FROM ENEMIES TO FRIENDS
It is now necessary to go back a little, to learn how poor Henry fared,
after he and Sam Barringford escaped from the Indians who had made them
prisoners.
Henry was on a good horse, but in leaping over some rocks the steed went
down into a hollow, striking its head heavily. The youth was thrown off,
and he and his steed were both stunned.
When Henry recovered he was again in the clutches of the red men. Three
of them surrounded him and threatened to take his life on the spot if he
did not submit, and they soon after bound his hands behind him with
rawhides. The horse was found to be still fit for use, and Henry was
bound on the animal’s back. Then the party of Indians journeyed off to
parts unknown.
Henry had suffered before, but now his red captors treated him worse
than ever. They were a low grade of warriors, in reality outcasts, and
hardly knew what to do with their white prisoner. They moved on for
several miles, and then went into camp near the bank of the Ohio. Here
they took Henry from the horse and fastened him to a tree. They had some
food for themselves, but did not offer their captive a mouthful. They
did, however, give him a drink, for which he was thankful.
Henry wondered if Barringford had escaped or been shot down. He saw no
new scalp among the red men, which gave him a slight hope.
“If he got away maybe he will bring somebody to rescue me,” thought the
youth, but hour after hour went by, and nobody came near the camp.
Fortunately for Henry, the weather was exceedingly mild, so that he
suffered little from the cold. He tried several times to question the
Indians, but they understood little English and were not inclined to
answer the questions he put. One slapped him in the face and another put
a handful of soft snow down his back. Then they went away, to talk among
themselves, leaving him alone.
He tried with might and main to either slip or break the bonds which
bound him, but with no success. He looked around for some other means of
getting away, but nothing presented itself.
Soon after consulting among themselves, some of the Indians went away,
leaving only one red man on guard. This fellow, a warrior with a visage
horribly pitted from smallpox, and a squint in one eye, wrapped himself
in his blanket and sat down on a log, his bow and arrows across his
knees.
A half-hour slipped by and the Indian dropped into a doze. Henry watched
him with interest, and a little later saw that the warrior was fast
asleep.
“Now, if only I could break these bonds and get away!” sighed the youth
to himself.
Once again he went at the rawhide, but all he could do was to cut his
wrists. At last he gave up in despair.
The other Indians came back soon after this, bringing some additional
warriors with them. One could speak English, and he questioned Henry
closely about himself and about those at the trading post.
“Let me go and I will reward you well,” said Henry, after he saw that
the red men had no intention of giving him his liberty.
Instead of agreeing to this, the Indian asked the youth about Jean
Bevoir and Moon Eye. Then Henry was left once again to himself, while
two Indians went off on a run,—to interview the French trader, as it
afterwards proved.
The upshot of the matter was that Henry was taken to the camp Jean
Bevoir and Moon Eye had made in the forest. Bevoir hailed the coming of
the young prisoner with keen delight.
“Ha! so ve haf at least von of dem!” said he, rubbing his hands
together. “How you like to be prisonair, hey?”
“Not at all,” answered Henry, bluntly. “Now you have me, what do you
intend to do, Jean Bevoir?”
“You shall soon see, _oui_! I haf not forgot ze past, no! no! I tak care
of you, by gar!” And Jean Bevoir shook his fist in poor Henry’s face.
“You will gain nothing by mistreating me,” went on the youth, as
steadily as he could. “Sooner or later the law will get hold of you. The
best thing you can do is to let me go.”
“I not let you go. Ve shall fight zem at ze post. Ve vin sure—but if ve
lose, hey? I haf you, hey? Vat can za do to Jean Bevoir if you be a
prisonair, hey? If za keel me den my men keel you! Now you understand,
_oui_?”
Henry did understand, and it made his heart sink lower than ever. By
holding him a prisoner the Frenchman expected to keep himself from harm.
If he was captured he would warn his captors not to harm him, otherwise
Henry must suffer.
The preparations for attacking the post were now going forward, and a
little later Henry was removed in the care of two Indians to a station
still further up the Ohio. Here some of the red men had something of a
village, and here, to his astonishment, the youth found many of the
horses of the pack-train and also the sick man who had so mysteriously
disappeared.
The sick man lay in a wigwam on some blankets. Strange to relate, his
recent adventures had not made him any weaker than he had formerly been;
in fact, they appeared to have helped him.
“I, too, tried to get away, on one of the horses,” he said. “But some
Indians followed me up, and captured me. They brought me to this place,
and an old Indian medicine man gave me some medicine which has helped me
wonderfully.”
The man then wanted to know something about Henry, and the youth told
him as much as he deemed necessary. The two were in the midst of the
conversation when two Indians came in and hustled Henry out of the
wigwam and to another part of the village.
“White people talk too much,” said one of the Indians, thereby giving
the youth to understand that they did not wish the pair to consult
together.
From what little Henry had learned he was now certain that a strong
attack was to be made on the trading post. As a consequence he wanted to
get free more than ever, that he might warn his friends.
His bonds were not the same as those which had kept him a prisoner
before, and by working diligently over them, he managed at last to get
one hand free. The other quickly followed, and then he freed his feet.
He was alone in the wigwam, the Indians in the village having gathered
to hold a pow-wow, the question being how much they should do to aid
Moon Eye and Jean Bevoir. The Indians had no desire to become hurt in a
battle, yet they were anxious to obtain some of the many gifts which
Bevoir had promised them in case of a victory over the English.
