Deerfoot never shrank from any duty, no matter how trying to his feelings. He supposed that Hay-uta was dead, but when he looked at him, he saw that he was sitting as before with his back against the rock, his arms folded, while he was gazing at the western sky as if lost in pleasant meditation; but the deathly pallor visible through his paint, showed he had but a short time to live.
Deerfoot hastened his steps, and Hay-uta turned his eyes with a smile and feebly extended his hand. The Shawanoe eagerly took it and kneeled on one knee.
“Why does my brother the brave Hay-uta smile?” he asked, in a voice as low as that of a mother.
“Hay-uta was looking at the clouds in the sky and he saw the face of the Great Spirit that Deerfoot told him about.”
“Was the Great Spirit pleased?”
“He smiled and showed he loved Hay-uta,—who sees him again,” added the dying warrior, turning his gaze toward the billowy clouds, tinted with gold in the rays of the declining sun. “He smiles and is waiting for me.”
A divine joy suffused the heart of the Shawanoe, when he not only heard these words, but noted the expression which illuminated the countenance of the Sauk, who had but a few more minutes to live.
And while stirred by such emotions, there were other matters which Deerfoot could not forget. True, he had slain the only Pawnee near, but he could not feel sure that all danger from that source was gone. Others might be drawn to the spot, within a brief period, and he cast a searching glance on his surroundings, to make certain he was not taken unawares. Had a half dozen hostiles burst upon the scene, the Shawanoe would not have deserted Hay-uta, so long as breath remained in his body.
There was hope for a moment on the part of Deerfoot that his friend might not be mortally hurt, but such hope vanished almost as soon as it came. The wound was in the breast; it bled slightly, but the eye of the Shawanoe (aside from the appearance of the Sauk), showed the poor fellow was beyond the power of human help.
“The heart of Deerfoot is glad,” said the Shawanoe, still resting on one knee, and holding the hand of Hay-uta, while he looked kindly into his face. “Deerfoot had drawn his bow, and would have driven his arrow through the heart of the dog of a Pawnee, but the bow broke and the arrow fell at the feet of Deerfoot.”
This statement seemed to recall Hay-uta to his situation; he compressed his thin lips, as if forcing back a moan, and his free hand groped at his side in feeble quest of something. Before Deerfoot could divine his purpose, he grasped his handsome gun, leaning against the rock, and made as if to pass it to Deerfoot. The latter was obliged to help him, and resting the stock on the ground, he leaned the muzzle toward the other, and awaited his words.
“Had that been in the hand of Deerfoot, then Hay-uta had not died.”
“My brother speaks with a single tongue, as he always did,” replied the Shawanoe, in a sad voice; “the bow is broken.”
“Let my brother use it no more; let him take the rifle which he now grasps.”
“It shall be done as my brother wishes.”
“The heart of Hay-uta rejoices; let my brother take the powder-horn and bullet-pouch of Hay-uta.”
With great gentleness, Deerfoot slipped the string of the Sauk’s powder-horn over his neck, unfastened the bullet-pouch, and placed them and the proffered tomahawk about his own person. Before doing so, he detached his quiver and flung it from him. The Sauk watched his actions with more interest than would be supposed, and his pale face showed that he was pleased with the change.
“My brother was given skill with the bow, but his skill is as great with the gun, and it will not fail him when he points it at the deer or at his enemy.”
“It is the Great Spirit who guides the arrow and bullet,” was the response of the Shawanoe. “Deerfoot will use the bow no more; he will keep the rifle and tomahawk his brother Hay-uta gave him. He will think of Hay-uta and the gun will be better in the hands than the bow.”
“Then Deerfoot will be greater than any hunter in the west,” was the remark of his friend, and that he was a true prophet will be shown by the incidents in which the Shawanoe was soon called to take part.
The young warrior had no wish to hear the deserved compliments at such a time, for he saw that only a few more words could fall from the lips of the Sauk. Still holding the hand tenderly in his own, he asked in a gentler voice:
“Does my brother see the face of the Great Spirit now?”
The eyes that were growing dull, brightened again, and were fixed on the tinted horizon as though he saw the countenance of his Heavenly Father (and who dare say he did not?), with as much distinctness as he discerned that of the Shawanoe kneeling before him.
“I see Him. He stands now with His side toward me; one foot is forward, and He is leaning over as if He is about to take a step. He reaches His hand toward me; He is only waiting till I place my hand in His.” Then, fixing with an effort his gaze on the Shawanoe, Hay-uta, whose mind began to wander, said:
“The Great Spirit looks toward Deerfoot; He waits to hear him speak.”
The Sauk became silent, and Deerfoot prayed for a few minutes with the touching faith of childhood. When he was nearly done, he unconsciously dropped into his own tongue.
“The prayer of Deerfoot to the Great Spirit is that He will take the hand of Hay-uta, which reaches upward to Him and lead him into the hunting grounds, beyond the clouds and sun and stars. The prayer of Hay-uta is the prayer of Deerfoot.”
Having finished, the Shawanoe ceased and looked into the face of the Sauk, awaiting what further request he might make. The calm, triumphant expression which lit up the features, led him to expect a movement of the lips, but it needed only a second glance to discover that Hay-uta the Sauk was dead.
