Seated on a bed of dry leaves in the snug shelter of the old whitewood,
John Jerome ate his supper. Kingdom had made fresh corn bread and hominy
and roasted a whole quarter of a deer during his otherwise enforced
idleness a couple of days earlier, and all these things were very much
to John's taste. He enjoyed his supper so much, indeed, and felt so
strong and hearty after he had eaten and rested for a time, that he
crept out from his retreat and stood upright among the bushes concealing
the hiding place.
It lacked a little of being totally dark. Except for the dense fog, or
mist, it would still be almost daylight, John thought, as he looked
about him. He didn't feel like lying down to sleep at once. No, he
wouldn't either. He would go out just a little way beyond the thicket
and see if he could not discover some sign of a campfire down in the
gully. That pile of wood which he and Ree had found was not there for
nothing. It meant that the camp was not permanently abandoned. At any
rate, he would see what he could see.
With some such reflections, by way of excusing himself for doing what
Kingdom had told him not to do, John made his way cautiously and slowly
toward the protected valley and the mysterious camp there hidden. No
light of any kind shone in that direction, however, and he reasoned with
himself that it was useless to go further. Still, he thought, there
could be no harm and no danger either when veiled by such a mist in
going clear up to the edge of the bluff.
Even while making excuses to himself John was edging stealthily onward.
Soon the brink of the steep descent was just before him. He could not
see into the valley but his familiarity with the trees and general lay
of the land assured him that he had to go only a little farther to
obtain a view of the mysterious camping place.
In his eagerness the venturesome young man was quite forgetful of
danger. Making scarcely an effort to conceal himself, indeed, he was
pushing steadily forward when suddenly he was recalled to a realization
of his carelessness in a manner he long remembered.
With one foot on a fallen log, in the act of rising up to step quietly
down on the other side, John unconsciously paused for an instant to get
his balance. As he did so a scarcely audible sound of light but rapid
footfalls greeted his ears, and the same moment there came into view the
erect and muscular figure of the Seneca.
The Indian was hardly more than five yards distant. Even in the thick
mist and semi-darkness he must have seen John immediately had he paused
or so much as turned his head for an instant. Fortunately he did neither
and in another second he was out of sight.
"The lead mine!" Jerome whispered, and immediately his imagination
pictured some hidden cavern near, and the Indian in the midst of the
treasure.
Intent on following the redskin, if possible, the foolhardy boy did not
stop to reason or reflect. After Lone-Elk he went and with such speed
that soon the savage was only a few paces before him. The Indian halted
for a moment. Again brought to the use of his sounder judgment with a
jerk, John Jerome stopped no less quickly. Whether some sound, or the
prompting of some other of his keen senses had caused the Seneca to
pause, the white boy could not determine. But when the Indian moved on,
changing his course and heading more directly toward the river, the lad
thought twice before he followed.
Could it be that Lone-Elk, well aware that he was being trailed, was
only leading his pursuer on, suddenly to turn and kill him when the time
and place were to his liking? The thought made John quite uncomfortable.
Then, boy-like, he thought of the lead mine again, thereby deliberately
putting temptation before himself; and the next moment he was again in
pursuit of the Indian. He heard the fellow now and then, some distance
in advance, but did not catch sight of him. It was quite dark now. He
must be careful or he would come quite up to the savage without
discovering him.
Continuing cautiously, John had traversed nearly a quarter of a mile
when he noticed that he no longer heard any sound of the Indian's
movements. In vain he listened. The dark, mist-soaked forest was still
as death. How in the world could the slippery redskin have disappeared
so suddenly?
Afraid to go on lest he fall fairly into the Seneca's arms, hesitating
to turn back, the mystified boy stood pondering.
"There's nothing for it but to make a note of this place and come again
by daylight. The mine may be very near here," John told himself at last.
"It might be all right to wait and see if I don't see a light, after
awhile. I most likely would see one if the mine is close by; but it's
getting so dark now, and--"
And John Jerome was lost. He looked about, as he reached the conclusion
that he must return to his tree, but it was only to realize that he knew
not which way to go. How careless he had been! Why had he not observed
more carefully the turnings of the chase he had been led? The darkness
was deepening fast. He could not see the trees which but a brief time
since were distinctly visible.
"Of all the scatter-brain idiots that ever followed a wagon off, I'm the
worst,--I am for sure!" the anxious lad told himself, but with quiet
determination set about to retrace his steps as best he could.
Not a dozen steps had John taken, however, when he came in contact with
a mass of low tangled underbrush. It had not obstructed the way before.
Plainly then, he was headed in the wrong direction. Turning, he groped
his way first to the right, then to the left. It was all to no purpose;
for not one familiar object could he discover, not one thing could he
find which would help him to get his bearings.
To be confused and uncertain which way to go in the darkness in one's
own home is a most unpleasant predicament. North seems south and right
seems left.
On a larger scale and with the calculating part of the situation
entirely removed, it was just such a predicament as this in which John
was forced at last to acknowledge himself. Worn out, and filled with
disappointment and the increasing despair which came with his every
attempt to find the direction in which he wished to go, the lad sat down
at the foot of a large tree to think. If he could but rid himself of the
bewilderment that made him unable even to study out the probability as
to which way was which, he would fare much better, he was sure. But the
more he tried, the more uncertain he became.
