by Zane Grey
Chapter V.
Silvertip turned to his braves, and giving a brief command, sprangfrom the raft. The warriors closed in around the brothers; twograsping each by the arms, and the remaining Indian taking care ofthe horse. The captives were then led ashore, where Silvertipawaited them.
When the horse was clear of the raft, which task necessitatedconsiderable labor on the part of the Indians, the chief seized thegrapevine, that was now plainly in sight, and severed it with oneblow of his tomahawk. The raft dashed forward with a lurch anddrifted downstream.
In the clear water Joe could see the cunning trap which had causedthe death of Bill, and insured the captivity of himself and hisbrother. The crafty savages had trimmed a six-inch sapling andanchored it under the water. They weighted the heavy end, leavingthe other pointing upstream. To this last had been tied thegrapevine. When the drifting raft reached the sapling, the Indiansconcealed in the willows pulled hard on the improvised rope; the endof the sapling stuck up like a hook, and the aft was caught andheld. The killing of the helmsman showed the Indians' foresight;even had the raft drifted on downstream the brothers would have beenhelpless on a craft they could not manage. After all, Joe thought,he had not been so far wrong when he half fancied that an Indian laybehind Shawnee Rock, and he marveled at this clever trick which hadso easily effected their capture.
But he had little time to look around at the scene of action. Therewas a moment only in which to study the river to learn if theunfortunate raftsman's body had appeared. It was not to be seen. Theriver ran swiftly and hid all evidence of the tragedy under itssmooth surface. When the brave who had gone back to the raft for thegoods joined his companion the two hurried Joe up the bank after theothers.
Once upon level ground Joe saw before him an open forest. On theborder of this the Indians stopped long enough to bind theprisoners' wrists with thongs of deerhide. While two of the bravesperformed this office, Silvertip leaned against a tree and took nonotice of the brothers. When they were thus securely tied one oftheir captors addressed the chief, who at once led the way westwardthrough the forest. The savages followed in single file, with Joeand Jim in the middle of the line. The last Indian tried to mountLance; but the thoroughbred would have none of him, and afterseveral efforts the savage was compelled to desist. Mose trottedreluctantly along behind the horse.
Although the chief preserved a dignified mien, his braves weredisposed to be gay. They were in high glee over their feat ofcapturing the palefaces, and kept up an incessant jabbering. OneIndian, who walked directly behind Joe, continually prodded him withthe stock of a rifle; and whenever Joe turned, the brawny redskingrinned as he grunted, "Ugh!" Joe observed that this huge savage hada broad face of rather a lighter shade of red than his companions.Perhaps he intended those rifle-prods in friendliness, for althoughthey certainly amused him, he would allow no one else to touch Joe;but it would have been more pleasing had he shown his friendship ina gentle manner. This Indian carried Joe's pack, much to his owndelight, especially as his companions evinced an envious curiosity.The big fellow would not, however, allow them to touch it.
"He's a cheerful brute," remarked Joe to Jim.
"Ugh!" grunted the big Indian, jamming Joe with his rifle-stock.
Joe took heed to the warning and spoke no more. He gave all hisattention to the course over which he was being taken. Here was hisfirst opportunity to learn something of Indians and their woodcraft.It occurred to him that his captors would not have been so gay andcareless had they not believed themselves safe from pursuit, and heconcluded they were leisurely conducting him to one of the Indiantowns. He watched the supple figure before him, wondering at thequick step, light as the fall of a leaf, and tried to walk assoftly. He found, however, that where the Indian readily avoided thesticks and brush, he was unable to move without snapping twigs. Nowand then he would look up and study the lay of the land ahead; andas he came nearer to certain rocks and trees he scrutinized themclosely, in order to remember their shape and general appearance. Hebelieved he was blazing out in his mind this woodland trail, so thatshould fortune favor him and he contrive to escape, he would be ableto find his way back to the river. Also, he was enjoying the wildscenery.
