OLD ABE ON A CRUISE.
After a very brief debate, the Crow chiefs decided to give up the
attack on the wagon-train and return to their homes, being fully
satisfied there was but little chance of success in continuing the
fight with the pale-faces.
Not a single word was said respecting the fate of the “Black Dog”;
all accepted the story of the “White Vulture” that the Dog chief had
fallen into the swift waters; and though of course the braves were too
sensible not to know that the “White Vulture” must have had some agency
in the matter, yet the explanation was reasonable and probably would
satisfy the friends and relatives of the dead brave at home.
The council broke up, and braves were dispatched to call in the
warriors to prepare for the march. Hardly had they departed when two
mounted Indians, bearing the body of the young brave slain on his post
in the little glade by the “Crow-Killer,” dashed into the camp.
The warriors crowded around and examined the body with wonder. That a
foe should dare to slay one of their pickets, and accomplish it, too,
without exciting the slightest alarm, was a puzzle to them.
The old chief, the “Thunder-Cloud,” carefully examined the body; he
could see no other wound save the single knife-thrust through the
heart--a blow evidently driven home by a powerful and practiced arm.
There was silence in the throng.
“The ‘Crow-Killer’!” said the old chief. He had often seen the deadly
effects of the old Indian-fighter’s arm, and rightly guessed who had
slain the young brave.
Within half an hour, the “Crow-Killer,” from his hiding-place, had the
satisfaction of seeing the red braves gather in their warriors, mount
their horses and depart, taking a course that led to the west; but no
sign did he see of Leona. Yet it was evident from the words of the
chiefs, that she was a prisoner in their hands.
“I’m sart’in that she’s in their hands,” he reflected, as the last of
the red chiefs disappeared from the little glade and was hid from his
eyes by the thicket which cut off his view of the distant prairie to
the west. “Now, the best thing I can do is to get back to the wagons as
soon as possible. I’ll send Dave on with the train to Montana, and then
I’ll trail the red devils an’ try an’ sneak the little gal out of their
clutches. That will be no easy matter, I’m afeard; but, thar’s nothin’
like tryin’. I’ve been wanting to go to the Crow nation for a long
time; now hyar’s a chance. First, to rescue the little gal; second, to
find out ’bout my Injun wife. The sooner I’m off for camp the better.”
Carefully through the timber the guide retraced his steps.
When the “Crow-Killer” reached the glade where he had slain the Crow
warrior, he halted for a moment in the timber at its edge.
“’Pears to me,” he said, talking low to himself, as usual, “that the
other side of this leetle opening in the timber would be just the place
for Dave to ambush himself. I’m downright sorry that I hain’t had a
chance to lead a dozen or so of the red devils into his fire, but, what
can’t be cured must be endured, as I’ve hearn say. Guess I’ll find out
whether Dave’s thar or not.”
Putting his hands to his mouth, Abe gave a short quick bark like a
coyote.
In a second the bark was repeated on the other side of the glade from
the thicket.
Fearlessly the “Crow-Killer” stepped from the timber into the open
space, and as he did so, Dave, rifle in hand, stepped from among the
bushes on the opposite side of the glade while behind him appeared some
four of the emigrants.
“Are the Indians near?” questioned Dave, as he met the “Crow-Killer” in
the center of the little opening and wrung him warmly by the hand.
“Nary Injun,” responded the old hunter. “They’ve taken the back track
an’ gone off, bag an’ baggage, for the mountains.”
“And Leona?” anxiously questioned the young guide.
“I hain’t seen her,” said Abe.
The expression of disappointment upon the manly features of Dave was
painful to behold. The old guide hastened to relieve his mind.
“Don’t look or feel downhearted, man. Though I hain’t seen her, yet
I’ve hearn of her.”
“You have?” cried Dave, eagerly.
“You bet! But ’tain’t much consolation for you. She’s in the hands of
the Crows, an’ they’re carrying her off for the mountains.”
Then the “Crow-Killer” told Dave all that he had witnessed from his
hiding-place. When he had finished his story, Dave for a few minutes
was silent, apparently in deep thought.
“Abe, what shall I do?” he asked, at length.
“I s’pose you want my honest advice,” said the “Crow-Killer.”
“Yes,” responded the young guide.
“Wal, the case is jist hyar; the Crows are carrying the gal off to
their lodges in the mountains, in the Crow nation, probably to the
village of the ‘Thunder-Cloud.’ When they get thar, of course they’ll
celebrate their capture of the fur-wagons; then they’ll probably marry
the little gal to the ‘White Vulture’; that’s the programme, I think.”
