THROUGH THE TRACKLESS FOREST--THE CAUSE.
The compliment to the young Shawanoe, although rudely expressed, was
genuine, and at once dissipated the latent lightning that was on the
point of bursting forth.
The lowering eclipse that overspread the dusky countenance instantly
cleared away, and Deerfoot smiled more than before as he turned toward
Ned Preston to see how he accepted the remark of his servant.
The young pioneer was pleased, and, slapping the lad on the shoulder,
exclaimed heartily--
"You show your good sense there, Blossom; and after this, when I hear
the folks say you are the stupidest boy in all Kentucky, I will quote
what you have just said to prove they are mistaken."
Wildblossom raised his cap and scratched his head, somewhat doubtful
as to how he should accept this remark. While he was considering the
matter, Deerfoot and Ned faced each other, and talked concerning more
important matters.
The sun, which had been scarcely visible during the day, was now below
the horizon, and the shadows of night were creeping through the autumn
woods. The air continued chilly, and moaned among the branches, from
which the crisp leaves, turning from bright yellow and flaming crimson
to dull brown, were continually drifting downward. The squirrels
whisked from limb to limb, gathering their winter store of nuts, and
chattering their defiance from the highest branches of elm, oak, ash,
hickory, chestnut, or maple.
Now and then feathery particles of snow whirled around them, so light
and downy that they scarcely found their way to the leaves below. It
was the time of the sad and melancholy days, though the most joyous
one to the hunter.
Ned Preston had been told by Deerfoot that he was the only Indian near
them, and he was vastly relieved that the danger was found to be
scarcely any danger at all.
As it was becoming colder, and night was closing in, the boy was
anxious to go into camp. He could conceive of no reason why they
should push forward any further before morning, as he held no
suspicion of the critical condition of affairs.
But he quickly learned the truth from Deerfoot, who related, in his
pointed way, the story of the Wyandots under the fierce war chief
Waughtauk.
"And they are going to the block-house!" exclaimed the astonished lad.
The young warrior nodded his head to signify there could be no doubt
of the fact.
"Then we had better turn around and go back to Wild Oaks as quickly as
we can."
"Deerfoot must hurry to Colonel Preston and tell him of the Wyandots,"
said the Shawanoe; "that is Deerfoot's first duty."
"Of course; I didn't expect you to go with us; we can make our way
home without help."
"But your feet wandered from the path only a few hours ago."
"We were careless, for we felt there was no need of haste," replied
young Preston; "that could not happen again, when we know such a
mistake might work us ill."
"But that was in the daytime; it is now night."
Ned felt the force of this fact, but he would not have hesitated to
start on the back trail without a minute's delay.
"When we found we were going wrong we could stop and wait till the
rising of the morning sun. I have several letters which you can
deliver to my uncle."
Deerfoot shook his head; he had another course in mind.
"We will go to the fort; you will hand the letters to the white
soldier; Deerfoot will show the way."
"Deerfoot knows best; we will follow in his footsteps."
The Shawanoe was pleased with the readiness of the young pioneer, who,
it must be stated, could not see the wisdom of the decision of their
guide.
If Waughtauk and his warriors were in the immediate vicinity of the
block-house, the boys must run great risk in an attempt to enter the
post. They could not reach the station ahead of the Wyandots, and it
would be a task of extreme difficulty to open communication with
Colonel Preston, even though he knew the loyalty of the dusky ally of
the whites.
Deerfoot would have a much better prospect of success alone than if
embarrassed by two companions, whom the other Indians would consider
in the light of the very game for which they were hunting.
It seemed to Ned that it would be far more prudent for the young
Shawanoe to take the letters and make his way through the trackless
forest, while Ned and Blossom spared no time or effort in returning to
Wild Oaks.
But the matchless subtlety and skill of Deerfoot were appreciated by
no one more than by young Preston, who unhesitatingly placed himself
under his charge.
