THE FIRST CAMP.
IT was inevitable that, during the weeks and months spent by Deerfoot
and Mul-tal-la together, they talked often and long about the journey to
the Northwest. At night in the depth of the forest, by the crackling
camp-fire, or when lolling in the cavern home of the young Shawanoe, it
was the one theme in which both, and especially the younger, was
absorbingly interested.
You need hardly be reminded that a hundred years ago the immense
territory west of the Mississippi was an unknown region. Teeming to-day
with a bustling, progressive people numbering millions, covered with
large cities and towns, grid-ironed by railways, honeycombed with mines,
humming with industry, and the seat of future empire, it was at the
opening of the nineteenth century a vast solitude, the home of the wild
Indian and wild animal.
A few daring hunters and trappers had penetrated for a little way into
the “Louisiana Purchase,” and they carried on a disjointed barter with
the red men, but the fragmentary knowledge brought back by them scarcely
pierced the shell of general ignorance. Captains Lewis and Clark had not
yet made their famous journey across the continent, but they were
getting ready to do so, for President Jefferson’s heart was wrapped up
in developing the largest real estate transaction ever made.
It may be said that Deerfoot pumped the Blackfoot dry. Had that
enterprising traveler kept a diary of his journeyings and experiences
from the time he and his companion started eastward, it would not have
told the Shawanoe more than he gained from his friend by his continuous
questioning. Deerfoot traced with a pencil on a sheet of paper a rude
map of the western country, based wholly on the information gained from
his guest. He made many changes and corrections before he completed and
filed it away, as may be said, for future use.
Several important facts were thus established, and these you must bear
in mind in order to understand the incidents I have set out to relate.
In the first place, the home of the Blackfeet Indians a century ago was
not to the westward but on the east of the Rocky Mountains, as it is
to-day. In order to reach the Pacific Coast one had to climb over that
great range and enter the country of the Flatheads and numerous other
tribes. Mul-tal-la had proved his enterprise as an explorer by doing
this several years previous to making his longer journey to the
eastward.
When Mul-tal-la left home he and his companion rode southward until well
into the present State of Colorado. Then they turned east, passing
through what is now Kansas and Missouri, crossing the Mississippi and
entering the fringe of civilization, for they were fairly within the
Northwest Territory organized a number of years before.
Deerfoot planned to take this route in reverse. Where the Blackfoot was
impressed by everything he saw, he had retained an excellent
recollection of the route, and this knowledge was sure to be of great
help to Deerfoot and his friends. The course to be followed may be
roughly outlined thus:
A little to the north of Woodvale the party would turn westward,
crossing the present States of Indiana and Illinois to St. Louis. Thence
they would follow the course of the Missouri to where it makes its
abrupt bend northward. At that point they intended to leave it and push
westward until the time came to head due north and make for the
Blackfoot country. This in a general way was the route upon which took
place most of the incidents recorded in the following pages.
When the border settlement dropped out of sight, the company fell into
what may be called the line of march. Deerfoot was in the lead, next
rode the Blackfoot, then Zigzag the pack horse, and last George Shelton,
with Victor bringing up the rear. The rule was to advance in Indian file
except when they reached the plains, where the topography permitted them
to bunch together. In fact this lining out of the horsemen was necessary
most of the time, for the trails used by them did not allow two to ride
abreast. However, it permitted free conversation, so long as there was
no necessity for silence.
Deerfoot led the way over a well-marked trail which was familiar to him,
for he had traversed it often by day and by night. As was his custom at
such times, he rode for hours without speaking a syllable. There was no
call for this, but it was his habit. He heard the chat of the boys to
the rear, George continually turning his head to address or listen to
his brother. Deerfoot did not care, for no danger threatened any of
them, and he was pleased that the couple, especially Victor, were in
such overflowing spirits.
The Blackfoot showed the same peculiarity as the leader, and which it
may be said is characteristic of the American race—that of silence and
reserve when on the march, even while there is perfect freedom to
converse. The Shawanoe would not have objected had his friends called to
him, but they did not do so.
