DAVE AMONG THE INDIANS
Dave came to his senses with a nerve-racking shiver. There was a
stinging pain in his side and when he took a deep breath he felt like
crying out. All was dark around him, and on his face lay a handful of
dead leaves.
For a while he could not remember where he was or what had happened. In
a dazed fashion, he called for his father, and for Henry and Rodney.
Then he moved his hand, and found the arrow that had struck him still
sticking in his jacket.
"Oh!" he groaned, and the full recollection of the fierce fight with
the Indians came back to him. He knew he was wounded and wondered if it
could be serious.
"Perhaps I'm going to die," he thought, and then uttered a silent
prayer that his life might be spared, and that he might return to his
family and friends in safety.
The hole into which Dave had stumbled was only a few feet deep and the
bottom was covered with dead leaves, making a fairly comfortable couch,
even though damp. Overhead all was dark, and he knew that it was night.
His first rational thought was to get back to the camp of the
soldiers--providing they still had a camp. But the moment he tried to
stand on his feet the pain in his side came back. His under garments
were saturated with blood, but fortunately the wound had now stopped
bleeding.
"I--I can't do it!" he groaned. "I've got to stay here."
He wondered what had become of Barringford and the other rangers, and
at the risk of being discovered by the Indians, set up a faint call for
help. But no answer came back. The silence was complete, for the sounds
of battle had driven even the birds and larger game away.
An hour or more went by--Dave had no means of measuring time--and
slowly it began to grow lighter. With a painful effort the youth stood
up in the hole and gazed about him.
It was a fatal move, for at that moment three Indians, each slightly
wounded, came limping into view. As one saw Dave he uttered a shout to
his companions, and all drew their tomahawks.
"Don't!" cried Dave, as one of the red men was about to hurl his
hatchet. "Don't!" And he threw up both hands, to show that he was
unarmed.
The tomahawks were lowered and in curiosity the Indians gathered around
the hole. One wanted to scalp Dave and brandished his knife for that
purpose, but the others stopped him.
"Let us take him to Chief Moon Eye," said one. "He may have something
of importance to tell."
This was agreed to, and by signs the Indians made Dave understand he
must come out of the hole. As he hesitated, one of the red men bent
over and catching him by the hair, literally dragged him up. All gazed
at him fiercely and made motions for him to walk along, with his hands
clasped over his head. Not one of them could speak English, nor could
Dave understand the dialect they used. He saw that they were very dirty
and bloodthirsty to the last degree.
The course was through the forest to the northward, and long before the
walk was ended Dave was ready to fall from exhaustion. The Indians,
to make him increase his pace, prodded him with the points of their
hunting knives, until the blood was running down his back in half a
dozen places. Dave might have retaliated, but knew full well that it
would be sure death to do so.
At last the party reached a little clearing in the midst of the
wilderness. Here were congregated two score of red men, all in their
war paint and all showing more or less signs of the conflict of the
day before. In their midst was an unusually tall Indian chief, having
peculiar lightish-colored eyes. This was Moon Eye, called by some
trappers of that time, Moon Hawk, for it was said that he frequently
roamed in the full moonlight to steal from the settlers.
"A captive!" was the cry, as the Indians came in with their prisoner,
and Dave was immediately surrounded by the entire crowd. They eyed him
angrily, and many wanted to dispatch him on the spot, but were held
back by others.
"Does the white prisoner belong to the soldiers?" questioned Moon Eye,
confronting Dave with arms folded.
"I belong to the rangers," answered Dave. He saw no reason for trying
to conceal his identity, since it must be understood that he had been
in the battle.
"The white young man is wounded?"
"Yes, an arrow hit me in the side."
"Ugh! It should have pierced the prisoner's heart!" grumbled the chief.
"Can the prisoner read the papers which the English write with their
quills?" he went on, suddenly.
"Yes, I can read."
"It is well. He shall read for Moon Eye, when our camp is gained."
This was all that the chief would say, and immediately afterwards Dave
was securely bound, his hands being tied behind his back. Then he was
placed in charge of four Indians who had been slightly wounded, and the
party started westward about noon, having first partaken of such food
as the Indians had with them.
It was a rough journey that the youth did not forget for many a day
afterward. The trail was through the dense timber, and several small
streams had to be crossed. At one stream the Indians stopped to bathe
their hurts. Dave begged for permission to do likewise, in the sign
language, but they only grinned at him, and one tripped him up, so that
he fell into the brook bodily. Then he received a kick, to make him
rise, and was ordered forward once more.
That night the party slept in the open air. Fortunately it was warm, so
Dave did not catch cold because of the wetting he had received. They
rested until dawn, then went on again until noon.
