THE SIGNAL FIRE.
Deerfoot the Shawanoe remained in the vicinity of the Winnebago camp
until the warriors made their start at an early hour the following
morning. He took more than one survey of the red men, who gathered about
the blazing fire and talked over the remarkable events of the night. He
could easily have slain every one of the scouts whom they kept moving
through the wood, but he had no wish to do so.
He heard and saw enough to convince him that they intended to make an
attack on the camp in the mountains, but he did not feel absolutely sure
that they would not turn aside and follow in the path of the Wolf and
Wau-ko-mia-tan, until the party had advanced several miles to the
southward along the Ozark trail.
It seemed strange that the Winnebagos paid no attention to the two
missing warriors, and yet, after all, it was not singular. They knew
they were dead and it was therefore a waste of time to give heed to
them. If by any possibility they were alive, they must take care of
themselves, just as all brave Indians did: if unable to do so, the
consequences must be on their own heads.
So the ten Winnebagos, under the lead of the famous chieftain Black
Bear, moved along the trail in the direction of the camp of the Hunters
of the Ozark, and the expressions and words that had been overheard by
the watchful Shawanoe, left no doubt that by way of revenge they meant
to slay the three trappers who had located there for the winter.
The Winnebagos came from the north-east. Their lodges, villages and
hunting grounds were many moons' travel away, and the section of country
through which they were journeying was so sparsely settled that they had
no fear of pursuit. Now, when you give an American Indian the chance to
commit some vicious mischief with no fear of being made to pay
therefor, you may set it down as a truth that nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of every one thousand will commit that crime. It was a
matter of indifference, in the first place, whether they harmed the
hunters or not. Since the latter were removed some distance from their
path, it is probable that they would not at that time have taken the
trouble to go in quest of them: it was the feeling of revenge that was
the deciding weight in the scale.
Let us recall the situation as it was on the second morning after Fred
Linden and Terry Clark left their homes in Greville. The boys themselves
were the furthest advanced along the trail to the mountains, while at a
considerable distance behind, filed the ten Winnebago warriors, and
hovering in the vicinity was Deerfoot the Shawanoe, watching every
movement with the vigilance of a lynx.
Whenever he chose he could make a circuit around the Winnebagos, and
joining the boys beyond, hasten to the hunters' camp and apprise them of
their danger; but there remained an abundance of time in which to do
that, and he did not wish to leave the vicinity of the enemies until he
saw a little more of them.
It was evident that the Winnebagos were in no hurry. They must have
known that two of the youths were following the trail in advance, for
the heavy shoes of the lads could not fail to leave their imprints in
many places; but, such being the case, the red men might ask in what
manner they could know that a party of Winnebagos were following them,
unless such knowledge came through Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who, wherever
he might be, certainly was not in front of them.
When the Indians came to a stream of water, they did not rush in and
wade or swim to the other side, as they would have done had there been
any call for haste, but like those who had gone before, they stopped
long enough to make a raft on which they could float across. The
American Indian is not as fond of water as he should be, and though the
Winnebagos would have cared little for the chill of the stream, it was
more pleasant for them to pass over dry shod; so they made their several
rafts and poled themselves to the opposite bank.
You would not look for humor under such circumstances, and yet on one of
the three rafts there was so much of it shown that even the grim
Shawanoe smiled.
The structures on which the red men floated were, as a matter of course,
of the frailest nature, intended as they were to last only long enough
to bear them to the other shore. With proper management, all would have
done this, but on one of the rafts holding four of the warriors, there
was an aboriginal wag. A single Indian managed the pole, while the
others squatted carefully in their respective positions and were
expected to keep quiet, so as not to disintegrate the frail structure.
The wag to whom I have referred, while sitting with an innocent
expression on his painted countenance, quietly loosened the two or three
withes, and gave the logs such an impetus that they separated like two
bodies positively charged with electricity, when brought together. The
warrior who handled the pole was standing with legs somewhat apart,
resting on a different log, when they suddenly separated still more, and
he sat down with a splash in the water. Another log revolved backwards,
as did the savage who was sitting on it, while the others were also
plashing in the stream, which was not deep enough to make them swim,
though it came to the neck of the shortest one. The four warriors waded
to shore amid the grins of the others, and with no suspicion of the
criminal that had played the trick upon them.
The next stream was reached by the Indians a couple of hours later. This
was not as deep as the other and they did not stop to make rafts. After
a little searching, they found a portion where the current did not come
above their knees and they waded.
In doing so, Black Bear took the lead, and, in accordance with a custom
universal among Indians, each warrior carefully stepped into the
footprints in front of him. The water was so limpid that the impression
made by the chieftain's moccasin was plainly shown, so that there was no
difficulty in this respect. Had a person been trailing them, he would
have seen before him what seemed to be the footprints of a single man.
