THE INDIAN
Wanatoma, aged warrior and friend of the boys, sat before his log
cabin in the midst of the forest wilderness. He had retreated to this
lonely spot when increasing years robbed him of his power as chieftain.
Wanatoma could not bear to see himself supplanted by a younger man.
The braves no longer circled before him in wild, fantastic dances; his
voice in the council of the tribe carried with it but little weight;
so, proudly, he had withdrawn to the solitude, where nature, kinder
than man, makes no distinction between youth and age.
The Indian's black hair was streaked with gray; his once powerful
shoulders were slightly bent; his eyes were dimmed, but the fiery
spirit of the warrior still smouldered within him; he quailed before
neither man nor beast.
For a companion he had a Great Dane, a dog of enormous size and
strength, generally tractable, but which his master, if he chose, could
transform into a savage animal almost as formidable as a panther.
Wanatoma's log cabin was situated upon a level stretch on the side of
a high hill. Close by towered a wall of barren rock crowned by a thick
growth of timber.
It was early on the evening preceding the departure of the boys. The
Indian, wrapped in a blanket, had taken a position near a good-sized
fire, for the gusts of wind sweeping by were chill and frosty. The
Great Dane, stretched at full length, lay a few feet away.
As Wanatoma saw the dog's head suddenly raised and his ears twitch
forward, he stopped his almost ceaseless rocking to peer intently
toward the west. In another moment, the Dane, with a low, ominous
growl, rose to his feet and started off; but a soft word from Wanatoma
brought him to a halt.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian.
Presently he walked to the brow of the hill, keeping his eyes stolidly
fixed on the line of woods below. Although the sky was still bright
and clear, the landscape was fast deepening in the twilight. Trees,
bushes and tangled thickets seemed rapidly merging together in somber
masses; the rocks alone maintained their sharpness.
Wanatoma's eyes and ears did not serve him well, so, with a sigh, he
leaned against a sapling and waited, while the Dane began to growl and
show an array of dangerous-looking teeth. Only a few sharply-spoken
words prevented him from dashing down the slope, and when, several
minutes later, a sudden crackling of twigs sounded he answered with a
deep bay that echoed weirdly from the surrounding hills.
"I wonder what for the white man come now?" murmured the Indian. "Mebbe
boys; mebbe not--we see."
The crackling which had ceased began again; voices, too, came over
the intervening space; evidently a party was forcing its way through
the brush, and an occasional angry exclamation showed it to be not an
altogether pleasant task. Then shadowy shapes came into view, gradually
detaching themselves from the background, until five separate forms
stood upon a rocky ledge a short distance below the Indian.
"Hello--hello, Wanna!" came a salutation, in a rough voice. "Is your
dog loose?"
"He no hurt white man. Who?"
There was no answer to this, but the crackling began once more; the
men, panting from their exertions, disappeared behind a mass of bushes,
then reappeared, and soon four struggled up the remaining stretch to
where Wanatoma, with folded arms, stood waiting.
The fifth held back; in the dim light, he had caught a glimpse of a
huge dusky form from which now and then came an angry growl.
"How!" exclaimed Wanatoma. He solemnly shook the hands extended toward
him. "Cap Slater's men! What for you come--not to see Indian?"
"Jist to hev a few words with ye," laughed one. He was a big powerful
man with a deep voice. "Hey, Tom Smull," he yelled, "don't be skeered.
Some o' me fren's, Wanna; Alf Griffin, Bart Reeder an' Dan Woodle. Come
up here, Tom Smull! 'Member me, Injun--Jim Reynolds?"
"Hey thar, make 'im tie up that critter; he's big nuff to chaw a man's
leg off," came from Tom Smull.
"Dog no hurt." Wanatoma looked at his visitors searchingly. "You have
something to say to Indian? What?"
"I kin tell ye mighty quick," began Griffin, but a sharp thrust in the
ribs stopped him.
"We jist wanted to ask ye a few questions, friendly like." Jim Reynolds
grinned, shot a glance over his shoulder at the indistinct form of Tom
Smull, and patted Wanatoma's shoulder. "Me an' you has allus been good
friends, eh?" he asked.
