CHAPTER XV."DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT."
"We are on our way to the camp in the Ozarks," said Fred Linden; "and am I mistaken in believing that you will go with us all the way?"
"Such is the wish of Deerfoot," replied the Shawanoe, whereat Terry Clark gave signs of breaking out again; but at a warning look from Fred he restrained himself.
"Deerfoot loves the Hunters of the Ozark; he has promised to make them a visit; he will do so with his friends that he has found in the woods, and who forget to keep their guns loaded."
"No use!" exclaimed Terry, bounding in the air, striking his heels together, and flinging his hat aloft with a loud whoop; "I must give gintle exprission to me emotions, even though it makes a war with England."
The others showed no objection to this harmless ebullition, and he speedily became quiet again.
Had Fred Linden been intimately acquainted with Deerfoot, he would have noticed that he was not entirely at ease. Now and then he darted glances about him, as though he half expected the appearance of some unwelcome person. The glances were so quick and furtive that neither Fred nor Terry noticed them.
"Deerfoot," said Fred, the three still standing; "we have concluded that there isn't a better place along the trail for a camp."
To the surprise of the boys, he shook his head in dissent.
"Why, this is where father and the rest spent the night when they last went this way."
He nodded to signify that he agreed with them.
"There were three of them, and they had their horses, that could not be well hid; when my brothers go into camp for the night, they should take a place where all who went by would not see them."
It struck the others as curious that the Shawanoe should talk in that fashion, when they could not see any cause for alarm; but they had enough faith in him to accept his judgment on such an important matter. He added:
"Come with Deerfoot and he will show his brothers where they may slumber in peace."
Without any more explanation the Shawanoe moved down the bank of the brook, following a course parallel to the flow of the water, the other two keeping at his heels. He did not look around until he had gone more than a hundred yards. Then it was that the little party found itself in a rocky section, with a rough cavern on their right—that is, the bowlders and rocks were jumbled together in such a fashion that there was some resemblance to a cave. The chief merit of the place, however, was the privacy that it afforded, rather than the strength as a means of defense against an enemy.
"This suits very well," said Fred, taking in all the points at a glance; "here is a rocky bed on which we can start a fire, and the otherrocks and bowlders will keep off the wind, if there happens to be any; the water is handy, if we should need it, and it is certain that we are not as likely to be seen here as where we first selected."
"Deerfut," said Terry, who was nosing about, "I obsarve ashes here, as though somebody had been ahead of us."
"Deerfoot built a fire but a few moons ago, and staid over night."
"If it was good enough for ye, I can stand it," said Terry, "which is the remark me uncle made when the Duke of Argyle asked him to stay to dinner."
The boys unfastened the bundles from their backs and prepared to spend the night where they were. The blankets were spread on the flinty floor, and Deerfoot, setting down his gun beside theirs, helped to gather the wood with which to keep a fire burning. The three were so active that it took but a short time to collect all that was needed. This was thrown into one pile, from which it could be withdrawn as wanted.
I must give you a better idea of the spotwhere the three decided to spend their first night in the woods together. They had walked northward from the trail, and, so far as they could see, the country was of the most broken nature, though the abundance of trees and undergrowth did not permit an extended view. Two masses of stone rose to the height of a dozen feet, and were separated by about the same distance. These rough walls extended back to a distance of three or four yards, where they came against a similar formation. Thus, as may be said, there were three sides to an inclosure, that part facing the brook being entirely open. On top of these supports were tumbled an irregular mass of bowlders and rocks which formed the roof. The latter had so many openings that it was as well ventilated as the roof of the house about which the Arkansas Traveler tells us.
The rear part of the cavern, if it may be allowed that name, was stone, while the front was earth. Near the center, Deerfoot had kindled his fire when he staid there, the smoke finding ready escape through the openings above. Such a fire might give somewarmth were it needed, but the blaze was so well hidden by the surrounding walls that it was not likely to be seen by any one passing no nigher than fifty feet: therein lay the reason why it was selected by Deerfoot.
