THE BIRCH BARK MESSAGE
"THERE, I could see him reach down then and strike at a leaping wolf!"
exclaimed Dick, showing signs of excitement, something he seldom did,
since he had wonderful control over his emotions for a boy of his age.
"Just as I told you," continued Roger, trembling all over with
eagerness, "he has used up his arrows, and is trying to cut down the
number of his four-footed enemies by other means."
"There, listen to that howl!"
"Oh! he made a splendid strike that time, Dick!"
"Yes, and you can see what that clever brave is up to, if you notice
the wild scuffle at the foot of the tree," the other replied.
"Why, the wolves seem to be fighting among themselves, Dick. What makes
them act that way, do you know?"
"I can give a guess. These mad animals are almost starving, though
just how that should be, at this season of the year, I am not able to
say. The scent of blood makes them wild, you see, and, every time the
brave's knife wounds one of the pack, the rest set upon the wretched
beast to finish him."
"In that way the Indian could clean them up in time, I should say,
without any help from us," Roger suggested, though he showed no sign
that his intention of giving aid had changed in the least.
"But they might take warning, and stop jumping up at him," Dick
explained; "then his knife would be useless. And, too, other wolves
hearing the noise are apt to hasten to the spot, so that there might be
an increasing pack, a new one for every beast he helped to kill."
"Dick, he is a brave fellow, even if his skin is red!"
"I agree with you there," said the other, softly.
"Then are we not going to bring about his rescue, even if it does cost
us some of our precious powder and shot?" Roger demanded.
"Yes, but I hope it will not be more than one load," replied his
cousin; for all their lives this question of a wastage of ammunition
had been impressed on their minds as the utmost folly, and on that
account they seldom used their guns except to make sure of worthy game.
"Come, let us rush forward with loud yells, waving our arms, and doing
everything we can to scare the animals off before we begin to fire.
After we get close up, and they are hesitating what to do, that is the
time for us to blaze away."
"A good plan, Roger, and worthy of our fathers' old friend, Pat O'Mara.
Only as a last resort will we use our fire-arms."
"And you be the one to say when, Dick, remember!"
"Depend on me for that," Roger was told quickly. "Just as soon as I
see that something is needed to force the ugly beasts to make up their
minds, I'll call out to you to give it to them."
"Give me one last word of advice before we rush them, Dick."
"Yes, what is it, Roger?"
"If, instead of taking to their heels, the pack turns on us, and starts
to fight, what must we do?"
"There isn't one chance in ten it will happen that way," said Dick,
"for wolves are too cowardly. When they see us rushing boldly forward
you'll notice how every beast's head will droop, and that he'll begin
to skulk away, showing his teeth, perhaps, but cowed and whipped."
"But suppose it should?" urged Roger, as they paused, just before
bursting out upon the strange scene.
"If it comes to the worst we may have to take to a tree just as the
Indian brave has done," Dick told him, "and then start to work killing
them off as fast as we can load and fire. Now, are you ready to do a
lot of yelling?"
"Just try me, that's all, Dick!"
"Come on, then, with me!"
With the words Dick sprang boldly forth from his concealment, with his
cousin alongside. Both of them started to make the woods ring with
their strong young voices, and when two healthy boys yell and whoop
they can produce a tremendous volume of sound!
Some of those predatory wolves must have conceived the idea that a
whole company of the strange two-legged foes was rushing toward them,
judging from the hasty manner of their exit from the scene. Others,
however, either more bold or hungry, half crouched and, snarling,
showed their white teeth in a vicious manner.
Evidently these leaders of the pack were not as yet quite convinced
that the game had gone against them, despite all the noise made by the
oncoming boys. On seeing this, Dick and Roger tried to shout louder
than ever, while they waved their arms in the most frantic manner.
It devolved upon Dick to decide whether or not they should keep on in
this fashion until they came to close quarters with the wolves that
lingered, loth to give up their chance of a dinner. Rushing forward
at this rate, they would be on the scene in half a dozen seconds, and
might find the ugly beasts springing up at their throats.
Never before had the boys seen wolves acting in this manner, for as a
rule their nature is cowardly. There was nothing for it but to fall
back upon their guns for the finishing stroke, and so Dick gave the
word.
"We must shoot, Roger--take that big fellow in front!" he gasped, for
he was by this time fairly out of breath after all those strenuous
exertions of running, thrashing his arms, and shouting at the top of
his voice.
Accordingly both of them halted just long enough to throw their
long-barreled rifles to their shoulders, and glance along the sights.
They could actually hear the savage snarls of the defiant pack. Roger,
always a bit faster than his companion, was the first to fire, and with
the crash of his gun the big leader of the pack sprang upward, only to
fall back again with his legs kicking.
Dick's gun spoke fast on the heels of the first report, and he, too,
succeeded in knocking over the beast his quick eye had selected.
