CAPTURED
When Klitonda left his lodge on that warm summer morning, he plunged at
once into the forest, and struck a course straight for a mountain peak
far away in the distance, towering high above its fellows. At its base
lay a placid lake, abounding in fish, where he believed many of the
Indians were encamped. Here he expected to find the young hunters upon
whom his hopes were fixed.
A rough, crooked trail wound through the wilderness, and along this he
travelled. Occasionally he paused and listened, for he knew that on his
right, and not far away, the Chilcats were lying in ambush. He suspected
that a number of the band would be scouring the forest for game, and
it would, therefore, be necessary for him to advance with the greatest
caution. Hardly a sound did he make as he glided stealthily among the
trees, his eyes and ears keenly alert to every object and noise. Open
wild meadows at times stretched out before him, and these he skirted,
keeping well within the sheltering shadows of the friendly borders.
He was thinking deeply as he proceeded, for much was at stake, and he
knew that in order to win out against the Coast tribe strategy rather
than physical force would be necessary. Klitonda was no mere machine
speeding through the forest, but a stern vital reality, whose breast
throbbed with mingled emotions of hatred toward the Chilcats, and an
intense love for his only child, and the welfare of his people.
After clearing what he believed to be the extreme outward limits of
danger, he no longer paused to listen. The Chilcats would not be so
far afield, so he imagined. He felt secure now, and in this sense
of security lay his immediate danger. He became less cautious, and
gave himself up to various plans for the overcoming of his enemies.
But Klitonda might have known that he was never safe when the Coast
dogs were anywhere within the borders of the country. He did not know
that several of the hated tribe had been sent out to ascertain the
whereabouts of the various Ayana bands. They had been travelling for
some time, and coming to a little stream which purled gently through the
forest, had stopped to drink, and to rest beneath the shade of a large
fir tree.
All unconscious of the presence of his enemies, Klitonda was hurrying
on his way. For weary miles his course took him through a region where
not a drop of water could be obtained. Here the ground was parched and
dry. The few trees, and what scanty vegetation there was, were stunted,
and maintained a precarious existence. Fires had swept over the land
years before, and large trunks stood out gaunt and lifeless amid this
scene of desolation. Klitonda longed for water to cool his parched lips.
The heat was almost unbearable, stifling in its intensity, with not a
breath of air to give a moment's respite. In addition to this there were
innumerable swarms of flies. They were persistent creatures, surrounding
the traveller, and attacking him with the utmost ferocity. At times they
almost blinded him as he hurried onward. He had been accustomed to these
pests from infancy, but never had he known them to be as bad as they
were on this day. He remembered how his parents had often built smudge
fires, around which men, women, and children would crowd, preferring the
blinding smoke to the torture of the insects.
Klitonda now looked eagerly forward to the little stream, which he
knew was not far off. There he could stop, slake his burning thirst,
and eat some of the dried moose meat he had brought with him. He had
thrown aside all precaution, and with bent head speeded down the slope
toward the water, which ere long he heard rippling through the forest.
Reaching the bank he threw himself down upon several stones, and in this
prostrate position drank eagerly of the sparkling brook. The murmuring
sounds around him deadened his ears to any other noise, so he did not
hear the soft footsteps of six robust Chilcats as like tigers they
glided upon their prey.
Klitonda had satisfied his thirst, and had lifted his head, and was
about to regain his feet, when in an instant his enemies were upon him.
With a gurgling roar of rage Klitonda recoiled at the attack like some
mountain grizzly suddenly startled in its den. With a terrific backward
bound he bore the clinging Chilcats with him, and for one brief minute
it seemed as if this giant of the forest would free himself from his
adversaries. His rage was like that of a madman, and his strength
appeared almost superhuman. He tossed the Chilcats about like so many
playthings, and could he have laid his hand upon his axe, firmly secured
in his belt, he would soon have made an end of the whole six opponents.
But his arms, legs, and body were so enmeshed by merciless arms that he
found it impossible to shake himself free. He staggered to his feet, but
could not stand in an upright position for any length of time, and ere
long he was forced to the ground, with five Chilcats seated upon his
body, while the sixth securely bound his feet, and fastened his hands
behind his back with strong moose-hide thongs.
