THE INDIAN AMBUSH.
Fanny was the originator of the scheme by which it was expected to save
the party from the ferocity of the Indians, and enable the trapper to
keep his plighted faith with them. The exiles, accompanied by their
new-found friend, were to descend the river in the bateau to Mankato.
Wahena was to be taken with them to some point above their destination,
where he was to be delivered to his friends, when his presence as a
hostage was no longer necessary to the safety of his captors.
This was thought to be the only safe plan, for even Rattleshag did not
pretend to believe that the Indians would not be treacherous when
Wahena was no longer in peril. It was arranged that the trapper should
return to Lean Bear, and inform him of the terms on which his son could
be saved. He was instructed to tell the savage chief that Ethan could
fire eight shots a minute, and that Wahena would surely atone with his
life for any treachery on the part of the Indians.
Rattleshag put off on his raft again, and paddled towards the
settlement. It was late in the evening when he returned with the
intelligence that Lean Bear had accepted the terms, though very
reluctantly, for they compelled him to send a party of his braves on a
journey of seventy miles to receive Wahena when he was delivered up.
Rattleshag had been obliged to argue the point with him; but the
assurance that the boy would certainly be shot if he did not yield,
induced him to comply. Six Indian horsemen were deputed to follow the
boat on the banks of the river, and insure them against any attack from
the wandering savages whom the exiles might encounter.
The next morning the bateau was lowered from its position, rolled down
to the lake, and launched. The muscular arm of the trapper rendered
this a comparatively easy task, and it was accomplished in a few hours.
The mast was stepped, the sail bent on, and the rigging adjusted under
the direction of Fanny, who was more familiar with such matters than
either of her companions. Such provisions as remained were stowed on
board, cooked ready for use.
At noon, with a fresh breeze from the westward, the party embarked,
and, with Fanny at the helm, sailed for the outlet at the north-east
corner of the lake. The party were very much fatigued after the hard
work required in making preparations for their departure, and
independently of the exciting circumstances of leaving the island home,
and the prospect of soon being in a place of entire safety, they
enjoyed the rest afforded by the voyage.
"What we go'n to do when we get to Mankato, Fanny?" asked Ethan.
"I'm sure I don't know."
"We hain't got no friends thar."
"Nor anywhere," replied Fanny, sadly. "I have no near relations now
that my uncle and aunt are gone."
"I never had none; but I s'pose I kin go to work, as I allers did,"
added Ethan, cheerfully.
"I doubt not we shall find plenty of friends. I am sure that Woodville,
where I have lived the last two years, will be open to me."
"I reckon we needn't borrow any trouble arter we git out of this
scrape. Ef we could stand what we've gone through with, we hain't got
nothin' to fear."
"I have no clothes but those I wear, and not a cent of money," added
Fanny, rather disturbed by the prospect before her.
"I reckon 'twill be all right," said Ethan.
"I have no doubt it will. I do not mean to complain. We have so much to
be grateful for, that it would be wicked to repine at our lot."
"Thet's my notion; and we won't think what we're go'n to do till we get
to Mankato."
This was a wise resolve, though it would be rather difficult to carry
it out. In a short time the bateau arrived at the outlet of the lake,
and on the bank of the river the exiles discovered their Indian escort,
which had been waiting since the middle of the forenoon for them. At
this point the serenity of the voyage was interrupted, for the river
was crooked, and the navigation often very difficult. The boat did not
draw more than a foot of water, but in some places it was not easy to
find even this depth.
Fanny found that all her slender knowledge of boating was called into
use, for the bends in the river were so frequent that the boat was
headed towards nearly every point of the compass within a single hour.
Her progress was necessarily very slow, and the Indians on the shore
soon began to manifest their impatience by grunting and growling. As
the bateau proceeded, Fanny became more skilful in its management. She
soon learned where the deepest water might be found, and instead of
attempting to cut across the bends, she followed the current round the
broadest sweep; but, with the best she could do, it was occasionally
necessary for Ethan and Rattleshag to resort to the poles to push her
over the shoal places.
At dark the question came up whether the party should continue the
voyage during the night, or moor the boat, and sail only by daylight.
Of course the Indians on the shore could not continue the journey
without stopping to rest and feed their horses; but a consultation was
had with them, and it was decided that the escort should divide into
two parties, one on each side of the river, and ride forward ten or
fifteen miles, then halt and await the coming of the boat. The river
had received two or three large tributaries above the point they had
reached, and the navigation was less difficult as the stream became
broader and deeper.
"Now, Fanny, I reckon I kin steer this boat," said Ethan, after the
arrangements had been made, and the escort had gone forward. "I will
make up a bed for you for'ad, and you shall go to sleep. One on us kin
sleep jest as well as not, all the time."
"I was thinking of that myself," replied Fanny. "We shall save a great
deal of time if we can go by night as well as day."
"I reckon we shall; and the sooner we git to Mankato, the better we
shall like it. The little Injin's gone to sleep now."
"Do you think you can steer the boat, Ethan?"
"I know I kin. I've been kinder watchin' the thing ever sence we
started, and I reckon I know sunthin' about it," replied Ethan, as he
went forward to prepare a bed for Fanny.
"Are you not tired, Rattleshag?" asked Fanny of the trapper, who sat
forward of her, gazing intently down the river, and seldom speaking a
word.
"No, miss, I'm never tired," he replied.
"Where do you sleep when you are travelling over the broad prairies?"
