The Lost Trail by Edward Sylvester Ellis (small books to read .txt) 📖

base, several of the lower limbs trimmed, but most of the bushy top remained. It looked as if the builders had been interrupted while at work, or they had voluntarily abandoned it for something else.

Some six or eight warriors had lifted this log from the ground and were laboriously hearing it In the direction of the fort (if the name can be permitted). Others were moving hither and thither, as though they enjoyed viewing the job more than assisting with it. One of them caught sight of the face of the young Kentuckian and brought his gun to his shoulder; but, quick as he was, he was just a moment too late. When he was ready to fire, the target was gone.

"They're going to batter down the logs!" exclaimed Jack, dropping lightly to the ground, and taking possession of his gun; "they're carrying a log toward us, and mean to hammer these down about our heads."

"What for they don't want to do dot?"

"It seems to me it would be a good plan for them to tumble our house about our heads."

"I don't dink they doos dots," persisted the German, and he proved to be right in his surmise.

With great labor the warriors bore the heavy tree forward, so that the larger end was against the side of the fort. Then, instead of using it as a battering ram, they lifted it higher until, with an exertion that must have been very great, it was raised even with the log wall. A combined effort rested the butt on the support, the trunk sloping downward, until the top reached the ground, probably thirty feet away.

As the butt was a foot in diameter, it will be seen that the work must have been very onerous to the American Indian, who hates physical labor as much as does the tramp of modern times.

Having accomplished what must be admitted to be quite a feat, the toilers rested, while the boys looked up at the jagged end on the logs, suggesting the head of some monster peering down upon them, and speculated as to the meaning of the movement.

"Dot is so to help dem climbs to de top," said Otto, "or maybe they will runs him across and play I see-saw.'

"It is to cover up some mischief on their part."

"If we only knowed when dey don't stands right under him, we would shove off de end off and let him drop onto dem and mash 'em all!"

"It would take a good deal more strength than we have to do that," said Jack. "I would like to take another peep over the edge, but it won't do, because they will be on the lookout for us."

"Dot's vot I didn't dink some times ago," maid Otto, meaning a little different from what his words implied.

It was yet early in the day, and the boys could not but feel that the crisis was sure to come long before night. The temperature was mild and pleasant, no clouds floating in the space of clear sky visible overhead. The friends kept their loaded and cocked guns in their hands all the while and moved to and fro, in the circumscribed space, on the alert for the first demonstration from the red men, distressed by the consciousness that their cunning enemies were sure to do the very thing which was least expected.

Jack Carleton noticed that whenever he stood with his back against the logs, he could see the upper portions of the trees which grew close to the structure. It occurred to him that some of the daring warriors were liable to turn the fact to account. It would take no great skill for one or two of them to climb into the limbs, from which they would command a portion of the interior. No better opportunity could be asked—in case they were not discovered by the lads—to fire down upon them.

"I've been dinking of dot," replied Otto, when the matter was mentioned; "and I dinks dot iss de tree yonder, and py gracious dere is an Indian 'mong de limbs!"

This startling declaration was the truth. The friends were standing at the eastern end of the structure, so that they looked in the direction of the river, where towered a bushy oak, fully twenty feet of the upper portion being in sight. Something was among the branches, though the object could not be seen distinctly. Fortunate it was that both were gazing toward the point when their suspicion was first awakened.

"Yes, it is an Indian, as sure as I live!" added Jack, in an excited manner. "Rash fool! He has sealed his fate, for I couldn't want a fairer target. Leave him to me!"

"All right; I leaves him!"

The young Kentuckian was sure of his man, even though he was only partially revealed, when the rifle was pointed. He took careful aim, but while in the act of pressing the trigger, he lowered the weapon, with the whispered exclamation.

"Great heavens! It is Deerfoot the Shawanoe!"

CHAPTER XII AMONG THE TREE-TOPS

Jack Carleton was astounded. Up to that moment he was absolutely certain that the young Shawanoe was on the other side of the Mississippi, and would make no attempt to return to the Kentucky shore until night. Yet he had not only recrossed, but was actually within fifty feet of the enclosure, directly among his fiercest enemies, who were assailing it, and, more remarkable than all, he had climbed among the limbs of a tree, where he could gain a view of the interior.

There was a minute or so during which the Kentuckian actually doubted his own senses.

"He must be an enemy who closely resembles Deerfoot," was his thought; "I will shoot him before he shoots me."

The probability of such being the case was increased by the fact that the Indian had a rifle instead of a bow and arrow, and there were some daubs of paint on his face; but, for all that, the warrior was Deerfoot, as a second scrutiny convinced Jack and Otto beyond all question.

"It ish Deerhead! I means Deerfoot," whispered the German lad; "dinks a whirlwind lifs him out te boat and drops him in de tree; what don't he vants?"

The young Shawanoe had managed to reach a place amid the foliage, where, if he could be seen at all by those below, the view was indistinct, while, by pushing the branches carefully aside in front of his face, he was plainly revealed to his friends.

