"The big man with the blue glass eyes is a villain," said the Indian
chief, after a long scrutiny of the botanist's countenance.
"So some of my mistaken friends have thought," returned the man,
speaking for the first time in his natural voice, which caused a thrill
to pass through Paul Bevan's frame.
"He is a thief," continued the chief, still gazing steadily at the blue
glasses, "and a murderer!"
"He's all that, and liar and deceiver into the bargain," thought Tolly
Trevor, but Tolly did not speak; he only vented his feelings in a low
chuckle, for he saw, or thought he saw, that the robber's career was
about to receive a check. As the thought passed through his brain,
however, he observed from the position in which he stood that Stalker--
for, as the reader has doubtless perceived, it was he--was working his
hands about in a very soft slow, mysterious, and scarcely observable
manner.
"Oho!" thought Tolly, "is that your little game? Ha! I'll spoil it for
you!"
He quietly took up a piece of firewood and began, as it were, to amuse
himself therewith.
"You has many faces, many colours," continued Unaco, "and too many
eyes."
At the last word he plucked the blue glasses off the botanist's nose and
flung them into the fire.
"My enemy!" gasped Paul Bevan, turning first very pale and then very
red, as he glared like a chained tiger at his foe.
"You knows him _now_?" said Unaco, turning abruptly to Paul.
"Yes; _I_ knows him!"
"The white man with the forked tongue say jus' now he _not_ knows him."
"Ay, Redskin, an' I said the truth, for he's a rare deceiver--always has
been--an' can pass himself off for a'most anything. I knows him as my
mortal foe. Cast my hands loose an' give me a knife an' you shall see."
"O father! your promise--remember!" exclaimed Betty.
"True, dear lass, true; I forgot," returned Paul, with a humbled look;
"yet it _is_ hard for a man to see him there, grinning like a big
baboon, an' keep his hands off him."
During this dialogue the Indians looked from one speaker to another with
keen interest, although none but their chief understood a word of what
was said; and Stalker took advantage of their attention being turned for
the moment from himself to carry out what Tolly had styled his "little
game," all unaware that the boy was watching him like a lynx.
Among other shifts and devices with which the robber chief had become
familiar, he had learned the conjuror's method of so arranging his limbs
while being bound, that he could untie his bonds in a marvellous manner.
On the present occasion, however, he had been tied by men who were
expert in the use of deerskin thongs, and he found some difficulty in
loosening them without attracting attention, but he succeeded at last.
He had been secured only by the wrists and forearms, and remained
sitting still a few seconds after he was absolutely free; then, seizing
what he believed to be his opportunity, he leapt up, dashed the Indian
nearest him to the earth, and sprang like a deer towards the bushes.
But Tolly Trevor was ready for him. That daring youth plunged right in
front of the big botanist and stooped. Stalker tripped over him and
came violently to the ground on his forehead and nose. Before he could
rise Tolly had jumped up, and swinging his billet of wood once in the
air, brought it down with all his little might on the robber's crown.
It sufficed to stupefy him, and when he recovered he found himself in
the close embrace of three muscular Redskins.
"Well done, Tolly Trevor!" shouted Paul Bevan, enthusiastically.
Even Tom Brixton, who had been looking on in a state of inexpressible
surprise, managed to utter a feeble cheer.
But the resources of the robber were not yet exhausted. Finding himself
in the grasp of overwhelming numbers, he put forth all his strength, as
if to make a final effort, and then, suddenly collapsing, dropped limp
and helpless to the ground, as a man does when he is stabbed to the
heart.
The savages knew the symptoms well--too well! They rose, breathless,
and each looked inquiringly at the other, as though to say, "Who did the
deed?" Before they discovered that the deed had not been done at all,
Stalker sprang up, knocked down two of them, overturned the third, and,
bounding into the bushes, was out of sight in a few seconds.
The whole band, of course, went yelling after him, except their chief,
who stood with an angry scowl upon his visage, and awaited the return of
his braves.
