PURSUED BY THE INDIANS
“Do you really think the Indians would prove unfriendly?” questioned
Harry, as both boys crouched down behind a thick clump of bushes.
“I do--if they belong to the crowd who called upon us yesterday. There
was one Indian in particular, a tall chap, who looked bloodthirsty
enough for anything,” said Joe.
“You mean the fellow called Long Knife?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t deny he did look ugly, Joe. But then a redskin can’t help his
looks.”
Here the talk came to a sudden end, for a splashing in the brook
reached their ears, telling that the two Indians were not far away.
They had not gone after the deer as the boys had imagined, but were
coming closer. Harry clutched Joe’s arm, and both youths crouched lower
than ever in the grass and brushwood.
In a minute more the two red men were less than a rod away, and the
boys could hear them talking softly to one another. Peeping through
the bushes, Joe made out the savage face of Long Knife, and saw that
the Indian carried a musket of ancient pattern, and a horn of powder
and ball, as well as his bow and arrows, and his tomahawk. The second
Indian was similarly armed.
Hardly daring to breathe, the boys remained behind the bushes until the
Indians had passed the spot and followed the course of the stream a
distance of several rods further. Then Harry touched Joe on the arm.
“Did you see it?” he asked, in a low voice, but one full of suppressed
excitement.
“See what, Harry?”
“The scalp Long Knife carried. I’m sure it was a fresh one, too!”
“A fresh scalp! Oh, Harry, are you sure?”
“Yes, and the best thing we can do is to get back to the train without
delay.”
“But the Indians have gone up the brook----”
“We’ll have to take to the forest and trust to luck.”
“Supposing they have attacked the train? That scalp may be that of one
of our party!”
“Let us trust not,” answered Harry, but with a face that showed his
anxiety.
The youths had been following the course of the brook, which was lined
on one bank with a series of large flat rocks. On these rocks their
trail had been lost, so that the Indians had not discovered their
footprints in the semi-gloom caused by the heavy forest growth overhead.
“But they’ll find some footprints before long,” said Joe, in speaking
of this. “And when they do they may be after us hot-footed.”
Fortunately for the boys the brook, as they remembered, made a long
semicircle, so that if they could make their way through the forest in
anything of a straight line they would cut off a goodly portion of the
distance to camp.
The gun of each was loaded and freshly primed, and each held his weapon
ready for instant use should occasion require. Joe led the way, but
Harry followed closely in his footsteps.
Less than a hundred yards had been covered when there came a shot from
a distance, followed by several others.
“Where can they come from?” questioned Joe.
“I don’t believe we are in sound of the camp, Joe. But if we are,
perhaps those other shots came from there, too.”
“No, they were off in that direction.” Joe pointed with his hand. “I
can tell you what, I don’t like the looks of the situation, do you?”
“No, I don’t--and that is why I think we had best get back to camp with
all speed.”
On and on they went, deeper and deeper into the forest. The summer day
was drawing to a close and they knew that in another hour the darkness
of night would be upon them.
Suddenly a small wild animal darted up in their path. This caused
Joe to fall back upon Harry, and by accident the latter’s gun was
discharged, the buckshot whistling past Joe’s left ear and tearing
through the boughs overhead.
“Oh, Joe, are you shot?” cried Harry in keen alarm.
“I--I reckon not,” stammered his companion, as soon as he could recover
from the shock. “But why did you fire over my shoulder like that? It
was only a jack-rabbit.”
“I didn’t mean to fire. The gun--hark!”
Harry stopped short and both listened. From a distance they could hear
one Indian calling to another. Then followed a crashing through some
undergrowth.
“They are after us sure!” ejaculated Harry. “Come on.”
Both broke into a run without waiting for Harry to reload. As they went
on, they heard more firing at a distance, and then a long yell that
they knew could mean but one thing.
“The Indians are on the warpath!” exclaimed Joe. “There can be no doubt
of it--they have attacked the camp.”
“How many do you suppose there are of them?”
“There is no telling. But if they number a dozen or more it will surely
go hard with all of our party, Harry.”
They calculated that they had covered half the distance to the camp
when they reached something of a hollow. Here the undergrowth was extra
heavy and the ground wet and uncertain, and before they realized it
they were in a bog up to their ankles.
“This won’t do,” came from Harry. “If we aren’t careful we’ll get in so
deep we can’t get out again. We’ll have to turn back.”
