A THRILLING INITIATION.
Oscar Parton did not resist when his captors drew him into their boat,
which was paddled into the middle of the stream.
He saw that resistance would prove futile, for his struggle with the
dead warrior had wearied him.
His captors were real red athletes, with great breadth of chest, and
strong arms. They regarded him with much curiosity, and did not speak
until the boat began to ascend the stream.
"The Blacksnake's spy!" said one, half interrogatively, as he peered
into the young man's face.
His accent told Parton that he was a Shawnee.
"I am not a spy," was the reply, "I have never trailed the Indian, with
a rifle ready to take his life."
The red men exchanged significant glances, and the youngest, a youth of
eighteen, spoke:
"Pale face is a Yengee."[C]
[C] Yankee or American.
"I am an American," Oscar said, knowing that an attempt to conceal his
national identity would result in no good to him. "I have lived at the
mouth of the Swift River,[D] lifting no arm against the Indian."
[D] The Maumee. So called on account of its rapids.
"But why is white man here?" asked the Shawnee.
Then followed the narrative of the flight of the Merriweather family,
and the story of Kate's abduction. The two Indians listened without
interruption; but at certain stages of the narration they exchanged
meaning looks.
It was evident that they credited the story, for the young man told it
in a plain, straightforward manner, embellishing it with no rhetoric.
"White guide steal girl?" the young Indian--a Seneca--said, and the
elder nodded his head in confirmation. "Him bad man. Decoys boats to the
wrong side of river for the red man. Parquatoc no like him, for he makes
war on women and children."
For several moments the savages conversed together in whispers, and in
the Indian tongue, of which the captive caught but few words which he
understood. His fate appeared to be the subject of conversation, and he
waited with much anxiety and impatience for the end of the council.
Escape was not to be thought of, for his limbs were bound, and he would
have sank beneath the waves like a stone if he had thrown himself from
the boat.
At last the dark heads separated, and the young settler looked into the
Indian's eyes as if seeking the decision there before he should hear it
from their tongues.
But he was doomed to disappointment, for the red Arabs did not speak,
though the one who had called himself Parquatoc guided the boat toward
the shore.
Oscar thought that the youth's eye had a kindly gleam, and tried to make
himself believe that no murderous light was in the orbs of his
companion.
Parquatoc sent the boat to the bank with strong, rapid strokes, and it
finally struck with a dull thud that made the light craft quiver. Then
he severed Oscar's leg bonds, and the settler stood erect on the shore,
ten miles below the scene of his capture.
His thoughts were of Harvey Catlett, whom he had left so
unceremoniously, and who might think that he had deserted him to hunt
alone for the stolen girl.
He did not quail before the uncertain fate that stared him in the face;
but resolved to meet it, dread as it might be, like a man.
The boat was drawn upon the bank, and lifted into the boughs of a huge
tree, which told that it was not to kiss the waves again that night.
The Shawnee deposited it there while the young Seneca guarded the
settler. But such vigilance was useless, for Oscar had resolved to
attempt no escape that did not offer the best signs of success.
Having deposited the boat in the tree so well that none but the keenest
of eyes could have found it, the eldest savage gave his companion a
look, and the next moment a knife flashed in his hand.
Oscar thought that his doom was near at hand, for Parquatoc stepped
forward, his scarlet fingers encircling the buckhorn handle of the keen
blade. But though the youth's eyes flashed and his well-knit figure
quivered, there was no gleam of murder in his eyes.
The Shawnee looked on without a sign of interference.
"The pale face has said that he does not hate the Indian!" the youth
said.
"Why should I? He has never done me harm."
"But he kills the whites, and now the Blacksnakes come among his wigwams
with rifle and torch."
"True; but the Blacksnake, as you call our great soldier, would not be
marching into this country if the bad whites had not stirred up the
tribes by lies and rum."
The young settler spoke with great boldness, looking straight into the
eyes of the pair.
"The pale face hates the king's men and the renegades?"
"He does."
There was a moment's silence.
"Does he hate the White Whirlwind?"
"He hates Jim Girty with all his heart!"
The Shawnee nodded to Parquatoc with manifest satisfaction.
"Then let the pale man bare his breast."
For the first time since the landing, a pallor swept over Oscar Parton's
face.
If the savages were friends to the Girtys, and there were few Indians
who would not have followed them to death, his replies had fated him to
die, and the command to bare his breast seemed to settle the question of
his life.
He hesitated, but not through fear.
"Is the white man afraid?" asked the boy-warrior with a sneer.
"No!" was the quick reply, and the next instant the settler's hands were
lifted to obey the command; but the deer thongs that bound them
prevented him.
Parquatoc smiled, and cut the bonds.
Then Oscar tore his jacket open, and exposed his flesh to the Indian's
gaze.
"The white man hates the British and the white renegades. He must join
our band."
Then while the last word still quivered the speaker's lips, the knife
flashed across his breast and a spurt of blood told that it had left a
horrid trail behind. The youth did not fall, but remained erect, while
the Indians regarded the work of the blade with satisfaction.
"Listen," said Parquatoc, laying his hand on Oscar's shoulder and
looking straight into his eyes. "You are one of us now and forever.
There was a council the other dark (night) in the long hollow. The White
Whirlwind came and raised his voice for war. Many chiefs followed him;
but there were many more who were afraid to lift their voices for peace.
The Indian can't fight the Blacksnake. He will sweep them from his path
as the hurricane sweeps the leaves from the trees. Parquatin, our
brother, rose and spoke for peace. He told the council that war meant
starving squaws, desolated maize fields, and gameless hunting grounds to
the Indian. He called White Whirlwind a bad man, who would desert the
red man to trail a white girl through the forest. It was a talk that
made the Whirlwind mad; and there in the council before the assembled
braves of seven nations, he drove his tomahawk into our brother's brain.
We have raised our hands to the Manitou like the white men do when they
want to make their words strong, and said that we hate the palefaces who
have lied the Indian into the fight. We strike at the renegade; we trail
the White Whirlwind; and he shall die for the blow which he struck at
the council in the long hollow. White man, you are one of us now. You
carry the sign of the brotherhood. Wherever you go you will find red
brethren. No other paleface belongs to us. In danger, show the mark; our
people are many, and after the next great battle, the cold white faces
among the tribes will not be few. You are free; but if you go with us we
will step upon the trail of the white rose stolen from you."
To the young warrior's speech, uttered in that eloquence which now and
then adorns the pages of savage history, Oscar Parton listened with
wonderment and strange emotions. It is true that Parquatoc's words, as
he advanced, prepared him for the finale, but his transition from
thoughts of doom to freedom was yet swift and startling. He found
himself initiated into a cabal of Indians who had sworn to make war
against certain white people--himself the sole white member of the
organization.
There was a something about the young Parquatoc that made the settler
admire him; and now that he knew that Jim Girty had basely slain his
brother, he saw a motive for the boy-warrior's intense hatred.
He resolved to cultivate his friendship; but he did not know how soon
the bonds sealed that night were to be broken.
"Come!" said Parquatoc, breaking in upon his thoughts. "The light is not
very far away, and we must not be here when the white arrows fall upon
the river."
"But white man no gun," said the Shawnee, speaking for the first time
since the landing.
"Never mind; gun come soon enough," was the Seneca's reply.
A moment later the tree and concealed boat were left behind, and the
trio hurried from the river.
Oscar Parton walked beside the boy, never dreaming of escape, though his
freedom had been restored, for his new brethren had promised to aid him
in his search for Kate.
He was thinking about his thrilling initiation, and wondering what would
come of it.