With great caution Henry looked out of the wigwam and surveyed the
situation. The camp was close to the river bank and was backed up by the
virgin forest, which, at this point, was rough and uncertain. It would
be an easy matter to hide in the forest, but the question arose, what
should he do when he got there?
“Well, anything is better than being a prisoner,” he mused. “I’ll take
what I can lay my hands on and get out.”
He looked about him and managed to secure an old hunting knife and
likewise a pretty fair bow and several arrows. It was growing dark, and
at the risk of being seen he stole to a place where the Indians had
stored some blankets and some provisions. He supplied himself with what
he wanted, and then, like a ghost, glided into the mighty forest.
“Now for the trading post,” he muttered to himself. “By hook or crook, I
must get there, and pray Heaven I get there before it is too late!”
He knew that in order to reach the post he would have to keep close to
the river. He imagined the trading post was about three miles away,
although he was by no means sure.
Traveling through the forest in the dark proved to be a harder task than
Henry had anticipated. He went plunging along until several falls
knocked the wind completely out of him and barked his shins mightily. At
last he had to give it up and turned to the river, resolved to travel on
the ice, even though the danger might be greater.
Coming down to the open he gazed around, and seeing nobody, stepped on
the ice. It appeared to be firm, and he started on a swift trot,
straight for the trading post.
Crack! Henry had not been on the ice over a minute when this ominous
sound greeted him. He had come to where the surface was more than
slushy. The ice bent beneath him.
“This won’t do!” he cried, and tried to turn toward the shore once more.
But the movement came too late; down went the ice and Henry with it, and
the next instant he was over his head in the chilling water.
Had Henry not been so robust and such a good swimmer he would have
perished on the spot. As it was, the coldness of the water almost
paralyzed him, and when he went down he could do little but gasp and
splutter and reach out blindly. Then, when he came up, his head hit the
under surface of the ice, and down he went as before.
The sturdy youth now realized that he had a life or death struggle
before him. No one was at hand to give him aid, and if he was to be
saved he must do it himself. As he came up once more he clutched at the
under surface of the ice and felt around until he found something of an
opening. Then, with might and main, he pulled himself up, until his head
and shoulders were out of the water. It was high time, for he could no
longer hold his breath.
The ice was all around him, but so rotten that it threatened at every
instant to break away and let him down again. He was less than ten yards
from the bank of the river, but try his best he could make no headway
toward safety.
As Henry was wondering how long he could stand the cold and keep from
losing his grip something along the shore attracted his attention. He
gave a closer look and saw three Indians stealing along. That they were
enemies he had not the slightest doubt, yet he hailed their appearance
with a certain sense of joy. They could save him, even though they might
make him their prisoner once more.
“Help!” he called, as loudly as he could. “Help!”
The Indians were at first startled by the call, and in a trice fled
behind some trees and out of sight. But then they saw the youth’s head
and noted his plight and came forth and ran to the edge of the river
bank.
“Help me!” went on Henry. “Do not let me drown!”
“We help,” grunted one of the Indians, and threw out a lasso he chanced
to be carrying. It fell within Henry’s reach, and he quickly grasped it.
Then the three red men hauled him to a place of safety.
“My friend Henry!” cried one of the red men, in amazement.
“White Buffalo!” gasped the youth. “Can it be possible? How came you
here?”
“White Buffalo is journeying to the trading post. He heard that harm had
befallen his old friends,” answered the old chief of the Delawares. “Is
his friend Henry alone?”
“Yes. I was out with Sam Barringford, and we were captured by some
unfriendly Indians,” returned Henry, and related his story in detail, to
which White Buffalo listened with close attention. Then the chief asked
about Joseph Morris, Dave, and also about Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye.
“Bevoir and Moon Eye are snakes, not fit to live,” said White Buffalo.
“A runner brought me the news of what was being done. If they have slain
my friend James Morris both of them shall die. White Buffalo swears it
by the Great Spirit.”
“Have you only these two warriors with you?”
“No, close at hand White Buffalo has two score men—the flower of his
warriors. Our tribe is united and in the future all will fight only for
the English. We shall aid in driving the French and the bad Indians from
the land.”
“Good for you!” cried Henry. The news made his heart give a bound. “If
you intend to help us, the quicker you get to the trading post the
better.”
“It shall be as my brother Henry wills,” answered the chief. “But Henry
cannot travel while he is wet and cold. Here, let him take White
Buffalo’s blanket,” and the chief passed it over.
“Thank you, the blanket and walking will keep me warm. Let us get your
men together without delay and start for the post. For all I know the
attack may have already begun!”
They left the vicinity of the Ohio and plunged straight into the forest.
While hurrying along White Buffalo explained that he had been out
scouting, to note how matters were going. In their march westward they
had encountered several wandering Indians who had told them of some of
the doings of Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye.
“I cannot believe that my friend and brother, James Morris, is dead,”
said the old chief, sadly. “It is hard upon my young friend Dave.”
“That it is,” answered Henry. “I am afraid Dave won’t care for the post
any more, even if it is saved.”
As soon as they came to the Indians’ stopping-place White Buffalo
delivered a brief address to his braves. They were perfectly willing to
do whatever he wanted of them; and in a few minutes the whole party set
off for the trading post.