“But, if we with a small party follow them instantly, we might be able
to rescue Leona from their hands,” said Dave, eagerly.
“Small chance of that, Dave,” replied the “Crow-Killer,” shaking his
head gravely. “The Injuns are sixty or seventy strong, an’ they won’t
let the grass grow under their feet now, till they reach home. If we
follered an’ come up with ’em, the chances are, ten to one, that we’d
all be wiped out. Besides, Dave,” and the “Crow-Killer” laid his hand
on the young man’s shoulder, “you forget the wagon-train. We’ve pledged
our word to take the train safe to Montana, to guide it an’ fight for
it, an’ you know, Dave, a man ain’t got much left in this world arter
he loses his word. It’s a hard thing, I know. You love the little gal,
an’ it’s a hard thing to go on an’ leave her helpless, as it ’pears, in
the hands of these red devils; but, thar’s women and children in that
’are train, an’ our word is pledged to put ’em through to Montana.”
“I know it! I know it!” cried the young man, wrestling with the agony
of pain that thrilled through his heart, as he thought of the peril of
his Leona, the only woman in the world that he had ever loved. “I know
our word is pledged, but, to think of Leona being borne away helpless
in the hands of these red demons! Oh, Abe! show me some way that I can
at least risk my life in an attempt to save her.”
“Don’t take it so hard, Davy, lad,” said the “Crow-Killer,” in a voice
that showed his deep feeling for the young hunter. “I’ve got a plan in
my head that I think will help us a little. Two days’ travel due north
will bring the train to Fort Benton. At Fort Benton you can get guides
to take our places. Now, this is the way we’ll fix it. I’ll speak to
the emigrants, explain how the matter stands, an’ ask ’em to let me
off _now_. I don’t think they’ll hesitate for a minute to do it; then
I’ll foller the Crows. I know the country as well as I do my own hand;
I’ve been in the village of the ‘Thunder-Cloud’ before, though it were
years ago. You carry the train on to Fort Benton, get the guides thar
for ’em, then strike down the Missouri. The Injun village is ’bout a
hundred miles, as the crow flies, from the fort; it lies in a leetle
plain, between the Missouri and the mountains. The country is all
timbered and fine for scouting. It will take you two days to reach Fort
Benton, an’ then two days more to get to the Injun village. When you
get near the village, you foller the river all the time. Jist hide your
horse in the timber an’ scout in on foot. I’ll keep a look-out for you.
Now, what do you think of the plan? My idea for you to go on with the
train an’ let me foller the Crows is ’cos I know the country out thar
so much better than you do, an’ I can see exactly how things air, afore
you come.”
“I agree with you!” cried Dave, shaking the old hunter’s hand warmly.
“I will go on with the train, and then will join you on the Missouri. I
feel sure we shall save her from the hands of these red devils.”
“Yes, an’ cunning alone can do it, for in that country of theirs, the
Crows can whip ten times their number easy; but if we use our heads I
think we can flax ’em.”
To the men of the train, Abe briefly explained his plan to rescue
Leona from the hands of the Crows. The emigrants willingly gave their
consent to his departure, for not a man was there--Dick Hickman alone
excepted--but would have risked their lives for the captive girl. So
the wagon-train again proceeded on its march for golden Montana.
With a hearty shake of the hand, Abe and Dave parted--Dave riding on
with the train, and Abe, mounted on the trusty roan mare, heading
westward on the trail of the Crows.
“Guess I needn’t to hurry myself much,” said the “Crow-Killer,” as,
holding his steed by the spot where the Indians had been camped, he
watched the white-topped wagons as they disappeared in the distance
over the rolling prairie.
Finally the last one was lost to sight, and he remained alone upon the
prairie.
“I reckon I shan’t bother myself much to foller their trail,”
soliloquized the old guide. “The Injuns, of course, are going to the
village of the ‘Thunder-Cloud,’ an’ I think I could find that in the
darkest night I ever did see. So I’ll ride on slowly an’ not worry
myself. It’s ’bout two days’ journey, if the Crows travel fast, an’ I
kinder think they will. So, old hoss, you an’ I will take it easy.”
And so the hunter journeyed on leisurely. For the first five miles
the trail led by the bank of the Yellowstone; then the river turned
abruptly to the south, and the trail, parting from it, led across the
prairie, westward.
At sundown the hunter selected a convenient clump of timber, let his
horse feed on the fresh young prairie-grass, made a scanty meal from
a store of sun-dried beef and some hard crackers that he carried,
soldier-fashion, in his saddle-bags; then, after a careful survey of
the country around, went to sleep.
