by Zane Grey
CHAPTER VI.
When the first French explorers invaded the northwest, about theyear 1615, the Wyandot Indians occupied the territory betweenGeorgian Bay and the Muskoka Lakes in Ontario. These Frenchmen namedthe tribe Huron because of the manner in which they wore their hair.
At this period the Hurons were at war with the Iroquois, and the twotribes kept up a bitter fight until in 1649, when the Huronssuffered a decisive defeat. They then abandoned their villages andsought other hunting grounds. They travelled south and settled inOhio along the south and west shores of Lake Erie. The present siteof Zanesfield, named from Isaac Zane, marks the spot where thelargest tribe of Hurons once lived.
In a grove of maples on the banks of a swift little river named MadRiver, the Hurons built their lodges and their wigwams. The statelyelk and graceful deer abounded in this fertile valley, and countlessherds of bison browsed upon the uplands.
There for many years the Hurons lived a peaceful and contented life.The long war cry was not heard. They were at peace with theneighboring tribes. Tarhe, the Huron chief, attained great influencewith the Delawares. He became a friend of Logan, the Mingo chief.
With the invasion of the valley of the Ohio by the whites, with themarch into the wilderness of that wild-turkey breed of heroes ofwhich Boone, Kenton, the Zanes, and the Wetzels were the first, theIndian's nature gradually changed until he became a fierce andrelentless foe.
The Hurons had sided with the French in Pontiac's war, and in theRevolution they aided the British. They allied themselves with theMingoes, Delawares and Shawnees and made a fierce war on theVirginian pioneers. Some powerful influence must have engenderedthis implacable hatred in these tribes, particularly in the Mingoand the Wyandot.
The war between the Indians and the settlers along the Pennsylvaniaand West Virginia borders was known as "Dunmore's War." The Hurons,Mingoes, and Delawares living in the "hunter's paradise" west of theOhio River, seeing their land sold by the Iroquois and theoccupation of their possessions by a daring band of white mennaturally were filled with fierce anger and hate. But rememberingthe past bloody war and British punishment they slowly movedbackward toward the setting sun and kept the peace. In 1774 a canoefilled with friendly Wyandots was attacked by white men below YellowCreek and the Indians were killed. Later the same year a party ofmen under Colonel Cresop made an unprovoked and dastardly massacreof the family and relatives of Logan. This attack reflected thedeepest dishonor upon all the white men concerned, and was theprincipal cause of the long and bloody war which followed. Thesettlers on the border sent messengers to Governor Dunmore atWilliamsburg for immediate relief parties. Knowing well that theIndians would not allow this massacre to go unavenged thefrontiersmen erected forts and blockhouses.
Logan, the famous Mingo chief, had been a noted friend of the whitemen. After the murder of his people he made ceaseless war upon them.He incited the wrath of the Hurons and the Delawares. He went on thewarpath, and when his lust for vengeance had been satisfied he sentthe following remarkable address to Lord Dunmore:
"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's cabinand he gave him not meat: if ever he came cold and naked and heclothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody warLogan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate of peace. Such was mylove for the whites that my countrymen pointed as they passed andsaid: 'Logan is the friend of the white man.' I had even thought tohave lived with you but for the injuries of one man, Colonel Cresop,who, last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all therelatives of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. Thereruns not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.This called upon me for vengeance. I have sought it: I have killedmany; I have glutted my vengeance. For my country I will rejoice atthe beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joyof fear. Logan never felt fear; he could not turn upon his heel tosave his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one."
The war between the Indians and the pioneers was waged for years.The settlers pushed farther and farther into the wilderness. TheIndians, who at first sought only to save their farms and theirstock, now fought for revenge. That is why every ambitious pioneerwho went out upon those borders carried his life in his hands; whythere was always the danger of being shot or tomahawked from behindevery tree; why wife and children were constantly in fear of theterrible enemy.
