IN WHICH WHITE BUFFALO APPEARS
“Something must surely have happened to Sam, or he wouldn’t stay away as
long as this,” said Rodney to Casbury, after half the night had passed
without the old frontiersman reappearing.
“I am afraid you are right, Rodney. Maybe the Injuns caught an’ killed
him.”
“Don’t you think somebody ought to go out and try to hunt him up?”
“It won’t be any safer for us than it was for him,” answered the
borderman, with a grave shake of his head.
Had it not been for Nell and the twins Rodney might have gone on a hunt
for his old friend. But he felt his responsibility, and so remained in
the cavern. He felt that if an attack came his place was beside his
sister and the twins. Barringford thought as much of the twins as if
they were his own flesh and blood, and would not forgive him did he not
do all he could to shield the youngsters from harm.
Slowly the time wore away. Nell, the twins, and Mrs. Dobson had gone to
sleep, and also several of the frontiersmen and regulars, who were off
duty for the time being. The cave was kept in total darkness, so that
those inside could see better what was happening without.
Rodney had listened for the cry of a catbird in vain, and stood leaning
against a rock, peering forth into the semi-darkness. He was
tremendously sleepy, having gotten only a short nap the night before.
Presently he straightened up and listened. Was he mistaken, or had he
heard the croaking of a frog? He had not noticed this earlier in the
night.
He was not mistaken; the croaking was repeated, at regular intervals. He
could not resist the temptation to croak also, mimicking the sound as
best he could. At once the answer came back, and the heart of the young
soldier gave a bound of astonishment and gratification.
The call was one often used by White Buffalo, the old chief of the
Delawares who had proved such a friend to the different members of the
Morris family. What he could be doing in this vicinity was a mystery,
since it was supposed that he was either at the regular village of his
tribe or at the conference being held by Sir William Johnson and the red
men at Johnson Hall.
“Perhaps it’s a ruse,” thought Rodney. “I must be on my guard—it won’t
do to be caught in a trap.”
The croaking of the frog continued, moving gradually closer to the mouth
of the cave. Then Rodney saw something wave in the air, between two
bushes. The object went up and down twice, then crosswise three times
and then around in a circle.
“White Buffalo true enough!” murmured the young soldier. He called some
of the others to his side. “White Buffalo, a friendly Indian, is out
there. He wants to talk to us.”
“I’ll trust none of them,” said one of the regulars promptly. “They are
all cutthroats!”
“White Buffalo has been a friend to our family for years,” went on the
young soldier. “I can vouch for him in every respect. You know him,
Casbury, and so do you, Malloy.”
“Yes, he is square, so far as I know,” answered Casbury.
“He’s a putty good Indian, so he is,” said the Irish borderman
mentioned. “But not wan av thim can be thrusted whin the war’s goin’
ag’in ’im. Betther be afther bein’ careful, Rodney.”
“He wants to talk to us—he has something important to say,” persisted
Rodney.
“How do yez know that?”
“He just signaled to me. He and my brother Henry and cousin Dave are
great friends, and White Buffalo taught us some of his signals. We had
better let him come in and talk to us.”
Those in the cave discussed the matter and at last agreed to follow
Rodney’s advice. But they remained on guard, to shoot White Buffalo or
any other Indian down, at the first sign of treachery.
The matter settled, Rodney signaled White Buffalo to approach. He
started to go forth, to meet the friendly red man, but White Buffalo
quickly warned him back. In a minute the old Delaware chief was in the
cavern.
“White Buffalo, I am glad to see you,” cried Rodney, shaking hands.
“How! how!” returned the aged Indian. He peered closely at Rodney in the
darkness. “My friend Rodney is better? He can walk well?”
“Yes, I am much better. And how are you? Hello, there is blood on your
face!”
“White Buffalo had a fight—down by the river—with some other Indians.
They had almost killed his old friend Barringford.”
“Sam! Is he alive?”
“Yes—White Buffalo knocked an Indian over. Then he took Sam and ran
through the forest. They were about to torture Sam—to make him speak of
this place and who was here. First one Indian wanted his scalp, but Moon
Eye came up and stopped the bloody work.”
“And you fought the Indians alone?”
“No, White Buffalo has six warriors with him—they are watching down at
the river. Sam could not come—he is too sorely wounded. He sent White
Buffalo. He told White Buffalo to cry as a catbird, but that is a bad
signal—it would bring Moon Eye and his warriors to the spot. So White
Buffalo used the old signal—the one he taught to Dave and Henry. He
thought his friend Rodney would remember.”
“And I did remember. But you are hurt. Let me bind up the wound.”
“’Tis but a scratch,” answered the aged Indian. The cut smarted greatly,
but he would not show his pain.
“See here, what do you know about the other Indians around here?” asked
Casbury.
“They number thirty,” said White Buffalo, who had learned how to count
in English style. “All strong, crafty, and full of the war spirit. White
Buffalo’s small band can do but little against them.”
