"Swift Arrow. I know the lad. He has the swiftest foot in all the Six
Nations, and he will bring the warriors back, but whether they will
arrive in time is another matter. And now there is something for us to
do."
"What can we do, trapper? Speak, for I am ready. Inaction alone is
inglorious, while my comrades are in the hands of those fiends. What can
we do?"
"We must hold the trail till the chief comes up. The Algonquins are
pretty sure to clear off quickly, for they are in the hunting-grounds of
the Iroquois, and my escape will have hurried their departure. Probably
they are already preparing to move. Let us go. But stay, you are
famished, and cannot stand a long journey. We must have breakfast, and
then we will hasten, lest the game should slip through our hands."
They made a hasty breakfast of some dried venison and half-cooked
hominy, which the trapper bad snatched from a cooking-pot when he
hurried away from the deserted camp; then feeling much refreshed by this
rude but welcome meal, they shouldered their rifles and departed in the
direction of the camp.
They cautiously continued their way through the forest, sometimes wading
in narrow streams in order to hide their trail; sometimes crawling on
all fours through the dense undergrowth, till they reached the outskirts
of the camp.
Not a word was spoken during this tedious journey, which took upwards of
an hour, lest a solitary sentinel should discover their approach. Once,
indeed, they passed within a hundred feet of a scout, without even
raising his suspicions. At length they paused for a moment to rest at
the bottom of a little densely-wooded hillock, scarce an arrow-flight
from the camp. They were entirely hidden in the thick shrub, and were
so close to the enemy that they could hear the voices of the Indians,
and see the blue smoke curling up from their fire, though the fire
itself they could not see, because of the little brow or hillock that
intervened.
Then they crawled from their hiding-place, through the brush to the top
of the brow, and looked down upon the encampment. They doffed their
beaver caps, and only permitted their eyes to peep for an instant at the
scene below, lest the sharp glance of a warrior should chance to see
them, but what a thrill came to Jamie's heart!
Thirty or forty braves were standing or lying about, some of them in
little groups occasionally pointing to the forest. Others were
examining their rifles and knives, as though expecting to be attacked.
A few were hanging over the remains of a feast, the remnants of a deer.
But what remained longest in Jamie's memory, during that brief glance,
and excited his feelings most, was the sight of his two comrades bound
to a huge tree near the middle of the camp. Whether they had already
suffered torture or not, or were merely waiting helplessly until such
time as pleased their captors to commence their vile and fiendish
practices, he knew not; but his own feelings were roused to such a pitch
of fury by the sight that it needed all his strength of will to command
his feelings, and to restrain his desire to rush forward and liberate
the prisoners.
Just at that moment a hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a voice
whispered--
"Come!"
He turned and followed the trapper quietly until they were once more
ensconced in their late hiding-place.
They were not a moment too soon, for scarcely had they hidden themselves
when a scout came along, peering amongst the trees and bushes, as though
expecting to find an enemy behind every cover. Suddenly he stopped
almost opposite to them, and looked suspiciously at the ground.
Something unusual had evidently attracted his attention. What was it?
He was within a few feet of their trail. Had he discovered it? It was a
critical moment for the two palefaces. A single movement, however
slight, would betray them. It was dangerous to breathe even, or to stir
an inch, for the crackling of a twig would have been fatal. Their very
lives hung on a slender thread.
*CHAPTER XVII*
*A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE*
It was a period of awful suspense, and the two palefaces held their
breath for a moment as they watched the scout keenly.
What was it that had attracted the attention of the Algonquin?
He stooped down and picked up something that lay upon the ground. It
was a broken scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped or lost in
some scuffle long, long ago, for it was thick with rust. He gazed at it
for some seconds, turning it round, then flung it away into the forest.
The next instant he ascended the hillock and disappeared, entering the
camp.
Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and his friend, for the discovery
of the scalping-knife had both arrested and deflected the course of the
scout, when he was only a few feet away from the fresh trail of the two
palefaces. Had he continued on his original course, he could scarcely
have failed to discover the prints of their moccasins, and a very
awkward situation would have arisen. The alarm once given, fifty braves
would have been upon them within a minute.
The sound of voices now reached them more frequently, and it was evident
from the commotion that was going on that some movement was imminent.
Once the piercing cry of the hawk was heard to come from over the
hillock.
"They're moving the camp, and that's the signal for the scouts to draw
in. They'll be gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.
"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.
"No. We shall gain nothing by being too eager. Besides, we have still
got several incoming scouts in our rear. We must keep closely to cover
till they have passed."
This precaution was a very necessary one, for within half-an-hour no
less than three scouts passed within a hundred yards of them, each going
in the direction of the camp.
Another hour passed away, and the sounds they had previously heard
became fainter and then died away. At length the trapper rose from his
crouching position in the brushwood and said--
"Let us go!"