To creep unawares upon a foe and strike him in the dark was Indianwarfare; to an Indian it was not dishonorable; it was not cowardly.He was taught to hide in the long grass like a snake, to shoot fromcoverts, to worm his way stealthily through the dense woods and toambush the paleface's trail. Horrible cruelties, such as torturingwhite prisoners and burning them at the stake were never heard ofbefore the war made upon the Indians by the whites.
Comparatively little is known of the real character of the Indian ofthat time. We ourselves sit before our warm fires and talk of thedeeds of the redman. We while away an hour by reading Pontiac'ssiege of Detroit, of the battle of Braddock's fields, and ofCuster's last charge. We lay the book down with a fervent expressionof thankfulness that the day of the horrible redman is past. Becauselittle has been written on the subject, no thought is given to thelong years of deceit and treachery practiced upon Pontiac; we areignorant of the causes which led to the slaughter of Braddock'sarmy, and we know little of the life of bitterness suffered bySitting Bull.
Many intelligent white men, who were acquainted with the true lifeof the Indian before he was harassed and driven to desperation bythe pioneers, said that he had been cruelly wronged. Many white menin those days loved the Indian life so well that they left thesettlements and lived with the Indians. Boone, who knew the Indiannature, said the honesty and the simplicity of the Indian wereremarkable. Kenton said he had been happy among the Indians. Col.Zane had many Indian friends. Isaac Zane, who lived most of his lifewith the Wyandots, said the American redman had been wrongfullyjudged a bloodthirsty savage, an ignorant, thieving wretch, capableof not one virtue. He said the free picturesque life of the Indianswould have appealed to any white man; that it had a wonderful charm,and that before the war with the whites the Indians were kind totheir prisoners, and sought only to make Indians of them. He toldtales of how easily white boys become Indianized, so attached to thewild life and freedom of the redmen that it was impossible to getthe captives to return to civilized life. The boys had beenpermitted to grow wild with the Indian lads; to fish and shoot andswim with them; to play the Indian games--to live idle, joyouslives. He said these white boys had been ransomed and taken fromcaptivity and returned to their homes and, although a close watchhas kept on them, they contrived to escape and return to theIndians, and that while they were back among civilized people it wasdifficult to keep the boys dressed. In summer time it was useless toattempt it. The strongest hemp-linen shirts, made with the strongestcollar and wrist-band, would directly be torn off and the littlerascals found swimming in the river or rolling on the sand.
If we may believe what these men have said--and there seems no goodreason why we may not--the Indian was very different from theimpression given of him. There can be little doubt that the redmanonce lived a noble and blameless life; that he was simple, honestand brave, that he had a regard for honor and a respect for apromise far exceeding that of most white men. Think of the beautifulpoetry and legends left by these silent men: men who were a part ofthe woods; men whose music was the sighing of the wind, the rustlingof the leaf, the murmur of the brook; men whose simple joys were thechase of the stag, and the light in the dark eye of a maiden.
If we wish to find the highest type of the American Indian we mustlook for him before he was driven west by the land-seeking pioneerand before he was degraded by the rum-selling French trader.
The French claimed all the land watered by the Mississippi River andits tributaries. The French Canadian was a restless, roamingadventurer and he found his vocation in the fur-trade. Thisfur-trade engendered a strange class of men--bush-rangers they wereca
lled--whose work was to paddle the canoe along the lakes andstreams and exchange their cheap rum for the valuable furs of theIndians. To these men the Indians of the west owe their degradation.These bush-rangers or coureurs-des-bois, perverted the Indians andsank into barbarism with them.
The few travellers there in those days were often surprised to findin the wigwams of the Indians men who acknowledged the blood ofFrance, yet who had lost all semblance to the white man. They livedin their tepee with their Indian squaws and lolled on their blanketswhile the squaws cooked their venison and did all the work. They lettheir hair grow long and wore feathers in it; they painted theirfaces hideously with ochre and vermilion.
