A VAIN HUNT.—THE INDIAN CAMP.—DISCOVERY.—PURSUIT.—DESPERATE CONFLICT.—A
MEETING.
Joe Napyank, the hunter, was a possessor of a peculiarity, which, with
those of his profession, is certainly rare. He was a somnambulist or
sleep-walker. This affliction—as it may perfectly be termed—had taken
him in extreme peril on several occasions. It once made him a prisoner
among the Indians and it once effected his escape.
Joe was generally affected, when he had undergone some severe
deprivation such as hunger or thirst. He lay down with Smith, and for
several hours slumbered peacefully. But finally, while in a state of
coma, rose to his feet and made off. He awoke to find himself lying at
the foot of a tree, with a sensation of hunger, strong, gnawing hunger,
a craving that demanded instant satisfaction.
He knew all at once that he had been indulging in one of his nocturnal
walks and he therefore lay still until morning, by which time he had
become so ravenous that he would have made a respectable cannibal, and
despite the imperative necessity of his immediately rejoining Smith,
everything else gave way to the necessity of food—food—food, was what he
must have.
Impelled forward by this blind craving, he forgot his usual caution and
paid little heed to his footsteps. The truth was his mind was in a
morbid condition, and he was not prepared to act coolly and
deliberately. His sensation was that nothing could be done until he had
satisfied this greatness of his system. After that, he could rejoin his
young friend, and they two could carry out the objects of their
expedition.
While thus wandering carelessly forward, his excited imagination
detected a faint gobble in the wood as if a turkey were lost and was
signalling to its companions; and proceeding stealthily onward, he
suddenly came upon a large gobbler that was wandering disconsolately
about as if utterly lost. Before it could get out of his reach, Joe had
forgotten his usual prudence, and discharged his piece, succeeding in
nothing more than wounding it.
It started off on a rapid run, and fearful that it would escape him, if
he paused to load his piece, he dashed after it at the top of his speed,
and now began an exceedingly interesting chase or rather race.
All things considered, perhaps in the condition of the gobbler, the
hunter could outrun it, that is when both possessed the same advantage;
but the bird had a way of slipping through the undergrowth, dodging
under bushes, and trotting over fallen trees as though they were not
there, that gave him a great advantage over his pursuer.
The latter tore headlong through the bushes, sometimes a rod or two in
the rear, sometimes almost upon it, his hope constantly maintained at an
exciting point, by the hair-breath escapes it made from him. More than
once, he made a resolute leap forward, and, as he nearly stumbled,
caught perhaps the tail feather of the bird, while the creature itself
glided through his grasp, leaving a most vivid impression of its
tapering form upon his hands, which had slipped over it so nicely. Then
again perhaps he struck at it with his rifle and pinned another feather
to the ground.
It is a fact, to which all hunters will testify, that, in the exciting
pursuit of their game, they can travel mile after mile with hardly any
sensible fatigue. It is not until the hunter comes to retrace his
footsteps that he comprehends how great a distance he has passed over.
The attendant, perhaps whose mind does not participate in the same
excitement, is exhausted even in following the hunter.
Thus it happens that Joe, who would not have believed he had gone more
than three-quarters of a mile, chased the bird for fully a half-dozen
times that distance, at the end of which it did not manifest the least
fatigue, the wild turkey, as our readers are aware, being a noted
runner. With no thought of giving it up, Joe still pursued it at the top
of his speed, occasionally making a leap forward at it, and the bird as
often as cleverly eluding him as ever.
Suddenly he caught the shimmer of something through the trees, and saw
that they were approaching the banks of a river. He was now sure of his
bird; he had fairly earned it, there was no escape for it; and his
torturing hunger was about to be satisfied.
Gracefully and majestically, as the bird reached the river margin, it
spread out its wings, and, sailing through the air, landed upon the Ohio
side and disappeared in the woods.
Considerably chagrined,—as who would not have been?—he turned back into
the woods to cogitate upon his future action. Then, as he looked about
him, he saw that he was lost. He might retrace his trail, but he now
comprehended that he had passed over too great a distance to make this
advisable.
While thus debating with himself, he detected a peculiar smell in the
air, which he understood, at once, was caused by a camp-fire. Knowing
full well that he was in a hostile country, he kept a sharp look-out
upon his footsteps.
