A NEEDED REST
How long he slept neither boy knew. Robert was the first to awaken and
for some moments he could not remember where he was. The last two days
had been so crowded with events that it had all seemed a confused and
horrible dream to the young frontiersman. He rubbed his eyes and sat up,
bewildered by his strange surroundings.
For some time he sat still, trying to recall where he was and what had
brought him to this place. He looked about him and the sight of his
brother Joseph stretched upon the ground by his side suddenly brought a
remembrance of his recent experiences to his mind. He stretched himself
and yawned audibly. At the sound Joseph stirred and opened his eyes.
“Hello, Bob,” he said drowsily. “Where are we?”
“That’s just what I was trying to think a moment ago,” replied Robert.
“I know now though. We’re on Deerfoot’s island in the middle of the
swamp.”
“Sure enough,” exclaimed Joseph, sitting up. “Where’s Deerfoot?”
“I’ve no idea. I just woke up.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s broad daylight outside though.”
“It must be afternoon then,” said Joseph. “We arrived here sometime in
the forenoon, I think.”
“Yes, I know we did. I don’t think it’s afternoon though.”
“Why not?”
“Because I feel very much rested. I think it must be tomorrow morning,
if you understand what I mean by that remark.”
“You mean we’ve slept nearly all day, and all night, too, I suppose.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Impossible.”
“Not at all. That would only bring us up to our average anyway.”
Joseph made his way to the window and looked out. “Perhaps you’re
right,” he agreed. “It does look sort of like early morning outside.”
“Don’t you think we ought to find Deerfoot?”
“We might look for him anyway. Let’s go out.”
They crawled out through the low door and after scanning the landscape
for possible signs of an enemy both stood up. Deerfoot was nowhere to be
seen.
“Let’s look for the canoe,” suggested Robert. “If that is gone, Deerfoot
is with it somewhere.”
They walked quickly to the place where the canoe had been hidden, but it
was not to be found.
“Where do you suppose he has gone?” demanded Joseph.
“I’ve no idea. Scouting, I guess.”
“I hope nothing happens to him,” exclaimed Joseph. “Suppose he should be
killed. We’d be left in a nice fix; on an island in the middle of a
swamp we know nothing about, and with no boat to take us off.”
“Don’t worry about anything happening to Deerfoot,” said Robert
confidently. “He’ll be back here safe and sound before long.”
“I hope you’re right. Let’s go back to the hut and wait there.”
A few moments later the boys seated themselves in front of the little
log cabin. They sat where the sun would shine directly upon them, for
the early morning air was cold. They took especial care, however, to
select a place where they would not be exposed to the view of any chance
passerby. They knew enough about Indians to realize that one can never
be too careful when attempting to remain hidden from them. An Indian
will see the smoke of a camp fire for miles distant; the slightest noise
will alarm him, and a trail is an open book for him to read.
“Do you suppose Black Hawk and his band could trace us here?”
“I doubt it,” said Joseph in response to his brother’s query. “They
might have followed our trail up to the spot where we took the canoe. I
don’t see how any human being could track us to this island though. If
we are discovered it will only be by luck.”
Though hidden from the sight of passersby, the two boys were in a
position where they could see all that occurred on the lagoon. As his
brother finished speaking Robert half rose to his feet.
“Look!” he exclaimed.
“It’s Deerfoot,” said Joseph, gazing in the direction Robert indicated.
Across the lagoon sped the canoe, propelled by the expert paddle of the
Pottowattomie. A moment later Deerfoot landed, drew the canoe ashore and
approached the cabin door where the boys were seated. In one hand he
held a string of perch and in the other he carried a duck.
What the two brothers both noticed at once, however, was the fact that
from his belt now dangled two scalps where the day previous there had
been but one. Neither boy dared ask an explanation, however, for they
knew that if Deerfoot cared to tell of his exploit he would do so
voluntarily. Questions would have no effect upon him other than to make
him angry, for curiosity as to other people’s affairs was always
regarded by an Indian as very bad breeding.
“Boys sleep long,” said Deerfoot, when he had come to the place where
they were seated.
“Yes, Deerfoot,” agreed Joseph. “We were very tired.”
“Me catch fish and duck,” said the Indian.
“So we see,” laughed Joseph. “How did you do it?”
“Fish with hook. Duck with snare. How you s’pose?”
“I didn’t know,” replied Joseph meekly. He considered Deerfoot’s reply a
rebuke, for evidently the Indian took it for granted that he should know
how the game had been captured. The Pottowattomie did not care for
useless questions.
“Did you see anything of Black Hawk?” asked Robert.
“No see him,” replied Deerfoot, who at once began the work of cleaning
the fish he had caught. Robert asked no more questions and as Deerfoot
did not offer to tell how he had captured the second scalp, the matter
was evidently closed, at least for the present. Both boys were burning
with curiosity, but to no purpose. Some day perhaps, if Deerfoot felt so
inclined, he would tell them all about his exploit, but this he
apparently did not consider the proper time to do so.