When Klitonda realised that all further resistance would be in vain, he
remained very quiet, and watched his captors with an air of apparent
indifference. When it was possible to fight he did so with all the
strength at his command. But when once overcome, and helpless, he could
show his enemies how an Ayana chief could bear defeat.
The Chilcats having firmly bound their captive drew aside, and conversed
together in low tones. What they said Klitonda could not tell, but
presently they returned, unbound his feet, and commanded him to rise.
This he did without an instant's hesitation and stood before them
awaiting their further orders. Not a shadow of uneasiness marked his
face, as drawn to his full height, he confronted the Chilcats. His eyes
alone betrayed the tumultuous emotions which were stirring within his
breast. They glowed like two living coals of fire, and well it was for
the Coast braves that the chief's hands were tied. In fact so powerful
did he seem standing there that the Chilcats placed another thong about
his wrists for greater security. They could not well afford to lose so
valuable a prisoner who had luckily fallen into their hands. Then for
the first time a sarcastic smile played about Klitonda's mouth.
"The Chilcats are cowards," he said. "They are six to one. They sneak up
like dogs. They are afraid to fight. They know the strength of the chief
of the Ayana, and fear him when bound. They tremble as they look upon
him. Their hearts are the same as jack-rabbits. Bah!"
"Let Klitonda talk," replied one. "The Chilcats care not what he says.
He will do more than talk when he is taken before the chief's son. He
will not sneer then. He calls the Chilcats dogs, but remember dogs can
bite. But, come, it's time to be on the way, for a long trail lies
ahead."
Klitonda's bow, hunting-axe, and sharp knife were taken from him. He
was not surprised at this, for it was only natural that they should
disarm such a noted antagonist. Only about the token arrows did he feel
anxious. He had dropped them by his side as he stooped to drink, and in
the struggle and excitement which ensued the Chilcats had not noticed
them. If they remained there the Ayana Indians might find them, and come
to his assistance. There was only a very slight possibility of their
being found by the right persons. It was his only hope, however, and he
felt somewhat relieved when at last they left the place and the arrows
remained undisturbed where they had been dropped.
The Chilcats took special care that their prisoner should not escape.
They were armed with guns, which had been supplied by the white traders
along the coast. They were proud of these weapons, and by means of
them they believed they were almost more than a match for the Interior
Indians. In all their unscrupulous barter with the Ayana they would
never trade a musket for any price no matter how tempting. It was their
policy to confine the defeated people strictly to their primitive
weapons, as less formidable in case of an uprising.
Klitonda walked in advance, and even if his hands had been free he
would have had no chance whatsoever of evading the watchfulness of
his captors. The Chilcats wished to take their prisoner back to camp
alive. But rather than lose him they would not have hesitated to shoot
him down. And this Klitonda well knew. The Chilcats had a number of
old scores to settle with him, and shooting would be too easy a death.
They had other choice punishments in reserve for this Ayana chieftain.
Klitonda made no effort to escape. He walked more like a conqueror than
a bound prisoner. Proudly he carried his head like some monarch of the
forest. They might curb his body, but not his defiant spirit. He strode
along at such a rapid pace that his captors found it difficult at times
to keep up with him. He did not seem to mind the heat nor the flies now,
for he had other things of a more serious nature to trouble him. He was
thinking of the wreck of all his plans, and what would become of the
white men, and his own people. That the former could hold out for any
length of time against the overwhelming numbers of Chilcats he could
scarcely believe. Their Post would be destroyed, and they themselves
most likely killed. And what would become of Owindia? Who would protect
her? There was little wonder that at such thoughts Klitonda should
fiercely strain at the gripping thongs. Oh, to be free once more! With
hands unloosed he would face the whole Chilcat horde. He did not fear
death, if he could meet it in the midst of his enemies, with hunting axe
in hand. But to be bound like a cur, and to endure all the insults which
would be heaped upon him, with an ignominious death in the end, were
like gall and wormwood to the proud chief.
Thus all through that hot afternoon they sped on their way. The sun sank
low in the west, and at length disappeared behind the trees. The air
became cooler, and the innumerable flies ceased their pitiless torture.