They now crept carefully through the long grass that partially clothed
the hillock, until they could peer over the brow and obtain a view of
the camp.
The place was deserted, for the Indians had gone and taken their
prisoners with them. The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked
pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay about, also several broken
utensils and a pair of cast-off moccasins.
"Whither have they gone, think you?" asked Jamie.
"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."
"They cannot have killed their prisoners, then, or we should have heard
them, and there would have been traces of blood."
"See. Here is the tree to which they were tied. The thongs have been
so tight that they have cut into the bark."
"Yes. That means that they will have to travel slowly, unless they kill
their prisoners, for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet
awhile."
The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun, which was now declining, and
had reached the topmost branches of the trees on the western side of the
forest; then he proceeded to examine the prints of the Algonquin
moccasins, following them a little way into the forest for the purpose,
while Jamie still examined the ground about the root of the giant
elm-tree to see if he could find traces of blood.
There were several spots of blood about the tree and several splashes of
it on the bark. There were also many deep cuts and gashes, and an arrow
still remained fast in the wood about six feet from the ground, as
though they had practised the same cruelties upon the lads that they had
essayed upon the hunter.
"Only to think," muttered Jamie between his teeth, "that an hour ago
both Jack and Young Eagle were tied up here, expecting a cruel and
lingering death from their captors. What were their thoughts? Oh, if
they could only have known that help was so near! Hullo! Where is the
trapper? He has disappeared!" and the lad was suddenly awakened from
his reverie by becoming conscious that the hunter was nowhere to be
seen.
After a few minutes' search he found the old man some little way in the
forest, examining very keenly the trail of the Algonquins.
"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked.
The trapper still continued for another minute to examine the prints of
the departing redskins, and then he said, speaking very slowly as though
he had come to his conclusion only after much thought--
"They are making tracks for one of the streams that flows into Lake
Seneca, where they have probably left their canoes hidden in the forest;
then they will pass down the lake to the Seneca River, and from thence
into Lake Ontario and thus to the Canadas."
"Then what chance shall we have of recovering the prisoners? Where can
we overtake them?"
"Not till we reach the Seneca Falls, I fear," replied the trapper.
"Some distance below the outlet of the lake there is a portage past the
Falls where they must land to carry their canoes to the river below.
That is the spot where we must surprise them. By that time the Eagle
will be with us and some of his braves."
"That sounds all right, but what about the prisoners? I had hoped that
something might have been done to rescue them before then," said Jamie.
"The lads are safe for another three days, at any rate, unless they
attempt to escape, for it now seems more than likely that they are to be
carried off to the Canadas."
"What is that picture that you are drawing, trapper?" for the old hunter
had stripped a large piece of bark from a birch-tree, and on the inner
side had begun to draw a few rough pictures. It contained a cryptic
message in the Indian style of "picture-writing," by which these
children of the forest spoke to each other at a distance.
It depicted the whole length of Lake Seneca, and the Falls in the river
below, then a badger and a feather, representing the Grey Badger and Red
Feather following up a trail, while a few wigwams ahead represented the
departing Algonquins. Next a White Eagle making a swift curve towards
the Falls completed the picture, and the message was complete.
"It is a message to the White Eagle, to ask him to make direct for the
Falls and there to prepare an ambush for the foes," replied the trapper.
"Capital! He'll understand that, easily enough, when he reaches here at
noon to-morrow."
"Yes. The meaning will be as plain as a pikestaff when he sees it.
He'll probably be at the Falls long before us, for he'll travel day and
night when he scents the game he's after. And now let us start, while
the trail is warm."
The piece of bark was fastened to a tree, and they departed quickly.
Night soon overtook them, and they camped for a brief while in the
forest. A drink of water and a piece of bear's flesh, which they had
brought from the Algonquin camp, sufficed for supper, and then they lay
down to sleep, but Jamie thought that he had only just closed his
eyelids when a hand was laid on his shoulder and the hunter said--
"Come! The dawn is breaking, and there is the promise of a fine day."
All that day they followed the trail; not without difficulty, for
although in the soft soil of the forest the moccasins had left a deep
print, yet at times, where the earth was dry and barren from lack of
moisture, or where the redskins had followed the beds of the streams,
wading in the water, the trail became difficult and the progress slower.
There was also another danger that made them proceed with care. The
Algonquins might have placed scouts in their rear, and at any moment an
ambush might be sprung upon them.
"If only we could reach the canoes first and set them adrift, we could
then delay and harass them," said Jamie.
"No! no! That would never do," replied his companion. "Our business is
to locate them and then to make a detour, joining our companions at the
Falls, without letting them discover our presence. Once they find that
they are being tracked, the prisoners' lives are endangered, for to
facilitate their progress they will kill the prisoners."
