THE TWINKLE OF A CAMP-FIRE.
Slight as was the noise made by the flashing of the powder, Deerfoot not
only heard it, but knew what it meant. He was so angered that he bounded
back among the trees like a tiger leaping upon the hunter that has
wounded him. He grasped his knife and sought the treacherous Pawnee,
with a fierceness that seemed could not be denied.
Hay-uta stepped softly in the other direction, where he was under the
shadow of the trees, and waited for events to develop before doing any
thing further.
In the depth of the woods where the vegetation was dense, the darkness
was impenetrable. Keen as were the eyes of the Shawanoe, they were not
those of the owl or cat, and his enemy was wise enough to remain still.
So long as he did so, he was in no danger.
Had Deerfoot been able to find the traitor, he would have made short
work with him, but suspecting what he was doing, or rather what he was
not doing, he did not tarry. He withdrew so cautiously that no
straggling ray of moonlight could fall on his figure, as he moved among
the trees. Rejoining the Sauk, they passed down stream.
They had not gone far when they stopped near the edge of the water.
There was none of the band on the open space on which the Pawnee
camp-fire had been kindled a half mile or so above, so they were covered
by all the shelter they could wish.
From the moment of turning their backs for the last time on the Pawnee
who had sought to shoot one of them, the Shawanoe and Sauk had not
spoken a word. They understood each other too well to need conversation;
but, remembering the click of the flint lock and the useless flash of
the powder, they made sure that no chance was given for a second
attempt.
The Pawnee, who understood why he failed to bring down one of them, was
wise enough to withdraw and make his way back to the camp-fire,
pondering on the road the explanation which he would add to the store of
extraordinary narratives related by his comrades, who had been brought
in contact with the young Shawanoe.
The sky was cloudy and the light of the moon treacherous and uncertain.
Sometimes the surface of the swiftly flowing river in front was lighted
up, and the shadowy line of wood on the other shore stood out clear, and
again it seemed to recede, when the face of the moon was obscured.
It was not far to the other bank, and the Indian friends expected to
swim across, as they had done scores of times under similar
circumstances. Fully two hours had passed since they left young Jack
Carleton. During that period not the slightest sign was received from
him, and he might have been dead or a thousand miles distant, for all
that indicated the contrary.
And yet, it is not to be supposed that either the Sauk or Shawanoe felt
any concern for the lad. They had seen no hostiles on that side of the
stream; besides, the experience of Jack ought to have kept him from any
possible harm.
But the understanding was that the three were to come together at
nightfall, or as soon thereafter as possible. Consequently, Jack would
be looking for them.
Deerfoot and Hay-uta stood by the margin of the wood, listening and
looking. The soft murmur of the forest and the ripple of the current, as
it twisted around some gnarled root along shore or struck against the
dipping branch of a tree overhanging the water, were the sounds which
first fell on their ears. But a moment later the wailing scream of a
panther came from the depths of the wilderness, answered a moment after
by a similar cry from a point a mile away.
As if the night was to be given no rest, a husky whistle, like that
which a locomotive sends faintly through many miles of fog and damp,
reached their ears. Deerfoot and Hay-uta recognized it as a signal from
one of the Pawnees who were so numerous in the neighborhood. It came
from a point near where Deerfoot had caught his first sight of the group
around the camp-fire.
But the friends were in a section where they had never been before, and
were playing battledore and shuttlecock with a warlike tribe of whom
they knew nothing. It was impossible, therefore, for them to understand
the meaning of the signal, for whose response they listened with close
attention.
They were astonished that no answer was returned. They would have heard
it had there been any, but for several minutes the stillness was
unbroken. It was as if one of the Pawnees had called to another who was
too distant to be reached, and consequently no response could be sent.
But the next interruption was the report of a gun, sounding startlingly
distinct on the quiet air. That, so far as could be judged, came from
near the spot whither was sent the first signal.
The Sauk and Shawanoe waited further, but nothing was heard that threw
the least light on the plans or doings of the warriors with whom
Deerfoot had had such a sharp brush.
"My brother has learned naught of the pale face?" remarked the Shawanoe,
inquiringly, when his companion had related the experience through which
he passed, after their separation during the afternoon.
"The lips of the Pawnees are shut to the Sauk," replied Hay-uta,
alluding to the tongue of the red men, which was unintelligible to him.
