"No Yengeese! It is Algonquin smoke. A signal to the paleface warriors
at the fort, who will hurry to burn their powder in the face of White
Eagle. Too much price on Iroquois scalp!" And here the chief's face
relaxed into the faintest of smiles, as though he appreciated the value
that was placed upon his head by the French, and considered it a great
honour and a tribute to his prowess and the impotence of his enemies.
Then for an instant his face became clouded and a momentary wave of
irresolution passed over his countenance. To escape the net that was
being drawn around him was comparatively easy, but to convey all the
plunder of the expedition safely to the lodges of the Iroquois was
another matter. His resolution, however, was quickly taken. They were
now within ten miles of the mouth of a stream, called "Twelve Mile
Creek," that entered the forest south of Lake Ontario, and only a dozen
miles from the fort. To gain that creek, to take the loaded canoes up
the stream against the rapids and rifts, and then to make a portage of
four miles to gain the Niagara River above the fort, was the daring
resolve of the White Eagle.
It was a piece of daring that was worthy of an Iroquois chief, who had
already secured a reputation for reckless daring that was second to that
of no other chief amongst the Six Nations. The great danger lay in the
fact that at one bend in the stream they would be within seven or eight
miles of the fort, with all the possibilities of being ambushed by their
hated foes and also by the Frenchers.
The whole party now took to the canoes, and proceeded as rapidly and as
silently as possible along the shore in a westerly direction. Soon after
mid-day they reached the mouth of the creek, and without a moment's
delay, except to land a couple of scouts on either bank, they paddled as
quickly as possible up the narrow stream, while the scouts went ahead to
explore the forest-lined banks and to give the alarm as soon as they
should discover the slightest sign of the enemy, who could not now be
far away. To these eager warriors their progress seemed to be painfully
slow. Fallen trees sometimes blocked their way. At other times the
canoes had to be dragged through the shallows and lifted over rocks.
It was hard work, but the youths bore their share of all this arduous
toil. It was exciting, too, for at any moment they might hear the crack
of the Algonquin and French rifles. Sometimes they were up to their
knees in the water, pushing and lifting the canoes forward.
As they advanced further and further up the watercourse, for it could
hardly be called a river, the creek narrowed and the trees overhung and
interlaced, shutting out the sun, so that, though it was little past
mid-day, it was scarcely more than twilight. Not a word was spoken for
a while, and except for the music of the stream the forest was as silent
as death. Even the birds had ceased to sing, and the little squirrels
watched them furtively from the branches overhead, wondering what
strange creatures these were who were toiling so arduously at the
canoes.
Not a signal had come as yet from the scouts, on whom they were
implicitly relying. They were getting perilously near to that fatal
bend in the river where if an ambush was in hiding, it was sure to be.
The Indians exchanged suspicious glances. They fingered their knives
and tomahawks uneasily and frequently looked to the priming of their
rifles.
"What is that noise I can hear, rising and falling, very faintly, like
the water of the Big Salt Lake in a storm, when the Manitou is angry?"
asked Jack of one of the Iroquois braves, who was called the Panther.
"'Tis the Spirit of the Wacondah in the caverns under the Great Falls!"
answered the Indian in low and reverent tones.
"Niagara!" whispered Jack to his comrade, "and only a few miles away."
"Yes. The Iroquois believe that the Great Spirit, the God of Thunder,
dwells under the Falls, and they speak of him always in a whisper, even
by their firesides far away."
"Hist! What was that?"
The crackle of a twig was heard on the western bank, and the eye of
every Indian was instantly turned in that direction, while many a hand
instinctively grasped its weapon more tightly. The bushes parted, and
an Iroquois scout came forth from the cover of the forest and sought the
eye of his chief. Evidently he had something of importance to
communicate.
White Eagle left the batteaux and approached him. Then a few guttural
exclamations passed between them, and the scout disappeared once more as
quietly as he had come.
"Did you hear what he said, Panther?"
"Yes. The Algonquins, with whom we fought early this morning, have
fallen in with another party under Le Grand Loup, a renowned chief, who
is White Eagle's greatest enemy, and they have laid an ambush for us two
miles further up the stream. In addition, help is expected from the
fort within an hour," replied the brave.
"Snakes alive! What will the chief do?"
"Ugh! White Eagle no afraid. The Wacondah fights for him."
