"The Great Spirit has given the paleface the heart of a red man, so that
he fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears the
spirit of the flames."
A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, and
the Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and dead
timber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of his
prisoner.
Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the match
was about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of the
moment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and
awoke suddenly.
The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. He
sprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself--
"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face that
I have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"
Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of Black
Hawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in an
instant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleepless
vigilance throughout the whole night, and said--
"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let me
watch, while he slept."
"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger to
indicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a few
yards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood ready
for whatever foe might suddenly appear.
The branches parted, and Swift Arrow stepped quietly into the opening.
This brave youth had spent the night in the forest, sometimes lying
still as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, or
crouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruel
enemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had done
more.
He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating to
the very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had saved
the lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks in
returning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for some
distance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed his
efforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.
Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, who
had now awakened, could see that he had something of importance to
communicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of his
tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, which
consisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.
"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal was
over.
"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of little
importance and scarcely worth the telling.
"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then the
young warrior spoke briefly and as follows--
"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, of
twenty-four braves--and one prisoner...."
"And the prisoner? Who--what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering his
dream.
"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."
*CHAPTER XIV*
*SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS*
"The paleface hunter, did my brother say? Is he the prisoner?" exclaimed
Jamie, leaping to his feet, trembling with suppressed excitement.
"Hist! my brother forgets that an enemy is near!" said Young Eagle,
raising his finger to request caution.
At this moment, after several cabalistic signs, Swift Arrow left the
camp and quietly disappeared in the forest, and Jamie, expressing regret
at permitting his feelings to gain the mastery over him at such a
moment, resumed his seat on the ground.
"Whither away, Swift Arrow?" called Jack softly, as the Indian youth
glided past him, but he either did not hear him, or heeded not his
question.
"Swift Arrow has gone to the wigwams of the White Eagle, to say that his
friend is in the hands of the Algonquins," said the Young Eagle, who had
now assumed all the gravity and demeanour of an Iroquois chief.
"Phew! That means a journey of sixty miles at least. Rather a long
step for a lad, who hunted all day yesterday and scouted all last night.
When will he get there?"
"When the sun touches the tree-tops to-morrow White Eagle will know!"
replied the young chief.
"Then he will come with all the warriors who are not away hunting, and
fight the Algonquins?" asked Jamie.
"Ugh!" said the Indian, signifying yes.
"Perhaps that may be too late to save the paleface. I fear they will
have put him to death," said Jamie gloomily. "Cannot we go and save him
now?"
"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem very despondent," said
Jack, as his comrade heaved a sigh deep enough to break his heart. "Do
you despair of your life, that you want to throw it away so cheaply? If
we are discovered by yonder crew, our lives are not worth a toss, and
our scalps will be carried to the Canada lodges."
"The Wacondah has spoken to my brother, and his heart is heavy," said
the Indian, looking straight at Red Feather with his piercing eyes.
"What is it, Jamie? Out with it. We agreed that there should be no
secrets between us," said Jack, half in jest and half in earnest.
"Jack," said his friend solemnly, "I dreamt last night that I saw this
paleface hunter in the clutches of the Algonquins. He was bound to a
tree, and they were practising upon him every conceivable torture that
even a red devil can invent. I saw him pierced and wounded, and the
blood flowing freely from his head and face. Then, having tormented him
to the utmost bounds, and finding that his brave heart quailed not
beneath it all, they brought faggots and brushwood and kindled them at
his feet. They were going to burn him to death, yes, roast him alive,
while they danced around him in mad delight. But just as they kindled
the fire, and my heart was bursting with grief and agony, because I was
unable to help, I awoke, for I could bear it no longer. Then Swift
Arrow returned and told what he himself had seen, but I believe that I
saw even more than he did, for he saw not the tortures--and--and--I fear
that we shall be too late when the chief arrives with his braves. That
is why I wished to go straight to the camp now, and what is more, the
face of that hunter is as familiar to me as your own, that is by night,
for I have often dreamt of him before, but by daylight his features
become indistinct, and I cannot recall his face. So now that is why my
heart is so heavy! Cannot we do anything to save him?"
