AN INFURIATE SHAWANOE.
WITH the departure of Fred and Terry, Deerfoot felt as though he had
flung off a blanket that had been wrapped about his shoulders: his arms
were now free and he could use them at will.
He shrewdly suspected that his young friends would fancy they had been
put upon their mettle, and would, therefore, exert themselves to their
fullest to meet his expectations. He was glad it was so, and he would
have been much better pleased could he have known they were in the cabin
at the foot of the mountains, or, better still, safe at their home in
Greville.
Deerfoot now stealthily approached as close to the camp-fire as was
safe. He screened his body behind a tree, but he was nigh enough to
catch every word that was said in an ordinary tone, and he understood
the Winnebago tongue well enough to want no interpreter.
The Shawanoe had hardly taken his position to act as cowen, when the
venison steaks were about one-fourth broiled, which was enough to
satisfy the parties interested. Those who had charge of the culinary
operations divided the meat into a dozen slices, so that each warrior
was provided for, and the feast opened. The strong animal appetites, and
teeth like those of the steel traps that were set at the foot of the
Ozarks, soon brought the feast to a close, after which the feasters
walked the few steps necessary to the brook near at hand, and lying down
on their faces drank their fill, just as so many pigs would have done,
grunting with satisfaction as they came back and resumed their pipes.
All this Deerfoot had seen so often that it had no interest to him. He
kept his eyes on two warriors--the Wolf and one whom he had never seen
before. These two sat near each other on the ground while eating, and
they talked together in low tones. Since none of those around could
overhear the words, it was impossible for Deerfoot, with all his
wonderful acuteness, to catch a syllable. He would have given a great
deal could he have done so, for he suspected the dark plot that was
taking shape in their dusky brains. There was a dangerous flash in the
black eyes of the young Shawanoe while he watched their movements.
It was clear to him that the Wolf had lost prestige, instead of gaining
sympathy by his last misfortune. Having gone out to gather wool he had
come back shorn, to go out a second time and to come back shorn to a
still more ludicrous degree. The manner in which the Wolf kept apart
from the rest, affiliating only with the single warrior at his side,
showed the feeling in the party.
It was easy to recognize the leader or chieftain, though his dress was
precisely like the rest, but his air of authority told the story plainly
enough. The Winnebagos were a fine set of men in their war paint, and,
as I have said, were able to give a good account of themselves in any
scrimmage in which they might become engaged.
As unexpectedly to the warriors as to Deerfoot himself, the Winnebago
chieftain, who was standing on one side of the fire where his rifle with
several others leaned against a tree, took his pipe from between his
lips and spoke to the Wolf in tones which caused that redskin to look up
in wonder. Seeing that the sachem hesitated, as if waiting for him to
rise, the Wolf came nimbly to his feet, as did his friend at his elbow.
The majority of the rest, however, sat still and showed no special
interest in what was going on.
"The Wolf was the bravest of the Winnebagos," remarked the chief, "when
our war parties met those of the Sauks and Foxes and Pottawatomies who
dared to come into our country; the heart of the Wolf bounded with
delight and no tomahawk was hurled with such swiftness as his: no gun
was fired more often; no scalping knife took back more scalps to hang
upon the ridge-pole of his wigwam.
"But the Wolf came across the Big Water and his heart longed for the
scalp of the pale face; he went out to hunt for it; he came back; the
tongue of the Wolf is not double and tells no lies; the Wolf met a
Shawanoe warrior who took his gun from him.
"It was the young Shawanoe called Deerfoot; the Winnebagos have been
told about Deerfoot, the friend of the white man; the heart of Black
Bear (meaning himself) was angry; he was chief of the Winnebagos; he
told the Wolf that he must go forth and bring back his rifle; the Wolf
went; he did not bring back his rifle, but left his knife behind;
Deerfoot saw him and took it away from him.
"Deerfoot is but a youth; he is not a mighty warrior; the Wolf must get
his gun and knife; he must bring back the scalp of the Shawanoe, he
shall take Wau-ko-mia-tan with him; each shall have his gun; let them
bring back the scalps of Deerfoot and the two pale faces with him; then
will Black Bear forget that the Wolf was not always a great warrior.
"Let the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan make haste; the Winnebagos are on the
war path; they will carry back with them the scalps of the pale faces
who are gathering the skins of the beaver and otter and foxes by the
base of the mountain."
