CHAPTER XXX
A MOMENT OF PERIL
"WE are done for!" cried Roger, as vociferous yells from variousquarters told of the sudden peril that had burst upon them.
The pioneer boys had often, when sitting at the knees of their fathers,heard how the crafty Indians along the Ohio River, wishing to coaxthe settlers ashore when they drifted down the stream in their shantyboats, would resort to a ruse.
There were white renegades among the natives, men like Simon Girty, whohad been chased out of the settlements for wrong-doing, and who, hatingtheir kind, had joined fortunes with the red tribes.
One of these turncoats would disguise himself, and set up a plaintiveappeal for help, claiming to be an honest man, who had just escapedfrom the torture post of the Indians, and begging the newcomers not toforsake him.
In a few instances his appeals would touch the hearts of the whites,so that, even against their good judgment, they were known to workthe flatboat near the bank. Of course an attack always followed, theIndians springing up from their places of concealment.
Dick remembered those thrilling stories now, when he and Roger werevictims of a ruse along similar lines. That dummy deer had been placedso it could be seen by those in the canoes. The master mind capable ofconceiving this trick knew well that the two lads were born hunters,and, in the need of fresh meat for the camp, could hardly resist thetemptation.
The game had worked only too well. So cleverly had the dead deer beenarranged that even their sharp eyes had failed to detect anythingwrong, except that the animal seemed to remain persistently in onespot, and never raised his head.
Almost immediately, flitting forms were seen among the trees. The boysdid not stop to count them, but there must certainly have been a fulldozen of the enemy.
Two figures they glimpsed that were not copper-colored, and nearlydestitute of clothing, as was the case with the Flat Head braves. Therewas no need to call out and announce their discovery, for both boysrealized in a flash that they were once again face to face with theevil genius of their lives, the French trader, Francois Lascelles,together with his equally unscrupulous ally, Andrew Waller.
Roger, with his customary impulsiveness, felt a wave of hot indignationsweep over him. This man, whom they had never sought to harm, hadfollowed them ever since they set out from their homes on the lowerMissouri, bent on saving the Armstrong property. Many times had theysuffered from his persecution, and no one could really blame Roger forfeeling bitterly toward the trader.
Influenced by his impulsive and headstrong nature, he hastily threw hisgun up to his shoulder, and, covering the advancing Frenchman, pulledthe trigger.
No report followed, which at the moment was a bitter disappointment toRoger, with his mind so set on settling the score then and there. Ofcourse, it flashed upon him that he could not expect his gun to loaditself, since he had just fired the one bullet it contained into thedeer that had been used as a decoy.
With a cry of anger he turned, and, almost before Dick knew what wasup, had snatched the loaded rifle from his hands, thrusting his ownuseless weapon into his chum's grasp.
But the two renegades saw him do this, and realized their danger,for, though the exchange took but a couple of seconds, they had hadsufficient warning to put stout trees between themselves and the angryboy.
When Roger whirled around, bent on carrying out his design, he wasjust in time to see Waller vanish behind a tree. It was a foregoneconclusion that the quick-witted Lascelles had been even faster in hismovements, since he knew well that he must be the object of the lad'sblind anger.
Indians there were in sight, running toward them, and brandishing theirtomahawks and spears threateningly, at the same time dodging behindvarious trees as if to confuse the "palefaces."
Evidently they feared those wonderful sticks that spat out fire, andmade a sound like unto the near-by thunder, as well as mysteriouslyslew whatever they were pointed at.
"We must run for it, Roger!" cried Dick, seeing that it was folly tothink of trying to stand off a dozen savages with but one loaded gunbetween them.
"All right!" gasped Roger, as he swung around and put himself inmotion, for it was plain to be seen that not a second should be lost ifthey hoped to outwit the enemy.
No sooner was their intention evident than a new burst of wild yellstold that the Indians were in hot pursuit. High above the fiendishcries Dick could hear the heavier voices of the two treacherous whitemen, and he knew that Lascelles and Waller must be keeping in the vanof their pursuers.
The boys might have turned and tried to frighten the Indians off by asecond shot, but it would be losing precious time, and every secondmust count when their lives hung in the balance.
The boys were clever runners, and under ordinary conditions might havebeen able to keep well ahead of the fleet-footed Indians. There was oneunfortunate thing, however, that promised to hamper them sadly, and itconcerned Roger's ability to keep up the pace.
Several days before, almost a week in fact, he had turned his ankle,and had ever since complained of feeling it pain him from time to time,especially if he gave that foot any sort of a wrench.
He had not taken a score of leaps when his toe chanced to catch in aroot, and, while the boy did not measure his length on the ground, hedid feel a sharp pain shoot through that weak ankle.
It made his heart sink to realize that he was bound to feel it worsewith every bound he took, and that in the end it might be the means oftheir downfall.
Dick had kept close to the river-bank in his flight. He did this forseveral good reasons. In the first place, they had come that way, andknew the ground more or less. Then, again, the camp lay up the river,and, if help was to meet them part way, they must head straight for theboats.
He was inclined at first to try to shout, in the expectation that thosein camp would come to their assistance the faster; but, on secondthought, he realized it would only be wasting his breath. Surely theymust have heard the sound of Roger's rifle, and those wild whoopsbursting on their ears soon afterwards would tell their friends whathad happened.
He fully believed Captain Clark would sally forth with some of the men,bent on attempting their rescue. It was only a question of keepingahead of their persistent pursuers long enough to allow the others tocome up.
"Faster, Roger, faster!"
Roger heard his comrade say this and he strove his utmost to obey, butthe injured ankle was giving him more trouble every second and, despitehis efforts, he failed to keep up to his usual standard of speed.
"My ankle--I've hurt it again!" he called out, between his set teeth.
Dick heard this with a thrill of horror. It seemed to seal their fate,for, if they could not increase their speed, the Indians were bound toovertake them long before any help might arrive.
He tried to catch hold of Roger's arm, as though his first thought wasto render assistance; but that was impossible when running as theywere. Roger indeed shook himself free.
"Save yourself, Dick! I'm nearly done for!" he exclaimed.
Dick did not try to answer. He needed all his breath to carry himalong; but, if he had spoken, it would have been to scorn indignantlythe suggestion that he leave his chum behind, and look out for himself.Dick was not that kind of boy; and if need be he would stand by Roger,fighting to the end.
There was the swift-running river just beside them. Dick wished fromthe bottom of his heart that they could in some way make use of it inorder to give their pursuers the slip; yet he could not decide how itcould be accomplished.
If they jumped in, and attempted to swim across, there were undoubtedlyamong the half-naked braves many who could make faster progress,unhampered as they would be with clothes. Oh! if only one of the boatswould shoot into view, manned by a couple of the brave fellows whoseguns would soon work havoc among the natives and put them to flight!
Dick saw no chance of obtaining help from that quarter. The groundunderfoot was now slippery, and he remembered that they had passed overa pla
ce where the earth seemed spongy.
He could only see one hope left. This was for them to seek refugebehind trees, and try to hold the enemy at bay long enough to enabletheir friends to arrive on the spot. And, since the Indians might rushthem despite their threatening guns, this seemed almost like a forlornhope.
The Pioneer Boys of the Columbia; or, In the Wilderness of the Great Northwest Page 33