A MISHAP.
So Deerfoot the Shawanoe rode into the night, his heart aglow with
gratitude because of the success of his venture. Whirlwind was his and
he felt no misgiving over losing him again, and the steed himself would
fight against recapture.
The animal kept to a walk, for to go faster would have been imprudent
if not dangerous. He was not traveling over the course followed by
Deerfoot in threading his way to the Assiniboine camp. The road was
rough and strange to both horse and rider. All that the youth knew of a
certainty was that he was journeying southward. He could tell that much
by observing the stars that had served him so often as a compass.
Nor was there any necessity for haste. It was impossible for the
Assiniboines to trail him until the sun appeared in the sky, when
Whirlwind would easily leave the fleetest of their ponies out of sight.
So no fear remained in the heart of the dusky youth. Speaking now and
then to the animal, patting his neck and shoulder, or playfully
pinching the glossy skin, he rode onward for several hours. He was not
in need of sleep, and Whirlwind had been given nearly a whole day of
rest. It was no task therefore for either to maintain the journey.
Deerfoot's intention was to ride until midnight, when the two would
rest, resuming their journey at sunrise and pushing hard until they
reached the villages of the Blackfeet. It was late when the stallion
splashed through a small brook at the foot of a ridge, where Deerfoot
decided to dismount for the remainder of the night. Slipping from the
back of the horse he pressed his ear to the earth, but heard nothing to
cause him disquiet. If the Assiniboines were hunting for him they were
too far off to cause concern.
While Deerfoot was thus employed, Whirlwind stood as motionless as a
statue, waiting for his commands. The Shawanoe was in the act of rising
to his feet when the steed emitted the slightest possible sniff. He was
looking toward the top of the ridge immediately in front, standing like
a pointer dog, with his ears pricked forward and head high in air.
Glancing in the same direction, Deerfoot saw the figure of a buck that
had come up the other side of the ridge and halted on the crest, as if
he scented something amiss. He could not see the two below him, but his
own form was thrown into relief against the starlit sky. The beautiful
creature with the branching horns, the delicate ears, the shapely head
and body, looked as if stamped in ink in the dim star-gleam.
Deerfoot touched the shoulder of Whirlwind as a warning for him to keep
still. The intelligent animal maintained his statue-like pose, and the
youth began stealing toward the buck, his cocked rifle grasped with
both hands and ready to bring to a level and fire on the instant. The
space between the two was fifty or sixty yards, which would have been
nothing by daylight. The youth wished to decrease it as much as he
could because of the darkness, so as to run no risk of missing his aim.
It may not sound poetical, but it is only simple fact that with the
sight of the buck unconscious of his danger the dominant emotion of the
Shawanoe was a sense of ravening hunger. It was a long time since he
had partaken of food and his appetite was worthy of Victor Shelton. He
meant that that buck should fill the aching void that vexed him.
A phantom gliding over the ground would have given out no more noise
than was made by the moccasins of the Shawanoe; but the timid animal
snuffed danger and wheeled to dash away. At the instant of doing so,
Deerfoot fired, sending the ball into the body just back of a fore leg.
The _cervus_ species rarely or never fall, even when stricken through
the heart, knowing which, Deerfoot dashed up the slope, knife in hand,
and made after the wounded buck, which could be heard threshing among
the stones and underbrush. He was still floundering and running when
overtaken by the youth, who quickly ended his suffering.
The next act of Deerfoot was to reload his rifle, after which he cut a
goodly piece from the side of the game and carried it back to where
Whirlwind was waiting. The venison was washed and dressed, after which
the youth groped about for fuel with which to start a fire. This proved
quite a task, but he succeeded after a time, and then made one of the
most substantial meals he had eaten in a long while. When it was
completed hardly a fragment was left, and he felt he was provided for
in the way of nourishment for a day or two to come, though he saw no
reason to fear any such deprivation of food.
