TAKEN BY SURPRISE
Dave’s hasty flight had tired him out, and he was glad enough to sit
down upon one of the rocks and rest. The cloudiness in the sky had
continued, and it looked as if there might be a shower before nightfall.
The young hunter was in anything but a cheerful frame of mind, and would
have given a good deal to have been back at the fort once more. He was
worried also about his cousin, and trusted that Henry would not fall
into the hands of the Indian.
At last, having gotten back his breath, he resolved to start off once
more and see if he could not locate the spot where he had left his
cousin. He walked through the forest with extreme caution, often coming
to a halt, to survey the surroundings and make sure that the enemy was
nowhere near.
Thus a full hour more was consumed, and he knew that Henry would now be
growing exceedingly anxious concerning his prolonged absence.
“I hope he doesn’t try to follow me up,” said Dave to himself. “If he
does it’s more than likely that redskin will see him.”
At length, after moving in several directions, the young hunter came to
a spot that looked slightly familiar to him. He made a circle of the
point, and finally recognized it as the very spot he had come to with
White Buffalo when he and the Indian were on the way to the fort with
little Nell and the twins.
“Well, I never thought I’d see this place again!” he murmured, half
aloud. “I wish I had White Buffalo with me now. I’d feel a heap safer
than I do.”
He now knew how to reach the fort, and resolved to follow that course
until he should come to the point where the trail crossed that which he
and Henry had taken after leaving the lake to go after the buffalo. Then
he would follow up the buffalo trail to where his cousin had been left.
He tramped on and on, growing bolder as he saw nothing more of his red
enemy. It was well past noon, and he munched some of the rations in his
game bag, washing down the hasty meal with more water from a brook.
He was almost up to the spot where the fight between the buffalo and the
bear had occurred when he suddenly heard the murmur of voices,
conversing in the Indian language. Looking to one side of the clearing,
he made out four Indians, one of whom was the fellow who had deprived
him of his rifle and hunting knife.
The discovery came as a shock to Dave, and once again his heart sank
within him. He had presence of mind enough to leap behind some bushes,
and a moment later the red men passed within three yards of him. Then he
heard a cry from the Indians, followed by an exclamation from Henry.
“They have found him!” thought Dave, and he was right. The four red men
came upon poor Henry just as he was putting on his shoe, preparatory to
looking for his cousin. One leaped forward, pinning the young hunter to
the rocks, and in a twinkling the four had made him a prisoner and
disarmed him.
“What does this mean?” demanded Henry, although he knew only too well.
“Let up, I say!” But the Indians paid no attention. One carried a length
of rawhide and with this they bound the young hunter’s hands behind him.
Then his pockets were searched, and they took from him the three
shillings and sixpence he happened to be carrying.
After the capture, the four Indians held a consultation among
themselves. It was in their native tongue, so that Henry could
understand next to nothing.
“White boy come with Indians,” said the red man who could speak English.
He had joined his brother warriors after giving up the chase after Dave.
At that moment Henry caught sight of the extra hunting knife and the
rifle he knew only too well.
“Dave’s gun and Dave’s knife!” he cried. “What have you done with him?”
he asked, with a sinking heart.
The Indian would not answer this question, but drew up his eyes in a
peculiar fashion that caused Henry to shiver. He concluded that Dave
must have been killed, although he noted with just a grain of hope that
none of the warriors carried his cousin’s scalp.
Despite the fact that his ankle hurt him a good deal, Henry was forced
to march along with the Indians, who prodded him now and then with the
points of their hunting knives to make him move along faster. The course
was to the northwest, to a stream known to the red men as the
Mustalonack, where a small band had taken up their secret abode since
the disastrous battle of Bushy Run.
After what was to Henry a painful walk lasting an hour, the Mustalonack
was reached, and from the bushes along the bank the Indians drew a long
canoe. They made Henry enter and then got in themselves and shoved off.
The course was up the stream, and two used the paddles. As the current
was rather swift, the progress of the craft was necessarily slow.