The trailing light of day hung lingeringly over the land until night
at length rose slowly up from forest and valley, and folded her in its
diaphanous mantle. The narrow trail became lost in the deepening gloom,
and the wayfarers were forced to depend upon the sense of touch rather
than sight to guide them forward. Their progress became slower, and the
Chilcats crowded closer to their prisoner, fearful lest they should lose
him in the darkness. No stars were visible, for thick clouds had drifted
in from the coast, and a plaintive wind began to moan among the trees.
But steadily they pressed onward, until at length a light pierced the
murky gloom straight ahead. Then the Chilcats paused, while one of them
lifted up his voice, and gave a succession of short shrill calls. Soon
an answer came speeding back, so without further hesitation they hurried
onward out of the night toward the cheerful fire.
To Klitonda the place seemed alive with Indians crowding around the
genial blaze, for the night was now chilly. They were evidently
preparing to leave, for their guns were lying near, while their
hunting axes and sharp knives were in their places. They were a hardy,
formidable band of warriors which met Klitonda's gaze. One glance was
sufficient for him to interpret the purpose of their preparations. The
Post was the object of their attack, and the dark night would stand
them in good stead. For themselves they had no fear. The Ayana Indians
they held in such contempt, that they did not think them worthy of
consideration. Instead of prowling about the Chilcat camp they believed
that they were hurrying off to their mountain fastnesses. As for the
white men they were not so sure. They, accordingly, had several braves
lying in ambush watching the Post, who would hurry back with the news
should the white traders sally forth for a night attack. The Chilcats,
therefore, felt no immediate danger, and were laughing and chatting
about the fire as Klitonda drew near.
At once considerable excitement ensued at the presence of the outcast
chief. Forgotten for a time was the contemplated raid upon the Post, and
all turned their attention to the prisoner standing in their midst.
Klitonda uttered not a word, but gazed calmly upon his enemies. He noted
their leader, the chief's son, and a slight curl of contempt flickered
about the corners of his mouth as he watched him. He was smaller than
the ordinary Chilcat, fat, and possessed of a weak, sensual face.
Stupidity and arrogance were plainly stamped upon his features. So this
was the creature who made war upon the Ayana, and demanded Owindia for
his wife. Better, so Klitonda thought, that his daughter should be dead
than to live with such a brute. He was surprised, too, at the deference
paid to him by his men, and how implicitly those around the fire obeyed
his slightest word. This leader was evidently fond of pow-wows, when he
could give vent to his oratorical powers.
"Bamba is pleased to see Klitonda, chief of the Ayana," he began,
turning to the captive. "But where is his daughter? Why is she not here
too?"
"Dog of a Chilcat," was the low growl-like response. "Why speak such
soft words? Klitonda knows their worth. Owindia will never be the wife
of such a cur as Bamba. The Chilcats are squaws. They are afraid of
Klitonda. He stands here in their midst. Unfasten these thongs. With all
his warriors about him, does he fear one Ayana brave?"
"Why does Klitonda say such things?" was the sharp reply. "Does he not
know that he is in the hands of the Chilcats? Does not his heart tell
him that soft words will come better from his lips?"
"Bah! Klitonda is not a jack-rabbit. He has said that the Chilcats are
squaws, but no he was wrong, they are papooses."
During this conversation Klitonda was standing close to the fire, while
the Coast Indians were gathered near, surrounding their leader. As the
word of contempt fell from the captive's lips, Bamba turned and pointed
to a tree standing in the shadows several rods away.
"Take the Ayana chief, and fasten him there," he commanded. "Bamba would
talk to the Chilcat warriors. Make the dog safe, neck, body, and feet.
Quick."
Klitonda was immediately seized, and hurried across the open. With his
back placed against the tree he was bound as Bamba had directed. And
there he was left alone facing his captors, who were now gathered
about the fire in eager consultation. Klitonda knew that escape from
such a situation was impossible. The thong about his neck was alone
sufficient to bind him, apart from the others around his body and
ankles. It drew his head back against the tree in a cramped position,
forcing him to look upwards, and only with extreme difficulty could he
observe the warriors sitting near the fire. The wind swayed the trees,
and the cold air drifted into his face. But though his body was bound,
his indomitable spirit was free. Thongs, and the power of the Chilcats
could not curb that. He knew what to expect from his merciless enemies.
What the outcome of their consultation would be he had not the slightest
doubt. But no matter what they might do he would be Klitonda, the Ayana
chief, to the bitter end.