These were the worthless traders and adventurers who, from the year1748 to 1783, encroached on the hunting grounds of the Indians andexplored the wilderness, seeking out the remote tribes and tradingthe villainous rum for the rare pelts. In 1784 the Frenchauthorities, realizing that these vagrants were demoralizing theIndians, warned them to get off the soil. Finding this courseineffectual they arrested those that could be apprehended and sentthem to Canada. But it was too late: the harm had been done: thepoor, ignorant savage had tasted of the terrible "fire-water," as hecalled the rum and his ruin was inevitable.
It was a singular fact that almost every Indian who had once tastedstrong drink, was unable to resist the desire for more. When atrader came to one of the Indian hamlets the braves purchased a kegof rum and then they held a council to see who was to get drunk andwho was to keep sober. It was necessary to have some sober Indiansin camp, otherwise the drunken braves would kill one another. Theweapons would have to be concealed. When the Indians had finishedone keg of rum they would buy another, and so on until not abeaver-skin was left. Then the trader would move or when the Indianssobered up they would be much dejected, for invariably they wouldfind that some had been wounded, others crippled, and often severalhad been killed.
Logan, using all his eloquence, travelled from village to villagevisiting the different tribes and making speeches. He urged theIndians to shun the dreaded "fire-water." He exclaimed against thewhites for introducing liquor to the Indians and thus debasing them.At the same time Logan admitted his own fondness for rum. Thisintelligent and noble Indian was murdered in a drunken fight shortlyafter sending his address to Lord Dunmore.
Thus it was that the poor Indians had no chance to avert theirdownfall; the steadily increasing tide of land-stealing settlersrolling westward, and the insidious, debasing, soul-destroyingliquor were the noble redman's doom.
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Isaac Zane dropped back not altogether unhappily into his old placein the wigwam, in the hunting parties, and in the Indian games.
When the braves were in camp, the greatest part of the day was spentin shooting and running matches, in canoe races, in wrestling, andin the game of ball. The chiefs and the older braves who had wontheir laurels and the maidens of the tribe looked on and applauded.
Isaac entered into all these pastimes, partly because he had anatural love for them, and partly because he wished to win theregard of the Indians. In wrestling, and in those sports whichrequired weight and endurance, he usually suffered defeat. In a footrace there was not a brave in the entire tribe who could keep evenwith him. But it was with the rifle that Isaac won his greatestdistinction. The Indians never learned the finer shooting with theride. Some few of them could shoot well, but for the most part theywere poor marksmen.
Accordingly, Isaac was always taken on the fall hunt. Every autumnthere were three parties sent out to bring in the supply of meat forthe winter. Because of Isaac's fine marksmanship he was always takenwith the bear hunters. Bear hunting was exciting and dangerous work.Before the weather got very cold and winter actually set in thebears crawled into a hole in a tree or a cave in the rocks, wherethey hibernated. A favorite place for them was in hollow trees. Whenthe Indians found a tree with the scratches of a bear on it and ahole large enough to admit the body of a bear, an Indian climbed upthe tree and with a long pole tried to punch Bruin out of his den.Often this was a hazardous undertaking, for the bear would get angryon being disturbed in his winter sleep and would rush out before theIndian could reach a place of safety. At times there were even twoor three bears in one den. Sometimes the bear would refuse to comeout, and on these occasions, which were rare, the hunters wouldresort to fire. A piece of dry, rotten wood was fastened to a longpole and was set on fire. When this was pushed in on the bear hewould give a sniff and a growl and come out in a hurry.
The buffalo and elk were hunted with the bow and arrow. Thiseffective weapon did not make a noise and frighten the game. Thewary Indian crawled through the high grass until within easy rangeand sometimes killed several buffalo or elk before the herd becamealarmed. The meat was then jerked. This consisted in cutting it intothin strips and drying it in the sun. Afterwards it was hung up inthe lodges. The skins were stretched on poles to dry, and when curedthey served as robes, clothing and wigwam-coverings.
