Prisoners
It gave both Dick and Albert a severe wrench to leave their
beautiful valley. They had lived in it now nearly two years, and
it had brought strength and abounding life to Albert, infinite
variety, content, and gratitude to Dick, and what seemed a
fortune--their furs--to both. It was a beautiful valley, in
which Nature had done for them many strange and wonderful things,
and they loved it, the splendid lake, the grassy levels, the
rushing streams, the noble groves, and the great mountains all
about.
"I'd like to live here, Dick," said Albert, "for some years,
anyway. After we take out our furs and sell 'em, we can come
back and use it as a base for more trapping."
"If the Indians will let up," said Dick.
"Do you think we'll meet 'em?"
"I don't know, but I believe the plains are alive with hostile
Sioux."
But Albert could not foresee any trouble. He was too young, to
sanguine, too full now of the joy of life to think of difficulties.
They chose their weapons for the march with great care, each
taking a repeating rifle, a revolver, a hunting knife, and a
hatchet, the latter chiefly for camping purposes. They also
divided equally among themselves what was left of the ball
cartridges, and each took his sunglass and half of the remaining
matches. The extra weapons, including the shotguns and shot
cartridges, they hid with their furs. They also put in the caves
many more of their most valuable possessions, especially the
tools and remnants of medical supplies. They left everything
else in the houses, just as they were when they were using them,
except the bark hut, from which they took away all furnishings,
as it was too light to resist the invasion of a large wild beast
like a grizzly bear. But they fastened up Castle Howard and the
Annex so securely that no wandering beast could possibly break
in. They sunk their canoes in shallow water among reeds, and
then, when each had provided himself with a large supply of
jerked buffalo and deer meat and a skin water bag, they were
ready to depart.
"We may find our houses and what is in them all right when we
come back, or we may not," said Dick.
"But we take the chance," said Albert cheerfully.
Early on a spring morning they started down the valley by the
same way in which they had first entered it. They walked along
in silence for some minutes, and then, as if by the same impulse,
the two turned and looked back. There was their house, which had
sheltered them so snugly and so safely for so long, almost hidden
now in the foliage of the new spring. There was a bit of
moisture in the eyes of Albert, the younger and more sentimental.
"Good-by," he said, waving his hand. "I've found life here."
Dick said nothing, and they turned into the main valley. They
walked with long and springy steps, left the valley behind them,
and began to climb the slopes. Presently the valley itself
became invisible, the mountains seeming to close in and blot it
out.
"A stranger would have to blunder on it to find it," said Dick.
"I hope no one will make any such blunder," said Albert.
The passage over the mountains was easy, the weather continuing
favorable, and on another sunshiny morning they reached the
plains, which flowed out boundlessly before them. These, too,
were touched with green, but the boys were perplexed. The space
was so vast, and it was all so much alike, that it did not look
as if they could ever arrive anywhere.
"I think we'd better make for Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory,"
said Dick.
"But we don't know how far away it is, nor in what direction,"
said Albert.
"No; but if we keep on going we're bound to get somewhere. We've
got lots of time before us, and we'll take it easy."
They had filled their skin water bags, made in the winter, at the
last spring, and they set out at a moderate pace over the plain.
Dick had thought once of visiting again the scene of the train's
destruction in the pass, but Albert opposed it.
"No," he said, "I don't want to see that place."
This journey, they knew not whither, continued easy and pleasant
throughout the day. The grass was growing fast on the plains,
and all the little steams that wound now and then between the
swells were full of water, and, although they still carried the
filled water bags, Dick inferred that they were not likely to
suffer from thirst. Late in the afternoon they saw a small herd
of antelope and a lone buffalo grazing at a considerable
distance, and Dick drew the second and comforting inference that
game would prove to be abundant. He was so pleased with these
inferences that he stated them to Albert, who promptly drew a
third.
"Wouldn't the presence of buffalo and antelope indicate that
there are not many Indians hereabouts?" he asked.
"It looks likely," replied Dick.
