William’s illness—Sneak’s strange house—Joe’s courage—The bee hunt—Joe
and Sneak captured by the Indians—Their sad condition—Preparations to
burn them alive—Their miraculous escape.
Just before the dawn of day, Roughgrove and Glenn were awakened by
Mary. She was weeping at the bed-side of William.
“What’s the matter, child?” asked Roughgrove, rising up and lighting
the lamp.
“Poor brother!” said she, and her utterance failed her.
“He has a raging fever!” said Glenn, who had approached the bed and
placed his hand upon the young man’s temples.
“True—and I fear it will be fatal!” said Roughgrove, in alarm, as he
held the unresisting wrist of the panting youth.
“Fear not,” said Glenn; “God directs all things. This violent illness,
too, may in the end be a blessing. Let us do all in our power to
restore him to health, and leave the rest to Him. I was once an ardent
student of medicine, and the knowledge I acquired may be of some
avail.”
“I will pray for his recovery,” said Mary, bowing down at the foot of
the bed.
I will pray for his recovery.
“I will pray for his recovery,” said Mary, bowing down at the foot of
the bed.
“Dod—I mean—Joe, it’s most daylight,” said Sneak, rising up and rubbing
his eyes.
“Well, what if it is? what are you waking me up for?” replied Joe,
turning over on his rude pallet.
“Why, I’m going home.”
“Well, clear out them.”
“But you’ll have to get up and shut the gate after me”
“Plague take it all, I believe you’re just trying to spoil my nap!”
said Joe, much vexed.
“No I ain’t, Joe; I’m in earnest, indeed I am,” continued Sneak;
“bekaise I hain’t been inside of my house, now, for three or four days,
and who knows but the dod—mean the—Indians have been there and stole
all my muskrat skins?”
“If they have, then there’s no use in looking for them now.”
“If they have, dod—I mean, _burn_ me if I don’t foller em to the other
end of creation but I’ll have ’em back agin. But I ain’t much afeard
that they saw my house—they might rub agin it without knowing it was a
house.”
“That’s a pretty tale,” said Joe, now thoroughly awakened, and staring
incredulously in his companion’s face.
“It’s a fact.”
“Whereabouts is your house?”
“Why, it’s in the second valley we crossed when we went after the
wolves on the island.”
“Then your skins are gone,” said Joe, “for the Indians have been in
that valley.”
“I know they was there well enough,” said Sneak; “but didn’t I say they
couldn’t find the house, even if they was to scratch their backs agin
it?”
“What kind of a house is it?”
“’Spose you come along and see,” said Sneak, groping about in the dim
twilight for his cap, and the gun Glenn bad given him.
“I should like to see it, just out of curiosity,” replied Joe.
“Then go along with Sneak,” said Glenn, who approached the fire to
prepare some medicine; “it is necessary that every thing should be
quiet and still here.”
“If you’ll help me to feed and water the horses. Sneak, I’ll go home
with you,” said Joe. Sneak readily agreed to the proposition, and by
the time it was quite light, and yet before the sun rose, the labour
was accomplished, and they set out together for the designated valley.
Their course was somewhat different from that pursued when in quest of
the wolves, for Sneak’s habitation was about midway between the river
and the prairie, and they diverged in a westerly direction. But their
progress was slow During the night there had been a change in the
atmosphere, and a constant breeze from the south had in a great measure
softened the snow-crust, so that our pedestrians frequently broke
through.
“This is not the most agreeable walking I ever saw,” said Joe, breaking
through and tumbling down on his face.
“That’s jest as much like swimming as walking,” said Sneak, smiling at
the blunder of his companion.
“Smash it, Sneak,” continued Joe, rising up with some difficulty, “I
don’t half like this breaking-through business.”
“You must walk lighter, and then you won’t break through,” said Sneak;
“tread soft like I do, and put your feet down flat. I hain’t broke in
once—” But before the sentence was uttered, Sneak had broken through
himself, and stood half-submerged in the snow.
“Ha! ha! ha! you musn’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,”
said Joe, laughing; “but you may score one, now you have broken the
shell.”
“I got in that time,” said Sneak, now winding through the bushes with
much caution, as if it were truly in his power to diminish the weight
of his body by a peculiar mode of walking.
