MIFFIN’S LEAP.
The trapper had not been long in finding the Indians. They were
merely a hunting party who had come out upon the plains for buffalo,
and who had turned aside for the purpose of rooting out the men
who had dared to invade their hunting-grounds. The arrow had been
sent, the warning given, and there was nothing for them to do but to
destroy the insolent intruders.
The trapper approached the Indian camp warily. It was pitched upon
the wooded prairie, not far from one of those growths of timber which
rise like oases in the desert, in the prairie country. Ben tied
his horse in a thick clump a quarter of a mile away from the camp,
and crept cautiously forward, like a born scout as he was. Silent
as death, not even stirring a leaf, his moccasined feet passed on,
until the woods hid him from view. But for the fact that a high peak
intervened between the hill on which Millicent took her station to
watch, and the ground upon which the camp stood, she might have seen
the entire transaction.
The moment he had entered the woods he felt safer. Pressing forward
to the extreme verge of the thicket, he climbed a tree, from which he
had a view of the encampment. It was about noon, and the Indians were
in great commotion. Nearly every warrior was gathered about Whirling
Breeze, who was haranguing them in a loud voice. Some portions of the
speech Ben could comprehend.
“Be not impatient, warriors of the Blackfeet. Have faith in the
chief. These white men shall be given into our hands. There is a
maiden among them fairer than snow; she shall dwell in the lodges of
my people. Warriors and chiefs, it is well that some of the white men
should come among us. They have many arts, of which we know nothing,
by the power of which the Indians are fading away, as the snow melts
when the sun is high. He shall teach us these things. When we know
them, we can meet the white men with their own weapons, and sweep
them away. Let us wait the good time.” Who the “he” here referred to,
Ben could not for his life comprehend.
He looked about him for Bentley Morris. He was standing near the
center of the camp, bound to a small tree. Ben began to despair. How
was it possible, alone and unaided, to free him from the hands of the
enemy?
Some time he sat in the tree. Indians passed and repassed. Several of
them stood for a few minutes beneath the tree, and conversed in low
tones. Ben was in doubt. Was it possible that Jules Damand had turned
traitor? His heart sunk at the thought that he had left Millicent
under such a guard. No, impossible that Jules could play false. He
had no motive for treachery--he could gain nothing, but would lose
every thing, by desertion. So the honest old hunter disposed of
_that_ suspicion.
There were several young squaws in the camp, as is generally the
case with a hunting-party. Their not unmusical voices could be heard
calling to each other and singing snatches of Indian songs.
A greater tumult arose. Looking to the east, Ben was conscious that a
dark mass was beginning to show itself upon the prairie, miles away.
This dark mass was no strange sight to Ben Miffin. He had seen it a
hundred times before on these limitless prairies. A herd of buffalo,
driven forward by the scouts of the Indian band, who had been beating
the prairie for game.
The greatest excitement immediately ensued in the Indian camp. Half
the warriors vaulted upon their horses’ backs without orders; the
rest, more orderly, waited the movements of the chief. Whirling
Breeze threw himself into the saddle and led the way at a gallop. Not
a warrior remained in the camp, with the exception of the pair who
guarded the prisoner. Even these ran out of the camp, and followed
the herd with their eyes, burning to be among them. The women had
gone out after the warriors as fast as they could run, leaving the
camp deserted for a moment. This moment was not lost by Ben Miffin.
Slipping from his perch, he ran to the tree, cut the bonds upon the
arms of the prisoner, and they ran together to the shelter of the
trees. If they had gained them unseen, the escape might have been
unnoticed for some time. But, an old woman, who had remained in the
camp, caught sight of them as they ran, and raised a yell that might
have done credit to a good-sized panther. This cry accelerated the
fugitives’ speed, and they reached the place where the white horse
was tied.
“Git up,” said Ben.
“What will you do?”
Miffin never answered a word, but, throwing his rifle to the “trail,”
ran off at a speed which awakened the admiration of the young man.
As he hesitated, an arrow whizzed near his head. Looking back, he
saw his late guards coming up at a run, while the man who had fired
at him was fitting another shaft to the bow. Bentley leaped into the
saddle, and followed Ben, who had by this time gained several hundred
yards. He laughed as he saw the guards were after them. He had no
fear of any thing they could do to him unless others came to their
aid.
“Keep your hoss at a trot, boy. Not too fast; keep alongside. You
ain’t got no weepons. Hyar’s a pistol. ’Tain’t a bad thing fer clust
quarters, but blame ’em when ye hev to fire mor’n ten feet. They
don’t work; you take my word fer it, they don’t work. Them Injuns are
good runners. The head one’s the best. We’ve got to cross the stream.