They continued southward until twilight came, when they built in
a hollow a fire of buffalo chips, which were abundant all over
the plain, and watched their friendly mountains sink away in the
dark.
"Gives me a sort of homesick feeling," said Albert. "They've
been good mountains to us. Shelter and home are there, but out
here I feel as if I were stripped to the wind."
"That describes it," said Dick.
They did not keep any watch, but put out their fire and slept
snugly in their blankets. They were awakened in the morning by
the whine of a coyote that did not dare to come too near, and
resumed their leisurely march, to continue in this manner for
several days, meeting no human being either white or red.
They saw the mountains sink behind the sky line and then they
felt entirely without a rudder. There was nothing to go by now
except the sun, but they kept to their southern course. They
were not greatly troubled. They found plenty of game, as Dick
had surmised, and killed an antelope and a fat young buffalo cow.
"We may travel a long journey, Al," said Dick with some
satisfaction, "but it's not hard on us. It's more like loafing
along on an easy holiday."
On the fifth day they ran into a large buffalo herd, but did not
molest any of its members, as they did not need fresh meat.
"Seems to me," said Dick, "that Sioux would be after this herd if
they weren't busy elsewhere. It looks like more proof that the
Sioux are on the warpath and are to the eastward of us, fighting
our own people."
"The Sioux are a great and warlike tribe, are they not?" asked
Albert.
"The greatest and most warlike west of the Mississippi," replied
Dick. "I understand that they are really a group of closely
related tribes and can put thousands of warriors in the field."
"Bright Sun, I suppose, is with them?"
"Yes, I suppose so. He is an Indian, a Sioux, no matter if he
was at white schools and for years with white people. He must
feel for his own, just as you and I, Al, feel for our own race."
They wandered three or four more days across the plains, and were
still without sign of white man or red. They experienced no
hardship. Water was plentiful. Game was to be had for the
stalking and life, had they been hunting or exploring, would have
been pleasant; but both felt a sense of disappointment--they
never came to anything. The expanse of plains was boundless, the
loneliness became overpowering. They had not the remotest idea
whether they were traveling toward any white settlement. Human
life seemed to shun them.
"Dick," said Albert one day, "do you remember the story of the
Flying Dutchman, how he kept trying for years to round the Cape
of Storms, and couldn't do it? I wonder if some such penalty is
put on us, and if so, what for?"
The thought lodged in the minds of both. Oppressed by long and
fruitless wanderings, they began to have a superstition that they
were to continue them forever. They knew that it was unreasonable,
but it clung, nevertheless. There were the rolling plains, the
high, brassy sky, and the clear line of the horizon on all sides,
with nothing that savored of human life between.
They had hoped for an emigrant train, or a wandering band of
hunters, or possibly a troop of cavalry, but days passed and they
met none. Still the same high, brassy sky, still the same
unbroken horizons. The plains increased in beauty. There was a
fine, delicate shade of green on the buffalo grass, and wonderful
little flowers peeped shy heads just above the earth, but Dick
and Albert took little notice of either. They had sunk into an
uncommon depression. The terrible superstition that they were to
wander forever was strengthening its hold upon them, despite
every effort of will and reason. In the hope of better success
they changed their course two or three times, continuing in each
case several days in that direction before the next change was
made.
"We've traveled around so much now," said Albert despondently,
"that we couldn't go back to our mountains if we wanted to do
it. We don't know any longer in what direction they lie."
"That's so," said Dick, with equal despondency showing in his
tone.
His comment was brief, because they talked but little now, and
every day were talking less. Their spirits were affected too
much to permit any excess of words. But they came finally to
rougher, much more broken country, and they saw a line of trees
on the crest of hills just under the sunset horizon. The sight,
the break in the monotony, the cheerful trees made them lift up
their drooping heads.
"Well, at any rate, here's something new," said Dick. "Let's
consider it an omen of good luck, Al."
