Scouting Dave

Some minutes passed, when Alfred fancied he saw something move above them. His heart gave a great bound of joy, as he thought that the scout might be coming, and then a thrill of excitement passed over his frame, as he reflected that it might be their savage foes. He listened intently. This time the regular “dip” of paddles gave assurance that something of life was within the canoe. Signaling his brother, they silently awaited the approach of the floating object. They were not long in suspense.

The boat was quite near the shore, and heading directly toward the point upon which they stood. As it came nearer they could discern an upright figure, guiding it toward the land. In another moment it grated upon the sand, and David sprung out.

“Give me my tools,” he hastily exclaimed. “There’s not a minnit tew lose. I sarcumvented the devils, but they’re arter me; so be lively.”

He grasped his weapons as he spoke, and in another moment the three were seated in the boat. One vigorous push and it was afloat upon the dark waters.

“Lay her straight acrost the river,” exclaimed David, the Markleys having taken the oars to allow the taxed muscles of the scout to relax.

“Seems I didn’t git much start on ’em,” he added, “for they set up a yellin’ an’ started arter me with another boat. They gi’n me a race down the river, but that don’t matter – they can’t overhaul us!”

Bending his head over the side of the canoe, he listened intently. Suddenly he started up with energy.

“We don’t gain any,” he said, “but are holdin’ our own, good. Ladle the water with a will, boys, and we’ll weather ’em, for every stroke now counts

one

!”

The brothers realized the importance of their exertions, and, with ceaseless sweeps, sent the boat skimming forward. The scout was still leaning over the side, listening, when suddenly he started, as though struck by a rifle-shot.

“Hold up a moment; let me listen!” he remarked, in a tone of mingled impatience and alarm.

They obeyed. What sound was that which sent the blood back in cold streams to the hearts of the brothers? At no great distance in advance of them, could be heard the confused murmur of voices, and splashing of paddles? No wonder the scout’s cheek momentarily blanched, and his eyes seemed starting from the sockets, in the vain effort to penetrate the gloom. Much as the darkness obscured the vision, it was all that saved David Barring now.

Bending close to the brothers, and speaking in that calm tone which marked the man during seasons of greatest danger, he said:

“Turn her down-stream, boys, and row fer yer lives. We’re runnin’ square into a nest of the human hornets. Paddle lively; fer, if the moon rises, we’re goners – that’s all!”

The brothers comprehended only too well their peril to hesitate for a moment. The canoe was turned in the required direction; but, ere this was accomplished, they could distinctly hear the rapid approach of the Indian flotilla. So soon as the new direction was taken, they laboured with a determination which almost threw the craft from the water at each successive stroke; but a cruel fate was against them.

“It’s no use,” the scout at length whispered; “we can’t pass ’em in that way! All we kin dew, is to turn back, and run the resk of these red fiends behind us!”

It was a hazardous course, but the only one left open to the fugitives.

The result was highly fortunate for the adventurers. The pursuers had been guided only by the sound of oars, and, when these ceased to be heard distinctly, they paused, assured that the flotilla could not miss the refugees. Of course, the pursuers soon met the others, and instituted inquiries for the run-away boat. As no such object had been seen, the pursuers were placed in a suspicious light, and gladly turned to accompany their friends to the Illinois shore.

Meanwhile, Davy and his companions were making the most of every moment. Finding they were not likely to encounter the boat which had kept so closely in their wake, they bent every effort toward making good their escape. Almost before the party were aware of it, they shot in near the eastern shore of the river. Already the full light of the moon fell in gentle floods upon the water. The flotilla was thus fully revealed – every boat being brought out in dark outline upon the smooth surface of the river.

Considerable of the eastern side was shadow, rendered even darker by the gentle light falling around. In this broad belt of blackness our friends now lay, concealed from the sharp eyes of the approaching savages.

“I tell you, boys,” the scout observed, “if we’d run intew that neest, we’d stood a smart chance of havin’ our ha’r lifted afore this. It’s a lucky move we’ve made,

this

 time, and now we’ll keep down in this ’ere shadder, till we git well out o’ their way.”