Deerfoot looked closely at him, and then, rising to his feet, scanned the surrounding solitude. While Hay-uta had seated himself where he gained an unobstructed view of the sky, he was not at the top of the ridge, nor was he liable to be discovered by any enemies at a distance. It was a fatal mischance which brought the treacherous Pawnee that way.
From where Deerfoot stood, he could see the feet and leggings of the fallen Pawnee, who lay flat on his back as though looking at the sky; but no living person was in sight.
The Shawanoe waited a brief while, debating with himself as to his duty toward his dead friend. While he was without the means of burying him, he could place the body in some less conspicuous position, yet he took a different course.
Before the limbs of the dead warrior were given time to stiffen, Deerfoot adjusted them as they were when he first discovered him sunk in meditation. The body was made to sit erect, the back supported by the rock behind it; the feet were extended in a natural position, and the arms folded across the massive chest. The partly-open eyes seemed still to rest on the western horizon, behind which the sun had set. Though Indian superstition would have caused the body to face the other way, to greet the rising sun, Deerfoot had no wish to change the posture; for Hay-uta died not as dies the heathen, but as passes away the Christian.
It would have been hard for any one venturing from the woods, and catching sight of the body for the first time, to believe the spark of life had fled.
The Shawanoe viewed the striking figure, and felt that he had done the most fitting thing. Looking up at the darkened sky he asked the Great Spirit to protect the body from molestation by wild man or beast, and then, with a faint sigh, he turned away, and passing over the ridge, hastened toward the rendezvous, where Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub had been told to await his coming.
Months afterward, a party of trappers penetrating further than usual to the westward, came upon the skeleton of an Indian warrior, seated on the ground with his arms folded, and back resting against a rock behind him. They supposed he had been killed and then placed in that posture, but we know they were not altogether right in their belief.
Having turned his back for the last time on Hay-uta, the Shawanoe hurried toward the ridge where he expected to rejoin his
friends. It was too dark to follow any trail, and indeed there was no call to do so. Had nothing interfered, he knew the neighborhood of the spot where he would find the boys, and he hastened toward it. Even if he went somewhat astray, it would be no difficult matter to open communication with them.
The stream in which Jack and Otto had such rare sport scarcely checked the progress of the Shawanoe, but when a short while after, he caught the glimpse of a camp-fire on the slope of the ridge, he was displeased; for it showed a degree of recklessness in them that he could not excuse. If they chose to encamp there, they ought to have known better than to turn it into a beacon light to guide the hostiles for miles around.
With an expression of displeasure, Deerfoot hastened his footsteps, and reached camp sooner than he or his young friends anticipated. It can be understood that the surprise was great on the part of all.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CONCLUSION.
It was a surprising discovery for Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub when they learned that the solitary Sauk warrior who welcomed them to his camp, had in his possession the horse belonging to the German lad, for which they had sought so long in vain.
“Mine gracious!” exclaimed Otto, when they seated themselves again by the fire; “if we gots him, won’t it be shust too good!”
“Then I suppose your father and mother will be satisfied.”
“Yaw—but holds on!” he added, looking down at his clothing; “I have torn my trowsers shust a little, and dot will gif dem de oxcuse to whip me.”
“No; they will be too glad to get the colt back to mind such a small thing as that; but isn’t it one of the strangest things in the world that this Sauk should find and bring him all the way through the woods and across streams and prairies to this point, and then that we should come upon him.”
“It peats everydings,” replied Otto; “but he can’t told us how he didn’t do it.”
“No; we shall have to wait till Deerfoot comes; he can talk the Sauk tongue and it won’t take him long to find out the whole story.”
The boys felt so little misgiving about entrusting themselves to the care of the stranger, that when they began to feel drowsy they stretched out on the blanket, with their backs against each other, and went to sleep.
An hour later, just as the Sauk was on the point of also turning in for the night, Deerfoot made his appearance. His coming was a surprise to the warrior, and at first caused him some alarm, but, so soon as he learned who he was, his feelings underwent a change, for, truth to tell, the Shawanoe was the very one whom the Sauk had come so many miles to meet.
The story of the Sauk was impressive. He was the brother of Hay-uta, and on the return of the latter to his home, he told of his encounter with Deerfoot, and dwelt on the extraordinary words of his conqueror. He, too, had heard something similar from the missionaries, whom he had seen at different posts in the West, but like most of his people he was indifferent to their arguments.
But the “sermon” preached by Deerfoot, through his kindred, got hold of the Sauk, and would not let go. He affected to despise the words, but he could not drive them from him. Some time afterward Hay-uta told his brother he must hunt up the friendly Shawanoe, and learn more of the Great Spirit whom he told him about. He asked him to bear him company, but the Sauk declined, just as all of us are prone to rebel against the better promptings of our nature.
The time soon came however when he started to hunt, not only for Hay-uta, but for Deerfoot also. Of necessity his search for awhile was a blind one, but while threading his way through the woods he found the horse of Otto Relstaub cropping the grass on a slight stretch of prairie. Some curious fortune had given him his liberty and led him into that section.
