The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun leaning against the tree, and said:

  “When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of his arm.”

  “Yer moral sentiments are corrict,” remarked Terry, hurrying back—this time without falling—to regain his piece. When he once more stood beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both:

  “Are the guns of my brothers loaded?”

  Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of the hunter’s life, which is that the first thing to be done after discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not remember that he had ever forgotten it before.

  “It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?”

  The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew, that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed, all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later, or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury.

  CHAPTER XV

  Deerfoot Will Be Sentinel Tonight

  “We are on our way to the camp in the Ozarks,” said Fred Linden; “and am I mistaken in believing that you will go with us all the way?”

  “Such is the wish of Deerfoot,” replied the Shawanoe, whereat Terry Clark gave signs of breaking out again; but at a warning look from Fred he restrained himself.

  “Deerfoot loves the Hunters of the Ozark; he has promised to make them a visit; he will do so with his friends that he has found in the woods, and who forget to keep their guns loaded.”

  “No use!” exclaimed Terry, bounding in the air, striking his heels together, and flinging his hat aloft with a loud whoop; “I must give gintle exprission to me emotions, even though it makes a war with England.”

  The others showed no objection to this harmless ebullition, and he speedily became quiet again.

  Had Fred Linden been intimately acquainted with Deerfoot, he would have noticed that he was not entirely at ease. Now and then he darted glances about him, as though he half expected the appearance of some unwelcome person. The glances were so quick and furtive that neither Fred nor Terry noticed them.

  “Deerfoot,” said Fred, the three still standing; “we have concluded that there isn’t a better place along the trail for a camp.”

  To the surprise of the boys, he shook his head in dissent.

  “Why, this is where father and the rest spent the night when they last went this way.”

  He nodded to signify that he agreed with them.

  “There were three of them, and they had their horses, that could not be well hid; when my brothers go into camp for the night, they should takea place where all who went by would not see them.”

  It struck the others as curious that the Shawanoe should talk in that fashion, when they could not see any cause for alarm; but they had enough faith in him to accept his judgment on such an important matter. He added:

  “Come with Deerfoot and he will show his brothers where they may slumber in peace.”

  Without any more explanation the Shawanoe moved down the bank of the brook, following a course parallel to the flow of the water, the other two keeping at his heels. He did not look around until he had gone more than a hundred yards. Then it was that the little party found itself in a rocky section, with a rough cavern on their right—that is, the bowlders and rocks were jumbled together in such a fashion that there was some resemblance to a cave. The chief merit of the place, however, was the privacy that it afforded, rather than the strength as a means of defense against an enemy.

  “This suits very well,” said Fred, taking in all the points at a glance; “here is a rocky bed on which we can start a fire, and the other rocks and bowlders will keep off the wind, if there happens to be any; the water is handy, if we should need it, and it is certain that we are not as likely to be seen here as where we first selected.”

  “Deerfut,” said Terry, who was nosing about, “I obsarve ashes here, as though somebody had been ahead of us.”

  “Deerfoot built a fire but a few moons ago, and staid over night.”

  “If it was good enough for ye, I can stand it,” said Terry, “which is the remark me uncle made when the Duke of Argyle asked him to stay to dinner.”

  The boys unfastened the bundles from their backs and prepared to spend the night where they were. The blankets were spread on the flinty floor, and Deerfoot, setting down his gun beside theirs, helped to gather the wood with which to keep a fire burning. The three were so active that it took but a short time to collect all that was needed. This was thrown into one pile, from which it could be withdrawn as wanted.

  I must give you a better idea of the spot where the three decided to spend their first night in the woods together. They had walked northward from the trail, and, so far as they could see, the country was of the most broken nature, though the abundance of trees and undergrowth did not permit an extended view. Two masses of stone rose to the height of a dozen feet, and were separated by about the same distance. These rough walls extended back to a distance of three or four yards, where they came against a similar formation. Thus, as may be said, there were three sides to an inclosure, that part facing the brook being entirely open. On top of these supports were tumbled an irregular mass of bowlders and rocks which formed the roof. The latter had so many openings that it was as well ventilated as the roof of the house about which the Arkansas Traveler tells us.

  The rear part of the cavern, if it may be allowed that name, was stone, while the front was earth. Near the center, Deerfoot had kindled his fire when he staid there, the smoke finding ready escape through the openings above. Such a fire might give some warmth were it needed, but the blaze was so well hidden by the surrounding walls that it was not likely to be seen by any one passing no nigher than fifty feet: therein lay the reason why it was selected by Deerfoot.

  After piling up the fuel for the night, the youths threw some branches on the ground, near the rear of the cavern, and then spread their blankets over them. The Shawanoe carried no blanket with him, so it was expected that he would share the couch of his friends.

