HOW BIG BLACK BURL FIGURED ON THE WAR-PATH BY DAY.
Having followed Big Black Burl to the spot where he had last seen his
little master, the white hunters made a narrow inspection of the Indian
traces on the ground, which had evidently been left by feet in too great
haste for much attempt at concealment or disguise. The black hunter then
set his dog on the trail, who, with that grim fixedness of purpose
betokened by a certain iron twist of the tail, now took the lead, and
the chase for life and death began. Thus surely led, they followed the
trail with rapid ease for about two miles, when it was lost in another
trail, larger and quite as fresh, made, it would seem from the number of
foot-prints, by at least twenty Indians. This they followed likewise,
till at the distance of five or six miles farther on in the forest it
brought them to the banks of a small, shallow river, just where it was
formed by two tributaries, or "forks" as we Western people call such
streams before they unite and pursue their course together. Here the
trail suddenly disappeared; nor was there any sign of its reaeppearance
on the opposite bank, nor, so far as could be seen from that point, on
the banks of either fork.
Now, of all the stratagems for baffling pursuit practiced in Indian
warfare, none perhaps are so often resorted to as that of wading up and
down shallow streams, in whose beds no foot-print may be left that eye
of man can discern, or scent thereof upon the water that nose of dog can
detect. That the savages they were now pursuing had to this intent
availed themselves of one or the other of these three streams there
could be no doubt, but hardly one chance in ten that they had chosen the
main stream, as that ran in the direction of the settlement, and was, in
fact, that self-same little river which turned the little log grist-mill
at Fort Reynolds, eight miles below. It was, then, all but certain that
the Indians had waded up one of the two forks, whose rocky channels
wound among a group of low, rugged hills, which browed the more level
country around the station; but which fork had been chosen for the
purpose, the most experienced hunter of them all was unable to
determine, as the wily savages had left not a tell-tale trace behind,
and the two streams seemed equally favorable to the success of the
stratagem in question. In order, then, to double their chances of
overtaking the enemy, though it would double the odds against themselves
should they succeed in doing so, it was resolved to divide the party
into two squads--each to ascend a fork until the trail should reaeppear
upon its banks, then to notify the other, when reuniting they would
again pursue the chase together.
As there was one chance in ten that the Indians--some of them at least,
and perhaps the very ones who had the little captive in custody--had
descended the main stream, Big Black Burl determined to try the fortunes
of war in that direction on his own account, feeling quite sure that
without any further aid of his the white hunters would be equal to any
emergency that should arise in their quarter. Besides, as we have
already seen, the Fighting Nigger usually chose to be alone when out on
expeditions of this kind, partly because his instinct told him that if
he would keep in good odor with his white superiors he must not rub
against them more than occasion should absolutely demand, but chiefly
that he might enjoy the undivided honor of the scalps taken by his own
hand in war, should such be his good fortune. So, making a third squad
of himself and dog, the black hunter detached himself from the white
hunters, and three parties set out on their several ways.
At a signal from his master, understood perfectly by the sagacious
animal, Grumbo, wading and swimming, made his way to the opposite side
of the river, where, shaking the water from his shaggy hide, he turned
and at a slow dog-trot began following the windings of the shore,
keeping his keen and practiced nose bent with sharp and critical
attention upon the ground. Abreast, with the water between them, Burl at
brisk pace followed the windings of his shore, keeping his keen and
practiced eye bent likewise with sharp and critical attention upon the
ground, that not a mark or sign unusual in grass, leaves, mud, or sand
might pass unnoted by. At intervals along the banks lay wide beds of
solid rock, or pebbles mixed with mud or sand, left high and dry by the
summer shrinking of the stream, where the Indians might easily have
quitted the water without leaving a trace perceptible to the eye. At
such places Burl would call Grumbo over to help the eye with the more
unerring nose, when, having satisfied themselves that the trail had not
yet left the water, the dog, swimming and wading, would return to his
side, and abreast the two go on as before. Thus they proceeded till they
had searched the banks for nearly a mile and the dog had made his third
or fourth passage. Coming then to a bed of limestone rock which spread
wide and dry between the edge of the water and the skirts of the forest,
Grumbo sent over to his master a short, low bark, which said to the ear
addressed, as plainly as words could have said it, "The Red varmints!"
