THE INDIAN BOY.
Above the voices of the other savages, the harsh and heavy tones of
Lean Bear were prominent. He spoke in the Indian dialect, and of course
the anxious fugitives could not understand what he said; but he seemed
to be angry and impatient, disappointed and chagrined; and Ethan and
Fanny readily inferred that, as he was searching for them, he was the
more ferocious because he could not find them. They lay silent and
motionless in their hiding-place, hardly daring to breathe, lest a
sound should reach the quick ears of their relentless foes.
The Indians searched in every nook and cranny of the barn where a human
being could possibly be concealed. They climbed to the top of the mow,
pulled over the hay, jumped upon it, and thrust their knives deep down.
The fugitives felt the weight of the pursuers pressing heavily down
upon them; they realized that the points of the bloody knives were
within a short distance of their vital organs; but, breathless and
silent, they lay in the most agonizing suspense, expecting to be
dragged from their retreat, and subjected to atrocities which it froze
their blood to think of.
The remorseless miscreants howled with disappointed rage as the search
was abandoned. Fanny and Ethan drew a long sigh of relief when they
heard their foes on the floor beneath them. The good Father to whom
they prayed so earnestly had dimmed the eyes of the savages so that
they could not see, and the danger of that terrible moment passed by
them. Fanny breathed her thanks to God for her safety--she did not dare
to speak them.
The savages consulted together, using brief, sharp, and exciting
sentences. Their words were not understood, and no clew to their future
purposes could be obtained. Lean Bear spoke in tones even more savage
than he had used before, and the steps of the Indians were heard as
they left the barn.
"Hev they gone?" asked Ethan, in a convulsive whisper.
"Yes, I think they have," replied Fanny, in a tone not less agitated.
"Let us thank God that we are still safe."
"Don't whistle till you get out o' the woods," added Ethan, who
referred, not to the thanks, but to the exultation which his companion
appeared to feel at their apparent safety.
"We must be thankful and submissive, Ethan. We have been saved this
time, whatever may happen next."
"I am thankful."
"I know you are. We must trust in our Father in heaven if we expect him
to hear our prayer."
"'Sh!" interposed Ethan, as he became silent and motionless again.
The voices of the Indians were heard near the barn again, and other
moments of agonizing suspense were in store for the fugitives. The
gruff tones of Lean Bear rose above those of his companions, and it was
evident that they had not yet given up the search.
"Ho, ho, ho! He, he, he!" yelled the monsters, which cries were to them
expressions of satisfaction.
It was painfully clear to Ethan and Fanny that the Indians had made
some important discovery, or done some act which would accomplish their
purpose. More agonizing than the thought came the reality, a few
moments afterwards, while the wretches outside of the barn were still
shouting their hideous yells. A smell of smoke, accompanied by a sharp,
crackling sound, assured the waiting, trembling couple in the hay-mow
that their worst fears were realized. The Indians had set fire to the
barn.
"We are lost!" exclaimed Fanny. "They have set fire to the barn!"
"'Sh! Don't say a word," interposed Ethan.
"We shall be burned to death!"
"Don't give up; keep still."
"Keep still?" repeated Fanny, amazed at the self-possession of her
companion. "We shall be burned to death in a few minutes."
"Don't say nothin', Fanny."
It was not easy to keep still in that terrible moment of peril, but
Ethan seemed to know what he was about, and his coolness and courage
acted as inspiration upon his terrified companion. Fanny prayed again,
in a hardly audible whisper; but this time, Ethan, though perhaps his
heart was with her, was thinking of something else. She felt more calm
after her prayer, though the dense smoke and the snapping flames
admonished her that death was close at hand. The rough prairie boy
looked resolute, and seemed to have conquered his fears. She wondered
whether he had discovered any possible avenue of escape, for nothing
but the promptings of a strong hope, whether real or delusive, could
have produced such a change in his bearing.
"Better be burned up, than butchered by the redskins," said he, at
last.
Was this the explanation of his new-born courage? It was a terrible
alternative, but Fanny was forced to believe that what he said was
true.
"Is there no escape for us?"
"Don'no; whar's the Injins now?"
"I don't hear them," replied Fanny.
"Nuther do I. We must stay here jest as long as we kin."
"But the barn is on fire! If we are going to get out at all, we must do
so at once."
"Don't hurry. The fire's all out to t'other end o' the barn. It won't
hurt us jest yit," said Ethan, with wonderful coolness. "I s'pose the
Injins is in a hurry, and they won't stop no longer'n they want to.
Jest as soon as they move off we'll git out."
"How shall we get out after the barn is all in a blaze?"
"That's easy enough. I ain't a bit afeered of the fire, but I am pesky
skeered of the Injins."
The confidence of Ethan increased the courage of Fanny. She had more to
dread from the Indians than he had, and if he preferred to die by the
flames, she ought to be willing to share his fate. She commended her
soul and that of her companion to God, and tried to be calm and
resolute, and she succeeded to an extent which astonished herself.
The fire was rapidly leaping upward, and the barn was soon enveloped in
flames. The Indians could not now be seen through the cracks, nor could
their voices be heard, and the fire-besieged fugitives supposed they
had gone to new fields of blood and rapine.
"We can't stand it much longer--kin we?" said Ethan, as they heard the
crash of some falling timbers at the other end of the building.
"We are not burned yet, but I am nearly suffocated by the smoke,"
replied Fanny. "Do you suppose the Indians are gone?"
"I reckon they be; but they hain't gone fur yit," added Ethan, as he
applied his shoulder to one of the boards on the side of the barn.
"Let me help you," said Fanny.
"You ain't nothin' but a gal, and you can't do much," replied Ethan.
