A NARROW ESCAPE
The heat from the fire now reached the fleeing men. All the animals had
far outdistanced them in their flight and these three were left behind
to continue the race. There was no doubt that the fire was gaining on
them rapidly. The air about them was full of smoke which choked and at
times nearly strangled the three fugitives. As far as either Joseph or
Robert could see, there was no place of refuge ahead of them and both
boys were now fully convinced that escape was well nigh impossible. They
were determined to die fighting, however, and to keep going until the
very last.
Joseph glanced behind him as he ran. As he caught a glimpse of the great
wall of smoke and flame he could not help thinking, even in this moment
of extreme peril, of the pictures he used to see in the fairy books. The
prairie fire he likened to the great dragons that always guarded the
ancient treasures. Flame and smoke always issued from their mouths and
nostrils, and so tortured was the boy’s mind that he suddenly gained the
impression that he was being pursued by one of these dragons. Could he
escape the ravenous beast? That was the question.
Like a race horse, the fire galloped forward over the prairie. The air
was now filled with sparks, while the roar of the seething conflagration
grew ever louder in the ears of the fleeing men. Ahead of them, perhaps
a quarter of a mile, appeared a row of bushes, and toward this spot
Deerfoot seemed to be making his way. Just why he did this neither
Robert nor Joseph knew, but they followed blindly the lead of their
guide.
Robert was wondering if by any miracle they could escape the awful peril
now almost at their heels. Joseph was bent on escaping the dragon
roaring behind them, and somehow he felt that if they could reach the
clump of bushes they would be safe. Why he felt this way he could not
have explained. They were now within two hundred yards of the bushes,
while the fire was not more than twice that distance behind them. The
three fugitives were almost exhausted and the fire traveled with at
least double the speed that they could make. Consequently the race was
an even one.
Neither boy had discarded his rifle. It was almost second nature for a
frontiersman to cling to his gun and these two boys were no exception to
the rule. Grimly they hung on to their rifles, and stumbling now and
then, they still plunged blindly forward. Nearer and nearer they came to
the bushes; closer and closer swept the fire. “Can we reach the bushes?”
thought Robert, and “Can we escape the dragon?” Joseph kept repeating
again and again to himself.
A hundred yards in back of them roared the flames. Scarcely forty yards
ahead were the bushes. They were almost enveloped by the smoke and
sparks now and it was hard to see clearly. Robert obtained a glimpse of
what he took to be a gully just the other side of the bushes. To
Joseph’s distorted vision appeared a moat with a castle on the opposite
side; a guard stood at the portcullis ready to let it fall. Could he
slip through before the dragon seized him?
Just in front of the two brothers was Deerfoot. By words, lost in the
roar of the fire, and by gestures he urged the boys on. Their eyes
smarted from the smoke and their hearts and lungs seemed to have reached
the bursting point, so great was the strain placed upon them. Blindly
they staggered forward, their rifles still clutched firmly in their
hands. They could see the bushes dimly, only a few steps in front of
them now, while the fire seemed almost at their side.
Neither boy knew just why he was striving so hard to reach this row of
bushes. What protection could they afford? They were determined to reach
this spot, however, and with one last supreme effort they forced their
lagging feet forward. They could feel the bushes brush their clothes as
they came among them, and then the earth seemed suddenly to give way
under their feet and they plunged forward headlong.
After a space of time that might have been minutes, or days for that
matter, as far as he at the moment was able to estimate passing time,
Joseph opened his eyes, for he had lost consciousness when he fell. He
was lying flat on his back while Deerfoot and Robert splashed water in
his face.
“Where is the dragon?” he exclaimed, trying to rise.
“What dragon?” asked Robert, smiling at his brother’s remark.
“Why, the dragon that chased us of course.”
“You mean the fire, I guess.”
“It was a fire after all, wasn’t it?” exclaimed Joseph dazedly. “Somehow
I got the idea into my head that it was a dragon. I guess I was out of
my head.”
“Well, that fire was much worse than a dragon or any other animal that
ever lived,” said Robert feelingly. “I tell you we had a narrow escape.”
“Where are we anyway?”
“Get up and look for yourself, if you feel strong enough.”
Slowly and with difficulty Joseph raised himself to his feet. Glancing
about him he discovered that they were resting near the bank of a small
stream on both sides of which the ground rose abruptly ten or twelve
feet. So this was the place to which Deerfoot had led them. How lucky it
was that their Indian friend had been familiar enough with the country
to know of this place of refuge. As if in a dream Joseph passed his hand
across his forehead. It was wet and glancing at his fingers he
discovered that they were covered with blood.
“What happened to me?” he demanded.
“You cut your head on a sharp stone when you fell,” explained Robert.
“It’s only a scalp wound though and will soon heal up.”
“Where is the fire?”
“It jumped this gully, just after we jumped into it,” laughed Robert.
“You can hear it roaring on across the prairie now.”
“Where’s my gun?” exclaimed Joseph suddenly.
“There,” said Robert, pointing to Deerfoot. “Your gun landed in the
water and Deerfoot rescued it for you.” The Indian was busily engaged in
cleaning and drying Joseph’s rifle, but as Robert spoke he looked up
from his task.
“Gun go off,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?” cried Joseph.
“See,” said Deerfoot, at the same time pointing to his left sleeve. The
Indian’s hunting shirt showed a ragged hole, while on it were spots of
blood.