After piling up the fuel for the night, the youths threw some branches on the ground, near the rear of the cavern, and then spread their blankets over them. The Shawanoe carried no blanket with him, so it was expected that he would share the couch of his friends.
While the three were busying themselves in this manner, Fred Linden was disturbed by a suspicion that had been growing from the moment Deerfoot expressed dissatisfaction with the spot selected for their camp. This suspicion was that the young Indian had a fear of something to which, as yet, he had made no reference.
I have already shown that it was not generally considered a dangerous business in which the hunters of Ozark engaged. The rough, outdoor life sometimes brought with it hardships, and occasionally sufferings, but chief among the dangers was not that from Indians.It was known that now and then the red men fired spiteful shots at the invaders of their hunting grounds (as was the case with Michael Clark, the father of Terence), but in this section of the west that particular peril was deemed less than that which threatened from wild beasts. There was no instance of the hunters having been molested on their way to and from the trapping regions: why then this special caution of Deerfoot?
Fred Linden, while turning these thoughts over in his mind, gave but the one answer—the Winnebago. He was an intruder in that part of Louisiana, and he had shown by his acts how ready he was to shed the blood of innocent white persons. It was not a supposition merely that this fierce warrior had companions. The keen eyes of Deerfoot had discovered the proofs that there were a half dozen, at least, with him, and from whom he separated for a short time while he entered into the "side speculation" with Brindle and her bell; so it will be seen that Fred Linden was not only right in his suspicion that the Wolf had to do with the unrest of Deerfoot, but thatthe latter possessed good cause for his misgiving.
The Winnebagos, having drifted so far away from their own hunting grounds into this part of the world, were either going further from home, or were on their way back. Had the Wolf behaved himself, the band would have gone and come without the knowledge of any of the pioneers, unless there was a chance meeting in the wood, when it is not likely that any harm would have resulted.
But one of the Winnebagos was struck in the face by a white boy, while a young Indian, a friend of the latter, having "got the drop" on the Wolf, had taken his gun from him. In other words, the crime of assault and robbery had been committed.
Would the rest of the Winnebagos pocket the outrage and meekly withdraw from the country?
That, it would be seen, was the all important question, upon which great events, as affecting the friends in whom we are interested, hinged.
It was in violation of the nature of the American race that any member thereof shouldrefuse to resent an indignity, when there was a chance of doing so. The Winnebagos had the best of reasons for believing that, by prowling around the settlement, or along the trail leading thereto, they would soon gain an opportunity to wipe out the disgrace put upon the Wolf, and, if not able to get back the gun that had been taken from him, would be able to procure another.
The fact that this valuable weapon was carried in the hands of a boy, who had started to tramp through the woods to a point a hundred miles off, and that it was not at all impossible that the Winnebagos found, or would find it out, gave emphasis to the cause of Deerfoot's uneasiness.
It is worthy of note that, while Terry Clark never once took this view of the situation, it occurred to his friend Fred, who waited for the Shawanoe to make some reference to it.
"He knows best, and if he doesn't choose to say any thing about it, there is no call for me to do so."
The shadows of night were creeping through the wood when the fire was started, and thesmoke began stealing upward through the openings in the rocky roof.
"Deerfoot," said Fred, when the fire crackled brightly, "the rule is, that a party in camp like this, must have some one on guard while the others sleep. I don't know as there is any need now, but if you think so, let Terry and me do it, for we are not in need of sleep."
The Shawanoe looked at him intently for a moment as though he would read his thoughts, and then quietly said:
"Deerfoot will be sentinel to-night!"
CHAPTER XVI.AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour, when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted.
Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern, where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light, and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough, but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites were such as wait on high health.
It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much as each of theothers. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him.
When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance.
He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight, was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I could not have detected, would have told their full story to him.
But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream oncemore, brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below.
The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had justthrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like that of noonday.
Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered, so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental, though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe.
The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always showed a deliberation in his speech, as ifhe weighed each word before allowing it to fall from his lips.
Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death, that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people against the white settlements.
He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that, but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt attention, and all in time (as you havebeen told in another place), the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men.
Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst: they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them. Finally the efforts to take him prisoner became so far reaching that he saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young renegade, whom they hatedwith a hatred like that of the tigers of the jungle.
You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory. There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end his days.
"Deerfoot," said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended, "Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with you."
"Why does my brother think of danger?"
"Becauseyoudo; I know it by your actions."
The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions, Fred added:
"I don't know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the lookout for a chance to revenge themselves."
Deerfoot's face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head.
"My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of Deerfoot."
Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment.
"How come ye to know all that, Fred?"
"I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the actions of Deerfoot since he joined us to-day. In the first place, he wouldn't have made us change our camping place if he hadn't had some misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and his decision to keep watch to-night: why what could tell the story more plainly?"
"Begorrah," said the admiring Terry, "yeare not such a big fool as you look to be; I never thought of that."
"Which looks as if you are a bigger dunce than you seem; but," added Fred, turning toward the Shawanoe, "have you seen any thing of the Winnebagos?"
"Deerfoot has seen their footprints in the woods; they are on the watch for his white brothers that they may gain their scalps, because the gun of the Wolf was taken from him."
"They seem to have hard work in finding us: where do those Winnebagos come from?"
Deerfoot pointed to the northward, or rather to a little east of north.
"Their hunting grounds are many suns' travel that way."
"Why do the spalpeens come down in this part of the world, and why don't they behave thimselves whin they do?" demanded Terry, with some indignation.
Deerfoot shook his head, as though the question was more than he could answer.
"Deerfoot has met Shawanoes and Sacs and Wyandottes and Pawnees far away from their villages and hunting grounds, besides thestrange Indians who come much further from the setting sun. The red men travel whither they will. Why the Winnebagos passed near the home of my brothers only they can tell."
"Well, they're a bad lot," said Terry, "to try the mean trick they did on me; though," he added the next moment, "I'm glad they done the same, for if they hadn't, how would I've got hold of this lovely gun? Do ye think we shall have any more trouble with them?"
"Deerfoot believes there will be trouble, and it will come soon!"
"Well, if it does, all ye have to do is to take away the rist of their guns and set 'em on the run home agin."
CHAPTER XVII.A SUSPICIOUS SOUND.
By and by Fred Linden and Terry Clark became drowsy. Devoutly kneeling, they spent several minutes in prayer, and then stretched out on a single blanket, with their backs toward each other, and the face of Fred in such a position that he could look across the blaze at Deerfoot on the other side. The latter had remained still and motionless, while the lads, remembering the lesson they had learned at their mothers' knee, asked their Heavenly Father to hold them in His keeping. The young Shawanoe, who spent many an hour in communion with his Maker, was touched to see that his friends did not forget their duty.
Deerfoot stirred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came directly in his face (the worst direction possible),he drew from beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to him by the Preston family, and began reading it.
Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his surroundings.
Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his eyes misty with emotion.
The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair, with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and arms to the wrists, on the left one ofwhich shone the golden bracelet; the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small, ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure; but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could not help saying to himself:
"There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he."
And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his whole speed.
"He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet fired at him."
I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind.
"And he is reading his Bible! I never in allmy life saw an Indian who could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to teach school for us at Greville."
Fred thought a great many queer things about his new friend, but lay watching him fully ten minutes before he spoke. Then, when he saw him turn a leaf, he said in a low voice:
"Deerfoot, will you please read aloud?"
Fred expected that the Shawanoe would start and look up in surprise; but he never raised his eyes, or gave the least sign that these words of his were unexpected. He knew that Fred was watching him from the first, and so, before the words were more than fairly out of his mouth, Deerfoot began reading in a low, impressive monotone, as though he had merely resumed, after turning over the leaf.
"After this I beheld, and lo! a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindred, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands;
"And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders, and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces and worshiped God.
