The White Crystals: Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys

by Howard Roger Garis

  CHAPTER IX

  OUT OF THE WOODS

  For nearly a minute Roger stood and stared at the Indian, who, despitehis modern clothes was yet sufficiently a redman to make the boy wonderhow in the world he ever came there. On his side the newcomer glanced atRoger by the light of the flickering fire, and a smile came on hisbronzed face.

  "Sagoola! Sagoola!" he repeated. "How do!"

  "Oh!" said Roger, faintly comprehending that his companion had onlygreeted him in the Indian tongue. "Oh, how do you do yourself?"

  "Fine--good," answered the Indian.

  "I'm glad you came along just when you did," went on Roger. "Thewild-cat had me down, and I thought I was a goner."

  "Hu!" grunted the redman. "Smart boy. Light fire. Wild-cat heap 'fraidfire. Ole Johnny Green shoot 'um."

  "Johnny Green?" repeated Roger in an inquiring tone.

  "Yep. Me ole Johnny Green. My boy, he young Johnny Green."

  "Why, I thought Indians had different names from that," said the boy."Names like Yellow Tail, Eagle Eye, and Big Thunder."

  "Hu! Good names wild Injun. Me tame Injun. Have tame name. Live toReservation at Castle. Where yo' from?"

  "My name is Roger Anderson," and he spoke slowly, so his new friendwould have no trouble in understanding, "I am staying with my uncle,Bert Kimball, at Cardiff, and got lost in the woods. I was riding withmy cousin, and the horse ran away."

  "Bert Kimball yo' say yo' uncle?"

  "Yes."

  "Over by Cardiff?"

  "Yes, do you know him?"

  "Sure, sartin. Bert an' me good frens. Yo' loss?"

  "Well, I guess that's what you'd call it; I'm lost," admitted Roger,whose spirits had improved very much in the last few minutes. He was nolonger in fear of the wild-cat, and, as for the Indian, he thought,rightly, that he need be in no worry as to his intentions, though it wasthe first time he knew how near he was to an Indian encampment.

  He briefly explained how he had come to be in the woods, and then hewaited to see what Johnny Green would propose. The Indian stood hisrifle up against a tree, stalked off into the darkness, and returnedpresently, lugging the body of the wild-cat, which he threw on theground near the smouldering fire. Seeing that the blaze was dying outfor lack of fuel, Roger cast on some twigs and branches, until theflames leaped up brightly. Johnny Green squatted down on a log, andRoger followed his example. For a moment there was silence between them.Then the Indian spoke.

  "Not much good for eat," he said, indicating the carcass of the deadanimal he had shot. "Radder have coon. Fur of 'um good; that all."

  "Were you out hunting coons?" asked Roger, and Johnny Green nodded thathe was.

  "Will you show me the way back home, when you are through hunting?"asked the boy, after a pause.

  The Indian nodded his head once more, to indicate that he would act asguide. He looked to the loading of his rifle, and then proceeded to tiethe legs of his prize. He slung the body about his neck, picked up hisgun, and looking at Roger, said: "Come 'long. We go to Bert Kimball. Ishow yo'."

  He paused to trample out the embers of the fire, that it might notspread in the dry woods, and then he started off through the forest,seeming to strike the path without even looking for it. Roger hesitateda moment, then followed.

  The boy kept close behind his guide, who walked at rather a swift pace,as though he was on a country road, instead of being in the depths ofthe wood, with only a pale moon, now half obscured by clouds to lighthim. The boy could not help admiring the unhesitating manner in whichthe Indian picked his way through the maze of trees. It was what mightbe expected of a wild Indian, Roger thought; of one who had lived allhis life in the open. But here was apparently a civilized redman, whohad not a chance to exercise his woodcraft in years, perhaps. Yet hemade no false steps and moved as swiftly through the dark woods as Rogercould have done on a brilliantly lighted street. It must be a sort ofanimal instinct the boy concluded.

  For a few minutes after he started Roger could not help feeling a bitdistrustful. How could he be sure that the Indian was what he said hewas? How could he know that Johnny Green would guide him safely to hisuncle's house? Once he was almost on the point of turning back, but thethought of the dark forest into which he would have to plunge, withoutknowing where the path was, and the fear that there were hiding behindthe trees more and uglier wild animals than he had yet encountered,deterred him.

  Besides, Johnny Green did not seem to care much whether the boy followedhim or not. He had promised to guide him out of the wood, and if Rogerdidn't want to be taken home, what concern was it of Johnny Green's?Reasoning thus, the boy concluded it must be all right, and then hebegan to follow with swift steps, keeping up as well as he was able,with his silent leader.

  In what seemed to Roger to be a very short time, he and Johnny Greenemerged from the deeper forest into a sort of clearing, where a numberof trees had been cut down. Traversing this was a rough wagon road,used, it seemed, by the wood choppers. Johnny Green struck into thiswith a grunt of satisfaction at the easier going, and he increased hispace so that Roger, exhausted and wearied as he was, found it difficultto keep his guide in sight. Perhaps the Indian heard the boy breathingrather heavy because of the exertions, or he might have recalled thathis legs were longer and tougher than his companion's. At any rate,Johnny Green slackened his pace, and Roger was glad of it. Half a mileof travel along the wood trail brought the two out into the main road,and Roger, feeling the hard-packed dirt under his feet, saw that he wason the same highway where he and Adrian had driven with the grapes. Itseemed almost a week ago, though it was but a few hours. There wasconsiderable light now, even though the clouds did darken the moon attimes, and Roger could distinguish dimly the fields, fenced in andextending to right and left away from the road.