“This thaw ’ll be good for one thing, any how,” said Joe, after they
had progressed some time in silence.
“What’s that?” asked Sneak.
“Why, it ’ll keep the Indians away; they can’t travel through the slush
when the crust is melted off.”
“That’s as true as print,” replied Sneak; and if none of ’em follered
us back to the settlement, we needn’t look for ’em agin till spring.”
“I wonder if any of them _did_ follow us?” asked Joe, pausing abruptly.
“How can anybody tell till they see ’em?” replied Sneak. “What’re you
stopping for?”
“I’m going back,” said Joe.
“Dod—you’re a fool—that’s jest what you are. Hain’t We got our guns?
and if there _is_ any about, ain’t they in the bushes close to Mr.
Glenn’s house? and hain’t we passed through ’em long ago? But I don’t
keer any thing about your cowardly company—go back, if you want to,”
said Sneak, striding onward.
“Sneak, don’t go so fast. I haven’t any notion of going back,” said
Joe, springing nimbly to his companion’s side.
“I believe you’re afeard to go back by yourself,” said Sneak, laughing
heartily.
“Pshaw, Sneak, I don’t think any of ’em followed us, do you?” continued
Joe, peering at the bushes and trees in the valley, which they were
entering.
“No,” said Sneak; “I only wanted to skeer you a bit.”
“I’ve killed too many savages to be scared by them now,” said Joe,
carelessly striding onward.
“What was you a going back for, if you wasn’t skeered?”
“I wonder what always makes you think I’m frightened when I talk of
going into the house! Sneak, you’re _always_ mistaken. I wasn’t
thinking about myself—I only wanted to put Mr. Glenn on his guard.”
“Then what made you tell that wapper for, the other night, about
cutting that Indian’s throat?”
“How do you know it was a wapper?” asked Joe, somewhat what embarrassed
by Sneak’s home-thrust.
“Bekaise, don’t I know that I cut his juggler-vein myself? Didn’t the
blood gush all over me? and didn’t he fall down dead before he had time
to holler?” continued Sneak, with much warmth and earnestness.
“Sneak,” said Joe, “I’ve no doubt you thought he was dead—but then you
must know it’s nearly as hard to kill a man as a cat. You might have
been mistaken; every body is liable to be deceived—even a person’s eyes
deceive him sometimes. I don’t pretend to say that I haven’t been
mistaken before now, myself. It _may_ be possible that I was mistaken
about the Indian as well as you—I might have just _thought_ I saw him
move. But I was there longer than you, and the inference is that I
didn’t stand as good a chance to be deceived.”
“Well, I can’t answer all that,” said Sneak; “but I’ll swear I felt my
knife grit agin his neck-bone.”
Joe did not desire to pursue the subject any further, and they
proceeded on their way in silence, ever and anon breaking through the
snow-crust. The atmosphere became still more temperate when the bright
sun beamed over the horizon. Drops of water trickled down from the
snow-covered branches of the trees, and a few birds flitted overhead,
and uttered imperfect lays.
“Here we are,” said Sneak, halting in the midst of a clump of enormous
sycamore trees, over whose roots a sparkling rivulet glided with a
gurgling sound.
“I know we’re here,” said Joe; “but what are you stopping _here_ for?”
“Here’s where I live,” replied Sneak, with a comical smile playing on
his lips.
“But where’s your house?” asked Joe.
“Didn’t I say you couldn’t find it, even if you was to rub your back
agin it?”
“I know I’m not rubbing against your house now,” replied Joe, turning
round and looking up in the huge tree he had been leaning against.
“But you have been leaning agin my house,” continued Sneak, amused at
the incredulous face of his companion.
“I know better,” persisted Joe; “this big sycamore is the only thing
I’ve leant against since we started.”
“Jest foller me, and I’ll show you something,” said Sneak, stepping
round to the opposite side of the tree, where the ascent on the north
rose abruptly from the roots. Here he removed a thin flat stone of
about four feet in height, that stood in a vertical position against
the tree.
“You don’t live in there, Sneak, surely; why that looks like a wolf’s
den,” said Joe, perceiving a dark yawning aperture, and that the
immense tree was but a mere shell.
“Keep at my heels,” said Sneak, stooping down and crawling into the
tree.
