the guide completely surprised them, and with such suddenness and celerity did he do his work, that, before they could recover the shock, he was out of sight.
Then, with wild whoops of disappointment and rage they started in pursuit.
“Foller me,” said Vic, as he sprung before the young man, “an’ in tew minits we’ll be out o’ danger, so tew speak. Hear the cusses yell!”
The trapper made no slow work of measuring the distance, and Kent was not far behind. After five minutes of hard running and dodging, the trapper darted round a dense thicket, followed by the other. Kent was surprised to see a man seated on a horse and holding another animal by the halter.
“Up behind me,” shouted Vic, springing into the saddle. “Fleetfoot is good for both of us.”
The young man mounted with a bound, and the horses dashed away.
“Varmints!” exclaimed the trapper. “Jist hear ’em holler! Guess they’ll find the game has guv ’em the slip. Ye see they started after us afoot, an’ in course they can’t catch us thet way, an’ it’ll take ’em some time tew go arter their hosses.”
“You arrived just in time,” said Kent, as they swept along. “Ten minutes later it would have been too late.”
“Zackly,” responded the trapper. “It war lucky I happened along. Ye see, Scip and I—”
“Is that Scip?” interrupted Kent. “I hadn’t thought to ask who it was, and the darkness prevented me from seeing. How are you, Scip? So you concluded to try life on the plains a while, eh?”
“Yes,” replied the negro. “Vic said mout as well. I’s rader feerd ob de Injins, but, he says, dar’s no danger. Looks like it, ye bein’ tied up ter brile! Wish I’d staid wid de emergrants.”
“There’s no danger, so long as you keep out of their way,” laughed Kent; “but the trouble is to keep out of reach. I flatter myself that the time I made this morning would be hard to beat, but I fell into their hands after all.”
“How war it?” asked Vic.
The young man then related the circumstances of his capture, adding:
“We have distanced our pursuers. There is nothing to be heard.”
“Gone arter thar animiles,” said Vic. “Which way is the cave?”
“South-west,” replied Kent.
“Guess we’ll p’int for thar, then,” said the trapper.
The horses’ heads were accordingly turned in that direction, and the little party swept on.
Two months passed succeeding the events already recorded.
The scene is laid in an Indian village on the banks of the Sweetwater river, and the hour just before sunset.
In a lodge, considerably larger than the others, the curtain-door of which is lifted, sits a young girl, gazing out upon the river and woodlands.
Her head is supported on her hand, a look of deep sadness overspreads her features, and her soft, dark eyes are full of tears. It is Marion Verne, who, since the night of her capture, has been a prisoner among the Indians. She was adopted by the sachem of the tribe, to be a companion for his daughter, and had been treated with kindness. But she felt as if utterly forsaken—so far from home and friends, with no one but savages for company, and with no prospect of escape. Could she spend her life with these creatures? she asked herself for the hundredth time. No; a thousand times no; and yet how could she avert her fate? Of late a new trouble had come upon her. A young chief, named the Panther, had offered her the honor of becoming his squaw, and as An-ga-ta, (the sachem,) favored his suit, the poor girl was in despair.
Her musings were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Neenah, the daughter of An-ga-ta.
“My sister is sad,” she said, in broken English, which she had learned from Marion. “Can Neenah help her? She does not like to see the Dark Eyes unhappy.”
“Would not Neenah be sad if An-ga-ta wished her to marry a brave she did not love?” asked Marion.
The Indian girl nodded. “Neenah would. Does not the Dark Eyes love the Panther? He is very good and brave. Long ago he had eyes for Neenah and ears for her words. Since Dark Eyes came he sees only her,” said the girl, sadly.
“Why does he leave you, to seek one who is of another people?” asked Marion.
“His heart has forgotten Neenah,” replied the girl. “He is now talking with An-ga-ta. He wants my sister.”
“Oh!” said Marion, “I can not marry him! If your father would only let me go to my people!”
At that moment a shadow crossed the doorway, and the great sachem entered. Seating himself gravely, he continued in silence for some minutes.
“The Panther seeks the Dark Eyes,” he said at last. “He would have her to tan his skins, and keep his lodge-fire burning. When three suns shall pass, the marriage-feast will be eaten and the Dark Eyes be given to the Panther. Let her prepare.”
