CHAPTER VII
"Uncle Jim, I didn't like the looks of those Indians at all," said Henry, after the red men were out of sight.
"Oh, they didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary," answered James Morris. "They've got a pretty big bundle of skins with 'em."
"Perhaps they stole the skins. To me they looked like Indians who couldn't be trusted."
"I'll question them closely when they come in again, Henry. I certainly want no stolen skins, in trade or otherwise."
"Did you ever see those redskins before?"
"I believe I saw one of them last year, but where I can't remember. They were about as dirty as any around here," added the trader. "I wouldn't let them sleep here even if I knew it to be safe. I'd have the place alive with vermin."
"It's queer how some of them hate a bath, especially in cold weather," said the youth, with a laugh. "Perhaps they think the dirt helps to keep 'em warm."
The night was cold and clear. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, so it was not as dark as it might otherwise have been. Only a faint breeze was blowing, not sufficient to move the stark tree branches of the great wilderness which surrounded the lonely post.
Ever since the last uprising of the Indians, Mr. Morris had made it a point to have somebody on guard during the night. All the trappers who remained at the post knew that such duty was expected of them, and that they were doing it as much for their own protection as for the good of others. Guard duty began at six in the evening and ended at six in the morning, and the twelve hours were divided equally among whoever happened to be at the post during that period of time.
Tony Jadwin was the first to do guard duty that evening, and it was arranged that Henry should be the one to relieve him. But though free from duty, Henry was not disposed to lie down, and he wandered around, from the stable to the general living room.
"Why don't you go to sleep, Henry?" asked his uncle. "You'll be tired out when it comes your turn to go on guard."
"I don't feel a bit like sleeping, Uncle Jim. I'm as wide awake as an owl."
"Better lie down, anyway. It's a good night for sleeping."
"I can't get those Indians out of my mind," went on the youth.
To this James Morris did not answer, and presently Henry left the main building of the post and walked back to the stable, to get a pair of gloves which he had forgotten.
As he passed the horses one of the animals gave an uncertain snort, as of fear. The youth stopped by his side and patted him.
"What is it, Nelson?" he asked softly.
But the horse could not answer and merely rubbed his nose against Henry's face. The youth patted him again and then passed on, secured the gloves, and prepare to leave the stable.
"Guess I'll take a look at that bundle of skins," he said to himself. "It won't do any harm to turn it over and see what it looks like."
Henry's experience as a hunter and trapper had given him a good idea of the value of hides and furs, and James Morris often appealed to him when in doubt over a certain skin that was offered in trade. He had seen a peculiar looking skin sticking from the end of the bundle and he wondered what it was and if it was of great value.
On his journey to the stable, the youth had carried a lantern,—a big, old-fashioned affair,—and this was still in his hand. Coming to the storeroom door he flashed the rays of the light inside.
What he saw caused him to start back in amazement, and for the moment he could not believe the evidence of his senses. The bundle was moving!
Henry stared for several seconds and as he did this he saw the hand of an Indian come forth from the bundle and clutch at one of the thin rawhides which held the skins together. Then he discovered that the foot of an Indian was sticking out of the other end of the bundle.
The perils of the wilderness, and of army life, had taught Henry to act quickly in case of an emergency, and setting down the lantern, he drew his hunting knife and rushed forward.
"Stop right where you are, you skunk!" he cried. "Don't dare to move another inch, or I'll stick you with this!" And as he uttered the words he let the point of the sharp hunting knife fall on the back of the Indian's hand.
There was a disappointed grunt from inside the bundle, and the hand was pulled back several inches. Henry had caught the rascal inside in the very act of liberating himself.
Stepping to the storehouse doorway the youth blew upon a whistle he carried. It was the signal that something was wrong, and in a moment Tony Jadwin came running to the spot.
"What's up, Henry?" he cried.
"I've got a prisoner. Collared him bound hand and foot too," and the youth had to smile at his own little joke.
"A prisoner? Where?" quickly asked James Morris, who was behind Jadwin.
"Here, in the bundle, Uncle Jim. I knew all along that those Indians couldn't be trusted."
"In the bundle—what do you mean?"
"There's a redskin in this bundle. I caught him in the very act of trying to get out."
"It must be a plot to capture the post!" ejaculated James Morris. "Jadwin, get back to the stockade at once, and fire on the first redskin who shows himself!"
"Shall I go, too?" asked Henry.
"Yes. I'll take care of this rascal, and then I'll join you," answered the trader.
