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Camp-fire and Wigwam, a novel by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 16. A Perplexing Question |
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_ CHAPTER XVI. A PERPLEXING QUESTION
In these days, when a friend sets out to trace a person who is seeking to hide himself, he is always able to pick up some knowledge that will give valuable help in his search. The habits of the individual, some intentions, or rather wishes, to which he may have given utterance a long time before, his little peculiarities of manner, which are sure to betray themselves, no matter how complete the disguise--these, and other points, are certain to afford the help the hunter through the cities and towns and country requires. But my reader will observe the vast difference between a case such as occurs every day, and that which confronted the young Indian. Two boys had gone into the woods more than a week before, on a long hunt, and were now missing; it was his task to find them. Could it be done? Had Deerfoot taken up the pursuit shortly after the departure of the boys, he could have sped over their trail like a bloodhound. There could have been no escaping him; but since they left home, rain had fallen, and even that marvel of canine sagacity could not have trailed them through the wilderness. It was idle, therefore, for Deerfoot to seek for that which did not exist; no trail was to be found; at least, none in that neighborhood. In all his calculations, he did not build the slightest hope on that foundation. Had he done so, he would have sought to take up the shadowy footprints from where the boys left the settlement; but the utmost he did was to learn the general direction taken by them, when they entered upon one of the wildest expeditions that can be imagined. Hundreds and thousands of square miles of mountain and forest were spread out before him. The vast territory of Louisiana, as it was then called, stretched away to the Gulf of Mexico, and spread toward the setting sun until stopped by the walls of the Rocky Mountains. The youth could spend his life in wandering over that prodigious area, without coming upon or gaining the slightest traces of a thousand people whom he might wish to find. The conclusion was inevitable that he must pursue some intelligent course, or he never could succeed. It should be said that Deerfoot had not the slightest doubt of a grave misfortune having befallen his friends. Jack Carleton never would willingly remain from home for so long a period; he was too affectionate a son to grieve his mother by such a course. He and Otto Relstaub, therefore, were either prisoners in the hands of Indians, or they had been put to death. Just the faintest possible fear troubled the young Shawanoe. He recalled the incidents which had marked the journey of himself and the boys from Kentucky, only a short time before. The Shawanoes, the fiercest and most cunning of all the Indian tribes, had not only pursued them to the river's edge, but had followed them across the Mississippi, coming within a hair's breadth of destroying the two boys who were making such haste toward Martinsville. Had any of those Shawanoes pushed the pursuit still further? Had they lingered near the settlement, awaiting just such an opportunity as was given by Jack and Otto when they went off on their hunt? This was the phase of the question which for a long time tortured Deerfoot. He felt that it was improbable that danger existed in that shape. The Shawanoes had no special cause for enmity against the boys. If they should venture into Louisiana to revenge themselves upon any one, it would be upon Deerfoot. Nothing was more certain than that he had not been molested by any of his old enemies, for a good many days previously, nor had they been anywhere near him during that period. But the cunning Indian, like his shrewd white brother, may do the very thing least expected. Might they not capture and make off with the boys, for the very purpose of leading Deerfoot on a long pursuit, in which the advantage would be wholly against him? But the field of conjecture thus opened was limitless. Deerfoot might have spent hours in theorizing and speculating, and still have been as far from the truth as at the beginning; he might have formed schemes, perfect in every detail, only to find, on investigation, that they were wrong in every particular. The elaborate structures which the detective rears are often builded on sand, and tumble to fragments on the slightest touch. Deerfoot was convinced that the boys either were captives in the hands of Indians, or they were dead. Had they been slain by red men--and it was not conceivable that both could have met death in any other way--it was useless to hunt for their remains, since only fortunate chance could end a search that might last a century. But if the boys had been carried off, there was hope of gaining trace of them, though that might involve endless wanderings to and fro, through the mountains and wilderness. Such a hunt, prosecuted on a systematic plan for a certain time, without any results, would satisfy Deerfoot that the boys, like many older ones, had met their death in the lonely depths of the wilderness, where no human eye would ever look upon them again. My reader, who has been let into the secret of the boys' disappearance, will perceive that Deerfoot was hovering around the truth, though he was still barred by difficulties almost insurmountable. Suppose he should make up his mind that Jack and Otto were at that moment with the red men, in what manner--except by an almost interminable search--could he learn what tribe held them prisoners? In the autumn of 1778, Frances Slocum, a little girl five years old, was stolen from her home in Wyoming Valley, and carried away by Delaware Indians. For a period of fifty-nine years the search for her was prosecuted with more or less earnestness. Thousands of dollars were spent, scores of persons were engaged at the same time in the hunt, journeys were made among the Western tribes, friendly Indians themselves were enlisted in