STILL IN THE DARK--THE CANOE AGAIN.
For a moment we stood breathless, paralyzed and speechless. Then our
eyes sought each other with a look of fearful inquiry.
“Was that Biddon’s voice?” I asked, in a faint whisper.
“I don’t know. There it is again!”
And again came that wild, howling shriek of such agony as made our
blood curdle within us.
“_It is his voice!_ Let us hasten to his aid,” I exclaimed, catching
my rifle, and springing out. Nat followed closely, his gun having been
reloaded. The cry came from up the river and toward it we dashed,
scrambling and tearing through the brush and undergrowth, like two
maddened animals, heedless of what the consequence might be. Several
times we halted and listened, but heard nothing save our own panting
breasts and leaping hearts. On again we dashed, looking hurriedly
about us, until I knew we had ascended as high as could be the author
of that startling cry. Here we paused and listened. No one was to be
seen. I turned toward Nat, standing behind me, and directly behind him
I saw Biddon slowly approaching.
“What are you doin’ here?” he asked, as he came up.
“Was not that your voice which I just heard?”
“I rather reckon it wan’t. When you hear Bill Biddon bawl out in that
way, jist let me know, will yer?”
“What under the sun was it?” I asked then, greatly relieved.
“That’s more nor me can tell; but shoot and skin me, if I can’t tell
you one thing;” he approached closely and whispered, “there’s sunkthin
else nor reds about yer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, although I understood well enough what he
meant.
“I’s here once afore, as I told yer, and I never heerd sich goin’s on
then. I’ve seed the tracks of moccasins all about the traps, but can’t
draw bead on the shadder of a redskin.”
“You heard that horrid howl, didn’t you?”
“Heerd it! I should think I did.”
“Was it you who shot?”
“Yes; the way on it was this: I got on a purty plain trail and
follered it up hereabouts, when I cotched the glimpse of a Blackfoot’s
feather goin’ down through the bushes there, and blazed away at him. I
never missed a red in my life, and I didn’t miss him. Howsumever, he
didn’t mind it, but kept on and got away, and jist as he went out of
sight that orful yell come. It didn’t seem that he made it, but
sounded like as though ’twas all about me, above and under the ground,
and around and behind me.”
“Anywhere near us?” asked Nat.
“It sounded jist under your feet about.”
“Jerusha!” exclaimed the affrighted Nat, as he sprang nervously toward
me.
“It must have been the Indian, surely, who made that yell,” said I.
“In course; though things are beginnin’ to look qua’rish to me.”
The same look of uneasiness again passed over the trapper’s face; and
I saw that although he strove to hide it, he was by no means at rest.
Matters were beginning to put on an unusual aspect, and that was the
reason. Give the trapper of the northwest flesh and blood to contend
against, let him know that nothing supernatural is arrayed against
him, and he is the last man in the world to yield an inch. But the
moment he sees something unexplainable to his simple mind, (and the
trapper is a credulous being), his courage deserts him. He believes
that other spirits than those of men visit this earth, and they are
his greatest horror.
“Les’ go home; there’s Injins all around us,” pleaded Nat.
“How’d you know?”
“Because I _seen_ one myself.”
Biddon looked inquiringly at me, and, deeming it best, I related the
incident given in the preceding chapter. I saw at once his uneasiness
was increased.
“Why didn’t you shoot the redskin?” he angrily asked of Nat.
“Why didn’t _you_ shoot the redskin?” queried Nat, in turn.
“I did--hit him fair and square as I ever hit anything.”
“But didn’t do any more good than I did.”
“I made the infarnal imp howl.”
“And I made mine _grunt_,” added Nat, triumphantly.
“There is no need of words,” I interposed. “Each of you did your best,
Nat included. You, Bill, I believe, hit your man and mortally wounded
him. That yell was of agony, though I can’t conceive how we came to
mistake it for yours. The dead or dying body of that Indian, I
believe, is near at hand. See! what does that mean?” I asked, as I
detected some red fluid dripping from the limb of a bush to the earth.
The trapper stepped forward and looked at it.
“That’s the blood of a Blackfoot, or I’m a skinned beaver!” he
remarked, with a glow of relief at having those strange apprehensions
of his removed.
“Yes, I’m convinced that’s Injin blood,” added Nat, rubbing it between
the tip of his finger and thumb. “The blood of a Blackfoot Injin,
too--a man’s about thirty-two years old. Probably a brother to the one
I frightened.”