The scouts had done their work bravely and well. They had soon
discovered the prints of Algonquin moccasins in the woods. Some they
found had led towards the bend in the river where the ambush had been
laid. They had even penetrated to this spot, past the enemy's scouts,
and had learnt of the juncture of the two parties. They had also
discovered the trail of an Indian runner in the direction of the fort,
and had heard the drums of the French calling the men to arms.
"What's to be done, Jack? We're scarcely out of one fix before we're in
another."
"It seems so!" said that worthy. "I don't know what the Eagle will do,
but something will have to be done, and quickly, if we're to retain our
scalp-locks."
"Look! What is the chief about? The men are dragging the canoes ashore
and piling the brushwood around them."
"Why, he's going to burn them to prevent them falling into the hands of
the enemy. 'Tis certain that we shall never get them past the next bend;
so, after all, our labour has been in vain."
Jack's surmise was correct. Without a moment's hesitation, as soon as
the scout had departed, the sachem ordered the boats to be so placed
that at a given signal they could be immediately fired by a small party
who were to be left in charge. The rest were to follow him and take the
enemy unawares in the rear before the French could arrive to their
support.
This plan was put into operation without a moment's delay, and leaving a
small party of four in charge of the canoes, the rest entered the forest
and moved quickly in the direction of the enemy. As they were likely to
encounter the French, the lads decided to accompany the attacking party.
They had not proceeded far when the scout met them who had reported the
presence of the enemy.
"The paleface warriors are half-way from the fort. What will White
Eagle do? They will be here before the sun is below the top-most
branches of the pines," said the scout, addressing the chief.
"Ugh! Ugh!" merely remarked the Iroquois; then turning towards the two
paleface warriors who accompanied him, he said--
"My brothers, Black Hawk and Red Feather, are great warriors from the
land of Wabun. Can they delay the rifles of the French Father for one
hour till they hear the scream of the Eagle, while my warriors take the
scalps of the Algonquin dogs, who lie in wait like the serpent in the
grass?"
"Give us but a dozen rifles, chief, and we'll hold them back for a day!"
exclaimed Jack.
"Ugh! My brother will be a great chief before the snows have settled
upon his head. Let him chose a dozen rifles from amongst my braves, and
they shall accompany the paleface chiefs and follow their orders."
A dozen men were quickly chosen, including the scout and the Panther,
and they at once started out, led by the scout through the forest in the
direction whence the French must soon come.
Half-a-mile further on they selected a spot where they could await with
advantage the arrival of the soldiers from the fort.
"Here! This spot will do! They will soon be here. Let us make ready,"
said Jamie. The Indians were soon under cover on either side of the
rough track which led to the fort.
They could now hear plainly the drums of the advancing army. Soon they
caught a glimpse of the white uniforms of the French through the vista
of trees.
"There are over a hundred of them, Jamie! Can we hold them back for an
hour?"
"We promised the chief that we would, and we must keep our promise,"
said Jamie, whose lips were compressed and whose brows were knit, as he
narrowly watched the approaching French.
The drums were silent now as the foe, with shouldered rifles and martial
equipment, marched boldly forward, threading their circuitous route
through the forest glades. Careless of any ambush, they came forward
singing and laughing, to show how much they despised the savage horde
they were expecting shortly to encounter.
Suddenly the sound of distant firing burst upon them. Mingled with the
shots were savage yells and whoops, which showed that the Iroquois had
attacked the party at the bend of the river. Louder and louder became
the din.
"_Avancez, mes camarades! Allez vite donc! Il y a ces diables
Iroquois!_"
At this command the French advanced more quickly, lest the fighting
should be all over before they arrived, and the drums beat out again
bravely. Their whole attention was engrossed by the distant firing, and
they knew not that already the head of their column was entering an
ambush, and that fourteen rifles were levelled at their leading files.
"Fire!" shouted Jack, and a deadly hail of bullets followed a blinding
flash and a report that echoed through the forest. Taken thus suddenly
by surprise, the head of the column staggered and wavered. Many a man
fell to rise no more. A panic seized the whole party, and for a few
moments it seemed doubtful whether their officers would succeed in
rallying them, so susceptible even are the bravest troops to sudden
fright when unexpectedly ambushed by an unseen foe.
A second volley was poured in upon the confused mass, and a scene of
indescribable terror prevailed. Hoarse shouts of command were heard.
