In the morning when our friends started upon their day’s march,
Haldidge, as said, fell behind in order to guard against surprise
from this direction. Although expecting as little as did Seth
any demonstration from this quarter, still he was too much of a
backwoodsman to allow himself to lose any of his usual suspicion
and watchfulness. Sometimes he would take his back trail for a long
distance, and then wander off to the right or left of it for perhaps a
mile or more. By this means, he kept a continual watch not only upon
the trail itself but upon the neighborhood for a long distance around
it, and, in case of pursuit, made so many and conflicting tracks, that
it could not but puzzle and delay their enemies.
Near noon, and at the very moment that Seth paused to take a survey of
the suspicious valley-like depression, and when not more than a furlong
in the rear, Haldidge caught sight of three Indians just ahead of him.
They were sitting upon the ground, in perfect silence, and seemingly
waiting for the approach of some one. The hunter found himself as much
perplexed, as was Seth to account for what he saw. Whether it was
some stratagem to entrap himself or not he could not tell, but before
venturing farther, he made up his mind to gain a further knowledge of
their intentions.
Haldidge had one formidable difficulty to contend with: the wood at
this particular spot was open, and almost devoid of the protecting
undergrowth, so that it was about impossible to approach them closer
without discovering himself to them. He noticed lying a short distance
behind them a large, heavy log, apparently much decayed. In fact this
was so near them, that could he gain it, he could overhear every
thing said. He had a slight knowledge of the Mohawk tongue--not
enough to converse in it--but still enough to understand the drift of
a conversation. Accordingly he determined to reach the spot at all
hazards.
Haldidge desired, if possible, to communicate with Haverland and warn
him of the proximity of danger. To do this, it was necessary to make
a long _detour_, and upon further consideration he decided not to
attempt it. Lying flat upon his face, he worked himself toward the log
mentioned, keeping it between himself and the Indians, and approaching
as silently and steadily as a snake. So cautiously and carefully was
it done, that it required at least twenty minutes to reach it, and all
this time, the Indians maintained the same unbroken silence. At length,
the concealment was reached, and the hunter noticed with pleasure that
it was hollow. He lost no time in entering it, where, coiling himself
up in as small a space as possible, he took himself to listening. As
if to completely favor him, there was a small rent in the log, through
which even the whisper of the savages could be heard, and which also
admitted a thin ray of light.
Here Haldidge cramped himself up and listened intently. But not a
word was exchanged between the Indians, who remained as motionless as
statues. In the course of a few minutes he heard a footfall upon the
leaves, and a second after several savages seated themselves upon the
very log in which he had concealed himself! He judged that there were
at least a half dozen. Those whom he had first seen appeared to have
risen, and, meeting the others, they had all seated themselves upon the
log together.
They immediately commenced conversing in so low and guttural tones,
that their deep base voices communicated their tremor to the log.
Haldidge started as he soon learned that they were conversing about
himself and the three fugitives. Of Seth they seemed to have no
knowledge. He discovered that they had lain in ambush a short distance
ahead to entrap Haverland, Graham, and Ina, and they were debating
how _he_ should be disposed of. They knew that he was acting in the
capacity of scout and sentinel, and were fearful that he might detect
the ambush, or at least escape it himself.
At this point, one of the Indians, probably impelled by some whim,
stooped and looked into the log. Haldidge knew from the darkness thus
occasioned, that one of them was peering in it, and he scarcely
breathed for a few seconds. But the face was removed, and the hollow
being dark within--the small rent being upon the opposite side of the
hunter--the savage felt reassured and resumed the conversation.
But Haldidge was doomed to have a trial of his nerves, of which he
little dreamed. When he entered the log, it was head foremost, so that
his feet were toward the opening, and his face was in the dim light
beyond. He judged the rotten cavity extended several feet further back;
but, as there was no necessity for entering farther, he did not attempt
to explore it. It was while he lay thus, his whole soul bent to the
one act of listening, that he was startled by the deadly warning of a
rattlesnake! He comprehended the truth in an instant. _There was one of
these reptiles in the log beyond him!_
It is difficult to imagine a more fearful situation than the hunter’s
at this moment. He was literally environed by death; for it was at his
head, his feet, and above him, and there was no escape below. He had
just learned that his death was one of the objects of the Indians,
so that to back out into their clutches would be nothing less than
committing suicide. To remain where he was, would be to disregard the
second and last warning of the coiled rattlesnake. What was to be done?
