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

down with such emphasis that the side of the canoe gave way, and he continued the act on dry land, being stopped by a small sapling in his path.

Otto whirled over on his face, and scrambling to his feet, stared around to learn the extent of the calamity. He gathered up his gun and hat, and then, stooping, passed his hands over the bark and attentively examined it.

"I dinks it ish split a good deal mit my head," he remarked, with a grave countenance.

Meanwhile, Jack Carleton had regained his upright position and shaken himself together. When he saw Otto in an inverted position, he broke into hearty laughter, hastened, no doubt, by the fact that Deerfoot was shaking from head to foot with mirth. His black eyes glistened with tears, caused by his amusement over the performance of the German. He was laughing all over, though he gave out not the slightest sound.

As for Jack Carleton, he chuckled and gurgled with a noise like that of water running out of a bottle, while the main victim of all this merriment was as solemn as an owl. After rubbing and adjusting himself, as may be said, he turned slowly about and gazed inquiringly at his friends in the boat, as if puzzled to understand the cause of their emotions.

"Vot ish dot you seem to laugh mit?" he demanded, in an injured voice; "I see nodings."

When the others had somewhat recovered from their mirth, Otto began laughing with scarcely less heartiness than they showed. The absurd occurrence seemed slow to impress itself upon his consciousness.

Deerfoot did not allow himself to remain idle many minutes. The fractured front of the craft being immovably fixed in the bank, he leaned his head over the side and washed the paint from his face. He disliked to disfigure himself in that fashion, though he always carried the stuff with him, to be used in such an emergency as has been described.

The blanket stolen from him had been carried away by one of the warriors, so that Deerfoot held only the rifle and ammunition in the way of a reprisal; but they were more than sufficient to replace the property he had lost, and he had no cause for complaint.

Stepping on solid land again, with the water dripping from his clothing, the handsome warrior stood erect, and looked at Kentucky across the "Father of Waters." Instead of the villages and towns which now grace the locality, he saw only the lonely woods stretching north and south until lost to view.

But he knew enemies were there, and the keen vision of the youth was searching for them. They must have become discouraged over what had taken place, for not the first sign of the red men could be discerned. They seemed to have "folded their tents," and stolen off as silently as the Arabs.

But far down the Mississippi, a canoe put out from the Kentucky side and approached the opposite bank. It kept out of sight until Deerfoot the Shawanoe had withdrawn, and then it advanced with the care and stealth of the trained Indian on the war-path.

The craft was full of Miamis and Shawanoes, armed to the teeth, and impelled by the greatest incentive that can inflame the passions of the American Indian—revenge.

CHAPTER XVIII ON THE LOUISIANA SHORE

At last the little party were across the Mississippi. The Indian canoe, so injured that it was useless until repaired, was pushed back into the turbid current and went spinning down the river, sometimes bumping against the bank and then dancing further from shore, until striking broadside against a nodding "sawyer," it overturned, and thereafter resembled an ordinary log, on its way toward the Gulf.

It was the first time that Jack Carleton had placed foot on Louisiana soil, and he stood for a moment gazing backward at Kentucky, amid whose confines he was born and beyond which he never strayed, except when on an occasional hunting excursion into Ohio.

"I wonder whether I shall ever tread those forests again," he said to himself; "I can't say that I'm anxious to do so, for there have always been too many Indians for comfort. They killed my father and broke the heart of my mother. No, Kentucky, good bye," he added, turning his face toward the west, with a feeling that in that direction lay his future home.

Meanwhile Deerfoot and Otto took but a few minutes to prepare for their journey. The Indian having lost his blanket, held only the rifle and ammunition by way of superfluous luggage, and it could not be said that his companions were unduly burdened, since the runaway colt had relieved them in that respect.

Deerfoot slung his long bow back of his shoulders, as he was accustomed to do when he wished the unrestrained use of both arms, and carried the rifle as the others did theirs.

The belief obtained with all three that in leaving Kentucky they bade good-bye to most of the personal peril to which they had been subjected. The reader knows that that section was ravaged by the fierce Shawanoes, Miamis, Hurons and other tribes who were implacable in their hostility to the white men, and who did so much to give it the name of the Dark and Bloody Ground by which it was so long known. There were thousands of red men ranging through the immense province known as Louisiana, and the crack of the hostile rifle, the war-cry of the dusky chieftain, and the shock, of mortal combat marked the meeting of the races, whether on the clearing, in the forest, or in the lonely defile in the mountain.

In that section to which I have referred more than once, as now bearing the name of Missouri, the fighting between the whites and Indians was much less than on the eastern bank of the Mississippi. It will be understood, therefore, why, when the little company of friends stood on the western shore, they felt much less concern than while on the other side.

Less than two days' tramp to the westward lay the young settlement where dwelt the mother of Jack Carleton, the parents of Otto Relstaub and a dozen other families who had emigrated thither from Kentucky. Far beyond and to the southward among the wildest fastnesses of the Ozark mountains the young Shawanoe had taken refuge, where he felt secure against those of his race who hated him with irrestrainable ferocity.

