A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING
Every man immediately dismounted. There was a rush for shelter and in a
remarkably short space of time the whole band had placed themselves
behind trees or clumps of bushes. Not one had abandoned his pony,
however, for without a mount no man would stand much chance if it should
come to a question of escape.
The shot had been fired at John Mason, who was in the lead, but he had
escaped unharmed. Meanwhile, not a sound broke the stillness which
rested over the swamp. Many moments elapsed and still no significant
sound was heard. Joseph was standing behind a large oak tree, well
screened by a heavy growth of bushes. He had quickly tied The Swallow to
an overhanging bough and he hoped that no one of the Indians would
discover the presence of the pony.
Robert had taken his station in a position similar to Joseph’s and about
ten yards distant from him. The remainder of the band were placed at
varying intervals over a space of nearly a hundred and twenty-five
yards. Every man held his rifle ready for immediate use.
Joseph glanced eagerly about him. He could see his comrades crouching
behind their shelters but no sign of the enemy appeared. It gave the
young pioneer a queer feeling to see all these men hiding and yet not to
know from what they were trying to conceal themselves.
He looked again at his brother. This was just the kind of situation to
appeal to Robert and he was greatly enjoying himself. He loved adventure
with a spice of real danger in it, and consequently was in high spirits.
He caught Joseph’s eye and smiled. Then he waved his hand at his
brother. As he did so there came the sharp report of a rifle and a
bullet clipped a piece of bark from the tree just above his head. Robert
drew back hurriedly.
Instantly the white men’s rifles spoke, all firing at the puff of smoke
which disclosed the position of the Indian sharpshooter. Whether or not
any of the bullets reached their mark could not be seen, but this was
the signal for a general fusillade. The redmen replied to this volley
with a volley of their own and from that time on the firing became
general on both sides. Above all the noise arose the frequent war whoops
of the Indians, and both Robert and Joseph shuddered at the sound. They
had heard it often before and every time it had been followed by
misfortune.
Suddenly another war whoop sounded not thirty feet from the spot where
Joseph was standing. At the sound he started violently and his gun
almost fell from his shaking fingers. He turned in alarm to see whence
the noise came, and to his intense relief discovered that Deerfoot was
the cause of his fright. The Pottowattomie had flung his defiance back
at his foes to show them that not all of his tribe were on the side of
Black Hawk.
So interested was Joseph in watching his red ally that he nearly forgot
that he was in a fight and that at least fifteen or twenty bloodthirsty
Sacs were intent on taking his life.
At the conclusion of this war cry Deerfoot immediately dropped to the
ground and began to worm his way forward on his belly as fast as he
could crawl. With fascinated gaze, Joseph watched the half-naked redman
whose skin glistened with war paint as he cautiously, but steadily
crawled onward across the swamp.
From behind a tree scarcely fifty yards distant one of the enemy had
been firing. Evidently this brave was the goal Deerfoot had in mind.
Joseph soon realized this and resolved to do all in his power to aid. As
fast as he could load his gun he emptied it at the hidden Indian and did
his best to keep his attention occupied so that Deerfoot might approach
unnoticed. Deerfoot must have realized this, though, of course, he made
no sign. Rifle in hand he still was crawling through the swamp. The
grass was high, affording him excellent protection and he took great
pains to keep every possible bush or stump or tree between him and the
object of his quest.
Every little while Joseph lost sight of Deerfoot. It was difficult to
follow the Pottowattomie’s course as he went along, and so skillfully
did Deerfoot perform his task that only the occasional waving of a clump
of bushes gave evidence that anyone was disturbing them. “That’s a
wonderful performance,” thought Joseph, and he was right.
At length Joseph withdrew his gaze from Deerfoot’s movements and looked
around at the rest of his comrades. No one seemed to have been hit as
yet, though Joseph could only account for eight of the ten members of
the party. Robert was as cheerful as ever and presented a smiling though
powder-smeared countenance to his brother’s gaze.
“Why don’t we charge them, Joe?” he called.
“That would be a foolhardy thing to do,” replied Joseph. “What chance
would we stand?”
“Some of us would survive,” said Robert. “I wish they’d try it, anyway.”
Joseph made no reply beyond a shake of the head and once more he turned
his attention to Deerfoot. He was, however, now unable to locate the
Pottowattomie. Having once taken his eyes from the path he was pursuing
Joseph could not find it again. That Deerfoot must have approached close
to his goal now, he felt confident, but still no sign of him appeared.
The young pioneer riveted his gaze upon the tree that sheltered his
enemy, hoping for an opportunity for a favorable shot. He thought he saw
a feather move behind the broad trunk, and immediately he fired.