The ground was cold and very wet. The coarse bark of the tree, against
which his hand was placed, was moist and clammy to the touch. From the
branches above, drops of water came dripping at intervals making what
seemed a loud noise as they fell upon the leaves. The security and
comparative comforts of the old whitewood seemed very pleasant indeed,
now that they were so far from reach, and more than once John wished he
had not left them. If the mist would but clear away and the clouds break
enough to let him see the stars, he would be able to find his way. Until
then, he concluded at last, he would do well to remain where he was.
For a long time. John had remained close to the tree at whose base he
had first sat down. Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, always
listening and watching, he believed he had spent the larger part of the
long night, when he heard at no great distance the sounds of an axe.
Instantly his attention was centered on the noise. It came from the
right, the direction in which he felt the hollow poplar to be, though he
knew, from trying, that his impression was wrong.
Who could be using an axe in the depths of the forest at midnight? There
could be but one answer to the question--the men at the camp in the
gully or Lone-Elk.
Thoroughly aroused, John vowed he would learn more. He would see, if he
could, what the noise meant. Visions of the lead mine came to him, too,
and without more ado he began to feel his way among the trees and
through the darkness in the direction from which the sounds reached him.
But in scarcely more than a minute the chopping ceased. From the first
it had not been loud, sounding rather as if only small bits of wood were
being broken up. Now the same awful quiet as before pervaded all the
woods.
Only a little way did John venture to go, with nothing to serve as a
guide. Very recent experience had taught him the uselessness of trying.
But as he stood still, listening for some further sound, he became aware
of a certain brightness in the mist some distance off. He guessed at
once its meaning. "They were cutting wood to kindle a fire, of course,"
he told himself. "Now, then, my hunkies, we'll see who you are, at any
rate!"
Slowly and with much care to move quietly, John drew nearer the light.
Very dull at first, it brightened not a great deal as he approached, so
thick was the mist, and indeed it was not until the lad was at the very
brink of the bluff above the little gully that he was sure of the
location of the fire. As he had supposed, however, the abandoned camp
was now occupied. A kettle was hung upon a rude tripod and the cheery
blaze was mounting up above it on all sides.
Nothing but the fire and the kettle above it could John see, however,
and if anyone was about he was hidden by the fog. No sound reached the
watching boy either. Surely, he thought, there was something mysterious
here, which hinted of dark secrets and of crime. "But that kettle will
boil dry if no one touches it; I'll see something if I wait long
enough," John reflected, and he was not kept a great while in suspense.
A tall, uncouth figure of a man dressed in ragged coat and trousers, and
wearing a shapeless slouch hat, all of which contrasted oddly with the
moccasins on his feet, stepped suddenly from the outer darkness close to
the blaze and stooped down, holding his arms about the fire as if he
would hug it to him. He shivered and shook himself, then lifted the lid
and peeped into the kettle. Sniffing, and nodding his head as though the
kettle's contents pleased him, he returned the cover to the pot, then
arose and in another second the mist and darkness had swallowed him up
again.
To say that John Jerome was greatly interested in what he saw would not
be telling the whole truth; for the fact was that he was not only
interested, but excited beyond measure. His heart beat fast, and so
strongly was he tempted to call out to the fellow that he thought he
must hurry away, lest he yield to the strange desire with results which
would almost certainly be unfortunate.
There was no doubt in John's mind that here was the murderer of the two
men found dead at the "lick." He looked the part, seemed to have
"murder" stamped in every fold of his tattered clothing, and on each
separate hair of his stubby beard. Even without the evidence which Ree's
discovery of the glove had furnished, Jerome would have been certain, he
declared within himself, that this man was a vile wretch at best, and
capable of committing murder, even if he never had done so. Why was he
here? Why did he hide in so secret a place and come out like a fugitive
criminal at night to kindle his fire and prepare his food? Where did he
stay by day?
These and many more questions came to John as he watched and waited. He
wondered, too, whether the fellow was alone. It must be so. He would
hear voices otherwise. However, if there were others present he probably
would see them soon. They, also, would draw near the fire.
Again the mysterious man came into the firelight. John had a better view
of his face this time, but the stubby beard and the long, coarse hair
which fell about the fellow's ears concealed his countenance from
scrutiny. As before, the man looked into the steaming kettle. Then he
rolled a small log nearer to the blaze with his foot and sat down upon
it. Presently he lifted the pot from the fire and placed it beside him,
as if to cool.
"Ready for you, Lone-Elk, my boy," the fellow called quietly, and in
answer to his hoarse voice the outcast Seneca stepped into the circle of
light. As if perfectly at home, he, too, seated himself upon the log,
and together the repulsive pair began to eat: The white man cut the meat
in the kettle with a heavy hunting knife and, using their knives as
spears, the two fished out pieces of the boiled leg of venison, for such
it appeared to be, and ate greedily.
The sight of Lone-Elk caused John much more alarm than he had yet felt.
In a direct line the Indian was but eight or nine yards distant.
Fortunately his back was turned, and yet the slightest sound would reach
him. Scarcely daring to move, therefore, the lad who watched the strange
feast of the redskin and the scarcely less savage-appearing white man,
continued a silent spectator of their repast. But when Lone-Elk rose, as
if he cared for nothing more, and the white man also got up from the
log, as if to say good-bye, John waited no longer. Cautiously as he
could, he crept away, lest before he could do so, the Seneca might be up
the steep slope and fairly upon him.