But cheerfully as the wishes of the Shawanoe were acceded to by the
white boy, the African lad was anything but satisfied. Of a sluggish
temperament, he disliked severe exertion. He had not only been on the
tramp most of the day, but, during the last half hour, had been forced
to an exertion which had tired him out; he therefore objected to a
tramp that was likely to take the better portion of the night.
"We'd better start a fire here," said he, "and den in de mornin' we'll
be fresh, and we can run all de way to de Lickin', and get dar 'bout
as soon as if we trabel all night and got tired most to def."
The Shawanoe turned upon him in the dusky twilight, and said--
"My brother with the face of the night may wait here; Deerfoot and his
friend will go on alone."
With which decisive remark he wheeled about, and, facing southwest,
strode off toward the block-house on the Licking.
"Wildblossom aint gwine to stay here, not if he knows hisself, while
you folks go to your destruction," exclaimed the servant, falling into
line.
The strange procession was under way at once. Deerfoot, as a matter of
course, took the lead, Ned Preston stepping close behind him, while
the African kept so near his young master that he trod on his heels
more than once.
The Shawnee displayed his marvellous woodcraft from the first.
Although the ground was thickly strewn with leaves, his soft moccasins
touched them as lightly as do the velvet paws of the tiger when
stealing through the jungle. Ned Preston took extreme care to imitate
him, and partially succeeded, but the large shoes of Blossom Brown
rumpled and tumbled the dry vegetation despite every effort to avoid
it.
It was not until reproved by Ned, and the gait was slackened, that, to
a certain extent, the noisy rustling was stopped.
There were no stars nor moon in the sky, there was no beaten path to
follow, and they were not on the bank nor along the watercourse of any
stream to guide them; but the dusky leader advanced as unerringly as
does the bloodhound when trailing the panting fugitive through the
marshy swamps and lowlands.
As the night deepened, Ned saw only dimly the figure of the lithe and
graceful young warrior in front. His shoulders were thrown forward,
and his head projected slightly beyond. This was his attitude while on
the trail, and when all his faculties were alert. Eye and ear were
strained to the highest tension, and the faint cry of a bird or the
flitting of a shadowy figure among the forest arches would have been
detected on the instant.
Ned Preston could catch the outlines of the scalp-lock and eagle
feathers, which took on a slightly waving motion in response to the
long, loping tread of the Indian; occasionally he could detect a part
of the quiver, fastened back of the shoulder, and the upper portion of
the long bow, which he carried unstrung in his right hand.
Then there were moments when the guide was absolutely invisible, and
he moved with such silence that Ned feared he had left them
altogether. But he was there all the time, and the journey through the
desolate woods continued with scarcely an interruption.
Suddenly Deerfoot came to a halt, giving utterance at the same moment
to a sibilant sound as a warning to Ned Preston, who checked himself
with his chin almost upon the arrow-quiver. It was different with
Blossom, who bumped his nose against the shoulders of his young master
with such violence that Ned put up his hand to check himself from
knocking the guide off his feet.
Neither Ned nor Blossom had caught the slightest sound, and they
wondered what it was that had alarmed Deerfoot.
No one spoke, but all stood as motionless as the tree trunks beside
them, those behind waiting the pleasure of him who was conducting them
on this dangerous journey.
For fully five minutes (which seemed doubly that length) the tableau
lasted, during which the listening followers heard only the soughing
of the night-wind and the hollow murmur of the great forest, which was
like the voice of silence itself.
Then the faint rustle of the leaves beneath the moccasins of the
Shawanoe showed that he was moving forward again, and the others
resumed walking, with all the caution consistent with necessary speed.
Fully a half mile was passed in this manner, the three advancing like
automata, with never a whisper or halt. Blossom, although wearied and
displeased, appreciated the situation too well to express his
feelings, or to attempt anything to which either of the others would
object.
"Dey aint likely to keep dis up for more dan a week," was the thought
which came to him; "and when I make up my mind to it, I can stand it
as long as bofe of 'em together."
However, Blossom had almost reached the protesting point, when he
heard the same warning hiss from the Shawanoe, and checked himself
just in time to avoid a collision with his young master.