The cries of the wounded and the wild yells of the Iroquois resounded
through the woods.
The second fire revealed the position of the Iroquois as well as the
paucity of their numbers, and the French commander shouted out--
"_A moi, camarades! Suivez-moi! Voila l'ennemi!_" and waving his sword
he dashed towards the revealed ambush followed by half his troops with
fixed bayonets.
Like chaff before the wind the Indians scattered and sought cover in the
deeper shades of the forest, leaping from tree to tree, and bush to
bush, firing upon the foe, who were compelled to deploy and enter the
thicket in single file. This was Indian warfare with a vengeance, for
neither party came into the open. For an hour this was kept up, and the
French, who could never come to grips with the wily foe, who always
retreated like a phantom before their bayonets, were compelled to
retire, for their leader had at length come to see that the whole aim of
the enemy was merely to delay their approach to the Algonquins.
Suddenly, from a distance, the scream of the Eagle was heard twice in
rapid succession.
"Our work is done now, Jamie! Let's give the French a final salute and
depart."
A parting volley was let loose upon the enemy, and then the two paleface
chiefs led back their band quickly, and rejoined the victorious warriors
of the Iroquois chief, who had driven the Algonquins across the river
with great slaughter. Only two were wounded, and none were missing, as
Jack looked at his dusky warriors, but of the French quite twenty had
been killed and wounded.
*CHAPTER XII*
*THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS*
"The Algonquins are reeds that bend, but my paleface brothers are like
the oak-tree!" exclaimed the Iroquois chief, as soon as he beheld the
youths.
Thus briefly did the savage warrior pay a graceful tribute to the skill
and courage of his friends who had held back the French, and at the same
time refer modestly to his own victory.
"There is no time to lose!" exclaimed Jack. "The soldiers from the fort
are close upon our heels, we did but delay their approach till we heard
your signal. What is to be done? They are in a mood for vengeance."
"Ugh! Let the boats be burnt!"
The howl of the wolf, repeated twice, was given, and the next moment a
column of smoke was observed in the direction of the canoes, followed by
several loud explosions, as the kegs of gunpowder, which formed part of
the lading, blew up.
The next instant the head of the French column appeared through the
trees, and White Eagle, seeing the uselessness of continuing the fight
against such overwhelming odds, withdrew across the stream with his
warriors.
"The Wacondah calls us to our wigwams," he said; and now, lightened of
their loads, and carrying only their rifles and scalps, the Iroquois
struck across the forest in a south easterly direction, and soon put
several leagues between themselves and the French, who arrived soon
afterwards, only to find the ashes of the fire and the fragments of the
canoes strewn around.
Chagrined and vexed beyond measure that they had once more been baulked
of their prey, and that the "Iroquois devils" had got the best of them,
they discontinued the useless pursuit, and returned to the fort.
The Indians travelled quickly, and soon reached the head waters of the
Genesee River, and on the afternoon of the fifth day, from a lofty
eminence they looked down upon the lodges and wigwams of their tribe in
the peaceful valley below.
A triumphant yell broke from their lips as they beheld this welcome
sight, for ever welcome to the soul of the returning warrior is the
lodge that he calls his home. The village was quickly deserted by its
inhabitants, for every stripling and maiden, all the squaws and children
came dancing and shouting to receive them.
With all the agility and suppleness of the deer, the Indian youths came
bounding forth to caper about the braves, to finger those gruesome
trophies that hung at their girdles, and to carry their rifles and
tomahawks. Their faces were radiant with the lofty hero-worship that
burned in their young hearts. How they longed to leave the comparative
security of the village and join the war parties!
The maidens, too, well versed in all the art and coquetry of the forest,
their long raven tresses decked with flowers, their dark eyes beaming
with love, welcomed home their sweethearts with unfeigned joy. But
there is always a fly in the honey, and the joy of victory was somewhat
marred by the bitter lamenting of those squaws whose husbands and sons
returned no more.
A hasty meal was then prepared and set before the Indians in wooden
platters and gourds, and as soon as this was cleared away by the
attendant squaws, a fire was lit and the braves seated themselves in a
circle and waited solemnly for the passing round of the peace-pipe and
the council that was to follow. A feeling of reverence and awe seemed
to pervade the very atmosphere, and the paleface youths became not a
little uneasy, wondering what important event was about to happen next.