This forest would have appeared beautiful, even to one indifferentto such charms, and Joe was far from that. Every moment he feltsteal stronger over him a subtle influence which he could notdefine. Half unconsciously he tried to analyze it, but it baffledhim. He could no more explain what fascinated him than he couldunderstand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over theglades and hollows. He had pictured a real forest so differentlyfrom this. Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fencedby bright-green sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted withpale-blue blossoms, over which the giant cottonwoods leaned theirheads, jealously guarding the delicate flowers from the sun. Beechtrees, growing close in clanny groups, spread their straight limbsgracefully; the white birches gleamed like silver wherever a straysunbeam stole through the foliage, and the oaks, monarchs of theforest, rose over all, dark, rugged, and kingly.
Joe soon understood why the party traveled through such open forest.The chief, seeming hardly to deviate from his direct course, keptclear of broken ground, matted thickets and tangled windfalls. Joegot a glimpse of dark ravines and heard the music of tumblingwaters; he saw gray cliffs grown over with vines, and full of holesand crevices; steep ridges, covered with dense patches of briar andhazel, rising in the way. Yet the Shawnee always found an easy path.
The sun went down behind the foliage in the west, and shadowsappeared low in the glens; then the trees faded into an indistinctmass; a purple shade settled down over the forest, and night broughtthe party to a halt.
The Indians selected a sheltered spot under the lee of a knoll, atthe base of which ran a little brook. Here in this inclosed spacewere the remains of a camp-fire. Evidently the Indians had haltedthere that same day, for the logs still smouldered. While one bravefanned the embers, another took from a neighboring branch a haunchof deer meat. A blaze was soon coaxed from the dull coals, more fuelwas added, and presently a cheerful fire shone on the circle ofdusky forms.
It was a picture which Joe had seen in many a boyish dream; now thathe was a part of it he did not dwell on the hopelessness of thesituation, nor of the hostile chief whose enmity he had incurred.Almost, it seemed, he was glad of this chance to watch the Indiansand listen to them. He had been kept apart from Jim, and it appearedto Joe that their captors treated his brother with a contempt whichthey did not show him. Silvertip had, no doubt, informed them thatJim had been on his way to teach the Indians of the white man's God.
Jim sat with drooping head; his face was sad, and evidently he tookthe most disheartening view of his capture. When he had eaten theslice of venison given him he lay down with his back to the fire.
Silvertip, in these surroundings, showed his real character. He hadappeared friendly in the settlement; but now he was the relentlesssavage, a son of the wilds, free as an eagle. His dignity as a chiefkept him aloof from his braves. He had taken no notice of theprisoners since the capture. He remained silent, steadily regardingthe fire with his somber eyes. At length, glancing at the bigIndian, he motioned toward the prisoners and with a single wordstretched himself on the leaves.
Joe noted the same changelessness of expression in the other darkfaces as he had seen in Silvertip's. It struck him forcibly. Whenthey spoke in their soft, guttural tones, or burst into a low, notunmusical laughter, or sat gazing stolidly into the fire, theirfaces seemed always the same, inscrutable, like the depths of theforest now hidden in night. One thing Joe felt rather thansaw--these savages were fierce and untamable. He was sorry for Jim,because, as he believed, it would be as easy to teach the panthergentleness toward his prey as to instill into one of these wildcreatures a belief in Christ.
The braves manifested keen pleasure in anticipation as to what theywould get out of the pack, which the Indian now opened. Time andagain the big brave placed his broad hand on the sh
oulder of acomrade Indian and pushed him backward.
Finally the pack was opened. It contained a few articles of wearingapparel, a pair of boots, and a pipe and pouch of tobacco. The bigIndian kept the latter articles, grunting with satisfaction, andthrew the boots and clothes to the others. Immediately there was ascramble. One brave, after a struggle with another, got possessionof both boots. He at once slipped off his moccasins and drew on thewhite man's foot-coverings. He strutted around in them a fewmoments, but his proud manner soon changed to disgust.