“I’d rather not,” said Joe; “there may be a bear in it.”
Soon a clicking sound was heard within, and the next moment Joe
perceived the flickering rays of a small lamp that Sneak held in his
hand, illuminating the sombre recesses of the novel habitation.
“Why don’t you come in?” asked Sneak.
“Sneak, how do you know there ain’t a bear up in the hollow?” asked
Joe, crawling in timidly and endeavouring to peer through the darkness
far above, where even the rays of the lamp could not penetrate.
“I wonder if you think I’d let a bear sleep in my house,” continued
Sneak, searching among a number of boxes and rude shelves, to see if
any thing had been molested during his absence. Finding every thing
safe, he handed Joe a stool, and began to kindle a fire in a small
stone furnace. Joe sat down in silence, and looked about in
astonishment. And the scene was enough to excite the wonder of an
Irishman. The interior of the tree was full eight feet in diameter,
while the eye was lost above in undeveloped regions. Below, there was a
surface of smooth stones, which were comfortably carpeted over with
buffalo robes. At one side was a diminutive fireplace, or furnace,
constructed of three flat stones about three inches in thickness. The
largest was laid horizontally on the ground, and the others placed
upright on it, and attached to a clay chimney, that was by some means
confined to the interior side of the tree, and ran upward until it was
lost in the darkness. After gazing in amazement several minutes at this
strange contrivance, Joe exclaimed:
“Sneak, I don’t understand this! Where does that smoke go to?”
“Go out doors and see if you can’t see,” replied Sneak, placing more
fuel on the blazing fire.
“Go out of the _hole_ you mean to say,” said Joe, creeping out.
“You may call it jest what you like,” said Sneak; “but I’ll be switched
if many folks lives in _higher_ houses than I does.”
“Well, I’ll declare!” cried Joe.
“What ails you now?” asked Sneak, thrusting his head out of the
aperture, and regarding the surprise of Joe with much satisfaction.
“Why, I see the smoke pouring out of a hole in a _limb_ not much bigger
than my thigh!” cried Joe. This was true. Sneak had mounted up in the
tree before building his chimney, and finding a hollow bough that
communicated directly with the main trunk had cut through into the
cavity, and thus made a vent for the escape of the smoke.
“Come in now, and get something to eat,” said Sneak. This was an
invitation that Joe was never known to decline. After casting another
admiring glance at the blue vapour that issued from the bough some
ninety feet from the ground, he passed through the cavity with
alacrity.
“Where are you?” cried Joe, upon entering and looking round in vain for
his host, who had vanished in a most inexplicable manner. Joe stared in
astonishment. The lighted lamp remained on a box, that was designed for
the breakfast-table, and on which there was in truth an abundance of
dried venison and smoking potatoes. But where was Sneak?
“Sneak, what’s become of you?” continued Joe, eagerly listening for a
reply, and anxiously scanning the tempting repast set before him. “I
know you’re at some of your tricks,” he added, and sitting down at the
table, commenced in no indifferent manner to discuss the savoury
venison and potatoes.
“I’m only up stairs,” cried Sneak, in the darkness above; and throwing
down a rope made of hides, the upper end of which was fastened to the
tree within, he soon followed, slipping briskly down, and without delay
sprang to Joe’s assistance.
When the meal was finished, or rather, when every thing set before them
had vanished, Sneak rose up and thrust his long neck out of the
aperture.
“What are you looking at?” asked Joe.
“I’m looking at the warm sun shining agin yonder side of the hill,”
said Sneak; “how’d you like to go a bee-hunting?”
“A bee-hunting!” iterated Joe. “I wonder if you think we could find a
bee at this season of the year? and I should like to know what it’d be
worth when we found it.”
“Plague take the bee—I mean the _honey_—don’t you like wild honey?”
continued Sneak.
“Yes,” said Joe; “but how can you find any when there’s such a snow as
this on the ground?”
“When there’s a snow, that’s the time to find ’em,” said Sneak;
“peticuly when the sun shines warm. Jest come out here and look,” he
continued, stepping along, and followed by Joe; “don’t you see yander
big stooping limb?”
“Yes,” replied Joe, gazing at the bough pointed out.
