A SUDDEN PERIL
"NOW they have gone!" said Roger, as the figures, outlined against the
sky, vanished behind some outcropping rock.
"Yes, and they seemed to be starting down the side of the ridge toward
us, as near as I could see," Dick declared, nor did the guide dispute
the assertion.
"Could that have been our friend Jasper Williams?" demanded Roger,
voicing the vague hope that was pounding at his own heart door.
"He was too far away for us to make sure, one way or another," admitted
Dick.
"But he seemed to be of about the same build; and, Dick, you could see
nothing to prove that it was any one else, could you?"
"No, only that he was in the company of Indians," and Dick shook his
head in a way that spoke of considerable doubt.
"But then," argued Roger, "they might be friendly Mandans, or Sioux, or
even some of these Sheep-eaters we've heard about, who live in certain
sections of the Wonderland in brush shacks." (Note 6.)
"Yes, that might be true, for they were too far away for us to tell
from the feathers in their scalp-locks what tribe they belonged to,"
the other boy admitted.
"And the last thing we heard about Jasper, from Hardy and Mordaunt, was
that he was being chased by Blackfoot Indians," Roger continued.
"Well," Dick explained, "this white man was no prisoner, for I saw
him point ahead at something, which would mean that his arms were not
fastened."
"We know that Williams is a remarkable man," mused Roger, "and, even if
those braves were of the fierce Blackfoot tribe, he might have managed
in some way to have made them his friends. I know it doesn't sound
reasonable, but Jasper knows Indian character better than any white man
we ever met."
"If he could do that he would be a magician."
"So he would," admitted the other boy, reluctantly; "but what are we
going to do about it, Dick?"
"There is nothing for us but to wait and see," came the reply. "They
acted as though heading in this direction. If you asked me about our
best move I'd say, hide and watch. If it turned out to be Jasper we
could call out; on the other hand, if it were one of these French
trappers, who are hand in glove with the Blackfoot Indians, we needn't
let them know we are around."
"But do you think they noticed us?" asked the other boy.
"That is more than I can say. I saw nothing to indicate it; but these
redskins are so tricky they would hide it, even if they knew, and were
watching us out of the tail of their eyes."
"Let us hide, and see!" Mayhew said just then, showing that he approved
of Dick's scheme.
Looking around, they quickly decided where it would be best to conceal
themselves. The ground was so rough and uneven that there were plenty
of places that had an inviting look. Mayhew selected a patch of bushes
as a retreat, and in another minute they were crouching under this
shelter.
Although most of the leaves were off the bushes, they grew so densely
that it would require something more than a casual glance in that
direction to betray the fact that several figures lurked there.
They heard many different sounds, for silence was hardly ever present
in this land of the spouting wells, which roared and hissed and
spluttered as they shot up their steaming fountains toward the heavens.
There was almost constantly a fretful murmur in the air that might
suddenly turn into a whining shriek or a dull roar.
A low exclamation from Mayhew announced that his trained vision had
detected some sort of movement, far or near.
"What is it?" demanded Roger, on the right of the guide.
"They are coming!" was the answer.
"Tell us where, that we may see also," the other urged.
"Then turn this way, and look between those two leaning trees," said
the guide. "But be careful that you move slowly. It is the quick
actions that catch the suspicious eye of an Injun."
"Oh! now I can see them plainly," whispered Roger. "They are heading
straight for us!"
"Blackfoot warriors for a certainty!" Dick muttered.
"Can you see the white man plainly, Dick?" asked Roger, impatiently.
"Not just yet," came the reply. "He must be back among some of the
Indians who hide him. But we will soon know what to expect. Keep
watching."
Almost immediately Roger himself gave a grunt. It sounded as though
bitter chagrin was connected with the sound.
"There, I saw him plainly, Dick," he whispered, "and it isn't Jasper
Williams at all. The man is a Frenchman, unless my eyes deceive me, and
I ought to know what one of them looks like."
"I believe it is none other than our old enemy, François Lascelles!"
Dick said in the ear of his cousin; a bit of information that must have
given poor Roger a strange thrill, for he could not have imagined any
more discouraging news.
"Oh! what if he runs across us here?"
"We would have to fight for our lives, I fear. That man hates all our
family about as bitterly as I've heard my father say another Frenchman
named Jacques Larue once did."
"But see how many there are of the Indians; a full dozen or more. They
look as fierce as any braves I ever saw. I hope they pass by, and fail
to notice us."
"Keep still, Roger, they are getting too close now for us to talk, even
in whispers. Be ready for the worst, even while hoping for the best.