  "Tree mile now," grunted Johnny Green. It was the first time he hadspoken since they started.

  "To where?" asked Roger.

  "Tree mile Bert Kimball," and the boy was glad to learn how near home hewas. It was slightly down hill going now, and the walking was good, soboth stepped out at a lively pace. The night was chilly, and the dampwind made Roger shiver, so he was glad of the vigorous exercise thatkept his blood in circulation. It was lonesome too, even though JohnnyGreen was just ahead of him, and the boy listened, with a sort of dread,to the mournful hooting of the owls, the cheeping of the tree-toads andthe chirping of the crickets. For some time the two kept on in silence.Then the Indian suddenly halted in the middle of the road. He bent hishead as if to catch some sound in the distance.

  "Hark!" he cautioned, and held up his hand warningly.

  Roger stopped. Yes, there was some noise quite a way in front, but atfirst its character could not be distinguished. Then in a few moments itresolved into a sort of confused shouting.

  "What yo' name?" asked Johnny Green, turning quickly to the boy at hisside.

  "Roger."

  "They callin' yo'," he announced. "Bert Kimball I tink"

  "Is it?" joyfully.

  "Yep. Listen."

  Faintly Roger heard a voice shouting. He could make out no words,however. It increased his respect for Johnny Green's attainments thatthe Indian could understand a name called from such a distance.

  Then Roger's companion raised his voice in a long, loud, shrill,far-carrying halloo: "Hi! Bert Kimball! Here yo' boy Roger!"

  There came an answering shout, in which the boy could scarcelydistinguish his own name, and he, too, cried out: "Here I am, UncleBert! I'm all right!"

  A few minutes later there flashed from behind a bend in the road thegleam of a lantern, and soon another flickering light appeared. Rogerran toward them, and Johnny Green hurried on also. Nearer and nearercame the lights, and then in a few minutes the seekers and the lostwere together.

  While Adrian, who was with his father, was shaking hands with Roger andtelling him how glad he was to see him again, Mr. Kimball was exchanginggreetings with the Indian and looking at the wild-cat slung across hisshoulders. It didn'
t take long for Roger to tell his experience, and thewords of praise that came from his uncle and cousin, at his wise andbrave conduct in the fight with the beast, more than repaid him for thefright and discomfort he had undergone. The cuts and scratches on hisback proved to be only slight ones, when Mr. Kimball insisted on lookingat them by the light of the lanterns.

  "Ye got off mighty lucky," commented the farmer, as Roger put on hiscoat again.

  "What happened?" asked Roger of Adrian. "Did something scare the horse?"

  "The wagon struck a stone," explained Adrian, "and you were pitched out.I suppose you must have lost your senses by hitting your head on thehard ground. I tried to grab you when I saw you going, and I must havefrightened the horse, for he bolted as if a bear was after him. I guessit was the first time he ever ran away and he rather liked it, for henever stopped galloping until I got to Enberry Took's house, though Isawed on the lines for all I was worth. When I found I was so near homeI thought I'd better go on, put the rig up, and get dad to come backwith me to find you, for I thought we'd meet you walking in. We figuredon seeing you within the first mile, but you must have turned aroundand gone back toward Tully. We went slow, for it was dark at first, andwe didn't want to miss you. It was lucky you happened to find that onematch in your knife, wasn't it?"

  "It was luckier that Johnny Green came along just when he did," saidRoger, "or the fire might not have done me much good."

  "Wa'al, I reckon it's lucky all around," interposed Mr. Kimball. "Now,ef it's all th' same t' ye two boys, we'll git 'long hum, 'n' relieveth' women folks, fer they most hed a caniption fit when they heard whathappened."

  So the four started on toward Cardiff, the two boys walking behind Mr.Kimball and Johnny Green.

  "Say," began Roger in a low tone, "is he a real Indian?"

  "Sure," replied Adrian. "He's one of the Onondaga tribe. There's areservation of them at a place they call the Castle, which is what theyname their Council House. It's about three miles from Cardiff. I meantto tell you about them, but I forgot it. They're full-blooded Indians,but they're not wild, though some of the older ones were once, Isuppose. We'll take a trip down and see 'em soon, and get 'em to make ussome bows and arrows. Most of 'em know dad, from buying honey from him."

  Without further incident the little party reached Cardiff. While Roger,with his uncle and cousin turned in at the welcome farmhouse, JohnnyGreen, with a grunted good night, kept on to his cabin. Roger found hisaunt and pretty cousin waiting for him in great anxiety, and very gladindeed were they to see him again, and to learn that he had come to nogreat harm, though he had been in grave danger. Mrs. Kimball insisted onputting some home-made salve on the cuts and scratches in Roger's back,which were now beginning to smart a little, though they were not deep.

  "That stuff'll draw the soreness out," said Mrs. Kimball.

  "It feels good, at any rate," said Roger.

  "Now I reckon you'll like some supper," went on his aunt, bustlingabout.

  "Supper? Breakfust'd be nearer th' mark," spoke up Mr. Kimball, lookingat his big silver watch, which showed two o'clock.

  "Anything, as long as it's something to eat," said Roger. "I'm as hungryas a bear."

  "Or a wild-cat," laughed Clara, as she set the coffee on to boil.

  A few minutes later they all drew up to the table with good appetites,for when the others heard what happened to Roger they had been in nomood for supper earlier in the evening.

  The whole story had to be gone over again by Roger, and when he hadfinished Mr. Kimball packed them all off to bed.