So saying the chief arose, and folding his blanket around him left the lodge, leaving Marion bewildered and despairing. She sat for a long time weeping bitterly, and paying little heed to Neenah’s expression of sympathy, and then retired to her couch.
All the long night she lay awake, thinking over the chief’s words, and trying to devise some plan of escape. So far from finding any, she only grew bewildered thinking of it, and with the first rays of dawn fell into an uneasy sleep.
The day passed drearily enough, and night came again and passed, and yet Marion was undecided how to act. The morning of the second day she arose, and dressing herself hastily, went out. She had always been allowed to walk about the village, the Indians knowing that there was no danger of her attempting to escape. To escape from them would only be to fall into the claws of some wild beast, or perish in the wilds from hunger and exposure. The day wore on while she rambled about, or sat in the shade of bushes on the river’s bank, gazing into its shining depths, and thinking of her circumstances. This was the last day of her freedom—if the morrow found her here, she would be made the wife of the Panther, according to Indian law. The thought was horrible! Every moment she grew more desperate. What could she do? Could she fly from the village and find her way to civilization? It was one hundred miles to Fort Laramie; could she ever reach there on foot? There was abare chance of her falling in with some emigrants, yet it was hardly a chance, at all, so improbable was it. There were nine chances out of ten that she would perish before she could reach any fort or settlement, but death was far preferable to living with an Indian. She determined to try for her life.
Going leisurely through the village with some flowers in her hands, she attracted no unusual attention, and arrived at the chieftain’s lodge just after the hour of noon. She waited patiently till night, and retired as usual. She was somewhat puzzled to know how to leave the lodge without Neenah’s knowledge, as they occupied one couch. Trusting to Providence, she lay down as usual, and waited. For a while the Indian girl tossed about the couch, but, at length, her deep, regular breathing gave evidence that she was asleep. But not yet could our heroine start. The village had not subsided into quiet.
She waited, hoping and fearing, until it was midnight.
Neenah still slept.
Rising silently, Marion robed herself, and with great care not to arouse the Indian girl, nor the chief, stole into the outer room of the lodge. She knew that, in there, was some jerked venison, and a small cake, made of corn meal. These she meant to take with her.
In this room slept the sachem, and Marion’s heart beat rapidly as she entered. If he awoke, and saw her! His couch was in one corner, and the girl slowly and silently crossed the room. She had reached the venison and cake, and was returning, when the sachem moved, and evidently thinking he heard something, half arose! Quick as thought, Marion sunk down and waited. The chief glanced around the apartment, and not seeing the crouching figure, and hearing nothing, with a sleepy “Ugh!” composed himself for sleep.
Breathlessly, Marion crouched on the floor, not daring to stir, lest he should be aroused.
Ten, fifteen minutes passed; then the girl rose softly and flitted out. Gliding through her room, she noiselessly untied the outer door of skins and passed out. Closing it behind her, she paused a moment to look around. Every thing wasquiet and in darkness. The night was rather cloudy, but still light enough for objects to be quite distinct at a few rods distant.
With a beating heart and a murmured prayer, the maiden threaded her way between the lodges, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, and moving with the utmost caution and silence. Meeting with no obstacles, she very soon cleared the village, and stood outside in the silence and gloom.
For a moment her heart failed her. Before her lay the wide forests and extended plains, the abode of wild animals and savage Indians, and but for these, and an occasional trapper, utterly in solitude!
Marion was not very courageous by nature, and the darkness and wildness before her made her tremble with dread; but, one thought of what lay behind nerved her, and she stepped boldly forward. At any moment her absence might be discovered, and this made her quicken her steps. The clouds obscured the stars, but, turning her face in the direction she supposed Fort Laramie to be, she hastened forward, not dreaming that, in her haste and excitement, she was going directly from it!
Wearily the girl traveled on, growing at length so tired that she could hardly stand; but, anxious to get away still further from the pursuers, who, she felt certain, were, before this time, on her track, she stumbled forward, until the first yellow light in the east drew her attention. Then, to her despair, she discovered her error. All these weary miles she had gone the wrong way!
Worn out and exhausted, she searched for a spot where she would be screened from observation, to lie down and rest. Besides, she dared not travel by day. Selecting a little thicket of bushes and vines she threw herself on the ground, and tired and weary, soon fell asleep.
