OUT OF THE WOODS
For nearly a minute Roger stood and stared at the Indian, who, despite
his modern clothes was yet sufficiently a redman to make the boy wonder
how in the world he ever came there. On his side the newcomer glanced at
Roger by the light of the flickering fire, and a smile came on his
bronzed face.
"Sagoola! Sagoola!" he repeated. "How do!"
"Oh!" said Roger, faintly comprehending that his companion had only
greeted him in the Indian tongue. "Oh, how do you do yourself?"
"Fine--good," answered the Indian.
"I'm glad you came along just when you did," went on Roger. "The
wild-cat had me down, and I thought I was a goner."
"Hu!" grunted the redman. "Smart boy. Light fire. Wild-cat heap 'fraid
fire. Ole Johnny Green shoot 'um."
"Johnny Green?" repeated Roger in an inquiring tone.
"Yep. Me ole Johnny Green. My boy, he young Johnny Green."
"Why, I thought Indians had different names from that," said the boy.
"Names like Yellow Tail, Eagle Eye, and Big Thunder."
"Hu! Good names wild Injun. Me tame Injun. Have tame name. Live to
Reservation at Castle. Where yo' from?"
"My name is Roger Anderson," and he spoke slowly, so his new friend
would have no trouble in understanding, "I am staying with my uncle,
Bert Kimball, at Cardiff, and got lost in the woods. I was riding with
my cousin, and the horse ran away."
"Bert Kimball yo' say yo' uncle?"
"Yes."
"Over by Cardiff?"
"Yes, do you know him?"
"Sure, sartin. Bert an' me good frens. Yo' loss?"
"Well, I guess that's what you'd call it; I'm lost," admitted Roger,
whose spirits had improved very much in the last few minutes. He was no
longer in fear of the wild-cat, and, as for the Indian, he thought,
rightly, that he need be in no worry as to his intentions, though it was
the first time he knew how near he was to an Indian encampment.
He briefly explained how he had come to be in the woods, and then he
waited to see what Johnny Green would propose. The Indian stood his
rifle up against a tree, stalked off into the darkness, and returned
presently, lugging the body of the wild-cat, which he threw on the
ground near the smouldering fire. Seeing that the blaze was dying out
for lack of fuel, Roger cast on some twigs and branches, until the
flames leaped up brightly. Johnny Green squatted down on a log, and
Roger followed his example. For a moment there was silence between them.
Then the Indian spoke.
"Not much good for eat," he said, indicating the carcass of the dead
animal he had shot. "Radder have coon. Fur of 'um good; that all."
"Were you out hunting coons?" asked Roger, and Johnny Green nodded that
he was.
"Will you show me the way back home, when you are through hunting?"
asked the boy, after a pause.
The Indian nodded his head once more, to indicate that he would act as
guide. He looked to the loading of his rifle, and then proceeded to tie
the legs of his prize. He slung the body about his neck, picked up his
gun, and looking at Roger, said: "Come 'long. We go to Bert Kimball. I
show yo'."
He paused to trample out the embers of the fire, that it might not
spread in the dry woods, and then he started off through the forest,
seeming to strike the path without even looking for it. Roger hesitated
a moment, then followed.
The boy kept close behind his guide, who walked at rather a swift pace,
as though he was on a country road, instead of being in the depths of
the wood, with only a pale moon, now half obscured by clouds to light
him. The boy could not help admiring the unhesitating manner in which
the Indian picked his way through the maze of trees. It was what might
be expected of a wild Indian, Roger thought; of one who had lived all
his life in the open. But here was apparently a civilized redman, who
had not a chance to exercise his woodcraft in years, perhaps. Yet he
made no false steps and moved as swiftly through the dark woods as Roger
could have done on a brilliantly lighted street. It must be a sort of
animal instinct the boy concluded.
For a few minutes after he started Roger could not help feeling a bit
distrustful. How could he be sure that the Indian was what he said he
was? How could he know that Johnny Green would guide him safely to his
uncle's house? Once he was almost on the point of turning back, but the
thought of the dark forest into which he would have to plunge, without
knowing where the path was, and the fear that there were hiding behind
the trees more and uglier wild animals than he had yet encountered,
deterred him.
Besides, Johnny Green did not seem to care much whether the boy followed
him or not. He had promised to guide him out of the wood, and if Roger
didn't want to be taken home, what concern was it of Johnny Green's?
Reasoning thus, the boy concluded it must be all right, and then he
began to follow with swift steps, keeping up as well as he was able,
with his silent leader.
In what seemed to Roger to be a very short time, he and Johnny Green
emerged from the deeper forest into a sort of clearing, where a number
of trees had been cut down. Traversing this was a rough wagon road,
used, it seemed, by the wood choppers. Johnny Green struck into this
with a grunt of satisfaction at the easier going, and he increased his
pace so that Roger, exhausted and wearied as he was, found it difficult
to keep his guide in sight. Perhaps the Indian heard the boy breathing
rather heavy because of the exertions, or he might have recalled that
his legs were longer and tougher than his companion's. At any rate,
Johnny Green slackened his pace, and Roger was glad of it. Half a mile
of travel along the wood trail brought the two out into the main road,
and Roger, feeling the hard-packed dirt under his feet, saw that he was
on the same highway where he and Adrian had driven with the grapes. It
seemed almost a week ago, though it was but a few hours. There was
considerable light now, even though the clouds did darken the moon at
times, and Roger could distinguish dimly the fields, fenced in and
extending to right and left away from the road.