Having gained a fair-sized river, a large canoe was brought forth from
under some bushes, and Dave was made to enter. The red men followed,
and for two hours they kept on down the stream. Then the barking of
dogs reached their ears, and presently they came in sight of an Indian
village, and several squaws and children hurried forth to meet them.
As soon as the squaws heard of the results of the battle of Bushy Run
they were loud in their laments, and one, who had lost her husband, cut
off her hair and tortured herself with a whip.
With scant ceremony, Dave was taken to the center of the Indian village
and there tied to a tree. Two Indian boys were set to guard him, and
they amused themselves by flipping pebbles into his face. The Indians
went off to rest, while their squaws set about washing their wounds and
binding them up in salve of their own making.
It was not until two days later that Moon Eye came to the village, and
during that time Dave was treated in anything but a friendly fashion.
His wounds were totally neglected, and one became exceedingly sore and
painful. He was given but little to eat and to drink, and more than one
squaw took pleasure in tantalizing him by showing him food and then
passing on with it.
Moon Eye brought in news of another encounter with the English, in
which the Indians had again been beaten off. He was very bitter, not
knowing what to do next, and eyed Dave ominously when he strode up to
the captive.
"Knows the English young man anything of the soldiers' plans?" he
asked, after a long silence.
"The soldiers are bound for Fort Pitt," answered Dave.
Moon Eye asked no more questions. He stalked off, and for an hour the
Indians talked earnestly among themselves. Then the squaws began the
labor of taking down the wigwams of the village. All were stowed away
on drags, and by nightfall everybody was on the march, the course being
westward. As was the Indian custom, the squaws carried everything, the
warriors stalking along with nothing but their guns and bows and arrows.
The march was kept up until late in the evening, and was resumed at
sunrise. Coming to another stream, more canoes were brought from their
place of concealment, and they journeyed up the stream for several
miles. At a side stream they branched off, coming finally to a small
lake known by the rather musical name of Cush-momo.
On the upper border of the lake was located the Indian village of
Sha-lumack, a great spot for fishermen, for the lake was filled with
specimens of the finny tribe. The village boasted of fifty wigwams
and a council-house, built of bark and saplings. This was Moon Eye's
headquarters, where in former years many French trappers had come to do
their bartering with the Indians.
Loud cries of joy went up from the village when the warriors came in,
but these were quickly changed to wails of woe when the truth was
learned. Dave was led to a small and dirty wigwam and thrust inside,
and there he remained until the next morning. He was now given his
bodily liberty, and had the first opportunity to wash himself and
attend to his wounds. An Indian maiden gave him some well cooked food,
for which he was very grateful.
"Do you speak English?" he asked, but the maiden only smiled, and
hurried away.
Towards the middle of the afternoon Moon Eye came to the youth with a
large bundle of documents, written on parchment, in a very fine hand.
"Can the English youth read these for Moon Eye?" he asked, as he passed
the papers over.
"Yes, but it will take a little time," was Dave's reply. "There is a
great deal written here."
"Moon Eye will leave the papers until morning, and then the white young
man shall read them all. Be careful that the papers are not destroyed
or lost," he added, sternly.
"If I read the papers, will Moon Eye give me my liberty?"
The chief frowned, and then his face took on a crafty look.
"It may be so. We will first hear what the papers say."
A moment later Dave was left alone once more. He heaved a long sigh,
for he felt that the Indian chief would not grant him his liberty no
matter what he did to please the red men.
A brief glance at the documents told Dave that they related to certain
pieces of land, located on the shores of the St. Lawrence River, partly
in Canada and partly in New York. There were a great number of legal
terms which he could not comprehend.
"This is worse than Greek," he mused, when suddenly his eye caught a
name that surprised him greatly. "Benoit Vascal! Can it be possible
these papers belong to that fellow?"
After that Dave read the documents more closely. He saw that Vascal
was mentioned in all of them, and also a Maurice Hamilton and an
Ezekiel Chalmers. Evidently the land was considered valuable, for in
several places the sum of three thousand pounds--about fifteen thousand
dollars--was mentioned.
"I reckon this Benoit Vascal would give something for these papers," he
reasoned. "Or, maybe, they belong to this Maurice Hamilton or Ezekiel
Chalmers."
It was just growing dark, when the young captive heard a commotion at
the lake front, and looking from his wigwam saw two canoes approaching.
The craft contained several Indians and their squaws, and three white
children. The children were dressed in little more than rags.
"White children, as I live!" he muttered, and waited for the canoe to
come closer. Then, as the children were made to go ashore his heart
gave a wild leap of excitement. "Nell, and the twins, as sure as I
live! Nell, and the twins! Thank fortune they are alive!"