Cowhide had none of the soft, yielding qualities of buckskin, andhurt the Indian's feet. Sitting down, he pulled one off, not withoutdifficulty, for the boots were wet; but he could not remove theother. He hesitated a moment, being aware of the subdued merrimentof his comrades, and then held up his foot to the nearest one. Thischanced to be the big Indian, who evidently had a keen sense ofhumor. Taking hold of the boot with both hands, he dragged theluckless brave entirely around the camp-fire. The fun, however, wasnot to be all one-sided. The big Indian gave a more strenuous pull,and the boot came off suddenly. Unprepared for this, he lost hisbalance and fell down the bank almost into the creek. He held on tothe boot, nevertheless, and getting up, threw it into the fire.
The braves quieted down after that, and soon lapsed into slumber,leaving the big fellow, to whom the chief had addressed his briefcommand, acting, as guard. Observing Joe watching him as he puffedon his new pipe, he grinned, and spoke in broken English that wasintelligible, and much of a surprise to the young man.
"Paleface--tobac'--heap good."
Then, seeing that Joe made no effort to follow his brother'sinitiative, for Jim was fast asleep, he pointed to the recumbentfigures and spoke again.
"Ugh! Paleface sleep--Injun wigwams--near setting sun."
On the following morning Joe was awakened by the pain in his legs,which had been bound all night. He was glad when the bonds were cutand the party took up its westward march.
The Indians, though somewhat quieter, displayed the samecarelessness: they did not hurry, nor use particular caution, butselected the most open paths through the forest. They even haltedwhile one of their number crept up on a herd of browsing deer. Aboutnoon the leader stopped to drink from a spring; his braves followedsuit and permitted the white prisoners to quench their thirst.
When they were about to start again the single note of a bird faraway in the woods sounded clearly on the quiet air. Joe would nothave given heed to it had he been less attentive. He instantlyassociated this peculiar bird-note with the sudden stiffening ofSilvertip's body and his attitude of intense listening. Lowexclamations came from the braves as they bent to catch the lightestsound. Presently, above the murmur of the gentle fall of water overthe stones, rose that musical note once more. It was made by a bird,Joe thought, and yet, judged by the actions of the Indians, howpotent with meaning beyond that of the simple melody of the woodlandsongster! He turned, half expecting to see somewhere in thetree-tops the bird which had wrought so sudden a change in hiscaptors. As he did so from close at hand came the same call, nowlouder, but identical with the one that had deceived him. It was ananswering signal, and had been given by Silvertip.
It flashed into Joe's mind that other savages were in the forest;they had run across the Shawnees' trail, and were thus communicatingwith them. Soon dark figures could be discerned against the patchesof green thicket; they came nearer and nearer, and now entered theopen glade where Silvertip stood with his warriors.
Joe counted twelve, and noted that they differed from his captors.He had only time to see that this difference consisted in thehead-dress, and in the color and quantity of paint on their bodies,when his gaze was attracted and riveted to the foremost figures.
The first was that of a very tall and stately chief, toward whomSilvertip now advanced with every show of respect. In this Indian'scommanding stature, in his reddish-bronze face, stern and powerful,there were readable the characteristics of a king. In his deep-seteyes, gleaming from under a ponderous brow; in his mastiff-like jaw;in every feature of his haughty face were visible all the highintelligence, the consciousness of past valor, and the power andauthority that denote a great chieftain.
The second figure was equally striking for the remarkable contrastit afforded to the chief's. Despite the gaudy garments, the paint,the fringed and beaded buckskin leggins--all the Indianaccouterments and garments which bedecked this person, he would havebeen known anywhere as a white man. His skin was burned to a darkbronze, but it had not the red tinge which characterizes the Indian.This white man had, indeed, a strange physiognomy. The forehead wasnarrow and sloped backward from the brow, denoting animal instincts.The eyes were close together, yellowish-brown in color, and had apeculiar vibrating movement, as though they were hung on a pivot,like a compass-needle. The nose was long and hooked, and the mouthset in a thin, cruel line. There was in the man's aspect anextraordinary combination of ignorance, vanity, cunning andferocity.
