THE STRATAGEM OF THE TRAPPERS.
With the privilege of the romancer, let us transfer the reader to a
spot some thirty miles distant from the locality mentioned in the
preceding chapter. It is a beautiful place. On the west the mountain,
on the east and south the plains, on the north a spur of hills running
out from the original chain. Here vegetation flourished, and the sweet
breath of nature was fresh and dewy. Trees and flowers, and green
grass, and sparkling streams greeted the eye, and the soft undertone of
winds and waters, so like to silence itself, rang soothingly in the ear.
Hard by a spring of clear water, which bubbled out from under the huge
trunk of a fallen tree, a small body of men were encamped around the
smouldering embers of the fast-dying fire, on which they had prepared
their evening meal. That duty having been disposed of, and their horses
seen to, they were, after the manner of their class, engaged in a
talk. The subject, too, which claimed their attention, was one of more
importance than mere calculations as to peltries, or the ordinary run
of camp-fire stories.
“I tell you,” said one, the youngest, apparently, of the company; “I
tell you that’s the trail of a party of Blackfeet on the war-path. You
kin see that with half an eye.”
“I don’t know,” chimed in another. “It’s nigh into fifteen years since
I first crossed this here region, and I calculate that them resembles
Injins tracks, an’ made by a crowd it ’ud be cussed onhandy for us to
meet. They’re bent on mischief, and we’d better outen the fire and make
a clean break, for we can’t tell how many of ’em may be about.”
“The Biting Fox is right,” said a voice, which seemed to come from
their very midst.
Instantly the whole party leaped to their feet, and, with surprise
pictured on their faces, gazed in the direction from which the voice
proceeded. Right by their fire stood a man, tall of stature, and
apparently of the Crow nation. In full war-paint he stood, leaning on
his rifle, and gazing intently upon the hunters.
“The Biting Fox is right, for the train is of the Blackfeet. Their
number is large, and their blood is warm, for they seek the scalps
of the Crows. Three suns ago they passed here; to-night they will
return--Antonio waits for them. The fair-haired daughter of the great
white Medicine may be with them, and they will pass quickly; but the
rifle is long, and the eyes of the young eagles are sharp. Will they
wait for them?”
“Yer right,” shouted Biting Fox, leaping to his feet. “They’ll pass the
Major’s house, sure as death, an’ ef Wavin’ Plume an’ his chummy ain’t
along here on their trail, I’ll never look through sights agin.”
“The white men will need all help. The two braves may come, and the
warriors of the great Crow tribe will press hard on behind them, for
they are very brave.”
The person whom we introduced as the first speaker had been viewing
Antonio rather curiously for some time, and now, with a half-puzzled
sort of tone, he asked:
“Look-a here, I’ve got two questions to ask--how did that ar log git
thar, an’ how did you happen to be in it? Ef you had a bin one of the
sneakin’ cusses as made that trail you could a knocked both of us over
before we could a knowed whar the shots come from.”
“The Great Spirit placed the tree there--three suns ago I was here at
the spring, when the dogs of the Burnt Stick came, and I crawled into
the tree to hide from them. While they were at the spring I heard their
plans, and to-night I waited for them to return. I was sleeping, but
awoke at the sound of your talking.”
This conversation, carried on by two of the party, reassured, as it
was intended to do, the rest; and, satisfied that the half-breed was
a man to be trusted, they were ready to enter into a discussion as to
what was to be done. One of the first things to decide was as to the
probable course which the Blackfeet would pursue. Should they come by
this route, would they be likely to have in the possession either the
Major or his daughter? If these questions were answered affirmatively,
what was to be done?
The discussion was short but harmonious. Only one feeling was
manifest--to attempt a rescue. Thus it was that Ned Hawkins--a
sharp-witted and experienced hunter, who had command of the men--having
spent some little time in thought, and some little more in conversation
with Antonio, announced his determination.
Hawkins threw himself upon his horse, making a signal for the men to
mount and follow. Without questioning the propriety of his move, they
obeyed, and all set out in the direction--nearly at right angles with
the trail--of the nearest encampment of the Crows. They held on this
course for some distance, until the bed of a stream was reached, and
then forward for a few hundred yards, till the hoofs of the horses
struck upon hard ground, pointed out by the half-breed, and over which
it would be difficult to trace them. Taking, at length, a bend over
this, they returned to the stream at some distance from the spot where
they had previously crossed it. Halting at the stream, the leader made
a sign for the rest to stop, and at the same time taking his blanket
from its place, behind his back, he dismounted and advanced to the low,
shelving bank, and spreading the blanket carefully along the ascent.
The blankets of the others were used in like manner, and soon a sort of
bridge was made over the grassy turf, upon which the animals were led.
Then the hindmost blankets were raised, and placed in front, the horses
proceeded a few steps, and the same process was repeated. A few rods
thus passed over brought them into their old trail. Along this they
hastily galloped, much time had been consumed in the operation, and if
the foe should arrive a little before the expected time, their plans
might not admit of a full completion.