"Tree mile now," grunted Johnny Green. It was the first time he had
spoken since they started.
"To where?" asked Roger.
"Tree mile Bert Kimball," and the boy was glad to learn how near home he
was. It was slightly down hill going now, and the walking was good, so
both stepped out at a lively pace. The night was chilly, and the damp
wind made Roger shiver, so he was glad of the vigorous exercise that
kept his blood in circulation. It was lonesome too, even though Johnny
Green was just ahead of him, and the boy listened, with a sort of dread,
to the mournful hooting of the owls, the cheeping of the tree-toads and
the chirping of the crickets. For some time the two kept on in silence.
Then the Indian suddenly halted in the middle of the road. He bent his
head as if to catch some sound in the distance.
"Hark!" he cautioned, and held up his hand warningly.
Roger stopped. Yes, there was some noise quite a way in front, but at
first its character could not be distinguished. Then in a few moments it
resolved into a sort of confused shouting.
"What yo' name?" asked Johnny Green, turning quickly to the boy at his
side.
"Roger."
"They callin' yo'," he announced. "Bert Kimball I tink"
"Is it?" joyfully.
"Yep. Listen."
Faintly Roger heard a voice shouting. He could make out no words,
however. It increased his respect for Johnny Green's attainments that
the Indian could understand a name called from such a distance.
Then Roger's companion raised his voice in a long, loud, shrill,
far-carrying halloo: "Hi! Bert Kimball! Here yo' boy Roger!"
There came an answering shout, in which the boy could scarcely
distinguish his own name, and he, too, cried out: "Here I am, Uncle
Bert! I'm all right!"
A few minutes later there flashed from behind a bend in the road the
gleam of a lantern, and soon another flickering light appeared. Roger
ran toward them, and Johnny Green hurried on also. Nearer and nearer
came the lights, and then in a few minutes the seekers and the lost
were together.
While Adrian, who was with his father, was shaking hands with Roger and
telling him how glad he was to see him again, Mr. Kimball was exchanging
greetings with the Indian and looking at the wild-cat slung across his
shoulders. It didn't take long for Roger to tell his experience, and the
words of praise that came from his uncle and cousin, at his wise and
brave conduct in the fight with the beast, more than repaid him for the
fright and discomfort he had undergone. The cuts and scratches on his
back proved to be only slight ones, when Mr. Kimball insisted on looking
at them by the light of the lanterns.
"Ye got off mighty lucky," commented the farmer, as Roger put on his
coat again.
"What happened?" asked Roger of Adrian. "Did something scare the horse?"
"The wagon struck a stone," explained Adrian, "and you were pitched out.
I suppose you must have lost your senses by hitting your head on the
hard ground. I tried to grab you when I saw you going, and I must have
frightened the horse, for he bolted as if a bear was after him. I guess
it was the first time he ever ran away and he rather liked it, for he
never stopped galloping until I got to Enberry Took's house, though I
sawed on the lines for all I was worth. When I found I was so near home
I thought I'd better go on, put the rig up, and get dad to come back
with me to find you, for I thought we'd meet you walking in. We figured
on seeing you within the first mile, but you must have turned around
and gone back toward Tully. We went slow, for it was dark at first, and
we didn't want to miss you. It was lucky you happened to find that one
match in your knife, wasn't it?"
"It was luckier that Johnny Green came along just when he did," said
Roger, "or the fire might not have done me much good."
"Wa'al, I reckon it's lucky all around," interposed Mr. Kimball. "Now,
ef it's all th' same t' ye two boys, we'll git 'long hum, 'n' relieve
th' women folks, fer they most hed a caniption fit when they heard what
happened."
So the four started on toward Cardiff, the two boys walking behind Mr.
Kimball and Johnny Green.
"Say," began Roger in a low tone, "is he a real Indian?"
"Sure," replied Adrian. "He's one of the Onondaga tribe. There's a
reservation of them at a place they call the Castle, which is what they
name their Council House. It's about three miles from Cardiff. I meant
to tell you about them, but I forgot it. They're full-blooded Indians,
but they're not wild, though some of the older ones were once, I
suppose. We'll take a trip down and see 'em soon, and get 'em to make us
some bows and arrows. Most of 'em know dad, from buying honey from him."
Without further incident the little party reached Cardiff. While Roger,
with his uncle and cousin turned in at the welcome farmhouse, Johnny
Green, with a grunted good night, kept on to his cabin. Roger found his
aunt and pretty cousin waiting for him in great anxiety, and very glad
indeed were they to see him again, and to learn that he had come to no
great harm, though he had been in grave danger. Mrs. Kimball insisted on
putting some home-made salve on the cuts and scratches in Roger's back,
which were now beginning to smart a little, though they were not deep.
"That stuff'll draw the soreness out," said Mrs. Kimball.
"It feels good, at any rate," said Roger.
"Now I reckon you'll like some supper," went on his aunt, bustling
about.
"Supper? Breakfust'd be nearer th' mark," spoke up Mr. Kimball, looking
at his big silver watch, which showed two o'clock.
"Anything, as long as it's something to eat," said Roger. "I'm as hungry
as a bear."
"Or a wild-cat," laughed Clara, as she set the coffee on to boil.
A few minutes later they all drew up to the table with good appetites,
for when the others heard what happened to Roger they had been in no
mood for supper earlier in the evening.
The whole story had to be gone over again by Roger, and when he had
finished Mr. Kimball packed them all off to bed.