This last question was addressed to the young chief, who had been a
serious listener to all that Jamie had just said, for the Indians take
dreams very seriously, and treat them as messages from the Manitou.
"The Grey Badger is a great hunter, and his rifle has often left its
mark upon the Algonquins, as well as the bear and the panther. Red men
no kill him quickly. He is too great a prize. They will keep him till
the new moon, and then kill him," replied the Indian.
"When is the new moon?" asked Red Feather hastily.
"Two days!"
"And when will our friends arrive?"
The young chief made the circle of the sun's course twice, and then
pointed to the zenith.
"Then there is just a chance that we may be able to save him after all."
"Yes. For why should the Wacondah speak a lie?" said the Indian
earnestly.
"What do you mean? I don't understand you!"
"Why, Jamie, it's as clear as noon-day what he means. He says, 'Why
should the Wacondah speak a lie?' That is, if the Great Spirit has put
it into your heart to save this paleface hunter, why should he withhold
the means to do it, when He is all-powerful? The lad's faith in his God
is greater than your own. So cheer up, and we'll save him yet, or we'll
know the reason why."
"Young Eagle, I thank you. You have lifted a load from my heart, and
your faith is greater than mine, though I have been bred in a Christian
country," said Jamie.
"Ugh! My paleface brother has often told me of the sacred writings in
the land of the sun-rising, and how the Great Spirit has spoken to his
white children; why, then, should he disbelieve the words of the
Wacondah?"
This conversation was suddenly interrupted by an Indian whoop, which
seemed to come from the distant camp.
"What can that mean? Listen! There it comes again," said Jack. This
time it was repeated from several quarters.
"It simply means that they have been joined by another party of their
friends," said the Indian.
"What can they be doing so far away from their own hunting-grounds?"
"Depend upon it, they are here for no good. They're out for scalps, and
to harass their inveterate foes, the Iroquois, and any Yengeese woodsmen
they can lay hands upon."
"Must we remain here, like rats in a hole, Young Eagle? Is there
nothing that we can do?" said Jack.
"Yes! We must watch all their movements, and if they move, follow them,
leaving a broad trail that White Eagle can follow in the dark."
"Lead the way, then, Eagle, and we'll follow your trail."
Then they crept stealthily from their lair, and cautiously advanced
through the tangled forest, in the direction of the camp, for now that
the enemy were excited by the arrival of their allies perhaps they would
be a little off their guard.
Soon they struck the trail that they had seen on the previous evening,
and followed it carefully; sometimes creeping on their hands and knees,
crawling through the brushwood, watching furtively the while for any
signs of the outlying scouts who were sure to be guarding the camp.
Suddenly the hiss of a serpent caused them to start. It came from the
direction of the young Indian, who was but a few paces in advance, and
was the signal for them to halt and lie still. Immediately they became
as dead logs, hugging the ground.
Had the Eagle seen the first scout?
Yes, surely! What was that dark object creeping through the forest, not
fifty yards away? Was it not the skulking form of a redskin prowling
about like a wolf, and all the while coming nearer and nearer. He had
evidently not seen them as yet, for he still continued to approach, but
he seemed so wary and so alert that if he continued he must discover
them within another minute. Jamie covered him with his rifle, but he
was too wise to shoot, unless all other measures failed, as the crack of
a rifle so near the camp would alarm the whole party and bring the
Algonquins upon them in a moment.
Slowly, slowly the seconds passed, and each one seemed in itself an age.
They scarcely dared to breathe, lest the slightest sound or movement
should attract the attention of the scout.