It turned out as he had suspected. He was close upon an Indian
encampment. He caught a glimpse of the gaudy fantastic costumes of the
savages through the trees, and approaching as nigh as he could, he
concealed himself, and surveyed them as well as his position could
admit.
It was with a singular emotion that the hunter recognized this party, as
the identical Shawanoes for whom he was searching, and who held Teddy
and Ruth as captives. The party seemed to have lost several of their
number—a half dozen or so—but there was no mistaking the others. The
keen eye of the hunter recognized them at once. What surprised him still
more, was that neither of the captives was visible. What had become of
them? Had they been sent in advance in charge of a smaller party? What
possible cause could the savages have for taking such a step?
These questions ran rapidly through the mind of the hunter, but there
was another which unpleasantly protruded itself, and that was the one in
regard to obtaining food for which, if possible was growing greater.
There seemed to be but one course left for him and that was to take to
the woods again. He was on the point of doing so, when he detected an
unlooked for opportunity.
More than once he was sure he detected the smell of burning meat and the
cause of it was soon explained. Some twenty rods or so away from the
encampment of the savages, was a smaller fire at which a single squaw
had momentarily abandoned her post, and the tempting prize was left
unguarded.
The temptation was too great for the naturally cool-headed and cautious
hunter. Running back into the woods a few rods, and totally unmindful of
his imminent danger, he came in the rear of the fire, snatched the meat,
and seating himself upon the ground, commenced devouring it like a wolf.
The first mouthful was dropped most suddenly, it being so hot that his
tongue was blistered. But he soon became used to, and in a few moments,
had swallowed the entire piece, and was in the act of wiping his fingers
upon his hair, when a shrill swoop broke the stillness of the woods, and
turning his startled gaze, he saw the wrathful squaw standing within a
few feet of him.
With the ear-splitting screech of this creature, Joe Napyank, gained
like a flash of lightning, a true idea of the fool-hardy recklessness he
had displayed. Her outcries were continued and immediately attracted the
attention of the Shawanoes, who had caught a glimpse of the white man,
as he was rising to his feet, and their fleetest runner started in
pursuit.
The hunter’s frame was gaunt and muscular, and he was sinewy and
fleet-footed. His Indian experience also had given him great endurance,
and he now darted off in the woods at a rate that excited the admiration
of his pursuers. The three separated, so as to make sure of the
fugitive, and called all their energies into play to overtake him.
The forest for a considerable distance was open, and afforded a good
field for the runners. The distance between Joe and the savages remained
about the same for some five or ten minutes, when one of the latter
discharged his rifle, and the white sprang high in air with a loud yell.
But he hadn’t been struck. It was only a habit he had gained years
before. The report of the gun gave an impetus to his flight which soon
carried him far ahead of the redskins. Dodging hither and thither,
flitting in and out among the trees, it was impossible for the latter to
gain anything like an accurate aim, and they did not repeat the attempt
to bring him down.
All was now going well for the fugitive, and he would have escaped had
he understood the woods. But his ignorance was fatal. Directly ahead of
him was a deep gorge, or ravine toward which the Shawanoes had managed
to direct his footsteps, and unconsciously to himself he was running
directly into a trap.
It was not until he was upon the very brink that Napyank comprehended
his peril. His hair fairly rose on his head, as he glanced about him. To
the right or left, stretched the deep yawning gorge, too broad to be
leaped over, and offering no means of access except a sheer precipice,
down which it would have been certain death for him to have gone. Escape
was cut off! There was no help for him! He was fairly at bay!
“It’s all up!” he muttered, wheeling around and placing his back toward
the gorge. “Joe Napyank is fairly cornered and now there is going to be
a row!”
The three Shawanoes, as we have already stated, had separated during the
pursuit and were now quite a ways apart. The center one being directly
in the rear, was the closest to the fugitive, and came up to him,
considerably in advance of the others. This was fortunate in one sense
for the hunter, as for the time, he had but a single opponent with which
to contend.
The lithe, agile Indian was all eagerness to secure the white as his
capture, and forgetful of the axiom “a stag at bay is a dangerous foe,”
that is, if he had ever heard it, he halted not in the least, but came
at full speed toward him. When within a rod or two, he whirled his
tomahawk in a circle over his head, and hurled it with tremendous force
full at the breast of his dauntless adversary. The latter from the
motion of his arm comprehended what was coming, and dodging his head
with lightning-like quickness, the weapon flashed over him, and went
spinning end over end down the ravine.
