ATTACKED BY INDIANS
Their mounts having had a good rest and the boys themselves being more
than usually refreshed, they made considerable progress that day. Night
found them at the ford of a large stream.
“Hello,” said Jack, as they drew up at the ford and gazed about, “this
looks like a place I’ve seen before.”
“Cache on other side,” said Running Elk, who seldom made a mistake in
his observations. “Much dried meat. Put there two snow moons ago.”
Jack’s face lit up with recognition.
“Why, so it is,” said he. “I hadn’t thought we’d gone so far.” Then to
Frank he added: “This is the place we’ve been heading for.”
“Is this the Alabama River?” asked the young Virginian.
“Yes,” said Jack. “And from now on we’ll have our bearings pretty well
laid out for us. Running Elk and myself hunted hereabouts two winters
ago; that’s how we came to have the country so well in mind.”
They forded the river and camped for the night on the opposite bank;
next morning, after breakfast, Frank got out his chart, roughly done
upon a piece of tanned deerskin in the pigment used by the Indians.
“Here,” said he, his finger indicating the places on the chart, “is the
Alabama. Just below is a place where a smaller stream flows into it,
and upon the point of land between the two is a small clump of trees
under which is written ‘Triple Oaks.’”
“The clump would be three trees, I think,” said Jack, “and pretty big
ones, to make them stand out so as to be noticed more than others.”
“I should say so, too,” agreed Frank.
“There is such a place as that not far down-stream,” said Jack. “At
least I think there is. I remember some big oaks, just at a place where
a creek runs into the river. But how many there are, I don’t know.”
Then turning to Running Elk, he asked, “What do you remember about it?”
The young Cherokee’s reply was brief and comprehensive.
“One, two, three,” he counted upon his fingers. “Three oak trees. Grow
near creek on river bank. Half a sun’s ride.”
Jack chuckled and nodded to Frank.
“He never forgets anything like that.”
Frank was much gratified.
“Good for you, old chap,” said he, slapping the Cherokee upon the
shoulder. To Jack he said: “As we are without instruments, we couldn’t
locate the tract without these landmarks, and it’s a great comfort
to have some one along who knows where the landmarks are.” Again his
fingers went from point to point upon the chart. “Here, to the north,
is a hill; and around to the west is a pine forest; I think we ought,
by the help of these, to prove if the three oaks you have in mind are
the ones in the chart, or no.”
When the horses had finished grazing, they were saddled, and the lads
sprang upon their backs with keen excitement. That Running Elk was a
most excellent judge of distance as well as topography was soon made
manifest. For just about high noon, when the sun was staring like a
huge fiery ball from directly overhead, Frank uttered a cry.
“What is it?” demanded Jack, his hand going in the quick, instinctive
movement of the frontiersman for his weapon.
“The triple oaks,” was the reply, and Frank pointed over the tree tops.
Sure enough, as they broke through some underbrush upon the river bank,
they sighted three massive oaks, growing close together and towering
above their neighbors like giants above pigmies. To the left of them
flowed a slow shallow stream of yellowish water which entered and
discolored the river for some distance below.
“Well, there they are,” said Jack, “just as I saw them last, and as
they have been standing for at least a hundred years.”
They all dismounted, and their bridles were thrown across some
low limbs close to the water’s edge. Frank got the chart from his
saddle-bags, and began unrolling it.
“With any sort of good luck,” said he, “we’ll have this job over sooner
than we expected.”
As he spoke he felt a hand upon his shoulder, pressing downward.
“Down!” came the voice of Jack, harshly. “Don’t look up! Down!”
His weeks in the wilderness had not been without their effect upon the
young Virginian. He had learned that if a thing must be done in the
forest, one must do it promptly and without question. So he at once
dropped to the earth; as he did so a flight of arrows sped over his
head, and a dozen bullets hummed their course through the trees.
“Red Sticks,” said Running Elk, from behind the gnarled stem of a
cottonwood. He fitted an arrow to his bow, and as Frank, astounded by
the suddenness of the attack, gazed at him the taut string twanged, and
a shrill cry from across the river told of a victim.
Almost at the same moment the long rifle of Jack Davis spoke, and a
second yell arose, proving the sureness of his aim. Frank now turned
his eyes upon the point of land upon which stood the triple oaks; to
his surprise, he saw among the trees all the evidences of a Creek
encampment; and a new flight of arrows and volley of rifle shots from
behind rocks, stumps and trees, told of the hiding places of the
savages.
By great good fortune, the boys’ horses, at the first sound of the
rifles of the hostiles, had broken away from their slight restraint
and galloped off into the woods, unhurt.
“Keep close to the ground,” warned Jack, “and after them. We must not
lose sight of our mounts, or we’re done for.”
Running Elk slipped from tree to tree; Jack crawled along the earth
with the supple movements of a snake. Frank followed suit, and in spite
of the continuous flight of arrows, they reached unharmed the thick
cover of the trees some distance from the river’s brink.
By great good fortune, the packhorse, which was a wise old beast, had
brought up a few hundred yards away; and naturally the other horses
stopped also, and so were easily caught. The boys sprang upon their
backs and went tearing away through the aisles of the forest; and as
they did so they heard the yells of the Indians, who now for the first
time became aware of their flight.
“Do you think they’ll follow?” asked Frank, as he and Jack rode side
by side for a space where the woods was not so dense.
“They will if they have noticed how few we are,” replied the young
borderer. “And if they cross the river, our tracks will tell them that.”
After about an hour’s hard riding they slackened their pace, and then
at the top of a knoll they halted. They had emerged from the forest
some time ago, and from where they were they had a clear view of the
surrounding country for miles around.
Away swept the green of the early autumn, all rippling in the breeze
and shining in the sunlight. Here and there a splotch of yellow or red
marked where the fall had already set its hand. The sky was cloudless
and the air very clear.
“It’s the sort of a day when we can see great distances,” said Frank.
“I don’t think I remember ever seeing a finer.”
“Well, and just because of that,” said Jack Davis, with the caution of
experience, “we’d better not stand here in such full view. If there
are any reds on our trail, they’ll mark us, even if they’re still miles
away.”
“Ugh!” agreed Running Elk, in prompt approval. “Creek have good eyes.
See far!”
So they drew back below the shoulder of the knoll, dismounted and gave
the horses a breathing space. Frank, as he watched his friend, saw that
his face was serious and that his looks in the direction of the waving
green forest which they had left behind were intense. Running Elk also
kept his keen black eyes upon the distant woods; as he stood watching,
with barbaric composure, he had the appearance of a splendidly wrought
bronze, meant to typify vigilance and grace.
Suddenly Jack spoke.
“There they are,” said he, pointing. “There’s a big band of them, and
they are following in our tracks like hounds.”
From out the green of the woods came a full score of Creeks. Some were
mounted and some were afoot. They carried shields and spears and bows
and arrows; and here and there the metal of a rifle barrel glistened as
the sun’s rays struck it.
“They seem to come on boldly, and without much thought of concealment,”
said Frank, after he had watched them for a moment. “And that is not at
all the way I thought Indians made war.”
“Um, Creek no care who see,” stated Running Elk. “Got hill, with ring
around him.”
“What’s that?” said Frank, only partly catching the Cherokee’s meaning.
“He means that they’ve got us surrounded,” said Jack Davis. “And he’s
right. Just throw a look around.”
Startled, Frank did so; his heart gave a leap and began to beat
swifter; from all directions, closing in upon the knoll, were bands of
armed savages.