Shortly after dark the impatient young Delawares set out on their
perilous search for the Mohawk camp. When they reached the base of the
ridge they stopped to listen. Then, as they heard nothing to arouse
their suspicions, they climbed carefully up the steep brushy slope. They
were almost at the top when Running Fox thought he heard something
moving through the bushes. They immediately dropped and lay close to the
ground. They waited a long time, but nothing appeared. At last they
decided that they had been needlessly alarmed, and they rose and
continued up the ridge.
Once on top the Delawares’ first thought was to look for the glow of the
Mohawk fires. When they failed to find them they began to lose hope. It
was evident that the Mohawk camp was not where they had expected to find
it.
“I do not see what I expected to find—it is bad,” whispered Spotted
Deer.
Running Fox made no reply. He appeared to be listening.
“That smoke must have been another signal,” said Spotted Deer.
Running Fox still continued silent. He sat with his bow across his
knees, staring moodily into the night. Having been unable to draw him
into conversation, Spotted Deer, too, subsided into silence and waited
patiently for Running Fox to announce a plan of action.
They sat there for a long time, and then they were suddenly roused by
the sound of a dog barking somewhere near the spot where they had looked
for the Mohawk camp. Running Fox instantly became alert. Cautioning
Spotted Deer to silence, he listened eagerly. In a few moments the
barking changed to sharp cries of pain, and it was evident that the
animal had been cowed into silence. Then for a long time all was still.
“Now I know what I came here to find out,” said Running Fox. “My ears
have told me what my eyes could not see. Spotted Deer, the great Mohawk
camp is down there where we heard that dog.”
“Where are the fires?” demanded Spotted Deer.
“Perhaps there are no fires,” replied Running Fox. “Perhaps they are
hidden by the trees. Perhaps the camp is closed in by high stakes. I do
not know how it comes that we cannot see the fires, but I believe the
camp is there.”
“Then we will go down there and find it,” Spotted Deer proposed,
impulsively.
“No, I have a different plan,” Running Fox told him. “I am going down
there alone. I will look around. Then I will come back and tell you
about it. You must wait here.”
“Running Fox, that is not a good thing to do,” protested Spotted Deer.
“I must go with you. Perhaps you will get into a fight down there. Yes,
I must be there to help you.”
“Spotted Deer, I am the leader,” Running Fox reminded him. “I am doing
this thing because it is the best way to go about it. If we both go down
there and get caught then there will be no chance to get away. If I go
down there alone and get caught then you must get me out of it. I will
not go into the camp without you, but I must go and look around. It is
the only way to do. I will not talk any more about it.”
“Running Fox, you say that you are the leader, it is true,” replied
Spotted Deer. “Yes, I will do what you tell me to do. I believe it is
the best way.”
“That is good,” said Running Fox. “Now I will tell you something
different. If anything had happens to me down there I will make the call
of Quenischquney, the panther. If you hear that then you must come down
there and do what you can. But perhaps you will get into danger. Then
you must make the call of Quenisehquney. Then I will come to help you.
Now I am going away.”
“I will keep singing the sacred songs to help you,” said Spotted Deer.
“Yes, that will be a good thing to do,” agreed Running Fox.
A moment later he disappeared into the night. Running Fox moved down the
ridge with great caution, for he felt quite sure that Mohawk sentinels
were somewhere within bow-shot of him. He stopped many times to listen,
but heard nothing to alarm him. When he reached the bottom of the ridge
he turned directly toward the place where he had heard the dog barking.
As he advanced he kept a sharp watch for the warning glow of the Mohawk
fires. The forest was very dense, however, and as he believed that the
Mohawk village might be walled about by a log stockade he had little
hope of discovering the fires. Then he thought of a better plan.
Moistening one of his fingers, he raised it above his head and learned
that what little wind there was came from the north. As he was traveling
almost due west, he made a wide detour to get the wind in his face. Soon
afterward he saw the value of the wily maneuver, when the unmistakable
odor of smoke was borne to his nostrils. It filled him with joy, for he
realized that at last he had found an easy trail to the hostile camp.