“Well,” continued Sneak, “there’s a bee’s nest in that. Look here,” he
added, picking from the snow several dead bees that had been thrown
from the hive; “now this is the way with all wild bees (but these are
tame, for they live in my house), for when there comes a warm day
they’re sartin as fate to throw out the dead ones, and we can find
where they are as easy as any thing in the world.”
“Sneak, my mouth’s watering—suppose we take the axe and go and hunt for
some honey.”
“Let’s be off, then,” said Sneak, getting his axe, and preparing to
place the stone against the tree.
“Stop, Sneak,” said Joe; “let me get my gun before you shut the
_door_.”
“I guess we’d better leave our guns, and then we won’t be so apt to
break through,” replied Sneak, closing up the aperture.
“The bees won’t sting us, will they?” asked Joe, turning to his
companion when they had attained the high-timbered ridge that ran
parallel with the valley.
“If you chaw ’em in your mouth they will,” replied Sneak, striding
along under the trees with his head bent down, and minutely examining
every small dark object he found lying on the surface of the snow.
“I know that as well as you do,” continued Joe, “because that would
thaw them.”
“Well, if they’re froze, how _kin_ they sting you?”
“You needn’t be so snappish,” replied Joe. “I just asked for
information. I know as well as anybody they’re frozen or torpid.”
“Or what?” asked Sneak.
“Torpid,” said Joe.
“I’ll try to ’member that word,” continued Sneak, peeping under a
spreading oak that was surrounded by a dense hazel thicket.
“Do,” continued Joe, contemptuously, “and if you’ll only recollect all
you hear me say, you may get a tolerable education after a while.”
“I’ll be shivered if this ain’t the edication I wan’t,” said Sneak,
turning round with one or two dead bees in his hand, that he had found
near the root of the tree.
“Huzza!” cried Joe, “we’ll have a mess of honey now. I see the hole
where they are—its in a limb, and we won’t have to cut down the tree,”
and before Sneak could interpose, Joe mounted up among the branches,
and asked for the axe, saying he would have the bough off in five
minutes. Sneak gave it to him, and when he reached the place, (which
was not more than fifteen feet from the ground,) he commenced cutting
away with great eagerness. The cavity was large, and in a few minutes
the bough began to give way. In spite of Sneak’s gesticulations and
grimaces below, Joe did not bethink him that one of his feet still
rested on the bough beyond the place where he was cutting, but
continued to ply the axe with increasing rapidity. Presently the bough,
axe, and Joe, all fell together. Sneak was convulsed with laughter. Joe
sprang to his feet, and after feeling his limbs and ribs, announced
that no bones were broken, and laughed very heartily himself. They
began to split open the severed bough without loss of time. But just
when they were in the act of lifting out the honeycomb, four stalwart
savages rose softly from the bushes behind, and springing nimbly
forward, seized them both before they could make any resistance. The
surprised couple yelled and struggled to no purpose. Their hands were
soon bound behind them, and they were driven forward hastily in a
southerly direction.
“Oh! for goodness sake, Mr. Chief, please let me go home, and I’ll pay
you whatever you ask!” said Joe, to the tallest of the savages.
The Indian, if he did not understand his captive’s words, seemed to
comprehend his terrors, and was much diverted at his ludicrous
expression of features.
“Oh pray! good Mr. Chief—”
“Keep your mouth shet! They’ll never git through torturing us, if you
let ’em know you’re afraid,” said Sneak.
“That’s just what I want,” said Joe; “I don’t want them to ever quit
torturing us—because they’ll never quit till we’re both dead. But as
long as they laugh at they’ll be sure to let me live.”
Ere long, the savages with their captives, entered the dense grove
where Mary had been taken, before they set out with her over the
prairie. But it was evidently not their intention to conduct their
present prisoners to their villages, and demand a ransom for them. Nor
were they prepared to convey them away in the same dignified and
comfortable manner, over the snow-clad plains. They anticipated a
gratification of a different nature. They had been disappointed in all
their attempts to obtain booty from the whites. The maid they had taken
had been recaptured, and their chief was in the possession of the
enemy. These, to say nothing of the loss of a score of their brethren
by the fire-weapons of the white men, stimulated them with unerring
precision to compass the destruction of their prisoners. Blood only
could satiate their vengeful feelings. And the greater and longer the
sufferings of their victims the more exquisite would be the luxury of
revenge. And this caused them to smile with positive delight when they
witnessed the painful terrors of poor Joe.