All day long she thus rested, waking but once or twice; but late in the afternoon she was aroused by a rough touch on her arm. Starting up, she beheld the Panther bending over her, and several other Indians standing near!
Once more a prisoner!
The chief took her up without a word, and placed her on a mustang, which he evidently had brought for her use. Thusmounted, they started toward the village, the other Indians following at some distance on foot. The Panther made no remark, but he kept his hand on her bridle-rein.
They rode slowly for some distance. The wretched maiden had not uttered a word, and seemed to be totally passive. The Panther congratulated himself on his easy success. But, while Marion was silent, she was not unnerved. True, she was almost in despair, but she resolved that shewould notgo back to the village. Yet,howto escape?
While she was revolving the matter in her mind, the Indians behind got into some kind of a dispute, which attracted the Panther’s attention. Halting, he for a moment dropped the rein and began to talk to them. Taking advantage of his inattention, Marion suddenly raised her deer-thong whip and struck her horse a stinging blow. The enraged animal started off like a shot.
The savages behind, in their hot anger did not stop their dispute, until the chief yelled furiously at them, which he did in a very menacing manner. Seeing there was no likelihood of overtaking his charge, he called out to the others to shoot her horse, himself setting the example.
Meantime Marion, with the courage born of desperation, was urging her horse forward in the deep twilight of the woods, when a shower of bullets flew like hail around her. One, more steadily aimed than the others, struck her steed, and he fell beneath her. Springing off, as she felt him sinking, she darted forward into the thickest of the undergrowth, the fearful yells of the savages making her blood curdle.
As she worked her way forward in the thicket, she caught a glimpse, as she passed it, of a large cottonwood, growing within a small clump of bushes. Into this cover she drew herself. To her great surprise, she discovered a small opening in the giant tree. It was so nearly hidden as to be almost invisible. It appeared large enough to afford a retreat, and she hastily wedged herself in it, arranging the little clump of surrounding bushes so as to entirely hide it.
She had barely done so when the Indians burst into the opening, and ran whooping and yelling in every direction around the tree, and passing so close that Marion trembled lest the loud throbbing of her heart should betray her.
The savages beat the bushes all around, and for some distance in advance, of course without success. The constantly deepening darkness made every minute add to her security. In a half-hour’s time the savages were gone. Waiting awhile, she at length, with excessive caution, ventured out, and hurried away from the spot as fast as possible. After walking about three miles she came to the edge of the plain. It was very dark, and afar off she heard the howl of the wolves. She shuddered lest the fierce animals should get on her track. There was but little light from the stars, but shaping her course by the little there was, she went wearily on. She was getting fearfully tired, and feeling almost as if she did not care whether she lived or died, when she caught sight of a small light, apparently a couple of miles distant. It was evidently the camp-fire of some one, but whether of friend or savage foe she could not tell.
After considering the matter awhile she concluded to go forward, feeling confident that she could get close enough to ascertain whether it was whites or Indians before she would be discovered. Accordingly she hastened on, and when within twenty rods of the fire, began to be very cautious. The fire had died down to a bed of smoldering coals, and the light it afforded was not sufficient to reveal the forms around it.
As she flitted about, continually changing her position to enable her to see better, and gradually drawing nearer the fire, she was electrified by hearing a rough but good-natured voice exclaim:
“Would it be ill-mannered in me tew politely ask ye whar ye might be goin’?”
The maiden stopped with a joyful cry. It was the voice of a friend, although a stranger. While she stood silent, a tall, slab-sided, long-nosed man advanced from the darkness, and came up to her, trailing a long rifle.
“’Tain’t offen I see a woman,” he said, looking at her as if struck by a sudden idea; “tharfore ye’ll considerately excuse my manners. Jist let me ask if yer name is Marion Verne?”
“It is,” replied Marion. “May I ask who you are, and how you happened to see me?”
“Nat Rogers, at yer sarvice,” replied the trapper, for itwas none other than he. “An’ as for seein’ ye, I ginerally have my optickles peeled. I’ve been follerin’ ye ’round ever since ye ’gan tew look at thet fire out thar. Ye’ll find some friends out thar. Let’s be pokin’ thet way. I konklude thet ye got away from the Injuns.”
“I escaped last night,” replied Marion, as they approached the fire.
As they came up, Vic Potter sprung to his feet with wild ejaculations, and Marion saw behind him a dark visage, distorted with a broad grin of wonder and pleasure.