They reached the slope, a long one, with many depressions and
hollows, containing thick groves of large trees, the heights
beyond being crowned with trees of much taller growth. They
would have gone to the summit, but they were tired with a long
day's tramp and they had not yet fully aroused themselves from
the lethargy that had overtaken them in their weary wanderings.
"Night's coming," said Albert, "so let's take to that hollow over
there with the scrub ash in it."
"All right," said Dick. "Suits me."
It was a cozy little hollow, deeply shaded by the ash trees, but
too rocky to be damp, and they did not take the trouble to light
a fire. They had been living for some time on fresh buffalo and
antelope, and had saved their jerked meat, on which they now drew
for supper.
It was now quite dark, and each, throwing his blanket lightly
around his shoulders, propped himself in a comfortable position.
Then, for the first time in days, they began to talk in the easy,
idle fashion of those who feel some degree of contentment, a
change made merely by the difference in scene, the presence of
hills, trees, and rocks after the monotonous world of the plains.
"We'll explore that country to-morrow," said Dick, nodding his
head toward the crest of the hills. "Must be something over
there, a river, a lake, and maybe trappers."
"Hope it won't make me homesick again for our valley," said
Albert sleepily. "I've been thinking too much of it, anyway, in
the last few days. Dick, wasn't that the most beautiful lake of
ours that you ever saw? Did you ever see another house as snug
as Castle Howard? And how about the Annex and the Suburban
Villa? And all those beautiful streams that came jumping down
between the mountains?"
"If you don't shut up, Al," said Dick, "I'll thrash you with this
good handy stick that I've found here."
"All right," replied Albert, laughing; "I didn't mean to harrow
up your feelings any more than I did my own."
Albert was tired, and the measure of content that he now felt was
soothing. Hence, his drowsiness increased, and in ten minutes he
went comfortably to sleep. Dick's eyes were yet open, and he
felt within himself such new supplies of energy and strength that
he resolved to explore a little. The task that had seemed so
hard two or three hours before was quite easy now. Albert would
remain sleeping safely where he was, and, acting promptly, Dick
left the hollow, rifle on shoulder.
It was an easy slope, but a long one. As he ascended, the trees
grew more thickly and near the ascent were comparatively free
from undergrowth. Just over the hill shone a magnificent full
moon, touching the crest with a line of molten silver.
Dick soon reached the summit and looked down the far slope into a
valley three or four hundred yards deep. The moon shed its full
glory into the valley and filled it with rays of light.
The valley was at least two miles wide, and down its center
flowed a fine young river, which Dick could see here and there in
stretches, while the rest was hidden by forest. In fact, the
whole valley seemed to be well clothed with mountain forest,
except in one wide space where Dick's gaze remained after it had
alighted once.
Here was human life, and plenty of it. He looked down upon a
circle of at least two hundred lodges, tent-shaped structures of
saplings covered with bark, and he had heard quite enough about
such things to know these were the winter homes of the Sioux.
The moonlight was so clear and his position so good that he was
able to see figures moving about the lodges.
The sight thrilled Dick. Here he had truly come upon human life,
but not the kind he wished to see. But it was vastly interesting,
and he sought a closer look. His daring told him to go down the
slope toward them, and he obeyed. The descent was not difficult,
and there was cover in abundance--pines, ash, and oak.
As he was very careful, taking time not to break a twig or set a
stone rolling, and stopping at intervals to look and listen, he
was a half hour in reaching the valley, where, through the trees,
he saw the Indian village. He felt that he was rash, but wishing
to see, he crept closer, the cover still holding good. He was,
in a way, fascinated by what he saw. It had the quality of a
dream, and its very unreality made him think less of the danger.
But he really did not know how expert he had become as a
woodsman and trailer through his long training as a trapper,
where delicacy of movement and craft were required.
He believed that the Indians, in such a secure location, would
not be stirring beyond the village at this late hour, and he had
little fear of anything except the sharp-nosed dogs that are
always prowling about an Indian village. He was within three
hundred yards of the lodges when he heard the faint sound of
voices and footsteps. He instantly lay down among the bushes,
but raised himself a little on his elbow in order to see.