As it would require no great digression on the part of Deerfoot, and as it was not to be supposed that time was very valuable to him, Jack and Otto supposed he would go with them the entire distance to the log cabin of Jacob Relstaub. To their surprise, however, he quietly said he could keep them company only a short time longer.

"I had no doubt you would be with us to the end," said the disappointed Jack.

"It would make the heart of Deerfoot glad if he could go with his brothers whom he loves; but he cannot."

"Vot ain't de reason?" asked Otto, unrestrained by the sense of propriety which held the tongue of Jack silent.

"Deerfoot is called yonder," was the reply, pointing south of the path which lay before the others.

They were silent a minute or so, in the hope that, he would explain his meaning, but he did not, and even Otto saw that he had no right to question him further.

Aware that his friends were waiting for him to add something, Deerfoot continued:

"The path of my brothers is straight, and they will not get down on their knees to look for the trail. There are no Shawanoes among the trees to fire when they are not looking, and Deerfoot can may no words that will do good."

"It is not that which causes us to hope for your company," replied Jack, who was standing several feet away from the youthful warrior and looking in his serious countenance; "but it is because we like you, not only for what we have heard from others, but for what we have seen with our own eyes, and for what you have done for us, that we are loath to part with you."

"Deerfoot will go part of the way," the Indian hastened to say, perceiving the feeling of his friends, "but it cannot be long."

"Far be it from me to question what you do; no right belongs to me, but I could not let you go without telling bow much we appreciate what you have done for us, and how much we admire your noble character."

It was one of the peculiarities of Deerfoot that he never accepted the most pointed compliment. When forced to reply to a direct one, he turned it aside with an indifference which showed he placed no value upon it. As Jack Carleton remarked later on, praise ran from Deerfoot like water from a duck's back.

But another matter forced itself upon the attention of the boys, who were on their way to the settlement. It has been stated already that the father of Otto Relstaub was penurious, miserly, and cruel. The colt on which the boy had ridden to Coatesville, Kentucky, and part of the way back again, was the better of the two horses owned by him. Its loss was certain to throw him into a great rage, and doubtless would bring down the severest punishment on the back and shoulders of the son.

Jack Carleton understood this prospect as well as did Otto himself, and he was of the belief that a resolute effort should be put forth to recover the horse. When the matter was stated to Deerfoot, his own knowledge of the ill-tempered German caused him to urge the attempt. In fact he would have done so, had the case been otherwise, for the value of the animal was considerable. Furthermore, Deerfoot was of the opinion that the colt could be regained without serious difficulty, and he told them they had little to fear from hostile Indians.

Had the Shawanoe seen the canoe, loaded to the gunwales with red men in their war paint, which at that very moment was stealing close under the Louisiana shore, he would have modified his remarks to a very considerable extent.

The peculiarly original manner in which the boys crossed the Mississippi had resulted in carrying them some distance below the trail that trended to the westward. As the runaway horse had undergone the same experience, and as Otto had descried him when he emerged from the river, it was easy to locate quite closely the point where he entered Louisiana.

"It ish below vere we don't stands not dis moment," he said, when they were ready to move off.

"My gracious, Otto," exclaimed Jack, "can't you handle English a little better than that? I thought your father was the crookedest of speech of any person I ever heard, but he can't be any worse than you."

"Yaw-don't it?" grinned Otto.

"Try to improve yourself! You ain't much of a fool on other matters, and you may as well learn to talk like a civilized being. I have seen Deerfoot shocked more than once at the horrible style in which you mangle the king's English. I want you to promise to make an effort to do better; will you?"

"Yaw; I dinks not efery dimes dot I does much better as nefer vos; vot doesn't you dinks not apout it, eh-don't it? Yaw!"

Deerfoot had taken a couple of steps along the bank with the purpose of hunting the hoof-prints of the missing horse, but he paused and half turned about, looking with an amused expression at his friends who were holding their characteristic conversation.

There was something noteworthy in the fact that while Otto had heard the English tongue spoken quite correctly, from the hour he was able to toddle out doors, he could not compare in his lingual skill to Deerfoot, who had never attempted a word of the language until wounded and taken prisoner by the whites. What caused all this difference?

The same thing which distinguishes one man from another, and crowns failure with success, or reverses it, as the case may be—brains.

The three youths moved down the bank in an irregular Indian file, for no one saw the need of extra precaution. Deerfoot was about a rod in advance, walking with a brisk step, for his searching eyes took in everything in the field of vision, and the trail for which he was searching was sure to be marked with a distinctness that could permit no mistake.

It was the same apparently endless forest which met their eyes when they looked across from Kentucky, and which seemed to encroach on the borders of the river itself, as though envious of its space. There was little undergrowth, and they advanced without