"Singing, Amen; blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be unto our God for ever and for ever, Amen.
"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, Who are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?
"And I said unto him, sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me, these are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.
"They shall hunger no more, neither shall they thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.
"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead themunto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
Deerfoot read a few minutes longer from his favorite part in the New Testament and then ceased. He had not lifted his eyes from the page, but he knew that Fred Linden was asleep. He observed it in his breathing, which was as soft as that of an infant.
The rocky cavern, the smoldering camp-fire, the two sleeping boys, the motionless Indian stretched out and reading his Bible by the faint light, the great, solemn forest walling them in, the profound stillness that reigned everywhere: these were elements in a picture the like of which it may be said (except where Deerfoot was one of the figures), had never been seen anywhere else, and was not likely ever to be seen again.
The fire sank lower and the light on the printed page became so dim that even the keen eyes of the young Shawanoe could not trace the words. He looked at the embers as if asking himself whether he should renew the blaze and continue reading. But the hour for meditation had come, and he closed the book. Lookingfondly at the stiff, wooden cover, he touched his lips with infinite tenderness to it, and carefully placed it in the inner receptacle of his hunting-shirt, murmuring as he did so:
"The best friend that Deerfoot ever knew!"
O light of life! Comforter of the sorrowing heart! Consoler of the stricken soul!
In the flush of bounding health, when the passions throb high, we may not heed thy blessed teachings, but when man's promises prove false, and the head bows before the endless strife, and woes overwhelm us like a flood, there is relief, there is light, there is life in Thee. The wicked may jeer, the learned may scoff, the powerful may despise, the favored may turn away, but there comes the time when learning, gifts, wealth, power, beauty and all the world can give turn to ashes, and they have no boon compared to Thine. "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." The pampered monarch, the dying beggar, the statesman, the slave, the mother bowed with woe, the father shaken with grief, childhood in its innocence, man in his strength, beauty in its scorn, trembling old age, can findno balm but in Thee. Better that the sun should be blotted from the heavens and the earth left a trackless void than that Thy light should be denied the world.
Deerfoot lay flat on his face, his arms crossed so that his head and shoulders were held a few inches above the flinty floor, and his dark eyes were fixed on the embers in front. It was his favorite enjoyment, when the stirring incidents of the day were done, and he had read from the only Book he ever wanted to read, to spend a time in meditating on the truths that it may be said had become a part of his very being.
Many a time had he lain thus, as motionless as if dead, while the wonderful brain was busy with thoughts that stirred the profoundest depths of his nature. There are beliefs that come to us at which reason may laugh, but which it can not shake or disturb. There are questions that the glib unbeliever may ask that we can not answer. But away down in our hearts is a faith which the whole world can not remove, and which can be uprooted only by ourselves. Woe to him who dares lay violent hands upon it!
Deerfoot no more doubted that he and every one was in the direct keeping of God than he doubted that he breathed and moved. He knew that the Great Spirit had caused him to be made a prisoner by whites so that he might learn the way of life; he knew that He had given him an insight into the mysteries of His word that was denied to many others. A deep, outstretching sympathy for those less favored than he suffused his whole being. Gladly would he have given up his life in pain and torture and agony, as did One in the dim long ago, if by so doing he could earn the smile of his Heavenly Father.
But this remarkable young Christian felt that he was doing the work appointed for him to do. Here and there he dropped a word that proved to be seed sown upon good ground, and which had borne its fruit. He had met his enemies in fair combat and had never taken wrong advantage of them: his marvelous bow and arrow, and his still more effective rifle, had brought many a dusky miscreant low, but he had used his amazing gifts in the line of duty, and for the good of others. Would that hecould have won them by love, but it was not in the nature of things that he should do so. He had "broken the Bread of Life" to more than one, and he hoped that ere he should be called home, he should point the way to others.
Suddenly he raised his chin from his hands and turned his head slightly to one side. His ear, whose acuteness was almost beyond belief, had caught a suspicious sound. Profound as might be the meditation of the Shawanoe, he could never forget his surroundings.
