BUSINESS UNPLEASANTLY INTERRUPTED--THE MOUNTAIN FORT IN DANGER--TRAPPERS
TO THE RESCUE--A RUDE MEETING WITH FOES IN THE DARK--A WILD RACE--MARCH
MEETS WITH A SEVERE MISFORTUNE.
One morning, just as the trappers were dropping into camp about the
usual breakfast hour, laden with the produce of the trap and the chase,
they were startled by the sudden appearance of a large band of mounted
Indians, who galloped to the top of a neighbouring mound, and, crowding
together, stood still to gaze upon the invaders of their hunting
grounds, for such they deemed the trappers, no doubt.
To snatch up their arms and run to a place of safety was the work of a
moment. It must not be supposed that such experienced men as Redhand
and Bounce were altogether unprepared for a surprise of this sort. On
the day of their arrival at the hunting ground, their first care had
been to select such a place for their camp as lay in close proximity to
some natural stronghold. Not ten paces from the camp fire there was a
sort of hollow in the ground, on the very summit of the mound on which
they were encamped. Here all their valuables had been placed, and round
the edge of the hollow a rude breastwork had been raised, so that the
party, when in it, could fire through little openings in the breastwork
without exposing themselves to view.
To this fortress they retired the instant the Indians made their
appearance. Fortunately all the members of the little party had come
in.
"They're holdin' a council o' war," said Bounce, carefully examining the
priming of his piece. "It's as like as not they'll attack us, but
they'll get a hearty and an oncommonly warm welcome."
"They'll not attack us," said Redhand. "They know that white men never
travel without plenty of powder and ball, and they don't like taking a
place by storm."
"Ay," remarked Waller sarcastically, "'cause they knows that the first
man as comes on is sartin sure to fall, an' they knows that they can't
come on without somebody comin' first."
"But there's brave fellers among the redskins," rejoined Bounce. "I
knowed a set o' young fellers as banded theirselves together, and swore
they'd go through fire an' water, thick an' thin, but they'd niver turn
back from the face o' danger wherever they met it. So, one day they wos
crossin' a river on the ice, an' the first on 'em fell in, an' wos
carried away by the current; an' what does the second do, but he walks
straight into the hole, an' wos drowned too; an' the nixt wos goin' to
foller, when the old warriors ran at him an' forced him back. If they
hadn't stopped him, I do b'lieve--"
"They're makin' up their minds to do somethin' or other," interrupted
March.
"I sincerely hope they won't fight," murmured Bertram earnestly. "It is
fearful to think of the blood that is shed by these men needlessly."
From the conduct of the Indians it became evident that on this occasion
they sympathised with the artist in his desire not to fight, for one of
their number dismounted, and, advancing unarmed towards the trappers,
made signs of friendship.
"It's as well to be bold an' appear to trust 'em," said Redhand, laying
down his rifle and leaping over the breastwork; "keep your guns ready,
lads, an' if ye see treachery, let drive at once. Don't be afraid o'
hittin' me. I'll take my chance."
After a few minutes' conversation with the Indian, Redhand returned to
his party.
"That redskin," said he, "tells me they're on an expedition to hunt the
buffalo on the prairie, and that they're good friends of the white men,
and would like to have a talk with us before they go on; but I don't
believe 'em. From what I heard Mr McLeod say at the Mountain Fort, I
think it not unlikely they are bound on an expedition against the
whites. The very fact of their wishin' to keep friends with us instead
of tryin' to lift our scalps and carry off our furs and horses, shows me
they've some more pressin' business on hand. Mr McLeod described to me
the appearance of one or two o' the Injuns that hates the fur-traders
most, so that I might be on my guard, an' I'm quite sure that some of
them are with that band. Now, what say ye? Shall I tell 'em we don't
want their acquaintance?"
"Tell 'em they're a set o' lyin' thieves," said Big Waller. "I guess
we'll have nothin' to say to 'em wotiver."
"Oui, et give to dem mine complements," added Gibault, "an' say we ver'
moch 'blige by dere goodness, mais dey vill all be shooted if dey not go
away queek."
