THE ESCAPE OF THE CAPTIVES
For the moment after making the discovery that the two captives in the
hands of the Indians, were his father and Pep Frost, the old pioneer,
Joe Winship could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.
“Father!” he repeated hoarsely. “Father and Pep Frost!”
The sound of his voice reached one of the Indians, and the red man
gazed around sharply. But Joe was wise enough to drop out of sight
behind some brushes, and the Indian continued to move on, doubtless
thinking that it was merely the wind that had reached his ears.
The two captives were marched down to the river front, and here another
canoe was brought to light, similar to that used by the three Indians
who had gone off with the three bundles.
“Whar are ye a-going to take us?” Joe heard old Pep Frost ask.
For answer one of the Indians raised his palm and struck the pioneer
across the mouth.
“No talk now,” he said laconically.
The two captives were forced into the canoe, one being placed at the
bow and one at the stern. Then two of the Indians took up the paddles
and started up the stream, in the direction pursued by the first canoe.
Joe watched the proceedings with interest, but when the canoe began to
disappear from sight his heart sank within him.
“If I could only follow!” he thought.
But to run along the river bank and thus keep the craft in sight was
out of the question. The Indians were experts at using the paddle, and
the shore of the stream was, as we already know, rough and uncertain.
Suddenly the youth was seized with a new idea. If there had been two
canoes secreted in the bushes why not perhaps a third?
“I’ll hunt around and see,” he muttered, and began the search at once.
In a tiny cove he found just what he wanted, a small canoe boasting
of a single paddle. Without hesitation he leaped into it, took up the
paddle, and pushed the craft out into the river.
Joe had spent many of his boyhood days on the rivers near his
home and could row and paddle just as well as he could shoot and
ride on horseback. If it had but a single paddle, the craft was
correspondingly light, and by working with vigor he managed to keep the
larger canoe within easy distance, although being careful to keep out
of reach of the enemies he was following.
As he worked at the paddle his thoughts were busy. What did the capture
of his father and Pep Frost mean? Was it possible that the fight
at the camp had ended in a general massacre of the others? Such a
dire happening was not an impossibility. He remembered that only the
summer before the Indians had fallen upon one Jack Flockley and his
companions, six in number, and murdered all but one young girl, who had
been carried off into captivity.
“I must save them if I possibly can,” he reasoned. “I’ve got my hunting
knife and my gun, as well as this gun of Harry’s. They will all come in
handy if I can but cut their bonds.”
Fortunately for Joe the Indians kept their torch burning, as a signal
for those who had gone on ahead. Two turns of the stream were passed
when they came in sight of another torch, waving to and fro on the left
bank of the river. At once the canoe turned in that direction, and
presently a landing was made at a point where those in the first canoe
had gone ashore.
By the light of the two torches Joe saw all of the Indians assembled,
with their captives and their bundles between them. He allowed his
own little canoe to drift past the landing and then came ashore in the
midst of some brushwood overhanging the stream.
By making a détour the young pioneer presently came to the rear of the
enemy. He found that they were going into something of a camp and that
they had already tied the two captives to separate trees some eight or
ten feet apart. Between the two trees squatted a young warrior, placed
on guard over the whites.
Scarcely daring to breathe, Joe crept closer and closer until he was
less than five yards away from where his father stood, hands and feet
fastened to the tree by means of a stout grass rope. For the present he
did not dare go closer, but, lying full length in the grass, watched
the Indians as a hawk watches a brood of chickens.
The red men were much interested in the contents of the bundles brought
hither in the first canoe. Torches were stuck up in convenient places
and the bundles were unrolled, revealing to Joe many of the smaller
articles which the pioneers had been bringing westward on their pack
horses. There was a dress belonging to his mother, a pair of slippers
belonging to his sister Harmony, and a razor that he knew belonged to
his father. The sight of the razor tickled the fancy of one of the
Indians, and flourishing it in the air he approached Pep Frost and made
a motion as if to cut the throat of the old pioneer.
“Oh, I reckon ye air ekel to it,” snorted Pep Frost. “You are a
cowardly, miserable lot at the best!”
There was a small mirror in one of the bundles, and this pleased the
red men more than did any other object. Running up to a torch, one
after another would gaze into the mirror with expressions of wonder and
admiration. Even the young warrior on guard wanted to look into the
glass.
For the moment the prisoners were forgotten and, struck with a sudden
determination, Joe crawled close up behind his father and cut the grass
rope that bound the parent. Then he placed one of the guns into Mr.
Winship’s hand.
“It is I, Joe,” whispered the boy. “Wait till I free Pep Frost.”
