The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  Fred blushed under the warm compliments of Deerfoot on his coolness, bravery and skill in the presence of the three Winnebagos. You will agree that it was a daring exploit indeed, which would have done credit to a veteran frontiersman. It could not have been otherwise to draw such warm praise from the Shawanoe.

  But the compliments could well be deferred to some other season. The fact that three Indians had stolen the same number of horses from the Hunters of the Ozark, and then had ridden leisurely away to meet their friends, showed that they had great confidence in themselves, doubtless caused by the belief that they were safe against any attempt to recover the property.

  “Deerfoot,” said Fred, after there had been a full exchange of experiences; “we stopped here only because we could not keep to the trail in the darkness. Don’t you think it best that we should now go on, since you will not have the same trouble that we did?”

  He shook his head in the negative.

  “It is not far to the camp of my brothers; the Winnebagos are a long ways back on the trail; they will not come up with us; my brothers have a chance to sleep; they may have no chance when they reach the cabin; let them sleep now.”

  The natural inference from this remark was that he believed nothing more was to be apprehended from the Winnebagos, so long as our three friends were on their way to the cabin of the Hunters of the Ozark. The danger would now be transferred to that point.

  “Is it not likely that some of the red men are between us and our friends?” asked Fred, as though their guide had not thought of every contingency.

  “There is none,” was the quiet answer, and then he added the explanation. The Winnebagos, as soon as they had captured the horses, had mounted them and ridden off to meet Black Bear and the rest, so as to combine with them in the attack upon the cabin in the mountains. Being so few in numbers, they did not dare stay in the neighborhood, but were certain to come back with the others.

  The theft of the animals was no part of the original plan of the red men, and was therefore what may be considered poor generalship, since it was likely to draw attention to the presence of hostiles and to put the Hunters of the Ozark on their guard.

  Deerfoot made no such remark at the time, but he afterward expressed his regret that he had not joined Fred and Terry earlier in the day, so that he could have been with them when they met the horse thieves. Had he done so, there can be no doubt that they would have recaptured every one of the animals, even if they had had to shoot each thief from the back of his stolen steed. Such a result would have changed the whole course of the events that followed.

  Since the Shawanoe advised them to stay where they were until morning, the natural query of the lads was as to the degree of danger they ran. They had thought there was little to be feared from Indians, but after the fire was started, both had misgivings—afterward intensified no doubt by the little trick played upon them by Deerfoot.

  He assured them that there was nothing to be feared from Indians. There was and would be none near them through the night. They were at a safe distance from the trail, so that if any one should pass back or forth he could not possibly catch a glimpse of the camp.

  “I never dispute a man’s sintimints,” said Terry, “onless it happens to disagraa with me own, so I’ll say ye are right because we think the same way; but it’s within me own ricolliction that whin ye enj’yed the honor of our coompany night before last, ye kipt guard all the night; Frederick and mesilf will now return the coompliment and take charge of the honors oursilves. If ye have any disputation that ye want to inter into, we’ll sittle it by maans of a wristling match.”

  Deerfoot was inclined at first to act as sentinel, just as he had done before, but he had already declared that there was nothing to be feared, and his friends were so in earnest that he could not well refuse their request. He would have preferred that they should gain all the sleep they could, so as to lay up a stock, as may be said, against what was likely to come at the cabin, but he yielded. He agreed to their wishes, and in doing so, indulged in one of his smiles, the depth of whose meaning neither of the youths fully comprehended. In fact it simply meant that he understood their ability in that respect better than they did themselves.

  And so, after reading his Bible, a portion of it aloud, he lay down upon the blanket of Terry, as he did two nights before, and soon fell asleep.

  “I’m glad to obsarve the same,” remarked Terry; “for the good lookin’ spalpeen must be in naad of slumber. I say, Fred, did ye iver saa the loikes of him? We must git him to run a race and jump and swim and stand on his head and show jist what he can do. I’m glad as I say to obsarve that he is aslaap, for he must naad the same. I say, Fred, let’s stay awake till daylight, so as to fool him.”