He was only ten paces from the young chief when he halted, as though his
suspicions had been aroused. He was looking full in the direction of
his enemies, when some fluttering object in a bush, near the Iroquois
lad, caught his attention. He would examine that particular bush before
giving the alarm, so he advanced cautiously, looking warily around him.
He was a young warrior, perhaps out for his first scalp. How kingly it
would be to return to the camp with a scalp at his girdle, and without
boasting, quietly to take his place at the council fire, while all eyes
were fixed upon that trophy which he had won, unaided and alone.
The dark-eyed Indian maidens, too--how they would glance at him with
love-lit eyes and point out the trophy, and sing of his courage when he
returned home. Perhaps these thoughts were in his mind as he approached
the bush. One thing, however, he must avoid, that was, creating a false
alarm and thereby making himself a laughing-stock amongst his comrades
by mistaking a tree or a log for an enemy.
This temerity cost him dear. To reach the bush which had aroused his
suspicions, he had to pass within a few feet of Young Eagle. As he did
so, the latter made a sudden bound, like a panther springing upon his
prey, and cleft his skull with his keen hatchet.
Without a groan even, the Algonquin sank to the ground, and his spirit
passed to the hunting-grounds of his people. The youths turned their
faces away, whilst the young chief secured his first scalp. Having
obtained this trophy, he next dragged the lifeless form of the scout
into the forest and hid it away amongst the bushes, lest its discovery
should bring down upon them a swarm of hornets, in the shape of the
inmates of the neighbouring camp. Then he proudly retraced his steps in
the direction of his companions, who were eagerly awaiting his return.
"Was it well done, Young Eagle, to risk all our lives and our chances of
saving the hunter for a single scalp?" asked Jamie, who felt somehow
that his redskin friend might have left the scalp alone, for the
present, at any rate, forgetting in his anxiety to save the paleface
that an Indian will go without food willingly for a whole week in order
to obtain one scalp.
"Young Eagle is a warrior! He saw only an Algonquin dog!"
"But prudence is a virtue, even in a great warrior!"
"Let him alone, Jamie. For an Indian to leave an enemy's scalp behind
is a disgrace, and just as dishonourable as for a paleface to leave his
ensign in the hands of the enemy," said Jack.
Their present position was one of great danger, though for the moment
the death of the scout had reduced the chances of their being
discovered. Nevertheless, their only chance to avoid the enemy was to
find a spot where they could lie hidden till dark, for the scout would
be sure to be missed shortly, and then a search would be made for him.
A spot was found not twenty yards away, on the edge of a little rivulet
that ran through the forest. They, therefore, took a circuitous route
to this stream, and then walked cautiously down the bed of the rivulet,
so that the water would wash away their footprints in the sandy bottom.
Having gained this secluded spot, they were hidden from sight of an
approaching enemy, owing to the branches of the willows and alders
drooping to the ground and meeting the tangled undergrowth, and they
could yet watch the surrounding forest through the interstices of the
branches.
Here they lay hidden during the rest of that day. As the afternoon wore
on they several times heard the whoops and yells of the Algonquins, and
once they heard the report of a rifle, and Jamie feared that it denoted
the end of the paleface prisoner, but the young chief said that that was
very unlikely.
This close confinement at length became very irksome, and the youths
were so wearied and impatient that it needed all the influence and
sagacity of the Indian to urge them to remain till sunset. How wise
this counsel was will shortly be seen.
"Hist! What does that mean, Young Eagle?" said Jamie, when rather late
in the afternoon a sound very much like the "cawing" of a rook was heard
to proceed from a spot scarce a hundred yards away. No answer was
given, and the sound was repeated twice; each time it sounded a little
nearer.
The Indian did not speak, for he was keenly scrutinising the forest in
the direction of the sound, and at the same time unconsciously fingering
his tomahawk, while his every sense seemed alert.
"'Tis another scout who seems to expect a reply from his fallen comrade,
I fear, Jamie," said Jack, "and he can't understand why he gets no
answer."