The Shawanoe could never forget his caution. While there was little
probability of any of the Assiniboines being in the neighborhood, yet
it was possible there were, and it might be they had observed the
twinkle of the fire he had kindled and then allowed to die out. He
remounted his horse and headed more to the westward, for he had a long
way to travel to reach the Blackfoot country on the other side of the
Rocky Mountains.
The youth was riding forward, glancing to the right and left, on the
lookout for a suitable place for camping, when he noticed that while
the ground over which he was passing was more level than usual, a high
ridge loomed up on the left, rising in some places to a height of
several hundred feet. After a time a similar formation appeared on the
right. This showed that he was passing through a valley-like
depression, but he had gone a comparatively short distance when he
observed that the two mountain ranges, if such they might be
considered, gradually converged. He turned to the left and at the base
of the ridge dismounted.
"Here we will stay for the rest of the night," he said to Whirlwind.
"Deerfoot feels that hard work is before us and it is wise to save our
strength."
Since there was no saddle or bridle to be taken from the stallion, his
master turned him loose, first kissing his nose and affectionately
patting his neck. The horse wandered off a few steps to spend the hours
by himself, while the youth laid his blanket on the ground and wrapped
himself in it. No water was near, nor was there enough grass growing
for Whirlwind to crop, but neither cared for a little thing like that.
Deerfoot slept soundly till roused by the licking of his cheek by his
faithful friend, who was standing at his head and looking down in his
face as revealed in the dim morning light. The night was gone and it
had brought no alarm to either. Casting aside the blanket, Deerfoot
sprang to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.
That which first attracted his attention was the convergence of the
massive walls to the southeast. Less than half a mile away they came
within a hundred feet of each other, thus forming one of the canons
that are common in mountainous countries. The question which Deerfoot
asked himself was whether it was probable the two joined. If so, he was
entering a pocket from which he would be forced to withdraw. The middle
of the valley showed that at certain times, perhaps when the snows
melted, a stream coursed its way through the canyon, but the water came
from the front and flowed toward the horseman into the open country to
the rear. Had it taken the opposite course there would have been no
hesitation on his part, for he would have known that an outlet was in
advance through which Whirlwind could pass. On the other hand, it might
be that the ridges united and the torrent had its source in the water
which poured over the rocks at the head. If this proved to be the fact,
Deerfoot would be obliged to retreat and make a change of course.
His belief was that the ridges did not join and it was therefore
prudent for him to go on. Two causes led him to this conclusion: the
ground was favorable for the hoofs of his horse, and the course of the
canyon was the direction he wished to follow. It was a small matter
anyway, for an hour or two loss of time could make no special
difference. He spoke to Whirlwind, who stepped off with his usual proud
stride. Now that daylight had come and the ground was inviting, the
steed of his own accord broke into an easy gallop, which his rider did
not check.
Arriving at the farthest point visible at the moment of starting,
Deerfoot found that though the walls drew somewhat closer they did not
meet for at least a half mile in front, where again a change of course
hid the actual truth. He was now following the black, sandy bed of a
stream, packed so hard that it gave an ideal floor for a horse's hoofs.
The Shawanoe had not reached the turn in the canyon when he made an
alarming discovery. Looking to the rear he discovered fully a dozen
horsemen coming toward him on a walk. They were probably a half mile
off, and no doubt were pursuing him. He would not have felt any
misgiving but for the instant suspicion that these Indians were
Assiniboines and the other division of the party from whom he had
retaken Whirlwind. They must have recognized the black stallion, and,
if so, of course knew he had been captured by the Nez Perce, as they
supposed him to be. On no other supposition could their action be
explained.
Without checking his steed, Deerfoot turned and pointed his glass at
the red men. One glance was sufficient. They were Assiniboines, and no
doubt those for whom the other group were waiting in the grove miles
distant.
