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Camp-fire and Wigwam, a novel by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 32. A Miscalculation |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. A MISCALCULATION
It fairly took away the breath of Jack. In all his fancies he had not once thought of anything like this, or he would have avoided running into what promised to prove a fatal trap. "My gracious!" he gasped, "this is a little too much of a good thing; it'll never do at all." The settlement was on the right hand bank of the stream, which just there had a northerly course. It was, therefore, on the shore where the fugitive desired to land. Dipping his improvised paddle, he drove the boat ahead with all the power he could command, and drew a breath of partial relief, when another sweeping curve shut him from sight. It was apparent that the Indians failed to grasp the situation in its entirety. They were accustomed to see white men hunting and trapping in that region, and they may have felt no wish to molest one of their number, though tempted so to do by his unprotected situation. At any rate, they stared at the canoe without offering to disturb its occupant. The black-eyed youngsters gaped wonderingly, and Jack saw several point in his direction, while they doubtless indulged in observations concerning him. But it need not be said that he was frightened almost out of his wits, and filled with self-disgust that he should have gone blindly into a peril against which a child ought to have mounted guard. The moment he felt he was out of sight of the redmen, who showed far less curiosity than he expected, he sprang ashore and shoved the canoe back into the current, which speedily carried it out of sight. Having landed, Jack hastened among the trees at the fastest gait possible. He was close to the village, although beyond sight. Glancing over his shoulder he expected every minute to see some of the dusky warriors, and to hear their whoops as they broke in pursuit. It must have been that this particular Indian village felt little if any interest in the white youth who paddled in front of their door, for not one of the number made a move by way of pursuit. When Jack had pushed through the wilderness for a couple of miles he formed the same conclusion, and dropped to a deliberate walk. The face of the country was rocky and broken, and he was confident that in many places he had left no trail at all. But, with that conviction came two others: he not only was tired but was excessively hungry. He had caught sight of game more than once while on the march, as it may be called, but refrained from firing through fear that the report of his gun would guide others who were hunting for him. At the same time he had twice heard the discharge of rifles at widely separated points. Probably they were fired by Indians on the hunt, or possibly some of the trappers of that section had not yet started on their long journey to St. Louis. At any rate when the sun had passed the meridian and the afternoon was well advanced, he made up his mind that he would take the first chance to secure food, no matter in what shape it presented itself. He smiled to himself, when within the succeeding ten minutes he caught sight of a young deer among the trees less than one hundred feet in advance. It bounded off affrighted by the figure of the youth, who, however, was so nigh that he brought it to the ground without difficulty. When he ran forward to dress it, he was surprised to find it had fallen within a rod of a ravine fifty feet deep. This ravine, which had evidently been a canyon or ancient bed of some mountain stream, was twenty yards or more in width, the rocky walls being covered with a mass of luxuriant, creeping vines, through which the gray of the rocks could be seen only at widely separated intervals. The bottom was piled up with the luxuriant vegetable growth of a soil surcharged with richness. Jack Carleton took only time enough to comprehend these points when he set to work kindling a fire against the trunk of a tree which grew close to the ravine. When that was fairly going, he cut the choicest slices from his game, and it was speedily broiled over the blaze. There was no water, so far as he knew, closer than the creek, but he did not specially miss it. Seasoned by his keen hunger, the venison was the very acme of deliciousness, and he ate until he craved no more. Then as he sat down on the leaves with his back to the tree opposite the blaze, he probably felt as comfortable as one in his situation could feel. He had pushed his strength almost to a dangerous verge, when rest became a luxury, and as he leaned against the shaggy bark behind him, it seemed as though he could sit thus for many hours without wishing to stir a limb. "I suppose," he said to himself in a drowsy tone, "that I ought to keep on the tramp until night, when I can crawl in behind some log and sleep till morning. It may be that one or two of the warriors from that last village are on my trail, but it don't look like it, and a fellow can't tramp forever without rest. I'll stop here for an hour or two, and then go ahead until dark. There's one thing certain,--I've thrown Ogallah and his friends so far off my track that they'll never be able to find it again." If any conclusion could be warranted, it would seem that this was of that nature, and yet by an extraordinary chain of circumstances the very danger which was supposed to have ended, was the one which came upon the fugitive. As he had anticipated, the method of his flight was discovered very early the succeeding morning, and many of the warriors and large boys started in pursuit. The hunt was pressed with a promptness and skill scarcely conceivable. It was inevitable that they should be puzzled by the singular proceeding with the canoes, and the pursuers became scattered, each intent on following out his own theory, as is the case with a party of detectives