The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  He smiled to himself, when within the succeeding ten minutes he caught sight of a young deer among the trees less than one hundred feet in advance. It bounded off affrighted by the figure of the youth, who, however, was so nigh that he brought it to the ground without difficulty.

  When he ran forward to dress it, he was surprised to find it had fallen within a rod of a ravine fifty feet deep.

  This ravine, which had evidently been a cañon or ancient bed of some mountain stream, was twenty yards or more in width, the rocky walls being covered with a mass of luxuriant, creeping vines, through which the gray of the rocks could be seen only at widely separated intervals. The bottom was piled up with the luxuriant vegetable growth of a soil surcharged with richness.

  Jack Carleton took only time enough to comprehend these points when he set to work kindling a fire against the trunk of a tree which grew close to the ravine. When that was fairly going, he cut the choicest slices from his game, and it was speedily broiled over the blaze. There was no water, so far as he knew, closer than the creek, but he did not specially miss it. Seasoned by his keen hunger, the venison was the very acme of deliciousness, and he ate until he craved no more.

  Then as he sat down on the leaves with his back to the tree opposite the blaze, he probably felt as comfortable as one in his situation could feel. He had pushed his strength almost to a dangerous verge, when rest became a luxury, and as he leaned against the shaggy bark behind him, it seemed as though he could sit thus for many hours without wishing to stir a limb.

  “I suppose,” he said to himself in a drowsy tone, “that I ought to keep on the tramp until night, when I can crawl in behind some log and sleep till morning. It may be that one or two of the warriors from that last village are on my trail, but it don’t look like it, and a fellow can’t tramp forever without rest. I’ll stop here for an hour or two, and then go ahead until dark. There’s one thing certain,—I’ve thrown Ogallah and his friends so far off my track that they’ll never be able to find it again.”

  If any conclusion could be warranted, it would seem that this was of that nature, and yet by an extraordinary chain of circumstances the very danger which was supposed to have ended, was the one which came upon the fugitive.

  As he had anticipated, the method of his flight was discovered very early the succeeding morning, and many of the warriors and large boys started in pursuit. The hunt was pressed with a promptness and skill scarcely conceivable. It was inevitable that they should be puzzled by the singular proceeding with the canoes, and the pursuers became scattered, each intent on following out his own theory, as is the case with a party of detectives in these later days. The last boat was not found, but the identical youth who had fared so ill at the hands of Jack, came upon his trail where it left the river. His black eyes glowed with anticipated revenge, which is one of the most blissful emotions that can stir the heart of the American Indian.

  The young Sauk might have brought a half dozen older warriors around him by uttering a simple signal, but nothing could have induced him to do so. He had his gun, knife, and tomahawk,—all the weapons he could carry and all that were possibly needed. He had learned long before to trail his people through the labyrinthine forest, and in a year more he expected to go upon his first war trail. He hated with an inextinguishable hatred the pale face who had overthrown him in the wrestling bout and then had struck him a blow in the face, which, figuratively speaking, compelled him to carry his nose for several days in a sling. Ogallah had protected the sick pale face from molestation, but now the chief was the most eager for his death.

  The fugitive evidently believed he was safe against all pursuit, and it would therefore be the easier to surprise him. What greater feat could the young Sauk perform than to follow and secretly slay the detested lad? What a triumph it would be to return to the village with his scalp dangling at his girdle!

  Holding his peace (though it was hard to keep down the shout of joy that rose to his lips), he bounded away like a bloodhound in pursuit.

  Despite the precautions taken by Jack Carleton, the pursuer found little trouble in keeping to his trail, until it abruptly terminated on the bank of the creek, where advantage had been taken of the canoe. There he paused for a time at a loss what to do.

  Of course he knew of the Indian village at no great distance down stream and on the other side. Familiar as he was with the creek, he kept on until he reached a place where it broadened and was so shallow that he waded over without trouble. The red men whom he visited were friendly with the offshoot of the Sauk tribe, so that no risk was run in going among them. When he did so, as a matter of course, he gained the very information he was seeking; the canoe with the fugitive in it went by the village early in the morning. The pursuer declined the offer of help and went on alone. He was hardly outside the village when he struck the trail again, and, knowing he was at no great distance from the youth, he followed with a vigor and persistency that would not be denied.

  But during most of the time he was thus employed, Jack Carleton was similarly engaged, and, despite the energy of the young Sauk, the hours slipped by without bringing him a sight of the pale face, whose scalp he meant to bring back suspended to his girdle. The fugitive had about recovered his usual health, and he improved the time while it was his. Had he pushed forward until nightfall before halting for food or rest, he never would have been overtaken.

  But the signs showed the dusky youth that he was close upon the unsuspicious pale face, and he strode along with the care and skill of a veteran warrior. Finally his trained senses detected the smell of burning wood, and a moment later he caught sight of the camp-fire of Jack Carleton. The Indian stopped, and after some reconnoitering, concluded he could gain a better view from the other side the camp. With incredible pains he moved around to that side and was gratified by a success which glowed in his swarthy countenance and through his well-knit frame.