When they reached their place of encampment, which was in the midst of
a cluster of small slim trees that encircled an old spreading oak of
huge dimensions, the savages made their prisoners stand with their
backs against two saplings that grew some fifteen paces apart. They
were compelled to face each other, that they might witness every thing
that transpired. Their arms were bound round the trees behind them, and
a cord was likewise passed round their legs to confine them more
securely. The savages then seemed to consult about the manner of
despatching them. The oldest and most experienced, by his hasty
gestures and impatient replies, appeared to insist on their
instantaneous death. And from his frequent glances northward, through
the trees, he doubtless feared some interruption, or dreaded the
arrival of an enemy that might inflict an ample retaliation. During a
long pause, while the Indians seemed to hesitate, and the old crafty
savage drew his steel tomahawk from his belt, Sneak sighed deeply, and
said, in rather mournful tones—
“The jig’s up with us, Joe. If I was only loose seven seconds, you
wouldn’t ketch me dying like a coon here agin a tree.” Joe made no
other response than a blubbering sound, while the tears ran down and
dropped briskly from his chin.
[Illustration: Joe and Sneak in difficulty.]
The savages gave vent to a burst of laughter when they beheld the agony
of fear that possessed their captive. The three that were in favour of
the slow torture now turned a deaf ear to the old warrior, and advanced
to Joe. They held the palms of their hands under his chin, and caught
the tears as they fell. They then stroked his head gently, and appeared
to sympathize with the sufferer.
“Mr. Indian, if you’ll let me go, I’ll give you my gun and twenty
dollars,” said Joe, appealing most piteously to the one that placed his
hand on his head. The Indian seemed to understand him, and held his
hand out for the money, while a demoniac smile played on his dark lips.
“Just untie my hands,” said Joe, endeavouring to look behind, “and I’ll
go right straight home and get them.”
“You rascal—you want to run away,” replied the old Indian, who not only
understood Joe’s language, but could himself speak English imperfectly.
“Upon my sacred word and honour, I won’t!” replied Joe.
“You lie!” said the savage, bestowing a severe smack on Joe’s face.
“Oh, Lord! Come now, Mr. Indian, that hurts!”
“No—don’t hurt—only kill musketer,” replied the savage, laughing
heartily, and striking his prisoner on the other side of the face.
“Oh! hang your skin!” cried Joe, endeavouring to break away, “if ever I
get you in my power, I’ll smash—” Here his sudden courage evaporated,
and again the tears filled his eyes.
“Poor fellow!” said the savage, patting his victim on the head. “How
much you give for him?” he continued, pointing to Sneak.
“If you’ll only let _me_ go, I’ll give you every thing I’ve got in the
world. He don’t want to live as bad as I do, and I’ll give you as much
for me alone as I will for both.”
“You’re a purty white man, now, ain’t you?” said Sneak. “But its all
the same. My chance is jest as good as your’n. They’re only fooling
you, jest to laugh. I’ve made up my mind to die, and I ain’t a going to
make any fun for ’em. And you might as well say your prayers fust as
last; they’re only playing with you now like a cat with a mice.”
The old Indian moved towards Sneak, followed by the others.
“How much you give?” asked the savage.
“Not a coon’s tail,” replied Sneak, with firmness.
“Now how much?” continued the Indian, slapping the thin lank cheek of
his prisoner.
“Not a dod-rotted cent! Now jest take your tomahawk and split my skull
open as quick as you kin!” said Sneak; and he bowed down his head to
receive the fatal blow.
“You brave rascal,” said the Indian, looking his captive in the eye,
and hesitating whether to practice his petty annoyances any further. At
length they turned again to Joe.
“That wasn’t fair, Sneak,” cried Joe, when the savages abandoned his
fellow-prisoner; “you ought to have kept them away from me as long as I
did from you.”
“I’m gitting sick of this tanterlizing business,” said Sneak. “I want
’em to git through the job, without any more fooling about it. If you
wasn’t sich a coward, they’d let you alone, and kill us at once.”
“I don’t want them to kill us—I’d rather they’d do any thing in the
world than to kill us,” replied Joe.
