THE ESCAPE
"WHEN can we go, Blue Jacket?" asked the boy, with his usual impatience.
"No can get away yet some time. Sandy look out," came the reply.
"Well, I see what you mean," admitted the prisoner, reluctantly. "There
does seem to be considerable of a stir around. Everybody is moving
about. Even the dogs seem to be prowling around sniffing at things."
"Ugh! much stir. Talk heap. French trader try to palaver with chiefs.
Make think English bad men. Steal Indian country, kill squaws,
papooses, all. Ugh!" and, from the way Blue Jacket said this, it was
evident that he feared the influence of the smooth-voiced Jacques Larue
would undo all the good his harangue had accomplished.
Not that his people would think of putting Sandy to the stake. That
bugbear had been effectually squelched after he had told how kind the
two Armstrong boys had shown themselves to him. But they might refuse
to let the prisoner go free, demanding that he be forced to join the
tribe. The lodge was still to be a prison, for the squaw had betaken
herself off, and Blue Jacket had said he would not be allowed to stay
with his white brother.
Even Sandy understood something of his danger. Perhaps it had to do
with his impatience to get away from the village, with its clamor and
its strange inhabitants.
He remembered the skinny old crone who had wanted to adopt him as her
own son. She meant it all in kindness, perhaps, but the very thought
made poor Sandy shiver.
"But look here, Blue Jacket, what about Bob?" he said, presently, after
he had turned away from peeping out at the exit of the lodge.
"Bob wait," replied the Indian with his customary taciturnity.
"Yes, but when time passes, and I fail to come, he may get impatient
and do something that will get him into trouble?"
At this the young Indian shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he had caught
the manner from the French traders, oily men who often visited the
Shawanees in their villages to barter poor guns and powder for their
valuable pelts.
"Bob no Sandy!" was his only comment; and it struck home, too, for the
one who heard gave a little chuckle, as he hastened to reply:
"You are right about that, Blue Jacket; and perhaps it's just as well
that he is not. One hothead in the family is quite enough. But you
think, then, Bob will bide his time patiently, and wait to hear from
you?"
"Him say," answered the other, calmly.
"Oh!" observed Sandy; but he saw a great light.
It told him what a distinct impression that sober brother of his must
have made on the observing young Indian during the week of their
intercourse. Accustomed to reading people just as Sandy might the pages
of a printed book, Blue Jacket knew that, when Bob Armstrong said a
thing, that was just what he meant. His simple word was, in the eye of
this native of the woods, as good as another's bond.
Presently Sandy spoke again, for he could not keep his mind long off
that fascinating subject.
"Is he near the border of the village, Blue Jacket?" he asked.
"Much close. Blue Jacket him hide Bob. No can find. P'raps dog smell
him. Not much danger that. You wait. Sleep. Time come bimeby. Blue
Jacket crawl in lodge, wake. Make not noise, but move like snake. Ugh!"
With that the young Indian abruptly left him.
Sandy threw himself down on the blanket and bearskin which he found in
his prison. Perhaps what the Indian suggested would be a wise thing for
him to do. He was very tired, and trembling with excitement. Of course,
he hardly hoped to sleep any; but even lying there would rest him more
or less.
But, despite his fears, he must have passed away into dreamland very
shortly after dropping on the soft robes, for he could not remember
doing any great amount of thinking over his past troubles and the
uncertain future.
A cold hand touching his face awakened him.
Before he could utter a sound he heard a low hiss that warned him
against making a single exclamation. It was well Blue Jacket adopted
this course, because naturally Sandy supposed himself safe at home, in
his own newly-fashioned bed, and that it was Bob who had disturbed his
dreams.
Instantly he understood. The skin lodge was almost in darkness. Still,
something of a flickering light seeped in through little openings at
the entrance; and he could just manage to make out a bending figure
that crouched beside him.
"Is it you, Blue Jacket?" he whispered softly, as his hand went out to
feel of this figure.
Again that warning hiss greeted him. Then there was a gentle pull at
his buckskin tunic, which Sandy could not mistake. His ghostly visitor
wanted him to follow his lead.
Expecting some such summons, Sandy had made all preparations for a
quick departure. His precious gun was lying close beside him; moreover,
he had secured powder-horn, bullet pouch, and all other belongings, so
that nothing would be left behind.