At the end of half an hour the trail, which led directly through the
woods, became so level and open that Deerfoot struck his horse into a
gentle trot. Bug did the same, but Zigzag did not seem to think it was
expected of him, and continued plodding forward at his usual sluggish
gait. The load, however, which he carried was not burdensome, and George
Shelton shouted to him in so startling a voice that Zigzag broke into a
trot so vigorous that it threatened to displace his pack. It is not
impossible that the animal was planning for that, but the burden had
been secured too well to fall.
Suddenly Zigzag swerved to the right and pushed among the trees. A sharp
order from George brought him back, and then he displayed a tendency to
wabble to the left. To convince him that no nonsense would be permitted,
George galloped nigh enough to deliver a resounding whack on his haunch
with the stock of his gun. After that Zigzag conducted himself properly.
“It seems strange, George,” said Victor, as well as his jolting horse
would permit, “that only a few months ago we were in danger of our lives
in this very place, and now we needn’t have the least fear.”
“All due to Deerfoot,” replied George; “the whole cause of the trouble
was Red Wolf, when he started to climb that rope and it broke with him;
that also broke up the plotting; with their leader gone they had no
heart to try anything further in that line.”
“I spoke to Deerfoot about it, and he says the cause was more than that.
Tecumseh means well, and is determined to make his warriors keep the
treaty of Greenville. He did not know all the mischief Red Wolf was up
to, and was in a fury when he learned it. About that time, too, Tecumseh
got a hint from Governor Harrison through Simon Kenton that no more such
doings would be tolerated, and he took the hint. No harm would come to
us if we rode alone into any of the Shawanoe or Miami or Wyandot
villages. But,” added Victor, “I’d feel a good deal better to have
Deerfoot with us.”
“He’ll be as much a stranger as we after we get out of this country.”
“Still he’s an Indian and knows better than anyone else how to handle
those of his race. Mul-tal-la is sure to be of good service, too.”
“Have you any idea how long we shall be gone?”
“No; and I don’t care. I feel as if I should like to spend several years
on the other side of the Mississippi.”
“You’ll get homesick before that. I had a talk with Deerfoot last night
and found he doesn’t expect to start on the return before next spring.”
“Will it take us as long as that to reach the Blackfoot country?”
“Of course not, but Deerfoot means to look upon the Pacific Ocean before
he comes back, and that, as he figures it, is about a thousand miles
beyond the Blackfoot country. According to what Mul-tal-la says, the
biggest mountains in the world lie just west of his country, and we have
got to climb over or get through them some way. What do you think of the
plan?”
“It tickles me half to death. I wonder whether Deerfoot would care if I
threw up my hat and yelled.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Well, here goes, anyway!”
And what did the irrepressible youth do but fling his cap a dozen feet
above his head and emit a whoop of which Tecumseh would not have been
ashamed. Both Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la looked wonderingly around, and
each smiled. The Shawanoe’s smile grew broader when Victor made a grasp
to catch his cap as it came down, but missed it and it fell to the
earth.
“Plague take it!” exclaimed the lad, slipping out of the saddle without
stopping his horse, and running back to recover his headgear.
While he was doing so Deerfoot emitted a war-whoop himself, and struck
the heels of his moccasins against the ribs of Simon, who instantly
broke into a gallop. Bug was hardly a moment behind him, and Zigzag, for
a wonder, caught the infection. George saw what their leader was up to,
and he pretended he could not restrain his own horse. The shouts he sent
out while seeming to do his best frightened Jack into a gallop, and
Prince proved that he did not mean to be left behind.
Thus when Victor had snatched his cap from the ground, replaced it on
his head and turned to trot the necessary few paces, he saw the whole
line in a gallop, with his own horse several rods in advance of him.
“Whoa! Plague take you! Whoa! Don’t you hear me?” shouted the indignant
lad, breaking into a desperate run.
There could be no doubt that all the animals as well as their riders
heard the command, which was loud enough to penetrate the woods for half
a mile. Prince being the nearest, surely must have noted the order, but
he seemed to think that, inasmuch as the horses ahead of him increased
their speed, it was proper for him to do the same. At any rate he did
it, and succeeded so well that his owner saw the space widening between
them.