  “I am glad to do that in return for the watch he kept over us the other night; but if you and I undertake to sit up at the same time we shall fail. So I’ll lie down and sleep awhile. When you find yourself getting drowsy, wake me up and then I shall be able to keep my eyes open until morning. In that way Deerfoot may have a whole night of rest.”

  “I’m agraaable to the same.”

  The plan was carried out, that is, a part of it, Fred Linden soon dropped asleep, and, within an hour, Terry Clark did the same. When Deerfoot threw his blanket off his face and assumed the sitting position, he saw just what he expected to see and he allowed them to slumber peacefully until daylight.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  CONCLUSION.

  The awaking of the boys was of the most pleasant character. The sky had cleared and the sunlight penetrated between the branches from which the autumn leaves were fast falling. The crispness which is felt at that season of the year, stirred the young hearts and enlivened the spirits in spite of the serious situation in which all three found themselves.

  The odor of broiling fish was snuffed by the lads, and nothing could have been more delicious and appetizing. They were very hungry, and the night before they supposed they would have to wait indefinitely for their morning meal, but they opened their eyes to find that Deerfoot had provided the most toothsome breakfast that could be imagined.

  In the early morning light, fully two hours before the sun appeared, Deerfoot crossed the stream in his own canoe, and, taking the trail, ran several miles at the highest speed. While he did not go far enough to see the camp-fire of the main war party of Winnebagos, he did not pause until certain that they had stayed in camp all night and would not cross the stream where the boys lay asleep until the forenoon was half gone. So the Shawanoe hastened back, and dropped a short distance down stream in his canoe, having obtained his paddle, to an eddy where it took but a few minutes for him to coax a half dozen fish from the cool, clear depths, and these were just browning to a turn when the boys opened their eyes.

  Fred and Terry looked in each other’s faces and laughed. They knew what an absurd failure they had made. They had promised to watch while Deerfoot slept, and then left him to act as sentinel until morning.

  “It was your fault,” whispered Fred, hunting in his pocket for the package of salt and pepper which survived, despite the wetting it had received; “why didn’t you wake me up, as I told you to do?”

  “How could I wake ye up when I was aslaap mesilf?” was the pertinent query of Terry; “I think I was only a half minute behind yersilf in beginning me swate dreams.”

  “Even if you had roused me,” said Fred, “I suppose I would have dropped to sleep the same as you; no one can keep awake (unless it is Deerfoot) while sitting on the ground. Well, I am sure I shan’t say any thing about it if he doesn’t.”

  “Let us shake on that,” whispered Terry, stealthily extending his hand.

  Deerfoot acted as though unaware that any such lapse had occurred. The browned fish were spread on the green leaves, and Fred sprinkled the seasoning upon the portions to be eaten by himself and Terry; the Shawanoe preferred none on his.

  “If nothing unexpected happens,” said Fred, “we will arrive at the cabin today.�
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  The Shawanoe inclined his head by way of answer.

  “When will the Winnebagos that are following us come to this stream?”

  Deerfoot pointed to a portion of the sky which the sun would reach in about three hours from that time.

  “The Winnebagos are together; there may be a few coming from different parts of the wood, but Black Bear has most of his warriors with him, and he feels strong enough to destroy the cabin and our brothers who are there.”

  “There are three there now, and when we join them there will be six. If father and the rest have fair notice of their coming, they ought to be able to put every thing in good shape for a defense. It won’t take them long to gather enough food to last for weeks, but how about water?”

  “They have no water; our brothers know not why they should have it.”

