"SACHEM"
Ralph drew out the pistol he carried with a quick movement of his hand.
Andy poised the heavy cudgel with which he had armed himself. Phil ran
forward a few feet to try and get within range of a bulky moving object
partially obscured by some high weeds.
That fearsome yell was not repeated, but its echoes still vibrated in
their ears. It had filled the near woods with alarm, and there was a
vast fluttering and flight of birds among the trees.
"It's a horse," said Phil, and he peered more closely. Then he ran in
among the rushes. "A horse," and, added Phil instantly: "Why, sure as I
live, a man, too!"
Phil disappeared partly from view. The curious and startled Andy and
Ralph could dimly make him out wading rapidly behind a screen of high
flags. Then there was a great floundering. The curtain of reeds parted.
There was Phil, struggling with a snorting horse. The animal was
plunging and slipping on a slimy foothold. Phil dragged at the bridle.
There was another piercing yell as the steed fell over sideways,
apparently submerging a rider. Then the horse righted itself, and
Phil, dodging its prancing hoofs, reached dry ground with the panting,
breathless appeal to his astonished comrades:
"Andy--Ralph--help me!"
It took the combined efforts of the three boys--and they were exerted
just in time--to pull the horse upright and onto solid ground. Once
there, the animal stood snorting in fear and exhaustion and quivering
all over like an aspen. Phil slipped his hand along the bridle
and patted the dripping neck of the overwrought steed gently and
soothingly. Then he and his comrades fixed their gaze on the burden
that the horse bore.
"Whew!" whistled Andy in the profoundest stupefaction.
"Why," cried Ralph, in surprise and consternation, "It's an Indian."
"Yes, but his plight!" said Phil, almost shocked beyond expression.
"Boys, this is horrible."
An Indian the helpless man tied securely flat the length of his body
along the horse's back, certainly was. He presented a strange and
pitiable sight. His attire was in tatters. One half of his head was
shaven clear and was daubed with white paint thickly. On the other
side among the matted hair was a great mass of red paint. His face was
bruised and slashed, and his hands were bleeding with many open cuts.
The helpless frenzy in the Indian's eyes was terrible. Their frightful
expression made Ralph shudder and caused Andy to shrink back. Phil
was simply full of sympathy. The man's breath showed that he had been
drinking deeply of the pestilent "fire water" of the white man.
"This is shameful," said Phil indignantly. "Some one has been guilty of
a mean, cowardly act."
"He looks dangerous," said Andy, but Phil without delay proceeded to
cut the straps and ropes that held the Indian helpless. The man was so
cramped that he almost fell to the ground, once freed. Phil supported
him, easing him to a fallen tree, where the Indian sat swaying for some
moments, his fiery eyes scanning his rescuers one after the other.
It was still light enough for them to make out that he had been badly
mistreated. The fellow gradually restored circulation to his cramped
limbs. Very suddenly he arose to his feet. He threw out his arms with
a wild, furious gesture in the direction of the city. A guttural
half-choked cry resembling that of some wounded, angry animal sounded
in his throat.
Phil went to the edge of the swamp, and wetting his handkerchief
in some surface water there returned to the side of the redman and
proceeded to wash the blood from his face. The man did not resent this.
His hard features softened somewhat. Then he braced upright, and a kind
of tragic, heroic pose was his as he folded his arms across his breast.
"Me Sachem," he said proudly, "King Philip Sachem."
"I say!" exclaimed Andy sharply to his comrades, "I know who he is."
"You know him?" repeated Phil vaguely.
"Yes, I've heard about him more than once. He's hung around lots of
villages for the last ten years. Pretends to be a great grandson, or
something of that kind, of King Philip, the great Rhode Island Sachem,
who was a noted warrior some two hundred years ago."
"I've read about King Philip in history," said Ralph.
"This man has been a worthless, idle fellow, who they said didn't
do much except steal and drink 'fire-water.' Since the trouble began
with the British, I've heard my father tell how he has been hired by
the redcoats to try and incite the stray tribes to make the colonists
trouble. He's a bad man, I fear, Phil, and I don't believe you can
trust him far."
The Indian either did not understand perfectly what Andy was saying, or
was engrossed in a wild crooning he indulged in. This was a sing-song
chant directed toward the city.
Having finished this, he began a wild war dance. The boys could not but
help watch his maneuvers with interest. Finally he came up to Phil and
looked him fixedly in the eye. He took one of Phil's hands and placed
it on his own head, humbling himself as if trying to convey to the
Boston boy that he was thankful and his slave.
Starting back, he began an extravagant and expressive pantomime. His
movements were intricate, and Phil had to do a great deal of guessing
to get their meaning. An occasional word in English, however, did a
good deal towards enlightening him.
When the Indian had finished his eccentric explanation, he made as
if to draw a hunting knife, and then his hands lifted innumerable
imaginary scalps. He uttered what might have been his tribal war
cry. He again placed Phil's hand on his head, humbled himself into a
squatting position, and finally came back to practical life by getting
the bridle and saddle of his horse in order.
"I've talked finger talk to the South Sea Islanders," observed Ralph,
"but this fellow is too rapid for me. What's he trying to tell, anyhow,
Phil?"
"Why, as near as I can make it out," said Phil, "he has been sort of
friendly with the Tories. They invited him to Boston. He seems to try
and tell that they got him to give all kinds of information about
various people in the settlements. They gave him plenty of fire-water.
Then they turned him loose. He got hanging around the camp, and stole
something. The soldiers pounded him, tied him to the horse and started
them away from the city. The horse must have swum the Charles River,
and had a wild dash of it into the timber and the swamp."
"He acts as if he has some pretty hard feeling against the Tories,"
said Andy.
"He has. Oh, he will have revenge! he says," explained Phil. "Poor
fellow--I feel sorry for him."
Phil handed the Indian some food from the basket, which the man
received gladly. He patted Phil's hand and looked him closely in the
eye. Then he reached into the breast of his hunting shirt and drew
out a buckskin bag. Searching in this, he brought out a piece of very
hard wood a few inches square. It was covered with paint--daubed
characters and pictures. He handed this to Phil. As he did so, he drew
an imaginary circle around Phil. He held up his hands to indicate
numbers--of men, Phil thought. Then the Indian made it plain that he
had given his rescuer a charm or amulet that would disperse all enemies.
"Good-by," said Phil, heartily shaking the hand of the Indian, and the
latter mounted his horse, made a threatening gesture towards Boston,
and rode away.