DARKNESS AND SURPRISE
It was a greater distance to the water than I had supposed, but I
struck at last fairly enough, and went down until I thought I should
never come up again. As I rose to the surface and shook the moisture
from my face and ears, a light laugh rang out high above me, and
Mademoiselle's clear voice cried mockingly:
"The backwoodsman has taken the first trick, Monsieur."
I saw De Croix's body dart, like a black arrow, far out into the air,
and come sweeping down. He struck to my left, and a trifle behind me;
but I waited not to learn just how. With lusty strokes I struck out for
the north shore. It was a hard swim, for my deerskins held the water
like so many bags, and the current, though not rapid, was sufficiently
strong to make me fight valiantly for every foot of way. I came out,
panting heavily, upon a low bank of soft mud, and crept cautiously up
under the black shadow of some low bushes growing there. I took time,
as I rested, to glance back, hoping thus to learn more of the direction
I should follow; for the Kinzie light was no longer visible, and my
struggle with the current had somewhat bewildered me. I neither saw
nor heard anything of De Croix; but the flame of the candle gleaming
through the narrow slits of the block-house told me clearly where it
stood, while a wild yelling farther to the southward convinced me that
our Indian besiegers were yet astir and concocting some fresh deviltry
at their camp. With a half-uttered prayer that they might all be there,
I hastily pressed the water from my soggy clothes and plunged forward
into the unknown darkness. A big cottonwood, as from its shape I judged
it to be, rose against the stars in my front,--a dim outline swaying
slightly in the westerly wind, and I took it as my first guide-mark,
moving over the rough unknown ground as rapidly and silently as
possible.
The soft moccasins I wore aided me greatly, nor were there many trees
along the way to drop twigs in the path to crackle under foot; yet I
found the ground uneven and deceptive, rifted with small gullies, and
more or less bestrewn with stones, against which I stumbled in the
darkness. I was too thoroughly trained in the stern and careful school
of the frontier not to be cautious at such a time, for I knew that
silence and seeming desolation were no proof of savage desertion; nor
did I believe that Indian strategy would leave the north of the Fort
wholly unguarded. Any rock, any black ravine, any clump of trees or
bushes, might well be the lurking-place of hostiles, who would only too
gladly wreak their vengeance upon any hapless straggler falling into
their hands. I was unarmed, save for the long hunting-knife I carried
in the bosom of my shirt; but my thought was not of fighting,--it was
to get through without discovery.
To De Croix I gave small consideration, save that the memory of the
wager was a spur to urge me forward at greater speed. The place was
strangely, painfully still; even the savage yelling of the distant
Indians seemed to die away as I advanced, and nothing broke the
oppressive silence but an occasional flutter of leaves, or my own deep
breathing. I had gone, I take it, half or three-quarters of a mile,
not directly north, but circling ever to the eastward, seeking thus
to reach the house from the rear, when I came to a sharp break in the
surface of the land, somewhat deeper and more abrupt than those before
encountered. It seemed like a cut or ravine made by some rush of water
lakeward; and, as I hesitated upon the edge of it, peering across and
wondering if I had better risk the plunge, my eyes caught the blaze of
the Kinzie light scarce a hundred yards from the opposite bank of the
ravine.
Assured that I was headed right, I stepped off with a new confidence
that, for the moment, conquered my usual prudence,--for the steep
bank gave way instantly beneath my weight. I grasped vainly at the
edge, fell heavily sidewise, and rolled like a great log, bruised
and half-stunned, into the black gorge below. I remember gripping
at a slender bush that yielded to my touch; but all the rest was no
more than a breathless tumble, until I struck something soft at the
bottom,--something that squirmed and gripped my long hair savagely, and
pushed my head back with a grasp on the throat that nearly throttled me.
It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that for the moment I was helpless
as a child, struggling merely from the natural instinct of preservation
to break free. I could perceive nothing, the darkness was so intense;
yet as I gradually succeeded in getting my hands loose, I wound them in
long coarse hair, pressed them against bare flesh, heard deep labored
breathing close to my face, and believed I was struggling with a savage.
It was a question of mere brute strength, and neither of us had had the
advantage of surprise. I could feel the sharp prick of my own knife as
he hugged me to him, but I dare not reach for it, and I held his arms
so tightly that he lay panting and struggling as if in a vise. It was
an odd fight, as we turned and tossed, writhed and twisted among those
sharp pointed rocks like two infuriated wild-cats in the dark, neither
venturing to break hold for a blow, nor having breath enough in our
bodies for so much as a curse. My adversary struck me once with his
head under the chin, so hard a blow that everything turned red before
me; and then I got my knee up into the pit of his stomach and caused
him to quiver from the agony of it; yet the fellow clung to me like a
bull-terrier, and never so much as whined.
It was never my nature to yield easily, and I felt now this struggle
was to cost his life or mine; so I clinched my teeth, and sought my
best to push back the other's head until the neck should crack. But if
I was a powerful man, this other was no less so, and he fought with a
fierce and silent desperation that foiled me. We dug and tore, gouged
and struck, digging our heels into the soft earth in a vain endeavor to
gain some advantage of position. My cheek, I knew, was bleeding from
contact with a jagged stone, and I was fast growing faint from the
awful tension, when I felt his arms slip.