CHAPTER XVIII.LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.
The crisp autumn night had not reached its turn when the full moon climbed from behind the straggling clouds obscuring her face, into the clear air above, and shone down on the wilderness, with the same calm splendor with which it had shone during the ages before the foot of a white man had rested on the soil of our country. Here and there, at widely-separated points, as the orb moved toward the zenith, could be seen the star-like twinkles of light which showed where the sparse settlements had been planted by the pioneers. At intervals, too, miles away from the clearings, could be distinguished the glimmer of the hunters' camp-fires, where the hardy men had lain down wrapped in their blankets, and to sleep the sleep of health. Still further away, by the side of some calmly flowing river or creek,were the ragged tepees of the wild Indians. Mountain, forest and stream made up the landscape, that was illuminated by the moon on the night when Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay down in slumber by the fire in the cavern, and Deerfoot the Shawanoe took upon himself the duty of acting as a sentinel over them.
It was not yet midnight when the figure of a crouching Indian emerged like a shadow from the little gully which marked the course of the tiny stream in front of the camp. Just at the point where he appeared, a few rays of the moonlight found their way among the limbs, and added impressiveness to his appearance. A glance would have told that he had approached at the most stealthy gait of which he was capable, and was still using all the skill at his command.
Finding himself within the faint light of the moon, he straightened up, like one who is not certain of his surroundings and is using his eyes and ears to their utmost. Standing erect in this manner he showed himself to be a full-grown warrior in middle life, of strong limbsand frame, and attired in the usual dress of his people.
The long, coarse hair dangled about the shoulders, some of the strands having fallen forward in front of the chest, at the time his head drew it over while in a crouching posture. It grew so low on his forehead that no more than an inch was between the roots and shaggy eyebrows. Beneath these the eyes glittered like those of a snake. The ugly features were made more ugly by the different colored paints—most of it black—that was daubed over them, and the countenance was distorted by a swelling recently produced.
The breast and arms were covered by deerskin, a fringe running down in front to the belt, which held his tomahawk. The frightful horn-handled knife was tightly grasped in his right hand. Below the belt was breechcloth, followed by leggins and moccasins, but it was noticeable that he carried no rifle with him.
Perhaps you have guessed the reason; he had none to carry, for he was the Wolf who had been deprived of his valuable weapon on the day before by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
As was learned in due time, the Winnebago, after being despoiled by Deerfoot, had made all haste to rejoin his band, that were encamped at no great distance from Greville. When he told his brother warriors of the indignity to which he had been subjected, they were as rampart as he for revenge. They were on the point of starting for a settlement, intending to await the chance to shoot down some of the unsuspecting people, when the leader, a man of iron will, interposed.
He said that according to the story of the Wolf himself, his gun had been taken from him by a single warrior. A Winnebago ought to be ashamed to confess such a thing, and the only way by which the Wolf could redeem himself was to recover his gun unaided by any of his people. Let him come back to the party with his rifle and then they would risk their lives a dozen times over to repay the young Shawanoe and his youthful friend (they knew nothing about Fred Linden) for the insult they had put upon one of the leading warriors of the Winnebago tribe.
You can well understand how displeasingthis decision was to the Wolf, but there was no help for it. The warrior who gave the order was not only the leader of the company, but the principal chief of the tribe. No one dared to dispute his command, and he intimated that it was not only necessary for the Wolf to recover his gun in order to enlist the services of the rest, but his standing at home would be compromised if he went back without his rifle and the story that it had been taken from him by a single warrior of another tribe.
From this you will understand the eagerness with which the Wolf set out to regain the weapon.
The fact that Fred Linden and Terry Clark left Greville the next morning after the affair, mixed matters to that extent that, for a time, the Winnebago was at fault. It was his intention to prowl around the settlement, awaiting his chance, for he suspected that Deerfoot had gone thither with the lad who had given the Wolf such a blow in the face; but the discovery of the footprints of the two boys leading to the southward mystified the Indian.He was quite close to the creek, and the sun had crossed the meridian at the time this discovery was made. It was natural that he should look for the trail of the Shawanoe, but he could not find it.
