CHAPTER IV
THE VISITOR FROM THE OTHER SHORE
Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub saw the twinkling point of light,glowing like a star from the bank of darkness on the other side theMississippi. It shone for a minute with an intense brightness, andthen, to their amazement, began revolving in a circle of a foot ormore in diameter. It sped round and round with such swiftness thatit resembled a wheel of fire without the slightest break in theflaming periphery.
"What can it mean?" asked the mystified Jack.
"I vos told something apout afire dot vos to jump apout in onecircle," was the remarkable statement of Otto.
"What was it?"
"I don't forgot him now," replied the German with the hesitatingspeech of one in doubt.
"Well, you're the prize blockhead of the West," was the impatientcomment of the young Kentuckian. "How you could have heard anythingof that signal--as it must be--and forget it is beyond my understanding."
"Dot's what I dinks. I'll remember sometime after a few days--helloa!"
His exclamation was caused by the blotting out of the circular firewhich had caused so much speculation. Looking toward the westernbank of the Mississippi all was darkness again, the light havingvanished.
Jack stooped so as to bring his head on a level with the surface ofthe river, and peered intently out over the moonlit surface.
"That torch was waved by an Indian in a canoe," said he, in a lowvoice, "and he is paddling this way."
Otto imitated the action of his friend, and saw that he had spokenthe truth. The outlines of a boat, dimly distinguishable, wereassuming definite shape with such rapidity that there could be nodoubt the craft was approaching them.
As there was no question that the fiery ring was meant for a signal,Jack Carleton concluded that a party of red men were communicatingwith those from whom the boys had effected so narrow an escape.Such a supposition showed the necessity of great care, and thefriends, without speaking, stepped further from the edge of thestream, where they were in no danger of being seen.
As the boat came nearer, and its shape was more clearly marked, theboys discovered that only a single warrior sat within. He was inthe stern, manipulating his long, ashen paddle with such rare skillthat he seemed to pay no heed to the current at all.
"There's only one of them," whispered the astonished Jack. "Howeasily we can pick him off!"
Otto brought his gun to his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" demanded the angry Jack.
"Pick him off!"
"No, you don't. He may be a friend."
"We'll found dot out, after we don't shoot him. Let's shoot himfirst," was the suggestion of Otto, "and then ax him the question."
"Even if an enemy--as he undoubtedly is--it would be cowardly toslay him in that fashion. As there is only one--!"
"Dere!" exclaimed the young Teuton, hardly to suppress hisexcitement over the recollection; "I knowed dat I had recumlectedsome dings."
"What is it?"
"Dot young gentleman in dot boat is a great friend of mine. He toldme he would meet me at the crossing, if I didn't reach him peforetill it was come dark. Dot vos vat I didn't forget till de firepegun to whirl apout, and then I didn't remember."
"Who is he?" asked the astonished Jack.
"Deerfoot, the Shawanoe," was the reply of Otto, who, with a lightheart, stepped closer to the edge of the swiftly flowing river andcalled out:
"Holloa, Deerfoot! How you vos?"
The mention of the name called up strange emotions in the breast ofJack Carleton. For a year previous, stories had reached thesettlement where he had made his home, of the wonderful Shawanoeyouth, who was captured when a child, and while he was as untameablein his hatred of the whites as a spitting wildcat, but who wastransformed by kindness into the most devoted friend of thepioneers.
Ned Preston, who lived at Wild Oaks, nearly a hundred miles distantfrom Jack's home, visited the latter a few months before, while on ahunting excursion, with his colored friend Wild-blossom Brown, andit was from him that Jack had gained many particulars of theremarkable history of the young Shawanoe.
Jack credited the statements of Deerfoot's amazing skill in the useof his bow and arrow, his wonderful fleetness of foot, and hischivalrous devotion to his friends; but when told that the youthcould not only read, but could write an excellent hand, and that hewas a true Christian, Jack felt many misgivings of the truth of thewhole story.
Jack recalled further the statement that Deerfoot was held in suchdetestation by his own race that he became convinced his presencewas an element of weakness rather than strength to his friends, andit was for that reason he had migrated west of the Mississippi.
