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[Illustration: Deerfoot and Whirlwind.]
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NEW DEERFOOT SERIES
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Deerfoot on the
Prairies
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BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author of “Deerfoot in the Forest,” “Deerfoot in the
Mountains,” “An American King,” “The Cromwell of
Virginia,” “The Boy Pioneer Series,” “Log Cabin
Series,” Etc., Etc.
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Illustrated
with Eight Engravings by J. Steeple Davis
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PHILADELPHIA:
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
1905
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THE NEW DEERFOOT SERIES
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BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Illustrated by
J. STEEPLE DAVIS
No. 1.—Deerfoot in the Forest
No. 2.—Deerfoot on the Prairies
No. 3.—Deerfoot in the Mountains
Each contains seven half-tone engravings and color frontispiece. They
make more real the fortunes and adventures of the heroic little band
that journeys through the wilderness and prairies from the Ohio to the
Pacific. It was in the time of daring when Lewis and Clark were engaged
in their thrilling expedition that the adventures narrated by the
distinguished author of boys’ books are described as occurring. Our old
friends, George and Victor, of the “Log Cabin Series,” are again met
with in these pages, and the opportunity of once more coming face to
face with Deerfoot will be welcomed by every juvenile reader.
The New Deerfoot Series is bound in uniform style in cloth, with side
and back stamped in colors.
Price, single volume $1.00
Price, per set of three volumes, in 3.00
attractive box
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COPYRIGHT BY
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., 1905
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CONTENTS
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CHAP
I. WESTWARD BOUND
II. THE FIRST CAMP
III. THIEVES OF THE NIGHT
IV. AN ACQUAINTANCE
V. A CLOSE CALL
VI. A MISHAP
VII. JACK HALLOWAY
VIII. GOOD SEED
IX. A BATTLE ROYAL
X. WHIRLWIND
XI. PHYSICIAN AND PATIENT
XII. A HURRIED FLIGHT
XIII. A STARTLING AWAKENING
XIV. SHOSHONE CALLERS
XV. A QUESTION OF SKILL AND
COURAGE
XVI. WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY
XVII. IN THE MOUNTAINS
XVIII. INDIAN CHIVALRY
XIX. A CALAMITY
XX. OLD FRIENDS
XXI. PRESSING NORTHWARD
XXII. A CHANGE OF PLAN
XXIII. THE MONARCH OF THE SOLITUDES
XXIV. A MEMORABLE ENCOUNTER
XXV. THROUGH THE GREAT DIVIDE
XXVI. PARTING COMPANY
XXVII. DOWN THE COLUMBIA
XXVIII. AT LAST
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ILLUSTRATIONS
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FRONTISPIECE: DEERFOOT AND WHIRLWIND
DANIEL BOONE AND DEERFOOT
“HELLOA!”
A BATTLE ROYAL
THE ANGLO-SAXON EVERY TIME
THE CRITICAL MOMENT
A WESTERN MONARCH
IN THE RAPIDS
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DEERFOOT ON THE PRAIRIES.
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CHAPTER I
WESTWARD BOUND.
ONE morning in early spring, at the beginning of the last century, a
party of four persons left the frontier town of Woodvale, in southern
Ohio, and started on their long journey across the continent.
Do you need an introduction to the little company? Hardly, and yet it is
well to recall them to mind.
First of all was our old friend Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, to whom we bade
good-bye at the close of the story “Deerfoot in the Forest,” with a hint
of the important expedition upon which he had decided to enter with his
companions. He was mounted on a tough, wiry pony that had been presented
to him by his friend Simon Kenton, and which, in honor of the famous
ranger, the new owner had named “Simon.”
This horse was provided with a bridle, but that was all. Deerfoot, one
of the finest of horsemen, never used a saddle. He said the bare back of
a well-conditioned steed was more pleasant than a seat of leather, and
he had never yet bestrode an animal that could displace him. On this
trip the Indian youth carried as his principal weapon the handsome rifle
presented by General William H. Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory.
Deerfoot had not yielded a bit of his faith in his bow, but that
implement would not prove so handy as the other in an excursion on
horseback. Besides, his three companions had begged him to leave his bow
at home, and he was quite willing to do so.
