The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “Down! those Indians are suspicious; they are looking right at us—don’t stir.”

  The admonition was not a moment too soon; but while it prevented discovery on the part of the boys, it rendered the signal already given the Irishman void and of no effect. Tim, seeing nothing more of his young friend, concluded that all was right, and lifting his game to his shoulder continued his descent until he reached his canoe. This was drawn from its hiding place and launched in the water, and the animal placed in the rear. Seating himself carefully in the front, Tim lifted his paddle and began making his way toward the inland.

  “Too bad! too bad!” muttered Elwood, unable to repress his feelings. “He is coming right out where they will have a fair chance with their rifles.”

  “If he would only turn up stream, they would see nothing of him.”

  “Can’t I warn him?”

  “No, Elwood, it will make matters worse. Their eyes are fixed upon us.”

  Grasping the long oar Tim headed his boat somewhat up stream, so as not to let it drift by the island, and commenced paddling across. He had gone twenty rods or thereabouts when he was discovered by the Indians, and one of them raised his rifle and took aim at him.

  “Quick, Tim, drop down, or you’ll be shot!” called out Howard, forgetful of his own danger in the single hope of saving his friend from a violent death.

  At the same instant that this cry was uttered the terrified boy saw a puff of smoke issue from the Indian rifle, and simultaneous with the sharp crack Tim O’Rooney was seen to fall flat in the canoe.

  “He is shot!” called out Elwood.

  “It is time then for us to do some of the same kind of business,” replied Howard, sighting his own gun at the savage upon the shore. The distance was too great and his skill too slight to guide the ball with anything like certainty, but it skipped over the water at their very feet, and so alarmed them that they immediately dodged back under the shelter of the rocks and trees.

  “What is the use?” asked Elwood gloomily. “Poor Tim is killed and there is no chance for us.”

  “Look! he is not dead!” whispered Howard.

  The head of the Irishman was seen to rise stealthily from the bottom of the canoe, and to peer around, and then to dash down again as though fearful of another shot.

  “I don’t believe he has been struck!” added Howard. “He dropped down so as to save himself.”

  “Oh! I hope so, for we need him bad enough. See! he is fixing the body of the animal so that it shall be between him and the Indians’ guns.”

  Such was the case. Tim was arranging and placing the carcass so that it might shield his own body while he managed the paddle. This completed he turned his face toward his young friends and called across the water:

  “Be aisy, me darlings! The owld bullet come close, but not a hair of Tim O’Rooney’s head was touched, and thanks be to heaven for it!”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Drifting Away

  The bullet of the treacherous Indian had indeed whizzed harmlessly by the head of Tim O’Rooney and when he fell to the bottom of the canoe it was for the purpose of preventing any more of their missiles passing too near him.

  The savages, hastily driven to shelter by the unexpected shot from the island, did not by any means relinquish their designs upon the unfortunate white man in the canoe. He who had taken the quick aim and fired saw that his bullet missed, but he understood the disadvantage of his enemy, and was confident that he would still fall into their hands.

  As we have shown, when the Irishman was thus suddenly interrupted, he was but a short distance from the shore. So abruptly compelled to relinquish his paddle and simply shelter his person, the current carried him quite rapidly down the stream.

  Tim did not become sensible of his disadvantage until he had drifted below the island, and then upon partly rising to use his paddle the crack of a gun from the shore told him that he was watched by vigilant eyes, and that that occupation was vetoed most unmistakably.

  Forced thus to act entirely on the defensive, he carefully drew out his rifle and resting it on the body of his game waited his chance to avenge himself upon the unrelenting savages. He could tell from the faint blue smoke that curled upward where they were concealed, but could not catch sight of them.

  Had they shown themselves, the Irishman knew it was about impossible for him to harm them at such a distance, while their dexterity in the use of the gun made it too dangerous for him to expose himself to their fire. He watched them until he had floated quite a way below, when he began to hope that they had given up their designs upon him, and he might make his way back to his friends upon the island in safety.

  But when on the point of rising to a sitting position he saw them whisk through the bushes he knew they were following him along the shore—following him, too, with that skill and stealth which prevented his getting a shot at them, and placing it totally out of his power to prevent himself from being “commanded by their fire.”

  As may well be imagined, Howard and Elwood were deeply interested spectators of these events. Now that they had revealed their presence upon the island, and there was no further use in attempting to conceal the fact, they were eager to render their companion all the assistance possible.

  But the nature of the occurrences made them helpless. Tim had drifted such a distance down stream, and had consequently drawn his enemies so far after him, that they had not the slightest chance of reaching them with their rifles, if they chose to expose themselves. They could only watch, therefore, and pray for their safety.

  Floating slowly onward, onward, they observed that Tim’s canoe gradually swerved to the left until it disappeared around a curve in the river. It crossed the center and was nearer the western than the eastern shore. This seemed to show that, despite his unfavorable situation, he was able to impart a motion to the boat, which, slight as it was, would eventually bring him to the opposite side of the stream.

