The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  This confession that the mists had not cleared from before the Sauk’s vision did not surprise Deerfoot, for his own gropings after light were too distinct for him ever to forget the winding path over which he trod.

  “The Great Spirit never sleeps,” replied Deerfoot, in a voice almost as low as his companion’s; “he listens for the words of his children and his ear is always open; he will hear Hay-uta, if he calls upon him and speaks and acts so that when the Great Spirit looks down he will smile.”

  “Hay-uta will talk with the Great Spirit, so that the whispers which he now hears shall become so loud that Hay-uta can not mistake them.”

  Deerfoot added a few words of encouragement, and then, having paused long enough on the shore, they addressed themselves to the duty before them.

  This was simply to cross to the other side, so as to rejoin Jack Carleton. As there was but the one means of passing over, it was idle to hesitate. The Shawanoe stepped carefully a few paces, when the water reached his armpits, and he began swimming. He did so, holding his bow above the surface with one hand, so as to protect the string from moisture. This was one of the disadvantages of that weapon, though the rifle was not free from a similar inconvenience; but Hay-uta fastened it to his back, so that the muzzle projected above his head and the water could not run into the barrel. Sometimes he used a cork-like piece of wood to keep the load from wetting, and again he took no precautions, but drew the charge after leaving the stream. Even with all the care that could be taken, the clumsy hammer and flint let down in the pan often failed to protect the powder.

  But both were splendid swimmers, and, though the current was powerful, they advanced with steady, even strokes until their feet touched bottom, when they walked out on the opposite side. There the shore was similar to the one just left, so that when their moccasins pressed dry land again, they stood in the shadow of the overhanging trees, millions of which, at that day, covered the vast western wilderness.

  Their course had been such that (supposing Jack Carleton remained near the spot where the parting took place), it was now necessary to make their way for some distance up the stream. As there was reason to believe that the broad, swift current interposed between them and the hostiles, Deerfoot and Hay-uta looked back at the land just left behind.

  The view was so similar to what has already been described, that no more words are needed. The clouds were still floating in front of the moon, and quaint shadows moved across the river, forest and openings, but the searching vision failed to show the twinkle of any camp-fire, nor could the keen eyes of the Shawanoe catch the faintest glimpse of any shadowy figures stealing along shore.

  Though it was the mild season, the night was quite cool, and it will be remembered that neither carried his blanket with him. Most persons would have shivered with discomfort, but the American Indian is educated to the severest exposure and inured to sudden changes of temperature. It would have been more pleasant had they been arrayed in dry clothing rather than in their clinging garments, yet neither acted as if he cared for the difference.

  They were moving along the river bank in their usual guarded manner, when both came to an abrupt stop; they had caught the twinkle of a camp-fire among the trees just ahead.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  IN THE TREE-TOP.

  When Deerfoot and Hay-uta parted company with Jack Carleton, he feared he had several hours on his hands without any means of employing mind or body. The active operations of the campaign, so to speak, were in charge of the Sauk and Shawanoe division, while the young Kentuckian in reserve had little prospect of being called upon to take part in the engagement.

  But Jack, it will be noted, was almost opposite the open ground, whereon burned the Pawnee camp-fire, and, by using care, he could hold it under inspection as long as he chose. He had his choice of peeping from the trees and undergrowth along shore, or of climbing the tree from whose top the Shawanoe and Sank gained their first knowledge of the Pawnees. Nearly every one would have stayed on the ground, but in obedience to a whim, the lad climbed to the perch where his friends held themselves a short time before. He carried his gun with him, for though it would have been much more convenient to leave it below, the act would have been a piece of remissness unpardonable in his situation. When, however, he was half-way to the top, he carefully shelved it among some branches, where it could not fall. He continued to climb until the limbs bent with his weight. Cautious at all times, Jack then softly pushed aside the branches in front of his face and found he was looking directly across and down upon the Pawnee encampment.