One by one they came back panting and discomfited, for the white robber
had outrun them all and got clear away.
"Well, now, it was cliverly done," remarked Paddy Flinders, finding his
tongue at last; "an' I raly can't but feel that he desarves to git off
this time. All the same I hope he'll be nabbed at last an' recaive his
due--bad luck to him!"
"Now, Redskin--" began Bevan.
"My name is Unaco," interrupted the chief, with a look of dignity.
"Well, then, Unaco," continued Bevan, "since ye must see that we have
nothing whatever to do wi' the blackguard that's just given ye the slip,
I hope you'll see your way to untie our hands an' let us go."
"You may not belong to that man's band," answered the chief, in his own
tongue, "but you are a white man, and by white men I have been robbed of
my wife and child. Your lives are forfeited. You shall be slaves to
those whom you call Redskins, and this girl with the sunny hair shall
replace the lost one in my wigwam."
Without deigning to listen to a reply, Unaco turned and gave orders to
his men, who at once brought up the horse and pony, set Betty and Tolly
thereon, lifted Tom Brixton on their shoulders as before, and resumed
their march deeper into the fastnesses of the Sawback Hills.
It was growing rapidly dark as they advanced, but the chief who led the
party was intimately acquainted with every foot of the way, and as the
moon rose before daylight had quite disappeared, they were enabled to
continue their journey by night.
"No doubt" remarked Fred Westly to Paul, who was permitted to walk
beside him, though Flinders was obliged to walk behind--"no doubt the
chief fears that Stalker will pursue him when he is rejoined by his
robber band, and wants to get well out of his way."
"Very likely," returned Bevan; "an' it's my opinion that he'll find some
more of his tribe hereabouts, in which case Master Stalker and his
blackguards will have pretty stiff work cut out for them."
"What think you of the threat of the chief to take Betty to be one of
his wives?" asked Fred.
"Well, I don't think he'll do it."
"Why not?"
"Because I've got a hold over him that he's not aware of just yet."
"What is that, and why did you not make use of it just now to prevent
our being needlessly led farther into these mountains?" asked Fred, in
surprise.
"What the hold is," returned Bevan, "you shall know at supper-time. The
reason why I didn't make use of it sooner is that on the whole, I think
it better to stick by the Redskins yet awhile--first, because if Stalker
should look for us, as he's sartin sure to do, we would not be strong
enough to fight him in the open; and, secondly, because poor Tom Brixton
needs rest, and he has more chance o' that in the circumstances, wi' the
Redskins than he could have with us while being hunted by robbers; and,
lastly, because Betty would come to grief if she fell into that villain
Stalker's hands just now."
While Paul and Fred were thus conversing, the Rose of Oregon and her
little protector rode silently beside each other, buried, apparently, in
profound thought.
At last Tolly raised his head and voice.
"Betty," said he, "what a lucky thing it was that we fell in wi' Tom
Brixton, and that you were able to give him somethin' to eat."
"Yes, thank God," replied the girl, fervently.
"He'd have died but for you," said the boy.
"And you, Tolly," added Betty.
"Well, yes, I did have a finger in the pie," returned the boy, with a
self-satisfied air; "but I say, Betty," he added, becoming suddenly
serious, "what d'ye think o' what that rascally chief said about takin'
you to his wigwam? You know that means he intends to make you his
wife."
"Yes, I know; but God will deliver me," answered the girl.
"How d'ye know that?"
"Because I put my trust in Him."
"Oh! but," returned the boy, with a slight look of surprise, "unless God
works a miracle I don't see how He can deliver us from the Redskins, and
you know He doesn't work miracles nowadays."
"I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "More than once I have
seen a man who had been nearly all his life given to drinking, fighting,
thieving, and swearing, and every sort of wickedness, surrender himself
body and soul to Jesus Christ, so that he afterwards gave up all his
evil ways, and led a pure and peaceable life, trying not only to serve
God himself, but doing his best to bring his old companions to the same
state of mind. What would you call that, Tolly?"