The youthful warrior, seated in the stem of the canoe, gave noevidence that he saw the stubby figure of the German lad who steppedclose to the water and hailed him by name. One powerful impulse ofthe paddle sent the bark structure far up the bank, like the snoutof some aquatic monster plunging after the lad awaiting it.
Before it came to rest, Deerfoot sprang lightly ashore, and,grasping the front of the boat, drew it still further from theriver, where it was not only safe against being swept away, butcould not be seen by any one passing in the neighborhood.
His next proceeding was to pick up his bow from the bottom of thecanoe, after which he was prepared to see that others were near him.Turning about, he extended his hand to Otto with the smilinggreeting: "How do you do, my brother?"
The words were spoken with as perfect accentuation as Jack Carletoncould have used. Had the speaker been invisible, no one would havebelieved him to be an Indian.
"I does vell," replied Otto, shaking his hand firmly. "Dis ish myfriend, Jack Carleton, dot I dinks a good deal of."
Dropping the hand of the German, Deerfoot took one step forward andsaluted the young Kentuckian in the same manner. He pressed hishand warmly, and, with the same smile as before, said:
"Deerfoot is glad to meet his brother."
As he uttered these words the moonlight fell on his face and thefront part of his body, so that a better view of countenance andfeatures could not have been obtained.
Nearly a year had passed since we last saw Deerfoot (see "Ned on theRiver"). During that period, he had almost attained the fullstature of a warrior. It may be said that there was no singleperson, whether of his own or the Caucasian race, whom Deerfoot heldin personal fear.
Those who have done me the honor of reading the "Young PioneerSeries," will recall the marked attractiveness of Deerfoot'scountenance. The classical regularity of his features was relievedfrom effeminacy by the slightly Roman nose, which, with the thinlips, gave him an expression of firmness and nerve that was true tohis character.
When he stepped in front of the great Tecumseh, with his knifeclenched in his band, and dared the chieftain to mortal combat, theluminous black eyes flashed lightning, and the muscles on thegraceful limbs were knotted like iron. They were now in repose andthe eyes were as soft as those of a maiden.
When Deerfoot smiled it was rarely more than it faint, shadowyexpression, just sufficient to reveal the small, even, white teethand to add to the winsomeness of his expression.
The love of finery and display seems natural to every human being,and it manifested itself in the dress of the young Shawanoe. Thelong black hair, which streamed down his shoulders, was ornamentedat the crown by several eagle feathers, brilliantly stained andthrust in place. The fringes of the neatly fitting leggings werealso colored, and the moccasins which incased the small shapelyfeet, were interwoven with beads of every line of the rainbow. Thebody of the hunting shirt as well as the skirt, which descendedalmost to his knees, showed what may be called a certain subduedgaudiness which was not without its attractiveness.
The waist of the Shawanoe was clasped by a girdle into which werethrust a knife and tomahawk. Relying upon the bow, instead of therifle, he carried a quiver full of arrows, just showing over theright shoulder, where they could be readily plucked wi
th his deftleft hand, whenever required.
Deerfoot had tested both the rifle and the bowl and as has beenshown gave his adherence to the latter.
Jack Carleton said to himself, "He is the handsomest being I everlooked upon."
He was perfect in build, graceful in every movement, with anactivity and power almost incredible, an eye large, black, andhonest, but keen and penetrating, and a command of which approachedthe marvelous.
These characteristics of the young warrior struck Jack Carletonwhile pressing the warm hand of his new friend and looking into hispleasing countenance for the first time.
"I am delighted to see you," he said, recalling the amazing storiestold of Deerfoot by Ned Preston, and beginning to think that, afterall, they may have contained more truth than fiction.
Before Jack could add anything more, Otto Relstaub, who was staringat the two, heaved a great sigh, as if fearing some danger wouldcome upon them.
"What is the matter with my brother?" asked Deerfoot, lookinginquiringly toward him with his old smile.
"I asks mineself if we stands here till all last night, don't it?"
"I suppose we may as well seek more comfortable quarters," remarkedJack Carleton, who turned to the young warrior and added, "WhenDeerfoot is present no one else dare lead. What says he?"
The Lost Trail Page 4