By this time Victor knew that Deerfoot was at the bottom of it all. No
man can do his best when laughing or shouting, and the pursuer ceased
his call and bent all his energies to overtaking the fleeing horses. He
thought the leader would soon show some consideration for him and
slacken his pace, but the Shawanoe seemed to be stern and unsympathizing
that forenoon, for he maintained the gallop, with the others doing the
same, and the task of the running youngster loomed up as impossible.
It wouldn’t do to get mad and sulk, for no one would pay any attention
to him—least of all Deerfoot, who liked fun as well as anybody. Besides,
the exercise promised to do the youth a world of good.
But fortune came to his relief when least expected. Victor had traveled
this trail so often that he knew it almost as well as Deerfoot. He
remembered it made a sharp curve to the left not far in advance. When he
caught sight of the young Shawanoe, therefore, calmly galloping around
the bend, the lad dived among the trees and sped at a reckless rate.
“They ain’t so smart as they think they are! I’ll beat ’em yet—confound
it!”
He thought surely his head had been lifted from his shoulders, for at
that moment a projecting maple limb, not quite as high as his crown,
slipped under his chin and almost hoisted him off his feet. He speedily
found he was intact and had suffered little more than a shock to his
feelings. He was quickly at it again and soon caught sight of Deerfoot
rising and sinking with the motion of his horse and the others stringing
behind him.
A moment later Victor leaped into the trail, recoiling just enough to
let the leader pass him as he stood. But Deerfoot reined up and stared
at him as if in wonder.
“Does my brother love to wander in the woods that he should leave his
saddle?” was the innocent query of the dusky wag.
“You think you know a good deal, don’t you? Wait till I get a chance;
I’ll pay you for this,” was the half-impatient answer.
“Deerfoot is so scared by the words of his brother that he may fall off
his horse,” said the Shawanoe with mock alarm. “Will he not forgive
Deerfoot because he did not stop when he heard his brother crying behind
him?”
“You go on. I’ll catch you one of these days and make you sorry.”
With an expression of grief Deerfoot started forward again, his horse on
a walk. Those behind had also stopped, and they now resumed the journey.
The Shawanoe kept his eye to the rear until he saw Victor was in the
saddle again, when his pace immediately rose to a trot and all were
quickly jogging forward as before.
George tried to look sympathetic, but he could not, and his brother saw
his shoulders shaking with laughter as he rode on, not daring to trust
himself to speak. By this time the impulsive Victor had rallied from his
partial anger, and decided that the best thing to do was to join in the
general good-nature and merriment over his mishap.
Noon came and passed, but Deerfoot showed no intention of going into
camp. He humored the animals by dropping to a walk. They were allowed to
drink several times from the small streams crossed, and occasionally
were given a breathing spell of fifteen or twenty minutes. The Shawanoe
knew how to treat their kind and did not press them too hard. When these
long pauses were made the riders dismounted, lolled at the side of the
trail, talked together, but neither Deerfoot nor Mul-tal-la made
reference to food for themselves, and the boys were too proud to hint
anything of their hunger.
When the afternoon was well advanced the party came to an open space,
crossed near the middle by a sparkling brook, which issued from under
some mossy rocks to the right. Early as was the season, there was
considerable growth of succulent grass, which offered the best kind of
nourishment for the horses. Deerfoot announced that they would spend the
night in this place, and, leaping from the back of Simon, plunged into
the wood in quest of game, of which they had had more than one glimpse
while on the road.
Meanwhile the Blackfoot and the boys relieved Zigzag of his load,
removed the other saddle and bridles, and devoted themselves to
gathering wood for the night. With such an abundance on every hand this
was a light task. When the leaves were heaped up, with a mass of dry
twigs loosely arranged on top and larger sticks above them, George
Shelton took out the sun-glass which had been presented to him by one of
his neighbors. The sun was still high enough for him to catch a few of
the rays and concentrate them upon the leaves, which speedily broke into
a smoking flame that soon spread into a roaring fire. The method was not
much superior, after all, to the old-fashioned flint and steel, but the
instrument was new so far as the present owner was concerned, and he
liked to use it.