Then with renewed shouts, Dick and Roger once more started forward, but
there was a hasty scurrying of gray bodies, and presently not a wolf
remained in sight save the pair that had gone down before the deadly
fire of the guns.
The Indian up in the tree dropped to the ground, and the boys saw
immediately from his manner of dress that he was, just as Roger had
surmised, a Sioux warrior. From the fact that he was bleeding in
various places the boys understood that he must have put up a valiant
fight at close quarters against his four-footed enemies, before finally
seeking refuge among the branches of the friendly tree.
Naturally both lads immediately began to wonder why a Sioux brave
should thus venture into the neighborhood of the Mandan village, since
the two tribes had been at knives' points for many years. Indeed, the
preceding fall, when the boys had been aided by Beaver Tail and some of
his Sioux warriors, who accompanied them later to their camp, it had
required all the tact and diplomacy of which Captain Lewis was capable
to prevent an open rupture between the old-time rivals.
"First we must make him let us look at his wounds," suggested Dick,
"because it is no child's play to have the teeth of wolves draw blood.
Some of his wounds look bad to me."
"I think you are right, Dick," agreed the other, always accustomed to
leaving the decision to his cousin. "See if you can make him understand
what we want to do. I'll get some water in my hat, so you can wash the
wounds."
The boys always made it a practice to carry certain homely remedies
with them, for in those pioneer days the family medicine chest
consisted in the main of dried herbs, and lotions made from them, all
put up by the wise housewife. Those who lived this simple life, and
were most of the time in the open air, seldom found themselves in need
of a doctor, and most of their troubles sprang either from accidents,
or injuries received in combats with wild beasts of the forest.
So it was that they had with them a salve they always used to soothe
the pain, as well as neutralize the poison injected by bites or
scratches received in struggles at close quarters with carnivorous
beasts.
The Indian was looking at them as though puzzled. Whites were rarely
seen by the dwellers in these far regions beyond the Mississippi;
indeed, most of the natives had never as yet set eyes on a paleface.
This brave, however, may have been in company with Beaver Tail, the
friendly chief, at the time he aided the two boys, and, if so, he
undoubtedly recognized Dick and Roger.
Unable to speak the Sioux tongue, of which they knew but a few words,
it would be necessary for Dick to make use of gestures in conducting
a brief conversation with the other. Still, the smile on his face,
as well as the fact of his recent acts, would readily tell the red
wanderer that he was a friend.
"Ugh! Ugh!" was all the Indian could say, but he accepted the hand that
was extended, though possibly this method of greeting was strange to
him.
Dick pressed him to sit down, and the brave did so, though with
increasing wonder. He speedily realized, however, what the white boys
meant to do, and without offering any remonstrance continued silently
to watch their labor, as they proceeded to look after his injuries.
Roger fetched his hat full of cool water from a running brook close
by, and one by one Dick washed the numerous scratches and ugly furrows
where those wolfish fangs had torn the flesh of the stoical brave's
lower limbs.
He gave no sign of flinching, though the pain must have been more than
a trifle. The boys knew enough of Indian character to feel sure that,
if it had been ten times as severe, he would have calmly endured it,
otherwise he could not have claimed the right to wear the feather they
could see in his scalplock, and which signified that he was a warrior,
or brave.
Finally the task was completed. There had been nothing further heard
from the remnant of the baffled wolf pack all this while, proving that
the loss of their powerful leaders must have taken the last bit of
courage from the animals, known never to be very brave.
All the while the Sioux continued to keep those black eyes of his glued
on Dick Armstrong. It was as though he was in search of some one and
had made up his mind that, since there could be no other paleface boys
within a thousand miles of the spot, these must be the ones he had been
commissioned to find.
Just about the time Dick, with another of his rare smiles, indicated
that the work of looking after his injuries had been completed, the
Sioux fumbled in his snake-skin ditty bag, where he kept his little
stock of pemmican, and numerous other necessary articles, perhaps his
war paint as well. To the astonishment of the boys he drew out a small
roll of birch bark, secured far to the north, and handed it to Dick.
Filled with curiosity, the boy opened it with trembling fingers, to
find, just as he had anticipated, that it was covered with a series of
queer characters, painted after the Indian fashion and representing men
and animals.
"It's Indian picture writing, you see, Roger!" Dick declared, "and must
be meant for us, or else this brave would not give it over. He has been
sent here from the far-away Sioux village to find us, and deliver a
message."
"Yes," added Roger, excitedly. "And look, Dick, there is what seems
to be the awkward but plain picture of a beaver at the end of the
message. It must have been sent by our good friend, the chief of the
Sioux."
"You are right that far, Roger, for it is meant to be the signature of
Beaver Tail, himself. Now to see if we can make out what it says!"