The brother was so prompt in following Hay-uta, that he kept to his trail long after the latter had found Deerfoot and Jack Carleton, but a peculiar shame-facedness held him back from joining them. Once or twice he resolved to overtake them, but each time he shrank back, and finally lingered so long that he lost the trail altogether.
But that restless longing for the great light, of which he had only the dim glimmerings, kept his face turned westward, while he hoped and yet dreaded to meet the young Shawanoe, who, unsuspected by himself, was the cause of his strange discontent.
The meeting took place in the manner already told. It was Deerfoot who found the Sauk instead of the Sauk who found him. In a tender, sympathetic voice the Shawanoe gave the other the particulars of his brother’s death, making clear to him that when he crossed the dark river it was to enter the hunting grounds of the true Great Spirit, who beckoned him thither. The Sauk showed no grief over the loss of his kindred, though he mourned him with an emotion that was a singular mixture of sadness and pleasure. He seemed more interested in the story which Deerfoot told him about the One who died that all men might live, and whose approving smile could be won by whomsoever would do His will.
The two warriors lay a long time by the camp-fire, which was replenished several times, while the Shawanoe read from his Bible and discoursed of the momentous truths contained therein, and the listener questioned and answered, and appropriated the revelations thus made to him. Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, sowed good seed on that evening a long time ago; but the full fruitage thereof shall never be known until the last great day, for which all others were made.
When the Sauk learned that the horse which he had found astray in the wilderness belonged to one of the sleeping boys, he said it should be returned to him on the morrow. Deerfoot encouraged him by replying that such action would always please the Great Spirit, who knew the thoughts, words and deeds of every person that lived.
While the boys were sleeping, and when the gray light of morning was creeping over the forest, Deerfoot scouted through the country surrounding them. As he anticipated, he found no sign of enemies. The Pawnees had been handled so roughly that they made no further attempt to molest the little party that seemed to them to be under the special care of the Evil One.
Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub were permitted to sleep until breakfast was ready; then, when aroused, they were in high spirits over the prospect before them. The young Kentuckian, however, was saddened by the tidings of the death of Hay-uta, the brother of the Sauk who had befriended him.
Otto was informed that the lost colt was his property again, and all that he had to do was to prevent him from wandering beyond his reach, since no such good fortune was likely to repeat itself.
Three days later the Sauk bade them good-by, his course to his village rendering a divergence necessary. When in sight of the humble cabins of Martinsville, Deerfoot parted from Jack and Otto, expressing the hope that he would soon meet them again; when urged to visit his friends in the settlement he shook his head, making a reply which was not fully understood.
“Deerfoot must hasten; he is wanted by others; he has no time to lose.”
Then flirting the gun given him by Hay-uta over his head, he added with a smile:
“Deerfoot uses the bow and arrows no more; the rifle is his weapon.”
Waving them farewell again, he soon vanished from sight in the forest, and they saw him no more.
I need not tell you of the welcome Jack Carleton received from his mother and friends. He promised his anxious parent that he would never leave her again, and his pledge was not broken.
Perhaps the long absence of Otto softened his father and mother’s hearts, or it may have been the return of the lost colt moved them to greater kindness. Be that as it may, hence forward all went smoothly in the Relstaub household, and the hardships and sufferings of Otto, so far as his parents were concerned, were ended forever.
From this time forth, as Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, declared, the rifle was his weapon. Great as was his skill with the bow and arrow, it could not equal that which he displayed with his gun, and I am confident you will agree with me when you come to read “The Hunters of the Ozark”, which will form number one of the Deerfoot Series.
THE HUNTERS OF THE OZAR
K
CHAPTER I.
AN ESTRAY.
One day in the autumn Terence Clark came to the house of Frederick Linden and urged him to join in a hunt for a cow that had been missing since the night before. The latter got the consent of his mother and the two lads started on a search that proved to be the most eventful one they had ever known.
A few words in the way of explanation must be given at this point. The date of the events I have set out to tell was toward the close of the last century, and the scene the south-western part of the present State of Missouri, but which was then a part of the vast territory known as Louisiana. Though the town of St. Louis had been settled a good many years before, there were only a few pioneers scattered through the almost limitless region that stretched in every direction from the Mississippi. Here and there the hunters and trappers were often absent from their homes for months at a time, during which they suffered much exposure and hardship. They slept for weeks in the open woods, or when the severity of the weather would not allow this, they found refuge in caves or hollow trees. Then, when enough skins had been gathered to load their pack-horses they started on the long tramps to the French trading post on the Mississippi. They followed faintly marked paths or trails that converged from a score or hundred different points until they reached the Father of Waters, where the peltries were soon sold and the proceeds, too often, squandered within the succeeding few hours.
At the date of which I am speaking, a small settlement known as Greville stood in the south-western section of the large State of Missouri, as it is now known. The first cabins were put up only a few years before, and the settlers, including men, women and children, numbered about two hundred. Near the center of the straggling settlement stood a rude but strong blockhouse to be used for refuge in the event of an attack by Indians. As yet this emergency had not arisen, for the red men in that section were far less warlike and hostile than those in Ohio and Kentucky.
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