When Jack Carleton raised his gun and sighted at the object in the tree, the latter swept aside the curtain in front and made a signal with his hand, which declared his identity. Even though the paint had been plentifully used by him, his regular features were recognized when he smiled, and kept his hand waving in front of him as though brushing smoke from his eyes.

"Yes, it's Deerfoot!" muttered Jack, lowering his weapon, and staring with open mouth at the figure; "but things are getting mixed, and I ain't exactly understand what it is all about." But the situation was too critical on every hand for the young friends to give way to the wonderment caused by the discovery. It speedily became clear that while the Shawanoe dare not speak, he was trying very hard to convey some message to his friends by means of pantomime. Holding the gun of the Miami in one hand, he kept the other going energetically, but neither Jack nor Otto could guess his meaning.

"Speak louder!" called Otto, forgetting himself; "vot vasn't dot dot you didn't say?"

Instantly Deerfoot drew back his head, allowing the bushes to close, so that he was only partly revealed.

"He is going to shoot!" exclaimed Jack.

Such, it was evident, was the intention of their friend, who brought his rifle to a level, the black barrel plainly visible as it was thrust among the branches. Instead of being aimed downwards, it was pointed at a considerable elevation above the defenders at some object at the other side of the fort.

Turning their beads, the boys saw, from the agitation in the branches of a tree, almost large as the oak, that something was moving among the limbs. The truth flashed upon both. While they were watching their friend, he had detected an enemy stealing into the tree behind them, and sought to make known the alarming truth by means of gesture. Seeing they failed to catch his meaning, he decided to attend to the matter himself, though it can be understood that the shot would render his own death almost certain.

"That will never do!" exclaimed the young Kentuckian; "Deerfoot is too valuable to be sacrificed."

The savage, who was climbing, did so with great care. Now a beaded moccasin would twinkle alongside the trunk, whisking out of sight like a frolicking squirrel; then a red feather flashed to sight and away again, the broad, painted face peeped from behind the tree, while glimpses of the clothing here and there showed the rate with which the warrior went upward.

Deerfoot must have seen the savage at the moment he began ascending the trunk, and could not fail to know his purpose. It was all-important that the dangerous individual should be "attended to," and, observing that his friends were too much absorbed in watching his movements to remember their own peril, the friendly Shawanoe did not hesitate to take the frightful risk upon himself.

It may be said that it would be utterly impossible for him to discharge his gun from the elevation without the other warriors discovering the fact, though one or two might suspect the weapon was fired within the enclosure; yet it was characteristic of the youth that, when the necessity presented itself, he did not hesitate.

But Jack Carleton's presence of mind came to his assistance. He began such vigorous gestures that the attention of Deerfoot was caught; without lowering his gun, he glanced downward. He saw Jack shaking his head from side to side, swinging his hand back and forth and darting his finger excitedly at the tree on the other side of the fort.

The quick-witted Shawanoe caught his meaning, and took his gun from his shoulder. Again he pushed the bushes aside, so that his face came to view, and, looking down on his friends, smiled, nodded, and made several gestures toward the other redskin, who was still cautiously climbing the tree. Then the curtain was drawn again, and Deerfoot assumed the part of spectator instead of actor.

It is almost incredible that this performance could have taken place without detection from below; but it came about that, while it was going on, the attention of the red men was occupied by another occurrence which will be told at the proper time. The only ones who showed any interest in Deerfoot and his enemy, steadily making his way aloft, were the boys within the enclosure.

Accepting the lesson, Jack told Otto in a low voice to keep the closest watch on all the tree-tops within sight, for it seemed likely that still more of their enemies would resort to the same strategy.

"Let there be no mistake about this," he said to his companion; "if you catch sight of any one else, give him a shot, but I'm to settle the question with this particular gentleman."

"Dot ish all right," assented Otto; "dot ish, it will be all right if he ain't all wrong when you hits him."

Jack Carleton made no reply. He was standing with his left foot thrown slightly forward, his rifle, at his right shoulder, his head inclined and his left eye, closed. He was following the movements of the Miami (as he judged him to be), who was seeking a perch from which to fire down on the defenders of the primitive fort.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world for our friends to place themselves beyond danger from that particular warrior; they had only to step a little nearer the eastern wall, when it would intervene between them and the savage; but Jack grasped the situation well enough to understand the advantage of impressing their assailants with the danger of any kind of attack. If the defenders should busy themselves with dodging the aim of their foes, the trees were likely to swarm with them, and it would become impossible to elude their aim.

As before, the climbing Miami afforded occasional glimpses of himself. Now a moccasin, then a hand, his gun, the black horse-hair-like covering for his crown, with the painted eagle feathers, then an instant gleam of the eyes, and then nothing at all.

Remembering that a wound would be as effective its death itself, Jack coolly waited the opportune moment. Suddenly he saw the rifle, arm