That is the Armstrong motto, you know. 'Sh!"
Roger fixed himself so that he could see everything that went on
without making the slightest movement. He knew those keen eyes of the
red sons of the forest were quick to detect a suspicious movement,
no matter how slight, and that, if he so much as lifted his hand,
discovery would follow.
The Indians were coming forward in a string, or what the trappers of
that day called "Indian file," one stepping in the footprints of the
brave ahead of him. In this fashion it would be difficult for any enemy
on finding their trail to know whether three or twenty had passed. It
was a piece of Indian cunning, and a part of their nature, since it
could hardly have been undertaken for any particular reason at this
time.
They were heading directly toward the copse, but, since it would offer
a bar to their progress, they might turn aside when it was reached.
The boys almost held their breath as they watched the approach of
those fierce-looking Blackfeet. Up to then the brave who was held a
prisoner in the Mandan village had been the only member of this noted
tribe they had seen at close quarters. (Note 7.)
They were all picked men, if one could judge from their appearance;
they were lithe, active as cats, alert, and at the same time muscular.
Those swelling bronzed arms could doubtless paddle a dugout or a skin
canoe at tremendous speed. Among them there must be braves who had won
an enviable reputation for speed at foot races; or, it might be, renown
as long distance runners, capable of keeping on the trail at a dog-trot
for days and nights at a time.
It was therefore with considerable respect, and not a little anxiety as
well, that Dick and Roger watched them coming nearer.
Of course they took note of the white man, too. He was a bold-looking
adventurer, such as most of those French traders of the early century
were, dashing in appearance, and with a certain air of recklessness
about him, such as might be expected in those who daily took their
lives in their hands and faced unknown perils in a wilderness that was
almost a complete mystery to white men of the day.
François Lascelles had entered largely into the lives of these two
boys, even though their opportunities to see the wily and unscrupulous
French trader had been few, up to then, and mostly at their home, where
he visited to talk business with their parents.
If they had not liked his looks at that time he certainly presented a
far less prepossessing appearance now that he was away from all the
outposts of civilization and saw no need to repress the tiger element
in his nature.
To himself Dick was saying:
"That man would stop at nothing in order to have his own way. If ever
we had the bad luck to fall into his power we could not expect any
mercy, I am sure. And, if Jasper Williams is now in his hands, nothing
can save him, unless we are fortunate enough to be able to come to his
rescue."
This far Dick had arrived in his train of thought when he received a
sudden and severe shock. Mayhew had managed to give his foot a slight
kick, as though to call his attention to something that was going on
out in the open. Dick hardly required this signal to pay attention, for
he had already seen what was happening.
The Indians were no longer pushing forward as before. The one in the
lead had suddenly stopped up; and he must have given vent to some
exclamation that acted like magic on the rest, for every one had halted
as though controlled by a single wire.
They seemed to be gathering around their leader, who was pointing
excitedly to the ground, as though he had made an important discovery.
Mayhew grunted very softly, but the sound lost none of its significance
on account of being so gently emitted. As for Dick, he did not need to
be told what it was the Blackfoot had found; for, like a flash, it came
to him that he and his companions had headed toward the clump of bushes
from that very spot.
The sharp eyes of the leading brave had discovered their trail! It had
been a fatal blunder, their neglecting to cover this up in some manner,
although, at the time, it might have seemed as though there was not one
chance in a thousand the hostiles would come that way.
No one moved, even though they must have felt hot and cold by turns, as
the terrible result of the discovery flashed before their minds. The
Indians were jabbering together in excited tones, though what they
were saying the boys could only guess, since they knew nothing of the
Blackfoot tongue.
The white trader was apparently as curious as any of the dusky braves
in his company. He even dropped down on his hands and knees, the better
to examine the footprints. Of course it would be patent to them that
the tracks were made by white men.
What would be the result? Would they surmise that the three daring
invaders of the Evil Manitou's Wonderland, the forge where he made
all his thunderbolts, must be secreted near by? Could they read that
those tracks had just been made, since blades of brown grass were still
springing up after being pressed down?
Perhaps Lascelles even knew that Dick and Roger were searching for
Jasper Williams! He seemed to be superhuman when it came to learning
things that were supposed to be secret. And, if that were so, then it
was indeed a gloomy outlook that faced the pioneer boys.
Dick could only catch his breath and watch to see what would happen
next; that, and grip his gun tighter in his hands as he crouched
waiting for the explosion. He knew their presence in the copse was
suspected, for the trader was even then pointing straight at the patch
of bushes, and saying something to his red companions.