The Indian nodded gravely and walked forward, speaking sharply to the
Great Dane.
Tom Smull, seeing that nothing had happened to his friends, and not
enjoying the rough sallies flung toward him, took courage, coming up
as the others ranged themselves around the fire. He was a short man of
powerful physique, with long, sandy hair and bushy eyebrows, and wore
a thick, stubby beard. The ends of a red handkerchief tucked around
his neck flapped in the breeze. Nature had been sparing of its favors
to the lumberman. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why Tom Smull's
disposition resembled that of a surly bear.
"Yes, Wanna, we jist wanted to ask a few friendly questions," repeated
Jim Reynolds. "We've hearn tell that ye know somethin' 'bout a gold
mine; an' that ye've told them boys what has been stayin' over to
Lovell's camp whar it is."
"An' if that ain't a fine thing to do, when men as ye hev know'd fur
years is a-slavin' in the woods; an' ye could jist as well hev--"
"Cut it out, Tom Smull!" roared Jim Reynolds. "Now, Wanna, bein' as you
an' me hev been sich good fren's, we kinder thought as how ye might let
us in on it. Ye kin count on big Jim Reynolds doin' the squar' thing by
the boys--an' you, too, Injun. An' 'sides, it ain't a bit likely them
youngsters kin find it. So we know'd we jist had to ask ye, an' out
ye'd come with it, eh, Wanna?"
But little daylight now filtered between the trees; gloomy darkness was
fast settling over the forest; a brisk fire threw a dancing glimmer
upon Wanatoma's picturesquely garbed figure and bronzed face. For an
instant his beady eyes flashed strongly, then the stolid expression
returned. He looked calmly at Reynolds and his rough companions, all of
whom were glaring eagerly toward him.
"How does white man know?" he asked.
"How?" echoed Griffin. "Don't make no difference, Injun; we know it,
an' that's enough."
"We'll do the squar' thing by ye, Wanna," Reynolds again said,
persuasively. "Whar is the mine?"
Wanatoma stood silent.
"Yes! Whar is it?" roared Tom Smull, paying no heed to Reynolds'
warning glances. "We're bound to know, Injun. Ain't that right, boys?"
A loud chorus of gruff assents came from the lumbermen.
"Indian does not choose to tell," said Wanatoma, quietly.
Tom Smull and Alf Griffin's voices rose in angry protest.
"Ye'd better tell us peaceable-like," roared Tom, "or it'll be the wuss
fur ye. We hain't walked our legs 'most off, besides fallin' over
rocks, an' gittin' ketched in all sorts o' thickets, to hear no sich
words as them."
"I should say we hain't!" cried Griffin; "an' it won't pay to go ag'in
what we says, nuther, Injun."
"Go slow, boys," whispered Jim Reynolds; "yer spilin' the hull
business."
"Git out! Smull an' me kin do the trick," growled Griffin. He cast an
anxious look at the Great Dane, which sat on his haunches close beside
his master. "Will ye answer, Wanna--yes or no?"
"Indian no tell."
"But see here, Injun--"
Reynolds, with an emphatic wave of his hand, cut short Griffin's angry
voice, and said:
"Honest, Wanna, it ain't right to let a parcel o' boys have it all,
when hard-workin' men, an' fren's o' yourn at that, need it so much
wusser'n they."
"Ye couldn't expect none o' us to stan' fur it, nuther," said Bart
Reeder, a tall, slender, freckle-faced man.
"We ain't a-wantin' to rob the boys, understan'," put in Dan Woodle.
"Did ye ever hear anybody say a word ag'in big Jim Reynolds? He's a
squar' man, all right; an' when he says the boys'll have their share he
means it, eh, Jim?"
Jim nodded earnestly.
"Ye kin bet I do," he said. "It'll be share and share alike."
"Prowidin' me an' you agree to it," remarked Griffin, in a low tone, to
his chum, Tom Smull.
There was an instant of silence. The lumbermen crowded eagerly around
the aged warrior, whose stolid face, turned full toward them, shone
brightly in the firelight. From the mysterious, somber depths of the
forest came a low, mournful roar, as the ever-increasing breeze swayed
the tree tops.
