THE HOLE IN THE HILL.
“Total darkness down here, isn’t there?” said Kent, putting out his hand
to see how wide the passage was, and finding hard walls within a foot of
where he stood.
“Yas,” answered Wild Nat; “but thet’s nothin’. Foller yer nose, an’ I’ll
foller you.”
The young man cautiously advanced, feeling his way, and after going some
ten paces, suddenly emerged into a cavern—how large it was impossible to
tell, owing to the darkness. It was evident, however, that there was
somewhere a communication with the outer world, as the air was not
stifling or mephitic, as usual in caves, but quite fresh and agreeable.
“Do we stop here?” asked Kent.
“Yas; I’ll have a light in about a minnit,” replied the trapper, groping
about in search of some torchwood, which he soon found and lighted,
revealing the size of the cave. It was a small, oval-shaped room, not
more than sixteen feet in length, and proportionately narrow. On two
sides there was a small recess, beyond which were several openings or
chambers communicating with each other by rugged passages, some of which
were several rods in length—mere rifts in the rock.
Kent amused himself with looking at the different rooms, while the
trapper built a small fire, and went out to take the horses to a more
secure place. In one of the chambers adjoining the first cavern was a
small pool of clear, cold water on one side, evidently a living spring,
for the water ran bubbling over the stones, disappearing on the other
side of the cave. The curious Kent followed the passages from one cave
to another until he had passed five, and then came to a large hall or
room, with which the cavern terminated. After examining these several
subterranean wonders as well as the dim light would permit, the explorer
returned to the outer room, and sat down to await Wild Nat’s return.
It was some time before the trapper returned, and when he made his
appearance his usually long face was considerably elongated.
“What is the matter?” asked his companion, noticing the hunter’s looks.
“Wal, sir,” said Wild Nat, “jist tew tell the truth in plain langwage,
kalkulated for everybody’s understandin’, thar’s an Injun been doggin’
our steps. Gallernippers an’ centerpedes! I’d like to scratch his bald
head!”
Kent smiled, despite his anxiety, at the trapper’s manner, and said:
“Dogging our steps, eh? How did you find it out?”
“Found out by virtew of my opptickles, in course! When I went out I see
sign plenty—broken twigs an’ misplaced bushes thet I knew dogoned well
we didn’t dew, an’ then I perceeded tew look about a little, an’ on
lookin’ about I see the catapiller’s tracks. Yes, I did.”
“Do you think he saw us come in here?” asked Kent.
“Can’t say,” replied Nat. “Might or mightn’t ag’in. I’m sumwhat afeard
he did. But, ef he did, an’ I git a chance at him, I’ll bet a holler
cottonwood full of beaver-tails thet he’ll wish he’d died afore he saw
me.”
“What will be the consequence if he has seen us?”
“Be down on us with a whole tribe, like bagpipes and wolf-preachin’; but
I’m not goin’ tew leave this place jist yet, till I see. When I pre-empt
a spot, I generally squat thar for sum time, as I shell on this present
occasion, ef nothin’ turns up wuss’n a red nigger’s moccasin. Let’s have
a little grub. I’m ’ginnin’ tew feel empty as an old sugar-cask.”
Seizing the piece of broiled meat, the trapper tore it in twain and
tossed his companion half. This being discussed, ere long they relapsed
into slumber.
The next morning the two men were out early, setting traps.
“We’d better keep our opptickles peeled,” said Nat, “or we might git
sick with lead pills on the stomach. I persume tew say thet thar’s
copper-skins ’round. Jist toss me over thet hatchet, will ye?”
When the traps were set, both men proceeded up the stream. As they were
passing through a small open spot, they were suddenly surprised by half
a dozen Indians, who rushed out at them from the bushes.
“Yahoo!” shouted Wild Nat. “Here’s for a scrimmage. Come on, ye
yaller-skinned alligators. I’m ekal tew any ten of ye!” and drawing his
bowie-knife with his right hand, and his revolver with his left, he
plunged at them, striking right and left, and firing at the same time.
Wayne, meantime, was not idle. With his rifle he brought down one of the
savages, and then, as the other barrel was empty, he clubbed it, and
swinging it about his head dealt blows right and left with terrible
fury.