While the two chiefs held a short consultation, thissavage-appearing white man addressed the brothers.
"Who're you, an' where you goin'?" he asked gruffly, confrontingJim.
"My name is Downs. I am a preacher, and was on my way to theMoravian Mission to preach to the Indians. You are a white man; willyou help us?"
If Jim expected the information would please his interrogator, hewas mistaken.
"So you're one of 'em? Yes, I'll do suthin' fer you when I git backfrom this hunt. I'll cut your heart out, chop it up, an' feed it tothe buzzards," he said fiercely, concluding his threat by strikingJim a cruel blow on the head.
Joe paled deathly white at this cowardly action, and his eyes, asthey met the gaze of the ruffian, contracted with theircharacteristic steely glow, as if some powerful force within thedepths of his being were at white heat and only this pale flash cameto the surface.
"You ain't a preacher?" questioned the man, meeting something inJoe's glance that had been absent from Jim's.
Joe made no answer, and regarded questioner steadily.
"Ever see me afore? Ever hear of Jim Girty?" he asked boastfully.
"Before you spoke I knew you were Girty," answered Joe quietly.
"How d'you know? Ain't you afeared?"
"Of what?"
"Me--me?"
Joe laughed in the renegades face.
"How'd you knew me?" growled Girty. "I'll see thet you hev cause toremember me after this."
"I figured there was only one so-called white man in these woods whois coward enough to strike a man whose hands are tied."
"Boy, ye're too free with your tongue. I'll shet off your wind."Girty's hand was raised, but it never reached Joe's neck.
The big Indian had an hour or more previous cut Joe's bonds, but hestill retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's leftwrist. This allowed the young man free use of his right arm, which,badly swollen or not, he brought into quick action.
When the renegade reached toward him Joe knocked up the hand, and,instead of striking, he grasped the hooked nose with all thepowerful grip of his fingers. Girty uttered a frightful curse; hewrithed with pain, but could not free himself from the vise-likeclutch. He drew his tomahawk and with a scream aimed a vicious blowat Joe. He missed his aim, however, for Silvertip had intervened andturned the course of the keen hatchet. But the weapon struck Joe aglancing blow, inflicting a painful, though not dangerous wound.
The renegade's nose was skinned and bleeding profusely. He wasfrantic with fury, and tried to get at Joe; but Silvertip remainedin front of his captive until some of the braves led Girty into theforest, where the tall chief had already disappeared.
The nose-pulling incident added to the gayety of the Shawnees, whoevidently were pleased with Girty's discomfiture. They jabberedamong themselves and nodded approvingly at Joe, until a few wordsspoken by Silvertip produced a sudden change.
What the words were Joe could not understand, but to him theysounded like French. He smiled at the absurdity of imagining he hadhe
ard a savage speak a foreign language. At any rate, whatever hadbeen said was trenchant with meaning. The Indians changed from gayto grave; they picked up their weapons and looked keenly on everyside; the big Indian at once retied Joe, and then all crowded roundthe chief.
"Did you hear what Silvertip said, and did you notice the effect ithad?" whispered Jim, taking advantage of the moment.
"It sounded like French, but of course it wasn't," replied Joe.
"It was French. 'Le Vent de la Mort.'"
"By Jove, that's it. What does it mean?" asked Joe, who was not ascholar.
"The Wind of Death."
"That's English, but I can't apply it here. Can you?"
"No doubt it is some Indian omen."
The hurried consultation over, Silvertip tied Joe's horse and dog tothe trees, and once more led the way; this time he avoided the openforest and kept on low ground. For a long time he traveled in thebed of the brook, wading when the water was shallow, and alwaysstepping where there was the least possibility of leaving afootprint. Not a word was spoken. If either of the brothers made thelightest splash in the water, or tumbled a stone into the brook, theIndian behind rapped him on the head with a tomahawk handle.
