CONVERSATIONS AND PLANS.
The disappearance of the canoe, although singular in itself, had
nothing supernatural about it. The shrubbery, which overhung the water
on either shore, offered a secure and impenetrable hiding-place, and a
few dexterous, vigorous strokes of the paddles were all that was
needed to send it beneath their shadows. That this had been done, was
plainly evident. Yet why had it been done? What motive was there for
concealment? And why, if apprehensive of danger, had the Indians
waited till they were in its vicinity?
These and numerous questions, I asked myself, as I carefully retraced
my steps down-stream again. The whole proceeding was mysterious to me.
I had, doubtless, exposed myself while watching the canoe and its
occupants, and thus betrayed to an enemy our presence in their
country. What would result from this, I could not conjecture, and
determined to make everything known to the trapper. But then I felt
somewhat fearful of this. He would, doubtless, be incensed at my
imprudent thoughtlessness, which might compel him to leave a country
offering such inducements to the trapper and fur-trade; and I argued
it was not certain that I had really been seen by the Indians in
question. If they meditated hostility, Biddon would be warned soon
enough for all purposes--and so I decided to keep my own secret for
the present.
But the question which occupied my thoughts, almost to the exclusion
of everything else, was the identity of the female in the canoe. What
could bring a white maiden to these wild regions of the northwest?
What meant her appearance in the canoe with two savage Indian
warriors? What if she was the child which Biddon had referred to, as
being captured upon the night of the massacre? This thought
intensified the interest I already felt in her. I believed _she_ had
seen me; and her silent look toward the shore had something more than
curiosity in it. I imagined there was a mute, eloquent appeal in those
dark eyes.
Still ruminating upon this all-absorbing theme, I reached the tree,
and, stooping upon my hands and knees, crawled within it. The movement
had well-nigh cost me my life. As my head entered, I encountered the
alarmed visages of Nat and Biddon--the latter with his knife drawn,
and just preparing to spring upon me.
“You liked to got rubbed out that time!” he exclaimed, replacing his
weapon. “What made you forgit the sign?”
“It must have been because it did not occur to me,” I laughed; “I have
had no occasion to use it before, and forgot it altogether; but I will
remember it, you may be assured, in future.”
“You’d better, for I was just going to shoot, too,” added Nat, rising
to his feet, and then seating himself again.
“You shoot!” repeated Biddon, contemptuously, “You’re shooter ain’t
loaded!”
“I forgot that. I wonder if I couldn’t load it, say?” he indignantly
demanded.
“Yes, in course, if the reds waited fur yer.”
Nat made no reply to this, except that of instantly proceeding to load
his piece. As it was near noon, the meal was prepared--this time from
the beaver’s body. The hair was singed off from a piece, which was
then cooked in the usual manner. This, although very palatable, was
not equal to the tail of the animal, the meat being more tough and
oily.
Shortly after, the trapper departed for the purpose of visiting his
traps, and setting new ones. When alone with Nat, I determined to
impart to him my morning’s experience.
“Nat, I have seen Indians,” I remarked, in a quiet tone.
“You hain’t!” he exclaimed, starting up from his bed of skins with
such suddenness as to break the remains of his pipe.
“I have; and, what is considerably more, they have seen me.”
“I should think it was considerably more, umph! What did you do to
them? I didn’t hear you shoot. Why didn’t you tell me before? Why
didn’t you--why, it seems to me you’re very cool about it.”
“There is no occasion for excitement at all. Just remain quiet, and I
will tell you how it all happened.”
And thereupon I related the particulars of the incident already known
to the reader. Nat’s wonder, excitement, and apprehension were roused
to the highest pitch at the narration. Springing to his feet, he
pulled his flattened hat violently over his forehead, and striding
about a moment, demanded:
“Why didn’t you tell Bill? Like as not he’ll be shot and scalped
before he gets back.”
“I did not think it best,” I returned. “Biddon is not the man to walk
into danger with his eyes shut, and if there is any cause for fear,
he will discover it soon enough.”
“Suppose he will; but ain’t it terrible?”
“Isn’t what terrible?”
“Why, that we’re surrounded by Injins, thirsting for our blood!”
“We are not surrounded by Indians, Nat,” I returned, reprovingly.
“I know; but then they are all around us. It won’t do to stick our
heads out, except at night, and then, like as not, we’ll be shot for
our trouble.”
“You are not afraid, I hope.”
