CHAPTER II.
THE STRATAGEM OF THE TRAPPERS
With the privilege of the romancer, let us transfer the reader to a spot some thirty miles distant from the locality mentioned in the preceding chapter. It is a beautiful place. On the west the mountain, on the east and south the plains, on the north a spur of hills running out from the original chain. Here vegetation flourished, and the sweet breath of nature was fresh and dewy. Trees and flowers, and green grass, and sparkling streams greeted the eye, and the soft undertone of winds and waters, so like to silence itself, rang soothingly in the ear.
Hard by a spring of clear water, which bubbled out from under the huge trunk of a fallen tree, a small body of men were encamped around the smouldering embers of the fast-dying fire, on which they had prepared their evening meal. That duty having been disposed of, and their horses seen to, they were, after the manner of their class, engaged in a talk. The subject, too, which claimed their attention, was one of more importance than mere calculations as to peltries, or the ordinary run of camp-fire stories.
“I tell you,” said one, the youngest, apparently, of the company; “I tell you that’s the trail of a party of Blackfeet on the war-path. You kin see that with half an eye.”
“I don’t know,” chimed in another. “It’s nigh into fifteen years since I first crossed this here region, and I calculate that them resembles Injins tracks, an’ made by a crowd it ’ud be cussed onhandy for us to meet. They’re bent on mischief, and we’d better outen the fire and make a clean break, for we can’t tell how many of ’em may be about.”
“The Biting Fox is right,” said a voice, which seemed to come from their very midst.
Instantly the whole party leaped to their feet, and, with surprise pictured on their faces, gazed in the direction from which the voice proceeded. Right by their fire stood a man, tall of stature, and apparently of the Crow nation. In full war-paint he stood, leaning on his rifle, and gazing intently upon the hunters.
“The Biting Fox is right, for the train is of the Blackfeet. Their number is large, and their blood is warm, for they seek the scalps of the Crows. Three suns ago they passed here; to-night they will return – Antonio waits for them. The fair-haired daughter of the great white Medicine may be with them, and they will pass quickly; but the rifle is long, and the eyes of the young eagles are sharp. Will they wait for them?”
“Yer right,” shouted Biting Fox, leaping to his feet. “They’ll pass the Major’s house, sure as death, an’ ef Wavin’ Plume an’ his chummy ain’t along here on their trail, I’ll never look through sights agin.”
“The white men will need all help. The two braves may come, and the warriors of the great Crow tribe will press hard on behind them, for they are very brave.”
The person whom we introduced as the first speaker had been viewing Antonio rather curiously for some time, and now, with a half-puzzled sort of tone, he asked:
“Look-a here, I’ve got two questions to ask – how did that ar log git thar, an’ how did you happen to be in it? Ef you had a bin one of the sneakin’ cusses as made that trail you could a knocked both of us over before we could a knowed whar the shots come from.”
“The Great Spirit placed the tree there – three suns ago I was here at the spring, when the dogs of the Burnt Stick came, and I crawled into the tree to hide from them. While they were at the spring I heard their plans, and to-night I waited for them to return. I was sleeping, but awoke at the sound of your talking.”
This conversation, carried on by two of the party, reassured, as it was intended to do, the rest; and, satisfied that the half-breed was a man to be trusted, they were ready to enter into a discussion as to what was to be done. One of the first things to decide was as to the probable course which the Blackfeet would pursue. Should they come by this route, would they be likely to have in the possession either the Major or his daughter? If these questions were answered affirmatively, what was to be done?
The discussion was short but harmonious. Only one feeling was manifest – to attempt a rescue. Thus it was that Ned Hawkins – a sharp-witted and experienced hunter, who had command of the men – having spent some little time in thought, and some little more in conversation with Antonio, announced his determination.
Hawkins threw himself upon his horse, making a signal for the men to mount and follow. Without questioning the propriety of his move, they obeyed, and all set out in the direction – nearly at right angles with the trail – of the nearest encampment of the Crows. They held on this course for some distance, until the bed of a stream was reached, and then forward for a few hundred yards, till the hoofs of the horses struck upon hard ground, pointed out by the half-breed, and over which it would be difficult to trace them. Taking, at length, a bend over this, they returned to the stream at some distance from the spot where they had previously crossed it. Halting at the stream, the leader made a sign for the rest to stop, and at the same time taking his blanket from its place, behind his back, he dismounted and advanced to the low, shelving bank, and spreading the blanket carefully along the ascent. The blankets of the others were used in like manner, and soon a sort of bridge was made over the grassy turf, upon which the animals were led. Then the hindmost blankets were raised, and placed in front, the horses proceeded a few steps, and the same process was repeated. A few rods thus passed over brought them into their old trail. Along this they hastily galloped, much time had been consumed in the operation, and if the foe should arrive a little before the expected time, their plans might not admit of a full completion.