Finally, with a half-suspicion of the truth, the Wolf went into the settlement to make inquiries. He could speak enough broken English to make himself understood, and, as it so happened, it was Mr. MacClaskey himself whom he accosted. He told the inquirer the truth, adding that Terry took with him a gun that was captured from a vagabond Indian. But for that he would not have been allowed to go, for there was but one rifle in the family, which the settler would trust in no hands but his own for any length of time.
The Winnebago was shrewd enough to disarm any doubt that might have been felt about himself. It was the rule in the settlement to show kindness to every wandering Indian that visited them, and no one dreamed that any thing was to be feared from the Wolf. But his heart was full of exulting malignancy. He knew who had the gun, and aware that the twoboys had started for the camp of the Ozarks, he understood where to look for it. The fact that the Winnebago had no gun with him would have caused the belief that he was the vagabond Indian, had he not explained that he left it in the woods as a token of comity.
The Wolf sauntered back until he was across the stream and out of sight. Then he sped along the trail, with a long, loping trot, which his race can maintain for hours without fatigue. He had a long distance to travel, but he reached the scene of the encounter with the strange animal, just as it was growing dark.
At this point, he showed admirable woodcraft. The signs on the ground puzzled him for a time, but there was the carcass of the animal, and by and by he found the imprints of the small moccasins, which told him that the young Shawanoe had rejoined the others at this point.
As you can well believe, this was any thing but a pleasant discovery, for, superior as was the strength of the Winnebago, he would have preferred to meet the two boys, even though both were armed, than to find himself faceto face again with the remarkable Indian youth.
But there was no help for it, and the dusky Winnebago compressed his coppery lips with the resolve that the gun should be in his hands before the rising of the morrow's sun.
The light was rapidly fading among the trees and he improved what was left of it. Prowling around the spot in a circle, with his nose close to the ground, he discovered that the three youths had started along the bank of the brook toward its head.
Thereupon the Winnebago formed the correct conclusion; they had moved from the main trail (doubtless on the suggestion of the young Shawanoe), in search of some place to encamp where there would be less danger of detection.
By the time the Wolf had satisfied himself on this point, it had become too dark among the trees for his eyes to detect the trail, which at mid-day would have been as distinct as a beaten path. He therefore adopted the plan of which I have made mention elsewhere: he followed a general rule.
The conclusion being that the parties for whom he was searching had located themselves somewhere along the creek, it was useless to try and follow the footprints, though there were points here and there where the sense of touch might have helped him. He decided to creep stealthily up stream until he found the camp, and then bide his time.
It is hard to form an idea of the extreme care with which this was done. Had the Winnebago not known of the presence of Deerfoot, he would not have taken half the time consumed, but he had seen enough of that wonderful youth to know that it would require more than a child to outwit him.
At a point about half way between the trail and the camp among the rocks, the Wolf thought his hands touched some imprints in the earth which showed that the three had turned to the right and gone deeper into the woods. It required reconnoitering before he discovered his mistake.
With the same amazing patience he renewed his stealthy progress up the stream, until at last he emerged into the moonlight and foundthat at last he had reached the spot for which he had hunted so long.
It so happened that as he straightened up, he looked directly into the mouth of the cave and saw the dull glow of the camp-fire, like the open eye of some monster. Not only that, but he observed the three forms stretched out by it. The heart of the savage throbbed with pleasure, for he felt that success had come at last.
With the same absolute noiselessness he began creeping into the mouth of the cavern. One of the embers fell apart with a soft rustle, which caused him to stop and hold his breath lest the sleepers should awake. But they did not stir, and in a minute he resumed his advance.
The two white lads had flung the blankets from their faces, so that he saw Fred Linden plainly, and enough of the other to identify him as the one who had smitten him. Nearer to the Winnebago than they was the third form, which he knew equally well.