“Oh, no! not a bit; but then you know it’s rather _unpleasant_ to feel
that those infarnal Blackfeet (because this is the country of the
Blackfeet Injins) are all about you, and waiting for a chance to shoot
you from behind every bush.”
“Nat,” I commenced, earnestly, “you say you are not afraid of Indians,
and yet you show it in every word, look, and action. There is no
excuse for this. I saw only two savages, and a girl, evidently a
captive; no words or actions were exchanged between us. They
disappeared very suddenly and were, more probably, frightened at my
presence. I see nothing in this to excuse the excitement and terror
you have exhibited.”
“I wonder what that girl is?”
“I am afraid you will have to wonder a long time, as I can see no
occasion for satisfying your curiosity.”
“Is she good looking?” asked my companion, seriously.
“Very! What makes you ask that question?”
“I declare, if I don’t marry her, just to spite Alminy, and make Bill
Hawkins mad,” he exclaimed, joyously.
At this point I could restrain my mirth no longer; but, as I indulged
it, I was considerably surprised to feel a slight twinge of jealousy
at his words. This discovery was painful.
“I am afraid you will meet with several formidable obstacles, before
you can accomplish that; the most difficult of which will be to obtain
an audience with the fair one herself.”
“Don’t suppose she’d be very anxious to see me; and I wouldn’t care if
I only had my pipe and jack-knife to pass away time with.”
“I think it would be as well not to mention this affair to Biddon.”
“Why not?”
“It can do no good, and he would be displeased at the thoughtlessness
I have evidenced. I do not think there are savages enough in the
vicinity to render us fearful of our safety. The canoe, I am disposed
to believe, belongs to some tribe quite distant from here.”
“But what are they here for?”
“I can only conjecture. Biddon has never seen savages in this
particular section, and these may be returning from some journey to
their tribe.”
“Perhaps so, and may be not. These plagued Injins sometimes live in
one place and sometimes in another, you know, and it may be that a
notion has just entered their heads to come and live in these parts.”
“There is reason in what you say, but, as I stated, if danger
threatens, Biddon will undoubtedly detect its signs himself in time.”
“I think he will, though I shall feel a little flustered every time he
goes out. You remember when he was after the antelope, he walked right
among the Injins, without knowing it till it was too late to stop.”
“He did, it is true, but how nicely he walked out again. I tell you,
Nat, that fellow has nerve equal to any emergency. What man, when
conscious of an overwhelming foe being concealed within a few feet of
him, could have repressed every sign of trepidation or fear, as he
did, and bring the antelope through the same fearful ordeal, with the
same coolness and deliberation?”
“That was a clever thing, I allow.”
“Biddon told me he felt a little nervous when he saw us start to come
up to him, for, if we had reached him, it would have been all up with
us. He called out to us, though we did not hear him, that there were
more animals in the grove, and our approach would frighten them. The
impatient Indians were thus held at bay, in the hope of being offered
a better opportunity to accomplish our ruin, until it was too late to
accomplish anything save the loss of two or three of their number.
Such a man, I repeat, will scent danger soon enough without the help
of others.”
“He will, and I hope he’ll find out who that white girl is.”
“Nat, do you remember the account Biddon gave some time ago of a
horrible massacre, upon the sandy island near where we encamped one
night?”
“I don’t think there is much likelihood of my ever forgetting it.”
“You will also recall his account of the capture of a small child by
the savages? Now, it has occurred to me that this is that child grown
to womanhood.”
“I _know_ it is!” exclaimed Nat, joyously.
“It is true there is much against it. It was a great distance from
here, but as these savages wander hundreds of miles at times, it is
not improbable, upon that ground. Instances are only too common of
persons spending their lives in captivity among these Indian tribes.
She is a captive, beyond a doubt, and must long for restoration to her
home and friends. If possible, I am bound to know more of her.”
“So am I!” exclaimed my excitable companion.
“As I said, we will say nothing of this to Biddon, until he discovers
signs of Indians himself. To-morrow, we will go forth together, and
spend the day in endeavoring to gain traces of the canoe and its
inmates; and if anything is discovered which is alarming, we will
impart it to him.”
This Nat agreed to, and shortly after we heard three raps upon the
outside of the tree--the trapper’s signal of his presence. A moment
after, he made his appearance. He was considerably elated at his
prospect for a goodly quantity of furs; had set a number of traps; was
sure of half a dozen next day; had seen no signs of Indians, and was
convinced there were none in the vicinity. None of us passed out again
that day, but remained indulging in our pipes and conversation as
usual, until a late hour.
