Young Edwin Inwood had been deprived so long of his hunt, that he
determined to improve his time to the utmost. He took a direction
exactly opposite to the one pursued by his brother, and soon found
himself in the midst of the wood which contained their new home,
where it was open and easily traveled.
It was his wish to secure an antelope, which were quite abundant
in this section, although almost entirely unknown a little further
south, and he walked very carefully, well aware of the acuteness of
their hearing. A quarter of a mile or so brought him to a broad, wild
ravine, and, looking down this, the first object that met his eye
was a group of Mohave Indians seated around a camp-fire. Three sat
smoking, and two were engaged in dressing a fine plump antelope, and
preparing it for their supper.
They were fully a hundred feet below where the boy stood, and several
hundred yards distant. He watched them for some time with interest.
Each had around his person or near him, one of those brilliant and
wonderfully woven blankets, which have made the Indians of the
distant southwest known all over the country. They were painted and
daubed up like a lot of children’s toys, their coarse black hair
hanging loosely over their shoulders, while its usual stiffness was
intensified by the rainbow-hued stuff smeared among it. It makes a
fellow look hideously comical to see his face of all colors, and
there was something in the outlandish look of these Mohaves which
would have brought a grim smile to the countenance of him who had
scarcely ever laughed.
They never once raised their heads, although Edwin scrutinized them
so closely that he was sure they were a portion of the party which
had attacked them at the cave, and he recognized the very individual
who was so handsomely vanquished in his attempt to shake hands with
Jim Tubbs. This being the case, he entertained much less fear of them
than he would, had they been strangers.
But, recollecting that he had come out for the purpose of obtaining
food, he turned away and wandered off in another direction. While
he was asking himself whether it would be prudent to fire his gun
in their vicinity or not, a fine plump young antelope rushed by him
with the speed of the wind. Quick as thought his gun was over his
shoulder, and, with a frenzied leap, the beautiful creature dropped,
and, after a few frantic struggles, lay dead.
Edwin hurried up to him, and, drawing his knife, commenced dressing
it and securing the choicest portions for their supper. Absorbed thus
in his work, he forgot entirely the proximity of the aborigines. He
had about completed his work, when, with lightning-like suddenness, a
reflection of his peril came over him, and he rose erect and glanced
about him.
Providentially his first look was directed toward the proper point,
and he saw at quite a distance two Indians, standing perfectly
motionless, and watching him seemingly with great interest. The
moment he raised his head they darted each behind a tree, evidently
not through fear, but with a far different object.
Edwin was a boy with an intelligence and perception beyond his years,
and he immediately saw his danger, and looked furtively around to
learn the best direction in which to retreat. His first thought was
to run straight from the red men and, observing that the wood was
thicker and more broken, he did not hesitate, but started off at once.
Casting one glance over his shoulder, he observed the two aborigines
after him, although neither of them gave utterance to the “yell,”
which, with the proverbial “_ugh_,” seems to be about the only
language which ever emerges from the lips of the North American
Indian, if the authority of story writers is to be taken.
In a race of this kind, we could not dare risk our reputation in
saying that the little fellow was anything like a match for his lithe
pursuers. He hadn’t been in training as long as they, and it was
impossible that the cowardly Mohaves should not gain upon him with
sad certainty.
All of which he expected, and he therefore turned all his energies
toward finding some place in which he could conceal himself. Bounding
over and among the rough and rugged rocks, he turned at right angles
to the course he had been following, darted a few rods ahead, and
then, to his dismay, found himself on the banks of a small, rapid
stream.
But there was no time for hesitation. He ran along the shore a little
way, and then rapidly climbed a small tree, dragging his rifle as
best he could after him. Here he crouched among the branches, and,
panting and trembling, awaited the result.
As yet, he had not heard a sound, but he did not dare hope that his
pursuers were off the scent. He had read certain wonderful tales of
the miraculous prowess of the “red men of the woods,” and had every
reason to believe that they were perfect bloodhounds in such matters.