“Varmints! Is it actually Marion?” cried Vic, taking her hand and giving it a hearty shake.
“It certainly is,” replied the girl, with a smile. “Why—Wayne!”
The young man came forward, his handsome face aglow with pleasure.
“I’m glad to see you,” he said, simply; but the words brought a blush to Marion’s face. “How glad you may imagine, when I tell you that I never expected to see you again. How in the world did you come here?”
“I will tell you presently,” she replied, shaking hands with the grinning Scip. And then she relayed to her earnest listeners all that had befallen her.
“It is fortunate I found you. I don’t think I could have reached Fort Laramie alive.”
“Know ye couldn’t,” said Wild Nat. “Ye’d starved tew death ’fore ye got half-way there.”
The little party felt very merry and laughed and talked till a late hour. Wild Nat was “moved” to relate some large stories.
“Golly,” said Scip. “Dese skeeters is mighty sassy. Derawfulbig, too! Yah, but dey bites sharp!”
“Pooh,” said Wild Nat, “these ain’tnothin’tew what I’ve seen. When I war down in Texas I seenskeeters. They war big as woodpeckers.”
“Oh, g’way now!” remonstrated Scip. “’S if I didn’t kno’ dar neber war no skeeters big ’s dat ar’! ’Tain’t in de line o’ reason, dat ain’t.”
“It’s so,” said the trapper, gravely. “Ye see, Scip, in the hot countries they grow bigger. I’ve seen ’em quite often asbig as young turkeys, an’ skeeters the size of woodpeckers warn’t nothin’ uncommon!”
Scip said no more, but became very serious.
“Let’s roll up an’ snooze,” said Vic. “I’m gittin’ sleepy, an’ we must be off airly. The Injuns will be arter the lady, an’ we’ll stan’ a chance of gittin’ rubbed out ef we don’t make tracks lively. S’pose we’ll have tew go tew the cave for the present, an’ lay low till thar animosity cools off a little, ’fore startin’ for civilization.”
“How far is it to the cave you speak of?” asked Marion.
“’Bout fifteen miles,” replied Vic.
And then they lapsed into slumber.
Morning broke bright and clear, and the little party were off for the cave in good season. There was no immediate danger apprehended, and they rode at a moderate pace, enjoying the fresh breeze and the exhilarating influence of the ride. When about ten miles from their rendezvous, they perceived a large herd of buffalo quietly feeding about a mile distant.
“I’d like some sport with ’em,” said Wild Nat. “It’s tew bad tew let sich a chance as thet go. But we’ll have tew, I opine. ’Twon’t do tew keep the little ’un here an’ have her in danger of Injuns.” And the trapper gazed after the herd with a sigh.
“Tell ye what I’ll dew,” said Vic, halting his horse. “I’ll take Marion to the cave, an’ ye can all stay an’ hunt ef ye like. ’Twould be a good plan tew hev some fresh meat. What say?”
“E-pluribus,” exclaimed Wild Nat; “jist the show! Kent, ye jist hand Marion tew Vic, an’ in about tew jerks of a beaver’s tail we’ll snatch some o’ them bufflers by the tail, an’ pull thar skins off over thar horns.”
Accordingly, Marion, who for want of a horse had been obliged to ride behind Kent, mounted behind Vic, and the two kept on their way to the cave, while the others started on the hunt.
Leaving Vic and the girl to pursue their way, we will follow the hunters.
They had an exciting chase, and brought down several fine animals, from which they elected a considerable quantity of the choicest portions, and then prepared to start for the cave.
As Wild Nat untied the halter of his steed from the horns of a buffalo, he suddenly straightened himself up, and bounding into the saddle, exclaimed:
“Look thar! We’re in for a race.”
Kent turned, and looked in the direction indicated, and saw, not forty rods distant, a large band of mounted Indians coming toward them at a furious gallop.
“Turn toes!” shouted Nat. “Don’t let the grass grow under yer feet nuther,” and in an instant the three were flying over the prairie, followed by the whooping savages.
At first they all kept together, but in a short time the mule bestrode by Scip evidently came to the conclusion that there was no necessity for him to exert himself quite so much, and slackened his pace, so as to be several rods in the rear of Kent and Rogers, much to the dismay of his rider, who alternately addressed himself to the mule and to his friends in advance.
