CHAPTER XIII
THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST
During their stay amongst the Iroquois, which had now extended over rather more than a year, the two English youths had gained the esteem and friendship of two young Indians, both the sons of the White Eagle. Their names were respectively "Young Eagle" and "Swift Arrow."
The former was a strong and supple youth of seventeen, sturdy as an oak, but as straight as a cedar. His brother, who was a year younger, had gained his title of "Swift Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot that he could overtake the swiftest deer of the forest with comparative ease. Both inherited much of the courage and fearlessness of their sire.
These four companions spent much of their time, now that the summer had come again, in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks together in the fastnesses of the forest. They became well-nigh inseparable. Many were the adventures and escapades, and many the dangers, too, that they braved in each other's company.
Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe had struck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into the boiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers, and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eagle missed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck the rock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down the stream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in the rapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arriving there first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away, immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after a desperate struggle, in saving Jack from drowning.
This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to repay the week afterwards, for in pursuing a wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had the misfortune to lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just in the act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded frenzy; when Jack, heedless of the danger which he himself ran, rushed into the very "hug" of the wounded bear, and plunged his long hunting-knife into its heart. The bear rolled over upon them both, but the last wound proved fatal, and the huge monster lay still in death.
A dozen incidents of this nature had only cemented the ties which bound these friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear to think of that near future when they must part from their red brothers, for much as they loved the forest, they felt somehow that their life was not to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on land or sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it had commenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the high seas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the North American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.
Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they had been absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggy brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in that part of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters of their own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenly struck a fresh trail, which showed the prints of moccasined feet.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who was the first to discover them.
"What is the matter? Is it the trail of an enemy or a friend?" demanded Jack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of a serpent."
"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.
All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Every bit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Then they cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles. At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemy that had passed that way.
"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near the hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.
"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping to pick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after the pattern of the French Indians.
They clustered round this piece of evidence, which seemed incontestable, for a rude attempt had been made to work even the Lilies of France on the discarded footgear.
When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word broke from all their lips–
"Algonquins!"
But what were the fiends doing here, so far from the River of Canada? And how many of them had come from across the lakes?
These were the questions they set themselves to settle next, as they continued their keen search for any little trifle which might help to explain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, and every twig and leaf may be a written page.
They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, until they came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the soft black earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declared that there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that they must be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of the Canadas.
"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," said Red Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint that was both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a different pattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."
The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with the palm of his hand, and compared it with the others.
"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, as though the man had walked like this–" and here Jamie imitated the carriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when he walks.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My paleface brother is right. 'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."
"Not an Indian?"
"No!"
"Who, then, can it be?"
"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has left that mark!"
"A paleface?" exclaimed the English youths, raising their voices above a whisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.
"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" and this seemed to all of them the solution of the problem.
The trail was a fresh one, too, and the enemy could not be far away, so they immediately held a council of war, to decide what had best be done. But the sun had set and it was almost dark, and they were compelled to camp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees afforded them a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.
They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to the enemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of a little dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning before they followed the trail further.
"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow will watch," said the young chief.
"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us till sunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did more than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."
"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels not fatigue. Let my brothers sleep."
The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that though they had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois, yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wise be matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, the young palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches, unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.
They had been asleep perhaps for an hour, when the cry of a night-hawk, followed by the howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance. On hearing these the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, and without speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside the branches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of the sounds.
It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed but faintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.
An hour passed–two hours–but the Indian youth returned not. Had he scented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return? Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed that Jamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmured something in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to close them, lest the sounds might betray them.
"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chief inwardly, "for his sleep is still troubled."
The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled, and yet 'twas only a dream, that he had often dreamt before. His brain had often been puzzled as to why this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt that he was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in the Homeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, and spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" he said, and the tears rained down his rough face. But the little child, with sunshine in his bonny face, and laughter in his bright blue eyes, crowed and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's beard.
It was at this point that Young Eagle had placed his hand on the lips of his sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes for an instant, but he quickly closed them again.
Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side with Jack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting the bear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, when suddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of the forest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was an old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band of cruel red men.
Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escaped his lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree about his head and face, and although the coup de grâce had not been given, yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips were compressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to God that death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.
A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and a Yengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.
"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whether he has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.
"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sight of a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried the hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatal blow.