“Me won’t hurt you,” said the old savage, again placing his hand on
Joe’s head; but instead of gently patting it, he wound a lock of hair
round one of his fingers, and with a sudden jerk tore it out by the
roots.
“Oh, my gracious! Oh, St. Peter! Oh, Lord! Mr. Indian, I beg and pray
of you not to do that any more. If you’ll only untie me, I’ll get down
on my knees to you,” exclaimed poor Joe.
“Poor fellow, me won’t hurt him any more—poor head!” said the Indian,
tearing off another lock.
“Oh! oh! goodness gracious. _Dear_ Mr. Indian, don’t do that! You can
have no idea how bad it hurts—I can’t stand it. I’ll faint presently!”
said Joe, trembling at every joint.
“You’re a fool,” said Sneak, “to mind ’em that way. If you wasn’t to
notice ’em, they wouldn’t do it. See how they’re laughing at you.”
“Oh, Sneak, I can’t help it, to save my life, indeed I can’t. Oh, my
good Lord, what would I give to be away from here!” said Joe, his eyes
fit to burst from their sockets.
“I’ve killed many a deer in a minit—it don’t hurt a man to die more
than a deer. I wish the snarvilorous copper-skinned rascals would git
through quick!” said Sneak.
“Me try you agin,” said the savage, again going to Sneak.
“Well, now, what’re you a going to do? I’m not afraid of you!” said
Sneak, grinding his teeth.
“Me rub your head,” said the savage, seizing a tuft of hair and tearing
it out.
“Take some more,” said Sneak, bowing down his head.
“A little more,” iterated the savage, grasping a handful, which, with
much exertion, he severed from the head, and left the white skin
exposed to view.
“Won’t you have some more?” continued Sneak, without evincing the least
pain. “Jest take as much as you please; if you tear it off till my
head’s as bald as an egg, I won’t beg you to let me alone.”
“You brave fellow—won’t pull your hair any more,” said the chief.
“You be dod rot!” said Sneak, contemptuously.
“You mighty brave, shake hands!” continued the laughing savage, holding
his hand out in mockery.
“If you’ll untie my foot a minit, I’ll bet I kick some of the ribs out
of your body. Why don’t you knock our brains out, and be done at once,
you black wolves you!” said Sneak.
“Oh, Sneak! for my sake—your poor friend’s sake, don’t put such an idea
as that into their heads!” said Joe, imploringly.
“You’re a purty friend, ain’t you? You’d give so _much_ to ransom me!
They aint a going to quit us without killin’ us, and I want it all over
jest as soon as it kin be done.”
“Oh, no, Sneak! Maybe they’ll take pity on us and spare our lives,”
said Joe, assuming a most entreating look as the savage once more
approached him.
“You make good big Osage; you come with us, if we let you live?”
demanded the old Indian.
“I pledge you my most sacred word and honour I will!”
“You run away, you rascal,” said the savage, plucking another tuft of
hair from Joe’s head.
“I’ll be hanged if I stand this any longer!” said Joe, striving to
break the cord that confined him.
“Don’t notice the black cowards,” said Sneak.
“How can I help noticing them, when they’re pulling out my hair by the
roots!” said Joe.
“Look where they pulled mine out,” said Sneak, turning that part of his
head in view which had been made literally bald.
“Didn’t it hurt you?” asked Joe.
“Sartinly it did,” said Sneak, “but I grinned and bore it. And now I
wish they’d pull it all off, and then my scalp wouldn’t do ’em any
good.”
“That’s a fact,” said Joe. “Here, Mr. Osage,” he continued, “pull as
much hair off the top of my head as you want.” The savages, instead of
paying any attention to him, seemed to be attracted by some distant
sound. They stooped down and placed their ears near the earth, and
listened intently for some time. At length they sprang up, and then
ensued another dispute among them about the manner in which the
prisoners should be disposed of. The old savage was yet in favour of
tomahawking the captives and retreating without delay. But the others
would not consent to it. They were not satisfied with the small amount
of suffering yet endured by the prisoners. They were resolved to glut
their savage vengeance. And the prisoners now observed that all traces
of mirth had vanished from their faces. Their eyes gleamed with
fiendish fury, and drawing forth their glittering tomahawks, they
vanished in the thicket, and were soon heard chopping off the small
boughs of the trees.