"Sometimes in an Indian tepee, but generally allers on the ground."
"While the boat goes along so well, two of us might sleep, for it is
only necessary to have one at the helm."
"I kin stand it without much sleep, miss. I kin ketch a nap while I set
here. I've often slep standin' up agin a tree when the wolves was thick
about me. Old Rattleshag is tough and hard."
"Now your bed is ready, Fanny," said Ethan, coming aft.
"Thank you, Ethan; you are very kind, and I am tired enough to sleep
like a log. Now, if you will take the tiller, I will see what kind of
work you make of it."
Ethan took the helm, and at first made the usual miscalculations of an
unexperienced steersman; but Fanny soon instructed him so that he
steered very well, and she went forward to her couch. In a whisper she
said the prayer which she never omitted, and covering herself with
blankets, was soon fast asleep.
After dark, the wind was very light and baffling, but the river was not
so tortuous in its course, and the progress of the boat was rather more
satisfactory than it had been during the afternoon. Ethan was very
considerate of his fair companion, and neglected her injunction to call
her in a few hours. He had given the helm to Rattleshag in the middle
of the night, and gone to sleep himself. At daylight the trapper was at
his post, and both the young exiles were still sleeping away the
fatigues of the preceding day. The boat had not yet come up with the
escort, who had probably gone more than the fifteen miles agreed upon.
Rattleshag sat at the helm, gazing fixedly down the river. He looked
like a statue, and he sat so still that it was hard to believe he ever
had moved, or ever would do so. His long rifle lay at his side, at rest
like himself.
The bateau was approaching a clump of trees which grew on the bank of
the river, when the crack of a rifle was heard, and a bullet whizzed
over the water. Rattleshag started, sprang to his feet, and grasped the
tiller with his left hand, while the blood trinkled down the ends of
his fingers from a wound in his right arm. He glanced hastily around
him, and then, putting the helm up, ran the boat alongside the shore
opposite that from which the shot had come. The bateau grounded in the
shallow water, and her grating upon the gravel roused Ethan from his
slumber.
"The Injins is firin' on us," said Rattleshag, coolly, as he took up
his long rifle.
"Whar be they?" demanded Ethan, seizing his weapons.
"Over thar," replied the trapper, pointing to the clump of trees.
The first shot was now followed by a second, which fortunately hit none
of the party. By this time Fanny was awake; but Ethan peremptorily bade
her lie still, so that the hostile Indians could not see her. Near the
point where the boat had grounded there was a group of trees, which
promised to afford the voyagers a partial shelter from the bullets of
the enemy, and Rattleshag thought they had better take a position
there.
"Now run for it," said Ethan to Fanny, as he gave her the revolver.
"I am not afraid," she replied, as she took the pistol and ran to the
covert of the trees.
Ethan and the trapper followed her; but the moment they showed
themselves, the report of several rifles was heard, followed by the
whistling of the bullets through the air, though the distance was so
great that the shots were harmless.
"Now, we'll give 'em some," said Ethan.
"'Tain't no use," answered Rattleshag, seating himself on the ground
behind one of the trees. "Don't waste your lead for nothin'. You can't
hit 'em."
"But they have hit you. Are you hurt much?"
"No; 'tain't wuth mindin'."
"Let me do up your wound, Rattleshag," interposed Fanny, tearing off a
piece of her calico dress for the purpose.
"The blood kinder bothers me, and you may," said the trapper, as he
bared his muscular arm.
The ball had ploughed through the fleshy part of the arm, inflicting a
severe, though not dangerous, wound. Fanny bound it up as well as she
could, with lint made from her linen collar, and Rattleshag declared
that it felt "fust rate."
Wahena was still in the boat, where Ethan had taken the precaution to
tie him to the mast, after first binding his arms behind him. He still
lay in the bottom of the boat, the consciousness of his own danger
preventing him from showing himself.
"We mought hev to stop here all day," said the trapper, after they had
waited some time for a further demonstration on the part of the
Indians.
"As long as we are safe, we need not mind that," replied Fanny.
"I reckon we ain't safe much," added Ethan.
He had scarcely uttered the words before a savage yell was heard from
the enemy on the other side of the river.
"They're jumpin' inter the water to kim over here," said Rattleshag. "I
don't like to shoot 'em, but I s'pose I must."
"I like it," replied Ethan, who had not yet conquered his hatred of the
redskins.
"Don't be 'n a hurry, boy. Don't waste your lead," interposed the
trapper, as Ethan was taking aim. "There ain't no more 'n six on 'em in
the water, and we kin afford to wait till they git a little nearer. We
kin fire shots enough to kill the whole on 'em without loadin' up."
"Who be they?" asked Ethan, trying to be as cool as the hardy trapper.
"I dunno."
"Be they Lean B'ar's men?"
"I reckon they ain't."
"I was afeerd the redskins that kim down to keep us safe had turned
agin us."
"I reckon they hain't. They'd be afeerd we'd shoot the boy."
The half dozen savages in the water were wading across the river
towards the bateau, evidently in the belief that the party had deserted
her. They continued to hoot and yell, while they advanced, as though
they intended to storm a garrisoned fortress, instead of capturing a
deserted bateau.
"I reckon thet'll do now," said Rattleshag, as he raised his long rifle
to his shoulder, and aimed at one of the savages. "Don't you fire,
Ethan, till I've done."
He discharged his piece, and fully sustained his reputation as a dead
shot, for the foremost of the Indians dropped, and was carried down the
stream by the current.