One of the most treasured presents to Victor was a good spyglass that
had been used by one of General Wayne’s officers throughout the
Revolutionary War, and afterward in the Indian campaigns in the West.
The lad had not found a good chance as yet to employ it, but when its
power was explained to Mul-tal-la he was delighted and declared it would
prove beyond value to them while crossing the plains, and he spoke the
truth.
The fire was no more than fairly going when the report of Deerfoot’s
rifle sounded not far off in the woods. No one was surprised, for game
was plenty, though it was not the most favorable season, and it was safe
to rely upon the dusky youth for an unfailing supply of food whenever it
could possibly be secured.
When a few minutes later Deerfoot came in sight he was carrying a big
wild turkey, from which he had torn the feathers, plucked the inedible
portions, and washed the rest in the clear water of the brook. All that
remained to do was to broil the meat over the fire and coals as soon as
they were ready.
Aunt Dinah had expressed an ardent wish to stow among the bundles of the
packhorse some specimens of her best cookery in the way of bread and
cake, but the brothers protested so vigorously that there was neither
need nor room for anything of that kind that she refrained. There was,
however, considerable salt, pepper and other condiments, though neither
tea nor coffee.
Deerfoot broiled the turkey without help from the others. It was cut
into pieces which he toasted on green sticks skewered through them,
turned over in front of the blaze and laid for a few minutes over the
blazing coals. When the first piece was ready he passed it to Victor.
“That’s ’cause he feels remorse for his meanness towards me,” reflected
the lad, sprinkling salt on the juicy flesh and then sinking his sharp
incisors into it, realizing, as many a youngster has realized before and
since, that the best sauce for any sort of food is hunger.
The next portion went to George, the third to Mul-tal-la, and last of
all Deerfoot provided for himself. This was his invariable rule, and all
his friends knew it so well that they never protested.
Water was brought from the brook in one of the tin cups with which they
were furnished, and all made a nourishing and palatable meal.
The last mouthful had been masticated to a pulp and swallowed when
Deerfoot, without a word, rose gravely to his feet and walked to where
the big pack of Zigzag lay. The corners of the huge parcel had been
gathered, and were tied over the middle with big knots. Under these was
so large a gap that Deerfoot readily thrust in his hand without undoing
the fastening. Fumbling around for several minutes he brought out a
goodly sized package wrapped about with coarse brown paper.
Every eye was upon him, for all were wondering what he was seeking and
had found. He carefully unwrapped the paper and then took from within
something about a foot in diameter, of circular shape, three or four
inches in thickness, and bulging upward in the middle. It was of a
dark-brown color, the interior so full of richness that it had burst the
crust in one or two places and, pushing outward, gave a glimpse of the
slightly browned wealth within. Raising the object in one hand, Deerfoot
broke off a piece, whose craggy sides were of a golden yellow, creamy
and light as a feather. Then the others identified it.
It was a “sugar cake,” specially prepared by Dinah, and in mixing and
baking it she had excelled herself. It certainly was a triumph of skill,
and, despite the meal just finished, the sight of the delicious
richness—with which the brothers had become familiar many a time—made
their mouths water.
Deerfoot acted as if nobody else was in the neighborhood. Having broken
off the golden spongy chunk, he lifted it to his mouth, and it was a
wonder how fast it disappeared. The Shawanoe certainly had a sweet
tooth, for his eyes sparkled as he munched the soft delicacy. In a
minute or two the first segment vanished, and he instantly set to work
on the second, meanwhile looking longingly at the mangled original, as
if grudging the time he had to wait before disposing of that.
“Well, did you ever?” whispered Victor. “Aunt Dinah made that on purpose
for him, and we were dunces enough not to take what she offered us.”
Neither of the boys was unjust enough to attribute the salute which the
young Shawanoe gave the colored woman to this cause, for they knew that
was impossible, but it was a sight, nevertheless, to see the fellow
place himself outside of the cake. When it was about one-fourth gone he
seemed to become aware that he had companions. Looking up as if in
astonishment, he broke and divided the major portion between the boys.
Some was offered to the Blackfoot, but he shook his head. He had never
tasted of such food, and, if he knew his own heart, never would give it
a chance at his interior organization.
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