FRED LINDEN RECEIVES A MESSAGE FROM THE OZARK CAMP.
As soon as Fred Linden discovered the deception respecting the cow-bell,
he made all haste toward the point whence came the sound, in the hope of
warning Terry in time to save him from treachery. You will understand
how quickly events passed when told that, although he came almost
directly to the spot, he did not reach it until Deerfoot the Shawanoe
asked for him. This wonderful Indian, of whom I shall have considerably
more to tell, heard the coming of the lad whom he had never seen, before
either the eye or ear of Terry Clark could detect his approach.
As may well be supposed, Fred Linden was amazed at what met his eyes.
The sight of Terry in friendly converse with a strange Indian was the
opposite of what he expected to see. He slackened his hurried walk and
looked inquiringly at Terry. The latter could talk fast when he chose,
and the few sentences he rattled off as his companion came up made the
matter tolerably clear.
While the questioning and talk were going on, Deerfoot stood leaning on
his long gun and gazing with a certain natural dignity at the two
friends. He said nothing nor did he appear to show any special
curiosity, though had any one studied his countenance, he would have
seen that he was watching Fred Linden. He had said that he carried a
message to him, and it was no more than natural that he should wish to
know something about him.
As for Fred himself he did not try to hide his profound interest in the
remarkable warrior who had appeared at such an opportune time, but of
whom he had never before heard a word. He knew that the settlers along
the frontier often found valuable allies in the friendly Indians, and he
concluded that this red man was one of those who, having been maltreated
by his own people or kindly used by the whites, had given his loyalty to
the latter; for in the brief narrative of Terry Clark, he had time only
to tell the leading facts about the rescue of himself. Just then,
therefore, the Irish lad knew more about Deerfoot than did the American.
But it takes only a little time for such a group to become acquainted
with each other. A general handshaking followed, and it happened more
than once that all three were talking at the same moment. Had any one
been able to translate the expression of Deerfoot's countenance, he
would have seen that he was pleased with both the lads whom he now met
for the first time. There was a rollicking good nature, a cheery courage
and ever bubbling hopefulness about Terry that were contagious, and like
so much sunshine that went with him wherever he went.
Fred Linden was of that manly mold and rugged appearance that he would
have drawn favorable attention wherever he might be.
Such a lad in these days would have been picked out as a born athlete,
one who was capable, with proper training, to become a first-class ball
player, oarsman or boxer. He was a swift runner, a strong leaper, an
expert rifle shot, and his rugged frame and rough, outdoor life gave
him an endurance that few men could surpass. He was as tall as Deerfoot,
with broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, clear, keen eyes, a fine
chest and a symmetrical frame.
The clothes of the two boys, it is hardly necessary to say, were of
homespun, for a hundred years ago it would have been hard for them to
procure any other kind of goods. The short coat was somewhat like those
used to-day by bicyclists, reaching only a short distance below the
waist, where the girdle was fastened in front. The trowsers, of the same
material, reached to the knees, below which were the hunting leggins,
common along the border. Then came the warm, woolen stockings and thick,
heavy shoes, while the head was surmounted by a woolen cap, made by the
deft fingers at home, and without any pattern. It was soft, and having
no forepiece, sat on the head in whichever position it happened to be
first placed. In this respect it resembled the valuable sealskins of the
present day. The coats of the lads were open in front, and within were
the pockets, which they used as required, the trowsers also being
provided with a couple of these prime necessities.
When the rattling conversation had gone on for several minutes, Terry
ran a few steps and picked up the bell that the Indian had placed on the
ground. The string which had held it about the neck of the animal was
missing, having probably been cut by the knife of the impatient Wolf.
"I'll take the same back home wid me and put it on Brindle if I iver
maat her; I shouldn't be so 'stonished that I couldn't spake if I should
find that the spalpeen had killed her."
"No," said Fred, "she isn't harmed; I found her off yonder, cropping the
buds and leaves, as innocently as though she hadn't done any thing wrong
in leading us on this long chase. I started her toward home, and if she
keeps up the gait she must be pretty near there by this time."
This was good news to Terry, for the loss of the animal would have been
serious to the family of Mr. MacClaskey, her owner. The Irish lad had
hardly picked up the bell when Deerfoot pointed to the gun lying on the
ground, where it had been left by the Wolf.