The party again bent themselves to their tasks, though panting and wearied, keeping the boat well within the deep shadow cast by the forest. They pulled silently down, until the scout, who had taken to the paddle, bent low, and peered across the river.

“Near’s I kin make out,” he remarked, “we’re about opposite one o’ the purtiest little hidin’-places that the good Lord ever made. Thar’s a little ’dentation, in the shore, what’s been washed out till it makes the neatest kind of a place. I kin hide a boat thare, so an Injin would step right over it forty times, an’ never think any thing was under him. If we kin git thare, ’twill be jist

the

 place we want!”

The canoe was again turned across the Mississippi. The men it contained were still in the best of spirits, for, although they had met with trial and danger, it had only stimulated them to greater exertions.

As they reached the opposite shore, the scout ceased paddling, and motioned Charles to do the same.

“Blame me, if I kin hardly tell whar’ that place is,” he muttered, half perplexed. “It’s more’n two years since I had occasion tew use it, and may be ’twill bother me some to find it. But it may be of use to us, so I’ll ferret it out.”

They floated cautiously down for a few rods, when David uttered a quick exclamation of joy.

“There it is!”

“Can’t ye diskiver it?” he asked.

“I confess,” returned Charles, “that I should never suspect the existence of any hidden retreat here.”

The scout laughed, quietly.

“Nater made the place rayther secure,” he said; “and, if yer young eyes don’t suspect it, I guess there’s little danger o’ the red-skins spyin’ it out.”

Turning the head of the canoe shoreward, David carefully parted the bushes with his oar, and a dark retreat was revealed. With little effort, the canoe was pushed within the haven; the bushes closed behind them, effectually securing them from observation. Charles and Alfred glanced around, in the endeavour to discover the extent and surroundings of the place. The effort was futile. Overhanging masses of bushes shut out all rays of light, leaving the place clothed in deepest darkness.

The scout seemed perfectly at home. Turning the head of the canoe to the right, he gave a vigorous push, and, as the bottom of the boat struck the shore, grasped his rifle and leaped forth. As soon as the brothers could determine upon his whereabouts, they followed.

“Remove the paddles,” he said, cheerily, “and then we will attend to hidin’ the canoe!”

This was done, when the scout set about concealing the craft. Rocking it, until partially filled with water, he stepped into the river, and, with a strong motion, pushed it completely beneath the overhanging bank. It wedged in firmly, and, securing the oars, David once more stood upon the bank.

“I call this good fortin’!” he commenced, as they left the place. “We’re acrost the Missippy, the canoe stowed away, an’ nary a red the wiser for’t. To be sure, the wust is tew come! But most of the imps are acrost the river, an’ that’ll be a great ’vantage tew us. I know where Emily is – poor girl! We’ll git thar’ in good time, an’, when we do, we’ll make our presence known.”

“That we will!” exclaimed Charles, with enthusiasm. “But tell me, Davy, do you think Ashbey will be there soon? Do you think he will torture Emily with his detested presence before we can reach and save her?”

“I can’t tell,” the scout replied. “I hardly think he will cross the river ag’in for some days, unless he suspects where we’re gone tew. But we’re here fust, and kin ’tend tew him when he comes.”

CHAPTER VII.

THE CAPTIVE

But what of the captive maid? When she found herself alone with her red guards, and realized that Ashbey had indeed left her for a time, a sense of relief followed. There was something in his presence which seemed to poison the very air about her. Scarcely did she heed that her horse was led from the fatal spot; hardly was she conscious that they were striking into the forest, and taking a direct course toward the Mississippi. She had little thought, feeling or care for herself. What was life to her now?

Her father – the fond, doting parent, to whom she had been the bright sunshine of existence, and whom she had loved with all the devotion of her filial heart, was dead – inhumanly butchered by the ferocious foes, who had thus remorselessly destroyed the peaceful home-circle of hearts. The fiery George, whom she had loved and guided with the fond sister’s care, had met an untimely fate in the morning of his bright life.