  The Shawanoe meant to say that the men, seeing no reason why they should collect any store of water within their primitive structure, never did so. It was at their door, and, when they wished to drink, they had but to stoop down and drink. Believing no such emergency as now threatened could arise, they failed to make any provision against it.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” said Terry, “that bein’ as how we started from Greville to j’in the Hunters of the Ozark, with the idaa of spindin’ the winter with the same, that from the time we started we were mimbers of the same, but timporarily separated by a wide stritch of woods; what are yer own idaas?”

  “I am not sure that I understand what you are trying to get at, but if you mean to say that we may call ourselves two of the Hunters of the Ozark, I see no objection if we are a few days behind the rest in reaching the beaver runs.”

  “Oblige me by tistifying to the same,” said Terry, rather effusively, shoving his hand toward his friend, who suspended operations with the fish long enough to salute him.

  The breakfast was quickly finished, and the boys helped each other with their knapsacks, caught up their guns and followed Deerfoot as he led the way back to the trail. He did not hint any thing about their failure to keep guard for him the night before, though they felt sure that they would hear from him at some time not very far distant.

  When they found themselves following the path that had become so familiar, they glanced furtively behind, half expecting to hear the Winnebago war whoop and to see the warriors rushing after them; but not a living soul beside themselves was in sight, and the quiet assurance of their leader very nearly removed all such fear from them.

  “Are there any more streams to cross?” asked Fred, a moment after they started along the trail.

  “There are none.”

  “That is good, and since we are several hours in advance of the Indians, we ought to be able to reach the cabin in time to give them warning, that is, if they are in need of it.”

  “How can they help being in need?” asked Terry.

  “The horses were turned loose to look after themselves, and though I can’t know for some time how it is, it seems to me that it could well happen that they would not miss the animals for several days and possibly not for a week or two.”

  The best ground for doubting that the Hunters of the Ozark were aware of the theft of the horses was the fact that there had been no pursuit. Those men, it is safe to say, would not have stayed idle had they known that three vagabond Indians were astride of their property and riding to the northward. With the three fleeter animals at command, they would have been after them in a twinkling: they would not have been obliged to wait till they met Fred Linden before receiving some rifle shots.

  Fred was confirmed in this theory by Deerfoot, who declared that such was his explanation of the failure of the hunters to pursue the thieves.

  For two hours the trail which they were following steadily ascended, until they were considerably higher than when they left camp in the morning. The undergrowth was abundant, and the wood in some places was so dense that they could see only a short distance on either hand. The trail was sinuous, winding in and out among the rocks in a way that would have bewildered any one not used to such traveling.

  At last they reached the ridge of the elevation up which they had been climbing, and found themselves on the margin of a plateau or rather valley, beyond which rose the rugged, precipitous Ozarks. Since the ground sloped away from them, in the direction of the mountains, their view was extended over many square miles of forest, stream and natural clearing, to the mountain walls beyond, looking dim and soft in the distance, with the hazy air between.

  “Do my brothers see the gleam of the water yonder?” asked Deerfoot, pointing to a winding stream, large enough to be called a river, though it was half hidden by the woods. Its course was in the main at right angles to the trail which the boys had been following, though, at times it seemed to run straight toward and then away from them.

  The youths answered that they could not very well look in the direction indicated by their friend, without seeing the stream to which he directed their attention.

  The Shawanoe placed himself so that he stood in front of the two.

  “Now,” said he, “let my brothers follow Deerfoot’s finger and tell me what they see.”

  Pointing well to the right, he slowly swung his index finger toward the left, until he had described about a quarter of a circle.

  Since it was not easy for the two to look exactly at the point meant, at the same time, Terry Clark first tried it. Removing his cap, he closed one eye and carefully peered along the extended arm of the Shawanoe as though it was a rifle which he was about to aim and fire.

  “What is it?” asked Fred, a moment later, with some impatience over the plodding deliberation of his companion.

  “I obsarve a big lot of traas, some rocks, some water and a claarin’ where ye could raise a big lot of praties, and—and—and—”

  “I see what you mean!” exclaimed Fred in some excitement; “right in the middle of the clearing stands a large cabin made of logs.”