He was a stout boy, and the board, only slightly nailed, gave way
before the pressure he applied to it; but it required a great deal of
labor to detach it from the timbers above and below. He had not begun
this work a moment too soon, for the flames were sweeping over the
surface of the mow, and the roof was falling in upon them. The barn was
stored full of new hay, which, being partially green, did not burn very
readily, especially the solid masses of it. The heat was intense, and
nothing but a greater peril without could have forced them to remain so
long in the building.
The first board was removed, and then a second, leaving an opening wide
enough for them to get out. They were about fifteen feet above the
level of the ground, but there was no difficulty, even to Fanny, in the
descent, though some young ladies might have regarded this minor
obstacle as one of some importance. Ethan thrust his head out at the
aperture, and looked in every direction his position commanded a view
of, in search of the Indians, but none of them were in sight.
"Be quick, Ethan, or the fire will be upon us," said Fanny, who began
to feel the near approach of the flames above her.
"Where shall we go when we get out? We must understand matters a leetle
grain aforehand."
"I think we had better go down to the lake. We can take the boat and go
over to the island."
"That's fust rate," replied Ethan, with enthusiasm. "The Injins hain't
got no boats, and can't foller us. Now we'll go down; but be keerful.
It would be miser'ble to break your neck here, arter gittin' clear of
the fire and the Injins both."
Ethan descended, holding on at each side of the aperture with his
hands, and thrusting his feet into the solid mass of hay in the mow.
Fanny, adopting the same method, also reached the ground in safety.
"'Sh!" said Ethan, as he took her arm. "Run for them bushes!" and he
pointed to a little thicket near the barn.
Fanny ran with all her speed to the bushes, and concealed herself
behind them. She was immediately followed by Ethan. The barn was now
nearly consumed; the portion of the roof which had not before fallen
in, now sunk down with a crash upon the masses of burning hay. The lake
was beyond the house, which they were obliged to pass in order to reach
their destination.
"I s'pose the sooner we start, the sooner we'll git there," said Ethan,
after he had carefully surveyed the ground to ascertain if any savages
were near.
"I am ready, Ethan. I will do whatever you say."
"We'll go now, then. Foller me, Fanny."
Ethan led the way, but they had hardly emerged from the bushes before
they were appalled to find that they were discovered by their savage
foes.
"Ho, ho, ho!" yelled the Indians from behind them.
It appeared that Lean Bear and his companions had waited in the
vicinity until the burning barn was so far consumed that it was not
deemed possible for a human being to remain concealed in it, and then
moved off towards another part of the settlement. With watchful eyes
behind as well as before them, they had discovered the young fugitives
when they left the clump of bushes.
"Ho, ho, ho!" shouted the painted wretches, as they gave chase to Fanny
and Ethan.
"Run for the house!" cried Ethan.
"Why not for the lake?" asked Fanny, in an agony of despair.
"They'll ketch you afore you git half way there. Run for the house!"
They were both running with all their might; and Fanny, though against
her judgment, directed her steps to the house. As they approached the
back door, an Indian boy and a squaw came out of the building, where
they had probably been searching for such valuables as might have
escaped the hasty observation of the party who had sacked the premises.
The boy was apparently about ten years old, and the woman appeared to
be his mother.
Fanny, not suspecting any harm from a woman and so young a boy, still
ran towards the door, being in advance of Ethan, who was chivalrous
enough to place himself in position to cover the retreat of his
companion in case of need. To the surprise of Fanny, the squaw placed
herself in her path, and attempted to seize her, uttering yells hardly
less savage than those of her male companions. The terrified girl
paused in her rapid flight till Ethan came up. The resolute fellow had
already picked up a heavy cart stake, and when he saw the new and
unexpected peril which menaced Fanny, he rushed forward, and though the
squaw drew a long knife and stood her ground, he dealt her a heavy blow
on the head, which felled her to the ground.
"Run into the house as fast as you kin, Fanny," said Ethan.
She obeyed, and, in doing so, passed the scalped and mutilated form of
her aunt, which lay near the door. The sight made her sick at heart,
and she had almost fainted under the horror induced by a single glance
at the ghastly spectacle. Such might, and probably would be her own
fate, for it was hoping against hope to expect any other issue.
She reached the door, and clung to the post for support. Then she saw
that Ethan, instead of following her, was pursuing the Indian boy. It
was but a short chase, for he immediately overtook the youth, and in
spite of his yells, dragged him into the house with him. Ethan seemed
then to have a savage spirit, for he handled the boy without mercy,
dragging him by the hair of the head, and kicking him to accelerate his
movements.
The capture of the young Indian had been witnessed by the whole of the
pursuing party, who yelled with renewed vigor when they saw him borne
into the house. When they reached the place where the squaw had fallen,
they paused. The tall form of Lean Bear was seen bending over her, and
it was plain that there was confusion in the counsels of the savages.
"Hold this boy, Fanny," said Ethan, out of breath with the violence of
his exertions, as he took from the belt of the little prisoner a small
scalping-knife, and offered it to Fanny. "Don't let him go, no-how;
stick him ef he don't keep still."
"I can hold him; I don't want the knife," replied she, as she grasped
the boy by the arms, bending them back behind him.
Taking her handkerchief, she tied his arms behind him, so that he was
powerless to do her any mischief. She then cut off a portion of the
clothes line, which hung up in the kitchen, and tied his feet together.
In this condition, he was secured to a door. The boy looked cool and
savage; he did not cry, and ceased to struggle only when the bonds
prevented him from doing so.
"Now we are ready for sunthin'," said Ethan, as he appeared with two
guns and a revolver, which he had taken from their place of concealment
behind the oven.