THE TRAIL LEADS WESTWARD
There was not a second to lose. The Indian would surely be upon Joseph
before he could raise himself from his fallen position and even should
he be able to get up he would stand no chance of escape. If Joseph’s
life was to be saved, it was Robert who must do it. But how was it to be
done? He had fired the charge which had been in his gun and he had had
no chance to reload. The bloodthirsty Sac was nearer to Joseph than he,
and would evidently reach the spot first. The case looked desperate.
All of this happened in the twinkling of an eye. Robert rather felt than
thought these things as he saw the Indian rushing toward his helpless
brother. “The only relative I have left in the world,” thought Robert
as, with a choking cry, he started forward. Glory was forgotten. Bravery
was forgotten. The impulsive young pioneer remembered only that his
brother was in terrible and immediate danger.
The Indian was now about ten yards from Joseph, who was striving
desperately to regain his feet. Robert was at least twenty yards
distant. He shouted to Joseph, but Joseph had already seen the Sac
approaching and was doing his utmost to get out of the way. Robert’s cry
did not warn him of his peril, but only served to bring a faint ray of
hope into his mind that he might yet escape.
Robert saw instantly that it was out of the question for him to reach
his brother before the Indian would be upon him. He stopped and started
to swing his rifle about his head with some hazy idea of throwing it at
his enemy. Before he could put this plan into execution, however, a
strange thing occurred. Something flashed in the rays of the afternoon
sun and with a cry the onrushing Indian suddenly threw up his hands and
pitched forward, stumbling and tripping until he fell to the ground limp
and helpless.
A tomahawk coming from some place in the tall grass had struck the Sac
warrior full in the forehead and put an end to his fighting forever. So
suddenly and so unexpectedly had this fortunate event taken place that
neither of the two boys realized for a few moments just what had
occurred. Joseph sank back upon the ground and Robert merely stood with
open mouth and a dazed expression on his face, staring stupidly at the
dead form of the Indian at his feet.
The mystery was not long unsolved, however. The tall grass parted and
out stepped Deerfoot, as calm and stoical as ever, his face as
expressionless as a statue.
“So you did it, did you?” exclaimed Robert as soon as he found his
voice.
“Deerfoot!” cried Joseph and the young soldier could say no more.
The Pottowattomie paid no attention to either of the boys. He picked up
his tomahawk which now was lying upon the ground, and then advanced to
the spot where the body of his fallen enemy lay. Without a word he
whipped out his knife and soon possessed himself of another Sac scalp.
The two brothers looked on in silence.
“How can I ever thank you?” cried Joseph, walking up to Deerfoot.
“No try.”
“But, Deerfoot, you saved my life,” protested Joseph, tears of gratitude
appearing in his eyes as he spoke.
“Why not save life?” demanded Deerfoot simply. “You my brother. Me
always save brother’s life.” He extended his hand to Joseph, who grasped
it in silence. Then the Pottowattomie turned to Robert and also shook
hands with him.
This solemn rite having been performed, the three brothers turned their
attention to the fight. For a time they had been oblivious to everything
but their own affairs. The fight was ended, however. The Indians had
been driven from their positions and now occupied a piece of rising
ground overlooking the Wisconsin River.
They remained in that place only a short time, however, for the troops
pursued them relentlessly. The Sacs fired a few more shots from the top
of the rise and then turned and retreated swiftly down the bluffs to
join the main body, which was engaged in crossing the river. The troops
soon occupied the bluffs, and further pursuit was considered useless.
Between the army and the river was a swampy bit of ground, some sixty
yards wide. On the river bank was a heavy growth of timber. The white
commanders seeing that the Indians could reach this protection before
being overtaken decided to give up the chase for the night.
“A few more battles like that and the war will soon be over,” remarked
Robert enthusiastically, when camp had been pitched.
“Yes,” agreed Mason. “They seem to be on the run now all right.”
“I’m glad I was in it,” exclaimed Robert. “It is a pleasanter sensation
to be the one to do the winning than it is to have to run away. Until
now we have been mostly on the defensive.”
“I’m glad I was in it, too,” said Joseph quietly. “I’m more than glad to
be here right now though. If it hadn’t been for Deerfoot I’d have been
dead.”
“There’s no doubt of that,” agreed Robert heartily. “Deerfoot,” he
added, “you are a hero. Get up and make a bow.”
“No bow,” said Deerfoot. He shifted his position uncomfortably and was
much embarrassed by these remarks of Robert’s. He did not desire praise
for doing what he considered merely his duty.
Robert loved to tease his red brother, however, and seeing how
uncomfortable his words made Deerfoot he decided to continue them.
“You must make a bow, Deerfoot,” he continued. “Whenever a man saves
another’s life he always has to make a bow.”
“No bow,” protested Deerfoot, looking about for some avenue of escape.
“Of course not,” exclaimed Joseph, coming to the rescue of the
embarrassed Pottowattomie. “Don’t pay any attention to what he says,
Deerfoot.”
The army turned in and soon most of the men were asleep. Everyone slept
on his arms, for the region was infested with prowling Indians and no
one wished to be taken unawares by a sudden attack. No incident of note
occurred, however, until just about an hour and a half before the dawn
of the following day. Joseph, naturally a light sleeper, awoke with a
start. He had a strange feeling that someone had been talking to him. He
sat up and looked about him. The stars were out and the camp was dimly
illuminated by their ghostlike light. “I must have been dreaming,”
thought Joseph.