The cause of this stoppage was apparent to all: they stood on the bank
of a creek a hundred yards wide, which it was necessary to cross to
reach the block-house. It ran into the Licking a number of miles
south, and so far below Fort Bridgman that there was no way of "going
round" it to reach the station.
It was the custom of the boys, when making the journey between Wild
Oaks and the block-house, to ferry themselves over on a raft which
they had constructed, and which was used on their return. As they took
a course each time which brought them to the same point on the
tributary, this was an easy matter. During the summer they sometimes
doffed their garments, and placing them and their guns on a small
float, swam over, pushing their property before them.
The water was too cold to admit of any such course now, unless driven
to it by necessity; and as Deerfoot had brought them to a point on the
bank far removed from the usual ferrying place, Ned concluded they
were in an unpleasant predicament, to say the least.
"How are we going to get across?" he asked, when they had stood
motionless several minutes looking down on the dim current flowing at
their feet.
"The creek is not wide; we can swim to the other shore."
"There is no doubt of that, for I have done it more than once; but
there is snow flying in the air, and it isn't a favorite season with
me to go in bathing."
A slight exclamation escaped the Shawanoe, which was probably meant as
an expression of contempt for the effeminacy of his white friend.
Be that as it may, he said nothing, nor did he, in point of fact, mean
to force the two to such a disagreeable experience.
"Wait till Deerfoot comes back."
As he uttered these words he moved down the bank, while Blossom Brown
threw himself on the ground, muttering--
"I would like to wait here all night, and I hope he has gone for some
wood to kindle a fire."
"There is no likelihood of that," explained Ned, "for he is too
anxious to reach the block-house."
"I tink he is anxiouser dan----_See dat_!"
At that moment the dip of a paddle was heard, and the lads caught the
faint outlines of a canoe stealing along the stream close to the
shore. In it was seated a single warrior, who did not sway his body in
the least as he dipped the paddle first on one side the frail boat and
then on the other.
"He's arter us!" whispered Blossom, cocking his rifle.
"Of course he is; it's Deerfoot."
"I forgot all about dat," said the lad, lowering his piece, with no
little chagrin.
Ned Preston now cautiously descended the bank, followed by Blossom,
and while the Shawanoe held the craft against the shore, they stepped
within, Ned placing himself in the bow, while his companion took a
seat at the stern.
Then, while Deerfoot deftly poised himself in the middle, he lightly
dipped the ashen paddle alternately on the right and left, sending the
canoe forward as gracefully as a swallow.
"Whose boat is that?" asked Ned.
"It belongs to some Pottawatomie," answered the Shawanoe, speaking
with a confidence which showed he held no doubt in the matter, though
he might have found it hard to tell his companions the precise means
by which he gained the information.
Deerfoot, instead of speeding directly across, headed south, as though
he meant to follow the stream to its confluence with the Licking.
Suspecting he was not aware of his mistake, Blossom deemed it his duty
to remind him of it.
"You are gwine de wrong way, if you did but know it, Deerfoot; de oder
side am ober dar."
Perhaps the young Shawanoe indulged in a quiet smile; if so, he made
no other sign, but continued down the creek with arrowy swiftness for
two or three hundred yards, when he began verging toward the other
shore.
Ned Preston made no remark, but alternately peered ahead to discern
where they were going, and back, that he might admire the grace and
skill with which the Indian propelled the light structure.
All at once, with a sweep of the paddle, the boat was whirled around
with such suddenness that Blossom Brown thought they were going to
upset and be precipitated into the water. By the time he recovered
himself the delicate prow touched the shore as lightly as if drawn by
a lady's hand.
Ned instantly stepped out, the others doing the same. When everything
was removed, Deerfoot stooped over, and, without any apparent effort,
raised the canoe from the water.
"I s'pose he am gwine to take dat along to hold ober our heads when it
rains."
But Blossom was altogether wide of the mark in his theory. The
Shawanoe carried it only a few paces, when he placed it under a clump
of bushes, pulled some leaves over it, laying the paddle beneath, and
then once more turned to resume their journey.