“What are they doing Sneak?” asked Joe.
“Don’t you know what they’re doing? ain’t they cutting wood as fast as
they kin?” replied Sneak.
“Well, I’m not sorry for that.” said Joe. “because its almost dark, and
I’m getting chilly. If they’d only give me something to eat, I’d feel a
heap more comfortable.”
“You varasherous fool you, they’re cutting wood to burn us up with. Oh,
I wish I was loose!”
“Oh, goodness gracious!” cried Joe, “I never thought of that! Oh, I’m
gone!”
“Are you?” cried Sneak, eagerly; “I’d like to be off too, and we’d give
them a race for it yit.”
“Oh! Sneak, I mean I’m ruined, lost for ever! Oh! St. Peter, pity my
helpless condition!”
“Don’t think about pity now,” said Sneak; “nothing of that sort is
going to do us any good. We must git loose from these trees and run for
it, or we’ll be roasted like wild turkeys in less than an hour. I’ve
got one hand loose!”.
“So have I almost!” cried Joe, struggling violently.
“One of ’em’s coming!—shove your hand back, and pertend like you’re
fast, till he goes away agin!” said Sneak, in a hurried undertone.
The savage emerged from the bushes the next moment, and after
depositing an armful of billets of wood at the feet of Joe, and walking
round behind the prisoners to see if they were still secure, returned
for more fuel.
“Now work for your life!” said Sneak, extricating his wrist from the
cord, and striving to get his feet loose.
“Hang it, Sneak, I can’t get my hand out, though the string’s quite
loose! Make haste, Sneak, and come and help me,” said Joe, in a tone
that indicated his earnestness.
“Let every man look out for himself,” replied Sneak, tugging away at
the cord that bound his feet to the tree.
“Oh, Sneak, don’t leave me here, to be burnt by myself!” said Joe.
“You wouldn’t promise to give any thing to ransom me, a while ago—I’ll
cut stick as quick as I kin.”
“Oh, Sneak, I can’t untie my hands! If you won’t help me, I’ll call the
Indians.” But Joe was saved the trouble. He had scarce uttered the word
when all four of the Indians suddenly appeared, and throwing down their
wood, proceeded with much haste to put their horrid purpose in
execution. They heaped up the fagots around their victims, until they
reached half way to their chins, and when all was ready, they paused,
before applying the fire, to enjoy the terrors of their captives.
“You cold—me make some fire to warm—huh,” said the old Indian,
addressing Joe, while the others looked on with unmixed satisfaction.
“Oh! my dear Mr. Osage, if you only knew how much money you’d lose by
killing me, I know you’d let me go!” said Joe, in tremulous but
supplicating tones.
“You lie—you got no money,” replied the savage; and, stooping down, he
began to split some dry wood into very small pieces to kindle with. Joe
looked on in despair, and seemed to anticipate a blister from every
splinter he saw. It was different with Sneak. Almost hid by the wood
heaped around him, he embraced every opportunity, when the eyes of the
savages were turned away, to endeavour to extricate himself from the
cords that bound him to the tree. Hope had not yet forsaken him, and he
resolved to struggle to the last. When the old savage had split off a
large quantity of splinters and chips, he gathered them up and began to
arrange them in various parts of the pile of green timber preparatory
for a simultaneous ignition. While he was thus engaged, Sneak remained
motionless, and assumed a stoical expression of features. But when he
turned to Joe, Sneak again began to tug at the cord.
“Oh pray, Mr. Indian!” exclaimed Joe, when he saw the savage carefully
placing the combustible matter in all the crevices of the pile around
him—“just only let me off this time, and I’ll be your best friend all
the rest of your life.”
“Me warm you little—don’t cry—poor fellow!” replied the Indian,
striking a light with flint and steel.
“Oh, Sneak, if you’ve got a knife, run here and cut me loose, before
I’m burnt to death!” said Joe, in the most heart-moving manner.
“Keep your mouth shet!” said Sneak; “jest wait till they go to put some
fire here, and I’ll show you a thing or two,” he continued, pouring a
handful of _powder_ among the dry splinters. The effect of the
explosion when the Indians attempted to surprise Glenn’s premises
occurring to Sneak, and recollecting that he had a quantity of powder
in his pockets, he resolved in his extremity to try its virtue on this
occasion.
