HOW HENRY FARED
Let us now go back to Henry Morris and find out what occurred to the
young hunter and Mrs. Risley immediately after Dave departed from the
resting place in the forest.
As we know the tired woman had fainted from exhaustion, and for fully
ten minutes Henry had all he could do to restore her to consciousness.
He rubbed her hands and wrists vigorously and fanned her face with his
cap, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes.
"Oh!" she murmured. "I--I--what happened? Did I--I fall?"
"You fainted I reckon," answered the young hunter, kindly. "The walk was
too much for you."
"Yes--I felt I couldn't go another step, Henry. I see we are still in
the woods. Are the Indians near?"
"I don't think they are--at least, we haven't seen anything of them."
"Where is Dave?"
"He has gone on ahead, to see if all is right at home, and if it is to
bring help."
"I would give all I possess to be at your cabin," said the poor woman,
with a sigh. She tried to rise, then sank back heavily. "I--I--don't see
how I am going to walk."
"You had better rest a bit longer, Mrs. Risley. There is no great hurry.
It may pay us to go slow--with so many redskins lurking about. They may
be--"
Henry broke off short, and thinking his companion was about to speak,
clapped his hand over her mouth. Through the stillness of the forest he
had caught sounds that could mean but one thing--the approach of several
men. In a moment more he caught glimpses of a flickering light
approaching.
"We must hide!" he whispered in Mrs. Risley's ear. "Come, there isn't a
second to lose!"
"But where shall we go?" she panted, her heart leaping into her throat.
"I cannot run a step--it will kill me!"
The young hunter looked around in perplexity. There was some brushwood
to their right, growing among some sharp-pointed rocks. He caught his
companion's hand and almost dragged her in that direction. On the rocks
Mrs. Risley's foot slipped and she gave a cry of pain.
"My ankle--I have twisted it badly!"
"Hush! they will hear!" he answered, and seeing she could go no further,
he caught her in his youthful arms and carried her forward. In the midst
of a clump of bushes he laid her down and threw himself flat beside her,
at the same time holding some brushwood down over them.
By this time the glimmer of light had come closer. It was a torch, held
in the hands of a tall Indian, who was following up the trail of the
whites with great care. The Indian had with him six companions, all
armed with either guns or bows and arrows, and each hideous in his
war-paint.
Hardly daring to breathe, Henry awaited their close approach, his left
hand holding down the bushes and his right on his gun. Soon the warriors
were at the spot where Mrs. Risley had fainted. Here they came to a halt
and began to talk in low tones.
It was a moment of intense anxiety, and it must be confessed that
Henry's heart almost stopped beating. The warrior with the torch held
the light aloft, and all in the party gazed around with eyes as piercing
as those of some wild beasts.
[Illustration: The warrior with the torch held the light aloft.]
In a moment more something happened which changed the tables of fortune.
Unable to bear the pain of her twisted ankle, Mrs. Risley drew in a
sharp, rasping breath which sound reached the ears of one of the
Indians. Instantly he stepped in that direction and spoke to the warrior
with the torch. Three of the band came forward with swift steps and
arrows pointed. A yell rent the air, telling that those in hiding were
discovered.
Seeing it was useless to remain prostrate Henry leaped up. An arrow
whizzed past his shoulder and would have struck him fairly in the breast
had he not leaped to one side.
He, too, blazed away, and saw the leading Indian go down, shot through
the breast, a serious if not a mortal wound. Then he pulled Mrs. Risley
to her feet.
"Run!" he cried. "Run! It is your only chance. Hide in the woods!"
She limped off, but ere she had gotten a dozen steps two of the warriors
were after her, and she was made a prisoner. In the meantime Henry
retreated to a clump of birch trees and there made a stand against the
remaining Indians.
The struggle, which lasted but a few minutes, was an unequal one.
Another arrow was fired, and it grazed his left hand, causing the blood
to flow freely, and making the stains afterward discovered by Dave. Then
one of the red men came up behind the trees, and reaching out struck him
with the flat side of a tomahawk. Henry tried to turn and grapple with
his assailant, but suddenly his senses left him and he knew no more.
"'Tis one of the Morris family," said the Indian with the torch, in his
native tongue. He made an examination. "He is not dead."
"A good capture," said another. "We must take him along. Gonawak, you
must help to carry him."
