CASTING BREAD UPON THE WATERS
THE presence of the panther so terrified the horses that they kept up a
continual prancing; and it would have been next to impossible for any
one to have taken a sure aim while in the saddle.
[Illustration: "WITH THE SHARP CRASH OF THE GUN THE GREAT GRAY BODY OF
THE CROUCHING BEAST FLEW UPWARD."]
Roger understood this, for his first act was to slip from his seat, gun
in hand. His next was to draw back the hammer of his rifle. It was to
be hoped that the powder lay properly in the pan, so that there would
be no false flash.
Dick, too, had gripped his rifle, and was bent on using it to the best
of his ability in case his comrade failed to kill the panther, though
he had confidence in the marksmanship of Roger.
The time could be measured only in seconds, from Roger's leaving his
saddle to when he pressed the trigger. And with the sharp crash of the
gun the great gray body of the crouching beast flew upward, with all of
its legs in motion at once.
It fell almost at the feet of the Indian squaw, who drew back her
charge, and at the same time kept her stout cudgel ready, so as to make
use of it in case of necessity.
But there was no such need. Roger's bullet had done its work well; the
ferocious beast was already quivering in its death throes.
"Good shot, Roger!" cried the gratified Dick, as he lowered his own gun.
The other was already reloading his long rifle. That was a hunter's
instinct which had been impressed so urgently on the minds of these
boys when mere striplings that they could never neglect the precaution.
An empty gun is the nightmare of a wise hunter, for it makes him worse
than helpless.
Roger was making haste, wishing to be the one to add the finishing
touches in case anything more was needed; but such did not prove to be
the case, for even as he completed the task of reloading his weapon the
animal expired.
Dick was by now out of his saddle. He found a place to hitch his horse
by tossing the bridle over a broken limb, caught the second animal's
lines and did the same; after which he turned for a look at the strange
pair who had been saved from death, it might be, through the coming of
the white boys.
The squaw was not much different from all of her kind, being wrinkled,
and squat of figure as one accustomed to bearing heavy loads, for it
is the women who do all the work in Indian villages, while the braves
hunt, and carry on wars.
Evidently the squaw did not know whether to look upon these strangers
in the light of friends or enemies. True, one of them had saved her
charge and herself from a terrible fate; but then the white boys might
decide to make prisoners of them, and carry them far away to their
settlement.
She still gripped her cudgel, and her beady black eyes flashed fire as
Dick approached. He saw that she was like a fox at bay, and ready to
meet him half way if he gave evidence of wishing to do them harm.
So Dick, who had hastily slung his gun to his back by means of the
strap, held up both his hands, palms extended toward the squaw. That is
the universal "peace sign," recognized all over the world, even among
the blacks of darkest Africa.
The wrinkled face of the squaw lost some of its grimness. She even
seemed to smile a little, Dick thought; at any rate those fierce black
eyes glistened in a friendly way as she nodded her head, and also held
up both hands, letting the club fall to the ground.
"Friends--no hurt squaw, pappoose. How come here? Much bad job,
panther. Shake hands. Me Dick!"
Although it might have seemed a little comical, the way the boy
expressed himself, somehow, either through her knowledge of a little
English, or because his gesture explained more than his few words
did, the squaw seemed to understand him. She accepted his hand, and
her black eyes snapped some more when he gave her fingers a friendly
squeeze. Thus it is possible for two people to communicate, even when
language fails.
"Me Karmeet, pappoose Dove Eyes. Prisoner so long in Shoshone village.
Get away. Now on trail to lodges of Sioux. Much good paleface boy,
shoot big cat. Ugh!"
And that was about the extent of her willingness to impart information.
Whoever Karmeet might be, she evidently had long ago been taught that
it was a woman's place to hold her tongue when any of the other sex
were around.
"We make camp, have meat to eat. Karmeet hungry; Dove Eyes want food.
You much welcome join us. Stay all night in camp. In morning go to
Sioux wigwam. How?"
Dick in this way was trying to make the squaw understand that they were
about to halt for the night, and camp; also that she and her charge
would be perfectly welcome to stay there, and share in the supper of
the white boys.