"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a red warrior."
"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find them petticoats!"
This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about his head. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but he bore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said–
"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show them where lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-water of the Canadas, and they miss their mark."
The chief lifted up his hand, and said–
"The Great Spirit has given the paleface the heart of a red man, so that he fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears the spirit of the flames."
A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, and the Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and dead timber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of his prisoner.
Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the match was about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of the moment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and awoke suddenly.
The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. He sprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself–
"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face that I have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"
Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of Black Hawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in an instant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleepless vigilance throughout the whole night, and said–
"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let me watch, while he slept."
"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger to indicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a few yards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood ready for whatever foe might suddenly appear.
The branches parted, and Swift Arrow stepped quietly into the opening. This brave youth had spent the night in the forest, sometimes lying still as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, or crouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruel enemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had done more.
He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating to the very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had saved the lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks in returning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for some distance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed his efforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.
Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, who had now awakened, could see that he had something of importance to communicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of his tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, which consisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.
"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal was over.
"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of little importance and scarcely worth the telling.
"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then the young warrior spoke briefly and as follows–
"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, of twenty-four braves–and one prisoner...."
"And the prisoner? Who–what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering his dream.
"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."
CHAPTER XIV
SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS
"The paleface hunter, did my brother say? Is he the prisoner?" exclaimed Jamie, leaping to his feet, trembling with suppressed excitement.
"Hist! my brother forgets that an enemy is near!" said Young Eagle, raising his finger to request caution.
At this moment, after several cabalistic signs, Swift Arrow left the camp and quietly disappeared in the forest, and Jamie, expressing regret at permitting his feelings to gain the mastery over him at such a moment, resumed his seat on the ground.
"Whither away, Swift Arrow?" called Jack softly, as the Indian youth glided past him, but he either did not hear him, or heeded not his question.
"Swift Arrow has gone to the wigwams of the White Eagle, to say that his friend is in the hands of the Algonquins," said the Young Eagle, who had now assumed all the gravity and demeanour of an Iroquois chief.
"Phew! That means a journey of sixty miles at least. Rather a long step for a lad, who hunted all day yesterday and scouted all last night. When will he get there?"
"When the sun touches the tree-tops to-morrow White Eagle will know!" replied the young chief.
"Then he will come with all the warriors who are not away hunting, and fight the Algonquins?" asked Jamie.
"Ugh!" said the Indian, signifying yes.
"Perhaps that may be too late to save the paleface. I fear they will have put him to death," said Jamie gloomily. "Cannot we go and save him now?"
"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem very despondent," said Jack, as his comrade heaved a sigh deep enough to break his heart. "Do you despair of your life, that you want to throw it away so cheaply? If we are discovered by yonder crew, our lives are not worth a toss, and our scalps will be carried to the Canada lodges."
"The Wacondah has spoken to my brother, and his heart is heavy," said the Indian, looking straight at Red Feather with his piercing eyes.
"What is it, Jamie? Out with it. We agreed that there should be no secrets between us," said Jack, half in jest and half in earnest.
"Jack," said his friend solemnly, "I dreamt last night that I saw this paleface hunter in the clutches of the Algonquins. He was bound to a tree, and they were practising upon him every conceivable torture that even a red devil can invent. I saw him pierced and wounded, and the blood flowing freely from his head and face. Then, having tormented him to the utmost bounds, and finding that his brave heart quailed not beneath it all, they brought faggots and brushwood and kindled them at his feet. They were going to burn him to death, yes, roast him alive, while they danced around him in mad delight. But just as they kindled the fire, and my heart was bursting with grief and agony, because I was unable to help, I awoke, for I could bear it no longer. Then Swift Arrow returned and told what he himself had seen, but I believe that I saw even more than he did, for he saw not the tortures–and–and–I fear that we shall be too late when the chief arrives with his braves. That is why I wished to go straight to the camp now, and what is more, the face of that hunter is as familiar to me as your own, that is by night, for I have often dreamt of him before, but by daylight his features become indistinct, and I cannot recall his face. So now that is why my heart is so heavy! Cannot we do anything to save him?"
This last question was addressed to the young chief, who had been a serious listener to all that Jamie had just said, for the Indians take dreams very seriously, and treat them as messages from the Manitou.