"And what of the woman?" asked the warrior addressed as Gonawak, well
known throughout that territory for his extreme cruelty.
"Talking Deer will take care of her," was the answer. "He is to take
care of all of them until this raid is over."
But little more was said, and in a few minutes the unconscious form of
the young hunter was picked up and borne through the forest in the
direction of the nearest stream. As has been said, water leaves no
trail, and for this reason the redmen instinctively used the shallow
stream for a roadway.
When Henry regained his senses he found himself strapped to the back of
a horse and moving slowly westward through the forest. The wound on his
hand had been allowed to bleed itself out. He felt both weak and stiff
and had a dull ache in his head, where the tomahawk had landed and
raised a good-sized lump.
By a blaze on the animal's neck, Henry recognized the horse he rode as
one belonging to a pioneer living in that vicinity. He was in the
company of nine redmen, four of whom were mounted on stolen horses. From
this he inferred that the Risley cabin was not the only one which had
been attacked on that fatal night.
He looked around, but could see nothing of Mrs. Risley nor of any other
captives. He was alone with the savage warriors, and what they intended
to do with him there was no telling. But he had good reasons for
believing that a horrible fate was in store for him.
"I must get away if I can," he thought. "They can't do any more than
shoot me if I try to escape, and even that will be better than to be
burnt at the stake."
The Indians now noticed that he had recovered consciousness, and one of
them rode closer and said sharply:
"White hunter boy must keep still. If yell will strike him!" And he
flourished his tomahawk threateningly.
"Where are you taking me?" questioned Henry. But the Indian would not
answer and only told him to keep quiet.
It was growing morning when the small band came to a halt, at the bank
of a wide stream where there was a series of rapids among the rocks.
Henry was cut loose and ordered to dismount. Then he was led to a nearby
tree and tied up once more.
"Will you give me a drink?" he asked of one of the Indians, but for
answer the redman slapped him sharply over the mouth and told him to
hold his tongue.
Suffering much from thirst and from the wound on his left hand, which
had now begun to swell, Henry watched the Indians as they prepared an
early morning meal, for the light of dawn was now showing in the east. A
fire of very dry wood, which would give little smoke, was lighted and
over this two of the redmen prepared some deer meat they had been
carrying. The smell of the cooking venison was tantalizing to Henry, but
he knew better than to ask for a portion of the repast. Once or twice
the Indians came up to him but only to jibe at him and poke him with
their guns or their bows, while one made a move with his hunting knife
as if to cut out the young hunter's heart.
While the Indians were busy eating Henry tugged at his bonds with all
the strength he could muster. But he was too weak, and the warriors had
bound the rawhides too firmly, for the youth to budge them. He only made
his wound break out afresh, and then had to stop, well-nigh exhausted
with his effort.
"Getting away is out of the question," he thought, and a heavy sigh
escaped his lips. "They will keep a sharp watch on me until they get
back to their village and then they will take great delight in torturing
me in every way they can think of. Oh, what savages they are, every one
of them!"
Thus musing, Henry watched the Indians eat their meal. When they had
finished one warrior came to him with some of the scraps and with a cup
full of dirty water.
"White hunter boy can eat," said the Indian, and untied one of his
hands. It was far from an appetizing meal and was decidedly scant. But
it was better than nothing, and not wishing to starve to death Henry ate
all that was offered him and drank the water to the last drop. Then his
loose hand was once again fastened behind him.
The Indians were now holding a consultation, sitting close to the dying
embers of the fire and smoking their long-stemmed pipes. But little of
what was said reached Henry's ears, yet he caught the words "big feast"
and "burn at stake" spoken in the Indian tongue. At this he had to
shudder in spite of every effort to control his feelings.
"I must get away!" he thought. "I must! I'm not going to allow them to
burn me at the stake! It's horrible. I've heard all about old Sol Harper
and Dick Waterbury, and how they suffered. I'd rather be shot.
They'll--Oh!"
His thoughts came to a sudden end, and for the instant he felt that he
must be dreaming. His eyes had strayed to the bushes on the opposite
bank of the stream. A white hand was raised warningly and the bushes
parted slowly, showing the face of his old friend, Sam Barringford.
Henry nodded, to show that he had seen the old frontiersman. Then the
bushes closed again and Sam Barringford disappeared.