the work, and yet, although the searchers were often within a few miles of her, they never picked up the first clue. After the lapse of more than half a century, when all hope had been abandoned by the surviving friends, the whereabouts of the woman became known, through an occurrence that was as purely an accident as was anything that ever took place in this world. Admitting the unapproachable woodcraft and skill of the young Shawanoe, yet he could not do the impossible. Could he be spared a hundred years, possibly he might make the grand round of his people on the American continent, but in the meantime, what of his friends for whom he would be making this extended tour? If so it should be that the boys were in the power of the Shawanoes, or Miamis, or Delawares, they were far to the east of the Mississippi; if with the Wyandots, they were also east of the Father of Waters, and probably in the vicinity of Lake Erie; if with the Ojibwas, to the northward along Lake Huron; if with the Ottawas, they were the same distance north, but on the shores of Lake Michigan; if with the Pottawatomies, further south on the same lake; if in the villages of the Kickapoos, or Winnebagoes, or Menomonies, it was on the southern and western shores of the same body of water; if with the Ottigamies, or Sacs, or Foxes, or in the land of the Assinoboine, the hunt must be of the most prolonged character. Still further, the vast bulk of the western continent stretched westward toward the Pacific. When Deerfoot faced the setting sun, he knew he was looking over the rim of one of the grandest countries of the globe. He had fair ideas of the vast prairies, enormous streams, prodigious mountains and almost illimitable area, which awaited the development of the coming centuries. One other suggestive fact was known to Deerfoot: representatives of the Indian tribes among the foothills of the Rocky Mountains had exchanged shots with the white explorers on the banks of the Mississippi. It is an error to suppose that the American savage confines his wanderings to a limited space. The majority do so, but, as I have said, the race produces in its way its quota of venturesome explorers, who now and then are encountered many hundreds of miles from home. Within the preceding few weeks, Deerfoot had met two warriors among the Ozark mountains, who, he saw at a glance, came from a long distance and probably had never before been in that section. Neither they nor Deerfoot could speak a word the other could understand, but the sign language is universal among the North American Indians, and they were soon conversing like a party of trained mutes. To the amazement of the young Shawanoe, he learned they were on their way to the Mississippi. They either would not or could not make clear their errand, but Deerfoot suspected it was that of gaining a glimpse of the civilization which as yet had not appeared in the West. Though the strangers were somewhat shy and suspicious, they offered no harm to the young Shawanoe, who, of course, showed only friendship toward them. From them he gained not a little rude information of the marvelous region which has since become familiar to the world. The fear, therefore, of Deerfoot was that some wandering band from the extreme West had captured the boys, and were at that very hour pushing toward the Pacific with them. It would require a long, long time to learn the truth, which, in all probability, would prove a bitter disappointment. From what has been said in this fragmentary manner, the reader may gain an idea of the almost infinite difficulties by which Deerfoot was confronted. Like a trained detective, however, he saw that much valuable time had been lost and a start must be made without further delay; and, furthermore, that the first step must be based on something tangible, or it would come to naught. The element of chance plays a leading part in such problems, and it may be questioned whether luck is not often a more powerful helper than skill. After leaving the settlement, Deerfoot naturally climbed to the nearest elevation which gave a view of the surrounding country, and it was while he was looking over the scene that his thoughts took the turn indicated by the preceding part of this chapter. It may be said that that for which he was searching was a starting point. "Where shall I begin?" was the question which remained unanswered until the sun was half way to meridian. The principal view of the young warrior was to the south and west, for the conviction was strong that thither he must look for the shadowy clue which he prayed might lead him to success. Several miles southward a camp-fire was burning, as was shown by the bluish vapor that seemed to stand still against the clear sky; the same distance to the southeast was a slighter evidence of another camp-fire, while to the southwest was still another, the vapor so thin and faint that the experienced eye of the Shawanoe told him the party spending the previous night there had gone early in the morning, leaving the fire to burn itself slowly out. Evidently the thing for Deerfoot to do was to visit one or all of the camps in quest of the clue which the chances were a thousand to one he would never find. Which should he first seek? The bravest of men has a tinge of superstition in his nature, and with all of Deerfoot's daring and profoundly devout nature, he was as superstitious in some respects as a child. He could not decide by means of his Bible the precise course to follow, for one of his principles was that he alone must determine his precise course of action, the Great Spirit holding him accountable only for the manner in which he did, or sought to do, that which he clearly saw was his duty. The hunting knife was whipped from his girdle, and, holding the point between his thumb and finger, he flung it a rod above his head. It turned over and over in going up and descending, and, when it struck the ground, landed on the hilt. Deerfoot looked down on the implement and saw that the point was turned toward the camp-fire which was furthest west. _ |
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