The two strangers had caused no little curiosity by their presence,
especially amongst the squaws and striplings, but so far no one had
addressed them personally. Evidently they were all waiting for some
explanation as to why these two palefaces returned home with the braves
and were not treated as prisoners. Their curiosity was soon to be
satisfied.
A low murmur of voices ran around the council fire, and as if by
instinct the braves rose to their feet, and in one place the serried
ranks opened to admit a very aged chief, who came from one of the lodges
near the "painted post" and slowly made his way to the assembly. He was
accompanied by several other aged chiefs, but none amongst them looked
so wise or even so old, by a generation at least, as the Sagamore, who
now toiled painfully across the ground.
His form had once been straight like the fir-tree, but it was now bent,
and he leaned heavily on his staff. His face was covered with wrinkles,
and his white locks carried the snows of more than a hundred winters.
Not till this aged chief had taken his seat at the post of honour
amongst the chiefs that formed the front circle did the Indians deign to
follow his example.
Then the sacred pipe, the calumet, was lit and solemnly passed from
mouth to mouth, and amid a silence that could almost be felt, the blue
smoke curled upwards around the fire and scented the still air of the
early evening.
At last the White Eagle rose to speak, and as he did so every eye was
intently fixed upon him; even the squaws, who stood at a respectful
distance from the charmed circle, stayed their gossip and strained their
ears to listen to the weighty words of this renowned sachem.
"Father, you see that we come not back with empty hands. The wigwams of
the Algonquins are empty. Their squaws and their children gaze no
longer upon their braves, for the scalps of their warriors hang at the
girdles of my children."
A hum of satisfaction arose from every part of the circle at these
words.
"The Great Spirit has called ten of my braves to the happy
hunting-fields out there beyond the sunset," continued the chief,
raising his right hand as he spoke and pointing to where the sun had
just set amongst the pines, leaving a train of red and gold. "But they
had no wounds upon their backs, for their faces were never turned away
from their enemies. Their squaws and their children shall be provided
for. I have spoken, for the words of a chief are few!"
A low buzz of conversation went round the circle as White Eagle resumed
his seat, and many an eye was turned towards the palefaces, as though
some explanation of their presence was needed. At length the aged chief
rose slowly, assisted by two other chiefs.
Every voice immediately lapsed into silence as the old Sagamore, with
flowing locks that were white as the driven snow, began to speak. So
aged was he that the oldest warrior in that grim circle could scarcely
remember him otherwise than he now was. The children of his generation,
and the generation that followed him, had passed away like leaves before
the north wind.
"My children!" he began, and his voice at first was low and broken, but
they listened to him with all the reverence that awe and superstition
can give.
"Many suns have risen and set since 'Keneu,' the war-eagle of his tribe,
led his people forth to battle. A hundred winters have whitened the
forests and the plains since he first followed the trail of the deer.
Then we were chiefs and sagamores from the shores of the Great Salt
Lake, far back to the Gitche Gumee and the mountains beyond the plains
where, amid the eternal snows, the Manitou dwells in the Silence. Then
the forests were full of deer, the plains were full of herds, and the
streams were filled with fish; and no paleface was to be found in all
the land, for the Wacondah had placed his red children in a land of
plenty, and the smoke from the council fire and the calumet, the
peace-pipe, rose from every valley, and beside every stream were their
lodges, for my people were happy."
"Ugh!" came the ready cry of assent from many a dark-skinned warrior,
and many a furtive glance was cast in the direction of the two
palefaces.
"Then from the land of the sun-rising," continued the Sagamore, "in his
white-winged birch canoe, that brought the thunder and the lightning,
came the paleface; and he laid the forest low before him, and he drove
my people westward, for the face of the Manitou was turned in anger from
his children. Then we turned our faces westward, towards the land of
the setting sun, and the regions of the Home-Wind, and we said--
"'Here we will hunt the red deer and the beaver, and from these clear
streams we will take the sturgeon and the salmon, and here, when the
Manitou calls us, we will die, where we see not the smoke of the
paleface, nor hear the sound of his axe.' Was it well then, chief, to
bring hither the children of the East Wind?"