  At the moment of doing so, a slight incident caused him some uneasiness. Among the group on which he gazed with such interest, he observed a warrior standing on the other side of the fire, rifle in hand, with his face turned toward the young Kentuckian. Not only that, but he seemed to be watching Jack himself. So startling was his appearance, that the youth shrank back, allowing the vegetation to close in front of his face. This was done with a certain abruptness, which (if he was right in his suspicion), was unfortunate, since the action would be the more noticeable to the Pawnee. Then Jack stealthily parted the leaves and peered out again.

  The warrior was motionless, the stock of his gun on the ground, while his right hand lightly clasped the barrel, his left thumb inserted at his girdle, close to the handle of his knife, much after the fashion of some of us who use the arm holes of our vests for that purpose.

  The distance, slight as it was, prevented Jack Carleton from verifying or disproving his suspicion. The painted face was turned directly toward him and held stationary, as is often the case when a person is trying to identify some sound which faintly reaches his ear. Had he been gazing straight at the lad, he would have appeared just as he did when stealthily viewed by the youth.

  “I wonder whether that rascal is looking at me,” said Jack to himself, when he peeped timidly out the second time; “they’re as sharp-eyed as owls, but he never could have thought of any one in this perch, if he hadn’t accidentally looked at the spot. I’m afraid it would mix things for Hay-uta and Deerfoot, if any of them should get a sight of me.”

  He was reminded of the experience of himself and Otto Relstaub when, some weeks before, they were made captives by the Sauks, within a short distance of Martinsville. At that time, one or two of the warriors, while the boys were watching them, walked away from the camp in such an off-hand manner, that neither dreamed their real purpose was to pass to the rear of the prowlers and make them prisoners.

  “I’ll keep my eyes on him,” was the wise conclusion of Jack, “and if he starts off in the woods, I’ll slide down this tree and make a change of base in short order.”

  To the great relief of Jack the warrior did not maintain his impressive pose, nor did he do what was dreaded and half expected. One of the red men addressed him and he immediately gave attention.

  “It was only an accident,” was the conclusion of the youth; “he couldn’t have seen me—helloa!”

  Jack had full warrant for his excitement, for, at that moment, who should walk into his field of vision but Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe.

  He advanced from the wood as I have already described, and saluting the astonished Pawnees with a certain stateliness, opened the conversation. He was not long in discovering that Lone Bear was the only one with whom he could converse intelligently, and the two, as you remember, were soon seated beside each other. It was Lone Bear who, at the first glance, Jack Carleton thought was looking at him.

  The dread that the boy felt, when first left alone, that time would hang heavily on his hands was gone. He knew the Shawanoe well enough to feel certain that he would keep things moving.

  And so he did. I will not repeat the story of Deerfoot’s experience, which partook more of a comedy than of a tragedy. The young Kentuckian held his breath when Lone Bear drew his knife and rushed upon the Shawanoe, and his excitement was almost irrestrainable as the latter began dancing backward with his infuriated assailant plunging and striking a
t him. When the Pawnee sprawled, with his feet kicking the air, Jack forgot where he was and laughed with delight.

  “Hurrah for Deerfoot!” he called; “the whole crowd ain’t enough for you! you are worth all of them!”

  The Pawnees were on their feet hurrying toward the combatants, and scarcely less excited than the young Kentuckian perched in the tree-top. But, stirring as was the incident, it was very brief. With the exceptions already made known, the red men dashed into the woods in hot pursuit of the fugitive.

  “Deerfoot against the world!” exclaimed Jack, jerking off his cap, as though he was about to fling it toward the clouds, but he restrained himself and the cheer which could not be locked between his lips was so impeded in its escape that it reached no ears on the other side the river.

  “Deerfoot beats the beaters,” he added, bringing his feelings under control; “I don’t believe there ever was such a fellow; it must be that Providence intends him for some work, and like Washington he can not be killed until that work is done.”