  He saw the pale face sitting on the ground, with his back against a tree, his mouth open, and his eyes closed. His gun rested on the ground beside him, and the wearied fugitive was asleep, and as helpless as an infant.

  The Sauk had only to raise his gun, take a quick aim, and shoot him dead, before he awoke or learned his danger. He could leap upon and finish him with his knife, but that would involve some risk to himself. He decided to drive his tomahawk into the skull of his victim, and to scalp him immediately after.

  As the first step toward doing so, he leaned his rifle against the nearest tree, so as to leave his arms free, and then, without any more ado, grasped the handle of his tomahawk and poised himself with the purpose of hurling it with resistless force and unerring aim. He was not twenty feet distant from Jack; but while in the very act of raising the missile above his head, his arm was struck a side blow so violent as almost to break the bone. The tomahawk flew from his grasp to the earth, and in a twinkling some one caught him around the waist, lifted him clear of the ground, ran rapidly the few paces necessary, and flung him over the rocks into the ravine!

  The Sauk struggled desperately to save himself, but he could not check, though he retarded his descent. He landed with a force that knocked the breath from him, but the abundance of vines and vegetable growth saved his life. After a time he slowly gathered himself together, and seeing nothing of the enemy who had handled him so ruthlessly, he slowly climbed to his feet and began picking his way out of the ravine.

  He was compelled to walk a long distance before reaching a place where he was able to clamber to the level ground above. When at last he managed to do so, he sat down on a fallen tree to rest and indulge in a retrospective survey.

  His rifle and tomahawk were irrecoverably gone, and nothing would have induced him to go back to look for them. If his right arm was not broken, it was so injured and lamed that a long time must elapse before he could use it, and altogether his enterprise could only be regarded as a disastrous failure.

  “It was an Indian that struck the tomahawk from my grasp,” reflected the victi
mized Sauk; “he was a terrible warrior!”

  The youth was right in each respect, for the name of the Indian who made such short work with him was Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  CONCLUSION.

  Jack Carleton was in the middle of a pleasant dream of home and friends, when a light touch on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes and look up with a quick, inquiring glance.

  “Helloa! Deerfoot, is that you?” he exclaimed, springing to his feet and grasping the hand of his old friend, on whose handsome features lingered the shadowy smile which told of the pleasure he felt in finding his beloved friend after such a long search.

  “Deerfoot is glad to take the hand of his brother and press it; he has hunted a good while for him and his heart was sad that he did not find him.”

  “How, in the name of conscience, did you ever find me at all?” demanded Jack, who slapped him on his back, pinched his arm, and treated him with a familiarity which few dared show toward him.

  “I’ve had a very curious time, I can tell you, old fellow—helloa! where did that gun come from, and that tomahawk?” exclaimed the wondering youth, catching sight of the weapons.

  “’Twill be well if my brother does not stay here,” replied the young Shawanoe, who, while he felt no particular fear of the Sauk whom he had flung into the ravine, saw the possibility of his procuring friends and coming back to revenge himself. Prudence suggested that the two should secure themselves against such peril. Deerfoot, therefore, picked up the tomahawk, shoved it into the girdle around his waist, grasped the rifle in his right hand, and strode forward with his free, easy, swinging gait. As there was no call for special caution, he told the story of his encounter with the young Sauk who had raised his tomahawk to brain his sleeping friend. Deerfoot’s first intention was to drive an arrow through his body, but he chose the method already described of frustrating his purpose.

  To make his story complete, it was necessary for the young Shawanoe to begin with his visit to Jack’s mother, and to describe the mental agony of the good parent over the unaccountable absence of her boy. Then he told of his meeting with the Sauk warrior, Hay-uta, who made such a determined effort to take his life. From him he learned that a white youth was a captive in the village, and he concluded, as a matter of course, that there were to be found both Jack and Otto, though no reference was made to the latter. The sagacious Shawanoe, however, discovered an important fact or two which I did not refer to in telling the incident. The first was that Hay-uta was one of the five Sauks who separated from the other five directly after the capture of the boys. With his company was Otto Relstaub, the Dutch youth, while Jack Carleton was with the other. Hay-uta and his friends were on their way to the village, and were almost within sight of it, when Hay-uta felt such dissatisfaction over their failure to bring back any scalps or plunder, that he drew off and declared he would not go home until he secured some prize of that nature. His encounter with Deerfoot followed. When he left the latter he went straight to his village. Deerfoot could have trailed him without trouble, but, inasmuch as the Sauk had departed in that manner, and the Shawanoe knew where his village lay, he purposely avoided his trail, and followed a course that diverged so far to the right that he first reached the village passed by Jack in his canoe. His arrival, as sometimes happens in this life, was in the very nick of time. From the red men, who showed a friendly disposition toward him, he learned that not only had a pale face youth passed down the stream in a canoe, but a young warrior aflame with passion was close behind him.