Deerfoot was dressed as he has been before described, but he carried a
long, heavy blanket that was strapped to the back of his horse and
served in lieu of a saddle. The powder horn and bullet pouch suspended
from his neck were as full as they could carry. He looked so graceful on
his animal that many expressions of admiration were heard from the
people of Woodvale who had gathered to see the start. Deerfoot did not
seem to hear any of the compliments, though some were addressed directly
to him. He was never pleased with anything of that nature.
Little need be said of Mul-tal-la, the Blackfoot, who had come from the
neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains on an exploring expedition of his
own, and was now to return with the Shawanoe as his comrade. The sturdy,
shaggy horse, which he had obtained through the help also of Simon
Kenton, was accoutred like the one ridden by Deerfoot. The blanket
strapped to his back was the one brought by the owner from that far-off
region, and served him also as a saddle. The Blackfoot, like nearly all
the Indians of the Northwest, was an excellent horseman. Through some
whim, which no one understood, Mul-tal-la had named his animal “Bug,” a
title so unromantic that for a long time it was never heard without
causing a smile from his companions. Sometimes Mul-tal-la also grinned,
but nothing could induce him to change the name.
You remember the grief of Victor Shelton was so depressing over the
death of his father that he surely would have gone into a decline but
for the ardor roused by this proposed excursion to the Pacific. The
prospect was so fascinating that he came out of the dark clouds that
gathered about him, and was the most enthusiastic of the four.
George was almost as deeply stirred and in as high spirits as his
brother, but now and then a tremor of fear passed over him when he
thought of what they would have to pass through before their return. He
would have shrunk and probably turned back but for Deerfoot. There was
no person in the world in whom he had such faith as in the young
Shawanoe; but there is a limit to human attainment, and it might be that
his dusky friend would soon reach his when the four turned their faces
westward.
George had named his horse “Jack,” while Victor called his “Prince.” All
were quite similar to one another, being strong, sturdy, docile and
enduring, but none was specially gifted in the way of speed. More than
likely they would meet many of their kind among the Indians which would
be their superior in fleetness. But, if danger threatened, our friends
would not rely upon their horses for safety.
Now, in setting out on so long a journey, which of necessity must last
many months, our friends had to carry some luggage with them. This was
made as light as possible, but pared to the utmost there was enough to
require a fifth horse. While of the same breed as the others, he was of
stronger build and best fitted for burdens. He was the gift of Ralph
Genther, who, you may recall, was beaten in the turkey shoot by
Deerfoot. It was Genther who named him “Zigzag.”
“’Cause,” explained the donor, “if you let him to go as he pleases,
he’ll make the crookedest track in creation; he will beat a ram’s horn
out of sight.”
Excepting his blanket, Mul-tal-la had no luggage which he did not wear
on his person. It must be admitted that the American Indian as a rule is
much lacking in that virtue which is said to be next to godliness.
Despite the romance that is often thrown around the red man, it is
generally more pleasant to view him at a distance. Close companionship
with him is by no means pleasant.
I need hardly say that it was not so with Deerfoot. He was as dainty as
any lady with his person. Kenton, Boone and others had laughed at him
many times because of his care in bathing and the frequency with which
he plunged into icy cold water for no other reason than for tidiness and
health. The material of which his hunting shirt and leggings were made
allowed them to be worn a long time without showing the effects, but
underneath them was underclothing kept scrupulously clean by Deerfoot’s
own hands. Only his close friends knew of his care in this respect, and
some of them looked upon it as a weakness approaching effeminacy. And
you and I esteem him all the more for these traits, which harmonized
with the nobility of his character.
So it was that in the large package secured to the back of Zigzag was
considerable that Deerfoot himself had wrapped up, and with the modesty
of a girl carefully screened from prying eyes. Aunt Dinah, had she been
permitted, would have loaded down two horses with articles for the
twins, who, she declared, could not possibly get on without them. As it
was, it is enough to say that the boys were far better remembered than
they would have been if left to themselves. As Victor expressed it when
he saw her gathering and tying up the goods, they had enough to last
them for a journey round the world.