"The Grey Badger is a great hunter, and his rifle has often left its mark upon the Algonquins, as well as the bear and the panther. Red men no kill him quickly. He is too great a prize. They will keep him till the new moon, and then kill him," replied the Indian.
"When is the new moon?" asked Red Feather hastily.
"Two days!"
"And when will our friends arrive?"
The young chief made the circle of the sun's course twice, and then pointed to the zenith.
"Then there is just a chance that we may be able to save him after all."
"Yes. For why should the Wacondah speak a lie?" said the Indian earnestly.
"What do you mean? I don't understand you!"
"Why, Jamie, it's as clear as noon-day what he means. He says, 'Why should the Wacondah speak a lie?' That is, if the Great Spirit has put it into your heart to save this paleface hunter, why should he withhold the means to do it, when He is all-powerful? The lad's faith in his God is greater than your own. So cheer up, and we'll save him yet, or we'll know the reason why."
"Young Eagle, I thank you. You have lifted a load from my heart, and your faith is greater than mine, though I have been bred in a Christian country," said Jamie.
"Ugh! My paleface brother has often told me of the sacred writings in the land of the sun-rising, and how the Great Spirit has spoken to his white children; why, then, should he disbelieve the words of the Wacondah?"
This conversation was suddenly interrupted by an Indian whoop, which seemed to come from the distant camp.
"What can that mean? Listen! There it comes again," said Jack. This time it was repeated from several quarters.
"It simply means that they have been joined by another party of their friends," said the Indian.
"What can they be doing so far away from their own hunting-grounds?"
"Depend upon it, they are here for no good. They're out for scalps, and to harass their inveterate foes, the Iroquois, and any Yengeese woodsmen they can lay hands upon."
"Must we remain here, like rats in a hole, Young Eagle? Is there nothing that we can do?" said Jack.
"Yes! We must watch all their movements, and if they move, follow them, leaving a broad trail that White Eagle can follow in the dark."
"Lead the way, then, Eagle, and we'll follow your trail."
Then they crept stealthily from their lair, and cautiously advanced through the tangled forest, in the direction of the camp, for now that the enemy were excited by the arrival of their allies perhaps they would be a little off their guard.
Soon they struck the trail that they had seen on the previous evening, and followed it carefully; sometimes creeping on their hands and knees, crawling through the brushwood, watching furtively the while for any signs of the outlying scouts who were sure to be guarding the camp.
Suddenly the hiss of a serpent caused them to start. It came from the direction of the young Indian, who was but a few paces in advance, and was the signal for them to halt and lie still. Immediately they became as dead logs, hugging the ground.
Had the Eagle seen the first scout?
Yes, surely! What was that dark object creeping through the forest, not fifty yards away? Was it not the skulking form of a redskin prowling about like a wolf, and all the while coming nearer and nearer. He had evidently not seen them as yet, for he still continued to approach, but he seemed so wary and so alert that if he continued he must discover them within another minute. Jamie covered him with his rifle, but he was too wise to shoot, unless all other measures failed, as the crack of a rifle so near the camp would alarm the whole party and bring the Algonquins upon them in a moment.
Slowly, slowly the seconds passed, and each one seemed in itself an age. They scarcely dared to breathe, lest the slightest sound or movement should attract the attention of the scout.
He was only ten paces from the young chief when he halted, as though his suspicions had been aroused. He was looking full in the direction of his enemies, when some fluttering object in a bush, near the Iroquois lad, caught his attention. He would examine that particular bush before giving the alarm, so he advanced cautiously, looking warily around him.
He was a young warrior, perhaps out for his first scalp. How kingly it would be to return to the camp with a scalp at his girdle, and without boasting, quietly to take his place at the council fire, while all eyes were fixed upon that trophy which he had won, unaided and alone.
The dark-eyed Indian maidens, too–how they would glance at him with love-lit eyes and point out the trophy, and sing of his courage when he returned home. Perhaps these thoughts were in his mind as he approached the bush. One thing, however, he must avoid, that was, creating a false alarm and thereby making himself a laughing-stock amongst his comrades by mistaking a tree or a log for an enemy.
This temerity cost him dear. To reach the bush which had aroused his suspicions, he had to pass within a few feet of Young Eagle. As he did so, the latter made a sudden bound, like a panther springing upon his prey, and cleft his skull with his keen hatchet.