"It is the Shawanoe," was his thought; "I will bury my knife in his heart and then slay the others."
A minute later he reached forward his upraised right hand and suddenly brought it down with a force that pinned the blanket to the earth. But to his unspeakable disgust Deerfoot was not within it.
CHAPTER XIX.SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO.
While Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay in that part of the cavern where the floor was of rock, the blanket of Deerfoot was spread on the earth. Consequently when the Winnebago brought down his knife with such vicious spitefulness, it went through the folds of the blanket and was buried to the hilt in the ground underneath.
You know that, despite the marvelous quiet with which the Winnebago approached the cavern, he was heard by Deerfoot, who, pausing only long enough to make sure that an enemy was approaching, whisked outside. There he stood in the impenetrable shadow under the trees, and saw the Winnebago at the moment he emerged into the faint moonlight and stood upright.
The first look confirmed his suspicion that itwas the Winnebago, who had come back to avenge himself for the affair of the preceding day. Deerfoot smiled to himself, for there was a tinge of absurdity about the whole business that was sure to become still more so.
The Shawanoe paused a few seconds before darting out of the cavern, until he could arrange his blanket, so that it would appear as if it infolded his sleeping form, and then he quietly awaited events.
It must be admitted that it looked like leaving Fred and Terry in great peril to permit such a savage enemy to creep so close to them while they were sound asleep; but Deerfoot knew that the first thing that the Wolf would do would be to attempt his life, precisely as he did attempt it. Before he could do any thing more, the Shawanoe concluded to impress his presence upon the visitor.
At the moment, therefore, that the Winnebago stopped his advance and slowly raised his knife, as he supposed over the breast of Deerfoot, that gentleman, kneeling on one knee, brought his rifle to bear upon the Winnebago, the dull light from the fire shining along thebarrel, whose muzzle was within a yard of the unsuspicious Wolf.
The blanket through which the keen-pointed knife had been driven was no more firmly transfixed for the moment than was the Wolf when a slight hissing noise caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dreaded Shawanoe in a kneeling position with his gun leveled at him, the finger on the trigger, and the bright eye glancing along the barrel.
The Winnebago was literally unable to move or speak, and Deerfoot, motionless himself, held him thus for several seconds. Then with the gun still pointed, he said in a low voice:
"Dog of a Winnebago! Deerfoot has spared the life of the Wolf, and he now seeks to strike him in the dark."
This address loosened the tongue of the terrified warrior, who, seeing his captor raise his head from sighting along the barrel, though he kept the weapon leveled, obeyed the beckoning motion of Deerfoot, and crept noiselessly out of the cavern. On the alert for any chance, he was ready to seize it, but the first object on which his eye rested in the dim moonlight wasthe figure of the young Shawanoe holding his gun in such a position, that, should it be necessary, he could fire like a flash.
Deerfoot would not have hesitated to lay his gun aside, and, drawing his knife, give the Winnebago the same chance with himself; but the Wolf had left his weapon where he forced it through the blanket into the ground, so that he had none except his tomahawk, and he was not likely to attempt any thing with that.
Besides, while Deerfoot had not the least fear of his enemy, he did not wish to fight with him. He did not engage in his many desperate encounters through love of victory, but because it had seemed to him that it was his duty, and there was no other way out of the trouble.
It must be said, too, that at this hour the Shawanoe happened to be in a mood which rendered such encounters more than usually distasteful to him. After he had closed his Bible and lay on his face, looking into the embers and meditating, the same thought that had stirred him many a time before filled his mind again.
Why do men strive to kill each other?
It was a question which has puzzled many a wise man in the past and has not yet been answered. Thousands of affectionate husbands unlock the white arms of the loving little children from their necks, kiss the heartbroken wife good-by, and then rush out to try to murder one whom they have never seen, who has also just torn himself loose from his family. There is something in the thought that mystifies beyond all explanation.