"Their lips are shut to Deerfoot, but Lone Bear speaks the words which
Deerfoot can understand."
"What were his words to my brother!" asked Hay-uta.
"He says he and Red Wolf have never looked upon the pale face."
"Lone Bear and Red Wolf speak lies!" exclaimed the Sauk with more
feeling than would be expected. "What does Deerfoot think?" he asked, as
if his opinion was a matter of vital importance.
"Deerfoot believes the word of Hay-uta; he told Lone Bear, while looking
in his eyes, that his tongue was double and his heart was full of lies;
Lone Bear rushed upon Deerfoot and sought to slay him for his words."
This reply was gratifying to Hay-uta, who held the young Shawanoe that
had vanquished him with such brilliancy, in higher esteem than any one
else in the world. He was silent, as if unable to express his feelings,
and the Shawanoe continued:
"Hay-uta has talked with the Great Spirit; he has listened to the words
of the kind Father who looks down from the moon behind the clouds; the
whisperings of the Great Spirit have been sweet in his ears; Hay-uta
could not speak with a double tongue, when he thinks of his goodness."
As the Sauk replied, he looked upward at the sky. The ragged cloud which
a moment before was passing across the face of the moon, glided off, and
the soft light shone full upon the coppery countenance that glowed with
a feeling, such as only a close communion with God stirs in the recesses
of the heart.
"Hay-uta has heard the voice of the Great Spirit," said the Sauk,
speaking in low tones, "but his words were whispers and Hay-uta did not
hear them all, and sometimes he could not hear aright."
This confession that the mists had not cleared from before the Sauk's
vision did not surprise Deerfoot, for his own gropings after light were
too distinct for him ever to forget the winding path over which he trod.
"The Great Spirit never sleeps," replied Deerfoot, in a voice almost as
low as his companion's; "he listens for the words of his children and
his ear is always open; he will hear Hay-uta, if he calls upon him and
speaks and acts so that when the Great Spirit looks down he will smile."
"Hay-uta will talk with the Great Spirit, so that the whispers which he
now hears shall become so loud that Hay-uta can not mistake them."
Deerfoot added a few words of encouragement, and then, having paused
long enough on the shore, they addressed themselves to the duty before
them.
This was simply to cross to the other side, so as to rejoin Jack
Carleton. As there was but the one means of passing over, it was idle to
hesitate. The Shawanoe stepped carefully a few paces, when the water
reached his armpits, and he began swimming. He did so, holding his bow
above the surface with one hand, so as to protect the string from
moisture. This was one of the disadvantages of that weapon, though the
rifle was not free from a similar inconvenience; but Hay-uta fastened it
to his back, so that the muzzle projected above his head and the water
could not run into the barrel. Sometimes he used a cork-like piece of
wood to keep the load from wetting, and again he took no precautions,
but drew the charge after leaving the stream. Even with all the care
that could be taken, the clumsy hammer and flint let down in the pan
often failed to protect the powder.
But both were splendid swimmers, and, though the current was powerful,
they advanced with steady, even strokes until their feet touched bottom,
when they walked out on the opposite side. There the shore was similar
to the one just left, so that when their moccasins pressed dry land
again, they stood in the shadow of the overhanging trees, millions of
which, at that day, covered the vast western wilderness.
Their course had been such that (supposing Jack Carleton remained near
the spot where the parting took place), it was now necessary to make
their way for some distance up the stream. As there was reason to
believe that the broad, swift current interposed between them and the
hostiles, Deerfoot and Hay-uta looked back at the land just left behind.
The view was so similar to what has already been described, that no more
words are needed. The clouds were still floating in front of the moon,
and quaint shadows moved across the river, forest and openings, but the
searching vision failed to show the twinkle of any camp-fire, nor could
the keen eyes of the Shawanoe catch the faintest glimpse of any shadowy
figures stealing along shore.
Though it was the mild season, the night was quite cool, and it will be
remembered that neither carried his blanket with him. Most persons would
have shivered with discomfort, but the American Indian is educated to
the severest exposure and inured to sudden changes of temperature. It
would have been more pleasant had they been arrayed in dry clothing
rather than in their clinging garments, yet neither acted as if he cared
for the difference.
They were moving along the river bank in their usual guarded manner,
when both came to an abrupt stop; they had caught the twinkle of a
camp-fire among the trees just ahead.