The Indians were fond of honey and maple sugar. The finding of ahive of bees, or a good run of maple syrup was an occasion forgeneral rejoicing. They found the honey in hollow trees, and theyobtained the maple sugar in two ways. When the sap came up in themaple trees a hole was bored in the trees about a foot from theground and a small tube, usually made from a piece of alder, wasinserted in the hole. Through this the sap was carried into a vesselwhich was placed under the tree. This sap was boiled down inkettles. If the Indians had no kettles they made the frost take theplace of heat in preparing the sugar. They used shallow vessels madeof bark, and these were filled with water and the maple sap. It wasleft to freeze over night and in the morning the ice was broken andthrown away. The sugar did not freeze. When this process had beenrepeated several times the residue was very good maple sugar.
Isaac did more than his share toward the work of provisioning thevillage for the winter. But he enjoyed it. He was particularly fondof fishing by moonlight. Early November was the best season for thissport, and the Indians caught large numbers of fish. They placed atorch in the bow of a canoe and paddled noiselessly over the stream.In the clear water a bright light would so attract and fascinate thefish that they would lie motionless near the bottom of the shallowstream.
One cold night Isaac was in the bow of the canoe. Seeing a largefish he whispered to the Indians with him to exercise caution. Hisguides paddled noiselessly through the water. Isaac stood up andraised the spear, ready to strike. In another second Isaac had castthe iron, but in his eagerness he overbalanced himself and plungedhead first into the icy current, making a great splash and spoilingany further fishing. Incidents like this were a source of infiniteamusement to the Indians.
Before the autumn evenings grew too cold the Indian held theircourting dances. All unmarried maidens and braves in the villagewere expected to take part in these dances. In the bright light ofhuge fires, and watched by the chiefs, the old men, the squaws, andthe children, the maidens and the braves, arrayed in their gaudiestapparel, marched into the circle. They formed two lines a few pacesapart. Each held in the right hand a dry gourd which containedpebbles. Advancing toward one another they sang the courting song,keeping time to the tune with the rattling of the pebbles. When theymet in the center the braves bent forward and whispered a word tothe maidens. At a certain point in the song, which was indicated bya louder note, the maidens would change their positions, and thiswas continued until every brave had whispered to every maiden, whenthe dance ended.
Isaac took part in all these pleasures; he entered into every phaseof the Indian's life; he hunted, worked, played, danced, and sangwith faithfulness. But when the long, dreary winter days came withtheir ice-laden breezes, enforcing idleness on the Indians, hebecame restless. Sometimes for days he would be morose and gloomy,keeping beside his own tent and not mingling with the Indians. Atsuch times Myeerah did not question him.
Even in his happier hours his diversions were not many. He nevertired of watching and studyin
g the Indian children. When he had anopportunity without being observed, which was seldom, he amusedhimself with the papooses. The Indian baby was strapped to a flatpiece of wood and covered with a broad flap of buckskin. The squawshung these primitive baby carriages up on the pole of a tepee, on abranch of a tree, or threw them round anywhere. Isaac never heard apapoose cry. He often pulled down the flap of buckskin and looked atthe solemn little fellow, who would stare up at him with big,wondering eyes.
Isaac's most intimate friend was a six-year-old Indian boy, whom hecalled Captain Jack. He was the son of Thundercloud, the war-chiefof the Hurons. Jack made a brave picture in his buckskin huntingsuit and his war bonnet. Already he could stick tenaciously on theback of a racing mustang and with his little bow he could placearrow after arrow in the center of the target. Knowing Captain Jackwould some day be a mighty chief, Isaac taught him to speak English.He endeavored to make Jack love him, so that when the lad shouldgrow to be a man he would remember his white brother and show mercyto the prisoners who fell into his power.