Kin ye do it?”
“The horse can swim it.”
“Better jump it. Turn his head down-stream and go yer best now. Never
mind me. I’m game enough to take keer of myself. You bet on that.
Ride hard. ’Bout half-a-dozen rods below thar’s a narrer place. I
ain’t got time to turn.”
It was at this moment that Millicent arrived at the crest of the
mountain and saw them on the plain. She saw that the only danger was
to the brave old man, who had given up his horse to save his young
friend. One of the savages had turned off in chase of Bentley. The
other followed close on the heels of Ben, whirling his hatchet in the
air. Half a mile in the rear, coming up at the utmost speed of their
fast horses, the girl saw at least a dozen savages, riding to the aid
of the guards.
Ben was running directly for the little stream which meandered
through the prairie. Millicent thought him doomed. His rifle was
not loaded. Would he turn upon the bank of the stream and meet
the Indians? The pace at which they were going was tremendous.
The Indians knew him well, and those in the rear redoubled their
efforts to come up with him. A wild yell of triumph broke from every
throat as they saw him approach the stream. He comprehended his
desperate situation now and had made up his mind as to his course.
In times like these men do things which in their calmer moments
seem impossible. He never slackened his speed as he approached the
deep watercourse, and gathering all his powers for the effort, and
grasping the rifle which had served him faithfully in many a bloody
fray, he bounded into the air, and landed safe and sure upon the
other bank! The place where he leaped was in the midst of a growth
of prairie-timber, and by the side of a tree. As he turned, rifle
in hand, his headmost pursuer, who had not been able to check his
headlong speed, appeared upon the other bank, his countenance
expressing the utmost surprise, as he gazed upon the wide space over
which Ben had leaped. Throwing up his hands in astonishment, he
shouted in the best English he could muster:
“_Good_ jump! Big Buffalo make very big jump!”
“Yes, durn yer dirty face. Now _git_ afore I bore a hole in ye! I
don’t keer to hurt ye, but ef ye ain’t out’n this afore I load this
yer rifle, good-by.”
The Indian saw his danger. The dreaded rifle was not yet loaded, and
turning, he plied his heels in a way which did credit to his powers
of locomotion. Millicent, from her station on the hill, could hardly
refrain from laughing aloud as she saw the Indian run. Jan was in
ecstasies. While Ben was on the other side of the stream he kept up
a running fire of pitying phrases and encouraging words. When the
trapper leaped the stream he performed a war-dance with great spirit
upon the mountain top.
“Yoost look at dat, you Vrenchmans. Dat’s mine vrent, Penn. _See_ him
shump! Shumps like a vrog, same vat you eats. Ach! Ho, ho, ha! See
dat Injun run. Hein? Trouble coom after you soon, Mister Injun. Oh,
Shules, how could you pe so pad ash to durn against such a mans ash
Penn?”
“Who said I turned against him? It is got up between you and this
woman. I’ll ask the old man when he comes in if I am to be insulted
by every one and make no return. You old bully, I’ll cut your heart
out.”
“You shut oop. I ain’t a vool. Vat you dakes der knife to me vor? Vat
vor you dries to make love to der vooman? Vat you vant mit a gun ven
I let you co? No, Shules, you pad egg.”
“I’ll let you know, for one, whether I am to be insulted or not. Ben
will set it right. He wrongs no man.”
“That is true,” said Millicent. “Be content to let the matter rest.
Or stay. They are now coming up the mountain and the Indians will not
dare to follow them into the pass. They know that they are desperate
men. If I promise to say nothing to them of your conduct, will you
promise to refrain from the like in future?”
“The Dutchman would tell.”
“Not if I ask him not,” said Millicent, smiling on the German.
“No, py der saints! I nefer says nottings, put I keep oop a good deal
of t’inking all de dimes.”
“Do you promise, Mr. Damand?”
“I must. I can’t afford to have Ben against me.”
“Then it is a bargain. See that you keep your part, Jan,” said
Millicent.
“Oh, I keeps my pargains,” said Jan. “Off it’s a pad one, I can nix
help it. I makes pad pargains sometimes, ven I can not help him. Let
us co down to Penn. I very sorry to keep any t’ing vrom Penn. He goot
chap. You no dells der young feller?”
Millicent flushed crimson. The acute German had found out that she
loved Bentley Morris.
“Why should I tell him, Jan?”
“Vy? I don’t know. Only ven you pe his vrow, pimepye, pooty soon, den
you dells him eferyt’ings. Yaw.”
