THE RETREAT.
A few words gave his companions the substance of the conversation.
"Now," he continued, "I wish we could all get together in the camp for
a few minutes to talk this thing over, and decide on our next move, but
it's too risky to leave the wall unguarded, although I don't believe
they will try another assault before dark."
The young Seminole spoke up, "when the Big Tiger speaks, the whelp is
silent, I will stay."
"Golly, I reckon dis nigger ain't no good at planning, spec I better
stay here, too," observed Chris.
A parting volley was fired into the forest, and under cover of the
smoke the rest retired quickly to the lean-to.
The wounded man was lying awake on his couch, his keen, black eyes
burning with an unnatural light.
Although he must have been suffering intense pain from his wound, his
features were calm and composed. He tried to rise as the hunters
entered, but could not raise himself even on his elbow.
"Don't try to move," exclaimed Charley, hurrying to his side.
"How," said the sufferer, in greeting, extending a hand surprisingly
small and well-formed for a man of his size.
Charley gave it a hearty shake and his companions crowding around,
gravely followed his example.
The wounded man lay silent for a moment surveying the little party with
shrewd, appraising eyes. A friendly gleam shone in his beady orbs as
they lingered for a second on the captain's kindly, weather-beaten
face. He looked a trifle longer at Walter's eager, open countenance,
but his glance came back to rest on Charley's face, and to him his
words were addressed.
"He, whom his people call the Big Tiger, was made as weak as a tiny
papoose by the bullet of a jackal," he began in broken English. "The
Little tiger has told me all; how the jackals would have taken their
prey but for your coming in the canoe of cloth and bringing the
helpless ones here. The jackals' bullet has sped true, and the Big
Tiger will lead his followers no more in the hunt, but the son of a
chief will remain and his life will be at the young white chieftain's
command."
The stricken man burst into a fit of coughing, and Charley noted with
pity that flecks of scarlet stained the sufferer's lips. "Shot through
the lungs," he decided, but he allowed no trace of pity to show on his
face.
"A chief of the Seminoles must be wise with the wisdom of the owl in
council," he said, as soon as the fit of coughing had left its victim.
"Payment from father or son we desire not, only the counsel of wisdom
now. We are but braves in the hunt or fight, and great danger
threatens, now, but the ripe wisdom of a great chief may be able to
point out a path to safety."
Clearly and in few words, he described their present desperate position
and the demands and threats of the outlaws.
The Indian listened in impassive silence and for some time after
Charley finished, remained buried in profound meditation.
"The young white chief carries an old head on young shoulders," at last
he said approvingly. "He speaks truly when he says that the air is
thick with danger. When the blackness of night comes, then will come,
also, those who make war from behind the trees of the forest. In the
darkness, how is the young white and his friends to tell enemies from
friends? The jackals will wriggle through and over the wall of trees
like snakes through tall grass. After what they have seen, can my
white friends expect mercy at hands already stained red?"
Charley shook his head. "Thou speakest my thoughts, but are we to be
murdered in the dark by creatures such as those?"
"The mind of the young is ever quick and hasty in its flights,"
reproved the wounded chief, gravely. "What use for the medicine man to
point out the sickness, unless he has the proper barks and plants?"
"Well," said Charley, "let the wisdom of one grown wise in councils
tell us of the cure for this disease."
The wounded savage was again seized with a fit of coughing, and it was
some moments before he could reply. "Between the glades and here--a
swift half day's journey--a small island lies in the middle of the
river. There, four men could stand off an army. If I commanded the
paleface friends as I do my tribe, I would say, bury all things too
heavy to carry away in the canoes of cloth, while it is yet light, turn
the ponies loose that they may not starve. Put all else in the cloth
boats. Let some keep up a noise and fire from the wall of trees to
convince the white men without hearts that you are going to stay and
fight. With the first darkness of night let all take to the boats. I
with the Little Tiger will lead the way, then may come him you call
captain with the little one whose face is like the night, lastly, may
come you and the one with the eager face (Walter). Without noise must
we go, and keep close to each other, for the river has many arms
stretched out for the unwary stranger. At the island of which I spoke,
you may camp in safety while we go on alone. I stop at my wigwam to
die, alone, in peace and quietness with the great spirit, as becomes a
chief of a long line of chiefs, but he, who will soon he chief, will
travel quickly on gathering together my people. With them he will
return, and of the twelve who murder from behind trees not one shall
return to boast of his deeds. When the buzzards are feeding off their
bones, then, may you return and secure that which you have buried, the
ponies, and all of that which is yours. That is the counsel of one of
a race of chiefs. What is the answer of the young white chief?"
