OTHER ARRIVALS.
The Indian warrior was the picture of ferocity, as he crouched a few
steps away, and, with his fingers griping the handle of his knife,
slowly drew it from the skin sheath at his girdle. The end of his
abstraction was the resolution to slay his captive then and there.
But, as the plucky youth faced the fierce red man and looked him in the
eye, he saw another form rising to view in his field of vision. It was
that of a warrior who slowly appeared behind the first, as if lifted
upward from the ground, and peeped over his shoulder into the face of
Jack Carleton. So perfect was the silence which marked the extraordinary
manifestation, that it was like the shadow made by the firelight itself.
Just beyond and a little to one side of the second form, a third came to
view, dimly revealed by the lesser firelight, but with a stillness of
movement as absolute as that of the other. Had it been otherwise, the
redskin would have discovered their approach.
The third Indian, indistinctly shown in the yellow glow, was recognized
by Jack as the Sauk Hay-uta; the second was Deerfoot the Shawanoe. The
latter smiled in his shadowy way, and shook one finger as a warning to
his friend not to betray the presence of himself and companion.
Looking in the face of his foe, as though addressing him, the lad said:
"It's all right; the next time I wish you would not be so slow in
getting here; if you'll keep still, I'll give this rascal a tussle that
he don't expect."
The warrior must have thought it strange to be addressed in that
fashion, and he must have noticed, too, the smile and flitting glances
of his victim, but he could not have suspected the meaning of either, or
he would have faced the other way.
With a partially suppressed shout, he stooped, as if gathering his
muscles, and then, like a lion on the edge of a chasm, he made a
terrific bound at the captive.
But he didn't reach him. A quick blow of the upraised arm sent his knife
spinning in the darkness, and a dexterous flirt of Deerfoot's moccasin
in front of the foot of the Indian, flung him headlong, after the manner
of a beginner taking a header from his bicycle. His discomfiture was
more complete than that of Lone Bear while pursuing the Shawanoe, for
not only was he thrown forward with great violence, but (as was the case
with Hay-uta, when he attacked Deerfoot), the knife was knocked from his
grasp, by a blow so cleverly given that it seemed to have fractured his
forearm.
Using mild language again, it might be said that the warrior was
surprised. Whatever the cause of his overthrow, he could not mistake its
meaning; it notified him that he ought to leave the spot without any
tarrying. Fortunately, he had enough sense to do so. Despite the
stinging pain in his arm, he scrambled to his feet, glanced over his
shoulder, and seeing two strange Indians, darted off like a deer,
vanishing among the trees with a suddenness which, it is safe to say, he
never equaled before or afterward.
"What a good fellow you would be to figure in a story!" exclaimed the
delighted Jack Carleton, wringing the hand of Deerfoot, and feeling as
though he would like to fling his arms around his neck and embrace him.
The Shawanoe evidently was in good spirits, for his even white teeth
showed between his lips, and his handsome black eyes sparkled in the
firelight. He enjoyed the figure the Indian cut when charging upon his
captive.
"My brother speaks words which Deerfoot does not know."
"What I mean to say is, that you have such a way of turning up when
you're wanted very bad, that you're just the scamp to figure in a lot of
story books; I wonder whether some simpleton won't undertake to use you
that way. The only trouble will be that if he invents yarns about you,
he'll make a fizzle of it, and, if he tells the truth, he will hardly be
believed; but," added the youth, as if the mantle of prophecy had fallen
on him, "it will depend a good deal on who it is that writes your life.
Like enough it will be some fellow who won't be credited, no matter what
he says--so he will be apt to pile it on."
Although Deerfoot possessed a good knowledge of the English language, he
failed to understand his young friend, and awaited his explanation.
Meanwhile Hay-uta came forward and shook hands with Jack, muttering a
word or two in broken English, expressive of his pleasure over his good
fortune.
"What I meant to say," added the lad, turning again to Deerfoot, "is,
that you've got such a habit of dropping down on your friends when they
are in trouble, that some day it will be put in a book, just as your
Bible is printed."
"Put Deerfoot in a book!" repeated the young Shawanoe, blushing like a
school-girl; "he who will do that will be a fool!"
"Like enough," replied Jack, with a laugh; "but all the same, he will
come along one of these days, long after you and I are dead."
"How will he know any thing of Deerfoot?" asked the young warrior, with
a dismay as great as that of other parties since then who, contemplating
such a calamity, have burned their private letters and papers; "if
Deerfoot is dead, who shall tell him any thing about him?"
"Why, my dear fellow," laughed his young friend; "don't you know that
Ned Preston, Wild Blossom Brown, and all the folks over in Kentucky who
know you, will tell their friends and children what you have done; and
here on this side the river it will be the same; till some time it will
all be gathered together and put in a book that will be read by hundreds
and thousands of people not born?"
