A FRIEND IN NEED.
Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, his
weight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with both
fists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himself
ready to use nature's weapons to his utmost ability.
He heard the soft moccasin press the layer of brown autumn leaves, and
the next moment the point of a knobby, painted nose came slowly in sight
around the side of the trunk, followed by the sloping forehead, the
hideous face and the shoulders of the warrior, whose right hand was held
so far to the rear with the gun that it was the last to come into view.
As the Winnebago caught sight of the white-faced boy, his countenance
was disfigured by a grin that made it more repulsive than before.
"Oogh! brudder!--oogh!--Yenghese--"
Just then Terry Clark let fly. He was a lusty lad, and he landed both
fists, one after another, squarely in the painted face, with such force
that the warrior was knocked completely off his feet. He went over
backward as though from the kick of a horse; but, contrary to the hopes
of his assailant, he did not let go of his gun. Had he done so, the
youth would have caught it up and shot him before he could regain his
feet.
The blow was most presumptuous, and would have insured the death of the
one who gave it but for the intervention of the second Indian, who
seemed to take but a couple of bounds from the tree near which he was
standing when he landed on the spot. The infuriated Winnebago was in the
act of clambering to his feet, when he caught sight of the lithe,
graceful warrior, standing only a couple of steps away, with loaded
rifle pointed at him.
"Dog of a Winnebago," he said in a voice slightly above an ordinary
tone; "if he harms the pale face, he shall die!"
There are some expressions so forcible that they can not be made more
so. The young Indian spoke in the lingo of the Winnebago, whose totem he
had recognized, but his posture, erect on his feet, with his cocked
rifle in such a position that he had only to pull the trigger to send
the bullet through the bronzed skull before him;--all this required no
words of explanation. The Winnebago grasped the situation, and, to use
the homely expression common at this day, he saw that the other "had the
drop" on him.
The Indian, though larger, older, heavier and stronger, was taken at
such disadvantage that he ceased his effort to rise, and looked up at
his conqueror with a helplessness so grotesque that under other
circumstances it would have caused a smile. Indeed, Terry Clark did
indulge in a slight laugh, for he saw that it was safe to do so; the
Winnebago was on the ground before his master.
"If ye want me to ring the old coow-bell, I'll be glad to obleege, for
the performance looks as if a little moosic would give tone to the same.
Howsumever, I'll step back and let this good looking young gintleman run
the show."
Thereupon Terry withdrew several paces and watched the proceedings with
a depth of interest that can be fully understood.
The look of the Winnebago, who was half reclining on his side,
supporting his body with the hand that grasped his gun, plainly
indicated the question that came from his lips.
"Why does my brother look with evil eyes on the Wolf, who has come from
the lodges of the Winnebagos? Are not all red men brothers?"
"Deerfoot is a Shawanoe, whose warriors have consorted with those of the
Winnebagos; but Deerfoot has left his lodge beyond the Mississippi and
lives alone in the woods. He will not hurt the brave Winnebago who
fights men, but he slays the Wolf that bites the children of the pale
faces, that have never harmed him."
Possibly the Wolf was inclined to argue the matter with the Shawanoe,
who had caught him at such disadvantage; but the manner and words of
Deerfoot showed that he was in no mood for discussion.
"What does my brother want?" asked the Winnebago, in a voice that
proved all fight had left him. The most, indeed, that he ventured to do
was gently to rub his forehead and nose, where the fists of the sturdy
Terry Clark had landed.
"Let the Wolf rise to his feet, but when he does so, his gun must lie on
the ground."
This was a harsh order, but there was no help for it; the Indian
hesitated a moment, and then, black and scowling, he slowly assumed the
upright posture, and, folding his arms across his chest, looked in the
face of the bright-eyed Deerfoot, to signify that he was awaiting his
next command.
"The Wolf shall now turn his face away from Deerfoot."
The Winnebago obeyed the order as promptly as if he were a soldier
undergoing drill.
"Let my brother now raise his eyes, until he sees the beech with the
white trunk," said Deerfoot, using the word "brother" for the first
time.
The object to which he alluded was perhaps fifty yards distant, the
light color of the bark showing only here and there among the branches
and undergrowth that happened to be less frequent than in other
directions. The Wolf signified that he recognized the tree to which his
conqueror referred.
"Now let my brother run; when he reaches the beech he can leap behind
it, and it will shield his body; if my brother is slow Deerfoot may fire
his gun and Wolf will never bite again."
The Winnebago wanted no explanation of this threat. It was hard for him
to depart, leaving his rifle, but it was harder for him to lose his
life, and he did not hesitate as to the choice. He made one tremendous
bound that carried him a dozen feet, and then sped through the wood like
a frightened deer. When he had passed half of the intervening distance,
he seemed to fancy that he was not making satisfactory time for the
Shawanoe, who, he doubtless imagined, was standing with leveled gun,
finger on the trigger. He therefore began leaping from side to side, so
as to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also of
further confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which added
such grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his head
and made the woods ring with laughter.
"I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show."
Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment the
Wolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flint
of the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the antics
of the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein of
humor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed,
but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyes
which showed how much he enjoyed the scene.
The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and for
the first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have been
reassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear of
the Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood.
By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the new
arrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able to
understand any of the words that passed between the two, though their
actions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. But
a person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feel
otherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interference
was made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached out
his honest hand.
"If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand of
yours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when he
catches the chills an' faver."
Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave him
his hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The young
Shawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly.
"My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makes
the heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend."
"Ye were a friend indade, though ye'll admit, Deerfut, that I toppled
over the spalpeen in foine style, now didn't I?"
"The Wolf who is a Winnebago, fell as though the lightning struck him."
"How is it," asked Terry with no little curiosity, "that ye, who are as
full-blooded an Injin as the Winnebago, can talk the English with almost
as foine an accint as meself?"
"Deerfoot has lived among the pale faces; when he was a small child he
went with the Shawanoes to harm the white men, but they took him
prisoner; they treated him kindly, and told him about God, who loves all
His children, whether they be white or red, or the color of the night;
they showed him how to read books, and to make his name and words on
paper, so that others might read."
"Can ye read and write?" asked the astonished Terry.
Deerfoot smiled and nodded his head.
"Well, well, that bates ivery thing!" said Terry, who instantly repeated
the absurd belief of many of his race, by adding, "I didn't s'pose that
an Injin could learn."
Without replying to the last remark, the Shawanoe, looking the lad
steadily in the eye, said, "Deerfoot has a message for Fred Linden; does
my brother know him?"
"Do I know him?" repeated Terry; "I know the same better than I know
mesilf; he started wid me to hunt the coow, and I rickons that he can't
be very fur away."
"He's coming," quietly said Deerfoot, looking off to the left of Terry,
as if about to salute a new arrival. The Irish lad wheeled in his quick
way, but his sharp eyes caught no glimpse of his approaching friend.