“Turn back--with the Indians following us?” said Joe.
“I mean to walk around this hollow, Joe. It’s the only way.”
They turned back to dry ground and then moved to the southward, still
further away from the brook. Here was something of an opening, but they
avoided this and made for some rocks, gaining a new shelter just as
three Indians burst into view.
“Keep to the rocks,” whispered Joe. “Don’t leave a trail if you can
help it--and get away as far as possible from this place!”
He went on, over the rocks, and Harry followed. The way led deeper and
deeper into the forest and soon the light of day was shut out entirely.
Both were now out of breath and glad enough to climb into a dense tree
and rest. As they sat among the upper branches they listened intently
for more signs of the Indians, but none reached them. Once Joe fancied
he heard a cry in English at a great distance, but he was not certain.
“This is a pickle truly,” observed Harry, after a long spell of silence.
“It is what we get for straying away too far from camp,” returned Joe
bitterly. “Father warned me to keep near, and he warned everybody else,
too.”
“What do you say we should do next?”
“I hardly know, Harry. If we start to go on those Indians may be laying
low for us.”
“Do you want to remain in the tree all night?”
“We may have to remain here all night. If we start out after it is real
dark we may become hopelessly lost in the timber.”
“But the redskins can spot us twice as quick in the daylight as they
can now.”
“I know that as well as you.”
After this came another long spell of silence, in which each boy was
busy with his thoughts. The mind of each dwelt upon the camp. Had it
been attacked, and if so had any of the loved ones been slain?
As night came on they heard strange sounds in the forest, sounds
which would have frightened youths less used to woodcraft. From the
hollow came the mournful glunk of frogs, and the shrill tweet of tree
toads. All around them the night birds uttered their solitary notes,
punctuated ever and anon with the hoot of an owl. And then they heard
the rustling of underbrush as various wild animals stole from their
lairs in quest of prey.
“I am going to climb to the top of the tree and see if I can locate the
camp-fire,” said Harry, at length. “If that is burning as usual it will
be a sign that nothing very wrong has happened.”
Leaving his gun hanging on a limb, he commenced to climb from one
branch to the next. Joe was about to follow but concluded that it would
be best for one to remain below on guard, for the top of this giant of
the forest was fully eighty feet above the position he now occupied.
The climbing of such a tree is by no means an easy task. As Harry
approached the top he found the branches further apart and quite
slender, and he had all he could do to haul himself from one safe
position to another above it.
His activity was rewarded at last, and he stood on a limb which gave
him a free and uninterrupted view of the country for miles around.
There was no moon, but the sky was clear, and countless stars served to
brighten the early night. Far to the westward the clouds were still red
from the setting sun.
Eagerly the youth turned to where he imagined the camp-fire of the
pioneers must be located. Not a single light came to view, either
camp-fire or lantern.
“That is certainly queer,” he told himself. “Not a flare of any kind.”
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when his attention was
attracted to a location about half a mile to the northward of the camp.
The light of a torch had blazed forth and was now revolving rapidly in
a semicircle.
“An Indian signal,” he muttered softly. “I wish I knew what it meant.”
The light was waved in a semicircle for fully half a minute. Then it
bobbed up and down twice and vanished.
Scarcely had this light gone from view than Harry noticed another
light, this time on the other side of the pioneers’ camp. This new
light was bobbing up and down at a rapid rate, making it look almost
like a streak of fire. Then it changed from side to side, and then to a
circle. Inside of three minutes it was gone.
“If one could only read the Indian signs it might prove a big help,”
mused the boy. “Perhaps I had better stay up here to-night and see if
any more signs are made. Then, if we get back to camp in the morning, I
can ask old Pep Frost what they mean.”
He sat in a crotch of the limb for the best part of half an hour. The
position was far from comfortable, and he was on the point of changing
it when he heard a noise some distance below.
“Is that you coming up, Joe?” he asked softly.
A low hiss of warning was the only reply, and Harry knew at once
something was wrong. He leaned far down and presently made out his
companion, coming up slowly and noiselessly and carrying both of the
guns.
“What is it?” he asked, when he could get his mouth close to Joe’s ear.
“Three Indians are in the forest, close to the bottom of this tree,”
was the answer. “Don’t make a sound or we’ll be discovered--if we
haven’t been spotted already.”