Where they had come from with such suddenness was more than the
Shawanoe could guess. It mattered naught since they were there, and his
situation was not only unpleasant, but likely to prove dangerous. If
the canyon closed he was fairly caught and would have to make a
desperate fight to extricate himself. If it was open in front he had
little to fear.
He spoke to Whirlwind, who instantly increased his speed. The
Assiniboines seemed to make no effort to lessen the distance between
themselves and the fugitive. This looked bad, for it indicated that the
Shawanoe was riding toward a shut door and would fall into their power
like ripe fruit shaken from a limb.
When Deerfoot reached the next curve in the canyon he perceived that
only a little way in front it curved again. He decided at once to
settle the doubt in his mind, for, if the canyon was a blind one, every
rod of advance added to his danger. The walls drew steadily nearer and
he began to fear that they really met not far off. If obliged to turn
back he should do so without further delay.
Checking Whirlwind he slipped to the ground and ran to the side of the
ravine. He left his blanket on the back of the horse, and leaned his
rifle against the base of the rocks, up which he began climbing with
the nimbleness of a sailor ascending the rigging of a ship. His
intention was to reach the level ground above, from which he could gain
a view that would tell him whether it was safe to go any farther into
the canyon or whether he must make instant retreat.
From the foot of the mountain wall to the top was fully forty feet, and
it was perpendicular all the way; but the face was so rugged that he
went up without trouble, only turning a little to the right now and
then to gain a better support for his hands and feet. The stallion
stood motionless and watching him with what must have been wondering
interest.
As he ascended Deerfoot glanced down the ravine and saw the
Assiniboines still coming with their horses on a walk. This pointed to
the probability that the Shawanoe had really entered a pocket and his
enemies saw no need of haste, since they felt sure of their victim. And
yet with all his acumen the Shawanoe erred in explaining the
deliberation of his pursuers.
At last the agile climber reached the upper edge of the ravine, and it
only remained for him to lift himself a foot farther to gain the view
which would reveal the truth of the situation. He extended his hand
upward to secure the grip that was to raise his head above the level.
As he did so he rested it on something cold and soft, which he
instantly recognized as a coiled rattlesnake.
Deerfoot shared the shivering disgust which nearly every person feels
for crawling reptiles. Nothing was so hideous to him as the _crotalus_,
and when he caught sight of one he rarely allowed it to escape. An
electric shock thrilled through him as he snatched back his hand in
time to avoid the sting, for the snake must have been as much
astonished as he by its disturbance. In the horror of the contact the
Shawanoe forgot everything else for the instant, and letting go his
hold, dropped to the bottom of the gorge.
He realized his mishap the instant it took place and tried desperately
to seize some obstruction that would check his descent, but could not
do so. He struck the bottom of the canyon, landing on both feet, with a
twinge of pain that was like a dagger thrust in his ankle.
But brief as was Deerfoot's descent, he had seen something terrifying
while it was going on. The rattlesnake so rudely disturbed as it lay in
coil (though it sometimes strikes when not in that position), darted
its gaping mouth at the hand which flashed out of its reach. Strange as
it may seem, it was lying on the very edge of the gorge, so close
indeed that the blow which struck vacancy carried it over, and it came
tumbling, looping and writhing after Deerfoot, at whose feet it fell,
bruised and stunned by the impact. Before it could strike again he had
seized his rifle and crushed out its life.
The excitement of the moment sustained him, but with the blow he sank
to the ground as if shot through the heart. His left ankle had been
severely wrenched and could not support an ounce of his weight. The
pain was so intense that but for his iron will he would have swooned.
With wonderful pluck and self-control he carefully raised himself and
stood on the right foot, with the other leg bent at the knee and its
foot held clear of the ground. A red-hot needle driven into and through
the ankle could not have caused more agony.
But though his face and compressed lips were pale, not a murmur of
complaint escaped him. Looking up at his steed he said, with his old,
winning smile:
"Will Whirlwind take care of Deerfoot, for he cannot take care of
himself?"