The old man ceased speaking and sank down once more upon the rude log
that served as a dais, and the silence became even yet more intense when
the White Eagle rose again and said--
"Once a mighty paleface came to the lodge of Keneu. Hungry and weary,
he came from the land of Wabun, driven here by the cruel laws of his
people, and he brought to us the thunder and the lightning, and he
taught my people knowledge and wisdom from the sacred writings in the
shining land of Wabun. He became the brother and the friend of the red
man, and we taught him to hunt the moose and the deer and the beaver,
and the Great Sagamore loved him, and gave him a place at the council
fire of my people."
"He is the friend of Keneu, and since many moons his lodge stands empty;
but who are these? Are they the children of Miquon?" abruptly asked the
aged chief, "or the children of the Canadas?"
"They are the children of the Yengeese, and they raised their hands to
help the Eagle when his wings were pinioned by the French of the
Canadas, and the red man forgets not his friends, when his fetters are
freed, else would the Manitou be angry. They are my brothers, and the
white blood has been washed from their veins. Will the great father
turn them from his lodge?"
This speech produced a wonderful transformation in the faces of all who
heard it, and when several other warriors had spoken of the prowess and
courage of Red Feather and Black Hawk, a gentler look came over the
Sagamore's face as he spoke.
"It is well!" he said. "The Wacondah has willed it. They shall dwell
in the lodges of the Iroquois, and my young men shall teach them to hunt
the swift deer and the beaver." Then the council broke up, and the men
repaired to their wigwams.
This formal introduction over, the youths were shown to a lodge, next
the one that awaited the return of the paleface hunter just referred to,
and during the weeks and months of their sojourn amongst the tribe they
were treated with all the respect and esteem that belonged to an Indian
brave. The war hatchet had been buried for a while, so they joined the
hunting-parties that often scoured the forests, and they soon became
expert in the arts and crafts of these children of the forest, until
each could handle a canoe, shoot the rapids and hunt the deer like a
true Indian.
"Come with me, my paleface brothers," said White Eagle one day, just
before the first snow of winter. "Come with me and I will show you how
the Manitou provides for his red children."
So they took their canoes and paddled all day, and then next day they
carried their canoes over a portage until they reached the sweet waters
of the Tioga River. As soon as the sun had gone down the chief took a
pine torch and held it, lighted, over the stream. Almost immediately a
dozen fine salmon, attracted by the torch, came to the very edge of the
stream. Then a fire was kindled close to the bank, and immediately the
river seemed full of living creatures of the finny tribe.
"Look! What a glorious sight!" exclaimed Jamie; "the water is alive
with fish." And it was true, for, attracted by the huge blaze, they
came tumbling over each other, leaping out of the water by dozens, until
the whole surface glowed and shimmered, green and red and purple.
Then the Indians who had accompanied them in order to get a supply for
the tribe, entered the water, and with long spears made of hard wood,
something after the fashion of a trident, speared and hooked the salmon
to their heart's content.
As the youths stood spellbound, gazing at this almost miraculous sight,
the chief tapped them on the shoulder and said--
"Does the Manitou fill the rivers of the palefaces with fish and their
forests with furs?"
"We have never seen such plenty, chief, in the land of the palefaces.
Very often if a man takes a fish from a stream, or a deer from the
forest, he is sent to prison and sometimes put to death."
"Humph!" said the chief in a tone of surprise. "Now I know why the
paleface comes over the Salt Water to the hunting-grounds of his red
brother."
The lads were so dumfounded by this unusual sight that their thoughts
turned instinctively to that little burn that sang its way down through
a wood-lined vale far away in another land, where to land a single fish
was a heinous crime, and yet how they loved that little spot, now so far
away; but the voice of the chief awoke them from their reverie, saying--
"Come, my brothers, and fill your canoe with the gifts of the Manitou."
They needed no second bidding, and the next minute they, too, were
enjoying the magnificent sport. Very soon all the canoes were filled,
and then after a hearty supper of fresh salmon, the fish were sorted,
dressed and prepared for drying, after which they were carried home for
the winter's supply.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST*
During their stay amongst the Iroquois, which had now extended over
rather more than a year, the two English youths had gained the esteem
and friendship of two young Indians, both the sons of the White Eagle.
Their names were respectively "Young Eagle" and "Swift Arrow."
The former was a strong and supple youth of seventeen, sturdy as an oak,
but as straight as a cedar. His brother, who was a year younger, had
gained his title of "Swift Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot that
he could overtake the swiftest deer of the forest with comparative ease.