  Nothing more was seen of the Indians, although the report of several guns, heard within a half-hour of the disappearance of the canoe, prevented their feeling too sanguine over the position of Tim O’Rooney.

  “We can now see the blunder he committed,” said Howard. “He did wrong in going to the eastern bank when he could have secured his game as well upon the other side.”

  “I think he will be able to get away, unless they have a canoe with which to follow him.”

  “Even then he can take to the woods and hide himself until dark, and then make his way back to us.”

  “I hope so, but fear he will be prevented or overtaken before he can reach shelter.”

  “But think, Howard, he has a gun and plenty of ammunition, and there are but three of them. I should say they would hesitate some time before advancing upon him.”

  “But he is a poor shot, like ourselves.”

  “He could not miss them if they came very close to him.”

  “Yes; there seems to be a good chance, if they don’t find more Indians to unite with them in the hunt.”

  This was a contingency that had not occurred to Elwood, and he was almost overwhelmed at its import until he came to reason upon it, when the likelihood of such being the case dwindled away until it almost vanished.

  “We have seen no large bodies of savages, and I don’t believe they care enough about catching or slaying a single man to go to all that trouble.”

  “Not so much trouble, perhaps, as you are apt to think. War is the business of the American Indians, you know, as it is of all barbarous people.”

  “But look at Ned Trimble and his friends. There are but three of them, and I have no doubt that their security is in their strength—otherwise they would not be so indifferent as to what is going on around them. You remember they did not see us until we first spoke to them.”

  “So it appeared; but I have an idea that they knew of our presence before Tim discovered them.”

  “They did not show it, at any rate.”

  “They loo
ked surprised when we came up, but if we had been enemies instead of friends I believe we would have been the surprised parties. They have lived too long in the wilds of California to permit a party of strangers to steal upon them unaware.”

  “But what is to become of us if Tim doesn’t come back?”

  “We shall have to put ourselves under the care of Shasta—that is, if he gets well.”

  “Why do you call him Shasta? Where did you hear that name?”

  “The only word I have heard him speak sounded like that, and I do not know of any better name. Can you think of one?”

  “No; that is good enough; let him be called Shasta, then. There may be a greater Providence in our coming upon this island than we imagine.”

  “There is a Providence in everything that occurs, though it may be that we are not always able to see it. Do you remember the copy we had so often at school, ‘Misfortunes are often blessings in disguise?’”

  “Yes; but like the truths that were driven into our heads so often at school, we fail to appreciate them until some occasion like this impresses them upon our minds. But I declare, Howard, we are turning philosophers.”

  “What better can we do, when there is nothing else to employ ourselves about? We need all our philosophy at such a time.”

  “But we must not forget our patient, Shasta.”

  “True. He had gone almost out of my mind until you referred to him a moment ago. Let us look at him.”

  The two had been stationed near the lower end of the island, and they now walked back to where they had left the suffering stranger. What was their surprise to see him standing on his feet, his blanket wrapped around him, and his attitude and position such as to raise a strong suspicion that he understood all that had taken place within the last hour or two.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A Hunt

  When Tim O’Rooney left the island and crossed to the eastern shore of the Salinas he had almost forgotten the existence of any such thing as hostile Indians. He was after something to eat, and some how or other it seemed to him that the climate of California had given him a most ravenous appetite, which demanded satisfaction regardless of consequences.

  Touching land, he pulled his canoe up the bank to prevent its being carried away by the current, and then plunged boldly into the forest. The land from the river rose quite rapidly until it reached an elevation of several hundred feet, when it was broken by gorges, ravines and chasms, which made it rattier difficult to travel, and gave it an extremely wild and picturesque appearance.

  Fairly among these broken hills, Tim began to look for his game, but for a time saw nothing to draw his fire. Finally he reached a wild-looking gorge which descended over a hundred feet below him, while upon the opposite side it rose to a greater height than the place upon which he stood.

  The Irishman was so struck with the wild scenery that he stood a few moments contemplating it in silent admiration, when all at once he became conscious that something else beside himself was engaged in looking. Directly across the gorge, so as to be almost opposite to him, he saw the head of an animal which he recognized at once as belonging to a black-tailed deer.

  “Be the powers! but you’re jist the gintleman that I’d like to make an acquaintance with, as me mither said when me father axed her hand in marriage.”

  Tim drew his rifle carefully and rested it upon a rock beside him. The deer gazed at him with that expression of stupid wonder which wild animals assume when confronted with something, and they seem to be debating with themselves whether to leap away at high speed or to stare a moment longer.

  The distance was so slight that Tim was sure of his aim. Nevertheless, he took great care in sighting his piece, and as his finger gently pressed the trigger, he held his breath. The bullet sped true, entering just below and between the eyes, and with such deadly effect that the mortally wounded deer sprung several feet in the air and fell dead within a rod of the spot where it had stood when struck.

  “That is plaisant,” muttered the Irishman, as he saw the animal fall, “and yez hav the distinguished honor of baing the first deer that Tim O’Rooney brought down; but yez ain’t the first he fired at—but whist, Tim, don’t be telling your secrets, for somebody else might larn them.”