And she thought of another, for whom her fondest, holiest love had gone forth; and oh! what an agony of suspense was there. What was his fate? What a fierce enemy upon his track – a man so far below the savage that the very brute might shun his company – she could only picture to herself a fate so fearful that the very thought of it seemed to check the life-current in her veins. Oh! that she could fly to him – could warn and save him. Could it be that she should ever again hear his voice? It was a fearful thought, yet she could only faintly hope against it.

No word escaped the lips of the stern warrior guard who surrounded her, and Emily felt glad that it was so, for she was in no mood to talk. As one devoid of life, she sat upon her horse – the bitterest anguish surging over her soul like a destroying flood.

How long they had journeyed thus she could not have determined; indeed, she made no effort to recall the distance or time. She was only sensible that the party had stopped, and a muscular brave had lifted her from the horse to the ground. Not till this done was she really aware of what was passing about her.

The Indian relaxed his hold, and she sunk to the earth, feeling too exhausted to stand. The brave then produced a thong of deerskin, and stooped as if to find her ankles. With a gesture so appealing that even the heart of the fierce savage was touched, she besought him not to bind her. The Indian, a tall, muscular brave, raised his eyes and gazed for a moment upon the pain-marked features of the maiden. He looked irresolute, and a touch of kindness seemed overspreading his tawny features.

“White squaw run away,” he remarked, with tolerable pronunciation.

“Why should I attempt that?” she asked. “Where would my feeble limbs serve to carry me?”

“Suppose Injin brave no tie White Bird?” he asked, in a still more kindly manner.

“I will thank him,” was the brief reply.

“Red Wing will leave White Bird free,” he remarked, looking hastily round to see if his movements were observed.

The others were all busily employed in collecting wood, preparing meat for roasting, and the various duties of a bivouac. The Indian noticed this, and leaned idly against a tree, while Emily again relapsed into a sorrowful reverie.

The savages soon had a large fire, and were seated around it, employed according to their fancies or appetites. One of them approached the prisoner, and offered her a liberal slice of well-roasted venison. She refused it, for she could not eat, and the brave, with a scowl of anger, returned to his seat beside the fire.

Indolently squatted around the fire, smoking or dozing, the party remained for an hour, when the signal was given, and they began to prepare for the continuation of their journey. The braves were in the worst possible humour, for they disliked the idea of being sent back with a single captive, when they had expected to remain and take part in the work of destruction and bloodshed.

The horse Emily had ridden was tied to a sapling near by, and the Indian she had previously displeased, now unfastened and led it to her side. A sullen scowl was upon his features, as he seized the maiden by the arm with a grasp which caused her to cry out with pain. Red Wing, who had been standing near Emily, was upon the point of lighting his pipe at the fire. Hearing the outcry, he turned quickly, and with fierce displeasure upon his features, sprung at once to the scene. With a powerful grasp upon the arm of the offending savage, he hurled him back, and stood like a tower of strength before the affrighted maiden.

“Why does Red Wing place his hand thus upon another brave?” demanded the incensed savage, his very utterance almost choked with passion.

“Why does the Dark Cloud seek to harm the pale-face maiden?” retorted Red Wing.

“Does Red Wing think to take the pale-face to his own lodge, that he is thus careful of her?” was the sarcastic response.

“The White Bird speaks kindly to the Red Wing; he will not forget,” was the sententious rejoinder.

For a time the two stood looking at each other; then the Dark Cloud stepped to one side and attempted to pass his opponent. But the latter divined his intention, and, grasping him by the throat, hurled him backward with such force that he was almost thrown to the ground. Furious now past all control, Dark Cloud drew his knife, and prepared to rush upon his foe. Red Wing seized his hatchet, and awaited the onset. Others of the party, seeing they were likely to lose at least one of their most chivalrous braves, interposed to stay the conflict.

“Why will not the red braves learn wisdom?” demanded the chief of the party, with a voice of authority. “Why will they war upon each other? The blood of the pale-faces only should flow at their hands.”

By threats and persuasion a reconciliation was effected. The two braves returned their weapons and moved moodily from the spot, while the journey was at once resumed.

