A BLOODY TROPHY.
Scarred Eagle well knew whence the shots came. The moment the Indians
rushed from the lodge he glided from beneath the pile of skins, and
quickly freed the limbs of Moorooine.
“Courage, girl,” he whispered. “I b’l’eve Brom’s saved. We must git out
o’ this afore they come back!”
As he spoke he sprung from her side, and peering out saw the Indians
yet rushing pell-mell toward the high bank of the river.
“Now’s our time--come!” he added, turning to the Indian girl.
She had started to her feet, filled with a new strength at the thought
that Brom was saved and her own escape probable. But as Rhodan was
about to glide out he caught a glimpse of a figure moving up from the
left of the entrance. There was no time to ensconce himself under the
pile of skins. Instead, he crouched close to the side of the lodge, and
Moorooine sunk back to her former attitude.
They had barely time to do this when a savage entered hastily and stood
beside the girl.
“Sporting Fawn too young to die,” he said. “If come to my lodge an’ be
my squaw, take ’er dar now in canoe. Mus’ come quick!”
As he spoke he drew his knife, and bent low to cut her bonds. The
sudden discovery that these were no longer upon her caused the fellow
to straighten up in astonishment. He had no time to question her or
even to glance around. A quick, powerful blow from behind laid him
senseless. Moorooine again sprung to her feet, and the next moment was
gliding across to the opposite row of huts after Scarred Eagle. The
moment they were behind these they turned toward the north. But they
had not gone more than twenty yards when, amid the general noise of
alarm, they heard the ringing cry of the warrior whom they had just
evaded.
It was lucky for them the fellow raised the cry, for it was answered by
others whom in a moment more the fugitives would have met.
At the moment they were near a large square hut, and having no time to
do better, crouched close beside it.
The Indians rushed past them, and were for a moment hid from view by an
intervening lodge. The cry had recalled others from the vicinity of the
subterranean passage, and these were heard rushing up.
“Must git in here if can--quick!” whispered the girl.
It was a desperate attempt; but more dangerous to remain still or
attempt to run further. They crept rapidly forward, and at a moment
when the backs of the startled Indians were toward them, darted inside.
“This council-house,” said the girl. “Mebbe not look here soon. Best
hide up there!”
She hurriedly pointed overhead to rude beams laid across from side to
side. Half the space was floored with small rough logs. The cabin had
evidently been reared by some French trapper. With a lightning movement
Scarred Eagle lifted her up, almost as soon as the suggestion was
made, and as she obtained a footing he sprung up after her.
For the time they were safe. Words can give no idea of the excitement
and confusion that now prevailed. It was frenzied. The last fifteen
minutes had marked the death of Heavy Sleep and the renegade, the
escape of Mace, the occurrence of the shots; and as a climax, some
other deadly, unseen foe had snatched one from captivity on whom the
savages had calculated to execute a terrible vengeance! No wonder these
events, so rapidly succeeding each other, made them crazy with alarm
and confusion.
Scarred Eagle and Moorooine lost not a second in moving close to the
eaves of the roof and stretching themselves at length.
They heard the baffled savages darting around the outside of the cabin.
Some of them entered it, but were evidently satisfied with the fact
that no one was below, without thinking to look aloft. Others ran
rapidly to the north, east and west, beating every spot that might for
a moment conceal a fugitive.
Scarred Eagle was able to judge very nearly of the disposition of his
enemies. He knew that at least half a dozen were after Mace. He little
feared for the latter; but ever since the shots came, he feared that
those at the retreat had unwittingly led the savages to suspect their
hiding-place. In that case the capture of all would be only a question
of time.
He realized the precarious situation of himself and the Indian girl:
at any moment they might be discovered. Still there was a hope--a bare
chance that they might remain there till night came. Pending that time
there seemed not the least possible chance of escape, even should they
remain undiscovered.
In half an hour it was fully light. Meantime, from the shouts and
cries, Rhodan knew the searchers were still at work. On every side of
the village the search had been keen and simultaneous. How would it end?
Through a crevice in the logs he managed, at last, to get a view of
the ground near the subterranean passage. It was not occupied, and the
fact cheered him. It was evident that the savages believed the daring
authors of the shots had escaped down the banks of the river. Some
were still absent on their trail, leaving the rest to look for the
daring enemy who had liberated the Indian girl.
These soon returned to the center of the village. There was about a
score of them in all. Their looks showed that their poor success was
operating on their superstitious notions. Could it be possible they
believed their last unknown enemy had escaped, and that they had given
o’er the search?
This was the question Scarred Eagle asked himself. Moorooine had
softly gained a position at his side, and was listening to the excited
conversation going on but a little distance away.
“Good--very good!” she whispered, at length.
“What is it, gal?” inquired Scarred Eagle, anxiously.
“The canoe gone!” she answered, drawing a breath of relief.
“What canoe, Moorooine?”
“Mine. They s’pose we took an’ escaped!”
“Is that what they say--ar’ ye sure?”
“Yes; sure. We safe for more longer anyway. S’pose white friends safe
too--all safe? Why s’pose White Fox safe?”
“I judge he is from what you told me an’ from what I noticed when I
crept into the village. You said he got away but was drowned in the
river.”
