The Hunters of the Ozark

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  AN INFURIATE SHAWANOE.

  WITH the departure of Fred and Terry, Deerfoot felt as though he hadflung off a blanket that had been wrapped about his shoulders: his armswere now free and he could use them at will.

  He shrewdly suspected that his young friends would fancy they had beenput upon their mettle, and would, therefore, exert themselves to theirfullest to meet his expectations. He was glad it was so, and he wouldhave been much better pleased could he have known they were in the cabinat the foot of the mountains, or, better still, safe at their home inGreville.

  Deerfoot now stealthily approached as close to the camp-fire as wassafe. He screened his body behind a tree, but he was nigh enough tocatch every word that was said in an ordinary tone, and he understoodthe Winnebago tongue well enough to want no interpreter.

  The Shawanoe had hardly taken his position to act as cowen, when thevenison steaks were about one-fourth broiled, which was enough tosatisfy the parties interested. Those who had charge of the culinaryoperations divided the meat into a dozen slices, so that each warriorwas provided for, and the feast opened. The strong animal appetites, andteeth like those of the steel traps that were set at the foot of theOzarks, soon brought the feast to a close, after which the feasterswalked the few steps necessary to the brook near at hand, and lying downon their faces drank their fill, just as so many pigs would have done,grunting with satisfaction as they came back and resumed their pipes.

  All this Deerfoot had seen so often that it had no interest to him. Hekept his eyes on two warriors--the Wolf and one whom he had never seenbefore. These two sat near each other on the ground while eating, andthey talked together in low tones. Since none of those around couldoverhear the words, it was impossible for Deerfoot, with all hiswonderful acuteness, to catch a syllable. He would have given a greatdeal could he have done so, for he suspected the dark plot that wastaking shape in their dusky brains. There was a dangerous flash in theblack eyes of the young Shawanoe while he watched their movements.

  It was clear to him that the Wolf had lost prestige, instead of gainingsympathy by his last misfortune. Having gone out to gather wool he hadcome back shorn, to go out a second time and to come back shorn to astill more ludicrous degree. The manner in which the Wolf kept apartfrom the rest, affiliating only with the single warrior at his side,showed the feeling in the party.

  It was easy to recognize the leader or chieftain, though his dress wasprecisely like the rest, but his air of authority told the story plainlyenough. The Winnebagos were a fine set of men in their war paint, and,as I have said, were able to give a good account of themselves in anyscrimmage in which they might become engaged.

  As unexpectedly to the warriors as to Deerfoot himself, the Winnebagochieftain, who was standing on one side of the fire where his rifle withseveral others leaned against a tree, took his pipe from between hislips and spoke to the Wolf in tones which caused that redskin to look upin wonder. Seeing that the sachem hesitated, as if waiting for him torise, the Wolf came nimbly to his feet, as did his friend at his elbow.The majority of the rest, however, sat still and showed no specialinterest in what was going on.

  "The Wolf was the bravest of the Winnebagos," remarked the chief, "whenour war parties met those of the Sauks and Foxes and Pottawatomies whodared to come into our country; the heart of the Wolf bounded withdelight and no tomahawk was hurled with such swiftness as his: no gunwas fired more often; no scalping knife took back more scalps to hangupon the ridge-pole of his wigwam.

  "But the Wolf came across the Big Water and his heart longed for thescalp of the pale face; he went out to hunt for it; he came back; thetongue of the Wolf is not double and tells no lies; the Wolf met aShawanoe warrior who took his gun from him.

  "It was the young Shawanoe called Deerfoot; the Winnebagos have beentold about Deerfoot, the friend of the white man; the heart of BlackBear (meaning himself) was angry; he was chief of the Winnebagos; hetold the Wolf that he must go forth and bring back his rifle; the Wolfwent; he did not bring back his rifle, but left his knife behind;Deerfoot saw him and took it away from him.

  "Deerfoot is but a youth; he is not a mighty warrior; the Wolf must gethis gun and knife; he must bring back the scalp of the Shawanoe, heshall take Wau-ko-mia-tan with him; each shall have his gun; let thembring back the scalps of Deerfoot and the two pale faces with him; thenwill Black Bear forget that the Wolf was not always a great warrior.

  "Let the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan make haste; the Winnebagos are on thewar path; they will carry back with them the scalps of the pale faceswho are gathering the skins of the beaver and otter and foxes by thebase of the mountain."

