No trapper was likely to accumulate wealth by the method named, but it cost him little to live, and frequently during the summer he found some other employment that brought return for his labor.
Hawkins, Kellogg and Crumpet were on their way home, having started a little later than their custom, and they had reached the point referred to on the preceding night, when they halted and went into camp. In the morning, when they began to reload their animals, it was found that a rifle belonging to Kit Kellogg was missing. It had been strapped on the package which one of the mules carried, but had worked loose and fallen unnoticed to the ground. It was too valuable to be abandoned, and Kit and Crumpet started back to hunt for it. They went on foot, leaving the animals cropping some succulent grass a short distance away.
The quadrupeds underwent a hard time during the winter, when grass was scanty, so that such halts were appreciated by them. The spot where they were grazing was far enough removed to screen them from the sight of Deerfoot, when he was reconnoitering the camp. While two of the company were hunting for the weapon, the third remained behind, smoking his pipe, and, when the time came, prepared dinner against the return of the other ones. The meat was good, but not so delicate as the beaver tails on which they frequently feasted during the cold season.
It has been said more than once that the Indians along the western bank of the Mississippi were less aggressive than those who so often crimsoned the soil of Kentucky and Ohio with the blood of the pioneers. Such was the truth, but those who were found on the very outermost fringe of civilization, from far up toward the headwaters of the Yellowstone down to the Gulf, were anything but harmless creatures. As the more warlike tribes in the East were pushed over into that region, they carried their vindictive natures with them, and the reader knows too well the history of the great West to require anything further to be said in that direction.
When Hawkins went to the beaver-runs with his friends in the autumn preceding his meeting with Deerfoot, he had as his companions, besides the two named, a third—Albert Rushton, who, like the others, was a veteran trapper. One snowy day in mid-winter, when the weather was unusually severe, he started on his round of his division of the traps and never came back. His prolonged absence led to a search, and his dead body was found beside one of the demolished traps. The bullet hole through his forehead and the missing scalp that had been torn from his crown, told plainly the manner of his death.
This was a shocking occurrence, but the fate of Rushton was that to which every one of his friends was liable, and they did not sit down and repine over what could not be helped. The saddest thought connected with the matter was that one of the three must break the news to the invalid wife, who lived with her two children in one of the frontier settlements through which they passed on the way to St. Louis.
When Deerfoot told Hawkins the others were returning, the trapper turned his head and saw that Kellogg had found the missing rifle. The couple looked sharply at the warrior as they advanced, and evidently were surprised to see him in camp. Kellogg and Crumpet were men in middle life, strong limbed, sinewy and vigilant.
Deerfoot rose from the log whereon he was sitting, and extended his hand to each in turn, as Hawkins pronounced his name. Kit Kellogg scrutinized him and shook his hand with considerable warmth. Crumpet did the same, though with less cordiality in his manner. It was plain (and plainer to none than Deerfoot) that he was one of that numerous class of frontiersmen who regard the American Indian as an unmitigated nuisance, which, so far as possible, every white man should do his utmost to abate. He had been engaged in more than one desperate encounter with them and his hatred was of the most ferocious nature. It was not to be expected, however, that his detestation would show itself without regard to time and place. Kellogg and Hawkins watched him with some curiosity, as he extended his horny hand and shook that of the handsome Indian youth.
“You’ve heard of Deerfoot,” added Burt, as he proceeded to divide the enormous piece of meat into quarters; “he is the youngster that helped Colonel Preston and his friends from the Wyandots at the time the block-house was burned.”
“How should we hear of it,” asked Crumpet with a growl, “when we was on this side of the Mississippi?”
“Wasn’t I over in Kentucky about three years ago? I rather think I was, and would have been froze to death with Simon Kenton and a few of the other boys if it hadn’t been for this copper-colored rascal—ain’t that so, Deerfoot?”
And that the young warrior might not err as to the one who was expected to impart light on the subject, Burt gave him a resounding whack on the shoulder that almost knocked him off the log. The youth was in the act of conveying some of the meat to his mouth when saluted in that fashion, and it came like the shock of an earthquake.
“Why can’t you talk with a fellow,” asked Kellogg, “without breaking his neck?”
“Whose neck is broke?”
“Why that fellow’s is pretty well jarred.”
“Well, as long as he don’t object I don’t see what it is to you,” was the good-natured response of Hawkins, who resumed chewing the juicy meat.
“Some of these days, somebody will give you a whack in return when you ain’t expecting it, and it will be a whack too that will cure you of that sort of business. I believe, Deerfoot, that you are a Shawanoe, ain’t you?”
“Deerfoot is a Shawanoe,” was the answer, his jaws at work on the food just furnished him.
“I’ve heard tell of you; you’re the chap that always uses a bow and arrow instead of a gun?”
The youth answered the query by a nod of the head. As he did so, Tom Crumpet, who sat further away, vigorously working his jaws, uttered a contemptuous grunt. Kit turned his head and looked inquiringly at him.