"That belongs to my brother."
The delighted Terry could hardly believe what was told him, and he stood
looking doubtfully at Deerfoot, as if suspecting he had heard him amiss.
"It was you who captured the gun, Deerfoot, and so, if it belongs to any
one, ye are the spalpeen."
The Shawanoe looked down at his own handsome weapon and shook his head.
He had no need of any other weapon. Besides, this singular youth could
not have conscientiously taken it. He did not feel justified in keeping
it for his own use, no matter if in sore need of such a weapon; but,
since the Winnebago had made his demonstration against Terry Clark, and
was compelled to leave the gun behind, when he was permitted to go, it
seemed proper that the prize should fall into the hands of the Irish
lad.
What gave special propriety to the act was the fact that, although Fred
Linden was the owner of a fine gun, Terry had none. When his father
lost his life, his rifle was never recovered, and though there was one
in the family of MacClaskey, the youth had no claim upon it. He longed
for such a weapon, with a longing that it would be hard to understand.
The prize, therefore, was appreciated to its full value. He picked it up
with an embarrassed grin, which quickly became natural when he turned it
over in his hands and saw what an excellent piece it was.
"More than likely it belonged to a white man in the first place," said
Fred; "so it is right enough that it should come back to one of his own
race."
"It's loaded," said Terry, slightly raising the hammer and noticing the
powder in the pan. Then he brought the gun to his shoulder and pointing
it at the white trunk of the beech, which partly showed through the
intervening branches and undergrowth, he said:
"If the spalpeen should peep out from behind that tree, I'm thinkin' I
could hit him a harder blow than when I landed me two fists on his
mug."
"The Winnebago is a long ways off," said Deerfoot, with a shake of his
head; "he may meet my brother some day, but it will not be in this
place."
The young Shawanoe having learned all that was to be learned about his
young friends, now reached his hand in the breast of his hunting shirt
and drew out a small, closely-printed Bible, from between the leaves of
which he took a piece of paper that had been folded several times. He
glanced at the superscription, as if to make sure it was right, and then
handed it to Fred, who, as may be supposed, took it with astonishment.
He recognized the penciled writing as that of his father.
Parting the folds, he read the following:
MY DEAR FRED:
You know that when we left home there were three of us, Hardin,
Bowlby and myself. There are three of us still, but Bowlby
considers himself of no account for some weeks to come, because of
a hurt to his foot which will prevent his getting around for a long
time. Such being the case, I have concluded, now that I have the
chance, to send for you to join us. You are old enough and strong
enough to make a full hand, and you can give us good help. Since we
have all the animals, you will come afoot, but you will find no
trouble in keeping to the trail, which has been traveled often
enough to make it plain. It is no more than a hundred miles from
Greville to our camp at the foot of the Ozark Mountains, so you
ought to have no difficulty in reaching here in the course of three
or four days. Love to your mother and Edith.
I send this by a young Shawanoe warrior, called Deerfoot. He is the
most remarkable Indian I ever knew. I shall have a good deal to
tell you about him when you reach here.
YOUR FATHER.
"Deerfoot bids his brothers good-by," said the young Indian, offering
his hand, when he saw Fred had finished reading his letter; "he hopes
that he shall see them again."
"It won't be our fault if he doesn't," was the cordial response of Fred
Linden, in which Terry heartily joined him. After a few more pleasant
words they parted, Deerfoot following in the footsteps of the fleeing
Winnebago, while the others moved to the northward in the direction of
the creek. They turned aside a little from the direct course so as to
hunt for Brindle, that Fred had seen, but she was not found. To their
delight, however, they saw her footprints on the edge of the creek,
proving that she had gone home with the directness of one who felt
remorse for wandering from the straight path. She had swum the stream,
and was doubtless before the MacClaskey cabin at that moment.
But standing close to the edge of the creek, the boys became aware of a
hard fact: it had not only risen with great rapidity during the last
half hour, so as to become a rushing torrent, but it was still rising so
fast that it was extremely dangerous for the boys to try to cross it in
the canoe. Indeed, they hesitated to make the attempt, but finally
concluded to do so.