The start was made early on Monday morning, when the sun was shining
bright and the opening spring stirred every heart into life and filled
it with thankfulness to the Giver of All Good. Men, women and children
had gathered in the clearing to the north of the settlement to see the
party start and to wish them good speed on their journey. Deerfoot and
Mul-tal-la had ridden in from the Shawanoe’s home the day before, so
that the start might be made from the settlement.
There were the laughing, the jesting, the merry and earnest expressions,
with here and there a moist eye, when the travelers were seen seated on
their horses and pausing for the final words. The one most to be pitied
in all the group was Aunt Dinah, who was bravely trying to hide her real
feelings under an expansive smile, in which there was not a shadow of
mirth or pleasantry. She stood on the outer edge of the boisterous
group, her folded hands under her apron, her eyes fixed on the boys, who
were laughing, shaking hands and exchanging wishes and jests with their
friends.
Suddenly the colored woman walked forward, pushing her way through the
throng to the side of Deerfoot. Then she drew a piece of old-fashioned
blue writing paper from under her apron and handed it up to him. He
looked smilingly down at her, and she, without saying anything, walked
back to the fringe of people and faced around again.
Deerfoot opened the slip and saw some writing in pencil. During the
years when George and Victor Shelton struggled, with more or less
success, to obtain a common-school education, Aunt Dinah had managed to
pick up a bit here and there of elementary knowledge. She had spent a
long time the night before, groaning in spirit, often sharpening her
stub of a pencil, which, of course, she frequently thrust into her
mouth, rubbing out and re-writing, perspiring and toiling with might and
main to put together a message for the young Shawanoe’s eyes alone. Not
until the other members of the household had long been sunk in slumber
did she get the missive in final shape.
Some of the letters were turned backward, all curiously twisted, the
lines irregular and the writing grotesque, but the youth to whom the
paper was passed made out the following:
“Mister Dearfut—i feal orful bad 2 hav u go orf with them preshus
babiz—pleas tak gud car of em, and bring em back rite side up—
“i’ll pra 4 u and the babiz evry nite and mornin, and if i doan
forgot in de midle ob de da. i’ll pra speshully 4 u, cause as long
as ure all rite, they’ll B all rite.
“Ant Dine.
“p.s.—u’ll fine rapped in paper in de top bundel sum caik dat am 4 u
speshully, but u may let de oders hab 1 bite if u feels like
it—member dat i’m prayin 4 u.
“p.s.—Doan eet 2 mutch ob de caik 2 wunst, or it’ll maik yo
syck—it’ll B jus’ like you 2 gib it awl to de oders, _but doan you
doot_! Eet mose ob it yosellf.
“p.s.—De caik am 4 yo speshully. Ise prayin’ 4 yo.
“p.s.—Doan forgot Ise prayin’ 4 yo. De caik am 4 yo.
“p.s.—De caik am yo’s—Ise prayin’ 4 yo.”
There was not the ghost of a smile on the face of the Shawanoe while
carefully tracing the meaning of this crude writing. He gently refolded
the paper, reached one hand within his hunting shirt, and, drawing out
his Bible, put the folded paper between the leaves and replaced the
book. Then, heedless of the clamor around him, he looked over the heads
of the people at the lonely woman standing a little way off and watching
him with manifest embarrassment.
Turning the head of his horse toward her, he deftly directed him through
the throng and halted at the side of Aunt Dinah. She was so confused
that she was on the point of making off, for nearly everyone was looking
at the two, the action of Deerfoot having drawn attention to the couple.
Leaning over his horse he extended his palm.
“Good-bye, Aunt Dinah.”
She bashfully reached up her big hard hand. He held it for a few
moments, and, looking down in the ebon countenance, spoke in a low
voice:
“Deerfoot thanks you; he is glad that you will pray to the Great Spirit
for him, for he needs your prayers. Your promise is sweet to Deerfoot.”
Aunt Dinah did not speak, for with every eye upon her and the Indian she
could not think of a syllable to say. While she was trying to do so,
Deerfoot did something which no one ever saw him do before, and which
was so strange that it hushed every voice. He leaned still farther from
the back of his horse and deliberately touched his lips to the cheek of
the colored woman. Then he straightened up, and, without a word, started
his animal on a brisk walk to the northward, the others falling into
line behind him.
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