BINDING UP AN ENEMY'S WOUNDS
"DO you believe him, Dick?" asked Roger, huskily, after the French
trader had turned his back on them, and the Indians busied themselves
binding the hands of their captives behind their backs, using deerskin
thongs for the purpose.
"I'm afraid it must be so," replied Dick. "I happen to know about that
knife, and have heard Williams say he prized it above anything he
possessed. It has saved his life more than once, I understand."
"Then if you recognized the knife it would mean that he is a prisoner
like ourselves," admitted Roger, with a long-drawn sigh.
"We may be taken to where he is being kept," the other told him.
"They say misery likes company."
"Oh! you must never give in like that. I tell you it is bound to come
out right in the end, though things may look dark just now. Such a bad
man could not win out ultimately. Do as I am doing and refuse to allow
yourself to think such a thing can happen."
"I try to--honestly I do, Dick; but what hope have we now? Here we are
in the power of that rascal, who means to see to it that we do not get
free until spring, and even then he may leave us to our fate. And, as
if that were not enough, Jasper Williams, the only one who can save our
parents' homes, is a prisoner and will be sent into the wilderness,
never to be seen again."
Dick could understand what a weight rested on the mind of his cousin.
Was he not himself fighting against the same depression, and conquering
it only because he would not give in?
"Listen, Roger," he said, impressively, "there is only one way for us
to win this fight, and that is by making up our minds nothing can ever
best us. Brace up, and shut your teeth together in the old way."
"Forgive me for giving in so soon; you are curing me fast now. I
already feel that things are never so dark but that they might be
worse."
"Much worse," Dick told him, resolutely. "Whenever you feel your knees
beginning to get weak under you, just shut your eyes and see father,
mother and little Mary sitting by the fireside at home. It will do
wonders. I know, for I have often tried it myself."
By this time the Indians had finished binding their arms behind them.
Evidently they expected to go to some other place to camp.
The day was not far from its close. Dick wondered whether they were to
be taken to the place where Jasper Williams was being held prisoner.
Lascelles had said it was a camp where his son Alexis and some other
Frenchmen were in charge, showing that he must wield considerable
influence over the warlike Blackfeet.
There was nothing to indicate what the result of the pursuit of Mayhew
had been, up to the time they started forth. This in itself gave the
boys a faint hope the guide might have eluded his pursuers. They had
considerable faith in Mayhew, and believed that he would not desert
them.
Still, what could one man do against such a legion of enemies, and
especially when in almost as much fear of the wonders of that enchanted
region as the superstitious Indians themselves?
Some of the Indians walked ahead, while others brought up the rear,
once they started. Dick was curious enough to take note of the course
they pursued. He had a dogged faith to believe that sooner or later he
would want to know something about this ground, for he hoped to tread
it again on the return journey to the explorers' camp.
It was, he found, a difficult task to keep track of their passage. This
was chiefly caused by the meanderings of the Indians. Whenever they
fancied they were approaching one of the spouting wells, with its steam
column, and its roaring voice, they would sheer off to one side, and
circle around it.
All this made their course an eccentric one, and Dick found it beyond
his power to figure it out. All he could do was to note the general
direction in which they were heading, and store it away in his memory
for future use.
Roger was close enough to him to allow of an occasional interchange of
remarks. Their captors seemed to pay no attention to what they were
saying; and of course none of them understood a word of it, so the boys
saw no need of restricting themselves when discussing their hopes and
fears.
"I believe they intend to camp before long," Dick said presently, as
they continued to move along through the pine-clad side of the slope
that rose to form a foothill to the mountain chain further away.
"But the sun is only setting, and these Indians never get tired, so
what makes you think they will halt?" Roger asked, himself very weary.
"But Lascelles is not anxious to keep going when there is no need,"
explained the other prisoner. "I saw him point out a spot to the tall
Indian at his side, who must be a sub-chief from the feathers in his
scalp-lock, and the bears' claws he carries about his neck. The Indian
shook his head, and pointed ahead, as if he meant that he knew of a
much better place to spend the night."
"I hope there's a bubbling spring there, and that it's ice-cold,"
ventured Roger, "for I'm dry as a bone, and somehow most of the water
up here is luke-warm, when it isn't nearly boiling."
"There was that one place we struck," Dick remarked, "where a cold
stream ran so close to one of the hot pools that I really believe you
could catch a trout in the one, give it a swing over your head, and
drop it in the other so it would be cooked without being taken off the
hook."
"I can see what the folks at home will do and say when you tell that
yarn," observed Roger, with a faint chuckle, as though for the moment
he had forgotten their predicament.
"Look, there are three other Indians waiting for us by that dead tree!"
Dick suddenly exclaimed.
"One of them is wounded in the shoulder, too!" remarked Roger. "Oh!
Dick, can those be the men who pursued Mayhew?"
"I was just thinking about that myself," returned the other; "and, now
that you ask me, I must say I believe they are. That one certainly has
been struck by a bullet. See how crudely they have bandaged the wound.
If they would let me try my hand I could do a heap better."
"Suppose you tell that to Lascelles," suggested Roger, quickly. "It
might make us friends among the Indians, and goodness knows we need
them. Besides, I never liked to see even an Indian suffer."
"I remember hearing my father tell how, long years ago, when they were
living up on the bank of the Ohio, they found a young Indian badly
wounded, and took him into their camp to nurse. Some of the settlers,
who believed that every Indian was a snake in the grass, wanted to put
him to death, but father and uncle had their way, and Blue Jacket's
life was spared."