in these later days. The last boat was not found, but the identical youth who had fared so ill at the hands of Jack, came upon his trail where it left the river. His black eyes glowed with anticipated revenge, which is one of the most blissful emotions that can stir the heart of the American Indian. The young Sauk might have brought a half dozen older warriors around him by uttering a simple signal, but nothing could have induced him to do so. He had his gun, knife, and tomahawk,--all the weapons he could carry and all that were possibly needed. He had learned long before to trail his people through the labyrinthine forest, and in a year more he expected to go upon his first war trail. He hated with an inextinguishable hatred the pale face who had overthrown him in the wrestling bout and then had struck him a blow in the face, which, figuratively speaking, compelled him to carry his nose for several days in a sling. Ogallah had protected the sick pale face from molestation, but now the chief was the most eager for his death. The fugitive evidently believed he was safe against all pursuit, and it would therefore be the easier to surprise him. What greater feat could the young Sauk perform than to follow and secretly slay the detested lad? What a triumph it would be to return to the village with his scalp dangling at his girdle! Holding his peace (though it was hard to keep down the shout of joy that rose to his lips), he bounded away like a bloodhound in pursuit. Despite the precautions taken by Jack Carleton, the pursuer found little trouble in keeping to his trail, until it abruptly terminated on the bank of the creek, where advantage had been taken of the canoe. There he paused for a time at a loss what to do. Of course he knew of the Indian village at no great distance down stream and on the other side. Familiar as he was with the creek, he kept on until he reached a place where it broadened and was so shallow that he waded over without trouble. The red men whom he visited were friendly with the offshoot of the Sauk tribe, so that no risk was run in going among them. When he did so, as a matter of course, he gained the very information he was seeking; the canoe with the fugitive in it went by the village early in the morning. The pursuer declined the offer of help and went on alone. He was hardly outside the village when he struck the trail again, and, knowing he was at no great distance from the youth, he followed with a vigor and persistency that would not be denied. But during most of the time he was thus employed, Jack Carleton was similarly engaged, and, despite the energy of the young Sauk, the hours slipped by without bringing him a sight of the pale face, whose scalp he meant to bring back suspended to his girdle. The fugitive had about recovered his usual health, and he improved the time while it was his. Had he pushed forward until nightfall before halting for food or rest, he never would have been overtaken. But the signs showed the dusky youth that he was close upon the unsuspicious pale face, and he strode along with the care and skill of a veteran warrior. Finally his trained senses detected the smell of burning wood, and a moment later he caught sight of the camp-fire of Jack Carleton. The Indian stopped, and after some reconnoitering, concluded he could gain a better view from the other side the camp. With incredible pains he moved around to that side and was gratified by a success which glowed in his swarthy countenance and through his well-knit frame. He saw the pale face sitting on the ground, with his back against a tree, his mouth open, and his eyes closed. His gun rested on the ground beside him, and the wearied fugitive was asleep, and as helpless as an infant. The Sauk had only to raise his gun, take a quick aim, and shoot him dead, before he awoke or learned his danger. He could leap upon and finish him with his knife, but that would involve some risk to himself. He decided to drive his tomahawk into the skull of his victim, and to scalp him immediately after. As the first step toward doing so, he leaned his rifle against the nearest tree, so as to leave his arms free, and then, without any more ado, grasped the handle of his tomahawk and poised himself with the purpose of hurling it with resistless force and unerring aim. He was not twenty feet distant from Jack; but while in the very act of raising the missile above his head, his arm was struck a side blow so violent as almost to break the bone. The tomahawk flew from his grasp to the earth, and in a twinkling some one caught him around the waist, lifted him clear of the ground, ran rapidly the few paces necessary, and flung him over the rocks into the ravine! The Sauk struggled desperately to save himself, but he could not check, though he retarded his descent. He landed with a force that knocked the breath from him, but the abundance of vines and vegetable growth saved his life. After a time he slowly gathered himself together, and seeing nothing of the enemy who had handled him so ruthlessly, he slowly climbed to his feet and began picking his way out of the ravine. He was compelled to walk a long distance before reaching a place where he was able to clamber to the level ground above. When at last he managed to do so, he sat down on a fallen tree to rest and indulge in a retrospective survey. His rifle and tomahawk were irrecoverably gone, and nothing would have induced him to go back to look for them. If his right arm was not broken, it was so injured and lamed that a long time must elapse before he could use it, and altogether his enterprise could only be regarded as a disastrous failure. "It was an Indian that struck the tomahawk from my grasp," reflected the victimized Sauk; "he was a terrible warrior!" The youth was right in each respect, for the name of the Indian who made such short work with him was Deerfoot the Shawanoe. _ |
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