In a moment half the Indians were down, and the remainder, surprised and
bewildered by the decision and effect with which they were met, when
they had counted on a complete surprise, took to their heels and
vanished in a twinkling.
“Purty well done,” said the trapper, coolly. “We’ve unkivered four
greasy nobs, an’ the rest, residew, an’ remainder has measured sile. He!
he! I guess they thought the climate warn’t healthy—not adapted to thar
peculiar constitutions, so tew speak. Let’s lift ha’r.”
“Heavens!” ejaculated Kent, “you are not going to scalp them?”
“I consider I _be_!” returned the trapper. “Wild Nat Rogers ain’t the
feller tew let ’em off with thar top-knots unmerlested. Kinder mortifies
’em, ye see, tew hev thar ha’r lifted, an’ any thin’ to morterfy a red
nigger, I say.”
“Only the savages practice that barbarity,” said Kent. “Why are you
better than they if you follow their customs?”
“By virtew of bein’ born a white man,” replied the trapper, proceeding
to remove the scalps of the fallen foe, while his companion went aside,
not caring to witness the operation.
The scalps the hunter carried to the cave, where he hung them up as
“trophies,” he said, “an’ ter remind him of the scrimmage.”
“Well,” said Kent, “I’d rather the ‘noble red-man’ should keep away from
here. I don’t relish the idea of having them discover this cave, and
likely enough keep us in here until we starve.”
“I should objeck tew thet thing, myself,” said the trapper, “but, I
guess they won’t find us. I’ve ockepied this domicil for several
seasons, an’ I hain’t been walled in yet. Fact is,” said the old hunter,
waxing eloquent, “I never was born an’ reared for the purpose of bein’
killed by an Injun. I’ve lived in this kentry for a number of years, an’
been in some four hundred an’ thirty-two scrimmages, reckonin’ it by
arithmetickal progression, an’ snatched some half-dozen copper-skins
bald-headed in each one; an’ I’m now goin’ on my fifty-tooth year, an’
at this present speakin’ I’m a whole individual, an’ endowed with sartin
unailyunable rights, among which is life, liberty, an’ the pursuit of
Injuns.”
This was said while the old trapper proceeded with the manufacture of a
pair of moccasins which he “wanted tew fool the reds with. Ye see,” he
said, cutting away at the leather, “thar’s Injuns ’round, an’ I want tew
scout a bit, an’ seein’ these moccasin-tracks they’ll naterly suppose
it’s an Injun made the tracks.”
Several days passed without any signs of Indians, and the young man was
enjoying himself. This wild, free life greatly pleased him. He went and
came, with no cares nor duties to hinder or perplex.
One day Wild Nat was busy cleaning his gun, which he averred had been
“consarndly bamboozled in some way. Why, it’s a solemn fackt, thet
yesterday when I shot at thet wild turkey it held fire, an’ it’s suthin’
it never done afore since I got it,” he continued, giving the wiper a
vicious jerk.
“Well,” said Kent, taking up his rifle and examining the priming, “I
believe I’ll go out a while, and see if I can get a wild turkey. I can’t
say that I appreciate buffalo-hump as a regular diet.”
He shouldered his rifle and started, followed by the trapper’s warning
words:
“Keep yer eyes open for Injuns, or they might ask ye to taste tomahawk.
I don’t doubt but they’re ’round.”
“All right; I will keep a sharp look-out,” was answered, as the young
man emerged from their retreat in the hill, and started up the ravine.
Passing from the gorge, Kent turned up the creek, which he followed for
a considerable distance, and then struck off to the south. From this
point there was a beautiful view of the mountains, and the young hunter
resolved to explore further. Accordingly he shaped his course toward the
desired point, and walked briskly for the space of half an hour, paying,
meantime, but little heed to Wild Nat’s injunction about keeping a
look-out for Indians. His thoughts were with Marion Verne, and he
wandered on abstractedly, till the extreme beauty of the scene before
him drew his attention, and he stopped to look about him.
