The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  He had not seen the youth after he watched him disappear across the clearing where the back trail entered the woods. He never suspected that he was not on his front on the return, and failed to see his last leap across the torrent. Confident, however, that he was not far off, he began a search for him, with the hope of getting matters in better shape before rejoining his comrades with an account of his experience.

  It happened, therefore, that when young Edwards made his dove-call to Larry Murphy, Blazing Arrow was so near that he heard it. He knew that it came from none of his people, and consequently must be from one of the whites.

  With extraordinary cleverness he replied by several notes, whose resemblance to those causing them was so wonderfully close as to be perfect. Fearful, however, that he might not have hit the exact note, he repeated the call.

  And in doing so he made the fatal blunder. One of the unchangeable laws governing Wharton Edwards and Larry Murphy at such times was that under no circumstances was either to repeat a signal without a minute or two interval. It was the violation of this rule that apprised the youth of his peril and gave him time to save himself.

  Suspecting that it was Blazing Arrow who was near, Wharton retreated farther into the wood. In making the movement he used all the caution he could, and believed that no one had overheard him. What followed looked as though he was right in the conclusion, for the Indian, without moving from his tracks, signalled again, making the same mistake as before by repeating it, in his effort to repress his impatience at the delay in the response.

  “I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to open a conversation with you,” thought Wharton; “I’m looking for somebody else.”

  He was still in a dangerous situation, however, and continued edging away from the locality where he had come so near falling a victim to the resentment of the warrior, who was among the most cunning of his tribe. Wharton’s heart sank when, despite the extreme care he used, he caught his foot in a running vine and narrowly escaped falling. He instantly straightened up and waited for the attack that he was sure was coming; but, as the minutes passed, he concluded the Indian was already so far off that the slight rustling did not reach him. It was probable that the Shawanoe, in trying to outwit the youth, had moved away from him, and the two were now separated by a considerable space.

  How was it that this Indian was in possession of the signal which the two youths used when in danger?

  In the case of Wharton, however, there was little of the anxiety of his friend. The latter heard the call before emitting it himself, so that it was impossible that Blazing Arrow should have got it from him; and, since Wharton Edwards was the only other person that possessed it, the misgiving of the Irish lad was warranted.

  But with Wharton the case was different. Blazing Arrow’s signal succeeded his, and, therefore, was but a clever imitation.

  “It may be that he got it from Larry,” reflected our young friend, “but the chances are against it. Where can the fellow be?”

  It was an exasperating reflection that for hours the work had been of a blind nature, as may be said. The youths had been separated, there had been a fierce race, fighting, and running back and forth, and all manner of incidents, and yet matters stood as at the beginning.

  While this was a cause for gratification in one respect, inasmuch as the two were still safe from the most dreaded tribe of Indians in the West, the disheartening fact was that the boys were just where they were when the danger broke upon them. They had not advanced a rod along the trail to the block-house, where Wharton’s parents would probably arrive that evening. The prospect was poor for the boys appearing until long after the hour they were expected.

  “We ought to have had an understanding before we separated; but then,” added Wharton disgustedly, “I don’t see how we could, or what good it would have done. Larry wouldn’t leave as long as he thought I was in trouble, and I’m sure I wouldn’t desert him. I wonder now—”

  A new thought had come into his mind—that of withdrawing from the neighborhood, making all haste to the block-house, and bringing back aid. There was always a number of the most skilled rangers of the frontier at this post, and they were ever ready to respond to any call for help. Probably Daniel Boone or the great Simon Kenton was at hand, with unerring rifle and marvellous woodcraft.

  Wharton could reach the block-house before daylight, and be back while the day was yet young, with his new friends. Learned in the ways of the woods and the red men, they would quickly become the hunters instead of the hunted, and teach the marauders a lesson to be remembered forever.

  Had the question presented itself as it did after his vanquishment of Blazing Arrow, the youth would have continued his flight along the trail, and been back with his friends before or by the time the sun was on the horizon. As it was, he debated the question a long time, and then decided not to continue the journey until he gained some definite knowledge of Larry; his own movements depended upon that. If the other had fallen, then Wharton should not lose a moment hurrying away from the accursed neighborhood. If his comrade was a prisoner of the Shawanoes, he must be equally prompt in securing assistance, since he unaided could do no good; but if the other was still his own master, then both would give an exhibition of rapid travelling toward the block-house.

  “No,” said young Edwards, resolutely, “I don’t go till I learn something about Larry. I’ll do just as he would do if in my place.”

  And he might have added, truthfully, “and just what he is doing at this moment.”

  Manifestly there was but one way to learn the truth, and that was by investigating, and the only way to investigate was to keep moving, which he did.

  The night was so far along that the Shawanoes were quite certain to have kindled a camp-fire somewhere in the woods. This was their custom, and it was this beacon light, as it may be called, for which young Edwards now began hunting.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Looking On

  Wharton Edwards was not long finding that for which he was seeking. While feeling his way among the trees, with all his senses on the alert, a point of light suddenly flashed out in the gloom. It was directly ahead, and he had but to penetrate a short distance farther, when he came in sight of the camp-fire of the Shawanoes.