Without a groan even, the Algonquin sank to the ground, and his spirit passed to the hunting-grounds of his people. The youths turned their faces away, whilst the young chief secured his first scalp. Having obtained this trophy, he next dragged the lifeless form of the scout into the forest and hid it away amongst the bushes, lest its discovery should bring down upon them a swarm of hornets, in the shape of the inmates of the neighbouring camp. Then he proudly retraced his steps in the direction of his companions, who were eagerly awaiting his return.
"Was it well done, Young Eagle, to risk all our lives and our chances of saving the hunter for a single scalp?" asked Jamie, who felt somehow that his redskin friend might have left the scalp alone, for the present, at any rate, forgetting in his anxiety to save the paleface that an Indian will go without food willingly for a whole week in order to obtain one scalp.
"Young Eagle is a warrior! He saw only an Algonquin dog!"
"But prudence is a virtue, even in a great warrior!"
"Let him alone, Jamie. For an Indian to leave an enemy's scalp behind is a disgrace, and just as dishonourable as for a paleface to leave his ensign in the hands of the enemy," said Jack.
Their present position was one of great danger, though for the moment the death of the scout had reduced the chances of their being discovered. Nevertheless, their only chance to avoid the enemy was to find a spot where they could lie hidden till dark, for the scout would be sure to be missed shortly, and then a search would be made for him.
A spot was found not twenty yards away, on the edge of a little rivulet that ran through the forest. They, therefore, took a circuitous route to this stream, and then walked cautiously down the bed of the rivulet, so that the water would wash away their footprints in the sandy bottom. Having gained this secluded spot, they were hidden from sight of an approaching enemy, owing to the branches of the willows and alders drooping to the ground and meeting the tangled undergrowth, and they could yet watch the surrounding forest through the interstices of the branches.
Here they lay hidden during the rest of that day. As the afternoon wore on they several times heard the whoops and yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the report of a rifle, and Jamie feared that it denoted the end of the paleface prisoner, but the young chief said that that was very unlikely.
This close confinement at length became very irksome, and the youths were so wearied and impatient that it needed all the influence and sagacity of the Indian to urge them to remain till sunset. How wise this counsel was will shortly be seen.
"Hist! What does that mean, Young Eagle?" said Jamie, when rather late in the afternoon a sound very much like the "cawing" of a rook was heard to proceed from a spot scarce a hundred yards away. No answer was given, and the sound was repeated twice; each time it sounded a little nearer.
The Indian did not speak, for he was keenly scrutinising the forest in the direction of the sound, and at the same time unconsciously fingering his tomahawk, while his every sense seemed alert.
"'Tis another scout who seems to expect a reply from his fallen comrade, I fear, Jamie," said Jack, "and he can't understand why he gets no answer."
"Ah! He is becoming suspicious. He is searching for him, and–and–he's coming this way," whispered Jamie.
"Look! I can see him now through the trees. What if he finds his dead comrade? Hist! He's looking this way."
Nearer and nearer came the Algonquin. He was within forty yards now, and within twenty feet of where his companion had been slain. Suddenly he started and a half-smothered exclamation escaped his lips. He was looking at the ground, examining it carefully. He knelt down and carefully removed the turf and leaves, raising his head every few seconds, as though expecting to see his comrade.
Had he discovered a trail, or something worse? He was only thirty feet away from the mangled corpse of the first scout. He was only ten feet away from the spot where the death-blow had been given. It was the trail of his lost comrade that he had discovered, but what next?
It was a moment fraught with intense excitement for the watchers. The issues to these three adventurers were life or death. Once he discovered the truth that was hidden in those bushes, a single call for assistance would fill the forest with blood-thirsty hornets, and all would be lost.
What could be done? He was too far away to be dispatched like his comrade, and a rifle-shot would alarm the camp. Step by step he advanced. Then his eager eyes caught sight of the fresh blood-marks and evidences of the recent scuffle.
The Indian gazed at the red spots, and followed their trail to the bushes. Then, as his eyes caught sight of the mangled corpse, he uttered a blood-curdling yell that made the dark aisles of the forest resound. At the same instant Jamie's rifle spoke out, and the Indian fell to the ground.
Five seconds had scarcely passed when from the camp there came the answering yell. It was a wild, fierce cry of revenge that brought the whole pack upon their trail.