Before, the mountains reared their heads, and at the left a high cliff
shot upward, crowned with a few stunted cedars, and draped with a
profusion of wild vines. He stood on a slight eminence, which sloped
away to the right, terminating in a series of gorges, deep and shadowy,
and covered with a thick growth of slender trees, laced and interlaced
with bushes and vines, till they were almost impenetrable. Around him
huge trees reared their heads, and bushes and vines grew in the wildest
confusion, and high in the ether a large bird screamed harshly as it
flew slowly over.
As the young man stood silently contemplating the scene, and wondering
at the deep silence which pervaded it, he was startled suddenly, by
hearing deep, guttural voices near him.
He had barely time to spring aside in the bushes, when, standing
precisely where he had stood a moment before, he beheld eight or nine
hideously-painted savages. Evidently the noise of his retreat had
startled them, for they stopped and listened attentively. He scarcely
dared to breathe, so close were the savages to him—the nearest one
standing not more than six feet distant. He was so situated that he
could see the Indians, while they could not see him, but, unfortunately,
in his haste, he had neglected to get his gun concealed, and about six
inches of the muzzle protruded from the bushes. He dared not withdraw
it, well knowing that the slightest movement would betray him, and with
bated breath he stood, hoping they would not discriminate between it and
the stems of the bushes.
The hope was a vain one. The Indian nearest him turned his head an
instant, and his eyes fell on the unlucky rifle. With a ferocious grunt,
he darted forward, followed by the rest. For Wayne there was nothing to
do but run, and, firing both barrels at the advancing foe, he turned and
fled toward one of the gorges before mentioned, the whole pack at his
heels.
The young man was an expert runner, but running on open ground was quite
a different thing from running in this wilderness, as he soon found.
However, he made pretty good progress, scrambling over logs, leaping
rocks, and dodging under lodged trees, over stones and dead boughs,
“ducking” his head to avoid limbs, and diving through thickets of vines,
with a celerity which would have astonished any one new to the business,
and utterly impossible, had it not been for the “motive power” behind.
Gradually he found he was distancing his pursuers, though they still
were not far behind. Hurrying forward, he scrambled through a tangled
thicket, and plunged down a narrow gorge, half filled with bushes,
through whose rocky bottom a little stream bubbled, and which terminated
in a sort of broken dell, intersected by ravines and gulf-like fissures
in every direction. Darting into one of these, he followed it until the
sound of pursuit grew faint, and then, panting and exhausted, he sunk
down against the rocky bank and drew a long breath. As he sat there,
mentally congratulating himself on his escape, and thinking of the
discomfiture of his enemies, his musings were suddenly interrupted by a
vise-like grip on his arm, and a guttural voice saying, in most
execrable English:
“Ugh! White man go with us.”
Looking up he found himself surrounded with Indians, painted similarly
to the ones he had just left behind.
He was a prisoner!
In an instant the woods rung with the wild whoops of his captors, and
directly the Indians who had pursued him arrived, rejoicing at the
capture, and brandishing their tomahawks with savage glee. After a short
consultation, the white man was bound securely, and mounted on a small
nag, whose powers of locomotion evidently had been exhausted years
before, and the whole party set out on the march.
As they journeyed on, the young man’s thoughts were of any thing but a
pleasant nature. A prisoner in the hands of these merciless savages,
with no one who knew of his whereabouts, what hope was there? If Wild
Nat knew of his plight there might be a rescue, and yet, what was one
man against so many?
They traveled steadily on until late in the afternoon; then halted in a
wood, and all dismounted. Wayne was considerably puzzled by the
proceedings. The Indians held a short council, and finally an old,
grave-looking fellow, who, Kent thought, might be a chief from his
appearance, and from the deference paid him, arose and made a speech of
some length. The prisoner, ignorant of the Indian tongue, of course did
not comprehend a word, but he saw that the chief’s wishes met with
approbation, from the nods and grunts of the august assembly.
The chief sat down and the consultation ended. Kent was most
unceremoniously taken from his horse and bound to a small tree. The
savages evidently were greatly pleased, and while wondering what it all
meant, their prisoner saw several Indians busily engaged in gathering
wood, which they deposited near him. The mystery was explained! He was
about to be burned at the stake!