"I'm bound to say it's as near a miracle as can be, if not one
altogether. But in what way do you think God will deliver you just
now?"
"That I cannot tell; but I know this, it is written in His Word that
those who put their trust in Him shall never be confounded, and I have
put my trust in Him. He will never forsake me."
"I wish I had as strong faith as you, Betty," said the boy, with a grave
look.
"You may have it--and stronger than I have, for faith is the gift of
God, and we shall get it not in proportion to our trying to get it or to
our trying to rouse it, or to our working for it, but according as we
_ask_ for it. The Holy Spirit can work anything in us and by us, and
_He_ is promised to those who merely ask in the name of Jesus. Ah!
Tolly, have I not often told you this, that in God's Word it is written,
`Ye have not because ye ask not?'"
While these two were yet speaking, the chief called a halt, and, after a
brief consultation with some of his braves, ordered the band to encamp
for the night.
Soon the camp fires were lighted under the spreading trees, and their
bright blaze and myriad sparks converted the gloomy forest into a
brilliant banqueting hall, in which, unlike civilised halls, the
decorations were fresh and natural, and the atmosphere was pure.
There were at least six camp-fires, each with its circle of grave red
warriors, its roasting steaks and its bubbling kettle, in which latter
was boiled a rich mixture of dried meat and flour. Some of the Indians
stood conversing in low tones, their faces ruddy with the brilliant
blaze and their backs as black as the surrounding background. Others
lay at length on the ground or squatted thereon, placidly smoking their
calumets, or the little iron pipes which formed part of the heads of
their tomahawks, or tending the steaks and kettles. To an observer
outside the circle of light the whole scene was intensely vivid and
picturesque, for the groups, being at different distances, were varied
in size, and the intense light that shone on those nearest the fires
shed a softer glow on those who were more distant, while on the few
Indians who moved about in search of firewood it cast a pale light which
barely sufficed to distinguish them from surrounding darkness.
Paul Bevan and his friends occupied a fire by themselves, the only
native who stood beside them being Unaco. It is probable that the
savage chief constituted himself their guard in order to make quite sure
of them, for the escape of Stalker weighed heavily on his mind. To
secure this end more effectively, and at the same time enable the
captives to feed themselves, the right arm of each was freed, while the
left was tied firmly to his body. Of course, Betty and Tom Brixton were
left altogether unbound.
"I feel uncommon lopsided goin' about in this one-armed fashion,"
remarked Paul, as he turned the stick on which his supper was roasting.
"Couldn't ye make up yer mind to trust us, Unaco? I'd promise for
myself an' friends that we wouldn't attempt to cut away like that big
thief Stalker."
The chief, who sat a little apart near the farther end of the blazing
pile of logs, smoking his pipe in motionless gravity, took not the
slightest notice.
"Arrah! howld yer tongue, Paul," said Flinders, who made so much use of
his one arm, in stirring the kettle, turning a roasting venison rib, and
arranging the fire, that it seemed as if he were in full possession of
two; "why d'ye disturb his majesty? Don't ye see that he's meditatin',
or suthin' o' that sort--maybe about his forefathers?"
"Well, well, I hope his after mothers won't have many sulky ones like
him," returned Paul, rather crossly. "It's quite impossible to cut up a
steak wi' one hand, so here goes i' the next best fashion."
He took up the steak in his fingers, and was about to tear off a
mouthful with his teeth, when Betty came to the rescue.
"Stay, father; I'll cut it into little bits for you if Unaco will kindly
lend me his scalping-knife."
Without a word or look the chief quietly drew the glittering weapon from
its sheath and handed it to Betty, who at once, using a piece of
sharpened stick as a fork, cut her father's portion into manageable
lumps.
"That's not a bad notion," said Fred. "Perhaps you'll do the same for
me, Betty."
"With pleasure, Mr Westly."
"Ah, now, av it wouldn't be axin' too much, might I make so bowld--"
Flinders did not finish the sentence, but laid his pewter plate before
the Rose of Oregon with a significant smile.