Blue Jacket turned and crawled away. To Sandy's surprise the young
Shawanee did not head toward the opening of the lodge; but common sense
told him why. There was a fire still burning out there, and possibly
some brave might awaken just at the critical moment when they were
passing.
Evidently Blue Jacket had crept in at the rear, and meant to return
the same way. He knew the possibilities of his own wigwam. Sandy
wriggled his body under the tightly drawn skin that, with its fellows,
formed the wigwam. He could just barely see the figure of his guide
moving off ahead. And, when Blue Jacket had said they must glide like
the snake that goes upon its belly, he certainly hit the truth, for
Sandy could not discover the slightest movement of either arms or legs.
Still the other made fair progress.
Between lodges, avoiding the smouldering fires, they went. Surely the
red guide must have figured every inch of the route in advance. Not
even a dog seemed to be along the course; and Sandy's admiration for
his friend increased by bounds with every yard that they advanced.
He had been wise enough to observe the location of Blue Jacket's lodge,
and hence knew that they were now heading in a general way toward the
bank of the small stream near which this temporary hunting camp of the
Shawanees had been located.
This gave him a sudden and brilliant idea. Bid Blue Jacket mean that
they should make their escape by water? It would save many weary miles
of tramping, which task Sandy was not in very good physical condition
to undertake.
More than once the dark figure ahead came to a pause, and lay as still
as a log. Sandy was keenly awake to the situation, and copied his
actions to the letter. On one occasion a couple of dogs came running
past, having evidently been hunting on their own account in the
forest. They stopped to sniff the air, but luckily they were not on
the windward side of the crouching figures; and so the presence of a
paleface was not discovered; for soon they went on among the lodges, to
lie down and rest after their long chase.
Another time it was a moving warrior who caused alarm. But he seemed to
have only been down to the river for a drink, for he walked past the
spot where the two shadows lay without any suspicion that anything was
amiss.
It was an exciting time for poor Sandy, and his heart seemed to be up
in his throat with suspense as he kept his agonized eyes fastened on
that tall, dusky figure, until it was lost among the neighboring lodges.
All now seemed well, and the coast clear. Rapidly Blue Jacket
advanced. No longer was he content to wriggle like the rattlesnake. He
had first arisen to his knees, and finally to his feet. True, he limped
sadly, and Sandy knew that, with an Indian's stoicism, his guide must
be repressing the groans that a white boy would have uttered.
"He's game, all right," Sandy was saying to himself, filled with
gratitude toward the young Indian; "good Blue Jacket! Will I ever
forget this? May my right arm wither if I should! And now, I wonder
where Bob is?"
They had gone some little distance from the village, so that there no
longer seemed to be any danger that they would be seen if they walked
erect. Sandy had impulsively thrown an arm about his companion, meaning
to help him. Perhaps at another time the proud young Shawanee might
have indignantly declined to accept any assistance; but he was weak,
and he had learned to feel a singular affection for his two white
brothers.
They came to a stop near a tangle of thickets.
"Listen!" said Blue Jacket.
Then close by, so that it actually startled the white boy, came the
bark of the red fox, twice repeated. And he remembered what his guide
had said about the signal which Bob was to recognize. Anxiously Sandy
waited, every nerve on edge for fear lest his brother might have gone.
There was a stir in the thicket, and then came a low voice saying:
"Sandy! Blue Jacket, is it you?"
"Here!" exclaimed the escaped prisoner, unable to longer restrain his
feelings; and in another moment he was clasped in a brother's sturdy
embrace.
"No time lose," observed the practical Indian. "Come long me. River
close by. Canoe p'raps wait. Paddle home. Tell white squaw Blue Jacket
much glad."
In two minutes they had arrived at the border of the little stream,
where Blue Jacket produced his canoe, hidden for this very purpose late
that evening.
"Go quick! No time lose. Mebbe alarm come. Who can tell?" said the
Indian.
Sandy had crept into the frail boat made of skins, and Bob was about
to do so, after squeezing the hand of their red friend, when a smooth
voice suddenly said:
"Sacre! it ees just as I thought when I saw him paddle his canoe here.
Not so quick, young messieurs. You are not yet out of ze woods."