Roger looked at the lined face to see whether she understood, and
immediately realized that Dick knew how to go about it; for again she
nodded her head, looked anxiously at the girl, and then muttered:
"We stay night with paleface boys. Much good. Karmeet remember. Ugh!"
And so the two young pioneers went about the duties of the hour as
though they were alone. They carefully selected the place where the
fire was to be made; and the keen eyes of the squaw followed all their
movements with considerable curiosity. Roger, looking up later, saw
her nodding her head, and from this he understood that she approved of
their cunning in thus providing against discovery of the small blaze by
hostile eyes.
The horses were provided with a feeding place, because there was grass
in the forest glade where the wandering Indian squaw and her charge, in
escaping from one peril, had almost met their fate in another way.
Then supper was started. When Roger prepared to cook the meat, to his
amusement it was taken from his hands by the old squaw, who insisted
on carrying out the rest of that labor--though possibly the lads might
have preferred to do it their own way. But evidently Karmeet had all
her life been accustomed to never seeing a warrior bending over the
fire whenever there was a squaw in the camp; they might do the drudgery
when out hunting, or on the warpath, but never at home. That was a
woman's duty.
There was plenty for all. Little Dove Eyes had been visibly frightened
at first sight of the white boys, for doubtless they were the only
palefaces upon whom her eyes had ever rested. But by degrees the smiles
and nods of Roger assured the child that he was a friend. Besides, had
not it been his "speaking-stick" that had sent the terrible woods-cat
to its death, just when it seemed that nothing could prevent it from
springing on her guardian?
And so by slow degrees she even tried to talk with Roger, repeating
after him the words he uttered. He would pick up his weapon, and say
"gun" very distinctly; so in a little while, when he asked her what it
was, she would say the word plainly, showing that the lesson had been
learned.
And so it was with other things, even to his name, which proved pretty
much of a stumbling-block; for words of two syllables were hard for the
child to pronounce.
Meanwhile, as the evening passed, Dick from time to time tried to
engage the squaw in conversation; but she was most uncommunicative, for
some reason or other, and answered his questions either by shrugs that
gave him to believe she did not understand, or else by single words.
But by dint of hard work he managed to get enough information from
her to understand that she had been captured by a roving band of
Shoshones, then, as nearly always, at war with the fighting Indians
of the Northwest, the fierce Sioux, and, together with the child, who
was related to her, carried away as captives to one of their villages,
where they had been kept for months.
Finally a chance came to make her escape, though she would not go
without Dove Eyes. They had stolen two horses, which had carried them
many miles on their way toward the village of her people. Then trouble
came, for her horse died of exhaustion, while that which the little
girl rode broke a leg by stepping in a prairie dog hole.
After that they had gone afoot, existing as best they could on berries
and such things as an Indian woman best knew would sustain life,
until, without warning, they had been confronted by that hungry beast,
which would surely have pounced upon them had not the paleface boys
interfered.
Beyond that the squaw would not venture. Just who and what she was Dick
could not ascertain, though once she did mention the fact that the
child's father was a big chief among her people.
And when it came time for seeking rest, Roger willingly gave up his
blanket in order that their visitors might be provided with some of the
comforts to which their sex entitled them.
As was customary, the boys kept a wary eye out, though they had come to
depend partly on their horses to alarm them, should a creeping Indian
come near the camp during the night. The animals seemed to fear the
redskins as much as any lonely settler's wife might; and would snort,
and pound their hoofs upon the ground, should they detect the presence
of a marauder.
Perhaps towards morning both of the boys slept more soundly than usual,
for they were tired, and sleep is more apt to overpower a watcher just
before day comes on apace.
Roger was the first to get up. The earliest peep of dawn could be seen
in the far east, through the trees, as he started to revive the little
fire in the cavity, so that they might have an early breakfast, and
move on. He found himself hoping that this day might see them once more
looking out across the great river they had followed so far.
Having managed to get the blaze started, Roger turned to speak to his
companion, to find that Dick was already on his feet, and looking
around.
"Well, it happened just as I thought it would," Dick was saying.
"What do you mean?" demanded his companion, wonderingly.
"Look around, and tell me if you see our visitors," the other went on.
And Roger, turning his eyes in the quarter where the squaw and her
charge had been lying, was astonished and dismayed to find that they
had disappeared.