“Maybe you think he can’t use the bow and arrow. I s’pose, Deerfoot, that’s the bow you fired the arrow through the window of the block-house that was nigh a hundred yards off, with a letter tied around it, and fired it agin out on the flatboat with another piece of paper twisted around it—isn’t that so?”
Despite his loose-jointed sentences, Deerfoot caught his meaning well enough to nod his head in the affirmative.
“Did you see it done?” asked Crumpet, with a grin at Hawkins.
“How could I see it when I wasn’t there?”
“I guess no one else was there,” growled Tom; “I’ve noticed whenever that sort of business is going on it’s always a good ways off, and the people as sees it are the kind that don’t amount to much in the way of telling the truth.”
These were irritating words, made more so by the contemptuous manner in which they were spoken. Deerfoot clearly understood their meaning, but he showed no offence because of them. He was not vain of his wonderful skill in woodcraft, and, though he had a fiery temper, which sometimes flashed to the surface, he could not be disturbed by any slurs upon his attainments.
Kit Kellogg was impatient with his companion, but he knew him so well that he did not discuss the matter. Had not the beard of Burt Hawkins hidden his countenance, the others would have perceived the flush which overspread it. He was angered, and said, hotly:
“It might do for some folks to say that other folks didn’t tell the truth, but I don’t think you’re the one to say it.”
Crumpet champed his meat in silence, using his hunting knife for fork and knife, and drinking water from the tin cup which he had filled a short distance away, and from which the others, excepting Deerfoot, also drank. Instead of answering the slur of Hawkins, he acted as though he did not fully catch his meaning, and did not care to learn. What he had said, however, rankled in the heart of Burt, who, holding his peace until all were through eating, addressed the surly fellow:
“If you doubt the skill of Deerfoot, I’ll make you a wager that he can outshoot you, you using your gun and he his bow and arrow, or you can both use a gun.”
“He might do all that,” said Kellogg, with a twinkle of the eye, “and it wouldn’t prove that Tom was any sort of
a marksman.”
Crumpet was able to catch the meaning of that remark, and it goaded him almost to the striking point.
CHAPTER XIX.
DEERFOOT’S WOODCRAFT.
Neither Deerfoot nor the trapper wished to engage in the trial of skill suggested by Burt Hawkins. Crumpet feared that if such a test took place he would be worsted, in which event he would never hear the last of it from his friends. He might well shrink, therefore, from such a contest.
The Shawanoe knew he could surpass the trapper if he exerted himself, as he most certainly would do. Crumpet’s ill-nature would be embittered, and matters were likely to take an unpleasant shape. When Hawkins turned toward him, therefore, expecting him to bound to his feet and invite the challenge, he shook his head:
“Deerfoot’s arrows are few, and he saves them for game or his enemies.”
“And therein is wise,” added Kellogg, shrewd enough to see the situation in all its bearings.
Crumpet said nothing, but was greatly relieved, while Hawkins gave a sniff of disgust.
“Some folks are very free with their tongues, but when you come down to business they ain’t there; howsumever, let that go; we’ve got our extra rifle, and I s’pose we might as well keep up the tramp toward St. Louis. Deerfoot, can’t you go with us?”
He shook his head, and said:
“Deerfoot is hunting for two friends who are lost; he must not sleep nor tarry on the way.”
“How is that?” asked Burt, while the others listened with interest. The young Shawanoe told, in his characteristic manner, the story which is already well known to the reader. While doing so he watched each countenance closely, hoping (though he could give no reason for such hope) to catch some sign of a shadowy knowledge of that for which he was seeking, but he was disappointed.
“One thing is sartin,” remarked Burt Hawkins, when the story was fully told, “them boys ain’t dead.”
“I agree with you,” said Kellogg, with an emphatic nod of the head, in which even the surly Crumpet joined. Deerfoot was surprised at this unanimity, and inquired of Hawkins his reason for his belief.
“’Cause it’s agin common sense; when two young men go out in the woods to hunt game, both of ’em ain’t going to get killed: that isn’t the fashion now-a-days. One of ’em might be hurt, but if that was so, and the other couldn’t get away, the Injins would take him off and keep him. More than likely the varmints carried away both, and if you make a good hunt for three or four thousand miles around, you’ll get track of ’em.”
“I think I know a better plan than that,” said Kellogg, and, as the others looked inquiringly toward him, he said, “both of them chaps have been took by Injins who’ll keep them awhile. One of these days the boys will find a chance to give ’em the slip, and they’ll leave on some dark night and strike for home.”
“It isn’t likely both’ll have a show to do that at the same time,” said Crumpet, speaking with more courtesy than he had yet shown, and manifesting much interest in the matter.
“No; one will have to leave a good while before the other, and then the one that is left will be watched that much sharper, but all he’s got to do is to bide his time.”
“When one of my brothers comes through the woods to his home, the other will come with him,” said Deerfoot, confident as he was that neither Jack Carleton nor Otto Relstaub would desert the other, when placed in any kind of danger.