"Indian has spoken," said Wanatoma, slowly. "He is a friend of the
white man. But boys save Indian's life, and Wanatoma can no forget. I
give promise, and always does the Indian keep his promise. Is the white
man like that, or does he change as the wind?"
His voice was stern; he stood out among the rough lumbermen a
dignified figure, unyielding to either flattery or threats.
"Wal, kin ye beat that?" cried Tom Smull, violently. "We didn't come
this far to hear all them fine words, eh, Griffin? Are you fellers
a-goin' to stan' fur this?"
"No--no!" yelled Griffin.
"If ye don't tell us to onct, ye'll be the sorriest-lookin' Injun what
ever hit this part o' the state!" Tom Smull shook his fist. "I asks ye
ag'in, will ye tell us whar that gold mine is?"
"No!"
Wanatoma's stern voice vibrated with decision.
"Ye won't, hey?" snarled Tom Smull. "Ye'll be changin' yer mind purty
quick, I'm a-thinkin', Injun!"
"An' that's whar ye're right, Tom!" yelled Griffin. "We'll see! If soft
chatter don't bring him, somethin' else will!"
Forgetting caution, in his rage and disappointment, and hoping to
frighten the Indian by strenuous methods, the lumberman sprang forward.
Wanatoma, calm and unflinching, faced him.
A great dusky form suddenly rose high from the ground, while a
deep-toned bay sent the astonished men falling back in a panic. Alf
Griffin had a glimpse of a pair of savage eyes and an open mouth, but
his wild howl of terror was stifled, as a crushing weight thudded
against his chest.
He went flying over backward, rolled into a mass of brush, and, next
instant, the Great Dane, snarling savagely, was standing over his
prostrate form. Griffin, too terrified to move, felt a hot breath fan
his cheek, and gave a smothered yell for help. He was convinced that
his last moment had come.
The lumbermen stood motionless, none daring to approach the infuriated
dog. Smull flashed a weapon.
But Wanatoma, with upraised hand, sprang forward. A few sharp commands,
and the Dane backed slowly away, uttering another thrilling bay.
"He who has no respect for Indian's white hair must suffer," said
Wanatoma, in a voice that trembled. "I want peace; but, listen, Big
Jim, always is the Indian ready for battle, and has no fear."
He stood erect, facing the silent men, defiance in every line of his
bronzed, aged face.
Still shaking with terror, Alf Griffin struggled to his feet, and, with
his eyes fixed on the Great Dane, slunk quickly behind his companions.
There was something in the old warrior's manner which impressed the
rough lumbermen with a feeling of awe. Jim Reynolds spoke up:
"Ye only got what ye desarved, Alf Griffin, an' I tell you right now
that any man what tries to do Wanatoma harm has Big Jim Reynolds to
reckon with. Me an' him is still fren's, even if he won't tell us 'bout
the mine. But, Wanna," he paused an instant, "I'm a squar' man, an'
gives ye fair warnin'; I s'picion we knows nigh 'bout whar that mine is
located. Anyhow, it won't be hard to trail them boys; an' I reckon if
a gold strike is ever staked out the ones that are goin' to do it are
standin' right here. So-long, Wanna."
The Indian, with folded arms, nodded gravely, and watched the men file
out into the darkness.
But a moment more, and the flaring light had detached them from the
somber background for the last time; their forms suddenly melted into
gloom, and only the sound of crackling twigs and stumbling feet told of
the presence in the wilderness of other human beings beside the Indian.
Wanatoma, almost motionless as a statue, gazed at the gloom of the
hillside, at the stars which were beginning to show faintly above;
then, as the weird, shrill cry of some nocturnal bird jarred over the
air, he sighed, and turned toward the fire.
The blanket was wrapped around his form again. With his hand on the
Great Dane's head, he began to rock to and fro on his rude log seat,
gazing into the depths of the fire, as though he could read in the
glowing flames what the future held in store for the youthful searchers
after the Rambler Club's Gold Mine.