  While the three were busying themselves in this manner, Fred Linden was disturbed by a suspicion that had been growing from the moment Deerfoot expressed dissatisfaction with the spot selected for their camp. This suspicion was that the young Indian had a fear of something to which, as yet, he had made no reference.

  I have already shown that it was not generally considered a dangerous business in which the hunters of Ozark engaged. The rough, outdoor life sometimes brought with it hardships, and occasionally sufferings, but chief among the dangers was not that from Indians. It was known that now and then the red men fired spiteful shots at the invaders of their hunting grounds (as was the case with Michael Clark, the father of Terence), but in this section of the west that particular peril was deemed less than that which threatened from wild beasts. There was no instance of the hunters having been molested on their way to and from the trapping regions: why then this special caution of Deerfoot?

  Fred Linden, while turning these thoughts over in his mind, gave but the one answer—the Winnebago. He was an intruder in that part of Louisiana, and he had shown by his acts how ready he was to shed the blood of innocent white persons. It was not a supposition merely that this fierce warrior had companions. The keen eyes of Deerfoot had discovered the proofs that there were a half dozen, at least, with him, and from whom he separated for a short time while he entered into the “side speculation” with Brindle and her bell; so it will be seen that Fred Linden was not only
right in his suspicion that the Wolf had to do with the unrest of Deerfoot, but that the latter possessed good cause for his misgiving.

  The Winnebagos, having drifted so far away from their own hunting grounds into this part of the world, were either going further from home, or were on their way back. Had the Wolf behaved himself, the band would have gone and come without the knowledge of any of the pioneers, unless there was a chance meeting in the wood, when it is not likely that any harm would have resulted.

  But one of the Winnebagos was struck in the face by a white boy, while a young Indian, a friend of the latter, having “got the drop” on the Wolf, had taken his gun from him. In other words, the crime of assault and robbery had been committed.

  Would the rest of the Winnebagos pocket the outrage and meekly withdraw from the country?

  That, it would be seen, was the all important question, upon which great events, as affecting the friends in whom we are interested, hinged.

  It was in violation of the nature of the American race that any member thereof should refuse to resent an indignity, when there was a chance of doing so. The Winnebagos had the best of reasons for believing that, by prowling around the settlement, or along the trail leading thereto, they would soon gain an opportunity to wipe out the disgrace put upon the Wolf, and, if not able to get back the gun that had been taken from him, would be able to procure another.

  The fact that this valuable weapon was carried in the hands of a boy, who had started to tramp through the woods to a point a hundred miles off, and that it was not at all impossible that the Winnebagos found, or would find it out, gave emphasis to the cause of Deerfoot’s uneasiness.

  It is worthy of note that, while Terry Clark never once took this view of the situation, it occurred to his friend Fred, who waited for the Shawanoe to make some reference to it.

  “He knows best, and if he doesn’t choose to say any thing about it, there is no call for me to do so.”

  The shadows of night were creeping through the wood when the fire was started, and the smoke began stealing upward through the openings in the rocky roof.

  “Deerfoot,” said Fred, when the fire crackled brightly, “the rule is, that a party in camp like this, must have some one on guard while the others sleep. I don’t know as there is any need now, but if you think so, let Terry and me do it, for we are not in need of sleep.”

  The Shawanoe looked at him intently for a moment as though he would read his thoughts, and then quietly said:

  “Deerfoot will be sentinel tonight!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  Around the Camp-Fire

  Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour, when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted.

  Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern, where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light, and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough, but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites were such as wait on high health.

  It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much as each of the others. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him.

  When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance.

  He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight, was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I could not have detected, would have told their full story to him.

  But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream once more, brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below.

  The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had just thrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like that of noonday.

  Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered, so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental, though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe.

  The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always showed a deliberation in his speech, as if he weighed each word before allowing it to fall from his lips.

  Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death, that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people against the white settlements.

  He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that, but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt attention, and all in time (as you have been told in another place), the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men.

  Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst: they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them. Finally the efforts to take him prisoner
became so far reaching that he saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young renegade, whom they hated with a hatred like that of the tigers of the jungle.

  You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory. There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end his days.

  “Deerfoot,” said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended, “Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with you.”

  “Why does my brother think of danger?”

  “Because you do; I know it by your actions.”

  The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions, Fred added:

  “I don’t know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the lookout for a chance to revenge themselves.”

  Deerfoot’s face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head.

  “My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of Deerfoot.”

  Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment.

  “How come ye to know all that, Fred?”

  “I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the actions of Deerfoot since he joined us today. In the first place, he wouldn’t have made us change our camping place if he hadn’t had some misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and his decision to keep watch tonight: why what could tell the story more plainly?”