Running Fox followed the tell-tale smoke scent with the eager
persistence of a famished wolf. As long as the breeze held steady he
hurried along with little fear of going astray. However, when the wind
weakened, or shifted, his task became more difficult. Under those
conditions he invariably lost the trail, and was compelled to circle
about until he found it. Thus he felt his way toward his goal, until at
last he was halted by the familiar sounds from the camp itself. He
stopped and raised his eyes to Getanittowit.
“O Getanittowit, I have come near to the camp of my enemies, the proud
and boastful Mohawks,” whispered Running Fox. “O Getanittowit, I am in
great danger. O Getanittowit, make me as sharp as Woakus, the fox, and
as brave as Machque, the bear. O Getanittowit, take pity on me and help
me.”
Having made this earnest appeal to Getanittowit, the Great One, the
devout young Delaware resumed his daring advance toward the Mohawk camp.
As he neared it the sounds increased, and he knew that the village
contained many people, The thought made him more cautious, and he
stopped to reconnoiter. Running Fox felt sure that he was within a few
bow-shots of the village, and yet he could see no trace of it. He
scouted cautiously through the woods looking for it, but although the
sounds warned him that the camp was dangerously close at hand the night
effectually hid it from his sight.
“This comes of not following the advice of Gokhus, the Medicine Owl,”
the superstitious young Delaware told himself. “Gokhus is the only one
who can see through the dark. Yes, if I had the skin of the great white
Medicine Owl I believe I would be able to see this camp.”
Nevertheless he determined to continue looking for the Mohawk village.
He knew that to come within sight of the camp he must run the risk of
capture and death, but he felt little fear. He believed that
Getanittowit would help him, and the assurance gave him courage. He
advanced, therefore, with every faculty keenly alert, determined to
actually see the hostile camp before he thought of turning back.
Running Fox was moving slowly through the woods when he suddenly found
himself on the edge of a large clearing. Corn and squashes were growing
there, and the Delaware instantly realized that he had found the Mohawk
camp. The thought set his heart beating wildly. Then he heard a number
of persons chanting a song, and looking toward the sound he saw a long
high, shadow stretching across one side of the clearing. He knew at once
that it was a log stockade enclosing the camp. He saw a pale yellow glow
above it, and he believed it came from the Mohawk fires.
Having finally got within arrow-range of his goal, Running Fox shrank
back into the shadows of the forest, and looked upon the great Mohawk
camp with awe. For a moment or so it frightened him, and he found
himself trembling with nervousness. It looked like a huge trap from
which it would be hard to escape. The thought weakened his confidence.
He heard a dog barking, and he wondered if it had caught his scent. He
raised a moistened finger into the air to test the wind. It was in his
favor, and he felt much relieved. A few moments afterward a small square
of light appeared in the long black wall. Something black flashed across
it, and then the light vanished into the night. Running Fox was
perplexed. He wondered if it had been a signal of some sort. Perhaps he
had been discovered. The possibility brought sweat to his brow. For an
instant he thought of retreating. However, the very suggestion filled
him with shame. He asked himself if Running Fox, the son of the great
war-chief, Black Panther, were a coward.
“No, I will not run away,” he whispered, savagely. “I will stay here,
and see what is going to happen to me.”
Then, as he continued to watch the grim black outline of the stockade,
the square of light again appeared, and this time it was some moments
before it vanished. In the meantime a number of dark objects had flashed
across it. Running Fox was unable to explain it. It seemed as if it must
be a signal to some one outside of the village. Still he could not
understand how it was done. He knew that there was no fire outside of
the stockade, else he would have seen the glare. Then where did the
light come from, and what made it? For a long time Running Fox was
unable to guess. At last, however, the truth flashed across his mind.
“Hi, now I know about it,” he told himself.
