A SURPRISE.
Jacob Relstaub was so accustomed to the undisturbed abuse of his son
that he was struck almost speechless by the calm defiance of the Indian
youth. When he saw the latter place his hand on the knife at his girdle,
the German could not fail to know its meaning. He stopped short with his
cane half raised and glared savagely at Deerfoot.
"You means to kills me, eh, don't it? Yaw,--I sees,--I sees!"
And shaking his head very fast, and muttering some vigorous words in his
own language, he stamped towards the door, swung it open and passed out
in the darkness. Deerfoot stood motionless, looking in the direction
whence he had vanished, and then, without a word, sat down on the rude
chair and looked toward Mrs. Carleton, seated as she was near the fire.
The good lady was terrified, but the incident was so brief that it was
over before she fairly understood its full meaning and the ill-natured
caller was gone.
"He is such a bad-tempered man that I'm afraid he will hurt you for
this," said she, stepping hastily to the door, where she drew in the
latch-string, thus locking the humble cabin against intruders. When she
sat down, with her scared look and her words of misgiving on her lips,
Deerfoot looked from the crackling fire into her countenance. As the
yellow glow lit up his handsome features, they showed the faintest
possible smile, which vanished the same moment it appeared. The
matchless redskin must have appreciated the grim humor involved in the
thought of his feeling any fear of the curmudgeon who had just gone.
Previous to that the young Shawanoe had glanced around the cabin, and
like another Houdin, impressed every point in his memory. He noted the
narrow windows through which a hostile shot could be fired from the
outside. He did not believe the late visitor would proceed to that
length, but he shifted his seat to a point several feet away, where, if
Relstaub relied on his previous knowledge for his aim, no possible harm
could be done.
Deerfoot made his change in such a quiet fashion, that his hostess had
not the slightest suspicion of its meaning. She saw that he had simply
moved closer to the fire. The space between her own chair and that of
the visitor was such that there was no call for her to change her
location: had there been the slightest, Deerfoot would not have
permitted her to wait.
"My brother will hurt no one," said he in his quiet fashion: "he is a
bad man; he has a good boy, Otto; Deerfoot calls him his brother, and
will do much for him; but Deerfoot does not like his father."
"I was _so_ afraid he would strike you with his cane," said the lady,
still trembling over the remembrance, "and then you would have used your
knife."
The smile was more pronounced than before, but the words were scarcely
audible.
"He could not hurt Deerfoot and Deerfoot would not hurt him."
The lady fully understood his meaning, and it lifted a great fear from
her heart that Jacob Relstaub would return, demand admittance, and
attack her guest. True, he might do so, but she saw that in such an
event the results would be farcical rather than tragical.
Deerfoot did not care to give any further thought to the despicable man.
He had come to the settlement to visit Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub,
and found they were absent on a singular hunt for the horse that had
been missing fully a week. His interest lay in them, and especially in
Jack. He had heard most of the facts from the mother, but he now
questioned her further in his gentle way until not a particle of
information was left for her to give.
The substance of that information has already been told the reader,--it
being nothing more than the statement of their departure early that
morning. The startling events which followed could not be suspected by
the parent, who sat so quietly knitting and talking with the remarkable
Indian youth on the other side of her hearthstone, as ignorant as she of
the alarming situation in which both were placed.
But while so quiet in his demeanor, the wonderful brain of the youth was
always busy during his waking hours. He could not feel that there was
cause for fear on account of his friends, for, as has already been
shown, that portion of the enormous territory of Louisiana was peopled
by Indians much less vicious in their hatred than were those who made
Kentucky their hunting-ground. A fierce party of Shawanoes had followed
the little party across the Mississippi the previous week, and they kept
matters moving in a very lively manner, as the reader learned long ago;
but it was not to be supposed that any of those daring and skillful
warriors were in the neighborhood, for it was not conceivable that a
cause existed for their presence.
But a singular distrust took possession of Deerfoot. He could not
account for it, except as he accounted for all inexplainable things, as
being the direct prompting of the Great Spirit. Many a time the
instinctive belief had come over him, and he had never failed to follow
its guidance; the result in each instance proved that he did right, and
he resolved to do the same in the present case, though it will be seen
that he could take no real step forward until the coming of daylight.
"You will stay here until morning," said Mrs. Carleton, looking into
the face of her visitor and speaking as though the matter was not at all
in the nature of a question.
"Deerfoot may stay awhile, though he would rather sleep in the woods,
where he can breathe the cool, pure air, and look at the stars, and
listen to the whispers of the Great Spirit who watches over him when he
is asleep or awake."
"You can sleep on Jack's bed, and he will be pleased, when he comes
home, to learn that you did so, though he will be sorry that he was not
here to make you welcome."
The Indian shook his head. He had no wish to lie on any such couch, and
he had not done so since he was wounded and a prisoner in the hands of
the white people.
"Deerfoot will sit here and read until he becomes weary; then he will
lie on the floor; and when he awakes he will seek his brothers who are
hunting for the horse that has long been lost."
Mrs. Carleton had been told by Jack how skillfully Deerfoot could read
and write, and she now ventured the hope that he would use the Bible
which lay on the table at the side of the cabin. She was on the point
of rising to get it for him, when he motioned her to keep her seat.
"Deerfoot has his Bible with him."