  It may be said that this little speech developed the plan of theWinnebago campaign. The Wolf had fallen so low in the opinion of hischieftain and brother warriors, that it was necessary for him to takeheroic measures to restore himself. Seeing this, the sachem had justnotified him that he must secure the scalps of Deerfoot and the twowhite boys with him. Wau-ko-mia-tan (who was the warrior that sat at theelbow of the Wolf), was to be his companion. The chieftain knew howclosely the two were allied, and he indulged in the little fiction ofallowing one to keep company with the other, when the truth was he wasafraid to let the Wolf go alone. Since on each of the two formerexcursions he had lost something, the probabilities were that if he cameback again, it would be without his scalp.

  The eagerness with which the Wolf accepted this task, the moment hefound that he was to have a companion, showed that he was an admirablerepresentative of the average Indian: gratitude to him was a vice ratherthan a virtue.

  The expression on the face of Deerfoot showed that all forbearance wasended. He had twice spared the ingrate: he would do so no more.

  Had the Wolf told his leader that the mercy of Deerfoot had touched hisheart, so that his arm could never more be raised in anger against him,but that he would seek the scalps of the hunters at the base of themountains, the Shawanoe would have felt an admiration for him. Had hesought out Deerfoot and asked for the return of his weapons (though thatwould have been very unlike his race), Deerfoot would have restored themto him. But now, as it was, when they should meet it would be as mortalenemies.

  Nothing showed the vicious ingratitude of the Wolf more vividly than thefact that instead of waiting for the morning before entering upon hiswicked enterprise, he started within three minutes after Black Bear, thechieftain, finished his little speech. The sachem picked up his ownrifle from where it leaned against the tree and handed it to him, whileWau-ko-mia-tan stood at the other end of the group, until the warrior,his ugly face glowing like that of a demon, stepped to his side. Thenthe two, without a word or motion like a farewell, turned away andvanished in the gloom of the wood.

  They had not taken a dozen steps, when Deerfoot glided from behind thetree and passed after them, as if he were the shadow thrown out by thelight of the camp-fire. The expression on his face was such as wouldhave hushed Fred Linden and Terry Clark to awed silence could they haveseen it.

  The two Winnebagos did not come directly back to the trail, but fellinto it at almost the precise point where Deerfoot had led his twofriends. They stopped a few minutes and talked in their low, gutturaltones, none of which was understood by the Shawanoe, who listened withthe closest attention.

  There was considerable distance at that time between the warriors andFred and Terry, who had set out with the ambition to keep up theirtraveling through the entire night. The Winnebagos did not wait long,when they moved on at their usual pace.

  Less than a mile from the camp, the warriors again came to a halt and asbefore talked in a low voice. The point was where the wood was moreopen, so that the moonlight which found its way among the limbs aboveshowed their forms quite plainly. More than that, enough of their wordswere audible to enable the listening Shawanoe, who had crept dangerouslynear, to catch their meaning.

  The Winnebagos turned off at almost a right angle and left the trailbehind them. The ground was broken, but they had
not gone far, when itbecame evident that they were following another path, though it was sofaintly marked that no eye except that of an American Indian could havediscovered it in such an uncertain light.

  As they advanced, the surface became not only rougher, but the gradewhich they ascended was so steep that it would have been tiresome to anordinary traveler.

  Suddenly Deerfoot himself wheeled aside from the indistinct path towhich the Winnebagos clung and passed lightly and with great speedthrough the wood where no one had walked before. So swiftly did he makehis way, that, though he crossed a deep ravine and went a considerabledistance, it was less than live minutes before he came back to theshadowy trail.

  Instead of keeping along this path, in the same direction as that of hisenemies, he turned about and advanced to meet the red men who had daredto come that way. He walked with his usual noiseless step, and stoppedon reaching the edge of the ravine over which he had leaped when itcrossed his path only a few minutes before.

  This gully was more than twenty feet in depth, and about half as wide.The trail led to the edge on one side, continuing on the margin directlyopposite, so that any one who wished to keep to it was perforcecompelled to leap the chasm--a slight task for any Indian, though itwould have been easy to make a bridge by means of a fallen tree.

  The moon was now directly overhead, so that a flood of light fell intothe craggy ravine, lighting up the gray rocks and bowlders, theprostrate trees that had fallen from the sides, the vegetation along theslopes and the mossy grass that had been watered by the torrents whenthey roared through. The trees grew rank and close to the edge at thetop--so close that some of them had slidden off and fallen part waybelow, carrying the gravel, sand and earth with the prong-like rootspart way to the bottom.

  So faint was the mark of the trail opposite that even with the help ofthe moonbeams, it took an eye as keen as that of Deerfoot to tell wherehis enemies would appear. But he coolly awaited them, though hiscalmness was the fearful calm of a fury such as even he rarely knew.