An answering shot came almost instantly. Joseph could hear the bullet
cut through the branches directly above him, and involuntarily he drew
back farther behind his shelter. Scarcely had the report of the rifle
died away when an unearthly yell rent the air. Then before Joseph’s eyes
was enacted an awful scene.
He saw Deerfoot suddenly spring to his feet, appearing as if by magic
from the tall grass at the foot of the tree behind which his enemy was
located. The shining, painted body of the Pottowattomie appeared like
some strange monster in the half light of the coming night. His war cry
echoed far out over the marsh, while in one hand he grasped his rifle,
and in the other was his tomahawk. With one bound he flung himself upon
his adversary.
Joseph could see the flash of Deerfoot’s hatchet as it was raised to
strike. He could almost feel the shock of the two men’s bodies as they
came together and then the struggle passed out of his range of vision.
He hastily reloaded his gun and turned to Robert.
“Come on, Bob!” he cried. “We must help Deerfoot!”
“You can count on me,” replied Robert quickly, and together the two boys
started forward to the aid of their friend. It was a dangerous mission
on which they were embarking, but neither boy gave any heed to his own
peril. To help Deerfoot was their only thought and though they were not
sure that their loyal friend was in need of aid, they were determined to
be on hand in case such a need should arise.
“Keep low, Bob,” warned Joseph.
“I’m as low as I can get now!” exclaimed Robert. “I’m almost bent double
as it is.”
“That’s the way to be. Now hurry as fast as you can.”
The two brothers darted forward, rifle in hand. Crouching low and
running swiftly they hastened to Deerfoot’s assistance.
“Come back!” shouted some one of their comrades in alarm as he saw what
the two boys were attempting. No attention was paid to this bit of
advice, however, and the boys merely increased their speed. A bullet
scudded over their heads, and then another struck the ground just in
front of them. On they went, however, each boy fearful lest he should be
too late in bringing aid to their faithful ally.
Nearer and nearer they approached to the tree behind which Deerfoot had
disappeared. Thus far they had been untouched but it seemed almost a
miracle. Every moment the rain of bullets about them increased and to
their watching comrades it seemed as if they must be hit. Yells of
defiance and rage greeted their appearance and apparently every one of
the hostile party was now directing his fire at the two daring youths.
Half the distance had been covered by this time. Only a few seconds had
elapsed but to the two brothers it seemed as if a long time had passed
since they had left their shelter and started on their perilous
adventure. No thought of retreat had entered either boy’s mind, however,
and even if they had had such a desire it was too late now to turn back.
Just ahead of them was a large fallen oak and toward this they made
their way. Robert’s sleeve was cut by a bullet and both boys had felt
many of the leaden balls whiz by close to their ears. Still they kept on
and soon came to the prostrate tree. Vines and creepers covered the
trunk, providing an excellent screen, and behind this shelter the young
volunteers stopped for a momentary breathing spell and a chance to get
their bearings.
“Whew, Bob, this is ticklish business!” panted Joseph, and he and his
brother instantly sank to the ground.
“I know it, Joe,” replied Robert. “That doesn’t make any difference,
though. It has to be done.”
“Of course it has,” cried Joseph. “We are wasting valuable time here,
too!” He once more sprang to his feet and after a hasty look about him
started on his way again. Robert followed close behind. “Only a few
yards more,” he called encouragingly. “We’ll make it all right, Joe.”
Just at this moment when the two young pioneers appeared around the end
of their shelter, they were once more exposed to full view. A yell
greeted them, followed by a hail of lead. Bullets sang all about them
and suddenly Joseph uttered a groan and plunged forward. He fell
headlong to the ground and rolled over upon his back.
Robert was at his side in an instant. “Where are you hit, Joe? Is it
bad?” he cried. Joseph’s red-headed and impulsive younger brother
apparently entirely forgot that he, too, was exposed to the fire of all
the Indian party. Not so, Joseph, however. Even at this time his first
thought was for his brother, and he begged him to return.
“Go back, Bob,” he pleaded. “You can’t help me any now.”
“Tell me where you’re hit,” demanded Robert.
“Right here,” cried Joseph, holding on to his left leg with both hands.
“It’s just above the knee and I can’t walk.”
“I’ll help you,” offered Robert eagerly. “Lean on me and we can get
back.”
Joseph made an effort to get up, but it was unavailing. His leg gave out
under the weight and he rolled back to his former position. Blood showed
in a dark red spot above his knee.
“I can’t do it, Bob,” he moaned. “There’s no use in your being hit, too,
though. Please leave me. Save yourself, anyway.”
Robert suddenly sprang to his feet. “All right, I will leave you,” he
cried, and at full speed he ran swiftly toward the tree behind which
Deerfoot and his enemy were concealed.