"Ah! He is becoming suspicious. He is searching for him,
and--and--he's coming this way," whispered Jamie.
"Look! I can see him now through the trees. What if he finds his dead
comrade? Hist! He's looking this way."
Nearer and nearer came the Algonquin. He was within forty yards now,
and within twenty feet of where his companion had been slain. Suddenly
he started and a half-smothered exclamation escaped his lips. He was
looking at the ground, examining it carefully. He knelt down and
carefully removed the turf and leaves, raising his head every few
seconds, as though expecting to see his comrade.
Had he discovered a trail, or something worse? He was only thirty feet
away from the mangled corpse of the first scout. He was only ten feet
away from the spot where the death-blow had been given. It was the
trail of his lost comrade that he had discovered, but what next?
It was a moment fraught with intense excitement for the watchers. The
issues to these three adventurers were life or death. Once he
discovered the truth that was hidden in those bushes, a single call for
assistance would fill the forest with blood-thirsty hornets, and all
would be lost.
What could be done? He was too far away to be dispatched like his
comrade, and a rifle-shot would alarm the camp. Step by step he
advanced. Then his eager eyes caught sight of the fresh blood-marks and
evidences of the recent scuffle.
The Indian gazed at the red spots, and followed their trail to the
bushes. Then, as his eyes caught sight of the mangled corpse, he
uttered a blood-curdling yell that made the dark aisles of the forest
resound. At the same instant Jamie's rifle spoke out, and the Indian
fell to the ground.
Five seconds had scarcely passed when from the camp there came the
answering yell. It was a wild, fierce cry of revenge that brought the
whole pack upon their trail.
*CHAPTER XV*
*THE TRAGIC CIRCLE*
There was not a moment to lose. The two youths seized their rifles and
plunged into the forest.
"This way, Jack. Come!"
"Lead on, quickly!"
Young Eagle remained but a few seconds to take the victim's scalp and to
give the defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then he, too, followed
in their trail.
On they went. Their only chance of saving their lives now lay in
putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and their
pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk. 'Twas getting dark
already, but they stumbled on through the tangled undergrowth, over
fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.
Several times they heard the yells of the Algonquins, and once they
heard the crack of a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.
"Listen! That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll swear. He's either missed
our trail, or he's purposely misled them to give us a chance of getting
away."
"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried Jamie, who was a little way in
advance. "That second scalp has cost him too dear."
'Twas getting quite dark now, and they were compelled to slacken their
pace, partly from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they were
constantly being tripped up by ground vines, trailers and fallen trunks.
Once they got separated, and Jamie thought that he heard Jack call him.
He halted and listened, but hearing the swish of branches close behind
him he thought that his comrade was following, and continued for another
ten minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he glanced back, but saw
no one following.
"Jack!" he called softly. "Where are you?" but no answer came back from
the gloom.
Again he called--louder still, but only the cry of the night-raven and
the screech of an owl gave reply. Then he retraced his footsteps across
the clearing, but he failed even to discover the spot where he had left
the forest. Five--ten minutes he remained there, searching for his own
trail, but in the darkness he had lost his bearings, and not only Jack,
but he himself was lost!--lost!
Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown tree-trunks, and dark,
dank undergrowth, closing in upon him like a thick screen, separated him
from the nearest habitation, and even the nearest fort. What was to
become of him?
In his despair he threw himself down upon a rough, raised bank that ran
part way round the clearing; then he remembered that fancied cry, back
there by the swamp, when he had thought for an instant that Jack had
called him by name.
"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he murmured. "It was Jack calling for
help; it must have been. Perhaps he sank in the swamp, or perhaps the
Indians attacked him from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died
calling my name."
Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds, for he felt that he had
wilfully deserted his comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.
"Ah--to die! That would be easy, if only Jack were here. We have too
often faced death together to be afraid, but this wild loneliness unmans
me," and here the lad broke down and sobbed in his bitterness.