Deerfoot showed by his expression that he did not fully understand the
meaning of his young friend, or, if he did, he believed he was jesting.
The idea of him ever figuring on the printed page could not be credited.
He smiled and shook his head, as though he wished to talk of something
else.
The young Shawanoe, as a matter of course, was the director of all the
movements of the little party, and he now said that it was best to leave
the spot and spend the night somewhere else. The Indian to whom they had
given such a scare might steal back, when he judged the three were
asleep and take revenge.
"He hasn't any gun," remarked Jack, who had picked up his own weapon
which the other left behind him, "so he can't shoot us."
"He has a tomahawk and knife--them he would use, though he had a rifle
as good as Hay-uta's."
"How was it, Deerfoot, that that Indian was roaming through the woods on
this side of the river, without a gun?"
The Shawanoe shook his head to signify he did not know: it was, to say
the least, a curious incident.
"I thought possibly he was a stranger to the war party across the river;
he acted as though he was afraid they would see him."
"He is a Pawnee," observed Deerfoot, who had gained a view of him, "and
is one of their best warriors."
"Why, then, should he act as he did? You must have some explanation even
though you can't be sure."
"He was a passionate warrior; he may not have been right _there_," said
Deerfoot, touching his finger to his forehead; "perhaps he was so evil
the Great Spirit placed darkness where there was light."
"But when an Indian is unfortunate enough to be unbalanced in mind, the
others become more kind to him than before; he would have no need to be
afraid of them."
The Shawanoe reminded Jack that the stranger might hold the rest of his
people in mortal fear, without having cause for doing so.
The Kentuckian was inclined to accept this explanation, and he told how
curiously the other had acted from the beginning, and especially into
what a reverie he sank while sitting near the fire.
But when Jack Carleton had convinced himself on this point, Deerfoot
chose to express doubt. To him it seemed more probable that the Indian
had had a quarrel with his tribe, or had committed some offense for
which he was proscribed. It was not unlikely that one feature of his
punishment was that he should go forth into the wilderness without
firearms. When he sat by the camp-fire, he was doubtless meditating over
the wrongs he had suffered, and when his passion flamed out, he sprang
to his feet to kill the youth who had done him no wrong.
"I know one thing," said Jack, compressing his lips and shaking his
head, "I wouldn't have stood still and allowed him to work his pleasure
with his knife; I almost wish you had let him come on."
The Shawanoe gravely dissented.
"My brother is brave, but he could not prevail against the fierce
Pawnee; he might have saved his own life, but his wounds would have
hurt; _now_ he has no wounds."
"May be you're right, Deerfoot; you know more about the woods in one
minute than I'll ever know in a lifetime; so I'll drop the subject."
Jack asked his friend about the experience of himself and Hay-uta on the
other side the stream, and Deerfoot gave a summary of what had befallen
them. When he recalled the overthrow of Lone Bear the first time, and
afterward of him and Red Wolf, he laughed with a heartiness which
brought a smile to the faces of Jack and Hay-uta. The sight of Red Wolf
as he plunged into the river, his head down and feet pointed toward the
sky seemed to delight the young warrior, who shook with silent laughter.
The Shawanoe never displayed his woodcraft in a more marked degree than
at the moment he was telling his story and enjoying the picture he drew.
While he seemed to be lost in mirth, Jack Carleton noticed, what he had
seen before, his eyes flitted hither and thither, and occasionally
behind him, and, between his words and laughter, he listened with an
intentness that would have noted the falling of a leaf. Subtle would
that foe have had to be in order to steal up to those who seemed to be
thinking of every thing except personal danger.
Jack Carleton had learned that neither of his friends had gained any
tidings of Otto Relstaub. At the fount where the Shawanoe expected to
receive knowledge, he was shut out as though by an iron door. Not a
word, hint or look had given them so much as a glimmer of light.
It was certain, however, that Deerfoot held some theory of his own to
explain this phase of the difficulty which confronted them, and no one
could travel so close to truth as he; but when asked his opinion, he
would not give it. He shook his head to signify that he preferred to
hold his peace on the matter, and Jack knew him too well to press him.
Hay-uta was impatient to leave the place, for it was manifest he did not
like the spot. Nothing seemed more likely than that the warrior whom
they had used so ill would do his utmost to revenge himself. It is as
much a part of Indian nature to "get even" with an enemy, as it is the
rule and guide of multitudes of those around us, who see nothing
inconsistent between the spirit of the Christianity they profess and the
revengeful disposition shown toward those who, in some way or other,
have given them offense.