The problem which directly interested Deerfoot was whether the day would not come when the red men of every tribe could meet the pale faces in friendship instead of hatred. Why should they always be at war? Could he do a little to bring about that day of universal peace? Was there not some work which the Great Spirit had laid out for him by which he could help to soften the feeling of the two peoples toward each other?
But Deerfoot had asked himself the same question many a time before, and the only answer was that the most he could do was to follow the light within him: that is, aid to remove a part of the antagonism between the two races.
Alas, too, that while he was considering the question, his ear caught the soft rustle that told him one of his own race was seeking his life. Deerfoot was sorrowed more than angered. He wished that the Winnebago had taken some other time to make his stealthy attack.
Joined to this emotion was that of another akin to sympathy for the Winnebago in his complete discomfiture. He had come back to regain his rifle, but not only had failed, but had lost his knife, and now was standing at the mercy of a Shawanoe young enough to be his son. The latter resolved that, though the Wolf had earned death, he would not harm him, unless forced to do so in self-defense.
For half a minute the warriors, with ten feet separating them, looked straight at each other in silence. Fred Linden and Terry Clark slept soundly, for as yet there had been no noise sufficient to awake a light sleeper.
"Why does the Wolf seek the life of Deerfoot?" asked the latter, willing to relieve the embarrassment of the other.
"The Wolf sought the gun that had been stolen from him."
"But it was not hidden in the blanket, that he should drive his knife through it."
"The Wolf believed it was," was the curt response.
"Does the Wolf strike with his knife at his own gun?" asked the Shawanoe, without betraying any emotion.
"He would rather do so than that it should stay in the hands of an enemy."
"It never would have been in the hands of an enemy had the Wolf acted as a brave warrior; but he sought the life of the young pale face who had never done him harm."
"Has not his people stolen the hunting grounds of the red man?" demanded the Winnebago, who, seeing that some grace was to be allowed him, burst into the argument that multitudes of his people have used before and since. Before he could proceed further, Deerfoot asked: "Are these the hunting grounds of the Winnebagos?"
"They are the hunting grounds of his race, though they may not be of his totem; Deerfoot should join with his brother the Wolf in driving the white men into the sea."
"There was a day when that might have been done," replied Deerfoot, who felt that faint throb and thrill which sometimes came to him, as if to tell him that his Indian nature was not yet entirely dead within him; "once the pale faces were but a handful, and the red men hunted over all the ground that lies between the great waters. They could have swept the pale faces into the sea, but they would not be brothers with themselves; they fought each other. So the pale faces grew, and the day will never come when they need fear the red men."
"The brave warrior does not ask what can be done, but does with all his might that which he knows the Great Spirit wishes him to do."
"The Great Spirit does not tell him to kill his pale face brother; for they are all His children and He loves them. The Great Spirit has spoken to Deerfoot and told him that all His children should love one another."
"Does Deerfoot do so?"
"He does; he never strikes but when the Great Spirit tells him to do so; if he was theWolf and the Wolf was Deerfoot, he would have slain the Shawanoe long ago."
The Winnebago would have denied this had he not seen that it was idle to do so. What would he not have given at that moment could he have exchanged places with the handsome and triumphant young warrior?
"ThetrueGreat Spirit loves all His children, whether they be pale or red or of the color of night; He smiles when they meet each other as friends, and He will reward in the spirit land those who do His will on the earth. Let the Wolf bury the words of Deerfoot in his heart, for they are the words of truth, and if they are heeded he will be happy—Go!"
The amazed Winnebago doubted for a moment that he had heard the command aright; but the wave of the hand which accompanied it, and the fact that it was in perfect consonance with the words he had just heard, satisfied him there was no mistake about it.
"The Wolf thanks his brother for what he has done."
The heart of the Winnebago forced the words between his lips as he turned his face away andwalked down the bank of the stream in the direction whence he came. He vanished the next instant in the darkness.
Deerfoot did not stir until every sound of the soft footsteps had died out. Then he lowered the hammer of his gun, bent his shoulders slightly forward, so as to walk freely, and entered the cavern where his friends were still sleeping.