It may be said that this little speech developed the plan of the
Winnebago campaign. The Wolf had fallen so low in the opinion of his
chieftain and brother warriors, that it was necessary for him to take
heroic measures to restore himself. Seeing this, the sachem had just
notified him that he must secure the scalps of Deerfoot and the two
white boys with him. Wau-ko-mia-tan (who was the warrior that sat at the
elbow of the Wolf), was to be his companion. The chieftain knew how
closely the two were allied, and he indulged in the little fiction of
allowing one to keep company with the other, when the truth was he was
afraid to let the Wolf go alone. Since on each of the two former
excursions he had lost something, the probabilities were that if he came
back again, it would be without his scalp.
The eagerness with which the Wolf accepted this task, the moment he
found that he was to have a companion, showed that he was an admirable
representative of the average Indian: gratitude to him was a vice rather
than a virtue.
The expression on the face of Deerfoot showed that all forbearance was
ended. He had twice spared the ingrate: he would do so no more.
Had the Wolf told his leader that the mercy of Deerfoot had touched his
heart, so that his arm could never more be raised in anger against him,
but that he would seek the scalps of the hunters at the base of the
mountains, the Shawanoe would have felt an admiration for him. Had he
sought out Deerfoot and asked for the return of his weapons (though that
would have been very unlike his race), Deerfoot would have restored them
to him. But now, as it was, when they should meet it would be as mortal
enemies.
Nothing showed the vicious ingratitude of the Wolf more vividly than the
fact that instead of waiting for the morning before entering upon his
wicked enterprise, he started within three minutes after Black Bear, the
chieftain, finished his little speech. The sachem picked up his own
rifle from where it leaned against the tree and handed it to him, while
Wau-ko-mia-tan stood at the other end of the group, until the warrior,
his ugly face glowing like that of a demon, stepped to his side. Then
the two, without a word or motion like a farewell, turned away and
vanished in the gloom of the wood.
They had not taken a dozen steps, when Deerfoot glided from behind the
tree and passed after them, as if he were the shadow thrown out by the
light of the camp-fire. The expression on his face was such as would
have hushed Fred Linden and Terry Clark to awed silence could they have
seen it.
The two Winnebagos did not come directly back to the trail, but fell
into it at almost the precise point where Deerfoot had led his two
friends. They stopped a few minutes and talked in their low, guttural
tones, none of which was understood by the Shawanoe, who listened with
the closest attention.
There was considerable distance at that time between the warriors and
Fred and Terry, who had set out with the ambition to keep up their
traveling through the entire night. The Winnebagos did not wait long,
when they moved on at their usual pace.
Less than a mile from the camp, the warriors again came to a halt and as
before talked in a low voice. The point was where the wood was more
open, so that the moonlight which found its way among the limbs above
showed their forms quite plainly. More than that, enough of their words
were audible to enable the listening Shawanoe, who had crept dangerously
near, to catch their meaning.
The Winnebagos turned off at almost a right angle and left the trail
behind them. The ground was broken, but they had not gone far, when it
became evident that they were following another path, though it was so
faintly marked that no eye except that of an American Indian could have
discovered it in such an uncertain light.
As they advanced, the surface became not only rougher, but the grade
which they ascended was so steep that it would have been tiresome to an
ordinary traveler.
Suddenly Deerfoot himself wheeled aside from the indistinct path to
which the Winnebagos clung and passed lightly and with great speed
through the wood where no one had walked before. So swiftly did he make
his way, that, though he crossed a deep ravine and went a considerable
distance, it was less than live minutes before he came back to the
shadowy trail.
Instead of keeping along this path, in the same direction as that of his
enemies, he turned about and advanced to meet the red men who had dared
to come that way. He walked with his usual noiseless step, and stopped
on reaching the edge of the ravine over which he had leaped when it
crossed his path only a few minutes before.
This gully was more than twenty feet in depth, and about half as wide.
The trail led to the edge on one side, continuing on the margin directly
opposite, so that any one who wished to keep to it was perforce
compelled to leap the chasm--a slight task for any Indian, though it
would have been easy to make a bridge by means of a fallen tree.
The moon was now directly overhead, so that a flood of light fell into
the craggy ravine, lighting up the gray rocks and bowlders, the
prostrate trees that had fallen from the sides, the vegetation along the
slopes and the mossy grass that had been watered by the torrents when
they roared through. The trees grew rank and close to the edge at the
top--so close that some of them had slidden off and fallen part way
below, carrying the gravel, sand and earth with the prong-like roots
part way to the bottom.
So faint was the mark of the trail opposite that even with the help of
the moonbeams, it took an eye as keen as that of Deerfoot to tell where
his enemies would appear. But he coolly awaited them, though his
calmness was the fearful calm of a fury such as even he rarely knew.