AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was
wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour,
when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but
he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from
a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted.
Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern,
where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light,
and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough,
but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites
were such as wait on high health.
It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much
as each of the others. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from
the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he
would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him.
When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was
a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out
the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance.
He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight,
was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the
incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I
could not have detected, would have told their full story to him.
But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood
fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small
brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he
paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the
cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream once more,
brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to
climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have
made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened
with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern
within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together
in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would
have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the
large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its
way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below.
The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no
sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place
where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in
the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most
exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered
the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had
just thrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like
that of noonday.
Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the
Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for
the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered,
so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth
floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling
attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and
through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a
similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth
of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way
between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did
not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental,
though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe.
The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make
the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always
showed a deliberation in his speech, as if he weighed each word before
allowing it to fall from his lips.
Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and
since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions
until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long
conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe
chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a
small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white
people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death,
that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people
against the white settlements.
He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that,
but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the
world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to
harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost
children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt
attention, and all in time (as you have been told in another place),
the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek
and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing
him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and
devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men.
Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences
with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton
and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had
rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions
of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst:
they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into
their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them.
Finally the efforts to take him prisoner became so far reaching that he
saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The
rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their
campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young
renegade, whom they hated with a hatred like that of the tigers of the
jungle.
You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as
an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to
them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such
high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the
country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory.
There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end
his days.
"Deerfoot," said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended,
"Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better
satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with
you."
"Why does my brother think of danger?"
"Because _you_ do; I know it by your actions."
The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think
that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend
was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions,
Fred added:
"I don't know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you
started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am
quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and
the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the
lookout for a chance to revenge themselves."
Deerfoot's face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head.
"My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of
Deerfoot."
Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment.
"How come ye to know all that, Fred?"
"I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the
actions of Deerfoot since he joined us to-day. In the first place, he
wouldn't have made us change our camping place if he hadn't had some
misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and
his decision to keep watch to-night: why what could tell the story more
plainly?"
"Begorrah," said the admiring Terry, "ye are not such a big fool as you
look to be; I never thought of that."
"Which looks as if you are a bigger dunce than you seem; but," added
Fred, turning toward the Shawanoe, "have you seen any thing of the
Winnebagos?"
"Deerfoot has seen their footprints in the woods; they are on the watch
for his white brothers that they may gain their scalps, because the gun
of the Wolf was taken from him."
"They seem to have hard work in finding us: where do those Winnebagos
come from?"
Deerfoot pointed to the northward, or rather to a little east of north.
"Their hunting grounds are many suns' travel that way."
"Why do the spalpeens come down in this part of the world, and why don't
they behave thimselves whin they do?" demanded Terry, with some
indignation.
Deerfoot shook his head, as though the question was more than he could
answer.
"Deerfoot has met Shawanoes and Sacs and Wyandottes and Pawnees far away
from their villages and hunting grounds, besides the strange Indians
who come much further from the setting sun. The red men travel whither
they will. Why the Winnebagos passed near the home of my brothers only
they can tell."
"Well, they're a bad lot," said Terry, "to try the mean trick they did
on me; though," he added the next moment, "I'm glad they done the same,
for if they hadn't, how would I've got hold of this lovely gun? Do ye
think we shall have any more trouble with them?"
"Deerfoot believes there will be trouble, and it will come soon!"
"Well, if it does, all ye have to do is to take away the rist of their
guns and set 'em on the run home agin."