At the old camping ground they found Antonio awaiting them; and, by the same means employed at the stream, they begun to transfer their horses to the shade of the clump of timber upon their right.
Antonio leading, they soon came into an opening; but, as man after man defiled into it, from the opposite side came a scream, so shrill, so weird and unearthly, that in mute amazement they halted. Silence brooded over the group, touching all with its icy hand. The horses shrunk back with an irrepressible fear, and not a man was there whose thumb did not strike, with startled quickness, the lock of his rifle.
The levelled pieces were let drop into the hollow of their hands, and Hawkins turned to Antonio with:
“I’ve heerd tell o’ this critter often, an’ I’ve seed him myself, twice afore, but I never heerd, and I never knowed of his gettin’ that close to a man without tryin’ to git closer. They’re an ugly brute, an’ I believe I’d sooner try a rough an’ tumble with a grizzly hisself. What does it mean?”
“It’s a sign,” responded the half-breed.
The men threw themselves down, to await in patience the expected arrival. The trapper, who, on the first apparition of Antonio, had recognized him, was disposed to continue the conversation. Some few words passed, and then the question was asked as to what time the Indians might be expected.
“An hour yet. The horses of the Blackfeet will be wearied; but, when the moon rises, their scouts will be at the spring. If my white brethren had been unwarned, they might have been seen. Then they would have travelled fast. The golden-haired would have been mounted on a swift horse; the road to their land is but short, and a young squaw, given to the Great Spirit, is never seen again.”
“Right, my mighty! You know the red varmints like a book.”
Ned Hawkins, meantime, had been diligently watching the horizon, straining his eye-sight in the endeavour to discover something to repay him for his trouble. Now, more through surprise than the fear of the presence of an enemy, he uttered a warning.
“Sh!” On the plain a long line of dark, moving forms could be seen coming on at a fast pace. There was sufficient light to show to the breathless watchers that they were Indians; but to what tribe they belonged could not be told until they drew nearer, or the moon should fully rise. There was, however, but little doubt in the minds of the trappers that they were the expected enemy. The story of the half-breed had been so far verified.
As they filed, one after another into full view, and no signs of prisoners could be seen, the half-breed shook his head in an unsatisfied manner, while Hawkins said, in a whisper:
“Prairie Wolf, I allow yer sharp in Injun matters an’ death on black critters, but you’ve mistook the thing this time, an’ run us inter a purty snarl asides. Thar’s only about twenty of the red-skins, an’ nary a prisoner.”
“Antonio was right. The band was twice as large when it passed, three suns ago.”
“Ef yer right, it beats me,” put in Stevens, in a gruff, but low tone; “only one way to clear it up They’ve been whipt like thunder, an’ consequently ther in a bully flame of mind for rubbin’ us out, if they once get the scent.”
“If the pale-faces will wait till they are settled, they shall learn why but half of these who went returned. They look not like men who have been beaten.”
“Waal. I allow it might be some sort o’ a consideration to know about them things, but then, as the Major ’pears safe, there’s other things nearer home to look at.”
This speech, notwithstanding the important facts which it contained, was somewhat dangerous to their safety, for Biting Fox, the speaker, had incautiously let his voice rise to a very loud whisper. Accordingly, Antonio expressed his opinion on the question of “what’s to be done” by admonishing silence.
“Ef we were squaws, who talk, we might be in danger; but we are men who fight, and do not talk. Antonio will creep up to their camp, and hear what they say.”
No dissenting voice was raised to this proposition, and he departed with that quick and stealthy step, for which the aborigines of our country have been so noted. So weird-like was his motion that he seemed like a ghost flitting through the trees. When he reached the edge of the copse he disappeared entirely.
When the scout had crept up within hearing distance of the encampment, he redoubled his caution. Advancing like a serpent, he felt well around before he drew his body forward, fearful that something might lie in his path, which, giving forth a sound, might herald his approach. Long practice in this kind of work enabled him to advance noiselessly to within a few yards of the nearest group, where, sheltered by the already mentioned trunk of the fallen tree, he could easily understand their conversation. The halt was a temporary one, but a number of the braves, tired by their long journey, had sunk to sleep, only four or five, apparently, being yet awake. These, engaged in a conversation as earnest as would be consistent with their savage dignity, were stationed nearest to the cover which concealed the hunters. All of them appeared to be chiefs of some importance.
Antonio remained in his position near a quarter of an hour; then, having learned those things which he wished to know, sought to retrace, unobserved, his steps. This he succeeded in doing, and, just as the hunters were becoming anxious, on account of his prolonged absence, he stood in their midst.