  Jack had made a similar remark to his mother, when they were talking about the Shawanoe some weeks previous, and he now recalled with a shudder her comment, to the effect that the slightest of causes would bring death to him just as quickly as to any one else, and, sooner or later, he must succumb to the inevitable. It seemed not unlikely that the prowess of the young Shawanoe was an element of peril to him, since he relied too much upon it.

  But the youth had eluded the hostiles, when they seemed about to overwhelm him, and Jack was confident now that he had the cover of the woods, where he was at home, that he could laugh his enemies to scorn. The reports of guns, however, which reached his ears, could not but produce a disquieting effect, which the lad felt for a long time afterward.

  “I wonder whether any one could have heard me,” he muttered some minutes later, when his nerves became calmer. “I forgot myself, as the Indians themselves did, but I guess no one noticed it.”

  That prudence which should never leave the frontiersman, suggested that he ought to descend the tree, and seek some other place of hiding. Unfortunately, he decided to stay for awhile where he was.

  There was much to occupy his attention, and keep alive his interest; for the discomfited Lone Bear and his mock sympathizers were in plain sight, and the gesticulations were so clear that it seemed to Jack he could comprehend the words spoken.

  But the most stirring scenes lose in time their interest, and, despite the situation of Jack Carleton, it was not long before his thoughts reverted to Otto Relstaub.

  “Poor fellow,” he muttered, “it does seem as if every thing went wrong with him; I have no father, but if I had, he could love me no more than mother. With Otto, however, it is a thousand fold worse, for he is treated as if he were an intruder in his own home. He has been abused, almost starved, and, to crown all, sent into the woods to look for a horse that was lost a long time before, and of which there remains not the faintest footprint. I wonder whether they will ever grieve for Otto if we go back and tell them he is dead?”

  When Jack pondered over the cause which led his friend to leave home, he could not express his feelings. To him there was something incomprehensible in the brutality of the parents toward their only child. He was tempted to believe it was all a great mistake.

  But second thought showed there was no error, and he asked himself whether there was any ground to hope that the German lad was alive, and, if so, whether he could be restored to his friends.

  The fact that Otto was not among the group on the other side of the stream, added to the misgiving. Hay-uta had made known that he recognized members of the strange party of Indians to whom the boy was sold. If they had kept their captive, where else could he be except with them?

  “Every thing points to his death,” was the sad conclusion of Jack; “it isn’t likely they would trade him off to some one else.”

  Indeed, to believe such a thing would be to give the captive an unreasonable value as a circulating medium; it was far more likely that, finding his presence a burden, his captors had settled it in the most natural manner that presented itself.

  A still darker side to the picture caused Jack to shudder. If the captors of Otto Relstaub had put him to death, was it by a quick taking off, or had he been subjected to torture? Alas, that Jack Carleton was forced to answer the query as he most dreaded.

  “But, if he is dead,” he added, with a sigh, “he perished long ago, and it can make no difference now to him; but I ain’t ready to give up all hope and I won’t do so, so long as Deerfoot holds on.”

  Forcing the distressing subject from his mind, the youth compelled himself to give attention to what could be seen on the other side of the river. Lone Bear and Red Wolf were seated by the camp-fire, talking together, as has been told elsewhere, but the rest of the hostiles were out of sight. Jack naturally wondered the cause of the sudden quarrel that had sprung up between Deerfoot and the warrior who figured so ridiculously in it, but he could only await the return of the Shawanoe to hear the explanation.

  The excitement of the lad boiled over again, when, with eyes roaming up and down the open space, he caught sight of his old friend, standing, bow in hand, on the edge of the wood. His pose showed he was making ready to give attention to the unsuspicious hostiles.

  “I wonder whether he means to send an arrow through one, and follow it up with a second through another, before he can get out of their way. It may be that Deerfoot isn’t as chivalrous as he pretends to be; give him a chance, and, if he thinks no one sees him, he will swing his tomahawk and use his knife right and left.”

