“Durn the bushes!”
It was Old Blaze who spoke. He was slowly working his way through a
thicket, in pitchy darkness, and at every step he either stumbled
against a stone, or was brushed in the face by the limbs of the scraggy
saplings that abounded in the place.
“Durn the bushes! ’Pears like I won’t never git nowhar to-night. The
dark comes down in chunks, and e’en a’most smothers me, and these hyar
bushes are the peskiest things I ever lit into.”
Thus muttering and grumbling, the hunter pushed on, until he was fairly
out of the thicket.
“I reckon it’s all plain sailin’ now,” said he. “But it’s darker out
in the open than ’twas in thar, or this ole hoss has gone clean blind.
Hello! what’s this?”
“This” was a perpendicular wall of rock, against which he had walked in
the darkness.
“I ’lowed it was a thicker chunk of dark than or’nary,” he muttered,
“that had come along and struck me; but it seems to be solid rock.
Wonder, now, ef this hyar ain’t the very place whar Silverspur tumbled
over and nearly killed hisself. I wish I’d let the boy come on this
chase, as he wanted to, ’stead of leavin’ him up thar in the hills; but
I shouldn’t wonder ef he gits the wind of the game afore I do, arter
all. Wal, this rock cain’t be stepped over, and I reckon I’d best camp
right hyar and wait till mornin’.”
Without further ceremony, he laid down at the foot of the cliff, and
was soon sound asleep.
In the morning he was awake at the first glimpse of day, examined the
position in which he had passed the night, and reached, by a _détour_
that avoided the cliff, the high ground above. Before him was a bit
of prairie, and beyond the prairie was a broad belt of woodland. He
crossed the prairie, and entered the timber, moving cautiously, as he
knew that the Indian village he was seeking could not be far off.
From the edge of the belt of trees he saw the lodges, on the wooded
plain before him, and red-men and women walking about among them.
“This is all correct, as fur as heerd from,” he muttered; “but thar’s
suthin’ wrong somewhar. ’Pears to me that I smell Injuns, and the
critturs are up to some devilment, or Old Blaze is mighty bad fooled.
Thar’s one of ’em, and thar’s another! By the livin’ possums of old
Varginny! the timber’s full of ’em!”
He had turned, and he saw that the forest which he had just traversed
was alive with Indians. They had discovered his approach, had glided
into his rear unobserved, and were closing in upon him. As soon as he
saw them, they raised a yell, and rushed forward to capture him.
His quick glance told him that he was surrounded on all sides, except
that toward the village. Blaming himself for the lack of caution that
had led him into the hornets’ nest, he saw that he had no time to lose,
and made up his mind in an instant. He must run for his life, and he
would hardly save it by running in the direction in which his foes were
awaiting him. He must go where they were not expecting him, and that
course led directly through the village.
As the yells of the Indians rose behind him, he answered them with a
whoop, and bounded away toward the village. It was situated about two
hundred yards from his starting point, and the route lay across a level
plain, where scattered trees afforded him a partial cover.
Bullets and arrows whistled and sung about him as he ran; but he did
not heed them; his attention was concentrated upon the task before him,
and he did not fear the foe in his rear.
The Indians at the village, not expecting that his flight would take
such a direction, knew nothing of the presence of the fugitive, until
he burst in among them, dodging behind the lodges, and performing many
strange antics, as he twisted and turned, to avoid the missiles of his
pursuers. Then the women screamed, and the men yelled and ran for their
weapons, joining the chase.
But Old Blaze had safely passed through the village, and it is probable
that he would have succeeded in distancing his pursuers, had it not
been for the peculiar nature of the country in which he found himself.
The Indians, knowing what must shortly happen, sent a strong force
of well-armed runners to the left. The hunter soon found his course
stopped by a deep chasm that lay in front and to the right of him. The
chasm was impassable, and the only avenue of escape was at the left;
but this was blocked up, as he quickly perceived, by a body of his
enemies, who were also closing in behind him.
Under these circumstances, Old Blaze concluded that it would be better
for him to surrender, than to exasperate the Indians by fighting to the
death. He threw down his rifle and tomahawk, and advanced toward his
pursuers, holding out his hand, with a ludicrous attempt at a smile.
“As ye seem to want me so bad, red-skins, I’ll come to ye,” he said:
“but it’s a-treatin’ a feller mighty rough, when he comes a-visitin’ of
ye, to chase him as if he was a varmint.”
The Indians made no reply to this speech, but quietly bound their
captive, and carried him to the village, where he was tied to a stake
near the council-lodge.
It was an unpleasant predicament in which Old Blaze found himself; but
he was not one of those men who despair. While life lasted, there was a
chance to escape; if death should come, he would meet it like a man.
It was not long before he had reason to hope.
He saw a white man passing through the village. Although attired in the
Indian fashion, this man was undoubtedly white. He might be a renegade,
who had become a savage in nature, as well as in dress; or he might be
a trader, who would assent to every thing the Indians chose to do, for
the sake of gaining their favor. At all events, his face was white, and
he could not entirely have lost sympathy with the race from which he
sprung.
The prisoner beckoned to him; but Silas Wormley (for he was the white
man) did not appear to notice the signal. On the contrary, he quickened
his pace, as if he was desirous of “passing by on the other side.” But,
when he was called upon in the English language, in tones that plainly
showed that he was known to be a white man, he was obliged to stop and
turn around, with a look of affected surprise. He slowly walked over to
where the captive was standing, and was accosted by Old Blaze rather
roughly, considering the fact that the hunter needed his assistance.