This weakness, if such it can be called, was of short duration, however,
for certain sounds fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him
something or somebody was approaching. A rustling amongst the branches,
a heavy but stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth. All this
came from the forest not fifty feet away.
There was just enough light to see half-way across the small clearing.
His every faculty became alert, and he instinctively raised his rifle,
examined its priming, and fixed his eyes at that spot where the object
must leave the forest to enter the clearing.
Perhaps it was Jack--at last. Should he call? Better wait and see.
Perhaps it was an Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy. What
could it be?
The next instant a shaggy head was thrust out from amongst the bushes,
scarce twenty feet away from where he sat, and then a huge brown bear
shambled into the clearing, stopping every few yards to raise his snout,
and to sniff the air, as though it scented danger.
Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously, to feel if his
hunting-knife were there, lest his rifle should fail him. The bear
caught the movement, quick as it was, and looked suspiciously in the
direction of the youth.
Having reached the middle of the clearing, the huge monster reared
itself up on its hind legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws,
began to advance in the direction of Jamie.
Jamie forgot every other danger in the face of this new one that now
threatened. He forgot also all his fears, in his desire to overcome the
bear. 'Twas to be a fair fight and no favour, and unless he killed
"Bruin," then the beast would kill him.
With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie levelled his rifle, as the bear
shambled towards him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to hug his
victim in a fatal embrace. The youth knew the vulnerable spot in that
thick, shaggy hide, and if he could only place his bullet there it would
end the combat, but on a dark night like this could he do it?
He was about to pull the trigger when a strange diversion, entirely
unexpected, occurred.
A plumed and painted warrior, from the Algonquin camp, hot upon the
trail of the young paleface, quickly entered the clearing and almost
rushed into the embrace of the huge monster. Discovering his mistake,
and uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the warrior fell back in
dismay, and dashed into the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his
erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape. The branches closed upon the
bear and the Indian, and they were hidden from sight.
"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed Jamie, as he slipped quietly into
the forest in another direction, thanking Heaven for this double escape,
and taking hope, for he felt that God had not deserted him, and would
somehow deliver him from his still terrible plight.
On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came to a little stream. Here
he stooped to quench his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for he
was fevered with excitement, after the quick transitions of feeling he
had undergone since they alarmed the camp.
Then he followed the path of the brook some little way, hiding the trail
of his moccasins in the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy
mould of the forest the water yields no secret. Then, after a while, he
struck into the forest again. Forward he went, lest the murdering
Algonquins should discover his trail once more, and a tomahawk end his
career. Once or twice he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an
Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his fierce flight.
The moon was rising now, and it was becoming much lighter, and Jamie was
able to make more rapid progress; but he was becoming exhausted, and
felt that he must stop soon, when suddenly he noticed that the giant
pines and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and the undergrowth less
tangled.
A tiny red glow--the glow of a camp-fire, appeared through the trees,
and the next moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts of a
deserted camp.
Now at length help is at hand, he thought, and he prepared to enter the
place.
Horror of horrors! It was the same camp from which he had so blindly
fled two hours before. Some malevolent deity had led his bewildered
footsteps in a tragic circle, a mistake not uncommon, even for
experienced travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and without due
precaution.
Where was now the Providence that had guided his footsteps? He almost
cursed his ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly fate would
have it, this was the best thing that could have happened to him.
He had indeed been guided by Providence, for while both Jack and Young
Eagle had been made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the watercourse, and
unconsciously doubling back upon the deserted camp, had thrown even the
quick-witted Algonquins off the scent, who never suspected such cunning
in a paleface.
I have said that the camp was deserted, although the fire still burned,
and the evening meal remained untouched, for at the first sound of that
fatal cry from the woods every inmate of the camp, except the paleface
prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring enemy who had scalped their
warrior. In this sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while
forgotten, as we shall shortly see.
Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld the fatal error he had made.