In his own fashion the Indian then told his story in detail, how he and
his followers were journeying to a distant village, to try to bring
their entire tribe in harmony with each other. They had seen the actions
of Moon Eye and his followers while at a distance and come to the
conclusion that something unusual was going on. They had come closer and
heard the other Indians discuss the subject of an attack on the cave.
The followers of Moon Eye intended to wait until daybreak and then try
to smoke out those in the place. All the men were to be shot down and
scalped, and the woman and the children were to be made captives. This
much White Buffalo had learned before going to the rescue of Sam
Barringford. What Moon Eye and his men were going to do now, the old
chief could not tell.
“What do you think we had best do?” asked Rodney, after the recital had
come to an end.
“Escape from the cavern without delay,” answered the aged Indian. “’Tis
the only hope. Unless that is accomplished you will surely be shot down
like bears coming from a smoke-out.”
“How shall we go?”
“If you will trust yourselves to White Buffalo he will do what he can,”
answered the old chief, simply.
Rodney was willing, and some of the others said they would follow the
chief, but several of the regulars demurred and so did Malloy the
frontiersman.
“I’ll thrust meself to no redskin,” said the Irishman, with a vigorous
shake of his head. “I have no desire to wake up in the marnin’ wid me
throat cut!”
“I shall follow White Buffalo,” said Rodney, decidedly. “And I shall
take Nell and Tom and Artie with me.”
“White Buffalo is a good Indian!” cried Nell, who had awakened and run
forward to greet the old chief, whom she knew by the voice. “I know he
will save me,” and she took his hand confidently.
At last Malloy and the regulars gave in and all looked to see what White
Buffalo’s first move would be. His plan to rescue them was as old as it
was simple.
“White Buffalo will go back to his braves,” said the aged chief. “They
will make a great noise to the northward, fire shots and yell. They will
attack one or two of Moon Eye’s men. That will cause Moon Eye to rush
with more warriors to that point. Then my friends must slip away in the
darkness and go down to the river—to the spot where Sam has been left. I
will tell how the spot can be found.” And he did so.
This matter arranged, White Buffalo added that he and his braves would
join the whites in the morning—the signal to be the croaking of frogs.
Then, after a few additional words to Rodney, he bowed to those around
him, leaped over the barricade of stones, and vanished into the night.
No time was lost, after the departure of the aged Indian chief, in
getting ready to leave the cave. Such things as could be dispensed with
were left behind. Two horses were brought to the front, and Nell and Tom
were placed on one and Mrs. Dobson and Artie on another. All the men
looked to their firearms and their hunting knives.
“This may be our last night on earth,” said one regular. “At the best,
we have only a fighting chance.”
Casbury had followed White Buffalo and was outside, on the watch. He
fancied that he saw an Indian at a distance, but was not sure and did
not fire.
A half-hour went by—an unusually long time to those in the cavern, whose
nerves were strung to the topmost pitch. All was now in readiness for
the flight, but so far not a sound had broken the stillness.
“Mebbe something has miscarried,” observed one regular.
“White Buffalo may be dead,” said another. “One of the Moon Eye crowd
may have been lying in wait for him.”
A few minutes more passed, and even Rodney was beginning to worry, when
from a distance came a rifle shot. Then arose a mad yelling, and more
shots were fired. The din increased, until the alarm appeared to spread
through the whole of the forest to the north of the cave. White Buffalo
and his six trusty followers were making noise enough for a band of
fifty, and it must be confessed that Moon Eye and his warriors were
taken completely by surprise.
“’Tis the Delawares!” was the cry. “They have come to do us battle!”
“Mist of the Lake has been killed!” called out another. “And Squat Foot
is wounded!”
The din kept on, and for the time being the attention of all the Indians
was taken from the cavern. This was what Rodney had hoped for, and as
soon as he thought it safe, he ordered an advance. The men rushed out of
the cave and, finding the coast clear, urged forward the horses, and
away went the whole expedition into the woods to the south of the
cavern.
“There is one Injun!” cried an old frontiersman.
“Don’t shoot—unless it becomes necessary!” said Rodney, hastily, as the
man raised his rifle. “If we can get away silently, so much the better.”
The Indian had only his bow and arrows with him. He did not stop to
attack the whites, but ran into the forest,—to join those moving to the
north. He, like the others, imagined that a large band of their hated
rivals, the Delawares, had appeared.
Rodney kept as close as possible to the horses on which rode Mrs. Dobson
and the children. On the other side was Asa Dobson, in such a tremble
that he could scarcely walk. The settler imagined that every minute
might be his last.
“I’d give all my money to be back home again!” he groaned.
“Money doesn’t count here,” said Rodney, briefly. “We must use our wits,
and if the worst comes to the worst, fight to the last,—for the sake of
your wife and the children!”