At the old camping ground they found Antonio awaiting them; and, by the
same means employed at the stream, they begun to transfer their horses
to the shade of the clump of timber upon their right.
Antonio leading, they soon came into an opening; but, as man after
man defiled into it, from the opposite side came a scream, so shrill,
so weird and unearthly, that in mute amazement they halted. Silence
brooded over the group, touching all with its icy hand. The horses
shrunk back with an irrepressible fear, and not a man was there whose
thumb did not strike, with startled quickness, the lock of his rifle.
The levelled pieces were let drop into the hollow of their hands, and
Hawkins turned to Antonio with:
“I’ve heerd tell o’ this critter often, an’ I’ve seed him myself, twice
afore, but I never heerd, and I never knowed of his gettin’ that close
to a man without tryin’ to git closer. They’re an ugly brute, an’ I
believe I’d sooner try a rough an’ tumble with a grizzly hisself. What
does it mean?”
“It’s a sign,” responded the half-breed.
The men threw themselves down, to await in patience the expected
arrival. The trapper, who, on the first apparition of Antonio, had
recognized him, was disposed to continue the conversation. Some few
words passed, and then the question was asked as to what time the
Indians might be expected.
“An hour yet. The horses of the Blackfeet will be wearied; but, when
the moon rises, their scouts will be at the spring. If my white
brethren had been unwarned, they might have been seen. Then they would
have travelled fast. The golden-haired would have been mounted on a
swift horse; the road to their land is but short, and a young squaw,
given to the Great Spirit, is never seen again.”
“Right, my mighty! You know the red varmints like a book.”
Ned Hawkins, meantime, had been diligently watching the horizon,
straining his eye-sight in the endeavour to discover something to repay
him for his trouble. Now, more through surprise than the fear of the
presence of an enemy, he uttered a warning.
“Sh!” On the plain a long line of dark, moving forms could be seen
coming on at a fast pace. There was sufficient light to show to the
breathless watchers that they were Indians; but to what tribe they
belonged could not be told until they drew nearer, or the moon should
fully rise. There was, however, but little doubt in the minds of the
trappers that they were the expected enemy. The story of the half-breed
had been so far verified.
As they filed, one after another into full view, and no signs
of prisoners could be seen, the half-breed shook his head in an
unsatisfied manner, while Hawkins said, in a whisper:
“Prairie Wolf, I allow yer sharp in Injun matters an’ death on black
critters, but you’ve mistook the thing this time, an’ run us inter a
purty snarl asides. Thar’s only about twenty of the red-skins, an’ nary
a prisoner.”
“Antonio was right. The band was twice as large when it passed, three
suns ago.”
“Ef yer right, it beats me,” put in Stevens, in a gruff, but low tone;
“only one way to clear it up They’ve been whipt like thunder, an’
consequently ther in a bully flame of mind for rubbin’ us out, if they
once get the scent.”
“If the pale-faces will wait till they are settled, they shall learn
why but half of these who went returned. They look not like men who
have been beaten.”
“Waal. I allow it might be some sort o’ a consideration to know about
them things, but then, as the Major ’pears safe, there’s other things
nearer home to look at.”
This speech, notwithstanding the important facts which it contained,
was somewhat dangerous to their safety, for Biting Fox, the speaker,
had incautiously let his voice rise to a very loud whisper.
Accordingly, Antonio expressed his opinion on the question of “what’s
to be done” by admonishing silence.
“Ef we were squaws, who talk, we might be in danger; but we are men who
fight, and do not talk. Antonio will creep up to their camp, and hear
what they say.”
No dissenting voice was raised to this proposition, and he departed
with that quick and stealthy step, for which the aborigines of our
country have been so noted. So weird-like was his motion that he seemed
like a ghost flitting through the trees. When he reached the edge of
the copse he disappeared entirely.
When the scout had crept up within hearing distance of the encampment,
he redoubled his caution. Advancing like a serpent, he felt well around
before he drew his body forward, fearful that something might lie in
his path, which, giving forth a sound, might herald his approach.
Long practice in this kind of work enabled him to advance noiselessly
to within a few yards of the nearest group, where, sheltered by the
already mentioned trunk of the fallen tree, he could easily understand
their conversation. The halt was a temporary one, but a number of the
braves, tired by their long journey, had sunk to sleep, only four or
five, apparently, being yet awake. These, engaged in a conversation
as earnest as would be consistent with their savage dignity, were
stationed nearest to the cover which concealed the hunters. All of them
appeared to be chiefs of some importance.
Antonio remained in his position near a quarter of an hour; then,
having learned those things which he wished to know, sought to retrace,
unobserved, his steps. This he succeeded in doing, and, just as the
hunters were becoming anxious, on account of his prolonged absence, he
stood in their midst.
“Waal, what did yer make out?” was the anxious inquiry.