“But they’re going to burn me first! Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Joe, as he
beheld the savage applying the fire to the splinters near his feet.
“Don’t say nor do nothing—jest wait till they come to me,” said Sneak,
with great composure. “Do you jess keep your mouth shet—it’ll be a long
while a kindling—it won’t begin to burn your legs for an hour.”
“Oh, goodness gracious! My knees begin to feel warm now. Oh, pray have
mercy on me, good Mr. Osage!” cried Joe, before the flame was as large
as his hand, and yet full three feet distant from him. The greater
portion of the fagots being green, the fire made very slow progress,
and it was necessary for the savages to procure a constant supply of
dry splinters to prevent it from going out.
At length, after the combustible material had burned out, and been
replenished several times, the more substantial billets of Joe’s pile
began to ignite slowly, and the old Indian then took up a flaming brand
and moved towards Sneak.
“Come on! you snarvilerous rattlesnake you, I’ll show you sights
presently!” said Sneak.
“You brave fellow—me burn you _quick_,” said the savage, applying the
torch, and, stooping down, placed his face within a few inches of the
crackling blaze, and began to blow it gently. Sneak twisted his head
round the tree as far as possible, and the next moment the powder
exploded, throwing down the pile of wood, and dashing the savage
several paces distant violently on the ground, and blackening and
scorching his face and hair in a terrible manner. The other Indians
instantly prostrated themselves on their faces, and uttered the most
doleful lamentations. Thus they remained a few minutes, evidently
impressed with the belief that the Great Spirit had interfered to
prevent the destruction of the prisoners. Hastily gathering up their
arms, they fled precipitately in the direction of their distant home,
and their yells of disappointment and defeat rang in the ears of their
captives until they died away in the distance.
“Sneak! make haste! they may come back again!” said Joe.
“They’ve tied my feet so tight I’m afraid I can’t undo it in a hurry,”
replied Sneak, endeavouring to break the cord by thrusting a stick
(that he had slipped from the pile to knock out the brains of one of
the Indians should his gun-powder plot not succeed,) between it and the
tree, and forcing it out until the pain produced became insufferable.
By this means the cord was loosened gradually, and moving it a little
higher up where the muscles had not yet been bruised, he repeated the
process. In this manner he laboured with certain but tardy success. But
while he was thus engaged, Joe’s predicament became each moment more
critical. The wood being by this time pretty well seasoned, began to
burn more freely. The blaze was making formidable advances, and the
heat was becoming intolerable.
“For heaven’s sake, Sneak!” cried Joe, “make haste and come here, or
I’ll be roasted alive!”
“Wait till I get away from my own tree,” replied Sneak.
“Oh Lord! I can’t wait a minute more! My shins are getting blistered!”
cried Joe, writhing under the heat of the blaze, which now reached
within a few inches of him, and increased in magnitude with awful
rapidity.
“Well, if you won’t wait till I git there, just go ahead yourself,”
said Sneak, at last extricating his feet by a violent effort, and
hopping to Joe’s assistance, with some difficulty, for his nether limbs
were considerably bruised.
“Hang it, Sneak, pull these burning sticks away from my knees!” said
Joe, his face flushed with pain.
“I’ll be bursted with powder, if you didn’t like to git into a purty
tight fix,” said Sneak, dashing down the consuming billets of wood.
“Now, Sneak, cut me loose, and then let’s run home as soon as
possible.”
“I hain’t got my knife with me, or I wouldn’t ’ave been so long gitting
loose myself,” said Sneak, slowly untying Joe’s hands.
“My goodness, how my arms ache!” said Joe, when his hands were
released. “Now, Sneak, undo my feet, and then we’ll be off in a hurry.”
“I’ll be slit if your feet ain’t tied like mine was, in rich a hard
knot that no mortal being can git it undone. I’ll take a chunk, and
burn the tarnation string in two,” said Sneak, applying the fire.
“Take care you don’t burn _me_,” said Joe, looking at the operation
with much concern.
Sneak’s plan of severing his companion’s bonds was successful. Joe
sprang in delight from his place of confinement, and, without uttering
another word, or pausing a single moment, the liberated companions
retreated from grove with all possible expedition.