Boy Chums in the Forest; Or, Hunting for Plume Birds in the Florida Everglades
Page 14
CHAPTER XIV.
THE VICTIMS.
"Hurry back to the captain, Walt," urged his chum as soon as the Indianboy was laid on another conch. "He may need you any minute. Thosedemons will be here as soon as they finish off the Seminoles. Thankthe Lord, the firing is still going on. I will do what I can for thesepoor chaps and be with you as soon as possible." His eye flashed andhis face darkened as he added, "Tell the captain everyone must shoot atanything that shows itself--and shoot to kill."
As soon as his chum had gone, Charley turned his attention to theSeminole chief. From the clotted mass of blood, he guessed thelocation of the main wound, and with his hunting-knife he rapidly cutaway the shirt, exposing the warrior's chest and back. As he drew backthe blood-soaked cloth, he gave a sigh of relief. The bullet hadpassed clear through the body close to the lungs,--a serious wound, butone which perhaps with proper care need not prove fatal. The amateursurgeon had no antiseptic except common salt, but with that and waterhe quickly cleansed and sterilized the wounds and tearing up one of hisown clean shirts, he first scraped a strip with an old case knife untilhe had a quantity of soft lint with which he stopped both the uglyholes made by the bullet, and then with other strips of the same, heneatly bandaged the wounds. Next he drew on one of the captain'sshirts in the place of the one he had cut away. Lastly, he broke opena pack and took out a quart bottle of brandy. Pouring out a largedrink he let it trickle slowly down between the Indian's set teeth.
The effect was noticeable at once. Slowly the warm blood flowed backinto the dusky cheeks, the limbs began to twitch, the breathing grewaudible, and the wounded man began to show signs of returningconsciousness.
Before turning to his other patient, whom he reckoned as good as dead,Charley stepped outside the wigwam and cast a quick look around. Asmile of satisfaction parted his lips as he noted the distant figuresof his companions behind the tree barricade, each at his post, gun inhand, nervously alert. From them, his glance went on to the point,where the battle was still going on. To even an unobserving person, itwas clear that the firing from the canoes was slackening rapidly, andwith a sigh of regret and anxiety, the lad turned back into the lean-to.
When he bent over the Indian lad, he uttered an exclamation of joy;from the matted hair and abundance of blood he had believed him shotthrough the head. A closer examination showed, however, that thebullet had only ploughed a neat little furrow down to the skull.Charley washed the wound clean, forced some of the brandy down theboy's throat, and dashed a cup of cold water in his face. The effectwas startling. In a few minutes the little Indian was sitting up,swaying drunkenly and in a half dazed way staring about the littleshelter.
"You arc coming around all right, old chap," said Charley, cheerily.
His voice and face brought back to the Indian lad with a rush thememory of the recent ordeal he had been through. He gave one glance atthe unconscious form on the other couch and his hand darted to thehunting-knife at his hip as he staggered, dizzily, to his feet.
"Stop, you are among friends," cried Charley, holding up both emptyhands palm upward as a token of peace. "You were grazed on the head bya rifle bullet and it knocked you out for a few minutes, so I went outin my canoe and towed you in. Your father is hurt pretty bad, but Ihave fixed him up good as I can and I think he will pull through withcare."
The little Indian lad's keen, beady eyes searched the white lad's open,smiling face, his hand dropped from his knife, and he sunk back weaklyon the couch.
"My father over there, heap big chief," he declared proudly, inguttural English. "Name Big Tiger. Me, they call Little Tiger." Ashade of suspicion crept over his face. "You white you say you friend.More whites hid behind trees and shoot and kill many of Big Tiger'sbraves," he said with an ironical smile.