“There is a hole in that log wall. Yes, some one pulled something away,
and made it open. Then some one moved something across that place. Then
some one closed it up again, and made it dark. Pretty soon some one
opened it again. Then some one moved something across that place many
times. Perhaps it was a signal.”
Having guessed that much, it was only a few moments until the
sharp-witted young scout learned the full truth. He realized that the
opening must have been an entrance or door into the village, and that
the mysterious black objects which had momentarily shut out the light
were people either entering or leaving the camp. That, however, was the
only point about which he had any doubt. He would have given much to
know whether the people who had passed through the opening were warriors
returning from the war-trail, or scouts going out to look for the enemy.
Then, as a great commotion suddenly broke out in the camp, Running Fox
believed that the answer had been given by the Mohawks themselves.
“Yes, I believe some warriors have come back from the fight with the
Shawnees,” said Running Fox.
Each moment the noise increased, and it was evident that a celebration
of some sort was in progress. Then the glow above the stockade
brightened, and Running Fox believed that the fires were being rekindled
in preparation for some important ceremony. The thought pleased him, for
he believed that with the Mohawks absorbed in celebrating a victory, it
would be easier to approach the village. Having discovered the entrance
into the camp, the reckless lad resolved to have at least one peep at
his foes before he returned to Spotted Deer.
Running Fox waited until the noise indicated that the celebration was
well in progress, and then he moved toward the camp. He had carefully
noted the location of the opening in the stockade, but he feared to
approach it, for he knew that at any moment he might encounter some one
leaving the village. He turned toward the end of the stockade,
therefore, and was almost within leaping distance of the camp when he
was halted by a challenge directly behind him. Acting upon the impulse
of the moment, Running Fox stopped for an instant, and mumbled an
unintelligible reply. Then, as the night hid the person who had hailed
him, he tried to hurry away. He planned to dodge around the end of the
stockade and dash into the woods. The ruse failed, however, for the
suspicious Mohawk followed him. Aware that further attempts to deceive
would be useless, Running Fox ran off at great speed. The Mohawk
immediately raced after him, yelling at the top of his voice.
As Running Fox dodged around the end of the stockade he crashed into two
Mohawks who were running up at the call of their tribesman. The surprise
was mutual, and all three fell to the ground. A moment afterward the
young Delaware found himself lying helplessly upon his back with two
stalwart warriors holding him down. As he attempted to shout a warning
to Spotted Deer one of the Mohawks seized him by the throat and began to
choke him unmercifully. However, Running Fox had no idea of
surrendering. He fought with the fury of a wildcat until one of his foes
struck him a stunning blow on the head with a war-club.
When the lad regained his senses some moments later he found himself
surrounded by a number of Mohawk warriors. His arms had been tightly
bound behind him, and a heavy piece of buckskin had been tied over his
mouth. As Running Fox opened his eyes, the warrior who had choked him
kneeled and glared fiercely into his face. Then he seized him roughly by
the shoulder, and motioned for him to rise. As the Delaware obeyed the
Mohawks crowded excitedly about him, peering eagerly into his face, and
threatening him with their weapons. Running Fox showed no fear, however,
and in a few moments they ceased tormenting him and led him into the
camp.
The Mohawk village was lighted by several large fires, and Running Fox
saw a great many people gathered in the center of the camp. They were
mostly women and children, with a small company of old men and guards
who had been left behind to protect the village when the warriors had
rushed out at the cry of alarm. As Running Fox was led into the
firelight the Mohawks quickly recognized him as a Delaware, and
immediately began to taunt and abuse him. The old women and the boys
were particularly vicious, and several of the latter ran up and began to
beat him with sticks. The Delaware’s eyes flashed threateningly, but he
knew better than to resist for he realized that it would only expose him
to still harsher treatment from his tormentors.