  The wise Deerfoot was quick to grasp the situation, and he set out hot-footed after the aforesaid flaming young warrior, and followed him with such celerity that he came in sight of him long before the Sauk arrived at the camp-fire. Little did the furious young Sauk dream, while panting with anticipated revenge, and aglow with exultation, that one of his own race was close upon his heels, ready to launch his deadly arrow at any moment, and only waiting to decide in what manner the Sauk should be “eliminated” from the whole business.

  Seated around the camp fire late that night, the two friends talked over the past. Jack gave full particulars of what befell him since his capture by the Indians, up to the hour when Deerfoot joined him. The young Shawanoe listened with great interest to the story, for it will be admitted that in many respects it was an extraordinary narrative. He told Jack that the people with whom he had passed more than a week were Sauks, under the leadership of the chieftain whose lodge had sheltered the prisoner during his captivity. The Sauks were a brave, warlike people, and this offshoot, which had located in that portion of Upper Louisiana, was among the most daring and vindictive of the tribe. Their leniency toward Jack was remarkable, and could only be accounted for on the supposition that Ogallah took a fancy to the youth and meant to adopt him into his family. It was not at all unlikely that Jack’s suspicion that they were “training” him to figure in a scene of torture was correct. His escape, therefore, could not have been more opportune.

  Let not the reader accuse the two of indifference, because so little has been recorded in their conversation, concerning Otto Relstaub, the companion of both in more than one scene of peril, and held by them in strongest friendship. They had talked more of him than of any one else, though Jack’s heart was oppressed by a great sorrow when he thought of his mother and her grief over his continued absence. Jack had asked Deerfoot over and over again as to his belief concerning their absent friend, but the Shawanoe, for a long time, evaded a direct answer.

  “I can tell you what I think,” said Jack with a compression of his lips and a shake of his head: “Otto is dead.”

  “How did my brother meet his death?” calmly asked Deerfoot.

  “Those five warriors started by another route to the village and they meant to take him there as they took me. After Hay-uta, as I believe you call your friend, left, they made up their minds that it wasn’t of any use to bother with poor Otto, and so they tomahawked or shot him.”

  Having given his theory, Jack Carleton turned toward the young Shawanoe for his comment, but he sat looking intently in the fire and remained silent. Resolved that he should say something on the painful subject, Jack touched his arm.

  “Deerfoot, do you think I am right?”

  The Indian looked in his face and still mute, nodded his head to signify he agreed with him.

  “Poor Otto,” added Jack with a sigh, “I wonder how his father and mother will feel when they learn that their boy will never come back.”

  “They will mourn because the horse was not found,” was the characteristic remark of Deerfoot.

  “You are right,” exclaimed Jack, with a flash of the eye; “if old Jacob Relstaub could get his horse, I believe he and his wife would go on and smoke their pipes with as much piggish enjoyment as before, caring nothing for their only child. How different my mother!” he added in a softer voice: “she would give her life to save mine, as I would give mine to keep trouble from her. I say, Deerfoot, Otto and I were a couple of fools to start out to hunt a horse that had been lost so many days before and of which we hadn’t the slightest trace—don’t you think so?”

  The young Shawanoe once more turned and looked in his face with a mournful expression, and nodded his head with more emphasis than before.

  “I knew you would agree with me,” assented Jack, “though, to tell the truth, I had very little hope myself that we would ever get sight of the animal, but old Jacob Relstaub really drove Otto out of his house and compelled him to go off on the wild goose hunt. I couldn’t let him go alone and, with mother’s consent, I kept him company.”

  “My brother pleased the Great Spirit, and Deerfoot will pray that he shall ever act so that the Great Spirit will smile on him.”

  “I shall most certainly try to do so,” said Jack with a resolute shake of his head: “He has shown me a hundred-fold more mercies than I deserve and I mean to prove that I have some gratitude in me.”

  The conversation went on in this
fashion until the evening was far along, when Jack lay down near the fire, intending to sleep for the rest of the night. Deerfoot assured him there was no danger and as was his custom, the young Shawanoe brought forth his Bible to spend an hour or so in studying its pages. Before he had fixed upon the portion, Jack Carleton came to the sitting position and, with some excitement in his manner, said:

  “Deerfoot, I forgot to tell you something: I don’t know how it came to slip my mind.”

  The Indian looked in his face and quietly awaited his explanation.

  “One of those Sauks that belonged to Otto’s party came into the lodge of Ogallah when I was there, and I think he tried to tell me something about Otto, but I couldn’t understand his words or gestures.”

  “Let my brother show Deerfoot what the movements were,” said the other, manifesting much interest.

  They were so impressed on Jack Carleton that, springing to his feet, he placed himself in front of Deerfoot and reproduced most of the gestures, the words, of course, being gone. The Shawanoe fixed his eyes on his friend, and scrutinized every motion with eager eyes. Suddenly he sprang up with more feeling than he had shown in a long time. And well might he do so, for he had translated the sign language, as given to him by Jack Carleton, and it told a far different story than the one which both had adopted some time before.

  “Otto is alive,” was the startling declaration of Deerfoot.

  “He is!” exclaimed the amazed Jack, “I should like to know who told you that.”

  “That was what the Sauk warrior said to my brother; that was what he tried to tell him, but my brother did not understand his words.”