Both the combatants had dropped their rifles and drawn their knives.
With an exultant shout the warrior leaped forward, and swinging his
knife, sprang upon his adversary. In a twinkling both were disarmed in a
singular manner.
It so happened that the two struck at each other at precisely the same
moment, the knives encountering with such force, that the Shawanoe’s
shot out of his hand, and followed his tomahawk down the ravine, while
the hunter’s was turned with such suddenness that it fell to the ground
several yards distant. Both were now entirely disarmed, and glancing at
each for a second like infuriate tigers, they closed in the struggle of
life and death.
In point of strength the two were very nearly equally matched. Joe had
the advantage of being an expert wrestler, while the savage was a
perfect novice. The hunter had scarcely grasped him in his long arms,
when, with a peculiar thrill, he felt that the victory was his own.
By a trick, or rather act, well known to skilful wrestlers, the white
man twisted the redskin off his feet, and throwing him with stunning
violence upon the ground fell heavily upon him. Permitting him to rise,
he repeated the thing again and again, until the savage became so
exhausted as to be perfectly helpless.
The cunning Shawanoe had noticed where the knife of his adversary lay,
and each time that he went down, he managed to work himself nearer it.
The hunter did not notice his stratagem, until the savage clutched it,
and as if rejuvenated by his advantage sprang to his feet, and
confronted him with the weapon.
Not the least daunted—for Joe was terribly excited—he closed again with
his adversary, receiving an ugly wound in his arm as he did so. At this
moment he heard the outcries of the other two Shawanoes, and driven to
fury by his imminent peril he gathered all his strength in one mighty
effort, and grasping the warrior around the waist, he lifted him clear
from his feet, and flung him like an infant over the precipice.
Down like a meteor through the dizzy air, shot the Shawanoe, with his
arms clutching wildly at vacancy, spinning from crag to crag with his
awful cry coming up like the wail of some lost spirit!
The struggle occupied scarcely a fifth of the time we have taken in
describing it. Impelled by the most implacable hate on each side, the
blows were quick and fierce, and the termination speedy and tragic. A
shriek when the two encountered, a few blows and stunnings, another
struggle more desperate than the others, and it was ended.
Joe had secured his knife before throwing the savage into the ravine,
and with this single weapon he confronted his two foes. They were both
about the same distance from him and he was in doubt whether to expect
their united visit at the same moment, or whether they were going to
attack him singly. The latter proved to be the case.
One of the Indians seemed to be a sort of chief, or, at least, superior
in authority, to the other; for waving his hand for him to keep his
distance, he advanced upon the white man, with the manifest resolve of
disposing of him without aid from any one else.
The savage was a much more formidable foe than the other, and Joe
Napyank, being greatly exhausted from his recent terrible struggle, he
was in a poor condition to receive him. Nevertheless there was no
avoidance, and he showed an undaunted front. The Shawanoe halted a
moment, as if to decide upon the best methods of attack, and then with
the same yell, as his predecessor gave, he sprang forward.
He had passed over half the intervening space, when he gave utterance to
another outcry, not of exultation, but of agony, and throwing up his
arms, fell dead!
The hunter had caught the report of a rifle, and saw a red spot appear
on the forehead of the Indian, so that he understood instantly that he
had been shot. The remaining aborigine, having seen all, displayed his
common sense by turning on his heel, and fleeing at the top of his
speed.
But whence had come this shot so opportunely? What friend had he in the
Dark and Bloody Ground? How came he to be here at the critical moment?
Joe looked inquiringly around, and for the space of a few moments, his
question remained unanswered. But while still wondering, who should step
forth to view but Stoddard Smith?
“Just in time, it seems!” he exclaimed cheerily as he came forward and
grasped his hand.
“I never was so glad to see a man in my life. How came you to be here at
this time?”
“Looking for you, and what made you leave me?”
A few words explained all.
“It was Providence that brought me here,” added Young Smith. “I think he
is smiling on our efforts to obtain Ruth.”
“She isn’t far away. We’ll travel together after this.”
“Hope so. You at least have found it rather dangerous to be alone. But
are there no other Indians in the neighborhood?”
“Yes; and it’s time we left these parts. I’ve an idea, as I said, that
Ruth and Teddy ain’t far away; so let’s tramp.”
And once more, our two friends set about accomplishing the direct object
of their expedition.