“I say, stranger, has anybody sent fur ye, in a big hurry?”
“No. What do you mean by that?”
“Didn’t scare ye bad--did I?--when I made signals to ye from over hyar?”
“As I saw no signals, it is not to be supposed that I was to be scared
by them.”
“Kinder short-sighted, p’r’aps. When a man gits to lookin’ at dollars
right hard, ’pears like he cain’t see nothin’ else. Ye don’t say
whether ye’re glad to see me, or not.”
“I am truly sorry to see you here as a prisoner, although your manner
is not calculated to excite sympathy.”
“Old Blaze ain’t much of a calkilation’ man, I’m afeard.”
“I heard that a prisoner had been taken, but supposed it to be an
Indian. You are a white man, I believe.”
“Did ye raally hear that thar rumpus? I’m glad to know that ye ain’t
quite so hard o’ hearin’ as mought hev been expected. I do allow that
I’m a white man, stranger--white all over. Are you fixed up that way?”
“It is a strange question to ask. You see that I am a white man.”
“Are ye on good tarms with these hyar red-skins?”
“It is my business to be so. I am a trader, and have been among them
several months.”
“Ye wouldn’t mind tryin’ to help a feller out of sech a scrape as this
that I’m into--would ye?--ef a chance should show itself?”
“I would be glad to assist you, of course; but it would be a difficult
thing to do. Have you killed any of the Arapahoes?”
“Nary red-skin. Hain’t done ’em a bit of harm--leastways, not on _this_
tramp.”
“It must have been on some former occasion, then. I heard them say that
you were a dangerous enemy.”
“It’s easy enough to guess what _you_ are,” thought the hunter. “A
minute ago ye ’lowed that I was a red-skin, and now ye say that ye’ve
heerd the ’Rapahoes talkin’ about Old Blaze, as well they may. A man
who takes to hard lyin’ ort to hev a good memory. But I’ll give ye a
leetle more rope, and see whar ye’ll run to.”
“Inimy or no inimy,” he said, “I know what the critturs are and I know
that they’re likely to give me the wust kind of a killin’ they kin
scare up, unless I should happen to slip away from them, and I don’t
see any chance fur doin’ that, without help. Bein’ as ye’re a white
man, I ’lowed ye’d be glad to help a feller creetur in distress.”
“Certainly. Any thing I can do will be cheerfully done. But it’s a
difficult thing, as I told you. The Indians are very angry, and I, if I
should be discovered, would share your fate. Besides, the Arapahoes are
owing me a large sum. If I should lose it, it would ruin me. I must be
very careful, you see, and it is doubtful whether I can accomplish any
thing.”
“I see that ye’re a sneak,” thought Old Blaze. “Any white man who was
raally white would hev come to see me afore this, and would hev been
keen to help me without any axin’. It’s jist the easiest thing on airth
fur a man to find excuses fur not doin’ what he don’t want to do.”
“Yaas,” he said. “I wouldn’t hev ye resk yer precious life, stranger,
fur twenty doxen skulps like mine; and when it comes to reskin’
dollars, why, reckon no mortal man would be so owdacious as to ax
_that_ of ye. I’m a thousand times obleeged to ye fur yer good wishes,
and I make no doubt that ye’ll do all ye kin--to keep out of trouble.
Will ye be so kind as to tell me--ef thar ain’t nothin’ dangerous or
costly in it--whether thar’s an Injun gal livin’ hyar, who goes by the
name of Dove-eye?”
This question made the trader start. He turned quickly upon the
speaker, and his countenance plainly showed the suspicion that had
sprung up in his breast.
“Did a snake bite ye, stranger?--or did ye hear suthin’?” inquired Old
Blaze.
“What do you want of _her_?” roughly asked Wormley.
“Axin’ questions _may_ be a good way to help a feller when he’s in
trouble. Ef it is, stranger, ye’re a friend that it’ll allers do to
bet on. Ef a red-skin should be a-skelpin’ of me, I reckon ye’d want
to ax how old I was, and what was my mammy’s name, afore ye’d pull the
crittur off. Then it mought be too late.”
“What do you want of Dove-eye? I ask.”
“Thar it is ag’in. Old Blaze ain’t a bit hard of hearin’, or of seein’,
either. I reckon, from yer way of speakin’, that the gal is hyarabouts.
What I want of her is, jest to see her and speak to her. Ef ye’ll hunt
her up and tell her that, it’ll be a favor.”
“Tell me what business you have with her, and I will send her to you.”
“Business! Wal, that beats me! Ain’t I in a purty fix, tied up hyar, to
’tend to any kind of _business_? Ef ye allow that I’ve got a note ag’in
the gal, and want her to pay it, ye’re as much mistaken as ef ye’d bit
yer nose off, thinkin’ it mought be a chunk of buffler-hump. But thar’s
Dove-eye herself, I do believe. Yes; thar ain’t no mistakin’ _her_,
when a man has onct seen her.”
The hunter began to telegraph to the girl with great earnestness.
Wormley, who saw he was bound to attract the attention of Dove-eye, and
who had reasons of his own for not wishing to meet her then and there,
turned and walked away.
“That’s all the good I’ll git out of _him_,” muttered Old Blaze.
“Wonder ef he ain’t a little bit ashamed of hisself. This ole hoss
don’t mean to forgit him, sartin.”