Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE LOST TRAIL
By Edward S. Ellis
CONTENTS
I AN ENEMY IN A TREE
II WHAT A RIFLE-SHOT DID
III ON THE BANK OF THE MISSISSIPPI
IV THE VISITOR FROM THE OTHER SHORE
V AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE
VI NIGHT AND MORNING
VII A SURPRISED FISHERMAN
VIII BEHIND THE TREE
IX A TIMELY ARRIVAL
X AT BAY
XI A PRIMITIVE FORT
XII AMONG THE TREE-TOPS
XIII A MESSAGE
XIV THE MANEUVRES OF DEERFOOT
XV "TALL OAKS FROM LITTLE ACORNS GROW"
XVI ON THE RIVER
XVII THE LOUISIANA SHORE
XVIII ON THE LOUISIANA SHORE
XIX THE SMOKE OF A CAMPFIRE
XX "GOOD-BYE!"
XXI THE NEIGH OF A HORSE
XXII A STRANGER
XXIII AN ABORIGINAL HOME
XXIV DEERFOOT
XXV AT BAY
XXVI AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW
XXVII A FAILURE
XXVIII THE EAVESDROPPER
XXIX WITHIN THE WIGWAM
XXX AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
XXXI PURSUER AND PURSUED
XXXII TURNING THE TABLES
XXXIII CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
AN ENEMY IN A TREE
One afternoon in early spring, Jack Carleton, a sturdy youth of
seventeen years, was following a clearly-marked trail, leading
through the western part of Kentucky toward the Mississippi river.
For many a mile he followed the evenly spaced tracks made by a horse
on a walk, the double impressions being a trifle more than three
feet apart.
"Helloa!" exclaimed, Jack, when he looked at the earth again and
observed that the tracks had taken a new form, with nearly eight
feet between them. "Otto has forced the colt to a trot. He must be
in a hurry, or he thinks I am fond of traveling."
Thus far the lusty young Kentuckian felt no misgiving, but within
fifty yards the trail underwent the startling change--the footprints
being separated by more than three yards now.
"My gracious," muttered the boy, coming to a full stop, "something
is wrong: Otto would not have put the horse on a dead run if he
hadn't been scared."
Jack Carleton proved his training by the keenness and quickness with
which he surveyed his surroundings. The woods were on every hand,
but they were open and free from undergrowth, so that he gained an
extensive view.
As he advanced with vigorous steps along the winding path, his eyes
sometimes rested on the pendulous branches of the majestic elm, a
small purple flower here and there still clinging to the limbs and
resisting the budding leaves striving to force it aside; the massive
oak and its twisted, iron limbs; the pinnated leaves of the hickory,
whose solid trunk, when gashed by the axe, was of snowy whiteness;
the pale green spikes and tiny flowers of the chestnut; the
sycamore, whose spreading limbs found themselves crowded even in the
most open spaces, with an occasional wild cherry or tulip, and now
and then a pine, whose resinous breath brooded like a perennial balm
over the vast solitude.
Jack Carleton was arrayed in the coarse, serviceable garb of the
border: heavy calf-skin shoes, thick trousers, leggings and coat,
the latter short and clasped at the waist by a girdle, also of
woolen and similar to that of the modern ulster. The cap was of the
same material and, like the other garments, had been fashioned and
put together by the deft hands of the mother in Kentucky.
Powder-horn and bullet-pouch were suspended by strings passing over
alternate sides of the neck and a fine flint-lock rifle, the
inseparable companion of the Western youth, rested on the right
shoulder, the hand grasping it near the stock.
Jack's hasty survey failed to reveal any cause for fear, and he
resumed his pursuit, as it may be termed. The quick glances he cast
on the ground in front showed, in every instance, that the horse he
was following was fleeing at the same headlong pace. His rider had
spurred him to a dead run, at which gait he had shot underneath the
limbs of the trees at great risk to himself as well as to his rider.
The trail was broad, for loaded horses had passed in both
directions, and wild animals availed themselves of it more than once
in making their pilgrimages to the Mississippi, or in migrating from
one part of the country to the other.
But there were no footprints that had been made within the past few
days, with the single exception noted--that of the horse which had
abruptly broken into a full run.
The balmy afternoon was drawing to a close, and Jack began to
believe the chances were against overtaking his friend and
companion, young Otto Relstaub.
"If he has kept this up very long, he must be far beyond my reach,
unless he has turned about and taken the back trail."
Glancing at the sky as seen through the branches overhead, the youth
observed that it was clear, the deep blue flecked here and there by
patches of snowy clouds, resting motionless in the crystalline air.
Comparatively young as was Jack, he had been thoroughly trained in
woodcraft. When beyond sight of the cabins of the straggling
settlement, where he made his home, he was as watchful and alert as
Daniel Boone or Simon Kenton himself. His penetrating gray eyes not
only scanned the sinuous path, stretching in front, but darted from
side to side, and were frequently turned behind him. He knew that
if danger threatened it was as likely to come from one point as
another.