Another of Isaac's favorites was a half-breed Ottawa Indian, adistant relative of Tarhe's. This Indian was very old; no one knewhow old; his face was seamed and scarred and wrinkled. Bent andshrunken was his form. He slept most of the time, but at longintervals he would brighten up and tell of his prowess when awarrior.
One of his favorite stories was of the part he had taken in theevents of that fatal and memorable July 2, 1755, when Gen. Braddockand his English army were massacred by the French and Indians nearFort Duquesne.
The old chief told how Beaujeu with his Frenchmen and his fivehundred Indians ambushed Braddock's army, surrounded the soldiers,fired from the ravines, the trees, the long grass, poured a pitilesshail of bullets on the bewildered British soldiers, who,unaccustomed to this deadly and unseen foe, huddled under the treeslike herds of frightened sheep, and were shot down with hardly aneffort to defend themselves.
The old chief related that fifteen years after that battle he wentto the Kanawha settlement to see the Big Chief, Gen. GeorgeWashington, who was travelling on the Kanawha. He told Gen.Washington how he had fought in the battle of Braddock's Fields; howhe had shot and killed Gen. Braddock; how he had fired repeatedly atWashington, and had killed two horses under him, and how at last hecame to the conclusion that Washington was protected by the GreatSpirit who destined him for a great future.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Myeerah was the Indian name for a rare and beautiful bird--the whitecrane--commonly called by the Indians, Walk-in-the-Water. It hadbeen the name of Tarhe's mother and grandmother. The present Myeerahwas the daughter of a French woman, who had been taken captive at avery early age, adopted into the Huron tribe, and married to Tarhe.The only child of this union was Myeerah. She grew to be beautifulwoman and was known in Detroit and the Canadian forts as Tarhe'swhite daughter. The old chief often visited the towns along the lakeshore, and so proud was he of Myeerah that he always had heraccompany him. White men travelled far to look at the Indian beauty.Many French soldiers wooed her in vain. Once, while Tarhe was inDetroit, a noted French family tried in every way to get possessionof Myeerah.
The head of this family believed he saw in Myeerah the child of hislong lost daughter. Tarhe hurried away from the city and neverreturned to the white settlement.
Myeerah was only five years old at the time of the capture of theZane brothers and it was at this early age that she formed theattachment for Isaac Zane which clung to her all her life. She wasseven when the men came from Detroit to ransom the brothers, and sheshowed such grief when she learned that Isaac was to be returned tohis people that Tarhe refused to accept any ransom for Isaac. AsMyeerah grew older her childish fancy for the white boy deepenedinto an intense love.
But while this love tendered her inexorable to Isaac on the questionof giving him his freedom, it undoubtedly saved his life as well asthe lives of other white prisoners, on more than one occasion.
To the white captives who fell into the hands of the Hurons, she waskind and merciful; many of the wounded she had tended with her ownhands, and many poor wretches she had saved from the gauntlet andthe stake. When her efforts to persuade her father to save any onewere unavailing she would retire in sorrow to her lodge and remainthere.
Her infatuation for the White Eagle, the Huron name for Isaac, wasan old story; it was known to all the tribes and had long ceased tobe questioned. At first some of the Delawares and the Shawneebraves, who had failed to win Myeerah's love, had openly scorned herfor her love for the pale face. The Wyandot warriors to a manworshipped her; they would have marched straight into the jaws ofdeath at her command; they resented the insults which had been caston their princess, and they had wiped them out in blood: now nonedared taunt her.
In the spring following Isaac's recapture a very serious accidentbefell him. He had become expert in the Indian game of ball, whichis a game resembling the Canadian lacrosse, and from which, in fact,it had been adopted. Goals were placed at both ends of a levelplain. Each party of Indians chose a goal which they endeavored todefend and at the same time would try to carry the ball over theiropponent's line.