  “It’s mesilf that obsarves the same,” added Terry, replacing his cap and looking inquiringly at the Shawanoe, who let his extended arm fall as he faced about and said: “That is the home of my brothers; that is the cabin of the Hunters of the Ozark.”

  “Hurrah!” called out Terry; “we’re purty near there.”

  “But we don’t know how matters stand,” said Fred; “even Deerfoot can not tell whether they are all alive or dead.”

  “I know bitter than that,” remarked Terry, appealing straight to the Shawanoe, who, without directly answering the question, notified them of an interesting fact: a thin column of smoke was rising from the cabin.

  “That shows that some one is in there,” said the Irish lad, “but whither he is white or rid, I don’t s’pose the Shawanoe, with all his smartness, can tell even at this distance.”

  “My brother speaks truth,” said Deerfoot; “our brothers may be well and they maybe dead and the Winnebagos may have built the fire to lure us to them: we shall soon know.”

  1 The proper name is bison: the genuine buffalo is not found in America.

  DEERFOOT IN THE MOUNTAINS

  CHAPTER I

  Eastward Bound

  Deerfoot the Shawanoe, Mul-tal-la the Blackfoot, and the twin brothers, George and Victor Shelton, had completed their long journey from the Ohio River to the Pacific slope, and, standing on an elevation near the Columbia, spent hours in looking out upon the face of the mightiest ocean of the globe. They feasted their vision on the magnificent scene, with the miles of wilderness, mountain, vale, river and Indian villages spread between their feet and the ocean.

  It was a picture worth journeying across the continent to see. From beyond the convex world a ship had sailed up to view, its snowy sails looking at first like a tiny but growing cloud in the soft sky. As the craft drew steadily nearer, they saw it careening to one side under the impulse of the wind against the bellying canvas, while the curling foam at the bows spread out like a fan and dissolved in the clear waters beyond the stern.
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  Deerfoot had taken the glass after Mul-tal-la was through, and he stood for a long time gazing at the waste of waters. None spoke, for there was that in the scene and the occasion which made all thoughtful. The grandeur, the majesty, the vastness filled them with awe and held them mute. Finally, the Shawanoe lowered the instrument, and turning toward the boys, said gravely, as he pointed first to the east and then to the west:

  “Yonder is the endless forest of wood, and yonder the endless forest of water; they shall all become the home of the white man.”

  “I don’t doubt you are right,” replied George Shelton, “but it will be hundreds of years after you and I are dead; there is room between here and the Ohio for millions upon millions, but where will they come from?”

  “The white men will become like the leaves in the forest and the sands on the seashore; no one can count the numbers that will overspread the land; they will be everywhere.”

  “And what of your own people, Deerfoot?” asked Victor.

  The dusky youth shook his head, as if the problem was beyond him.

  “The two ought to live in peace side by side, for such is the will of the Great Spirit. The white man cannot become like the red man, but the red man may grow into the ways of the pale-faces, and all may be brothers, and so live till time shall be no more.”

  The theme was too profound for the youths, though it was manifest that the Shawanoe had given much thought to it. He added nothing, and while the day was young they walked back to the Columbia, re-entered the canoe and headed up stream.

  Henceforward their work was different from that which they faced when descending the river. There were long stretches where, despite the current, the dusky boatmen found no special trouble in driving the craft eastward; but, as they progressed, the labor became severer, for the stream narrowed and the velocity of its flow became greater. The portages were long and toilsome, and, as the party advanced, many places were met where these portages became necessary on account of the rapidity of the current alone. All, however, bent resolutely to work, Victor and George taxing their strength to the utmost. Deerfoot seemed tireless, but he could never be inconsiderate to others. He could have outworn Mul-tal-la, though not till after the exhaustion of the boys, who agreed between themselves that the job was the biggest they had ever tackled; and yet their adult companions not only did the work the twins were doing, but swung the paddles in addition.