Waiting to hear no more, the youth ran for the main building of the trading-post and secured his rifle, and also an extra rifle and a pistol. Tony Jadwin was equally armed, and each ran for a corner of the inclosure.
"We'll have some hot work cut out for us, if an attack comes," said the old trapper. "Reckon as how that redskin meant to kill us while we slept, or throw open the gates on the sly."
"You're right, Tony. I wish the rest of the men were back. Wouldn't it be a good idea to fire a signal for them?"
"It ain't likely they are in sound o' a gun, lad."
No more was said, and each took his place at the palisade and gazed through one loophole and another anxiously. All was quiet outside and not a single human being was in sight.
A quarter of an hour passed, and then James Morris joined his nephew, carrying several loaded guns and pistols.
"Well?" he questioned, laconically.
"Haven't seen anybody yet," answered Henry.
"I tied that rascal up good and hard," said the trader.
"What did he have to say for himself?"
"He tried to worm out of it by saying he was drunk yesterday and his friends must have tied him in the bundle for fun while he was sleeping. He professes to be friendly and says he will fight the others for playing such a trick on him."
"Do you believe such a yarn, Uncle Jim?"
"No, and I told him so. If any of those redskins appear don't let them get too close."
James Morris went off, to interview Tony Jadwin. He was gone but a minute when Henry saw something dark moving cautiously along a mass of brushwood down near the brook.
"An Indian, I'll wager a shilling," he murmured to himself, and raised his rifle. "More than likely he is waiting for a signal from the rascal we caught." And in this surmise the youth was correct.
The Indian outside passed behind some trees and was followed by a second red man and presently a third. Henry gave a low whistle, which brought his uncle to the spot once more.
"Saw three of 'em," said he. "They are back of yonder trees. It is too dark to get much of a look at 'em."
"Tony saw two," answered the trader. "Henry, I am afraid we are in for it," he continued, seriously. "Had you not found that rascal in the bundle we might have all been murdered by this time."
"I wish there was some way of letting the others know how we are surrounded."
"There is no way just now. One of us might try to go out toward sunrise—if we can keep them off that long. I presume they are waiting anxiously to hear from the fellow we have captured."
"To be sure. I think—There is another, and he is coming pretty close!" added Henry, excitedly.
"Wait—I'll talk to him. There is no use of our keeping silent any longer," said James Morris. He raised his voice. "Hold, there!" he shouted. "What do the red men want around this post at this hour of the night?"
The Indian addressed was evidently taken by surprise, for he stood stock still for fully a minute before replying.
"Who calls to Rain Cloud?" he asked at last.
"I call, the owner of this place," answered the trader. "This is no hour for coming here, and Rain Cloud knows it."
"Rain Cloud would speak to his white brother," said the Indian, smoothly.
"What about?" and there was a peculiar sharpness in James Morris' voice as he spoke.
Again the red man hesitated before answering.
"Rain Cloud and two of his warriors come for aid. A white hunter is sick in their camp."
"Who is it?"
"Rain Cloud knows not his name. He has eaten of some bad meat and is very sick. He must have medicine or he will die. He begged Rain Cloud to come to you for aid."
"Don't you believe him!" whispered Henry. "It's another yarn, Uncle Jim."
"If Rain Cloud wanted help why did he not come alone?" questioned the trader.
"Rain Cloud is alone," answered the Indian.
"It is a lie—Rain Cloud had many of his warriors with him. We have seen them—hiding behind the trees and rocks. What is more, we have captured one of Rain Cloud's men—he who thought to play the fox in the bundle of skins."
At this there was a murmur of rage from the Indian, a murmur that was taken up by others who had heard the conversation. They now knew why they had not received the signal agreed upon.
"Then my white brother will not give aid—will not open the gates?" questioned Rain Cloud.
"I'll not open the gates to-night," answered James Morris. "And I want Rain Cloud and his warriors to go away. He can come in the morning, but he must come alone, and he can bring the sick man with him if he will. Then, if all goes well, I will release the rascal I caught in the bundle."
"My white brother will not give medicine now—will not let the warrior in bundle go?"
"No."
"But if Rain Cloud attack post, what then? My white brother's warriors are gone—he cannot fight. Better be friends with Rain Cloud and open gates."
"If you start to fight we'll do our best to defend ourselves," answered James Morris. "And, remember, at the first shot fired by you, the red man who was in the bundle dies," he added, determinedly.