The next morning the trapper proposed that I should accompany him upon
his daily round. I complied, while Nat remained behind.
The day was as warm and pleasant as the preceding one, and the forest
and stream as delightful. Biddon paddled slowly up the unrippled
surface, and in a short time reached the first trap; it had not been
disturbed. Still hopeful, he passed on to the second and third and all
the others. But there were no signs of beaver in any.
“Shoot me, that’s quar’!” he exclaimed, thoughtfully, as he saw the
last one. “I don’t understand it; I must git out and take a look
round.”
He sprang ashore, and minutely examined the ground around. A few
seconds sufficed. He looked up with a gleam of deep meaning, and said:
“Here’s the track of a thunderin’ moccasin. The reds have found us
out.”
He stepped into the canoe, and taking the paddle moved it carefully
back again. He touched at each trap on the way. The footprints of a
stranger were visible at each.
“Thar’s been a beaver taken out of that one!” he remarked, as the last
one was reached. “It’s lucky for the sneakin’ coward that I didn’t see
him. He wouldn’t ’sturbed any more gentlemen’s traps.”
“Are you sure it is an Indian who has been annoying you?”
“Wogh! Don’t you s’pose I could tell a red’s track from a grizzly’s?”
“But it might have been a white man--some hunter or trapper?” I
suggested.
“A white man wouldn’t be mean ’nough to do sich a thing, ’less it war
some of those Hudson Bay fellers. They try them tricks sometimes, but
they git come up to. I catched a feller once from Fort Hall at mine,
and the way I walked into him war a caution; but this ar’ an Injin’s
track, sure.”
“Do you suspect there could be a number in the vicinity?”
“Ef there war, I’d’ve heard of ’em afore. This is some varmint,
sneakin’ round yer, and he’s got to be rubbed out afore he makes more
trouble.”
“I fear that will be a difficult and dangerous job.”
“Let me be for that.”
Shortly after we reached our home, and running the canoe beneath the
bushes, entered it. We were somewhat surprised to find Nat absent. He
returned, however, in a short time, and I saw at once by his nervous,
flustered manner that something unusual had occurred. Biddon
questioned him rather closely, as he suspected something, but Nat
evaded his inquiries, and would not admit that he had seen anything
to excite alarm or apprehension.
“I’m goin’ out, and when I come back I’ll tell you what’s the matter
with them traps,” said Biddon, seizing his rifle and departing.
I waited until he was beyond hearing, and then turning to my
companion, asked,
“What is the matter with you, Nat?”
“Why?” he asked, in turn, with a start.
“Because you show plainly that something has occurred to alarm you.”
He remained silent a moment, and then seizing his hat, jerked it off
his head, and threw it spitefully down, where he gazed at it a second,
and exclaimed,
“I’m sick of this.”
“Sick of what?”
“Why, of being in this fix.”
“I don’t understand you. Please explain what you mean.”
“I should think you ought to know.”
“But I do not.”
“Why, this wood is full of Injins; they’re behind every tree and
stump, and in every bush, and you can hardly step without pitching
over some painted heathen.”
“I am afraid you are exaggerating,” I answered, suppressing a smile
which was struggling at the corners of my mouth.
“No, I ain’t. I swow there are ten thousand Injins just waiting
outside to pounce upon us.”
“You are talking nonsense, and you know it.”
“Well, there’s _one_ Injin, for I seen him. Come now,” he affirmed, as
if the matter was now settled beyond a question.
“Ah! that alters the case considerably. I shouldn’t wonder at all if
there is one or a half-dozen savages in the forest.”
“If you see _one_ savage haven’t you a right to suppose there’s a
hundred more about, I should like to know?”
“Not always, Nat; I have seen three myself, yet I do not believe there
is another one in the neighborhood. But I have not heard the
particulars of this affair of which you have been speaking. Please let
me hear them.”
“There isn’t much to tell, but there is enough to make you do a heap
of thinking. You see, after you had left, I took a notion that I must
have a morning ramble; and I thought, too, there might be such a thing
as you two running into danger and needing my help (I should like to
know what you are laughing at). So, on the whole, there was no
hesitation upon my part. Taking my rifle out, I was soon making my
way as noiselessly as possible, in a direction from the river.