Jan chuckled hugely at her confusion, and walked behind the rest all
the way down the mountain, that he might enjoy a laugh by himself.
They came to the level plain just at the point where the pass
entered the valley, and there waited for the coming of the others.
As they waited, they heard the crack of a rifle in the ravine below,
followed by a shout from Ben.
“Run to their aid,” cried Millicent. “Why do you hesitate?”
They hurried on to the assistance of the trapper, and found him
standing in the mouth of the pass, rifle in hand, disputing the
further advance of the party of Indians, who had by this time crossed
the stream, and were parleying with him.
“My brother will let his red friends come. They wish to smoke a pipe
with him,” said the leading Indian.
“I am not in a smoking mood to-day,” said Ben. “You clear out. I’ve
made a camp hyar, an’ hyar I mean to stay.”
“My brother is welcome to the home of the Blackfeet. But, why has he
come among us, and stolen our prisoners?”
“None of your puisiness,” roared Jan, taking a position by the side
of Ben so suddenly, that even the iron-nerved trapper started. “Vat
you vant here?”
“Ah-ha! Ar’ you thar, old Bologna?” laughed the trapper. “I’m
teachin’ ye how to do it, then. Ha, Jule, you here too? Whar is the
little ’un? Whar is she?”
“Here,” said Millicent, in her clear, sweet voice, stepping to the
front. “I could not keep away, while you were all in danger. And I
brought Bentley his rifle. He needs a weapon.”
Something in her manner as she gave the weapon into the owner’s hand,
told Jules that this indeed was her lover. He turned pallid as a
corpse, and ground his teeth fiercely, but said not a word. That was
useless now. He hoped that his day of triumph was not far off.
“Now, sons of the Blackfeet,” said Ben, raising his voice, “ye kin
see what kind of a chaince ye’ve got ag’in’ us, with them bows,
arrers and spears. I reckon ye mout ez well give it up.”
The Indians drew together and held a conference. This over, they
turned their horses’ heads and galloped away to the east. One by one
the horses splashed through the river, and they were gone across the
broad prairie, toward their camp.
“Penn,” said Jan Schneider, extending his hand, “I’m glad you shumps
dat rifer. I pees afrait you gone dere.”
“So was I, Jan, when I see how wide it was. Let’s go an’ measure it.
I’m proud of that jump.”
They went back to the stream and measured the distance, and found it
to be just twenty-three feet. And the river was nearly as deep.
“Swanzey-dree feet!” roared Jan. “Dere! Some of you peat dat!”
“I can’t,” said Bentley. “What did that Indian say when you jumped? I
heard him roar something after you.”
“He said, ‘Good jump; Big Buffalo’--that’s me--‘make very big jump,’”
said Ben. “By thunder, he made me laugh so I couldn’t have shot at
him. An’ didn’t he light out when I begun to load?”
“’Twas a great jump,” said Bentley. “You ought to be proud of it.
What shall we do now?”
“Better git back to camp. I don’t allow no Injun to drive me out
until I git ready.”
The party went back over the rocky way, and Damand saw, with silent
rage, that it was upon the arm of Bentley the maid leaned, and _his_
words which pleased her most. But he waited his time, satisfied that
his turn must come. They set to work and collected the scattered
articles, which in the late trouble had got into confusion. The traps
were in a bad way, and many of them needed resetting. The four men
went the rounds that day and got every thing in order, and brought in
a number of fine skins.
“These are valuable skins,” said Bentley. “I have been in the fur
trade myself, and I never saw better beaver.”
“They ain’t been thinned out much,” replied Ben. “All the old uns ar’
hyar yit. It makes a big difference.”
“I know it does. What a pity we must be driven away so soon.”
“Ef it wa’n’t for the gal, we’d stay hyar and brass it out. But,
while we’ve got weak ’uns like that with us, it makes a man cowardly.
So we must git back ez soon ez we kin. Onc’t she is safe to the
forts, I’m comin’ back, fer one.”
“I would not, if I were you,” said Jules. “It is dangerous.”
“Who keers for a little danger? Any man kin git into danger ef he
wants to. It’s the spice of life, danger is. Go out fer that trap,
Jules, I’m a little stiff after my run. I ain’t ez strong ez I used
to be.”
“You can run faster than any man in the party now,” said Bentley.
“And who among us is able to jump twenty-three feet?”
“The old man ain’t dead yit,” replied Ben, grinning. “He’ll do a
power of work afore he goes under. Yes, he will; you bet on it. An’
as for the durned Injuns, they may drive us away now, but we’ll come
back. And to-morrer we’ve got to build a raft. ’Twon’t do to be taken
unawares. Hurry up!”