Nor was he mistaken; for he had not been in his elevated position
five minutes, when, through the interstices of the leaves, he saw one
of them walking along the edge of the stream, carefully examining the
ground, occasionally pausing and looking about him, and now and then
making a curious, gyrating motion with his hand over his head, which
the boy did not understand, but which we suspect was a signal for his
companion.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Edwin Inwood
to load his gun, and shoot the Mohave who was stealing so cautiously
upon him; but he hesitated. It is no light thing to take a human
life, even if it belong to an Indian, and he did not wish to commit
such a deed, unless his own self preservation demanded it. Whether it
did or not was the question which the boy considered, and upon which
he was hardly able to decide.
Suppose he did slay the red man, his companion remained, against
whom he could do nothing, and who would be sure to visit a cruel
punishment upon him. No; he decided that the time had not yet come
for him to do such a thing.
In the meantime, the Mohave was close at hand. Not once did he
raise his head, but walked slowly along, examining the ground, and
looking across the stream as though he expected to see the fugitive.
The heart of the latter gave a throb as he saw him pass beyond the
tree which contained himself; but the temporary hope thus awakened
was speedily dispelled by observing the red man suddenly halt, look
around him as though he failed, for the moment, exactly to comprehend
things, and then he raised his head and saw the youngster cowering
among the branches.
The Mohave surveyed him quietly a moment, and then motioned for him
to descend. The boy could not refuse, as he was entirely in his
power, and he obeyed without delay. The captor looked into his face
with a curious expression, but still uttered no exclamation or word.
Finally, he took him by the arm, led him a short distance down the
stream of the brook, and then motioned for him to fall behind and
follow.
On the whole, this struck Edwin as rather a curious proceeding. The
Mohave had not deprived him of his gun, and did not even take the
trouble to examine whether it was loaded or not, nor did he once look
over his shoulder to see whether he was followed by the captive.
It was a strong temptation to the latter to dart aside, and make
another effort to get away, but he could hardly bring his mind to the
“sticking point.”
As a matter of course, Edwin had strong hope of getting out of this
difficulty, and he therefore paid strict attention to the route which
they followed, so as not to be lost, when the opportunity should come
to him. The Mohave literally took the “back track,” going over his
own footsteps, and turning off from the stream at precisely the point
where the boy first struck it.
As yet there was nothing seen of the other Indian, and the boy
was wondering where he could have taken himself, when he made his
appearance as suddenly as if he had risen from the very ground. He
seemed to entertain the same constitutional objection to talking as
did his predecessor, for not a word was exchanged between them. One
walked in the front and the other in the rear of the boy, so that,
for the present, he gave over all thoughts of taking abrupt leave of
them.
The party passed directly by the remains of the antelope slain by
Edwin, and so on until they reached the gorge where he had first
descried the Mohaves as they were seated around the camp-fire. This
led the boy to think that they were a part of those who had besieged
them in the cave.
Whether this was a matter for congratulation or fear was more than he
could determine, although it gave him hope that the captured Mohave
might be among them, who he was sure would not forget the magnanimity
shown him when he was at the mercy of those whom he sought to injure.
Nightfall was close at hand, and the party made their preparations
for remaining on the old camping-ground of their former friends.
They had a portion of the antelope with them, and offered a piece to
Edwin, who accepted it more for the sake of pleasing them, than on
account of any hunger he felt. After this, they seated themselves
upon the ground, and motioned for him to do the same. Their pipes
were then produced, and then began the longest and dreariest evening
of Edwin Inwood’s life.
He lay on the ground, looking up at the stars, communing with the
Great Being who dwelt beyond them, wondering what George and Jim
thought of his prolonged absence, and speculating as to what the
morrow would bring forth. Hour after hour wore away, and it was near
midnight, when his ear detected a faint, regular jarring of the
ground, and, raising his head, he saw through the gloom a party of
men close at hand.