  He now began making his way carefully down the gorge in order to ascend upon the opposite side and secure his prize. He had no thought that the report of his gun could reach the ears of hostile persons, and he did not heed anything except the place and manner in which he put his feet in going down and up the ravine.

  After no little toiling he reached the dead body, and found that he had shot a rather small black-tailed deer. It was in middling condition, and was the very prize he was anxious to secure for his hungry self and equally hungry friends.

  As he stood admiring it, for the first time the thought of personal danger crossed his mind, and he glanced hurriedly around him, but saw nothing to occasion alarm. Then he leaned forward and gazed down the gorge, and as he did so he descried three Indians looking up the side of the chasm. Slight as was the distance his head projected, it was seen by them, and he only drew it back to escape the effect of three discharges of their guns.

  “And that is your shtyle of saluting a gintleman is it?” said Tim in some trepidation. “But yez has a forcible way of saying ‘how do yez do,’ in this counthry, that a stranger would do well to imitate.”

  The Irishman hastily debated with himself upon the best plan to pursue to escape the serious peril that threatened him, for he was sure the savages would follow up their shot.

  “The best thing I can do is to lave,” he concluded. “There is strong raison for belaving that I’ve given some one slight offinse by walking into their house without ringing the bell.”

  He stooped over and lifted his game. He found its weight somewhat less than he had suspected.

  “I have no objiction to your going wid me. If I has to have the same dispute about ivery deer I tips over, I may as well hang on to the fust one.”

  Slinging it over his shoulder, he began his return with the carcass. It proved beneficial to him in a way that he had little suspected. Not wishing to go any further down the gorge, where there was reason to fear a collision with the savages, he clambered still higher, taking great care to shield himself from observation from below.

  This made his labor excessive, and he was often obliged to pause and rest himself. But at length he reached what might be termed the brow of the hill, and began making his way along the edge of a smaller ravine, that led toward the river. While thus engaged, the body of the deer struck a projecting rock, and before Tim could save himself he rolled over and over for a distance of twenty odd feet, coming down plump upon the deer without injuring himself in the least.

  “I’m obliged to yez,” he said, as he rose and stared around with a bewildered air. “That was kind in yez, and I’ll not forget the favor.”

  Again raising his carcass to his shoulder, he resumed his journey toward the river. But as he progressed the weight upon his shoulder seemed to grow heavier, and he was obliged to pause and rest himself quite often. On these occasions he looked around him half-expecting to see the three savages spring out of the bushes.

  If such a thing should occur, Tim had already decided upon his mode of procedure. He intended to sink to the ground at once, with the body of the deer as a sheltering breastwork, and make as gallant fight as possible. His success in bringing down his game, when it was fully fifty yards distant, gave him quite a flattering estimate of his prowess.

  The Indians, as the Irishman had anticipated, hastened up the gorge to secure the daring hunter, who had so audaciously exposed himself to their anger. It required some time for them to find the exact spot where the deer had fallen, and when they did so, they followed him readily by the blood which had trickled from its drooping head, which as Tim bore his prize away he little dreamed would betray the course he took.

  When the point of Tim’s fall was reached, all signs of his
trail ceased, and they supposed he had checked the flow of blood, and thus concealed his tracks. The surface over which he traversed being rock and flinty ground, left no evidence of his passage; and resigning, therefore, the pursuit in this manner, they made their way leisurely down to the river and waited until the hunter appeared.

  Tim’s heart beat high with hope when he found himself close by the stream and saw nothing of his pursuers. The hasty signal given by Elwood Brandon, as we have shown, caused him some uneasiness, but not being repeated, and being very anxious to get back to the island, he placed the deer in the canoe and paddled away.

  CHAPTER XXV

  A Singular Escape

  The shot from the treacherous Indian upon the shore was the first intelligent warning Tim had that he was discovered by them. The kind Providence who had so often turned aside the dangerous missile still protected him, and when he so suddenly dropped to the bottom of his canoe, it was with a bullet-hole through his coat but not through his body.

  “Another illigant compliment to mesilf that it would afford me great pleasure to return, and if you’ll only be kind enough to wait a few moments, I’ll do the same.”

  But ere he could bring his gun to bear, the wild shot from the island drove the savages to cover, and raised the Irishman’s finger that was pressing the trigger.

  We have already told how, when he undertook to use the paddle, he found it too dangerous, and coming again behind the deer, he floated down the current. This, after the severe labor he had undergone, was an agreeable change, but he was not long in discovering it was dangerous. He was drifting away from his friends, and the further he went the greater did the danger become to both parties. He speedily discovered that the Indians were following him, and the interposing body of the black-tailed deer was a most effectual protection. More than his own bullets were buried in it ere he had gone a half-mile down stream.

  “If I entertained a small doubt that yez was killed, I couldn’t howld it with them bullets rattlin’ in your hide, me owld friend.”