Both inherited much of the courage and fearlessness of their sire.
These four companions spent much of their time, now that the summer had
come again, in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks together in
the fastnesses of the forest. They became well-nigh inseparable. Many
were the adventures and escapades, and many the dangers, too, that they
braved in each other's company.
Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe had
struck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into the
boiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers,
and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eagle
missed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck the
rock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down the
stream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in the
rapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arriving
there first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away,
immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after a
desperate struggle, in saving Jack from drowning.
This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to repay the week afterwards,
for in pursuing a wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had the misfortune
to lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just in
the act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded frenzy; when Jack,
heedless of the danger which he himself ran, rushed into the very "hug"
of the wounded bear, and plunged his long hunting-knife into its heart.
The bear rolled over upon them both, but the last wound proved fatal,
and the huge monster lay still in death.
A dozen incidents of this nature had only cemented the ties which bound
these friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear to
think of that near future when they must part from their red brothers,
for much as they loved the forest, they felt somehow that their life was
not to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on land
or sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it had
commenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the high
seas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the North
American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.
Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they had
been absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggy
brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in that
part of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters of
their own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenly
struck a fresh trail, which showed the prints of moccasined feet.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who was the first to discover them.
"What is the matter? Is it the trail of an enemy or a friend?" demanded
Jack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of a
serpent."
"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.
All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Every
bit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Then
they cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles.
At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemy
that had passed that way.
"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near the
hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.
"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping to
pick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after the
pattern of the French Indians.
They clustered round this piece of evidence, which seemed incontestable,
for a rude attempt had been made to work even the Lilies of France on
the discarded footgear.
When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word broke
from all their lips--
"Algonquins!"
But what were the fiends doing here, so far from the River of Canada?
And how many of them had come from across the lakes?
These were the questions they set themselves to settle next, as they
continued their keen search for any little trifle which might help to
explain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, and
every twig and leaf may be a written page.
They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, until
they came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the soft
black earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declared
that there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that they
must be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of the
Canadas.
"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," said
Red Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint that
was both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a different
pattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."
The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with the
palm of his hand, and compared it with the others.
"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, as
though the man had walked like this----" and here Jamie imitated the
carriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when he
walks.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My paleface
brother is right. 'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."
"Not an Indian?"
"No!"
"Who, then, can it be?"
"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has left that mark!"
"A paleface?" exclaimed the English youths, raising their voices above a
whisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.
"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" and
this seemed to all of them the solution of the problem.
The trail was a fresh one, too, and the enemy could not be far away, so
they immediately held a council of war, to decide what had best be done.
But the sun had set and it was almost dark, and they were compelled to
camp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees afforded
them a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.
They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to the
enemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of a
little dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning before
they followed the trail further.
"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow will
watch," said the young chief.
"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us till
sunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did
more than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."
"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels not
fatigue. Let my brothers sleep."
The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that though
they had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois,
yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wise
be matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, the
young palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and spruce
branches, unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.
They had been asleep perhaps for an hour, when the cry of a night-hawk,
followed by the howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance. On hearing
these the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, and
without speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside the
branches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of the
sounds.
It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed but
faintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.
An hour passed--two hours--but the Indian youth returned not. Had he
scented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return?
Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed that
Jamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmured
something in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to
close them, lest the sounds might betray them.
"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chief
inwardly, "for his sleep is still troubled."
The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled, and yet 'twas only a dream,
that he had often dreamt before. His brain had often been puzzled as to
why this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt that
he was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in the
Homeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, and
spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" he
said, and the tears rained down his rough face. But the little child,
with sunshine in his bonny face, and laughter in his bright blue eyes,
crowed and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's beard.
It was at this point that Young Eagle had placed his hand on the lips of
his sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes for
an instant, but he quickly closed them again.
Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side with
Jack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting the
bear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, when
suddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of the
forest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was
an old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band of
cruel red men.
Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escaped
his lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree about
his head and face, and although the _coup de grace_ had not been given,
yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips were
compressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to God
that death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.
A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and a
Yengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.
"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whether
he has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.
"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sight
of a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried the
hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatal
blow.
"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a red
warrior."
"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find them
petticoats!"
This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about his
head. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but he
bore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said--
"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show them
where lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-water
of the Canadas, and they miss their mark."