"I must consult with those who share my dangers, Chief," said Charley
gravely. "We talk not like squaws, and in five minutes you shall have
our answer."
The Seminole rolled over on his side exhausted from his long speech and
frequent coughing spells, while Charley beckoned the captain and Walter
out of earshot.
"You have heard it all, now I want your opinion," he said simply.
"After this last terrible mistake of mine, it will be long before I
trust to my judgment again."
"We all fell into the same error, lad," said the captain, kindly. "The
blame, if any, belongs to us all. Forget it, Charley, and don't let it
weaken your self-confidence. Now what do you think of the plan of our
red-skinned friend?"
"I believe it's our only chance for life," he answered regretfully,
"those cut-throats have got us foul. It's run away or be killed."
"Then I'm for running. But, think you, he can be trusted to pilot us
aright?"
"He will not pilot us far, I fear," said Charley, sadly. "I doubt if
he will reach his wigwam. That bullet touched a lung all right. If he
dies on the way we must look to the son; he is of the same spirit as
the father, or I am no judge of character."
"They both speak English wonderfully well," said Walter musingly.
"So do most of the Seminoles," explained Charley. "They come in to the
outlying towns at rare intervals to exchange their venison and skins
for ammunition and cloth, and it's wonderful how quickly they pick up
the language. But I am rambling. The question before us is, shall we
abandon all our things and run away with a fair chance of escaping with
whole skins, or stay and fight it out with the certainty of being
killed, sooner or later?"
"Run," said the captain decisively, "and trust to luck and the chief to
recover our things."
"Retreat," voted Walter regretfully.
Without another word, Charley turned back to the bedside of the
suffering savage, whose pain-tortured eyes had never strayed from their
faces during the conference.
"Chief, we have decided that your plan is the only one to follow,"
Charley said, simply.
Exultation showed for a second on the Indian's, set features. "Good,"
he exclaimed, "listen, young white chief. Do not mourn the loss of
ponies and things such as you must leave behind. To-day you risked
your life to save a stranger Indian and his boy. Great shall be your
reward when this trouble is over. That with which to trade for many
ponies shall be yours."
In his excitement the wounded man had partly raised himself on his
elbow, but the exertion was too much; there was a rush of blood from
his lips and he sank back on his couch in a dead faint. In a second
Charley was by his side forcing down more brandy between the clenched
teeth. The powerful stimulant acted quickly. In a moment the sufferer
again opened his eyes to consciousness. Charley beckoned to his chum.
"Go relieve his boy," he whispered, "and send him here. I want him to
get his instructions from his father before there comes another attack.
The captain and I will fix for our departure."
"Good," exclaimed the chief, whose keen ears had caught the
low-whispered conversation, "we won't die yet, though. Die in our own
wigwam when Great Spirit tolls the bell of mystery."
Walter was off like a shot, and the young Seminole soon stood by his
father's couch. While the two indulged in earnest conversation in
their own tongue, the captain and Charley worked hastily, for the sun
was already setting. What things they dared risk carrying were hustled
into the frail canoes. One of the couches was conveyed to the dugout
and spread out in the bottom and two of the thickest blankets spread on
top of the leaves. The ponies were cast loose to shift for themselves.
Their remaining stuff was shoved into the water-proof bag and buried in
a high spot. By the time this was done, the first shades of night had
fallen. At Charley's suggestion, all hurried into the barricade, and
for fifteen minutes poured a hail of bullets into the forest to
convince the outlaws that they were still there and on the alert.
Then all hurried back to the camp. Many hands made easy and gentle
work of conveying the wounded man from his couch to the comfortable bed
in the dugout. The young Indian took his place in the stern of the
ticklish craft, and with a single shove of his long pole sent it far
out into the stream. The captain, with Chris, followed a few yards
behind, paddling with soft noiseless strokes. A few yards in their
wake came the last canoe containing Walter and Charley, and quickly the
outline of the point was lost in the darkness behind.