When Running Fox and his guards reached the center of the village they
were beset by a great throng of people who seemed intent upon reaching
the prisoner. They appeared so hostile that the Delaware feared they
intended to kill him there and then. They surged wildly about him
shouting their war-cries, and striking at him over the shoulders of his
guards. The latter were struggling valiantly to protect him, but it
looked as if they would be overpowered at any moment. At the height of
the tumult, however, Running Fox saw several warriors hurrying forward
from the other end of the camp. As they approached, the foremost warrior
called out, and at the sound of his voice the Mohawks immediately fell
back. It was evident that the warrior was a man of great authority, and
Running Fox wondered if it could be Standing Wolf, the famous Mohawk
war-chief.
A few moments afterward the Mohawk stood before him. He was a tall,
broad-shouldered man of middle age, with a cruel face and restless black
eyes. For a moment Running Fox felt afraid of him. Then, as the Mohawk
looked searchingly into his face, the lad suddenly remembered that he
must uphold the honor of his tribe. He raised his head and met the
challenge unflinchingly. They gazed steadily at each other for several
moments, and the vast assemblage of Mohawks watched them in silence.
Then the Mohawk laughed scornfully, and turned to his people. He
addressed them in a few sharp sentences, and his words were received
with what seemed to be expressions of approval. At any rate the Mohawks
made no further demonstrations against the prisoner, and Running Fox
wondered whether the warrior had spoken in his behalf. It seemed too
much to expect, however, and the young Delaware feared that his relief
was only the prelude to a more trying ordeal yet in store for him. Then
he saw the man whom he took to be Standing Wolf, talking to the three
warriors whom Running Fox had encountered outside of the camp. A moment
later one of them approached him, and untied the buckskin bandage which
had been placed over his mouth. For an instant Running Fox was tempted
to shout a warning to Spotted Deer. Upon second thought, however, he
abandoned the idea. He doubted that Spotted Deer would hear it, and
besides, he believed it would be foolish to acquaint the Mohawks with
the fact that he had a companion. In the meantime the Mohawk leader had
again approached him. Running Fox was greatly astounded to hear him
speak in the Delaware dialect.
“Do the boastful Delawares send boys to fight their enemies?” he
inquired, sarcastically.
Running Fox made no reply.
“Well, do Delaware children remain silent when they are spoken to?” the
Mohawk demanded, angrily. “I do not like that. When Standing Wolf speaks
he must be answered. Come, speak fast or I will teach you how to obey.”
“I will answer you,” Running Fox said, angrily. “Standing Wolf, you have
asked me something. Well, I will tell you what you wish to know. My
people keep their men to fight the brave Shawnees. My people send their
boys to kill the Mohawks.”
It was a reckless speech, and Running Fox immediately realized that he
had sealed his doom as he looked into the angry eyes of Standing Wolf.
For a moment the great Mohawk war-chief looked upon him in unconcealed
amazement. Then he mumbled something, and advanced threateningly.
Running Fox showed no signs of weakening, however, and Standing Wolf
struck him a stinging blow across the mouth. It was the signal for a
wild outbreak from the onlookers, for they realized that their famous
war-chief had been insulted by a mere lad. The thought drove them into a
frenzy, and only the prompt interference of Standing Wolf himself saved
the Delaware from instant torture and death. When he had quieted the
people, the Mohawk chief called several trusted warriors to lead Running
Fox away.
The unhappy lad was taken to a square bark lodge or shack. It contained
a single room or compartment, and appeared dark and uninhabited. Once
inside the building, the Mohawks threw Running Fox to the ground and
bound his feet, which until that moment had been free. Then they left
him.
The two guards had barely gone from hearing when Running Fox heard
something stirring over in a corner of the lodge. However, darkness made
it impossible to tell what it was. He listened anxiously, and finally
thought he heard some one chanting a medicine-song. It was low and
indistinct, but still there was something about it that sounded
familiar. A few moments later Running Fox identified it as one of the
songs which he had learned from old Sky Dog, the Delaware medicine-man.
Then the startling truth suddenly confronted him.
“Spotted Deer!” Running Fox cried in a tense whisper.
“Yes, Running Fox, I am here,” replied Spotted Deer. “This is very bad.
Now I know that there is no chance for us.”