Redhand did not give these polite messages to the Indian, but on
returning to him he presented him with a piece of tobacco, and advised
him to continue his journey without loss of time, as the buffaloes were
travelling south and might be out of the way when they reached the
prairie.
Whether the Indians felt angry or not it is impossible to say. They
seemed indifferent to their cool reception by the trappers, and soon
after rode off at full speed, in a direction that led _away_ from the
Mountain Fort, a circumstance which still further confirmed Redhand in
his suspicions.
After an eager, hasty consultation, it was resolved that they should
follow the savages, and if their trail was found to diverge, as was
fully expected, towards the fort, that they should endeavour to pass
them in the night, and proceed by forced marches, in order to get there
in time to warn the fur-traders of their impending danger.
In less than an hour after the Indians left them, the trappers were
galloping after them in hot haste. During the course of the day they
found that the trail doubled back, as they had anticipated, so, making a
wide detour, they headed the Indians, and during the afternoon got a
little in advance of them on their way to the Mountain Fort.
But the trappers had a subtle enemy to deal with. Just as the Indians
were about to encamp that night for a few hours' rest, they chanced to
diverge a short way from the direct line of march, and, in doing so,
crossed the tracks of the trappers. A halt was called, and a minute
inspection of the tracks made. One of the savages galloped back on them
a considerable distance, and soon returned with the information that
they led towards the camp of the pale-faces. From the appearance of the
hoof-prints they knew that they were fresh, and thus at once guessed
that their true intentions had been suspected, and might yet be
frustrated by the trappers. Instead of encamping, therefore, they
pushed on at full speed and very soon came up with the white men. It
was a dark night, so that they could not see far in advance of them, and
thus it happened that the two parties, on entering a narrow defile,
almost rode into each other, with a yell of fierce surprise on both
sides.
As there were at least fifty Indians, Redhand thought it better to avoid
a doubtful combat by scattering his men through the woods, and letting
each make the best of his way to the fort singly.
"Run, boys! scatter! to the fort!"
This was all that he deemed needful in the way of command or
explanation. Firing a single volley at the enemy, they turned and fled.
"Foller me," shouted Waller to the bewildered Bertram, as a shower of
arrows whistled past their ears. The artist obeyed mechanically, and in
another moment they were flying through the wood at a pace that seemed,
and actually was, reckless under the circumstances. But the Indians did
not attempt to pursue. They knew that their intention had been
discovered, and that their only chance of success now lay in outriding
the pale-faces. The ride, in fact, became a long race, neither party
making the slightest attempt to hunt up the other, but each straining
every nerve and muscle to get first to the doomed fort.
The scattered trappers rode for a long time singly, but as they neared
the fort, one or two of them met, and when they came first in sight of
the tall flagstaff, Bounce, Redhand, and Gibault rode abreast.
McLeod was standing in front of the fort, when the three horsemen came
dashing over the plain. He hastily summoned his men and closed the
gate, but as the foremost rider came near, he was recognised; the gate
was thrown open, and they galloped into the square. In a few hasty
words their errand was explained. Arms and ammunition were served out,
and six men were stationed at the gate, to be in readiness to open it to
approaching friends, or to shut it in the face of foes.
But the others of the party were not so fortunate as these three. The
Indians reached the fort before they did, and one of their number was
left, unknown to them, in a state of insensibility near the spot where
the first rencontre had taken place.
When the Indians and trappers met in the narrow defile, as before
related, one of the arrows, which had been discharged very much at
random, entered the shoulder of March Marston's horse and wounded it
mortally. At first March thought the wound was slight, and, hearing the
shouts of some of the savages not far behind him, he urged his horse
forward as rapidly as the nature of the ground would admit of. Before
he had gone a quarter of a mile, however, the poor steed fell, throwing
March over its head. In his flight the youth's forehead came into
violent contact with a branch, and he fell to the ground insensible.
His comrades, ignorant of his fate, continued their wild flight. Thus,
our hero was forsaken, and left bruised and bleeding in the dark forest.