At certain places, indicated by the care which Silvertip exercisedin walking, the Indian in front of the captives turned and pointedwhere they were to step. They were hiding the trail. Silvertiphurried them over the stony places; went more slowly through thewater, and picked his way carefully over the soft ground it becamenecessary to cross. At times he stopped, remaining motionless manyseconds.
This vigilance continued all the afternoon. The sun sank; twilightspread its gray mantle, and soon black night enveloped the forest.The Indians halted, but made no fire; they sat close together on astony ridge, silent and watchful.
Joe pondered deeply over this behavior. Did the Shawnees fearpursuit? What had that Indian chief told Silvertip? To Joe it seemedthat they acted as if believing foes were on all sides. Though theyhid their tracks, it was, apparently, not the fear of pursuit alonewhich made them cautious.
Joe reviewed the afternoon's march and dwelt upon the possiblemeaning of the cat-like steps, the careful brushing aside ofbranches, the roving eyes, suspicious and gloomy, the eagerwatchfulness of the advance as well as to the rear, and always thestrained effort to listen, all of which gave him the impression ofsome grave, unseen danger.
And now as he lay on the hard ground, nearly exhausted by the longmarch and suffering from the throbbing wound, his courage lessenedsomewhat, and he shivered with dread. The quiet and gloom of theforest; these fierce, wild creatures, free in the heart of their ownwilderness yet menaced by a foe, and that strange French phrasewhich kept recurring in his mind--all had the effect of conjuring upgiant shadows in Joe's fanciful mind. During all his life, untilthis moment, he had never feared anything; now he was afraid of thedarkness. The spectral trees spread long arms overhead, and phantomforms stalked abroad; somewhere out in that dense gloom stirred thismysterious foe--the "Wind of Death."
Nevertheless, he finally slept. In the dull-gray light of earlymorning the Indians once more took up the line of march toward thewest. They marched all that day, and at dark halted to eat and rest.Silvertip and another Indian stood watch.
Some time before morning Joe suddenly awoke. The night was dark, yetit was lighter than when he had fallen asleep. A pale, crescent moonshown dimly through the murky clouds. There was neither movement ofthe air nor the chirp of an insect. Absolute silence prevailed.
Joe saw the Indian guard leaning against a tree, asleep. Silvertipwas gone. The captive raised his head and looked around for thechief. There were only four Indians left, three on the ground andone against the tree.
He saw something shining near him. He looked more closely, and madeout the object to be an eagle plume Silvertip had worn, in hishead-dress. It lay on the ground near the tree. Joe made some slightnoise which awakened the guard. The Indian never moved a muscle; buthis eyes roved everywhere. He, too, noticed the absence of thechief.
At this moment from out of the depths of the woods came a swellingsigh, like the moan of the night wind. It rose and died away,leaving the silence apparently all the deeper.
A shudder ran over Joe's frame. Fascinated, he watched the guard.The Indian uttered a low gasp; his eyes started and glared wildly;he rose very slowly to his full height and stood waiting, listening.The dark hand which held the tomahawk trembled so that little glintsof moonlight glanced from the bright steel.
From far back in the forest-deeps came that same low moaning:
"Um-m-mm-woo-o-o-o!"
It rose from a faint murmur and swelled to a deep moan, soft butclear, and ended in a wail like that of a lost soul.
The break it made in that dead silence was awful. Joe's blood seemedto have curdled and frozen; a cold sweat oozed from his skin, and itwas as if a clammy hand clutched at his heart. He tried to persuadehimself that the fear displayed by the savage was only superstition,and that that moan was but the sigh of the night wind.
The Indian sentinel stood as if paralyzed an instant after thatweird cry, and then, swift as a flash, and as noiseless, he was goneinto the gloomy forest. He had fled without awakening hiscompanions.
Once more the moaning cry arose and swelled mournfully on the stillnight air. It was close at hand!
"The Wind of Death," whispered Joe.
He was shaken and unnerved by the events of the past two days, anddazed from his wound. His strength deserted him, and he lostconsciousness.