AT THE CAMPFIRE OF THE CREES
Frank was not at all alarmed. In the first place, he had been assured by
Mr. Mabie that these Crees were not inclined to be hostile. Then, again,
he saw that it was no fierce face of a warrior that bent over him, but
the pitying one of a child.
"Hello! Who are you?" he asked, a little weakly, for his head was still
swimming more or less from his shock.
"Little Mink," came the reply, though the boy apparently had to nerve
himself to keep from running away.
"And you found me knocked out, did you? What are you doing here, Little
Mink?" Frank sat up as he spoke, though he realized that he would be
unsteady on his feet when he tried to stand.
"Teepee down by river, not far off. Little Mink have snare for rabbit.
Him go see if ketch one, find paleface here. Think dead, then him open
eyes. Good!"
Frank was amused at the air of the little fellow. He knew something
about the ways of civilized Indians, having been among them in Maine,
hence he could see that this boy was endeavoring to ape the manners of
his elders.
"Would you help me get down to your camp, Little Mink? I feel weak after
my tumble, and my own camp is far away," he said.
Now, Frank knew very well that a loud shout would, in all probability,
have fetched Jerry to the spot. He had an object in making this appeal
to the Indian lad, and watched his dusky face closely as the other
considered the proposal.
Perhaps Frank, fearing a refusal, may have put on more agony than the
state of his feelings really warranted. At any rate, he succeeded in
swerving the boy from a condition of caution to that of sympathy.
"Little Mink help. Him lead paleface to teepee," he said, and the look
that accompanied the words told Frank as plainly as words could have
done that the boy was trusting in his honor not to betray them.
Accordingly, he hung on to the lad, and in this fashion they went for
half a mile or so, when the river was reached. Presently Frank
discovered signs of a camp not far in the distance. A little pale smoke
was rising over the thicket, and he also saw a conical skin teepee,
while on the shore were three bullboats.
As Little Mink came into camp, assisting the white hunter, several
squaws began an excited jabber that brought out a couple of bucks.
"A hungry-looking lot all around," was the mental comment of the young
hunter.
He had seen that Little Mink did not look as though he had enjoyed a
bountiful share of food lately, and the rest of the party were certainly
no better off.
One of the bucks was an old man, yet he seemed to have a certain dignity
about him. Frank's curiosity was now greater than ever. He made up his
mind that there was something singular about this party of Crees who
seemed to be wandering in the wilderness without guns, or any means for
obtaining food, and, if possible, he meant to discover what the secret
could be.
The old Indian approached, looking suspiciously at him. Frank put out
his hand at once in a cordial manner.
"How!" he said, smiling in his engaging manner.
The other at once fell under the charm of Frank's smile.
"White boy much hurt?" he asked, looking at the dirt and blood on
Frank's left hand, where he had cut himself slightly.
"No. I had a bad fall, and feel weak. Little Mink found me lying there,
and let me come with him to your camp. I have friends above, a hunting
party under the charge of Mr. Mabie, the stockman."
He saw the old fellow move uneasily at mention of the name.
"Shoot elk?" asked the other, nodding.
"Yes, sometimes, with gun," and Frank purposely held up his repeating
rifle.
He saw the black eyes glitter enviously at sight of it, which made his
curiosity only the stronger.
"Bad! bad!" muttered the Indian, though he did not explain what he
meant; but Frank believed he must be thinking of the theft of the elk
some days previous.
"You no guns here?" he asked, and the old Indian shook his head sadly,
though a look of sudden anger also flitted across his strong face.
"Nothing, only hatchet and one knife. Take all else away when send us
out from village. No care if squaw and pappoose die from hunger. Bad!
bad! But some day p'raps Running Elk go back and make change. Wait!
wait! No sleep on trail!"
Already was Frank beginning to see behind the mystery. For some cause
this old brave and his immediate family had been chased out of the Cree
village, many miles to the northwest. Deprived of weapons, they had been
started on the river in the bullboats, to meet what fate had in store
for them.
No wonder, then, that coming unexpectedly on the dead elk Bluff had
shot, they had stolen it, for hunger stalked in their miserable camp,
and the pappooses cried for the food the braves could not supply.