And then he drew the tiny volume with its wooden covers from the
interior pocket of his hunting-shirt, and shifted his position so that
his back was turned toward the fire, whose glow passed over his
shoulders and fell upon the printed page. This gave him all the light he
needed, and, after rustling the leaves for a moment, he began, in his
low, sweet monotone.
As may be supposed, he selected one of the chapters from Revelation,
overflowing as it does with the most impressive grandeur and
awe-inspiring glimpse of the mysterious life from whose portals no human
being has ever turned back to whisper to the vast procession waiting to
follow in his footsteps.
Mrs. Carleton saw that Deerfoot did not like her words of compliment and
she therefore refrained. When he had finished, he closed the book and
laid it away where he always carried it, and then the conversation went
on in the same vein as before.
But the hour was later than that to which the good lady was accustomed,
and, despite the singular interest of the interview, she began to feel a
slight drowsiness. When she placed her hand over her mouth and yawned,
Deerfoot asked that she should retire. She consented, and bade him
good-night and withdrew.
He sat motionless until he was alone, when he once more drew out his
Bible and resumed reading. The fire having smoldered, he stirred the
sticks, turning the unburned ends among the coals, so that in a few
moments the small room was filled with a brighter illumination than
before. Leaning backward with the book in front of his face and his
shapely legs extended in front, he studied with an interest more
absorbing than was ever felt by the most devout novel reader. He seemed
to lose all consciousness of time and place, and pored over the volume
which to him was more precious than any treasure it is possible for the
mind to conceive.
By-and-by the fire burned low again and the light grew dim. Though the
youth might have continued the perusal much longer, he finally ceased
and put the book away for the night. Then, folding his arms, he looked
into the smoldering embers before him. Every one knows how such a scene
feeds the fancy and how imagination will run riot, while sitting alone
late at night, with the wind moaning outside, while he watches the
curious, grotesque, and endless procession of figures which take shape
and action before him. No one but Deerfoot himself could tell what
thoughts took shape in his brain, but they must have been of a
melancholy, serious nature, for he drew a deep sigh, muttered a few
words in prayer, and then deliberately lay down in the middle of the
floor. He lay on his side, with his arm doubled under his head for a
pillow, but had nothing but the hard planking beneath and nothing except
his own clothing above.
Deerfoot required little sleep, and within less than two hours after he
had lain down, he opened his eyes and assumed the sitting position. The
fire had burned so low that only a slight glow filled a part of the
room, and he looked like some odd shadow, when he stepped silently
forward and stirred the embers until they once more lit up the
apartment. It was not yet morning, but he had concluded to wait no
longer. He therefore picked up his bow and then, without making the
least noise, opened and closed the door behind him.
The young Shawanoe stood for a moment when he found himself in the clear
air on the outside. It was a bright starlit night, and, when he glanced
reverently upward at the thousands of blazing orbs, he saw that it still
lacked two hours of daylight. The rude cabins were dimly outlined, as
they faced each other in two irregular rows, those only which were the
furthest away being invisible. All were dark and silent excepting one.
He noticed the gleam of light from the window, and thought it likely
that some one was watching by the bed of sickness; but the thought had
hardly come to him when he recalled that it was the cabin of the German
Relstaub, who had left him in such a rage.
Deerfoot was still in front of the house of his friend, when the door of
the cabin opened and the short, sturdy figure of Jacob Relstaub was
outlined against the blazing fire and candle-light behind him. The truth
was, he was so angered he could not sleep; he had tossed about until his
rage became ungovernable, when he told his frau that he was going over
to the widow Carleton's to chastise the rascally redskin that had dared
to insult him to his face. The wife sought to dissuade him, but he was
too angered to listen to reason; and, ordering her to stay in bed, he
dressed, caught up his heavy cane, and plunged from the door of his
home.
Deerfoot drew back until sure he could not be seen, when he calmly
awaited the approach of the irate man. The latter stamped forward,
banging his heavy cane on the ground and muttering to himself:
"Yaw, I preaks mine cane his head ofer--he talks to me--he calls me a
rascal und eferydings vot I vas. I shows him----"
Just then, when he was close to the cabin, a figure emerged from the
darkness, moving as silently as if it was a section of the gloom itself,
and advancing straight toward him. It was the execrated young Indian,
grasping his long bow in his right hand, and holding his tomahawk in his
left, with his body bent and his head thrust forward.
"Oh, mine gracious!" gasped Jacob Relstaub, his knees shaking and his
staff dropping from his trembling hand, "it ish him!"
He managed to twist his body around, so as to face the other way, and
then he broke into a lumbering run for his cabin. He heard the sound of
the swift moccasins behind him, and he ran as never before. His hat flew
off, and odd quirps and pains developed themselves here and there in his
frame, because of the unusual and violent exercise to which he subjected
himself; but he kept forward, believing it was his only hope.
Fortunately the run was brief, but when he reached the threshold he was
in the last stage of exhaustion. He could not lift his foot high enough,
and went sprawling headlong into the room, with a crash that startled
his wife almost out of her senses.
Deerfoot paused a moment surveying the wreck and ruin he had caused, and
then quietly shoved his tomahawk back in place. He had accomplished all
he wished, and was satisfied. His old shadowy smile lingered on his face
as he turned aside, and, making his way between the settlers' cabins,
disappeared in the woods.