Early at sunrise on the following morning the “Crow-Killer” awoke, made
another scanty meal, mounted his horse and again rode on the trail.
The savages had not even taken the trouble to conceal their tracks,
confident, doubtless, in the number of their band and the improbability
of any one following in pursuit. So the old hunter had but little
trouble in following the plainly-defined trail.
On the evening of the second day, thinking that he was within ten miles
of the Indian camp, the old guide dismounted and halted for the night.
The third morning’s light found him again in the saddle.
The surface of the country had greatly changed, and showed that he was
at the base of the Rocky Mountains; though on the east bank of the
river, beyond the timber that fringed the stream, commenced the vast
prairie that extended eastward to the junction of the Yellowstone and
the Missouri rivers, and which is commonly called the valley of the
Yellowstone, as fertile a spot of land as the sun ever shone upon.
The “Crow-Killer” recrossed the river, made a circuit around the
Indian village so as to approach it from the north, as Dave would come
up the bank of the river from the north and it would clearly be an
impossibility for the guide to meet him if he remained south of the
Indian village.
The “Crow-Killer” accomplished his purpose; he could easily tell the
position of the village, by the smoke arising from it and floating on
the clear mountain air.
The guide carefully hid his horse in a thicket on the river’s bank,
some three miles from the Indian settlement, and then carefully
approached it on foot.
The country was rough and uneven, and, as the “Crow-Killer” had said,
excellent for scouting. The village lay in a little hollow, near the
Missouri, surrounded on all sides, except the one washed by the river,
by hills heavily timbered.
The scout had got within a mile or so of the village--he could tell
its position by the smoke--and was proceeding cautiously along through
a little glade between two rocky hills, when he was suddenly startled
by a noise in the shrubbery right before him. Hardly had he stopped,
and before he could turn to retreat, forth from the thicket came a huge
grizzly bear, who made directly for the hunter. Abe did not dare to use
his rifle, for the report would bring the Indians upon him--flight was
his only hope, for a man stands but little chance for his life in a
close encounter with the brown monarch of the Rocky Mountains.
Luckily a tree was near at hand, a good-sized oak. Dropping his rifle,
the “Crow-Killer” sprung for the tree, and soon ensconced himself in
its lower branches.
The grizzly came to the foot of the tree and looked upward; then, to
Abe’s dismay, forth from the thicket marched dismay, forth from the
thicket marched another grizzly, if any thing larger than the first.
“Wal, I’m in for it!” thought Abe. “I’d rather fight the Injuns than
these durned brutes. If I ain’t in a pesky difficulty then my name’s
not Abe.”
The second grizzly joined the first at the bottom of the tree, and then
both beasts looked up at the hunter and licked their jaws as if they
expected he would soon fall into them.
Luckily for the man, as it proved, the oak was a small tree, and but
one of the bears could ascend it at a time, for the grizzly is a
tree-climber as well as his brother, the black bear.
Abe watched the grizzlys closely; he knew their habits well; these were
evidently hungry, and would soon ascend the tree for their prey.
How repulse the attack of the brutes? All of the bear kind have very
tender noses; the grizzly ascending the tree could not very well begin
an attack until he reached the limbs. So the hunter drew his sharp
knife, cut a heavy club from a convenient branch, and trimming it of
its limbs, awaited the bear’s approach.
Bruin stood upon his hind legs a moment, and then, hugging the
tree-trunk in his strong paws, began his slow ascent.
As the ugly creature came within reach, Abe dealt it a terrific blow
with the club on the tender snout, that brought a howl of agony from
the mountain king and drove him back. Again he came on; again the
strong arm of the “Crow-Killer” brought the heavy club down upon his
nose; this time a shower of blows followed the first, and the bear,
howling with agony, relinquished the assault and descended hastily to
the ground, where he rolled around and rubbed his nose with his great
paws, evidently in extreme pain.
The hunter chuckled with delight.
Then the second bear, not understanding the cause of his companion’s
defeat, ascended the tree; the same reception that the first bear met
with was accorded to the second, and he, too, speedily retreated from
the shower of blows rained down upon his tender snout.
The two bears held a sort of a consultation at the foot of the tree,
rubbing their noses in a comical way, and evidently greatly astonished
at their defeat, and then, as if fully satisfied, they trotted off to
the thicket from which they came, and left the “Crow-Killer” master of
the field.
The guide had great difficulty to refrain from saluting the departing
brutes with a yell of triumph, but the near neighborhood of the Indians
checked him.
After being fully satisfied that the grizzlys really had retired, Abe
descended from his perch, picked up his rifle, and again resumed his
advance toward the Crow village.