Whereat, having satisfied himself that the fording was not more than
belly-deep to a tall horse, Burl slipped off his moccasins and leggins,
and rolling up his buckskin breeches till nothing was to be seen below
his hunting-shirt but his great black legs, now in his turn waded over
to the dog's side of the river, sure that here was the place where the
Indians had quitted the water and taken again to the woods. In a trice
he had reaerranged his toilet, and now was briskly following the unerring
Grumbo on the rediscovered trail. But for more than fifty yards after
quitting the rocky margin of the stream, not a sign there could he
discern, so artfully had the cunning savages concealed or disguised
their foot-prints. Cunning as they may have thought themselves, it was
all as plain to Grumbo's far-scenting nose as it could have been to
Burl's far-sighted eye, and he a reader, had they written it in letters
on the ground, "Here we are, and here we go."
Indeed, they had not advanced more than a hundred paces farther, when
the traces of three Indians became distinctly visible in the leaves and
soft vegetable mold of the woods--as if they who had left them there had
thought that as they had thus far so completely concealed their trail
they might thenceforth proceed with less circumspection, as now quite
beyond the risk of pursuit. On closely inspecting the foot-prints, Burl
knew by certain signs--such as the unusual slenderness of one and the
mark of a patched moccasin in the other--that two of them had been left
by feet whose traces he had examined at the corn-field fence. The third
foot-print he had not seen that day, he was sure, nor its like until
that moment, never in all his border experience. It was the longest and,
excepting his own, the broadest foot-print he had ever seen, and must
have been left there by the tread of a giant. The individual, then, who
had captured his little master, and had him now in keeping, might not be
of this party; and so far as concerned the main object of this their
solitary adventure, they might, after all, be on a cold trail.
Nevertheless, they pushed on with speed and spirit. They had not
proceeded more than a furlong farther, when Grumbo stopped short, and
giving a double sniff uttered a quick, low yelp both of surprise and
joy, so it seemed, which said, as plainly as words could have said it,
"Halloo! what's this?" Then, after another quick sniff or two, looking
up at his master and expressing himself by wag of tail and glance of
eye, he added: "Good luck in the wind ahead."
That Grumbo had actually expressed this much may fairly be inferred from
Burl's answer: "O you's got a sniff of our pore little master's sweet
little feet, has you, at las'? Well, we kin foller our noses now an'
know whar we gwine."
Had Burl needed any interpretation of his dog's language in this
particular instance, he would have found it, a few yards farther on, in
two little foot-prints left clearly impressed in the clayey margin of a
forest brook but a few hours before. He stopped to look at them, and his
big eyes filled with tears of pitying tenderness at the sight. Grumbo,
too, smelt of them, and as he slowly drew in the familiar scent, his
wild eyes grew almost human in their look of affection, like those of a
Newfoundland. Burl now turned to inspect more narrowly the foot-prints
of the Indians, which were likewise left deeply impressed in the stiff
clay of the brook's margin. Nearest to those of the boy's were the
traces of the slender-footed Indian, who, in the act of taking the long
stride that was to clear him of the water, seemed to have taken a short
step aside to pick the little fellow up and lift him over dry-shod. This
was further evident from the reaeppearance of the little foot-prints on
the other bank, side by side, instead of one in advance of the other.
Farthest to the left were the traces of the savage who wore the patched
moccasin. Between them, broad, long, and deep, and at huge strides
apart, were the foot-prints of the giant. At these traces of some
redoubtable warrior, so it would seem, Big Black Burl, with grave and
fixed attention, gazed for many moments. Then, as if to bring the
dimensions of the savage more vividly before his mind's eye, he measured
one of the prints by laying his own foot over it, and found that,
although not the broader of the two, it was the longer, from which it
was fairly to be inferred that the red giant must be at least seven feet
high, standing in his moccasins.