“What do you know about that?” I asked.
“Oh! it’s only a supposition of mine.”
“Biddon, I believe, as I just said, that we will find the body of that
savage near at hand. Let us follow it.”
“Jes’ what I’s agoin’ to do,” he replied, starting off at once upon
the trail.
It was easy to follow, as every step was marked by blood, which, in
many places, was dripping from the bushes to the ground. It was
followed but a short distance, however, as it led in a direct line to
the river.
“It’s as I s’pected,” said Biddon, turning round in disgust.
“He must have drowned then.”
“Dunno ’bout that. He’s taken to the water to hide his trail, an’ jes’
as like as not some of the other painted heathen have helped him off.”
“No doubt about that. I’ve been thinking that some of them helped off
that fellow when I was loading my gun.”
“We mought as well go back agin,” said Biddon. “I’m tired of huntin’
spirits, and I dunno but what we’d better move traps and leave this
plagued place to ’em.”
“That’s what I am in favor of--”
Nat suddenly paused, for Biddon, with a slight “sh” motioned us down.
We both sank quickly and silently to the earth, while he, in a
crouching position, gazed stealthily up-stream.
“What is it, Bill?” whispered Nat.
“_There’s a canoe comin’ down stream!_”
We said nothing; and Nat looking meaningly in the water.
“Skin me, if there ain’t two reds and a squaw in it,” added Biddon,
without changing his position, or removing his gaze.
I could not restrain the singular agitation that came over me at this
announcement. Fearing to betray myself, I cautiously arose beside
Biddon.
“Let me take a look,” I whispered.
“Be keerful you ain’t seen,” he whispered, in turn, as he stepped
back.
As I looked, I saw, not more than two hundred yards distant the canoe
approaching, heading directly towards us. For this reason, I could
only see the foremost Indian, though I was positive another, together
with the white captive, were in it. I gazed but a moment and then
looked inquiringly at the trapper. He made no reply, but again peered
forth.
“That ain’t a squaw; it’s a white gal,” said he, looking round upon us
with an astounded look.
“Shall we rescue her?” I asked.
“Ef she wants us to, in course.”
“You going to shoot them?” asked Nat, anxiously.
“Can’t tell yit. Jest see that yer irons is ready, and we’ll wait till
they get out yer. Don’t make no noise till I give the motion.”
The trapper stole a yard or two in front of us, where he sank softly
down upon his face until only his head was visible. Nat fingered his
gun nervously beside me, while I, not a whit less agitated, waited
for the canoe to appear through the interstices of the bushes in
front.
In a moment, I heard the faint ripple of an oar, and saw the trapper
slowly raising his head and bringing his rifle in front of him. He
raised his hand warningly for us to remain quiet until the moment
should arrive. I heard the click of my companion’s gun, as he raised
the hammer, and admonished him to be careful.
Suddenly, I saw the red head-dress of one of the savages glittering
through the bushes, and, before I could speak, came an explosion
beside me like the crash of a thunderbolt. Almost simultaneously, the
herculean frame of the trapper bounded over me, and he exclaimed:
“Who fired that? I’m shot.”
Nat and I sprang to our feet and dashed after him; but as I turned,
though bewildered with excitement, I looked at the spot where the
canoe was seen. It was gone!
We dashed up the bank, and in a moment reached Biddon. The excitement
had completely gone, and he stood coolly feeling his ear.
“Was that your gun, Jarsey?” he asked.
“No, sir; mine is still loaded.”
“How is yours, Greeny?”
Nat lifted his, examined the lock and looked into the barrel. He had
indeed discharged it, grazing the trapper’s head so closely as to
wound his ear.
“Wonder if that was my gun? Sure, I believe it was,” he remarked,
still looking into the barrel.
“Was it your gun?” repeated the trapper, his brow darkening like a
thunder-cloud, and laying his hand upon his knife-handle, as he
approached. Nat looked up and started as he saw his visage fairly
gleaming with passion.
“I didn’t shoot it, Bill, by thunder!” he expostulated.
The face of the trapper changed. It grew paler, and the dark cloud
fled from it. He replaced his drawn knife. He believed the words of
Nat.
Matters were approaching a crisis. The recent startling events had
their effect upon us all. The trapper avowed he could not stand “sich
goin’s on,” and should leave for some other quarters. Little sleep
came to Nat at night. His adventure with the savage, and the more
recent occurrence alarmed him. He had discovered that there were
consequences to be feared from both sides.