A well contested game of Indian ball presented a scene of wonderfuleffort and excitement. Hundreds of strong and supple braves could beseen running over the plain, darting this way and that, orstruggling in a yelling, kicking, fighting mass, all in a madscramble to get the ball.
As Isaac had his share of the Zane swiftness of foot, at times hisreally remarkable fleetness enabled him to get control of the ball.In front of the band of yelling savages he would carry it down thefield, and evading the guards at the goal, would throw it betweenthe posts. This was a feat of which any brave could be proud.
During one of these games Red Fox, a Wyandot brave, who had longbeen hopelessly in love with Myeerah, and who cordially hated Isaac,used this opportunity for revenge. Red Fox, who was a swift runner,had vied with Isaac for the honors, but being defeated in the end,he had yielded to his jealous frenzy and had struck Isaac a terribleblow on the head with his bat.
It happened to be a glancing blow or Isaac's life would have beenended then and there. As it was he had a deep gash in his head. TheIndians carried him to his lodge and the medicine men of the tribewere summoned.
When Isaac recovered consciousness he asked for Myeerah andentreated her not to punish Red Fox. He knew that such a coursewould only increase his difficulties, and, on the other hand, if hesaved the life of the Indian who had struck him in such a cowardlymanner such an act would appeal favorably to the Indians. Hisentreaties had no effect on Myeerah, who was furious, and who saidthat if Red Fox, who had escaped, ever returned he would pay for hisunprovoked assault with his life, even if she had to kill himherself. Isaac knew that Myeerah would keep her word. He dreadedevery morning that the old squaw who prepared his meals would bringhim the news that his assailant had been slain. Red Fox was apopular brave, and there were many Indians who believed the blow hehad struck Isaac was not intentional. Isaac worried needlessly,however, for Red Fox never came back, and nothing could be learnedas to his whereabouts.
It was during his convalescence that Isaac learned really to lovethe Indian maiden. She showed such distress in the first days afterhis injury, and such happiness when he was out of danger and on theroad to recovery that Isaac wondered at her. She attended him withanxious solicitude; when she bathed and bandaged his wound her everytouch was a tender caress; she sat by him for hours; her low voicemade soft melody as she sang the Huron love songs. The moments weresweet to Isaac when in the gathering twilight she leaned her head onhis shoulder while they listened to the evening carol of thewhip-poor-will. Days passed and at length Isaac was entirely well.One day when the air was laden with the warm breath of summerMyeerah and Isaac walked by the river.
"You are sad again," said Myeerah.
"I am homesick. I want to see my people. Myeerah, you have named merightly. The Eagle can never be happy unless he is free."
"The
Eagle can be happy with his mate. And what life could be freerthan a Huron's? I hope always that you will grow content."
"It has been a long time now, Myeerah, since I have spoken with youof my freedom. Will you ever free me? Or must I take again thoseawful chances of escape? I cannot always live here in this way. Someday I shall be killed while trying to get away, and then, if youtruly love me, you will never forgive yourself."
"Does not Myeerah truly love you?" she asked, gazing straight intohis eyes, her own misty and sad.
"I do not doubt that, but I think sometimes that it is not the rightkind of love. It is too savage. No man should be made a prisoner forno other reason than that he is loved by a woman. I have tried toteach you many things; the language of my people, their ways andthoughts, but I have failed to civilize you. I cannot make youunderstand that it is unwomanly--do not turn away. I am notindifferent. I have learned to care for you. Your beauty andtenderness have made anything else impossible."
"Myeerah is proud of her beauty, if it pleases the Eagle. Her beautyand her love are his. Yet the Eagle's words make Myeerah sad. Shecannot tell what she feels. The pale face's words flow swiftly andsmoothly like rippling waters, but Myeerah's heart is full and herlips are dumb."