Three Indians were walking slowly along a woodland path toward
the village, and the presence of the path indicated the village
had been here for many months, perhaps was permanent. The
Indians were talking very earnestly and they made gestures. One
raised his voice a little and turned toward one of his
companions, as if he would emphasize his words. Then Dick saw
his face clearly, and drew a long breath of surprise.
It was Bright Sun, but a Bright Sun greatly changed. He was
wholly in native attire--moccasins, leggings, and a beautiful
blue blanket draped about his shoulders. A row of eagle feathers
adorned his long black hair, but it was the look and manner of
the man that had so much significance. He towered above the
other Indians, who were men of no mean height; but it was not his
height either, it was his face, the fire of his eyes, the proud
eagle beak which the Sioux had not less than the Roman, and the
swift glance of command that could not be denied. Here was a
great chief, a leader of men, and Dick was ready to admit it.
He could easily have shot Bright Sun dead as he passed, but he
did not dream of doing such a thing. Yet Bright Sun, while
seeming to play the part of a friend, had deliberately led the
wagon train into a fatal ambush--of that Dick had no doubt. He
felt, moreover, that Bright Sun was destined to cause great woe
to the white people, his own people, but he could not fire; nor
would he have fired even if the deed had been without danger to
himself.
Dick, instead, gave Bright Sun a reluctant admiration. He looked
well enough as the guide in white men's clothes, but in his own
native dress he looked like one to be served, not to serve. The
three paused for a full two minutes exactly opposite Dick, and he
could have reached out and touched them with the barrel of his
rifle; but they were thinking little of the presence of an enemy.
Dick judged by the emphasis of their talk that it was on a matter
of some great moment, and he saw all three of them point at times
toward the east.
"It's surely war," he thought, "and our army if somewhere off
there in the east."
Dick saw that Bright Sun remained the dominating figure
throughout the discussion. Its whole effect was that of Bright
Sun talking and the others listening. He seemed to communicate
his fire and enthusiasm to his comrades, and soon they nodded a
vigorous assent. Then the three walked silently away toward the
village.
Dick rose from his covert, cast a single glance at the direction
in which the three chiefs had disappeared, and then began to
retrace his own steps. It was his purpose to arouse Albert and
flee at once to a less dangerous region. But the fate of Dick
and his brother rested at that moment with a mean, mangy, mongrel
cur, such as have always been a part of Indian villages, a cur
that had wandered farther from the village than usual that night
upon some unknown errand.
Dick had gone about thirty yards when he became conscious of a
light, almost faint, pattering sound behind him. He stepped
swiftly into the heaviest shadow of trees and sought to see what
pursued. He thought at first it was some base-born wolf of the
humblest tribe, but, when he looked longer, he knew that it was
one of the meanest of mean curs, a hideous, little yellowish
animal, sneaking in his movements, a dog that one would gladly
kick out of his way.
Dick felt considerable contempt for himself because he had been
alarmed over such a miserable little beast, and resumed his swift
walk. Thirty yards farther he threw a glance over his shoulder,
and there was the wretched cur still following. Dick did not
like it, considering it an insult to himself to be trailed by
anything so ugly and insignificant. He picked up a stone, but
hesitated a moment, and then put it down again. If he threw the
stone the dog might bark or howl, and that was the last thing
that he wanted. Already the cur, mean and miserable as he
looked, had won a victory over him.
Dick turned into a course that he would not have taken otherwise,
thinking to shake off his pursuer, but at the next open space he
saw him still following, his malignant red eyes fixed upon the
boy. The cur would not have weighed twenty cowardly pounds, but
he became a horrible obsession to Dick. He picked up a stone
again, put it down again, and for a mad instant seriously
considered the question of shooting him.
The cur seemed to become alarmed at the second threat, and broke
suddenly into a sharp, snarling, yapping bark, much like that of
a coyote. It was terribly loud in the still night, and cold
dread assailed Dick in every nerve. He picked up the stone that
he had dropped, and this time he threw it.