Charley saw that now, if ever, was the time to clear his little partyfrom the natural suspicion of the Seminole. He sat down on the couchopposite and his honest blue eyes met the other's keen, black onesunwaveringly. "The Seminoles, once a mighty people, have grown as fewin number as the deer in the forest," he began, falling naturally intothe speech of the Indians. "Yet, few though they became, there walkedamong them, at least, one of their race whose heart and mind was likethe night when the moon shines not and clouds have hid the stars. Oneday this evil one rose up and slew a harmless white settler. The wisemen of the tribe took counsel together, saying, 'times are changing, wewill turn him over to the law of the white men.' The ears of theLittle Tiger may have heard whispered the name of the white settler'sslayer."
The Indian's eyes were gleaming with scorn and hatred. "InjunCharley," he hissed.
"The white men judged the slayer of the settler according to theirlaws. They sent him to ha shackled with chain and iron ball and doheavy, squaw-work in misery the balance of his years. They did not saybecause this Indian was bad that all Seminoles were slayers of whitemen."
The young Indian started up and began to speak, but Charley silencedhim with a gesture and gravely continued.
"No, these judges were not fools to believe that a whole people shouldbe judged by the crimes of one, or a few of its race. Among thepaleface race were brother, squaw, and father murderers, in greatnumbers, not because the white race is worse than the red, but becausethey exceed the red men in number as the leaves exceed the trunks ofthe tree."
"With the bad Indian, serving out a lifetime of work and exile, wereeleven white men just as bad. When those that watched them had theireyes turned away, the twelve plotted. One night they rose up andmurdered the guards, took their guns and ponies, and, under the lead ofthe bad Indian, came as the crow flies for here, where were campedmyself and three companions, seeking only the bird that bears plumesupon its back. The balance you know," he concluded, gravely. "Asbrother to brother, should the Seminoles be judged by the slayer ofwhites, or the white hunters by lawless murderers whose color is thesame as theirs?"
During Charley's short argument, the suspicion had fled from the youngchieftain's face. At the conclusion, he drew himself up proudly erectand extending his hand spoke the one English word he knew that stoodwith him for friendship and confidence,--"How."
"How," said Charley cheerfully, giving the offered hand a hearty shake."Now let's get outside and take a look. As soon as they have finishedwith your followers, I expect the bad men to come down upon us."
Short as had been the time they had spent in the lean-to, a greatchange had taken place at the scene of the battle. The firing hadceased from all the canoes but one, and even as they looked, a riflecracked, the canoe's occupant half rose, then crashed down over itsside, and the last Seminole rifle was silenced.
The pall of smoke had drifted away from the point, revealing a terriblesight, twenty-nine canoes or dugouts drifted on the quiet water at themercy of wind or current, some floated bottom upward, others' sideswere punctured and splintered with innumerable bullets. Here and therewas one splotched and spotted with the crimson life-blood of its heroicdefender. Not a sign of life was visible amongst the little squadron.As Charley looked, one of the convicts ventured out from his place ofconcealment and with a long branch, drew the nearest canoe in to shore.With a coil of rope in one hand, he jumped in and shoved out amongstthe drifting craft. His errand was easy to be guessed, to make fast tothe drifting canoes and tow them all in to shore.
At the sight of the wiping out of the last of his comrades, the youngIndian had sunk to a seat on a log and buried his face in his hands.Now, Charley tapped him gently on the shoulder. "It is not a time forthe son of a chief to be grieving like a squaw," he said, "hisfollowers are gone, but they died like brave men. Paleface historytells of no braver stand than they made to-day. It's not meet for theson of a chief to sit repining. His thought should be of punishmentfor the doers of the evil."
The young Indian sprang to his feet, his eyes gleaming fiercely."How?" he demanded. "They have slain the pack. Will they not sooncome for the leaders? Has the young white chieftain magic to work
against their many guns and canoes?"
"When the blood runs hot is not the time to reason coolly," saidCharley, calmly. "I go now to help my comrades. Go you into thewigwam and watch by your father; when he awakens tell him all. As soonas we may, we will all meet here in council, and the counsel of a chiefwill shed a light in the dark around us."
Without a word the young Seminole whirled on his heels and disappearedin the lean-to, while Charley hurried in to the barricade, where hispresence was now sorely needed.