“Yes; seen ’im run--jump in, above the dark passage. Bad place--bad
spirit lives there.”
“That’s one o’ the foolish notions of y’ur people, Moorooine; but Brom
ain’t afraid o’ the place. I’ve gre’t hopes ’twas the means o’ savin’
him.”
He briefly explained the nature of the place to her, adding that he had
no doubt the rangers were at that moment concealed there. She listened
with great interest.
“Good,” she said. “They help us if can, then.”
“Thar’s jist a hope; but it’s a slim one,” said the scout. “If they
take a notion to s’arch this place we’ll be lost, sartin. If we kin
keep hid till night comes ag’in--eh, what’s hatchin’ now?”
They listened, Moorooine keeping her ear close to the crevice. Suddenly
she turned her head and peeped out. She recognized the warrior whose
proposition to save her an hour before had been so suddenly interrupted
by Scarred Eagle.
The quick-witted Indian girl understood all at a glance. The fellow
had not told of his own mishap, only that he had found the girl gone.
He well knew she could not have got far away, and, failing to find her
around the village, had a suspicion she was secreted somewhere within.
The missing canoe did not satisfy him. He was now pointing toward the
council-house, asking if the _loft had been searched_!
“No hope now, only for _you_!” whispered Moorooine, sadly.
She rose suddenly to her feet, and had taken one step forward, when
Scarred Eagle, surmising her intent, pulled her back.
“No; not yit!” he said. “Ye’ve put y’ur life at stake _once_ to git
the boy safe, an’ you ain’t a-goin’ ter resk it for me, by throwin’
y’urself into their hands. Git down thar ag’in quicker!”
He fairly crowded her into the aperture, between the log-floor and the
roof. Then, with steady agility, he darted past her, and established
himself in a similar attitude. At that moment three or four Indians
entered below, and one of them, assisted by the rest, seized the beam,
and drew himself over it. The concealed borderer knew that several
moments would elapse before the Indian’s gaze would become used to the
gloom in the loft. Even then, he might not think it worth while to
cross over, and look into the narrow space where they lay concealed.
But the savage did not wait. Urged by the impatient queries of those
below, he at once stalked forward and glanced around. He must have
seen that no lurkers were upon the floor, but a mere whim prompted him
to advance toward the further side. A round, white object caught his
eye, and as he bent toward it, something struck him in the forehead
and face, causing him to start back with a howl of pain. He whirled
rapidly, and grasping the beam, began to descend, pursued by dozens of
yellow-jackets, which, not to be partial, pitched into his companions.
In less than a minute, not only the loft, but the cabin was vacated,
except by Scarred Eagle and the Indian girl. These two, lying quite
still, cared little for the stings they themselves had received.
Long after the Indians had left the spot, they remained in the same
attitude, not only as a measure of safety, but to allow the disturbed
hornets time to settle.
In an hour, Scarred Eagle cautiously rose, and Moorooine followed his
example. They had not for a moment failed to hear sounds outside,
coming from those who mourned their dead, or from those who kept coming
in from a fruitless search.
“They no come here ag’in,” said the Indian girl, hopefully. “How do
that?”
“We scouts l’arn to make use of sarcumstances that other ’uns wouldn’t
notice,” replied Rhodan. “That nest was jest at my head, an’ ’twasn’t
much work ter rile the little chaps. Ay; there comes more!”
The Indians began to come in fast, from the west and south. Three hours
passed, and little took place in the village worthy of record. The
concealed scout and his companion began to feel weak from their past
terrible exertions. Hunger and thirst, too, tormented them. But there
was nothing but to wait and watch in suspense. Scarred Eagle began
to fear, and with reason, that those in the cave would be unable to
assist them. Even if there were no new alarms, the camp would be too
vigilant for them to escape that night. Meantime the warriors, whether
successful or unsuccessful, would all be in, so that it would be
madness for the rangers to attempt his liberation, even if they could
know where he was.
They would probably suppose he had effected his escape, and search for
him miles away. But he knew Brom would prosecute the search till death.
The sun was considerably past the meridian, when, from their look-out,
they saw a number of Indians start up, and advance toward the forest on
the south. A moment later, they heard sounds denoting an arrival.
“It’s plain all on ’em ain’t in yit,” whispered Scarred Eagle. “I don’t
know what’s kep’ ’em so long, onless--ay, thar they come!”
A dozen or more came into view. They were greeted with yells of
delight by those already in camp, who rushed forward to meet them.
As they advanced into the center of the camp, Rhodan noticed they had
a prisoner, and soon discovered it was Tim Devine. A pang of sorrow
filled the breast of Scarred Eagle. He knew the faithful fellow had
been taken, while endeavoring to draw the Indians off. His arms were
closely pinioned behind, his hunting-frock was nearly torn off, and
his face was covered with blood. What had become of his companion, Dan
Hicks?
It was a silent query soon answered. The excited crowd thronged around,
filling the air with gratified yells at the prospect of having one live
victim for torture. As they swayed to and fro, jeering and buffeting
the prisoner, one of them exhibited two bloody scalps of white men. One
of these Rhodan recognized as that of poor Hicks; and the other--he
feared, with a shudder, that it belonged to Ben Mace!