"You brute!" he exclaimed, as the stone whizzed by the cur's ear.
The cur returned the compliment of names with compounded many
times over. His snarling bark became almost continuous, and
although he did not come any nearer, he showed sharp white teeth.
Dick paused in doubt, but when, from a point nearer the village,
he heard a bark in reply, then another, and then a dozen, he ran
with all speed up the slope. He knew without looking back that
the cur was following, and it made him feel cold again.
Certainly Dick had good cause to run. All the world was up and
listening now, and most of it was making a noise, too. He heard
a tumult of barking, growling, and snapping toward the village,
and then above it a long, mournful cry that ended in an ominous
note. Dick knew that it was a Sioux war whoop, and that the
mean, miserable little cur had done his work. The village would
be at his heels. Seized with an unreasoning passion, he whirled
about and shot the cur dead. It was a mad act, and he instantly
repented it. Never had there been another rifle shot so loud.
It crashed like the report of a cannon. Mountain and valley gave
it back in a multitude of echoes, and on the last dying echo
came, not a single war whoop, but the shout of many, the fierce,
insistent, falsetto yell that has sounded the doom of many a
borderer.
Dick shuddered. He had been pursued once before by a single
man, but he was not afraid of a lone warrior. Now a score
would be at his heels. He might shake them off in the dark, but
the dogs would keep the scent, and his chief object was to go fast.
He ran up the slope at his utmost speed for a hundred yards or
more, and then remembering in time to nurse his strength, he
slackened his footsteps.
He had thought of turning the pursuit away from the hollow in
which Albert lay, but now that the alarm was out they would find
him, anyway, and it was best for the two to stand or fall
together. Hence, he went straight for the hollow.
It was bitter work running up a slope, but his two years of life
in the open were a great help to him now. The strong heart and
the powerful lungs responded nobly to the call. He ran lightly,
holding his rifle in the hollow of his arm, ready for use if need
be, and he watch warily lest he make an incautious footstep and
fall. The moonlight was still full and clear, but when he took
an occasional hurried glance backward he could not yet see his
pursuers. He heard, now and then, however, the barking of a dog
or the cry of a warrior.
Dick reached the crest of the hill, and there for an instant or
two his figure stood, under the pines, a black silhouette against
the moonlight. Four or five shots were fired at the living
target. One bullet whizzed so near that it seemed to Dick to
scorch his face.
He had gathered fresh strength, and that hot bullet gave a new
impetus also. He ran down the slope at a great speed now, and he
had calculated craftily. He could descend nearly twice as fast
as they could ascend, and while they were reaching the crest he
would put a wide gap between them.
He kept well in the shadow now as he made with long leaps
straight toward the hollow, and he hoped with every heart beat
that Albert, aroused by the shots, would be awake and ready.
"Albert!" he cried, when he was within twenty feet of their camp,
and his hope was rewarded. Albert was up, rifle in hand, crying:
"What is it, Dick?"
"The Sioux!" exclaimed Dick. "They're not far away! You heard
the shots! Come!"
He turned off at an angle and ran in a parallel line along the
slope, Albert by his side. He wished to keep to the forests and
thickets, knowing they would have little chance of escape on the
plain. As they ran he told Albert, in short, choppy sentences,
what had happened.
"I don't hear anything," said Albert, after ten minutes. "Maybe
they've lost us."
"No such good luck! Those curs of theirs would lead them. No,
Al, we've got to keep straight on as long as we can!"
Albert stumbled on a rock, but, quickly recovering himself, put
greater speed in every jump, when he heard the Indian shout
behind him.
"We've got to shoot their dogs," said Dick. "We'll have no other
chance to shake them off."
"If we get a chance," replied Albert.