“Be quick, and be careful,” returned the astonished man in an equally
low tone. And he added: “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
No more was said, and crawling backward Joe made his way to the tree
to which Pep Frost was fastened. Two slashes of the knife and the
old pioneer was also liberated, and Joe provided him with the second
musket.
“Cut tudder man loose,” whispered Frost, as he fingered the gun
nervously.
“He is free,” answered Joe.
So far the captives had not moved from their positions against the
trees, and as the young warrior looked at them he imagined each as
secure as ever. The Indians in general continued to look over the
contents of the bundles until a light on the river caused a fresh
interruption.
A third canoe was approaching filled with Indians and with at least two
captives. The latter were evidently females, and one, a girl of twelve
or fifteen, was crying piteously.
“Let me go! Please let me go!” she begged. “Oh, where are you taking
me?”
“Better be quiet, Harmony,” said the woman in the canoe. “It will do
thee no good to weep.”
“Harmony!” groaned Joe. “Harmony and Mrs. Parsons! Where can sister
Cora be, and Harry’s sister Clara?”
All of the Indians had turned to the river front, and now Pep Frost
made a motion to Ezra Winship. The pioneer understood, and, like a
flash, both turned and fled into the forest, calling softly to Joe to
follow.
Before the Indians discovered their loss the former captives were a
good hundred yards away. They kept close together and Joe was by his
father’s side. Presently a mad yell rent the air.
“They’ve found out the trick,” came from Pep Frost. “But I reckon as
how we’ve got the best o’ ’em, Joey--and thanks to your slickness.”
“Did you see those in the canoe?” queried the youth. “Mrs. Parsons and
Harmony!”
“Harmony!” ejaculated Mr. Winship, and stopped short. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, father; Mrs. Parsons called her by name.”
“Then I had best go back----”
“No, no!” put in Pep Frost. “It would be worse nor suicide, friend
Winship.”
“But my daughter--the redskins will----”
“I know, I know! But we must bide our time,” interrupted Pep Frost
again. “Remember, there were seven redskins on shore and at least four
more on the river. We can’t fight no sech band as thet.”
They had reached a small brook, and along this Pep Frost forced the
father and son, more than half against their will. Yet both realized
that the old pioneer was right--that to fight eleven of the foe under
present circumstances would be out of the question.
The Indians were already on the trail and the whites could hear them
rushing along the tracks left in the forest. At the brook they came to
a halt and then the force divided, some going up the stream and some
down.
“I--I can’t walk much further,” came presently from Ezra Winship.
“By gum! I forgot about that wound in your leg,” exclaimed Pep Frost;
“but we air a-comin’ to some rocks now an’ more’n likely they’ll afford
us some kind o’ a hidin’-place.”
The old pioneer was right, and leaving the brook they crawled up a
series of rough rocks and then into a hollow thick with brushwood. Here
they felt comparatively safe, and Ezra Winship sank down exhausted,
unable to take another step.
While Pep Frost remained on guard to give the alarm should any of
the Indians appear in the vicinity, Mr. Winship gave Joe some of the
particulars of the attack on the camp of the pioneers.
“We were caught at something of a disadvantage,” said he. “The horses
were giving us a good deal of trouble because one of them stepped into
a nest of hornets. While the men were trying to calm the beasts the
Indians rushed at us without warning.”
“Was anybody killed?”
“Yes; at the first volley Jim Vedder was laid low and Jerry Dillsworth
received a wound from which he cannot possibly recover. The Freemans’
baby was also struck in the shoulder while her mother was holding her
in her arms. Those who weren’t struck ran for their guns, and we fought
the redskins for fully quarter of an hour. But at last the tide of
battle went against us, and I was laid low with an arrow wound in the
thigh. I went down and a horse came down on top of me, and that was all
I knew for about half an hour, when I found myself a prisoner and tied
to a tree in the dark.”
“And mother and the girls----”
“I didn’t see anything more of them,” answered Ezra Winship sadly. “I
know your mother was hit in the arm by a tomahawk, but I don’t believe
the wound was very bad. The last I saw of Pep Frost he was fighting to
save Clara Parsons from being carried away. But a blow from a club one
of the redskins carried stretched him flat, and when I saw him again he
was a prisoner like myself.”
“And what of all of the others, father?”
“I can’t say anything about them for certain, but I imagine about half
of them escaped under cover of the darkness, and Pep Frost thinks that
at least two men and two women got away on horseback. Besides that,
Frank Ludgate was off on a hunt when the attack began, so that it is
very likely he escaped too,” concluded Ezra Winship.