“You mean it went off and hit you?” exclaimed Robert. “I didn’t know
that, Deerfoot. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Ugh,” grunted the Indian in his non-committal manner.
“Let me see it,” demanded Joseph in alarm as he grasped Deerfoot by the
arm and pulled up his sleeve. The bullet had grazed the flesh of the
forearm, breaking the skin, but doing no serious hurt.
“Whew!” gasped Joseph. “It’s a lucky thing it didn’t kill you, Deerfoot.
Certainly it isn’t my fault that you’re alive now. Why aren’t you angry
with me?”
“No your fault,” replied the Indian, gazing into the eyes of his young
white friend. Deerfoot, like the rest of his race, disliked to display
his emotions if it could be avoided; but the Pottowattomie often had a
hard task to conceal his affection for the two young brothers.
“What would we ever do if we lost you?” cried Joseph. “You’re all we
have left now, Deerfoot.”
The Indian’s eyes grew moist at this remark and he turned quickly away.
He washed Joseph’s cut and his own wound and then bound a strip of
Joseph’s shirt around the cut in his head. He then scrambled up the side
of the gully to gaze out over the prairie.
“What are we going to do now?” inquired Joseph a few moments later when
Deerfoot had returned to the spot where the two boys were seated.
“We stay here today. Go on tonight,” replied Deerfoot.
“Isn’t it safe to travel in the daylight?”
“No,” answered Deerfoot. “Anyway, prairie too hot.”
“That’s true,” exclaimed Robert. “I never thought of that. The grass and
bushes in the path of the fire must still be smouldering. We’d probably
burn holes in our moccasins if we started now.”
“Mine can’t stand much either,” said Joseph, ruefully looking at his
feet. “We’ve given them some hard usage lately.”
“I should say so.”
Deerfoot completed the task of cleaning Joseph’s gun, and then holding
it under his arm he sauntered off along the bank of the stream. “Be back
soon,” he called as he disappeared from view around a projecting corner
of the bank. The two boys now left alone, sat on the ground and
discussed their experiences and what was ahead of them.
“I wish we were at Dixon’s Ferry,” exclaimed Robert fervently.
“No more than I do,” said Joseph.
“I must confess,” continued Robert, “that I don’t like this business of
traveling all night and never knowing when an Indian may jump out from
behind some tree and tomahawk me.”
“Well,” said Joseph, “when we reach Dixon’s Ferry we’ll be all right. I
wonder how many troops are there and what they intend to do?”
“I’ve no idea. We’ll know when we get there.”
“If that ever happens.”
“You’re getting as bad as I am,” laughed Robert. “Let’s not be so
discouraged. Deerfoot will bring us through all right.”
“Do you think he knows what is going on at Dixon’s Ferry?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell us if he did.”
“Evidently the Indians must have been causing trouble for some time,”
remarked Joseph. “Otherwise the governor wouldn’t have sent soldiers
after them as soon as this.”
“That’s right, I guess,” Robert agreed. “Probably that band which
attacked us was only a detachment of the main body. It was undoubtedly
the same one that burned the Scotts’ home and started this fire, too.”
“Probably it was. If we ever reach Dixon’s Ferry we’ll know it all. Do
you suppose they’ll let us enlist?”
“They will if they have any volunteers. They’ll have a hard time keeping
me out, that’s sure.”
“I wish—” began Joseph when the sound of a rifle shot suddenly cut him
short. Both boys sprang to their feet in alarm. The report came from the
direction in which Deerfoot had gone and instantly the two boys’ minds
were filled with visions of dreadful things happening to their friend.
“Bring your rifle and come along,” cried Joseph as he began to run along
the bank of the stream. Robert was with him in an instant.
“Hold back here, Joe,” he urged. “Let me go ahead; I’ve got the gun.
Take it slow, too.”
Cautiously they approached the bend in the river, Robert slightly in the
lead. He was holding his rifle ready for instant use and both boys were
prepared for any emergency. As they turned in their course they spied
Deerfoot. He was approaching them, holding his rifle in one hand and an
enormous jack rabbit in the other. He could not repress a grin of
amusement as he saw the hostile attitude of his two young friends.
“We thought you’d been attacked,” exclaimed Joseph heaving a great sigh
of relief.
“Me shoot rabbit,” replied Deerfoot.
“So we see,” remarked Joseph. “Don’t you think, though, that somebody
might have heard the shot and that it may get us into trouble?”
“Nobody to hear shot,” said Deerfoot. “Nobody on prairie after fire.”
“I guess that’s true enough,” laughed Robert. “I’m glad to see that old
rabbit, too. I suppose he was hiding from the fire as well as we were.”
“Yes,” said Deerfoot. “He hid. Me find him though.”
The two brothers set to work collecting such wood as they could find in
the gully and that had escaped the flames; Deerfoot at the same time was
busily engaged in skinning the rabbit.
In a short time a fire had been kindled and the odor of roast rabbit
filled the air. The meat was delicious, somewhat similar to chicken in
flavor, and soon only bones remained to testify that a rabbit had once
been near that spot.
Frequently Deerfoot scanned the horizon with a watchful eye and the day
was spent in talk and rest. As darkness once more stole over the land,
Deerfoot gave the word and again the three fugitives set out on their
tramp to Dixon’s Ferry.