The only thing that still puzzled Frank was why they had not appealed to
some of the whites. But there must be some good reason, he argued, for
this. Perhaps it was only the natural pride an Indian feels, and which
prevents him from admitting to the palefaces that he is helpless to
supply the wants of his people.
"Name Frank," he said, touching his breast "What call you?"
"Running Elk, chief among Crees. Long he lead them in the hunt and in
battle. But a serpent come among my people and poison all against
Running Elk. Now they think the half-breed Pierre La Motte best man to
follow. Him talk, talk, all time, and warriors dream. Some day they wake
up and know him for bad man. Then p'raps they ask Running Elk come back
again. Wait, see!"
That was the Indian idea of patience. Frank could understand it all now.
Plainly, a smart half-breed had managed to hypnotize the braves in the
Cree village, and influence them to turn against their own chief. When
he and his family resisted they were ignominiously exiled, and sent
forth to face the world without means for providing food for the squaws
and pappooses.
Somehow, Frank felt a strong sense of sympathy for the old exiled chief.
"You see the rancher, Mr. Mabie. I think he can do something for you,"
he said.
"I know him. He no like Running Elk and the Crees. Once they take some
cattle that stampede and wander far away. Never forget or forgive that
wrong. Better not see rancher. Go on down river soon, sell few pelts,
and buy gun. Mebbe all right."
"No! no! Don't be in a hurry. I'm sure Mr. Mabie won't hold that old
grudge against you now, and he's a good man. He will give you gun and
powder. Wait and see."
Half an hour later, as he was sitting there, with a rude bandage around
his throbbing head, and talking with Little Mink, who had taken a great
fancy for the paleface hunter who owned the beautiful gun, Frank heard
a startled exclamation from the border of the thicket near by.
"Hello, there, Jerry! Come in and get acquainted!" he cried out, as his
eyes fell upon the astonished face of his chum thrust from the scrub.
"Talk to me about surprises! What could equal this? Here, after getting
the scare of my life, thinking my chum had been carried off by the
redskins, I find him hobnobbing with them in their camp. Sure they ain't
dangerous, Frank?" asked Jerry, advancing cautiously, with his gun held
ready.
"As mild as an old lady's cup of tea. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Sit down, and
I'll tell you all about them," said Frank.
"First, I want to know are you hurt much? I happened on where you fell,
and just imagine my alarm when I saw the print of little moccasins. Why,
I was sure some frisky red had knocked you over the head with a warclub,
and then toted you off to be burned at the stake. I followed as well as
I could, bent on rescuing you at the peril of my life, to meet up with a
reception like this."
Frank was compelled to laugh at the look of evident disgust that came
over the countenance of his comrade.
But when Jerry had heard all his chum knew concerning the little band
of wandering Crees, his generous heart was stirred at the thought of
their wrongs.
"That greedy half-breed ought to be made to walk the plank, that's what!
Just to think of the nerve of him chasing the genuine dyed-in-the-wool
chief out into the cold and taking his place! Why, he's a usurper,
that's the truth! And look here, Frank, didn't you hear what Mr. Mabie
said about a fellow named Pierre La Motte?"
"I must have been away at the time. What did he say?" asked Frank
eagerly.
"Why, there was a detachment of the sheriff's posse at the ranch house
just before we came, looking for that same fellow. Seems that he's
wanted badly for something or other."
"Hurrah! That's just what I was hoping would happen. We can put them
wise about Pierre, and they'll go after him. Then, perhaps, as old
Running Elk says, when the man with the smooth tongue has gone away
forever, the Crees will send and beg their chief to return, and forgive
the past. It's all right! I'll bring him here to see you."
But Running Elk had already learned that another stranger was in camp,
and even then he was approaching, looking considerably embarrassed, for
he feared it might be Mr. Mabie himself.
However, he was soon set at his ease. What Frank had to say about the
bad half-breed also gave him new pleasure.
"Not wait long now," he said, nodding his head sagely, while his beady
eyes fairly glittered with satisfaction, as in imagination he saw his
hated foe being taken away from the Cree village by the much-feared
sheriff's posse.