"See, here is a broken twig, and the leaves have scarcely withered,
showing that it cannot be more than a few hours since they passed this
way," said the lad, who was now keenly alert for every little sign that
would guide them.
"Yes, and here is a deeper print in the soft earth, as though one of the
prisoners had gone slightly out of his way to leave it for our
assistance."
"You are right, trapper! That is the mark of the Young Eagle's
moccasin, for here is the little patch on the left heel that he repaired
but two days ago, when he had burned a hole in his moccasin by standing
too near the fire. But look here! What does this mean?"
And a few feet further on they both stood still and gazed at several
splashes of blood which had dyed the ground.
"The villains! One of them has inflicted a wound on Young Eagle,
probably for snapping the twig, or leaving a footprint in the soft
mould, which shows that they will be watched in future, and that we
shall have no more signs."
"The wretches!"
"I hope White Eagle will not miss our trail, should he decide to follow
us, rather than go direct to the falls," said Jamie, when the day had
worn on into the afternoon.
"There is no fear of that. White Eagle is the greatest chief in all the
Six Nations, and he could follow the trail of a humming-bird. Besides,
look there. I have left him a trail that he could follow in the dark,"
and for about the twentieth time the trapper barked a tree with his
knife in a peculiar manner, which evidently had a significant meaning
for one who was versed in the secret code of the forest.
The ground hardened again now, and the trail almost disappeared, and
sometimes failed altogether, so that a full hour was spent hunting for
some hidden clue. At length Jamie exclaimed--
"Here is something, trapper! A broken file that Jack has purposely
dropped to guide us."
"A broken file?" queried the other.
"Yes. Rather a strange thing to carry in the forest, but--but--he used
it to sharpen his knife, and such things," said Jamie, reddening a
little as he remembered the history of that little file in the old
country. It was the one which had secured their escape from the lock-up
two years ago, and Jack had kept it as a memento, saying--
"It has brought us luck once; it may do so again. At any rate, it is
sure to be useful, and I will keep it."
The hunter carefully examined the file, and then passed it over to his
friend. He, too, remembered to have seen a file exactly like that
once--long ago--in a little land across the sea, but all the secrets and
memories that it recalled were painful ones.
"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it," exclaimed Jamie. "It's as
good as following a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside, I do
declare."
"Where did you say?"
"Burnside! In the old country."
The old man looked long and keenly at the youth, whose features were now
so brown and tanned that he was more like a redskin than a paleface.
Then he was about to speak further, but he checked himself, for at that
instant, when they had only followed the newly-discovered trail for a
hundred yards or so--
"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them that it pierced Jamie's beaver
hat and pinned it to the bark of a tree.
In a second they had gained the shelter of a friendly elm, whose huge
trunk offered cover for them both. Scarcely had they done so when--
"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a third, both perilously near.
"I can see him, trapper," whispered Jamie, as he caught sight of a dark
shadow behind a tree fifty yards away, just as the third winged
messenger whizzed by.
The trapper had seen that dark form too, and had covered it with his
rifle, but he hesitated to fire, and looked behind him uneasily once or
twice, as though conscious that some one was advancing from the rear.
Were they trapped? Had the stalkers themselves been stalked?
He was not mistaken, for a dark figure was flitting from tree to tree
behind them, and each instant coming nearer.
Who could it be?
"Keep your gun levelled at that red devil in front, lad. There's some
one approaching from behind! Whether friend or foe, I know not, but
I'll soon find out," said the hunter.
Jamie did as he was bid, and before long the opportunity he sought was
offered to him. He caught sight of the Algonquin again. As he stood
fitting another arrow to his string, his right arm was exposed.
"Bang!" a flash of flame spurted from Jamie's rifle. The leaden
messenger found its mark, and the Indian's arm fell helpless at his
side, even as he prepared to shoot. With a yell of pain the scout
plunged into the thicket and disappeared.
The next moment a dark figure bounded from the cover of a tree in the
rear and quickly advanced. The trapper had him covered with his rifle,
but the instant he caught sight of his face he dropped the piece and
said--
"Welcome, Swift Arrow!"
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*A LOST TRAIL*
"Swift Arrow?" exclaimed Jamie, lowering his smoking rifle, as he almost
rushed forward to greet his companion, in a truly English fashion, for
he was heartily glad to see him again.
The Indian, however, remained cold and reserved, and his only response
to the warm greeting of his paleface friend was the customary "Ugh!"
which seems at times to be the only stock-in-trade of the Red Indians.
The fact was, the youth was on his first war-path, and at such a time
the practice of his tribe demanded deeds, not words.
"My red brother has the speed of a deer and the heart of a lion. He has
seen the White Eagle, and has brought us tidings. Let him speak, and
the palefaces will listen to his words," said the trapper.