The Daughter of the Chieftain : the Story of an Indian Girl by Ellis (ereader that reads to you txt) 📖

At this moment Ben Ripley was about a hundred feet in advance of the party and ascending a ridge in the woods, which were so open that he was in plain sight of the others.

Mrs. Ripley, on hearing the alarming words of the little Delaware girl, came to a stop. It seemed strange that Linna should have caught the sounds noticed by no one else, and that, too, while she was whispering to her companion, Alice; but even at that tender age the inherited sharpness of hearing had been trained to a wonderfully fine degree.

Mrs. Ripley was too prudent to argue with her. It was not wise to take any chances. Above all, it was important that Ben should know the truth, for he was still walking away from them with no knowledge of their discovery.

"S—h!" The sibilant noise made by the mother's lips crossed the space and the listening lad halted and looked round. She did not speak, but beckoned him to come back. He obeyed at once.

"Linna says she heard voices a minute ago, over yonder," whispered Mrs. Ripley, as her son joined them.

"So me did," added Linna, in answer to the inquiring look of the lad.

"You have sharp ears, little one; but are you sure?"

"Me am," was the confident reply.

"Where were they?"

She again pointed out the direction.

"That must be looked into: wait till I come back, and—"

"S—h!" interrupted the mother.

All caught an indistinct murmur, which proved Linna was right.

"Me tell you—eh?" she said in a proud undertone, her black eyes sparkling with triumph.

"You are right: wait till I learn whether they are friends or enemies. I will not be gone long."

Leaving the anxious group clustered together, Ben faced in the direction of the sounds, which had stopped, and were so faint when heard that he could not tell whether they belonged to friends or foes.

As nearly as he could find out, the parties were just beyond the crest of the ridge, and, but for the warning of Linna, he would have run into the danger before knowing it.

With the utmost care he went up the slope. He leaned forward and stepped more slowly, avoiding, so far as he could, making any noise on the leaves or against the bushes and limbs which he had to push aside to allow him to advance.

At the instant of reaching the highest point he heard the voices again, so close that he knew they were made by white people, who were in a clump of dense undergrowth. A faint wreath of smoke filtering through the branches overhead showed they had started a small fire, beside which they were probably sitting or reclining on the ground.

Now that he was certain they belonged to his own race, he had less fear. Still, they might prove unpleasant neighbors when they came to know one of the party was a daughter of Omas. Turning toward his friends, who were watching him, Ben made a sign for them to stay where they were while he went forward.

He moved with the same care as before, but an unexpected accident spoiled everything. His foot caught in a wire-like vine, and he almost fell on his hands and knees. Aware that he had betrayed himself, he threw aside further caution, hurried down the slope, and called out in a guarded undertone—

"Helloa there, friends!"

"Who are you?" was the demand that instantly followed, and from the undergrowth, beside a small fire, two men suddenly rose upright, each with rifle in hand.

Ben recognized them. One was Jabez Zitner and the other Horace Burwink—both middle aged, sturdy, and strong. They were neighbors, and had taken part in the engagement the day before, but, escaping without harm, were now on their way to the settlements of the Upper Delaware.

A meeting of this kind would have been pleasing in the highest degree, for it added great strength to the party; but a misgiving came to the lad when he recognized Zitner. He was the man who, when partially intoxicated the previous afternoon, had tried to take Linna from him and was vigorously shoved aside by her friend.

"Helloa, Ben! where did you come from?" asked Zitner, who was now entirely himself.

"Glad to see you," added Burwink, and the two extended their hands. "You gave us a great scare, for the woods are full of redskins."

"You startled me, too," replied Ben. "I am travelling with my mother and sister to Stroudsburg. I suppose you are aiming for the same place?"

"Yes—if we ever get there. What become of that little sarpent you had with you yesterday?"

It was Zitner who asked the question. Ben's face flushed, for he did not like to hear Linna spoken of in that way.

"She is with us," he quietly replied.

"What are you going to do with her?"

"She is in our care, and goes wherever we go."

"You seem mighty fond of the people who played the mischief with us yesterday."

"Jabez Zitner, I fought just as hard as you, and did all I could to drive back the Iroquois and Tories, but I don't fight little children six years old."

"Who's talking about fighting 'em?" demanded Zitner angrily. "Their people didn't spare our women and children."

"They are savages, but you and I claim to be civilized."

"That's all well enough, but my motto is—fight fire with fire." Burwink was listening to this sharp interchange of words, the meaning of which he caught. Wishing to make a friend of him, for Ben foresaw trouble, he asked—"Am I not right, Mr. Burwink?"

"I should say—on general principles you are; but, after yesterday, I don't feel much love for any of the varmints. Who is this Injin gal that you are talking about?"

Ben was too wise to give the name of Linna's father, knowing