Deerfoot was confirmed in his theory of the disappearance of his young friends, for it agreed with what he had formed after leaving the settlement that morning. But, admitting it was the correct theory, the vast difficulty of locating the boys still confronted him. They might be journeying far southward in the land of the Creeks and Chickasaws, or to the homes of the Dacotah in the frozen north, or westward toward the Rocky Mountains.
Kellogg and Crumpet now fell into an earnest discussion of the question, for, though agreeing in the main, they differed on minor points, in which each was persistent in his views. Deerfoot listened to every word, for, like a wise man, he was anxious to gain all the knowledge he could from others.
But he noticed that for several minutes Burt Hawkins took no part in the conversation. He had sat down again on the log, thrown one leg over another, and was slowly stroking his handsome beard, while his gaze was fixed on the ground in front. He was evidently in deep thought.
Such was the fact, and just as the lull came, he reached his conclusion. Deliberately rising to his full height, he walked over to where Deerfoot stood, and with another slap on his shoulder, said:
“See here, young man!”
The warrior faced him, earnest, attentive, and interested. Burt shifted the weight of his body, so that it rested on his right leg; he looked down in the eyes of Deerfoot, his brow wrinkled as in the case when a man is about to deliver himself of the most important and original thoughts of his life. Then he began wabbling the index finger of his right hand in the face of the warrior, as a man with the important and original thought is inclined to do. He commenced to wabble quite slowly, gradually increasing the amplitude of the vibrations, and passing his finger so close to the countenance of the Shawanoe that it seemed almost to graze the end of his nose. He spoke slowly, pointing his words with his swaying finger:
“Deerfoot, I’ve got the question answered; listen to me: them boys have been tooken away by Injins; I know it; now where have the Injins gone? You ought to know as much about your race as me, but you don’t; do what I tell you; go to the south till you come to some Injin village; make your inquiries there; if they haven’t got the boys, they’ll know whether the tribe that took ’em passed through their country, ’cause they couldn’t very well do so without some of their warriors finding it out. If none of them don’t know nothing about no such party, you can make up your mind you’re barking up the wrong tree; then take an excursion west and do the same thing; then, if you don’t learn anything, try toward the north; there ain’t any use in going eastward, for common sense will teach you they haint been tooken that way; a chap with your good sense will pick up some clue that’ll show you the way through.”
“My brother speaks the words of wisdom,” said Deerfoot, who was much impressed by the utterances of the trapper: “Deerfoot will not forget what he has said; he will carry his words with him and they shall be his guide; Deerfoot says good-bye.”
And with a courteous salute to the three, the young warrior walked a few steps, broke into a light run, and was out of sight before his intention was fairly understood. The trappers looked in each others’ faces, laughed, made some characteristic remarks, and then turned to their own business.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe had determined to follow the advice given by Burt Hawkins the trapper. It certainly was singular that such an extraordinary woodman as the Indian should profit by the counsel of a white man, even though he was a veteran; but Deerfoot had studied the problem so long that his brain was confused, and, having fixed his own line of conduct, he only needed the endorsement of some sturdy character like the hunter. He had received that endorsement, and now he could not use too much haste.
His intention was to journey rapidly southward, in the direction of the present State of Arkansas, until he should reach some of the Indian villages that were there a hundred years ago. He would push his inquiries among them, just as Burt Hawkins had suggested, pressing the search in other directions, until able to pick up some clue. After that, it would be an easy matter to determine the line of policy that would lead to success.
Any one engaged in such a task as that on which the young Shawanoe had entered, needs to take all the observations he can, for the knowledge thus gained is sure to be of great help. The Indian scanned the country opening to the southward, and, as was his custom, turned his face toward the first elevation which would give him the view he was so desirous of obtaining.
The elevation was similar to those with which the reader became familiar long ago, and the sun had not yet reached the horizon when the lithe
warrior had climbed to the crest of the ridge, and was scanning the wilderness which opened to the south and west. He was in a region where he was warranted in looking for Indian villages, and his penetrating eyes traveled over the area with a minuteness of search hardly imaginable by the reader. The country was so broken by mountain, hill, and wood, that the survey was much less extended than would be supposed. He was disappointed in one respect, however: he could detect no Indian village in the whole range of vision.
But, besides the dim smoke from the camp he had left a short time before, he observed another to the westward, and a third to the south; he concluded to make his way to the last, though he half suspected it was the camp of another party of trappers, from whom he could not gather the first morsel of information.
Deerfoot pushed toward the valley, less than a mile distant, from which the tell-tale vapor ascended, and was quite close to the camp, when he became aware that an altogether unexpected state of affairs existed. Despite his usual caution, his approach was detected, and the Shawanoe found himself in no little peril.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to make clear how it was Deerfoot discovered this singular state of affairs; but he was more than a hundred yards from the camp, which was screened by a dense undergrowth and rocks, when he stopped abruptly, warned to do so by that subtle instinct which is like a sixth sense.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 193