Myeerah and Isaac stopped under a spreading elm tree the branches ofwhich drooped over and shaded the river. The action of the highwater had worn away the earth round the roots of the old elm,leaving them bare and dry when the stream was low. As though Naturehad been jealous in the interest of lovers, she had twisted andcurled the roots into a curiously shaped bench just above the water,which was secluded enough to escape all eyes except those of thebeaver and the muskrat. The bank above was carpeted with fresh, dewygrass; blue bells and violets hid modestly under their dark greenleaves; delicate ferns, like wonderful fairy lace, lifted theirdainty heads to sway in the summer breeze. In this quiet nook thelovers passed many hours.
"Then, if my White Chief has learned to care for me, he must not tryto escape," whispered Myeerah, tenderly, as she crept into Isaac'sarms and laid her head on his breast. "I love you. I love you. Whatwill become of Myeerah if you leave her? Could she ever be happy?Could she ever forget? No, no, I will keep my captive."
"I cannot persuade you to let me go?"
"If I free you I will come and lie here," cried Myeerah, pointing tothe dark pool.
"Then come with me to my home and live there."
"Go with you to the village of the pale faces, where Myeerah wouldbe scorned, pointed at as your captors laughed at and pitied? No!No!"
"But you would not be," said Isaac, eagerly. "You would be my wife.My sister and people will love you. Come, Myeerah save me from thisbondage; come home with me and I will make you happy."
"It can never be," she said, sadly, after a long pause. "How wouldwe ever reach the fort by the big river? Tarhe loves his daughterand will not give her up. If we tried to get away the braves wouldovertake us and then even Myeerah could not save your life. Youwould be killed. I dare not try. No, no, Myeerah loves too well forthat."
"You might make the attempt," said Isaac, turning away in bitterdisappointment. "If you loved me you could not see me suffer."
"Never say that again," cried Myeerah, pain and scorn in her darkeyes. "Can an Indian Princess who has the blood of great chiefs inher veins prove her love in any way that she has not? Some day youwill know that you wrong me. I am Tarhe's daughter. A Huron does notlie."
They slowly wended their way back to the camp, both miserable atheart; Isaac longing to see his home and friends, and yet withtenderness in his heart for the Indian maiden who would not freehim; Myeerah with pity and love for him and a fear that her longcherished dream could never be realized.
One dark, stormy night, when the rain beat down in torrents and theswollen river raged almost to its banks, Isaac slipped out of hislodge unobserved and under cover of the pitchy darkness he gotsafely between the lines of tepees to the river. He had just theopportunity for which he had been praying. He plunged into the waterand floating down with the swift current he soon got out of sight ofthe flickering camp fires. Half a mile below he left the water andran along the bank until he came to a large tree, a landmark heremembered, when he turned abruptly to the east and struck outthrough the dense woods. He travelled due east all that night andthe next day without resting, and with nothing to eat except a smallpiece of jerked buffalo meat which he had taken the precaution tohide in his hunting shirt. He rested part of the second night andnext morning pushed on toward the east. He had expected to reach theOhio that day, but he did not and he noticed that the ground seemedto be gradually rising. He did not come across any swampy lands orsaw grass or vegetation characteristic of the lowlands. He stoppedand tried to get his bearings. The country was unknown to him, buthe believed he knew the general lay of the ridges and thewater-courses.
The fourth day found Isaac hopelessly lost in the woods. He wasfamished, having eaten but a few herbs and berries in the last twodays; his buckskin garments were torn in tatters; his moccasins wereworn out and his feet lacerated by the sharp thorns.
Darkness was fast approaching when he first realized that he waslost. He waited hopefully for the appearance of the north star--thatmost faithful of hunter's guides--but the sky clouded over and nostars appeared. Tired out and hopeless he dragged his weary bodyinto a dense laurel thicket end lay down to wait for dawn. Thedismal hoot of an owl nearby, the stealthy steps of some soft-footedanimal prowling round the thicket, and the mournful sough of thewind in the treetops kept him awake for hours, but at last he fellasleep.