"Shorely, Grumbo," said the black hunter, addressing his dog, "it mus'
be dat Black Thunder, de big Injun we hears de white hunters talk so
much about. Dey say he blacked his face wid gunpowder when he fus'
started out a-fightin', an' ain't neber gwine to wash it off tel he's
got 'nough uf us white folks's skelps to rig up his huntin'-shirt an'
make it fine. I jes' as soon de ol' Scratch git de grips uf his clutches
on our little master, as dat Black Thunder. It's 'you tickle me an' I
tickle you' betwixt him an' de ol' Scratch. O you ol' Black Thunder!"
with a sudden burst of energy, apostrophizing the absent brave; "jes'
let de Fightin' Nigger git de whites uf his eyes on yo' red ugliness
once, he'll give you thunder--gunpowder thunder, he will. Jes' let Betsy
Grumbo git her muzzle on yo' red ugliness once, may be she won't bark
an' bite! May be she won't make yo' fine feathers fly! May be she won't,
now! O plague yo' red hide! Yug, yug, yug!" And with this terrible
malediction, the black giant shook his mighty fist at the foot-prints of
the red giant in the mud--Grumbo catching his master's spirit, and
giving the echo in a deep savage growl.
Having lost but a few moments in making these observations, with renewed
spirit and vigor they resumed the pursuit. Burl now felt confident that
the chances of war were decidedly in their favor, let them but come upon
the enemy under screen of night and undiscovered; and for more than this
he would not ask, to bring his war-path to a brilliant end. Ever and
anon, after they trudged on for a mile or two, Grumbo, fetching a
harder sniff than usual, would give one of his quick, low yelps of
satisfaction--when his master would know that at such places the
Indians, after carrying their little captive for some distance, to rest
his young limbs a bit, had here set him down again to walk. This usually
happened on their reaching the tops of the higher hills, or the heads of
the longer and more rugged hollows. Whenever they came to where the
ground was moist and the trail was left distinctly marked, Burl always
noticed that the boy's foot-prints were nearest those of the
slender-footed Indian, as if they had walked together side by side; and
by certain signs, similar to those he had observed at the first brook,
he knew that the same hand had carried the little fellow over all the
streams which ran across the trail. Nothing further happened to break
the monotony of the tramp till, after having left full many a mile of
tangled forest behind them, they came, late in the day, to where, a
little to one side, lay a dead eagle, stripped of its magnificent
plumage. Burl turned it over, and perceiving that the bullet-wound which
had caused its death was still fresh and open, he knew that the bird had
been brought down but a few hours before. Here again, clearly to be
distinguished from those of the others, were to be seen the traces of
the boy and the slender-footed Indian, still side by side, and going out
to the dead eagle, where they were repeated many times, as if these two
had lingered around the fallen monarch of the air, while the others
walked slowly onward.
Now the sun was gliding swiftly down the steep slopes of the western
sky, and long and somber stretched the shadows of the hills across the
lonely, unhomed valleys of the immense wilderness. Full many an irksome
mile of bushy dell and rocky hill and forest-crested ridge lay traversed
and searched behind them; untraversed and unsearched, lay as many more
before them. Where should the weary little feet find rest in the night
now coming on? The little birds had their nests, the little squirrels
their holes: should the forlorn little captive find where to lay his
head in those inhospitable wilds? And far away, at the door of her
desolate home, still sat the widowed mother, waiting and watching, her
eyes turned ever toward the perilous north. And there, at the foot of
the hill, the little log grist-mill, making the little log fort yet
sadder and lonesomer every hour, still went on humming and droning its
dolorous tune--a tune whose burden seemed ever to be, "What a pity! what
a pity! what a pity!"