“G’long, ye obstinate beastess,” he exclaimed, with a terrified glance over his shoulder. “Don’ ye know we shell be clean gobbled up an’ eat, we shell? G’long, I tell ye! In ’nother minnit we shell be cotched ef ye don’t hurry.G’long, ye lazy debbel!G’long!”
Then raising his voice:
“Hol’ on dar, boys! ’Tain’t fair to run away from a feller in dis way, ’clar’ ’tain’t! Hol’ on; dar’s no sort o’ danger. What ye goin’ so fast for?
“Git up! G’long! Oh! o-o-h! Gorry, we shell be killed,”he spluttered, as an arrow flew past him. “Now, see here, ole hoss, youmus’go faster, deed ye mus’! Don’no’ what ye mean by gwine so slow. Don’ ye know—
“I say dar, ye fellers is scart! Dar’s no sense in yer gwine so fast, fur dar ain’t aspec’o’ danger, not abit! Jes’ see how cool dis chile takes it! Don’ look well fur ye to go so fast, nohow. Hol’ on now! I tell ye dar’s no— Oh, de Lor’!G’long!”
The frightened darkey “ducked” his head, as an arrow struck the fore-shoulder of the mule, and was agreeably surprised to see that this time his “G’long” was heeded, for, the mule, feeling the arrow, kicked his heels in the air, and with a snort was off, with such an increase of speed, that in a moment he had overtaken the others, and thereafter, the only trouble his rider had, was to keep him from going too fast.
“Ye ain’t takin’ it socoolas ye was, be ye?” asked Wild Nat, as the negro shot past him.
“Ye’d better go faster,” answered Scip; “dey ain’t fur behind, an’ it’s much dang’rous to have ’em so clus. Will dey cotch us, t’ink?”
“Guess not,” replied the trapper. “In half an hour we’ll be on tew Deep Creek, an’ I guess we’ll fool ’em then. Ef we don’t,” he added, under his breath, “it’ll be apt tew go hard with us, for the buffler-hunt tired our hosses somewhat.”
Silence ensued between the trio, who anxiously watched the distance between themselves and pursuers, and were gratified to observe that it did not perceptibly lessen.
On they went at a steady gallop. Wild Nat had said that as long as it was possible to keep out of reach at that pace, it was best, as their animals would soon need their strength for the final stretch.
The Indians were about thirty rods distant. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then the fugitives approached the bank of Deep Creek.
“Foller me,” exclaimed the old trapper, as his horse plunged into the stream, followed by the others.
They were in the woods, so that their pursuers were hidden from view, and Kent was surprised to see that the trapperheaded his horse up the stream, thereby going closer to the Indians, who were up the creek a short distance, and not far from the bank.
“Keep clus tew me,” said Wild Nat, “an’ keep perfectly still.”
“Are you mad?” asked the young man. “We are throwing ourselves into their hands.”
“Be we?” said the trapper. “Wal, I guess not. D’ye want tew be sculped?”
“Of course not.”
“Then foller me an’ keep still. Don’t shake yer jaw-bones so, Scip; they’ll hear yer teeth chatter.”
In dead silence the little party kept up the stream, while the yelling Indians followed their land-trail, and arrived at the stream about the time our friends were twenty rods above.
“Keep powerful still,” admonished Nat, as he turned his horse’s head to the shore. “Don’t make a sound. Ef ye do, we’re jest as good as baldheaded. Keep clus tew me.”
The others were not disposed to disregard this advice, and in a moment they were all on dry land.
“This way,” said the trapper, starting off through the woods. “Step karful, Rocky.”
The horse seemed to understand and made but little noise. After going at a trot for a short distance, the trapper struck into a gallop, in which he was imitated by the others. Ten minutes’ sharp riding brought them to the little rocky gorge, leading to a small rock-inclosed dell, where the horses were generally kept.
“Step lively,” said the trapper, as he dismounted; “’twon’t be long till the reds will find they’re fooled, an’ then they’ll be arter us.”
“Well,” said Kent, “why didn’t they follow us? What prevented them from seeing we went up-stream?”
“Sandy bottom. Don’t rile much an’ settles so quick they couldn’t see we’d been thar,” replied the trapper. “They naterly s’posed we’d gonedown, as thet war away from ’em. Wagh! Old Nat’s good for ’em yit. Now, let’sgitfor the cave!”