There was but a slight variation near the further shore, where the
moccasin of one of the Winnebagos had slid from a stone on which, like
all the others, it was placed. The brown stone was slippery with a faint
coating of slime, and the scrape of the deerskin down the side gave it a
white gleam like the belly of a fish. It was a "slip" in every sense,
and, when the slight splash announced it, Black Bear at the head of the
procession turned about with his most impressive scowl.
The party made a halt on the other bank. It was considerably past noon,
and, while some busied themselves in starting a fire, and a couple began
fishing in the stream, two others going into the woods with their guns,
Deerfoot was quite sure that they had decided to spend an hour or so for
dinner. He concluded, however, to follow the two who went into the
woods, and it was fortunate that he did so.
The first surprise that came to him was when the Winnebagos had gone
nearly an eighth of a mile from camp. All this time they were making
their way up quite a steep slope, so that they were close to the top of
a high, wooded ridge.
The Shawanoe might well wonder why they had taken such a course, but
when two frightened deer burst through the undergrowth and dashed by at
full speed, within easy gun shot, and the Winnebagos looked at them
without raising their guns to fire, then it was that Deerfoot was
genuinely astonished.
The conclusion was inevitable that these red men were not looking for
game.
With a suspicion of their real errand (and that caused another
surprise), Deerfoot stealthily followed the Winnebagos until they paused
on the highest part of the ridge. He was not long kept in doubt as to
their business.
The top of the ridge was almost bare. There were a few stunted trees, a
number of bowlders and rocks, and here and there, patches of scraggly
grass. From this elevation, however, a magnificent view opened out on
every hand before the spectator. To the north stretched the undulating
country covered with prairie, stream, valley and forest, the last
brilliant with all the gorgeous hues that come with the frosts of
autumn.
These flaming colors were visible in whatever direction the eye turned,
and the same varied surface was seen everywhere, but to the southward,
the Ozark Mountains had a faint bluish tinge, like a mass of clouds
resting in the horizon. It was in that direction that the camp of the
hunters lay, and thither the footsteps of pale face and redskin were
directed.
The two Winnebagos spent only a minute or so in scanning the surrounding
country, when they began gathering wood, until they had quite a pile. A
quantity of leaves, some of which were damp, was mixed among the twigs,
so that when with a little trouble they were fired by means of the flint
and steel in the hands of one of the red men, the fuel did not burn
clearly but gave off considerable dark smoke, which was what the
Winnebagos wanted.
As soon as the fire was fairly burning, one of the Indians flung his
blanket over it, his friend seizing the other part, while both held it
thus until it was in danger of taking fire or smothering the flames. Had
the coarse cloth been a little more cleanly it is likely that it would
have been burned, but as it was it strangled the blaze until it may be
said there were several bushels of smoke gathered beneath and the embers
were at their last gasp.
At that moment, the Indians raised the blanket so that they stood
upright, and plenty of fresh air was allowed to feed the blaze. Then
they slowly waved the blanket between them, sometimes lowering it until
it was scorched by the sleepy flames, and then elevating it above their
heads. All the time, they manipulated the blanket, sometimes straight up
and down, sometimes diagonally, and indeed, in every possible way.
The result of all this varied swinging was that the black column of
vapor which slowly climbed the sky, was broken into circles, spiral
curves, and all sorts of odd-shaped figures, which did not dissolve for
several minutes in the clear air above.
I need not tell you what this meant, for in another place I have
described the same thing. It was a signal fire intended by the
Winnebagos for the eyes of a party of friends who were too far off to be
reached in any other way. Deerfoot had seen such telegraphy many a time
and oft, and more than once he had used it. He could interpret such a
signal when made by a Shawanoe, Wyandotte, Sauk or Fox, but he had never
learned the code in use by the Winnebago military authorities.
However, it was not possible that there was any very fine shade of
meaning in the various manipulations of the two warriors. Keen brained
as is the American Indian, he is unable to do a great many things with
which he is credited: one of these is to do more than telegraph the
simplest messages by means of fire, though it is beyond question that
important tidings has been flashed hundreds of miles in a single night,
from mountain top to mountain top, by means of the signal fires of the
Indians.
What disturbed Deerfoot was this proof that there was a second party of
Winnebagos in that section of the country. He had not dreamed of such a
thing, and it might well cause him alarm, that is, for the three men who
were so intent on gathering their furs comparatively a short distance
away.
Carefully screening himself from observation, the Shawanoe looked
intently in the direction of the gaze of the Winnebagos. He saw that
they were not peering at any other ridge, but at the broad low valley to
the north-west. They had not long to look when they detected a thin
bluish column of smoke creeping upward among the tree tops and
dissolving in the clear air above.
Deerfoot also saw it, and he knew that it was a reply to the first
signal. There was another party of Winnebagos in the neighborhood; they
would soon join Black Bear's party, and there was no time for delay.
Indeed, but for the discovery he had made, the Shawanoe would have felt
that he had tarried too long already.
It was not far now to the camp of the Hunters of the Ozark, and it was
perilous to wait to warn them. Every hour counted. Not only that, but,
as you can readily see, Fred Linden and Terry Clark were in still
greater danger.