"My God!" he panted. "The devil has me!"
So startled was I by these English words, that I loosed my grip,
staring breathlessly through the darkness.
"Are you white?" I gasped, so weakened I could scarce articulate.
For a moment he did not answer, but I could hear his breath coming in
gasps and sobs. Then he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse from exertion.
"By the memory of Moses! I was once,--but that squeeze must have turned
me black, I'm thinkin'. An' ye're no Injun?"
"Not so much as a feather of one," I retorted. "But that is what I took
you to be."
We were both sitting up by this time, he with his back against the
bank, both of us panting as if we could never regain our breath, and
eagerly seeking to see each other's features in the gloom. Any attempt
at conversation was painful, but I managed at last to stammer:
"You must be a whalebone man, or I'd have broken every rib in your
body."
"An' I'm not a bit sure ye didn't," was the response, uttered between
puffs. "'Twas the worst grip ever Ol' Tom Burns had squeeze him,--an'
I've felt o' bars mor' nor oncet. Who may ye be, anyhow, stranger? an'
for what cause did ye jump down yere on me?"
There was a trace of growing anger in his tone, as remembrance of the
outrage returned to his mind, which caused me to smile, now that I
could breatheless painfully. It seemed such a ludicrous affair,--that
dark struggle, each mistaking the purpose and color of the other.
"My name is Wayland," I made haste to explain, "and I left the Fort
but now, hoping by this roundabout route to reach the Kinzie place
and return under cover of darkness. I slipped on the edge of the bank
up yonder, and the next thing I knew we were at it. I can assure you,
friend, I supposed myself in the arms of a savage. You say your name is
Burns?"
"Ol' Tom Burns."
"What? It is not possible you are the same who brought a message to
Major Wayland on the Maumee?"
"I reckon I am," he said, deliberately. "An' be you the boy I met?"
"Yes," I said, still doubtful. "But how came you here?"
"Wal, here's whar I belong. I've bin a sorter huntin' an' trappin'
yer'bouts fer goin' on nine year or so, an' I built a shanty to live
in up yonder by the forks. I hedn't much more nor got home frum down
east, when the Injuns burnt thet down; an' sence then I ain't bin much
o' nowhar, but I reckon'd I'd go inter ther Fort to-morrow and git some
grub."
He spoke with a slow, deliberate drawl, as if not much accustomed
to converse; and I pictured him to myself as one of those silent
plainsmen, so habituated to solitude as almost to shun companionship,
though he had already let drop a word or two that made me deem him one
not devoid of humor. Suddenly I thought of De Croix.
"Has any one passed here lately?" I asked, rising to my feet, the old
emulation throbbing in my veins. "A white man, I mean, going north."
"Wal," he answered slowly, and as he also stood up I could make out,
what I had not noted in our previous meeting, that he was as tall as
I, but spare of build; "I ain't seen nuthin', but some sort o' critter
went ploughin' down inter the gulch up yonder, maybe ten minutes 'fore
ye lit down yere on me. Dern if I know whether it were a human er a
bar!"
"Will you show me the nearest way to the Kinzie house?"
"I reckon I'll show ye all right, but ye bet ye don't git me nigher ner
a hundred foot o' the door," he returned seriously. "John Kinzie's a
mighty good man, stranger, but he an' Ol' Tom Burns ain't never hitched
worth a cent."
We climbed silently, and came out together upon the top. A slight
beam of light crept along through the open door of the log house just
in front of us, and for the first time I caught a fair view of my
companion. He was a tall, gaunt, wiry fellow, typical in dress and
manner of his class, the backwoodsmen of the Southwest, but with a
peculiarly solemn face, seamed with wrinkles, and much of it concealed
beneath a bushy, iron-gray beard. We eyed each other curiously.
"Dern if ever I expected ter meet up with ye agin in no sich way as
this," he said shortly. "But thet's the house. Be ye goin' ter stay
thar long?"
"No," I answered, feeling anxious to have his guidance back to the
Fort, "not over five minutes. Will you wait?"
"Reckon I may as well," and he seated himself on a stump.
No one greeted me at the house, not even a dog; though I could see
figures moving within. Either the occupants felt that an assumption of
confidence was their best security, or experienced no fear of Indian
treachery, for I rapped twice before there was any response. A young
girl, with a face of rare beauty and a pair of roguish black eyes,
peered out curiously. At sight of a stranger she drew back slightly,
yet paused to ask:
"Did you wish to see some one here?"
"I am seeking for a young girl," I answered, wondering if this could
possibly be she, "and they told me at the Fort I should probably find
her here. May I ask if you are Elsa Matherson?"
For a moment she looked out at me, as if I might be an escaped lunatic.
Then she turned her face over her shoulder toward those within.
"Mr. Kinzie," said she, "here's another man looking for Elsa
Matherson."