"I'm glad to be so unexpectedly useful," said Betty, with a laugh.
When she had thus aided her half-helpless companions, Betty returned the
knife to its owner, who received it with a dignified inclination of the
head. She then filled a mug with soup, and went to Tom, who lay on a
deerskin robe, gazing at her in rapt admiration, and wondering when he
was going to awake out of this most singular dream, for, in his weak
condition, he had taken to disbelieving all that he saw.
"And yet it can't well be a dream," he murmured, with a faint smile, as
the girl knelt by his side, "for I never dreamed anything half so real.
What is this--soup?"
"Yes; try to take a little. It will do you good, with God's blessing."
"Ah, yes, with God's blessing," repeated the poor youth, earnestly.
"You know what that means, Betty, and--and--I _think_ I am beginning to
understand it."
Betty made no reply, but a feeling of profound gladness crept into her
heart.
When she returned to the side of her father she found that he had
finished supper, and was just beginning to use his pipe.
"When are you going to tell me, Paul, about the--the--subject we were
talking of on our way here?" asked Fred, who was still devoting much of
his attention to a deer's rib.
"I'll tell ye now," answered Paul, with a short glance at the Indian
chief, who still sat, profoundly grave, in the dreamland of smoke.
"There's no time like after supper for a good pipe an' a good story--not
that what I'm goin' to tell ye is much of a story either, but it's true,
if that adds vally to it, an' it'll be short. It's about a brave young
Indian I once had the luck to meet with. His name was Oswego."
At the sound of the name Unaco cast a sharp glance at Bevan. It was so
swift that no one present observed it save Bevan himself, who had
expected it. But Paul pretended not to notice it, and turning himself
rather more towards Fred, addressed himself pointedly to him.
"This young Indian," said Paul, "was a fine specimen of his race, tall
and well made, with a handsome countenance, in which truth was as plain
as the sun in the summer sky. I was out after grizzly b'ars at the
time, but hadn't had much luck, an' was comin' back to camp one evenin'
in somethin' of a sulky humour, when I fell upon a trail which I knowed
was the trail of a Redskin. The Redskins was friendly at that time wi'
the whites, and as I was out alone, an' am somethin' of a sociable
critter, I thought I'd follow him up an' take him to my camp wi' me, if
he was willin', an' give him some grub an' baccy. Well, I hadn't gone
far when I came to a precipiece. The trail followed the edge of it for
some distance, an' I went along all right till I come to a bit where the
trail seemed to go right over it. My heart gave a jump, for I seed at a
glance that a bit o' the cliff had given way there, an' as there was no
sign o' the trail farther on, of course I knowed that the Injin, whoever
he was, must have gone down with it.
"I tried to look over, but it was too steep an' dangerous, so I sought
for a place where I could clamber down. Sure enough, when I reached the
bottom, there lay the poor Redskin. I thought he was dead, for he'd
tumbled from a most awful height, but a tree had broke his fall to some
extent, and when I went up to him I saw by his eyes that he was alive,
though he could neither speak nor move.
"I soon found that the poor lad was damaged past recovery; so, after
tryin' in vain to get him to speak to me, I took him in my arms as
tenderly as I could and carried him to my camp. It was five miles off,
and the road was rough, and although neither groan nor complaint escaped
him, I knew that poor Oswego suffered much by the great drops o'
perspiration that rolled from his brow; so, you see, I had to carry him
carefully. When I'd gone about four miles I met a small Injin boy who
said he was Oswego's brother, had seen him fall, an', not bein' able to
lift him, had gone to seek for help, but had failed to find it.
"That night I nursed the lad as I best could, gave him some warm tea,
and did my best to arrange him comfortably. The poor fellow tried to
speak his gratitude, but couldn't; yet I could see it in his looks. He
died next day, and I buried him under a pine-tree. The poor
heart-broken little brother said he knew the way back to the wigwams of
his tribe, so I gave him the most of the provisions I had, told him my
name, and sent him away."