  He approached with great care, and halted at what he deemed a safe distance to study the characteristic scene before him.

  Careful counting, repeated several times, showed eleven Indian warriors gathered together about a mass of burning wood, which was kindled in a small open space. Upon a fallen tree were seated four of them, while the rest were lolling on the ground in lazy attitudes. Two seemed to be examining the locks of their guns, and nearly all were smoking.

  There were no signs of any food, but the lusty youth felt so hungry that he was sure they must have had something to eat before he came upon them. Game was so abundant in the country that it was unreasonable to suppose any one would go hungry unless he happened to be in a situation similar to that of the youth himself.

  One fact gave Wharton a thrill of gratitude and hope; Larry was not with the group of Indians, and, therefore, could not be a prisoner.

  Young Edwards had been under the impression that there were about a score of Shawanoes with which he and Larry Murphy had collided, but counting those that had fallen by the way, there were less.

  The absence of the youth from the camp could not be a guarantee of his weal, for he might have been stricken down in the woods, but the sign had been so favorable that Wharton felt more hopeful than at any time since their separation.

  He was quick, however, to notice a significant fact: Blazing Arrow was also absent.

  “I would give anything to know where he is and what he is doing,” thought the youth. “It may be that he is leaning against the tree and still studying over the yarn that is to prevent the rest knowing I outran him, but it is more likely he is prowling through the woods after Larry and me.”

  The answer to this conjecture came suddenly and
startlingly. Wharton, not forgetting his caution, kept well back in the gloom, with his body screened behind the trunk of a tree. He was attentively watching the group around the camp-fire, when something moved between him and the light, partly eclipsing it.

  A second look showed the form of the twelfth Shawanoe, walking silently toward the blaze; and, as he joined the others, and stood so the firelight revealed his features, Wharton Edwards recognized him as Blazing Arrow.

  “He has struck it,” muttered the youth. “He has got the yarn in shape at last. I wish I could hear it, and find what sort of a fancy he has.”

  The great runner was without any gun, and it was evident that he must have wrenched his inventive powers to straighten out matters so as to retain his prestige among these warlike people. His position as a great warrior and the real leader of the party could not fail to help in the test to which he was subjected.

  The arrival of the dusky desperado caused a sensation. Every face was turned, and those who were seated on the tree rose to greet him. The silence in the wood allowed Wharton to hear their gruff, jerky sentences, but since he did not understand a word of Shawanoe, his ears were of no service.

  One of the warriors extended a rifle to Blazing Arrow, who waved it back until he, standing in the middle of the group, gave his account of matters.

  Some years later the settlers learned the particulars of this amazing narrative. The great runner said he allowed the youth to draw away from him for a time in order to put forth his best efforts. When this had taken them to the natural clearing, with which all were familiar, he started to run him down, and would have done so before the open space was half crossed but for the sudden appearance of five or six white men coming from the other direction.

  Of course the new comers were fully armed, but, nothing daunted, the valiant Shawanoe assailed them. He brought down two, and would have had the others at his mercy had not a shot broken the lock of his gun. He then threw away the useless weapon, uttered a defiant whoop, and strode back toward his own party, whither the whites did not dare follow him.

  It was one of the listeners to this stupendous statement who told it to the pioneers. When asked whether he and the others believed it, a shadowy smile lit up the dusky face, and he quaintly replied that they tried to do so.

  Having rendered his account, Blazing Arrow and several of his comrades seated themselves on the fallen tree and engaged in an animated talk, which lasted for a quarter of an hour or more. The burden of it was that one of the whites was still near them, and must not be permitted to steal along the trail in the direction of the block-house, for if he succeeded in reaching that point he would be safe against anything the Shawanoes could do.

  The dusky prevaricator was cunning enough not to claim that he had slain Wharton Edwards, for the youth, being alive, was liable to turn up in a way that would throw discredit on his veracity.

  The lad, who was looking on, could only conjecture the meaning of what passed before his eyes. When he saw a couple of warriors rise to their feet and come toward him, he supposed it was to make hunt for him and his friends. He was made to realize, too, the delicately dangerous position in which he stood.

  When the figures plainly outlined against the illumination of the camp-fire started, he fervently wished himself elsewhere. He dared not stir, for, as if fate were dallying with him, a lot of wood, thrown on the blaze within a few minutes before, threw a circle of light to the base of the tree from behind which he was cautiously peering. Had he started to withdraw, the two Shawanoes would have been upon him in a twinkling. He could only wait where he was, and hope they might pass by without detecting his presence.

  He hardly breathed as he heard the rustling of their moccasins on the leaves, and pressed his upright figure against the bark as though he would force himself into the very structure of the tree itself.