In moving towards the river the Indians had been on the alert for the
possible appearance of white hunters or English soldiers. They knew that
to stay in that neighborhood was dangerous, and they expected in a few
days to move much further to the westward, perhaps even as far as the
Mississippi. They were awaiting orders from their chief, who, in turn,
was hoping every day to receive some wampum, or speech belt, from
Pontiac.
But though the red warriors were on the alert, their eyes were not sharp
enough to catch sight of Dave, as he followed them at a safe distance.
Although unarmed, the young hunter could not bear to think of leaving
his cousin to his fate, and so he kept the party in front in sight,
hoping that sooner or later he would be able to render Henry some
assistance.
When the Indians set off in the canoe, Dave was for the moment
nonplussed, not knowing how to follow them. But when he saw how slowly
the craft moved, he took courage, and walking through the forest along
the shore, managed, although not without an effort, to keep them in
sight until they had journeyed as far as they wished, when he saw them
land on the opposite shore, pull the long canoe into the bushes, and
hurry once more into the forest.
To some faint-hearted persons this might have meant the end of the
pursuit, but Dave was made of sterner stuff, and besides he loved his
cousin too dearly to give up the hope of a rescue thus readily. He saw
that the stream at this point was rather shallow, and without hesitation
pulled off his shoes and stockings, rolled up his breeches, and waded
in.
Fording the stream was not as easy as it looked, and more than once Dave
was in danger of slipping down on the loose rocks or of having the
current carry him off his feet. But he managed to reach the opposite
shore of the stream in safety, and there, donning his stockings and
shoes again, hurried on after the red men as before.
Dave had not gone very far when he saw the unmistakable signs of an
Indian village. He slackened his pace and soon saw a lean and
hungry-looking Indian dog coming toward him. The canine began to bark
viciously and showed his teeth.
Here it was that the young hunter’s nerve again showed itself. He was
well acquainted with the general worthlessness of the Indian curs—dogs
that were not to be compared with the hunting and watch animals of the
English—and picking up a sharp stone he let drive, taking the canine in
the side. The dog gave a sharp yelp, turned and fled, and that was the
last Dave saw of the animal.
In the meantime the Indians had arrived at their temporary village,
located in a dense portion of the forest, and consisting of nothing more
than half a dozen dirty shelters of blankets and skins. In the center
was a small clearing where a campfire smoldered, and around this lolled
half a dozen Indians, while not far off were several squaws and a dozen
dirty and half-clad Indian children.
The coming of the four warriors with their captive produced a mild
sensation, and there was a running fire of questions and answers in the
native dialect, lasting some time. In the meanwhile two of the warriors
bound Henry to a tree near the largest of the wigwams, and left him, for
the time being, to take care of himself.
The head of the tribe, Moon Eye, was away, and was not expected back
until the next day at noon. This being so, the Indians decided to keep
Henry where he was. He was given nothing to eat, and when he asked for a
drink he was handed some dirty water that even a dog would have refused.
“What do you want of me?” Henry asked, of the Indian who could speak
English.
“White boy wait and he shall see,” answered the warrior.
“Did you kill my cousin—the one who owns that rifle and the hunting
knife?”
“White boy must not ask so many questions.”
“If you don’t let me go you’ll get into trouble,” went on Henry,
thinking he might scare the Indians into releasing him. “See how you
have already suffered. The English have many soldiers—they can do the
red men great harm.”
“The French have many soldiers also,” answered the warrior. “Soon their
army will come to the aid of Pontiac and his followers.”
This was a story that had often been told to the red men by the French
traders, and many of the Indians believed it. But they waited in vain
for help from France, or from Canada. Instead of sending help, the king
of France sold his holding along the Mississippi to Spain, so that the
Indians were worse off than ever.
As night came on it began to rain gently, while a heavy mist filled the
air. The Indians did not like this at all, and after huddling around the
campfire for awhile the majority of them crawled into the wigwams and
went to sleep. Two of them visited Henry, binding him more securely to
the tree than ever, so that to break or slip his bonds was entirely out
of the question.
“White boy sleep good,” said one of them, as a joke, and then both
stalked over to the fire once more. But the rain and the mist were not
to their liking and presently they, too, retired. Then the fire died
down gradually, and the Indian village became as quiet as a graveyard.