I was still unwilling to believe that there was anything in the events
given which would not soon be explained. It was evident our foes were
around, and from some inexplicable cause, had pursued an unusual
course toward us. We had all been exposed to their power, and had yet
escaped harmless. What was the meaning of this? And, above all, what
was the object of the appearance and disappearance of the canoe at the
different times mentioned? Who could be that fair being of whose
existence I only was as yet aware?
These questions, prompted only my anxious curiosity and desire to
learn more of that mysterious being whom I had now twice seen. I
ridiculed the ideas of Biddon, and Nat strove hard to convince him
that he was not afraid. Biddon, consented to remain until more was
learned, intimating at the same time, that it must be very soon. He
visited the horses each day, and found them undisturbed. This,
however, only added to his anxiety. Had they been gone he would have
taken it as convincing evidence that _bona fide_ Indians were in the
neighborhood.
The next day, after the closing scene of the last chapter, Nat agreed
to accompany me for the last time to the spot where we had seen the
canoe. The trapper could not be prevailed upon to go, affirming that
he should probably have his hands full at home. It required my utmost
skill to succeed with Nat, as the horror had plainly settled upon him.
“It’s awful!” said he, as we started, “this walking right into
danger, but I want to see that canoe agin, but especially that gal,
and so I’ll go.”
“And, I trust, behave yourself. You well know, Nat, you fired that
shot which came so near ending Biddon’s life.”
“Wonder if I did pull the trigger!” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping
and looking round at me.
“You _know_ you did, and had he known it, too, it would have been a
sorry piece of business for you. That temper of his is terrible, when
it is once excited.”
“I remember cocking my gun, and kind of pulling the trigger, but I
didn’t mean to pull hard enough to make it go off.”
“I suppose not. I cannot conceive how Biddon persuaded himself to
believe that you did not discharge it when the case was self-evident.
But he is willing to believe almost anything since he has started.”
“He shouldn’t have gotten before my gun, for he knows my hand
sometimes trembles.”
“I trust you will be able to control it this time.”
“No doubt of that; but, then, I’d advise you, as a friend, not to get
before me, especially if you see the canoe coming.”
I assured him that I should not, and we kept upon our way. Upon each
of the occasions before, as near as I could judge, it was about noon
that the canoe made its appearance; and, as it was that time now, we
hurried forward, lest the opportunity should pass. The opportunity, I
say--for, although it had appeared but twice as yet, I somehow or
other was well satisfied we should see it again.
“What are you going to do?” asked Nat.
“It will depend upon what we see. If simply those two savages with the
captive, as we judge her to be, are in the canoe, and no demonstration
is made, I think it best not to attempt a rescue. It is only a
supposition of ours that she is a captive, and we know not that she
would thank us for interfering in her case.”
In a short time we reached the elevation already mentioned. Here we
seated ourselves so as to remain concealed from any stragglers in the
vicinity, while we ourselves with a little care could detect the
slightest object passing. As I stooped, my hand came in contact with
something cold, and upon looking at it, I saw it covered with dark
clotted blood. I started, and wiped it on the grass, but it sent a
shudder through me to reflect that it had once been the life-fluid of
a human being.
“Ugh!” exclaimed Nat; “ain’t that awful?”
“It is disagreeable, to say the least.”
“Just look at the blood on the grass, too, and all around. I believe
Bill must have hit a half-dozen Injins sure, the way things appear
here.”
“He must have wounded one terribly to make him bleed like this.”
“And if he had been a flesh and blood Injin he would have never
tramped in that manner. I tell you, William Relmond, there _is_
something more more than human about us. I can feel it in my bones,
and I’m of Biddon’s opinion that the sooner we get away from here the
better.”
“Fudge! I see you are beginning to get alarmed.”
“Oh no; you are mistaken. I am not frightened at all. For Biddon’s
sake, but more especially for yours, I am anxious. If you are desirous
of remaining hereabouts, and will take all the consequences, I will
make no objections.”
“Of course, if I run into danger of my own accord, I expect that I
alone will suffer the penalty.”
“Then we needn’t say anything more about it; you know we pledged
ourselves to remain true to each other, and I won’t desert you.”