“How long do you expect to stay here, Deerfoot?” inquired Joseph after
several moments of silence. The Indian was cleaning the last fish and he
made no reply until he had finished. The task did not consume much time,
however, for the Pottowattomie was an expert in this art. He laid the
fish upon a flat stone with the others, wiped his knife clean and then
answered Joseph’s question.
“We leave tonight,” he said.
“Where are we going?” demanded Joseph and Robert in one breath.
“Dixon’s Ferry.”
“Dixon’s Ferry!” exclaimed Joseph. “Why, that’s a long distance from
here.”
“I know,” agreed Deerfoot. “We go there. Soldiers there, too.”
“Is that so?” cried Joseph in surprise. “You mean soldiers sent against
Black Hawk?”
“Yes,” said the Indian. “Governor Reynolds send soldiers.”
“How do you know all this?” inquired Robert doubtfully.
“Me know,” replied Deerfoot shortly. He did not like to have his
statements questioned, and immediately lapsed into silence. He ignored
any further remarks on the subject made by either of the brothers, and
busied himself in his preparations for the meal.
He quickly brought dried birch logs from inside the cabin and a moment
later had a cheerful fire blazing. The wood he used did not smoke, so
that any danger on that score was removed. As soon as the fire was well
under way he seized the captured duck, holding it by its head with one
hand and by its feet with the other. A moment later all of its feathers
were singed off by the fire and he soon had the wild fowl skillfully
prepared for cooking.
Before long a splendid bed of coals had collected and in these Deerfoot
placed the fish. The duck he spitted on a sharp stick and soon the
savory smell of cooking food reminded the young pioneers how hungry they
were. When the perch were done they were rolled in corn meal and quickly
disappeared down the throats of the three fugitives. When the duck was
eaten and the fire extinguished they settled back against the side of
the cabin, feeling very much at peace with the world, in spite of their
precarious position.
“Not dark for long while,” said Deerfoot. “Boys better sleep.”
“What?” exclaimed Joseph. “You don’t think we can sleep all the time, do
you? I feel as if I never wanted to sleep again.”
“You feel different tomorrow maybe.”
“That may be so, but I can’t sleep now, that’s sure. How do you feel,
Bob?”
“Entirely slept out,” replied Robert, his remark followed by a yawn,
however.
All three lapsed into silence while they scanned the surrounding
landscape and wished for the coming of night. The quiet of the swamp was
undisturbed save for the occasional call of a wild fowl or a splash
caused by the jump of a fish. The wind blowing gently through the trees
and rushes furnished a drowsy hum as a background to the other noises.
As far as one could judge from appearances in the swamp, all the world
was at peace. Little would anyone suspect that the three men on the tiny
island had been forced to seek that refuge because of hostile Indians.
“Where is Black Hawk’s village?” asked Joseph suddenly.
“Where Rock River meet Mississippi,” replied Deerfoot. “That was his
village.”
“Why do you say _was_?”
“White people take it away from him,” said Deerfoot.
“Is that why he’s fighting?” inquired Joseph. “If they stole his
village, then I don’t blame him.”
“Don’t forget this though,” exclaimed Robert hotly. “The Whites may have
cheated the Indians lots of times, but just the same the Sacs signed a
treaty to move across the Mississippi, and they have refused to go. At
any rate nothing can excuse their killing our family. We did nothing to
Black Hawk or any of his people and I intend to get even if I can. How
can the country ever expect to be settled if the people are liable to be
murdered at any moment?”
“That’s true,” agreed Joseph. “It’s hard to blame Black Hawk from his
point of view though. He probably thinks he’s entitled to all this land
and that every white settler is a thief who is trying to steal from
him.”
“Black Hawk isn’t the head of his tribe anyway,” continued Robert.
“Keokuk is the big chief, isn’t he, Deerfoot?”
“That right,” grunted the Indian. “Black Hawk the war chief. He
fighter.”
“All Pottowattomies are fighters, aren’t they?” said Robert, at the same
time covertly nudging Joseph as he spoke. Deerfoot merely grunted but
his eyes shone at this remark of his young white friend, and
unconsciously he felt for the two scalps at his belt. They were not
there, however, but stretched on frames, were drying in the sun before
the cabin. They presented a gruesome sight but one from which the
brothers found difficulty in keeping their gaze.
Both boys smiled at the pride exhibited by Deerfoot in response to
Robert’s insinuation as to the prowess of the Pottowattomies. For some
time they lazily discussed Black Hawk and his deeds.
Finally Deerfoot stretched himself at full length on the ground and
straightway fell asleep. In spite of their long rest the two brothers
soon followed his example; they had been more tired than they realized
and were soon in the land of dreams. They were awakened by Deerfoot
shaking them gently by the shoulder. When they opened their eyes it was
dusk.
“Come,” urged Deerfoot. “Time to go.”