Suddenly he realized that he had not been dreaming after all. A voice,
loud, shrill, and speaking in an unknown tongue could be heard
distinctly. The sound came from the direction of the knoll, which Black
Hawk, seated on a white pony, had occupied during the battle.
“Wake up, Bob,” exclaimed Joseph excitedly. He shook his brother, who
was instantly wide awake and on his feet. The rest of the camp was soon
aroused and a great panic ensued. The strange voice continued to be
heard and nearly every man present thought it was merely a prelude to a
great attack on the part of the Indians.
“What is it, do you suppose?” exclaimed Robert in alarm.
“I’m sure I can’t tell you,” replied Mason. “It is certainly strange.”
“Let’s fire a volley in that direction,” cried Robert eagerly. “Perhaps
if we do that it will show them we are prepared and they will be scared
off.”
“Don’t be silly,” exclaimed Joseph in alarm. “At any rate we couldn’t
fire without orders.”
“Isn’t it weird?” said Mason.
The harangue continued uninterruptedly while the army sat and quaked
with fear. At any moment the men expected to be set upon by a band of
bloodthirsty Sacs. Some of the more timid were in favor of decamping at
once. So great was the alarm in the camp that General Henry found it
necessary to deliver a patriotic speech to rally the sinking spirits of
his men.
“Don’t you understand what the voice is saying, Deerfoot?” inquired John
Mason at last.
“Me no understand,” answered Deerfoot, and in fact he was apparently
just as much puzzled as all the others at the strange performance.
Suddenly the harangue ceased. For over an hour it had continued without
interruption, but just before daylight the speaker stopped talking and
the voice was heard no more. Until broad daylight appeared the army
anxiously awaited the expected attack. It did not come, however. Scouts
could discover no Indians in the neighborhood and the purpose of the
harangue remained as great a mystery as ever.
On the twenty-third of July, General Henry’s corps set out for Blue
Mounds to secure provisions. Mason, Joseph, Robert and Deerfoot went
with this detachment and arriving there that evening were joined by
Generals Atkinson and Alexander. The two commanders had heard of the
rapid pursuit of Black Hawk and had hastily set out from Lake Koshkonong
to join the victorious army.
General Atkinson at once assumed command of all the forces collected at
Blue Mounds. He distributed rations and ordered the pursuit at once to
be resumed. The army departed and during the days of July twenty-seventh
and twenty-eighth crossed the Wisconsin River. Rafts, made from the log
houses at the deserted village of Helena, carried the army across the
stream. The advance was continued and General Henry’s brigade was
ordered to bring up the rear in charge of the baggage.
“Why do you suppose they put us back here?” exclaimed Robert hotly. “We
have done most of the fighting and this is our reward. Now if we catch
up with Black Hawk again those others will have first chance and will
get all the glory. We’ll be left out of it almost entirely.”
“You just said why it was done,” remarked John Mason quietly.
“No, I asked why it was done,” corrected Robert.
“You said we had done most of the fighting so far,” explained Mason.
“That, to my mind, is why we are stationed back here.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Joseph, greatly puzzled by his friend’s
remark.
“Simply this: General Henry has gotten what little glory there has been
to get in this war. The others are jealous of him and jealous of the way
he won the battle at Wisconsin Heights. They think that the next fight
will put an end to the war and they don’t intend that General Henry
shall get any credit for that, if they can help it.”
“Is that really so?” exclaimed Robert.
“I’m sure of it,” replied Mason. “I shouldn’t like to be quoted as
saying so, though.”
“It’s a pretty mean trick, I should say,” cried Robert. “I hope General
Henry will fool them. He has three hundred men in his brigade, and if I
were in his place I’d take them and go off on my own hook. We’ve got
enough here to defeat all Black Hawk can put in the field.”
“General Henry must obey orders, Red,” reminded Mason. He smiled at the
boy’s impetuosity, and, though he concealed it, had somewhat the same
feeling that Robert had.
Five or six miles northeast of Helena the trail was discovered leading
westward toward the Mississippi. The country it traversed was rugged and
unfamiliar to the Whites. Their Indian guides were scarcely better
acquainted with it and evidently Black Hawk had chosen this route to
retard the progress of the white army and give his people more time to
escape.
Great swamps loomed up before the army. Rushing rivers had to be
crossed, while thickly wooded hills constantly imposed themselves
between the Whites and the fleeing redskins. The trail grew constantly
fresher, however, and this fact spurred the men on. Corpses of dead Sacs
strewed the pathway; some had died of wounds and some of starvation.
Dead ponies, the flesh partly eaten from their sides, and the
half-chewed pieces of bark showed how desperately in need of food the
Indians were.
On the night of August first an old Sac Indian was captured. Unable to
keep pace with the main body he had been abandoned. The army was now
about ten miles from the Mississippi and from the captured Indian it was
learned that Black Hawk intended to cross the great river early the
following day. General Atkinson’s army was nearly exhausted from its
recent exertions and he decided that a few hours’ rest was absolutely
necessary for his men. Accordingly, a halt was called about eight
o’clock of the evening of August first, and orders given to proceed at
two o’clock the following morning.
At that hour the bugles sounded and the army once more was soon on the
march. A grim spirit of determination filled the men and they were eager
for the fray.
“I wish we were in front,” complained Robert as they started out.
“Don’t worry, Red,” advised Mason. “I have a feeling that we’ll get all
the fighting we want, all right.”
“Look at Deerfoot,” directed Joseph in a low voice.
The Pottowattomie rode proudly forward, his head held high and a gleam
in his eyes that boded ill for his enemies. His attitude reflected that
of the whole army.