  Fortunately the suspense quickly passed. If the couple were hunting for him and his companion, they did not expect to find either so near headquarters, and speedily vanished in the gloom beyond, stepping so softly that their footfalls became inaudible.

  This incident gave young Edwards a good scare. He felt that he had run an unnecessary risk, and wasted time in staying so long after learning that Larry was not with the main party of Indians. More of these were likely to leave the camp, and the danger of his position must increase.

  Without delay, therefore, he began his retrograde movement. This was easy, and he soon placed himself where he could feel comparatively safe.

  His curiosity led him to pick his way back to the torrent that had been the scene of so many moving incidents of the afternoon. He was somewhat confused as to the points of the compass, but the faint roar was his guide, and with little trouble he placed himself quite near the stream, which coursed between the rocks with such impetuosity.

  The youth was too prudent to advance into the moonlight, where the prowlers were liable to see him, and so it happened that he approached the rocks at a point that was new to him. To this fact was due a surprise. He was just in time to see one Indian following the other across the foot-bridge made by the prostrate tree.

  “I never suspected that was there,” he said to himself when he comprehended its meaning; “I thought there was no means by which Larry could make his way back to the trail without swimming below the falls or fording some place farther up. I wonder whether he knows about that?”

  The action of the Indians gave Wharton a suspicion of the truth. They had crossed the torrent with the intention of hiding somewhere along the path leading to the block-house, so as to cut off the flight of one or both of the boys in that direction. This, seemingly, was an easy thing to do, provided the fugitives were unsuspicious of what was going on.

  Young Edwards saw no way of breaking through the maze of perplexity that had closed around him. He had done his utmost without learning where his friend was. More than that, although he was hopeful, he could feel no certainty that he was really alive.

  The occasion justified another appeal to the peculiar dove signal, and he now made it.

  CHAPTER XV

  A Hail and an Answer

  Meanwhile Larry Murphy was not idle. He had never received a more terrifying shock than that caused by the discovery that the signal which he was confident was made by Wharton Edwards came from the lips of Blazing Arrow.

  On the first thought there was but one explanation of this: his friend had called to him and had been overheard by the Shawanoe, who instantly caught it up, well knowing its significance, and had deceived Wharton by his clever imitation.

  This supposition, as the reader knows, was correct; but when Larry went further, and decided that his comrade had fallen a victim to the treacherous red man, the reader also knows he made a mistake.

  Firm in the terrible belief for the time, he was so overcome that he sat down on a bowlder, too faint and weak to stand, until several minutes had passed.

  “This is a bad go, is this same,” he mused with a deep sigh. “If the Indians had to take one, why didn’t they take mesilf? They’re likely to do the same—it’s little I care if they do.”

  So extreme was his dejection, that had he known that a half dozen Shawanoes were stealing upon him at that moment he would not have stirred from his position or attempted to defend himself.

  This intense depression, however, could not last. All strong, rugged natures are quick to rebound from such pressure and soon reassert themselves. By and by he felt a grain of hope. The rifle lying across his knees was clasped more firmly; he raised his head and listened; had he discovered the approach of a foe he would now have defended himself.

  “I wish that Blazing Arrow would walk out in front of me and dare me to tackle him,” he muttered, gnashing his teeth. “I wonder where he is?”

  He rose to his feet and peeped around in the gloom. A while before he had shunned the chief, and counted himself fortunate because he was able to escape a meeting. Now he would have felt doubly fortunate could he have gained a chanc
e to attack him.

  When the Shawanoe was wanted he was somewhere else.

  “I wonder,” continued Larry, as hope grew stronger within him, “whether Whart wasn’t sharp enough to play the trick on Blazing Arrow that he did on mesilf? He must have heard the call, to larn how to make the same; but Whart may have give him the slip.”

  It was a faint hope, but it did the lad good. He had hunted so much in the company of his friend that they had not only acquired a good deal of woodcraft, but were familiar with each other’s ways.

  Larry recalled that he had heard no gun fired since the discharge of his weapon. It was fair to believe, therefore, that whatever the fate of young Edwards might be, he had not been shot. There were other methods of putting him out of the way, but the belief to which his friend was rapidly bringing himself was that the one for whom he was concerned was a prisoner of the Shawanoes.

  The way to find out was to discover the camp of the red men, which must be pitched somewhere in the neighborhood. It will thus be seen that the lads were reasoning along the same lines, to the same conclusion.

  Larry had risen from the bowlder on which he had seated himself, and decided to move farther back in the woods in search of the camp-fire that he knew was burning there. In making the search he would have to go it blind, since there was no means of finding guidance.

  But, as in more than one previous instance, he fortunately discovered that others were near him before he was observed. He stood motionless, peering and listening under the trees, where the gloom was so intense that he might have brushed by a man without either seeing the other.

  They were there, however, and a moment later were seen more plainly in the moonlight, across which they passed to reach the torrent whither they were making their way.

  Larry was surprised when he saw two Indians walking with their light, noiseless tread over the rocks. He had supposed there was but a solitary warrior.