Manifestly nothing but to die like a man. Haldidge decided to risk the
bite of the rattlesnake!
Despite himself, the hunter felt that the reptile was exerting its
horrible fascination over him. Its small eyes, gleaming like tiny, yet
fiery stars, seemed to emit a magnetic ray--thin, pointed and palpable,
that pierced right into his brain. There was a malignant subtlety--an
irresistible magnetism. Now the small, glittering point of light seemed
to recede, then to approach and expand, and then to wave and undulate
all around him. Sometimes that bright, lightning-like ray would shiver
and tremble, and then straighten out with metal-like rigidity, and
insinuate itself into his very being like the invisible point of a
spear.
There was a desire on the part of Haldidge to shake off this influence,
which wrapped him like a mantle. There was the desire, we say, and yet
there was a languid listlessness--a repugnance to making the effort.
The feeling was something similar to that produced by a powerful
opiate, when we are first recovering from it. There was that dim
consciousness--that indistinct knowledge of the outer world--that
certainty, that we can break the bond that holds us, by one vigorous
effort, and yet the same sluggish indifference that prevents the
attempt.
Haldidge drew his breath faintly and slowly, yielding more and more
to that fatal subtle influence. He knew he was charmed, and yet he
couldn’t help it. It was now impossible to shake off that weight which
pressed him down like an incubus. That outer world--so to speak--had
now receded, and he was in another, from which he could not return
without help beside his own. He seemed to be moving, flitting, sinking,
and rising, through the thin air, borne upward and downward, hither and
thither, on a wing of fire. The spell was complete. That extraordinary
power which instinct holds over reason--that wonderful superiority
which a reptile sometimes shows he can exert over man, the snake now
held over the hunter.
At this point, from some cause or other, one of the savages struck the
log a violent blow with his hatchet. Haldidge heard it. He drew a long
breath, closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, looked down at his
hands upon which his chin had been resting.
The charm was broken! the hunter had shaken off the fatal spell!
Like the knocking at the gate in Macbeth, which dispels the dark, awful
world of gloom in which the murderers have been moving and living,
and ushers in our own world, with all its hurrying tide of human life
and passions; so this blow of the Indian’s tomahawk broke the subtle,
magnetic spell of the serpent, and lifted the heavy mantle-like
influence which wrapped Haldidge in its folds.
He looked downward, and determined not to raise his eyes again, for he
knew the same power would again rise above him. The serpent, seemingly
conscious of its loss of influence, rattled once more, and prepared to
strike. Haldidge stirred not a muscle; in fact, he had scarcely moved
since entering the log. But the snake did not strike. The continued,
death-like stillness of the hunter, evidently seemed to the reptile to
be death itself. He coiled and uncoiled himself several times, and
then lifting his head, crawled directly over his neck and body, and
passed out of the log! Here he was killed by the Indians.
Now that the hunter was himself again, he prepared for further action.
The Indians had arisen from the log and were at some distance. He could
hear the mumbling of their voices, but could not distinguish their
words. After awhile these ceased, and he heard no more.
Haldidge was now filled with apprehension for the others. He had enough
faith in the power and cunning of Seth to feel pretty confident that he
would neither lead any one into ambush or fall into one himself, let
it be prepared as skillfully as it might be; but then he could know
nothing of the Indians in the rear, who might surprise Haverland and
Graham at any moment.
The hunter at length grew so restless and uneasy that he emerged
from his hiding-place as rapidly and silently as possible. He looked
cautiously around, but no savage was in sight. Filled with the most
painful apprehensions, he hastened through the wood, avoiding the trail
of his friends, however, and finally came in sight of them. Before
making himself known he concluded to reconnoiter the place. While doing
so, he saw the head of an Indian rise slowly above a bush, and peer
over at the unconscious whites. Without losing a moment, he raised
his rifle, took a quick but sure aim, and fired. Then calling out to
Haverland and Graham, he sprang for an instant into view.
“Make for cover!” he shouted; “the Indians are upon us!”
In an instant, every one of the whites was invisible.