On they tramped, mile after mile, through the forest, until at length morning broke over the earth. But the dawn brought no relief to the prisoner. As the light increased, the dusky features of her attendants were brought more fully to view, with all their horror of war-paint and inhuman ferocity.

At length the party emerged upon the banks of the Mississippi. The guards, who were loitering about the flotilla, flocked around the fair prisoner with the greatest expressions of curiosity and satisfaction. A huge dug-out, capable of carrying the entire party, was launched, and they set forth across the stream.

Poor Emily gazed into the yellow waters of the mighty river. How calmly they flowed. Oh! that she could rest beneath them. Then all sorrow would end, and she could join those loved ones gone before. She would make the attempt, and God forgive her if she came unbidden to his presence. It was a fearful resolve, but she was unable to reason. Only wishing to rid herself of a life which could bring naught but misery, she awaited the propitious moment to carry out her plan.

It came at length. No eye seemed upon her. Rising, she closed her eyes, and with a desperate leap plunged, not into the water, but into the strong arms of the watchful Red Wing. Seating her upon the thwart from which she had risen, he said, in tones of kindness:

“White Bird must not die. Great chief love White Bird, and make her very happy. Pale-face must live for pale-face.”

Emily did not reply. She sunk down with a bursting heart, and wept the bitterest tears of her life.

Soon the boat reached the shore, and the party hastily clambered out. No sooner did Emily step forth than the savages set forward, without waiting for her to mount. But they soon stopped and made preparations for lighting a fire. Around this they stretched themselves, and soon were dozing. The maiden was securely bound, and left without a guard.

For a long time she sat and watched the lazy motions of the barbarians, until all except the outlaying guards were asleep. Then she, too, sunk into a disturbed slumber. Strange visions and dreams were hers, as she lay thus, with the bare earth for a couch, her arm for a pillow, the leafy trees and blue sky for a covering. Her sleep of innocence was soothing and strengthening to her overtasked frame.

She was awakened by a hand upon her shoulder, and a guttural voice in her ear, speaking in incomprehensible tones. The savage spoke no English, but pointed to his comrades, now about to resume their journey. He unbound the thongs and raised her to her feet.

The brief slumber which the poor girl had enjoyed had been of infinite service to her. She felt more calm and self-possessed; a sense of resignation she had not before felt, took possession of her heart. Could it be that in her sleep some fond spirit had hovered near, and whispered words of cheer and consolation?

The sun sunk low. Many miles had been passed. Here and there she had seen hurrying groups of warriors, as well as of women and children passing toward the river. Only too well she knew that they were hastening on to swell that horde which was already spreading death and desolation through the settlements.

Finally, the party again halted, and most deeply was the poor prisoner rejoiced. Weary, faint and hungry, she longed for rest and repose. She was to be gratified. The Indians had shot a fine buck, and from the savory meat they regaled themselves sumptuously. Emily, after her long fast, partook gladly of the game.

When the meal was concluded, the Indians smoked for a time, as usual, and then, securely binding the prisoner, all stretched themselves to sleep. It was not until morning that the sleepers were aroused. Now and then during the night, one would awake, assure himself that the prisoner was safe, and then return to sleep the more lustily.

With the first beam of morning the party was astir. Emily felt unpleasantly from the constrained manner in which she had passed the night, but a little exercise soon dispelled the feeling. A breakfast was prepared, and then the party set forward once more. Red Wing walked beside Emily. Feeling assured of his kindness, she bent nearer him, and asked:

“Will not Red Wing tell the White Bird when their journey will end?”

The Indian paused a moment, then indicating the sun with his outstretched arm, slowly raised it until it pointed to the zenith.

“Then,” he said, briefly.

The maiden understood him, and bowed her thanks.

Noon came, and Emily began to grow despondent. She was fatigued, and longed for rest. Still there were no signs of stopping, and she began to doubt if there had been a perfect understanding between herself and Red Wing. She could see that the sun had passed the point indicated, but still they kept on.

Suddenly the loud barking of an Indian dog startled her. In less t