  But we know that Jack did his friend an injustice, as speedily became apparent, when none of the arrows which sped from the large bow harmed either of the Pawnees. Their frantic flight and the laughter of Deerfoot proved that he had done precisely what he set out to do; he had given the couple a shock which they were not likely to forget for many a day.

  The occurrence was so amusing that Jack parted the branches in front of his face and waved his hat to Deerfoot. If the latter saw the act of forgetfulness, he was so displeased that he paid no attention to it. When he vanished from sight in the wood behind him, he gave no responsive salute to that of his enthusiastic young friend.

  CHAPTER XV.

  AN UNEXPECTED CALL.

  Three separate times Jack Carleton noticed a peculiar jar of the tree in which he was perched. He felt no alarm, but some curiosity to know the cause.

  Peering downward between the limbs, he could see nothing to explain the occurrence. The first time he concluded it was imagination, but when it was repeated twice he knew there was “something in it”. Still, as the most careful search failed to reveal the cause, he was at a loss to explain it. His first thought was that some animal might be chafing his body against the trunk, but that was unlikely, because no creature was visible. Then, when he noticed there was enough air stirring to cause a gentle swaying of the branches, he concluded that the disturbance was due to the friction of some of the limbs against others. The theory was more ingenious than reasonable, but was accepted in lieu of a better one, and once more the lad fixed his eyes on the open space across the stream.

  The other Pawnees had not put in an appearance, and before they did so, the young gentleman in the tree-top found he had something on hand which required his whole attention.

  A fourth time a jar went through the trunk from base to summit, and the disturbance was more marked than before.

  “There must be some animal down there—”

  Jack Carleton grasped a limb above him, leaned far over and peered among the branches below, but his examination was not finished when he saw the hand of an Indian warrior reach around the trunk, at a point half way between the top and the base, and grasp the rifle which the young Kentuckian had skewered between several supports. The stock caught slightly, and, while disengaging it, the savage brought his head into view.

  He wore no scalp-lock, as was the fashion among many tribes, but
the long, coarse hair dangled about his shoulders, and yellow, crimson and blue paint were mixed in that on his crown. There were no feathers, however, such as Deerfoot was fond of displaying, and the body was covered with a thin shirt of deerskin above the waist.

  The Indian must have glanced aloft from the ground and taken in the situation at once. He had climbed with great care, and, when he stopped, was slightly below the point were rested the rifle of the youth. Had the latter taken the alarm, when he felt the first jar, he could have scrambled down and secured his gun ahead of the Indian. It would have been a stirring race between them, but as I have shown, the first knowledge of the truth came to Jack when he descried the extended arm and saw the coppery fingers in the very act of closing about his property.

  Inasmuch as the dusky thief was forced to reach upward to seize the weapon, his face was lifted enough for the lad to gain a partial view of his countenance. It was similar to many he had seen among the Sauks and elsewhere. The forehead was broad at the base and narrow at the top (which was close to the forehead) and very retreating. The protuberant temples, small eyes, heavy nose, wide mouth and retreating chin—the whole smeared with daubs of paint, such as soiled the horsehair-like covering of his head, rendered the features the most repulsive on which the lad had ever looked. He certainly had never beheld a more unwelcome visitor.

  Having secured the property of the lad, the warrior now threw his head further back, and looked directly up at him. The face, ugly as it was, appeared the worse because of the grin that split it in twain and displayed the white teeth which gleamed like those of a ravenous beast. The expression and action said as plainly as could the words themselves:

  “It’s no use, young gentleman; you may as well come down.”

  The Indian did not speak, and his frightful smile gradually relaxed until his mouth assumed its normal width. Then, holding the captured rifle in one hand, he began descending, Jack Carleton remained astride of the upper limb, watching the warrior, who went down with the nimbleness of a monkey. Viewed from above, the sight was odd. He seemed to see nothing but a mass of dangling hair and an indefinite number of arms and legs which were sawing back and forth, and moving up and down, while the body to which they were attached, remained stationary. The illusion, however, was dispelled, when the Indian made a slight leap and landed on the ground.