Wearied and exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish, but even thus a
new feeling of terror seized him, the terror of the returning
Algonquins. What if they discovered him here?
Once more he plunged into the thicket, for a strange new strength had
come to him, but it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.
Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled, and his clothes in
tatters, he rushed madly away from the spot. Whither he went he cared
not. Anywhere--away from that terrible camp. He rushed blindly on,
until at the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly exhausted,
beneath the friendly shelter of an elm-tree, and careless now whether
the wild beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.
His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and he swooned away rather than
sank into sleep; but soon his breathing became more regular, and his
slumber more peaceful.
The moon rose above the topmost branches, climbed to the meridian, and
sank once more amongst the pines. Then the golden orb of day unbarred
his eastern shutters, tinged the far horizon with saffron and yellow,
and flooded the landscape of forest, and river, and lake, with gold, but
still the youth slept on. Would he never awake?
At length, when the sun was high above the tree-tops, Jamie stretched
himself, then opened his eyes. As he did so his first gaze fell upon a
man, somewhat past middle-age, but still strong and sturdy. He was in
the garb of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt,
moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on his head was a beaver cap.
Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw it was no redskin that bent
over him.
This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk, against which leaned his rifle
also. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and while he
vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from his pipe, he was complacently
looking at the lad, as though he had been keeping watch.
"The same face----" murmured Jamie. "It is--it must be--the great
paleface hunter!"
*CHAPTER XVI*
*THE PALEFACE HUNTER*
Jamie half rose from the ground, rubbed his eyes, and appeared surprised
and mystified at this unexpected turn of events.
"Am I still dreaming?" he wondered. "I have seen this man many a time
in my dreams, but never, to my knowledge, have I seen him before in the
flesh. Who can he be, that he thus haunts me, asleep and awake?"
"So you've woke up at last, youngster! I was beginning to fear that you
might never wake again," said the stranger, in a kindly and not
unfamiliar voice that awoke the echoes of memory.
"Then you've been watching over me? Guarding me, perhaps, whilst I
slept?"
The stranger nodded assent.
"Who are you? Tell me your name, that I may thank you, for friends are
not too numerous hereabouts, and I have already lost two comrades since
I came on this trail. Tell me who you are, if you please?" for the lad
saw by the stranger's kindly manner, his honest, sunburnt face, and his
clear but piercing eyes, that he was no enemy.
"My real name doesn't matter, my lad, though I am well known in these
parts, for the Indians on this side the lakes know me for a trapper, and
they call me the 'Paleface Hunter,' and sometimes the 'Grey Badger.'
"But how came you here?"
"This is my home--this forest! I have lived here for fifteen years,"
said the trapper, indicating the wide stretch of forest land with a
broad sweep of his hand.
"And how did you happen to find me, just when I needed a friend, too?
When I sank down last night I never expected to see the light of another
sun."
"I stumbled across you here at dawn. You were fast asleep, and I saw by
your torn clothes and the scratches and flesh wounds on your hands and
face that the Indians had been hot on your trail. I half feared to find
your scalp-lock missing, but when I examined you I found that you were
living, but so exhausted and dead-beat that to wake you up might finish
you, so I just carried you in here, covered up your trail, and waited
for you to awake."
"And for four hours," replied Jamie softly, and with tears in his
voice--"for four hours, since dawn, you have watched over me like a
child in a cradle, though any moment the Algonquins might have
discovered your trail."
"Tut! tut! my lad! That's nothing----"
"Paleface--if I may so call you--you have saved my life, and I thank you
with all my heart, though last night, when I lost my best friend, I
cursed my fate and wished to die."
"'Tis more likely you who have saved my life."
"How so?"
"Was it you who fired that shot last evening just before sunset?"
"Which shot?"
"The one that alarmed the camp!";
"You mean when the scout was----"
"Scalped."
"Yes, I fired it."
"Who took the scalp? I reckon that is not your gift, my lad."