The Indians, of whom there were fifteen or sixteen, began to yell and
jabber violently, and jumped about, brandishing their war-clubs and
tomahawks alarmingly near the prisoner’s head, who heartily wished they
would strike a hatchet into his skull, and save him from the fearful
death before him. He could meet death bravely in any form, but to be
burned at the stake—to die by inches in excruciating torture—the thought
was one of horror.
The wood was piled about him, at a little distance, to the hight of a
couple of feet, built up artistically with dry fagots, that looked as if
they carried in their gray hearts a world of heat and flame.
At last all was ready; the match was applied, and the little tongues of
fire began to curl up among the fagots, creeping slowly, but surely,
among the dry wood, and lapping hungrily about the sticks as if
impatient for its victim.
The young man resolved to die bravely, and as the heat increased so that
he began to feel its effects, he mentally commended his soul to heaven
and breathed a prayer for the safety and welfare of his aged parents,
who would mourn his unknown fate.
The savages were executing a wild war-dance, mingled with shouts and
songs, and accompanied by waving of clubs and tomahawks, and brandishing
of knives. In the shadow of the falling twilight their dusky forms
swayed to and fro, and their painted faces, lit by the increasing
flames, looked more like the faces of fiends than human beings.
The forked tongues of fire crawled on, increasing in strength and fury
every moment. Already Kent began to feel their scorching effects. His
knees were almost blistered, and the dense, rising smoke nearly
suffocated him.
Suddenly he heard the brands behind him rattle as if thrown aside by a
hasty hand; the same instant he felt the bands that bound him loosened,
and a voice which he instantly recognized as that of Vic Potter,
shouted:
“Run for yer life! Take thet, ye yaller rips!” and he fired his rifle
with such effect that two savages rolled in the dust, and, drawing his
knife, struck another who stood in his path; then snatching Kent’s gun
and powder-horn, which leaned against a tree near at hand, he bounded
away into the woods, closely followed by Kent, and vanished in a
twinkling!
So intent were the Indians on their barbarous work, that this sudden
onslaught of the guide completely surprised them, and with such
suddenness and celerity did he do his work, that, before they could
recover the shock, he was out of sight.
Then, with wild whoops of disappointment and rage they started in
pursuit.
“Foller me,” said Vic, as he sprung before the young man, “an’ in tew
minits we’ll be out o’ danger, so tew speak. Hear the cusses yell!”
The trapper made no slow work of measuring the distance, and Kent was
not far behind. After five minutes of hard running and dodging, the
trapper darted round a dense thicket, followed by the other. Kent was
surprised to see a man seated on a horse and holding another animal by
the halter.
“Up behind me,” shouted Vic, springing into the saddle. “Fleetfoot is
good for both of us.”
The young man mounted with a bound, and the horses dashed away.
“Varmints!” exclaimed the trapper. “Jist hear ’em holler! Guess they’ll
find the game has guv ’em the slip. Ye see they started after us afoot,
an’ in course they can’t catch us thet way, an’ it’ll take ’em some time
tew go arter their hosses.”
“You arrived just in time,” said Kent, as they swept along. “Ten minutes
later it would have been too late.”
“Zackly,” responded the trapper. “It war lucky I happened along. Ye see,
Scip and I—”
“Is that Scip?” interrupted Kent. “I hadn’t thought to ask who it was,
and the darkness prevented me from seeing. How are you, Scip? So you
concluded to try life on the plains a while, eh?”
“Yes,” replied the negro. “Vic said mout as well. I’s rader feerd ob de
Injins, but, he says, dar’s no danger. Looks like it, ye bein’ tied up
ter brile! Wish I’d staid wid de emergrants.”
“There’s no danger, so long as you keep out of their way,” laughed Kent;
“but the trouble is to keep out of reach. I flatter myself that the time
I made this morning would be hard to beat, but I fell into their hands
after all.”
“How war it?” asked Vic.
The young man then related the circumstances of his capture, adding:
“We have distanced our pursuers. There is nothing to be heard.”
“Gone arter thar animiles,” said Vic. “Which way is the cave?”
“South-west,” replied Kent.
“Guess we’ll p’int for thar, then,” said the trapper.
The horses’ heads were accordingly turned in that direction, and the
little party swept on.