"Yes," added Roger, "and ever afterwards he was the best friend the
settlers had. Why, he even followed our parents most of the way down to
the Mississippi, when they descended the Ohio River on a flatboat. And
then another time, you remember, they won the good will of the great
Indian chief, Pontiac, by saving his life."
"That is a fact, Roger; and he gave them a wampum belt that kept them
from the fury of the Indian ever afterwards. Some people may not think
it pays to befriend an Indian, but we have been taught differently."
When the three Indians joined the main column Dick tried to ascertain
whether they had been successful in their pursuit of Mayhew, or had met
with failure.
He knew it would be folly to try to obtain this information through
the wily Frenchman, who, wishing to add to their distress, would very
likely boast that the frontiersman had been brought down.
Dick, however, quickly made up his mind that this could not be the
case. The sullen manner of the three braves was enough in itself
to tell the story of their having been outwitted by Mayhew. Then,
besides, if they had slain the hunter they would be shouting of victory
and holding up a freshly taken scalp in evidence.
"Depend on it, our friend got away," Dick told Roger.
"I was thinking that myself," returned the other, "for they look mad
enough to bite a nail in two, if they knew what such a thing was."
For some little time they marched along steadily. Then the
important-looking Indian, who was walking alongside Lascelles, turned,
and called out something in his own language.
"Good! we are going to stop at last!" muttered Roger. "I can hear the
tinkling of a running brook close by. I hope the water is good and
cold, and that they let me drink my fill."
There was no doubt about it, for the Indians no longer kept pushing
forward. To make a camp, when far from home, was an easy matter for
these hardy braves, accustomed, as they were, to enduring all manner of
hardships with the stoicism that has always distinguished their race.
There were no tents to erect, no packs to undo, and getting the meal
was a most primitive operation, since it would probably consist of
cooking some sort of meat by thrusting it in the flames at the end of
long sticks of wood.
When some of the braves started to fasten the prisoners to two trees
that grew close together, Dick thought it about time to begin making
friends. Accordingly he called to Lascelles to approach, as he had a
communication to make that might strike him favorably.
"I have had some success in binding up gun-shot wounds," Dick told him,
"and if I was given a chance I believe I could do that poor fellow some
good. He may bleed to death unless something is done."
The wily Frenchman eyed him keenly.
"Zat sounds very good, but how am I to know zat you vill not try to
escape if ze bonds zey are remove?" he demanded suspiciously.
"I will give you my promise not to attempt anything of the sort as long
as my hands are free," Dick assured him. "Besides, it would be folly to
try to run away when you have your gun, and they their bows and arrows
handy. Come, loosen my hands and let me see what I can do."
Lascelles made sure to get the consent of the chief before he would
touch the thongs, but he finally did so. Some of the Indians, learning
that the paleface boy was a medicine man among his people, watched with
some interest to see how he treated the wound of their companion.
Dick had in truth been unusually successful in handling this particular
form of injury, and knew about how it should be treated. He had scant
material with which to work, but his deft fingers made up in part for
the want of other things.
The salve which he produced from his ditty bag was home-made, for his
mother knew all about medicinal herbs and their values.
When, after completing the job, Dick looked up into the face of
his "patient" and asked how it felt, while the brave may not have
understood the exact words, at the same time he must have guessed the
nature of the inquiry, for he nodded his head in the affirmative as
though to admit that his condition had been made much more bearable.
"Now you _have_ got a job on your hands!" sang out Roger, as he saw
the other wounded warriors pressing forward, as though meaning to have
their hurts looked after in the same fashion.
Dick was satisfied that this was not an effort thrown away. If he
could make the Blackfeet understand that white men were not the
unfeeling monsters they had been painted by the French fur-traders it
would be a good thing. Besides, they knew not what their future might
be, and the time was likely to come when a friend in the Indian camp
would prove a profitable investment. (Note 8.)
"We ought to call this camp Armstrong Hospital, I think!" said Roger,
after it was all finished, and Dick had been secured to his tree near
by.
"I hope my work wasn't wholly wasted," remarked Dick. "As they have
built a fire it seems settled that we are to stay here to-night.
Perhaps to-morrow they mean to take us to the other camp, where
Lascelles said Williams is held a prisoner."
"And on my part," added the other captive, "I hope they will give us
some of the meat they've started to cook. When I can catch his eye I
want to ask Lascelles to get me a drink of water. My tongue seems to be
sticking to the roof of my mouth."
"If we could make one of the wounded Indians understand, I think they
would do a little thing like that for us; but the Frenchman seems to
be scowling blackly at me just now. Perhaps, after all, he is sorry
about letting me dress the wounds of the braves; he may suspect that
I'm getting too popular, and that it may somehow hurt his game in the
end."
"Who knows how that may work out?" declared Roger. "One thing is sure,
we must keep our wits about us, and try to figure out a way to get
free."
Dick seemed to be of the same mind, for he nodded his head, and said:
"If we have half a chance we must try to escape to-night. That Canadian
scout in the explorers' camp, Drewyer, knows considerable about these
Blackfoot Indians, and he told me they are very treacherous, often
killing their captives as they take a freak, or the medicine man of the
tribe has a pretended message from Manitou that they must be put to
death. So we dare not trust them, but must escape by any means."