But they did not see any chance just yet. They heard the
occasional howl of a cur, but both curs and Indians remained
invisible. Yet Dick felt that the pursuers were gaining. They
were numerous, and they could spread. Every time he and Albert
diverged from a straight line--and they could not help doing so
now and then--some portion of the pursuing body came nearer. It
was the advantage that the many had over the few.
Dick prayed for darkness, a shading of the moon, but it did not
come, and five minutes later he saw the yellow form of a cur
emerge into an open space. He took a shot at it and heard a
howl. He did not know whether he had killed the dog or not, but
he hoped he had succeeded. The shot brought forth a cry to their
right, and then another to the left. It was obvious that the
Sioux, besides being behind them, were also on either side of
them. They were gasping, too, from their long run, and knew that
they could not continue much farther.
"We can't shake them off, Al," said Dick, "and we'll have to
fight. This is as good a place as any other."
They dropped down into a rocky hollow, a depression not more
than a foot deep, and lay on their faces, gasping for breath.
Despite the deadly danger Dick felt a certain relief that he
did not have to run any more--there comes a time when a
moment's physical rest will overweigh any amount of mortal
peril.
"If they've surrounded us, they're very quiet about it," said
Albert, when the fresh air had flowed back into his lungs. "I
don't see or hear anything at all."
"At least we don't hear those confounded dogs any more," said
Dick. "Maybe there was only one pursuing us, and that shot of
mine got him. The howls of the cur upset my nerves more than the
shouts of the Sioux."
"Maybe so," said Albert.
Then they were both quite still. The moonlight was silvery
clear, and they could see pines, oaks, and cedars waving in a
gentle wind, but they saw nothing else. Yet Dick was well aware
that the Sioux had not abandoned the chase; they knew well where
the boys lay, and were all about them in the woods.
"Keep close, Albert," he said. "Indians are sly, and the Sioux
are the slyest of them all. They're only waiting until one of us
pops up his head, thinking they're gone."
Albert took Dick's advice, but so long a time passed without sign
from the Sioux that he began to believe that, in some mysterious
manner, they had evaded the savages. The belief had grown almost
into a certainty, when there was a flash and a report from a
point higher up the slope. Albert felt something hot and
stinging in his face. But it was only a tiny fragment of rock
chipped off by the bullet as it passed.
Both Dick and Albert lay closer, as if they would press
themselves into the earth, and soon two or three more shots were
fired. All came from points higher up the slope, and none hit a
living target, though they struck unpleasantly close.
"I wish I could see something," exclaimed Albert impatiently.
"It's not pleasant to be shot at and to get no shot in return."
Dick did not answer. He was watching a point among some scrub
pines higher up the slope, where the boughs seemed to him to be
waving too much for the slight wind. Looking intently, he
thought he saw a patch of brown through the evergreen, and he
fired at it. A faint cry followed the shot, and Dick felt a
strange satisfaction; they were hunting him--well, he had given
a blow in return.
Silence settled down again after Dick's shot. The boys lay
perfectly still, although they could hear each other's
breathing. The silvery moonlight seemed to grow fuller and
clearer all the time. It flooded the whole slope. Boughs and
twigs were sheathed in it. Apparently, the moon looked down upon
a scene that was all peace and without the presence of a human
being.
"Do you think they'll rush us?" whispered Albert.
"No," replied Dick. "I've always heard that the Indian takes as
little risk as he possibly can."
They waited a little longer, and then came a flare of rifle shots
from a point farther up the slope. Brown forms appeared faintly,
and Dick and Albert, intent and eager, began to fire in reply.
Bullets sang by their ears and clipped the stones around them,
but their blood rose the higher and they fired faster and faster.
"We'll drive 'em back!" exclaimed Dick.
They did not hear the rapid patter of soft, light footsteps
coming from another direction, until a half dozen Sioux were upon
them. Then the firing in front ceased abruptly, and Dick and
Albert whirled to meet their new foes.
It was too late. Dick saw Albert struggling in the grasp of two
big warriors, and then saw and heard nothing more. He
had received a heavy blow on the head from the butt of a rifle
and became unconscious.