“That’s well spoken, Nat. The minute I am satisfied that our lives are
imperiled, I shall not be the means of prolonging that peril a
moment. It is only this great desire to solve and understand the
singular occurrences that are transpiring around us, that leads me to
still remain. I have determined that to-day we shall all be
satisfied.”
“My curiosity is extraordinarily high; but I guess that gal has as
much to do with it as anything else. I’m determined to get a glimpse
of her face, and, if possible, whisper in her ear that Nat Todd, from
Maine, is about. I flatter myself that the minute she knows that, she
will jump overboard and make for shore without saying a word to the
chaps with her.”
“The greatest difficulty, I fear, will be to convey your words to the
captive, without conveying it also to her captors.”
“I swow, it would be harder than I thought at first.”
During this conversation, which was carried on in a half-whisper, Nat
was constantly parting the bushes and peering through them, while now
and then I glanced expectantly up the stream; but nothing as yet had
rewarded our watchfulness. Suddenly I reflected that as I had been
twice defeated in observing the disappearance of the canoe, from the
exact spot upon which we were now seated, that we might make a better
arrangement of ourselves, so as to insure this coveted knowledge to
one of us at least.
I mentioned this to Nat.
“If one of us was on t’other side, the thing would be certain, but
that can’t be done very conveniently, and we shall have to try
something else.”
“Suppose you go down stream about a hundred yards near the bend
yonder,” I proposed to Nat.
“Guess I will!” he exclaimed, as he rose to go.
“Wait a moment,” said I, detaining him. “Let me admonish you to
exercise no ordinary caution, Nat, for you have seen enough to
convince you that your own safety depends upon it. Remember that a
word or false movement, however slight, may defeat our plans. Look out
for danger to yourself, and not let your curiosity be the means of
your destruction. _Be very careful._”
I know not what led me to thus warn him; but at the moment he arose to
go, an unaccountable sense of impending danger came over me. It was
not so much for me as for him I spoke thus. He promised to heed my
words and departed.
As soon as he had disappeared, I cast another look up stream, but
still there were no signs of the expected canoe, and a sudden
apprehension that I should not see it again came over me. There was,
in fact; as much reason not to expect it as to anticipate its coming,
and as I looked up at the sun and saw that it was already beyond the
hour, I was half-tempted to turn back. While I was debating, I
naturally looked up the river, and there, just rounding the bend where
the canoe had first come into view before,--and there it was coming!
Quivering with agitation, I sank upon the ground, and gave a low
whistle as a signal to Nat. He returned it, as an evidence of his
watchfulness.
I saw from that point where I was seated, the view would be most
obstructed when the canoe was nearest. Accordingly, I crept cautiously
and quickly nearer the water’s edge. This time, however, I slightly
varied my course, and concealed myself behind the trunk of a fallen
tree. This was within a yard of the water, and afforded complete
concealment. I noticed the log was rotten and apparently hollow.
Here I lay, and intently listened and watched. A few moments and an
almost inaudible ripple was heard, and the canoe was opposite. I
exercised the most extreme caution, and was fortunate enough to obtain
a perfect view of each of the occupants. They were the same--the dark,
malignant faces of the savages, and the fair features of the captive.
She sat in the stern, her hand resting gently upon a guiding oar, and
her gaze fixed upon the stream in front. The canoe floated with the
current, and not a paddle was stirred, nor the least motion made by
the beings before me. The headdress of the captive was, as mentioned
before, eagle feathers and porcupine quills, while the dark, waving
masses of hair hung low upon the shoulders, contrasting with the
whiteness of the face. A heavy crimson shawl enveloped the form, as
when first seen. The features were regular, and, perhaps, in my state
of feeling, their beauty was considerably enhanced; but the thought
came upon me that if there were anything supernatural in my
experience, it was in seeing such wonderful beauty as was now before
me.
Unconsciously I forgot myself as the canoe was gliding past, and
before I was aware, it was hid from view by intervening obstacles. I
withdrew hastily, intending to hurry farther down, where the view
would be more complete. I had taken but a step or two when Nat’s rifle
was discharged, and I heard distinctly a muffled sound of his voice.
Wild with agitation, I dashed to the spot where I supposed him to be.
The view of the river at this point was clear, and I turned to look at
the canoe. It had vanished!
I looked around for Nat, but he too, was gone. I called him, and once
thought I heard a faint answer. But it was not repeated, and I could
not tell its direction. I reached the ground, and beheld _the tracks
of others beside his own_. I awaited until near night, but Nathan Todd
was never to return.