A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART.
The Indian warrior whom Terry Clark saw advancing stealthily through the
undergrowth, cow-bell in hand, was a frightful object. His head and
shoulders were bent forward, and he was stepping slowly and silently,
while he glanced from right to left, as if searching for some object, or
awaiting the occurrence of an expected event. His face was daubed with
black and red paint, his long hair, as coarse as that of a horse's tail,
dangled about his shoulders and alongside his neck, so that his eyes,
when staring through it, seemed to be blazing among so much tangled
brush. The ordinary hunting shirt, fringed in front, inclosed his chest,
and was gathered at the waist by a sash or belt into which were thrust
his hunting knife and tomahawk. The usual breechcloth, leggins and
moccasins completed his dress.
He carried a fine rifle in his left hand, in a trailing position, while
a powder horn and bullet pouch were supported by a string passing over
his shoulder. He was what may be called a thoroughly equipped warrior,
without taking into account the cow-bell, which was suspended by the
thumb and fingers of the right hand. It was thus he must have grasped
the implement when he caused it to give out the sound that caught the
ear of Fred Linden and Terry Clark. But at the moment the Irish lad saw
him, and for some minutes after, he held the bell in such careful poise
that it gave no sound at all.
The Indian probably suspected his imitation of the action of the animal
was so poor that it was likely to cause distrust, and therefore he was
sparing in resorting to the stratagem.
Now, nothing can be clearer than that if the warrior was in such a plain
view of Terry Clark, the latter was equally exposed to his eye. The
Indian was moving in his guarded fashion over a course at right angles
to that followed by the lad, who was quick to realize his peril. He knew
that every second he remained thus exposed he was likely to be seen. He
had hardly taken a glance of his enemy, when he stooped so that his
knees almost touched the ground, and moved as noiselessly and quickly as
he could to the nearest tree, behind which he took shelter.
This tree was an oak, large enough to hide two such boys, standing side
by side, so that the youth felt secure for the time.
"Ah, if I only had me gun," was the regret that naturally came to him;
"I would quickly settle with the spalpeen that stole old Brindle, and
now wants to run away wid me."
It will be admitted that the situation of Terry was peculiar, for he was
quite close to the warrior, who, there was every reason to believe, was
hunting for him, and who was so nigh that there was imminent danger of
discovery. It might be asked why the redskin should have taken this
course, for in some respects it had more than one absurd feature. If he
wanted to kill a white person, all this maneuvering with a cow-bell was
ridiculous, while his conduct from first to last was in some respects
unreasonable. The best explanation was that which was made sometime
afterward by a person, who as yet has not been introduced to the reader,
but who, when he does appear, will be admitted to be the best judge. I
allude to Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
The Indian with the cow-bell was a Winnebago warrior, whose home was a
long ways to the northward, but who had gone thither in company with
several others on what may be called a tour of investigation. The
driving off of the cow was probably an inspiration of the moment. The
Indians kept her until they had got all the milk they wanted, first
removing the bell so that her friends could not recover her until they
were through. The stratagem which I have been describing was an
afterthought. None of the Winnebagos except the one who tried the plan
would have any thing to do with it, though they were willing enough that
every white person in the settlement of Greville should perish, if the
same could be brought about without risk to them.
Left to himself, the Winnebago decided to make a prisoner of whomsoever
should be sent to find the cow. He had reason to believe that this
person would be a youth, and since every thing was so quiet in that
section, he was not likely to be armed. Hence, it would be an easy
matter to decoy him a goodly distance from the settlement, when the
warrior could pounce upon, make him a prisoner and compel him to go with
him. After the couple were far enough from the settlement the lad could
be put to death, if his captor or the party to which the captor
belonged, should so elect.
Terry Clark had stood behind the sheltering tree for perhaps five
minutes, when he became aware of an alarming fact: the warrior with the
bell was slowly approaching him. The faint tinkle that it gave out once
or twice told this, and when finally the lad ventured to peep around the
side of the tree, the sight was a startling one. The Indian had risen
almost to the upright posture, and holding the gun and bell as
described, was moving directly toward the oak behind which the boy
stood. Moreover at the moment the latter took the cautious look, the
visage of the Indian showed that he was looking straight at the tree.