“I hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards before I commenced thinking
about Injins, and came nigh going back again. I wasn’t afraid at all,
you know, but then it appeared to me I might bring you and Biddon into
trouble. However, I kept on. I had gone some distance further, when
all of a sudden I heard a terrible whirr and rattle, and jumped clean
off my feet. But it was only a big owl which I had stirred up. I was
so provoked at the start he gave me, that I should have wrung his neck
had I got my hands upon him. But I went on. Pretty soon I reached a
little stream of water, and as I jumped across, what do you suppose I
saw in the sand?”
“I am sure I cannot tell.”
“Nothing less than a big moccasin track. And what was more, it hadn’t
been made there a week before! I stood and looked at it a good while,
cogitating some wonderful things. At last I stooped and went to
measuring it. I was just going to rise, when I heard a grunt right by
me. I jumped up so quick--to be ready, you know--that I floundered
backward into the water. And I may be shot if there wasn’t a big
painted Injin standing not ten feet off. He didn’t say a word, but
just stood and looked at me with them awful eyes of his. As soon as I
could think, I raised my gun, took a quick aim, and pulled the
trigger; but the infernal gun snapped. I pulled it again, but it
wouldn’t go, and I just happened to think the thing wasn’t loaded. All
this time the painted imp stood grinning at me, without saying a word,
except to kinder grunt. He had a big shining gun in one hand, and I
was dreadful afraid he would shoot it. I told him not to stir, but to
stand still till I got mine loaded, and he waited. But somehow or
other, I s’pose I was in such a hurry that things wouldn’t go right.
Instead of putting the powder in the gun-barrel, I crammed it in my
pocket, and jammed the ramrod into my shoe. I told the Injin to have
patience and I’d get it loaded in a minute. I got it fixed somehow at
last and hauled it up to my shoulder, when, no Injin was there! I
looked behind, all about me, and up into the trees but he’d been
spirited away somewhere. However, I made up my mind to shoot at the
spot where he had stood, and I up and blazed away. That is, I blazed
away without the gun going off. I believe he spirited that too.”
“Let me examine it. Perhaps you made some blunder.”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t.”
I took the rifle, with a smile of certainty that I should find
something the matter with it. Sure enough the muzzle was crammed with
paper, and upon removing it, _a pipestem_, broken in pieces, rolled
out, while there was not a grain of powder in the barrel.
“I declare, I forgot about the powder!” exclaimed Nat, opening his
eyes in wonder.
“But not about the bullet,” I laughed, pointing to the fragments of
his pipe.
“How’d that get there?” he angrily asked.
“That’s the question.”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“Who did, then?”
“I don’t know, I declare.”
Nat picked up the fragments and examined them carefully.
“That’s my pipe sure; and I had it in my mouth, I remember when I
started out, and missed it coming back. I didn’t put it in the gun
though.”
“Let it pass then. Did you see no more of your Indian friend?”
“No; he knew enough to keep out of my way. I waited a long time for
him, and at last started home again. I kept an eye on every suspicious
object, but as I just said, seen nothing.”
At this point I gave free vent to my pent-up mirth. Nat, much
astonished, looked wonderingly at me, seemingly at a loss to
understand the cause.
“I do not see what there is to laugh at,” he remarked, reprovingly.
“If it’s a laughing matter to know that there are Injins all about
you, why you must laugh.”
“Your adventure with the Indian, Nat, and the singular load in your
rifle appears to me to be a funny matter, and I trust you will pardon
me if----”
“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t put it in there? It was the Injin’s work.”
And to this day Nat cannot be made to believe that he was instrumental
in introducing the pipe into his gun.
After a few more unimportant remarks, the conversation ceased. Nat’s
adventure began to appear to me in a different light from that in
which I had viewed it at first. I doubted not but that he was
perfectly honest and truthful in what he said. But why, when exposed
to the will of the savage, did he escape unscathed? Why did the latter
stand fearless and harmless before him? And what meant these strange
signs, these “footprints,” which were becoming visible around us?
Matters were assuming a puzzling form. We were being environed by
Indians without any evidence of hostility upon their part. What meant
it? Surely there was a meaning too deep and hidden for us to divine as
yet.
Suddenly Nat spoke.
“Don’t you remember the canoe? We were going to hunt for that to-day!”
“Ah! how did I forget that? But had we not better wait till Biddon
returns?”
“No; let us go at once. Hark! what’s that?”
I held my breath, as the distant report of a rifle reached our ears.
The next instant came a sound, faint and far away yet clear and
distinct--a horrid, unearthly sound, as the cry of a being in mortal
agony!