“Waal, what did yer make out?” was the anxious inquiry.
“Antonio was right. The white chief and the young squaw, his daughter, are prisoners. Those who have the two followed another trail, but they will meet each other at the great crossing of the Yellowstone River. These, at the spring, have the scalp of the Crow at their girdle, and the Prairie Wolf would fight them for revenge.”
Even as the half-breed was speaking, the four Indians in council raised themselves from the ground, swiftly wending their way to the spring. Standing there for a moment, they cautiously set out on the trail which had been made. As the form of the last brave was lost to view, Ned Hawkins whispered, in a meaning tone:
“We’re in for it now, boys! Yer can’t blind old Eagle-eye, nor yer can’t run away. It’ll be a fightin’ matter, an’ it ar a blessin’ that half them varmints are sleepin’. Don’t fire unless they’re right atop of you, or gin the yell. Then fight like grizzly bears or catamounts. Ef yer don’t, yer hair will be riz, sure.”
“What do you think, Wolf?” queried Biting Fox.
He, thus addressed, quietly shook his head for an answer, making a gesture indicative of doubt.
“Yer in doubt. Now I allows it ar a doubtful subject, an’ if – hillo! Fire an’ yer a dead Injin!” whispered he, in a stern, low voice, at the same time bringing his rifle in line with the heart of Antonio, who, regardless of their dangerous position, was aiming in the direction of the Blackfeet camp.
The movement and address of Biting Fox recalled him to his senses, and, carefully letting fall the muzzle of his gun, he pointed to a dark object, dimly to be seen creeping slowly along toward the thicket, and, in a voice even lower than he had formerly used, he whispered:
“That is Talmkah.”
With a sagacity all their own, the Indians had divined that the whites had taken refuge in the thicket. Moreover, it was patent that from the care which they had exercised, and the time occupied in the movement, that they did so with the intention of watching them – perhaps of making an attack if a favourable moment presented itself.
The half-breed turned to the hunters.
“Prairie Wolf will go fall upon Talmkah. If he can meet him the chief shall die, and know not the hand that struck him. If it fails, let the white men ride straight through the camp, and they will escape. Fear not for Antonio – he can take care of himself. If the great braves of the Crows and the white trappers do not rescue the prisoners before, we will meet at the Great Crossing.”
Before nay could be said, he was gone. Five minutes passed as an age, and there was a wild, fierce yell; two figures arose from the ground, then fell again, writhing together in a desperate, deadly encounter. Quick as thought the score of warriors were on their feet, and rushing toward their horses. As they rose, five steeds, with their five riders close clinging, charged madly out of the thicket, and bore down upon the confused mass. With a volley from their fire-arms, the horsemen dashed through them, and several of the savages fell. Before the Indians could bring their arms to bear, they were comparatively useless, for the whites were out of range.
A cry from the throat of Antonio brought them to their senses. The grasp of Talmkah had slipped, and his antagonist drove home his knife. Then a piercing whistle rang out, so shrill and loud that Ned Hawkins, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, turned in his saddle. As the last sound of the note died away from the shrubbery, with crash and tear, came a coal-black mustang, dashing for the spot where the single combat had taken place. Then Antonio separated from his antagonist, and threw himself upon his horse. One more cry of exultation, and he rode recklessly over the plain, coal-black mustang and stout-limbed brave vanishing from sight of both friend and foe.
“Anybody hurt?” was the first query, after the trappers were out of gun-shot.
“Nary one,” said Bill Stevens.
“Blessin’s don’t come single-handed. Got out o’ the durned scrape easier than I ’spected. An’ the half-breed, who are cl’ar grit, ’cordin’ to all appearances, will save his scalp, too. Meanwhile, what are we to do? stay here, strike for head quarters er foller ’em on?”
A little conversation, a few questions as to route and distance, and then, with a hardy assurance, the hunters struck across the broad prairie. Now along its level surface, now through thin belts of timber, or clumps of bushes; again over undulating mounds and through the beds of numberless summer streams which lay in their way, they ceaselessly pursued their course. Every sign which lay in their way was instinctively noted as they flitted by, and, by long practice, they could see far around them.
For several hours they travelled on, until the moon seemed nearly ready to sink behind the mountains, which lay off and away to the west. Noticing this, Biting Fox partly drew rein, and remarked:
“I should calkerlate that it war time, nigh about, to stop. We haven’t so very many more miles ahead, an’ ef we should happen to cross the trail too soon, we don’t do any good, an’ mebbe a sight o’ bad. The hosses ar a leetle blowed; here’s a good place to rest ’em, so I’m in fur holdin’ up.”
“All right,” responded Hawkins, and the party halted.
As they did so the moon dropped quietly behind a black cloud, and, for a few moments, they were left in nearly total darkness.