“Antonio was right. The white chief and the young squaw, his daughter,
are prisoners. Those who have the two followed another trail, but they
will meet each other at the great crossing of the Yellowstone River.
These, at the spring, have the scalp of the Crow at their girdle, and
the Prairie Wolf would fight them for revenge.”
Even as the half-breed was speaking, the four Indians in council raised
themselves from the ground, swiftly wending their way to the spring.
Standing there for a moment, they cautiously set out on the trail which
had been made. As the form of the last brave was lost to view, Ned
Hawkins whispered, in a meaning tone:
“We’re in for it now, boys! Yer can’t blind old Eagle-eye, nor yer
can’t run away. It’ll be a fightin’ matter, an’ it ar a blessin’ that
half them varmints are sleepin’. Don’t fire unless they’re right atop
of you, or gin the yell. Then fight like grizzly bears or catamounts.
Ef yer don’t, yer hair will be riz, sure.”
“What do you think, Wolf?” queried Biting Fox.
He, thus addressed, quietly shook his head for an answer, making a
gesture indicative of doubt.
“Yer in doubt. Now I allows it ar a doubtful subject, an’ if--hillo!
Fire an’ yer a dead Injin!” whispered he, in a stern, low voice, at the
same time bringing his rifle in line with the heart of Antonio, who,
regardless of their dangerous position, was aiming in the direction of
the Blackfeet camp.
The movement and address of Biting Fox recalled him to his senses, and,
carefully letting fall the muzzle of his gun, he pointed to a dark
object, dimly to be seen creeping slowly along toward the thicket, and,
in a voice even lower than he had formerly used, he whispered:
“That is Talmkah.”
With a sagacity all their own, the Indians had divined that the whites
had taken refuge in the thicket. Moreover, it was patent that from the
care which they had exercised, and the time occupied in the movement,
that they did so with the intention of watching them--perhaps of making
an attack if a favourable moment presented itself.
The half-breed turned to the hunters.
“Prairie Wolf will go fall upon Talmkah. If he can meet him the chief
shall die, and know not the hand that struck him. If it fails, let the
white men ride straight through the camp, and they will escape. Fear
not for Antonio--he can take care of himself. If the great braves of
the Crows and the white trappers do not rescue the prisoners before, we
will meet at the Great Crossing.”
Before nay could be said, he was gone. Five minutes passed as an
age, and there was a wild, fierce yell; two figures arose from the
ground, then fell again, writhing together in a desperate, deadly
encounter. Quick as thought the score of warriors were on their feet,
and rushing toward their horses. As they rose, five steeds, with their
five riders close clinging, charged madly out of the thicket, and bore
down upon the confused mass. With a volley from their fire-arms, the
horsemen dashed through them, and several of the savages fell. Before
the Indians could bring their arms to bear, they were comparatively
useless, for the whites were out of range.
A cry from the throat of Antonio brought them to their senses. The
grasp of Talmkah had slipped, and his antagonist drove home his knife.
Then a piercing whistle rang out, so shrill and loud that Ned Hawkins,
at the distance of a quarter of a mile, turned in his saddle. As the
last sound of the note died away from the shrubbery, with crash and
tear, came a coal-black mustang, dashing for the spot where the single
combat had taken place. Then Antonio separated from his antagonist, and
threw himself upon his horse. One more cry of exultation, and he rode
recklessly over the plain, coal-black mustang and stout-limbed brave
vanishing from sight of both friend and foe.
“Anybody hurt?” was the first query, after the trappers were out of
gun-shot.
“Nary one,” said Bill Stevens.
“Blessin’s don’t come single-handed. Got out o’ the durned scrape
easier than I ’spected. An’ the half-breed, who are cl’ar grit,
’cordin’ to all appearances, will save his scalp, too. Meanwhile, what
are we to do? stay here, strike for head quarters er foller ’em on?”
A little conversation, a few questions as to route and distance, and
then, with a hardy assurance, the hunters struck across the broad
prairie. Now along its level surface, now through thin belts of
timber, or clumps of bushes; again over undulating mounds and through
the beds of numberless summer streams which lay in their way, they
ceaselessly pursued their course. Every sign which lay in their way was
instinctively noted as they flitted by, and, by long practice, they
could see far around them.
For several hours they travelled on, until the moon seemed nearly ready
to sink behind the mountains, which lay off and away to the west.
Noticing this, Biting Fox partly drew rein, and remarked:
“I should calkerlate that it war time, nigh about, to stop. We haven’t
so very many more miles ahead, an’ ef we should happen to cross the
trail too soon, we don’t do any good, an’ mebbe a sight o’ bad. The
hosses ar a leetle blowed; here’s a good place to rest ’em, so I’m in
fur holdin’ up.”
“All right,” responded Hawkins, and the party halted.
As they did so the moon dropped quietly behind a black cloud, and, for
a few moments, they were left in nearly total darkness.