He could not avoid one conclusion: the peril which had impelled the
young German's horse to such a burst of speed must have been in the
form dreaded above all others--that of the wild Indians who at that
day roamed through the vast wilderness of the West and hovered along
the frontier, eager to use the torch, the rifle, or the tomahawk,
whenever and wherever the way opened.
The probability that such was the cause of the horseman's haste
threw the young Kentuckian at once on his mettle. Inasmuch as he
was putting forth every effort to rejoin his companion, there was
good reason for fearing a collision with the red men. He had been
in several desperate affrays with them, and, like a sensible person,
he spared no exertion to escape all such encounters.
"If they will let me alone I will not disturb them," was the
principle which not only he, but many of the bravest frontiersmen
followed daring the eventful early days of the West.
The youth now dropped into the loping trot of the American Indian--a
gait which, as in the case of the dusky warrior himself, he was able
to maintain hour after hour, without fatigue. The sharp glances
thrown in every direction were not long in making a discovery,
though not of the nature anticipated.
A short distance in front a white oak, whose trunk was fully two
feet in diameter, grew beside the trail which he was following. Its
shaggy limbs twisted their way across the path and among the
branches on the other side. The exuberant leaves offered such
inviting concealment to man and animal that the youth subjected them
to the keenest scrutiny.
His trot dropped to a slow walk, and he instinctively glanced at the
lock of his gun to make sure it was ready for any emergency.
Something was moving among the branches of the forest monarch, but
Jack knew it was not an Indian. No warrior would climb into a tree
to wait for his prey, when, he could secure better concealment on
the ground, where he would not be compelled to yield the use of his
legs, which play such an important part in the maneuverings of the
red man.
The lad caught several glimpses of the strange animal, and, when
within a few rods, identified it.
"It's a painter," he said to himself, with a faint smile, resuming
his slow advance and giving a sigh of relief; "I don't know whether
it is worth while to give him a shot or not."
The name "painter," so common among American hunters, is a
corruption of "panther," which is itself an incorrect application,
the genuine panther being found only in Africa and India. In South
America the corresponding animal is the jaguar, and in North America
the cougar or catamount, and sometimes the American lion.
Jack Carlton did not hold the brute in special fear, though he knew
that when wounded or impelled by hunger he was a dangerous foe.
During an unusually cold day, only a few months before, one of them
had made an open attack on him, inflicting some severe scratches and
tearing most of his clothes to shreds.
It would have been one of the easiest things in the world for the
young Kentuckian to settle the whole question by leaving the trail
and making a detour that would take him safely by the treacherous
beast, which, as a rule, is afraid to assault a person. The lad was
certain that at that season of the year it would not leave the tree
to attack him.
But if he took such a course, it would be a confession of timidity
on his part against which, his nature and training rebelled.
"No," Said he, after brief hesitation, "I won't leave the path for
all the painters this side of the Mississippi. It may not be wise
for me to fire my gun just now and I won't do it, if he behaves
himself, but I don't mean to put up with any nonsense."
He brought his weapon in front, raised the hammer and closely
watched the animal above, while the quadruped was equally intent in
observing him. It was a curious sight--the two scrutinizing each
other with such defiant distrust.
The cougar was crouching on a broad limb, just far enough from the
trunk of the oak to be directly over the trail. He was extended
full length, and, as partly seen through the leaves, offered the
best target possible for the marksman below.
But Jack preferred not to fire his gun, for the reason that the
report was likely to be heard by more dangerous enemies. His
purpose was to refrain from doing so, unless forced to shoot in self
defense, and his pride would not permit him to deviate a
hair's-breadth from the path in order to escape the necessity of
shooting.
He walked with the deliberate, noiseless tread of an Indian, looking
steadily upward at the eyes which assumed a curious, phosphorescent
glare, that scintillated with a greenish light, as the relative
position of the enemies changed.
The lad passed under the limbs staring unflinchingly aloft. When
exactly beneath, the cougar was hidden for an instant from sight,
but, recognizing the changing conditions, he quickly lifted his head
to the right, and the lad again saw the greenish glare, the white
teeth, and blood red mouth. He traced the outlines of the sinewy
body close along the limb, and through which he could have driven a
bullet with fatal certainty. The "painter," whose scream is often
mistaken for the cry of a human being, uttered an occasional
snarling growl as he looked down on the lad. His attitude and
manner seemed to say: "I've got my eye on you, young man! Walk very
straight or you will find yourself in trouble."
The probability that a cougar is gathering his muscles on a limb
with the intention of bounding down on one's shoulders, is enough to
make the bravest man uneasy. Jack Carleton did feel a creeping
chill, but the same pride which prevented him deviating a
hair's-breadth from the trail, would not allow him to increase or
retard his gait.
"If you think you can make me run, old fellow," he muttered, with
his gaze still fixed on the beast, "you are mistaken. We don't meet
wild animals in Kentucky that are able to drive us out of the woods.
You needn't fancy, either, that I am in any hurry to walk away from
you."
And, to show the contempt in which he held the beast, the youth at
that moment came to a full stop, turned about and faced him.