"By the powers!" gasped Terry, "but the spalpeen observed me, and I'm
thinkin' that he saw me before I did him."
It was not at all unlikely that such was the case. The Indian may have
felt sure of his victim, and so he indulged in a little by-play, as a
cat often does with a mouse. Such a cruel proceeding was characteristic
of his race.
The belief that this was the case placed Terry Clark in a most trying
position. He was without the means with which to defend himself, and in
fact was hopeless. It was useless to try to run away, for if the warrior
could not overtake him at once, he could bring him down with his rifle.
You know how rare a thing it is for an Irishman to submit meekly, even
when there is no hope in resistance. Terry muttered:
"If he lays hands on me, there's going to be a fight; I wish Fred was
near, that he could see that I git fair play."
No person could have been more in earnest than was the Irish lad.
"I'll wait till his head comes round the corner of that tree and then
I'll give him a whack that'll tumble him over on his back, afore he
knows what's the matter wid him; then I'll amuse myself wid hammerin'
him after he is down till I git tired and then I'll take his gun and
knife and tomahawk and the bell and make him walk before me to the
sittlement."
The lad had just gone over in his mind this roseate programme, when a
soft tinkle told him that the Winnebago was within a few steps of the
tree; and at the same moment that the youth made this interesting
discovery, another still more astonishing one broke upon him.
Just fifty feet away and behind a trunk very similar to the one that
sheltered the lad, stood a second Indian warrior. His position was such
that he was in plain view of Terry, though the Winnebago could not see
him except when the latter should approach quite close to the shelter of
the boy. The strange Indian was closely watching the hostile one, and,
with that remarkable intuition that sometimes comes to a person in grave
crises, Terry was convinced that he was an enemy of the Winnebago,
though whether a friend of the youth was not so certain.
In his amazement, the lad for the moment forgot his own danger and gave
his attention to the stranger, who was the most striking looking warrior
he had ever seen. He seemed to be about eighteen or twenty years of age,
and was the picture of manly grace and beauty.
He had long, luxuriant black hair which hung about his shoulders, being
gathered by a loose band at the neck, so as to keep it from getting in
front of his eyes. In the crown of this natural covering were thrust
three stained eagle feathers, while there were two rows of colored beads
around the neck. The fringed hunting shirt which reached almost to his
knees was of a dull, yellow color and the sash or belt around the waist
was of a dark red. A small but handsome bracelet encircled his left
wrist, and the fringes of his leggins were of varied and brilliant hues,
as were the beaded moccasins that incased his shapely feet. A tomahawk
and knife were in his girdle, while he held a finely ornamented rifle in
his right hand, the manner in which he manipulated the weapon showing
that he was left-handed.
The face was strikingly fine, the nose being slightly aquiline, the
cheek bones less prominent, and the whole contour more symmetrical than
is generally the case with his race. There was something in the
situation that evidently amused him, for Terry saw him smile so
unmistakably that he noticed his small and regular white teeth.
It was plain that he was watching the movements of the Winnebago, though
he said nothing, and made no gesture to the lad, whose wondering look he
must have understood. Be that as it may, the sight of the strange
Indian, and the belief that he was an enemy of the other with the
cow-bell, inspired the Irish lad with a courage that he would not have
known had the other warrior been absent.
"He's waiting to see how I condooct mesilf when the spalpeen lays hands
on me," thought Terence; "he won't have to wait long."
The youth was right. The crouching Winnebago, doubtless feeling that he
had no immediate use for the bell that had served him so well, dropped
it to the ground beside him, and holding only his rifle in hand, stepped
forward with the same cat-like tread that had marked his advance from
the first. He knew that his victim was shrinking behind the trunk of the
oak, and he was having his own peculiar sport with him.
So intense was the attention of Terry that he heard distinctly the
footsteps of the warrior, who a moment later was close enough to touch
the tree with his hand, had he been so minded.