The Hunters of the Ozark by Edward Sylvester Ellis (ready to read books .TXT) 📖

grasping the long, keen knife, shot forward with great force and lightning-like swiftness, and was buried to the hilt in the throat of the brute.

It was a blow as effective as a cannon ball could have been, for the knife clove the seat of life in twain, and the beast rolled over on the earth dead, almost before it could emit a single yelp of agony.

Deerfoot stood a moment surveying the carcass before him, and then, with no more excitement than he would have shown in speaking to Fred or Terry, he said: "'Tis a good weapon, and will serve Deerfoot well."

Then he walked to the tiny brook, carefully washed the gleaming blade, shoved it behind his belt, where it was held in place without the sheath that clasped the other, and walked back to the cavern. The boys had not been disturbed by the outcry of the wolf, and Deerfoot, throwing some more wood on the flames, lay down on the blanket, drew it partly about him, and in ten minutes was asleep, not opening his eyes again until the light of morning streamed into the cavern and only a few smoldering embers were left of the camp-fire.

He smiled when he looked upon the two youths, who were still soundly sleeping, all unconscious of the stirring events that had taken place during the darkness. There was no call for a renewal of the fire, and, after spending a few minutes in communion with the Great Spirit, he passed outside the cavern, drank from the clear water in the brook, and laved his face and hands.

Just as he finished, Fred Linden emerged, rubbing his eyes and yawning, while Terry Clark was close behind him.

"Good morning, Deerfoot!" called the former; "it was just like you to let us sleep all night while you kept watch: to-night you must let us take our turn."

"Fred has exprissed me own sintimints," added Terry; "we have had so much slumber that we can kaap awake for a month. Helloa!"

The gaze of the boys at that moment fell on the body of the wolf, stiffened in death.

"You have had visitors," said Fred; "my gracious, but he's a big fellow! Killed by a knife thrust too, that looks as if it had gone half way through his body; how was it, Deerfoot?"

The Shawanoe waited until they had finished bathing their hands and faces, and then he quietly told them the story, including the account of the warrior's visit. As you may well suppose, the boys opened their eyes, and Terry, running inside, brought out the blanket, which had been folded in such a manner that the knife of the Winnebago passed through three thicknesses of the cloth.

"And to think that we slept through it all!"

"Begorrah, but wasn't it lucky that we didn't have the blanket wrapped about us?" gasped Terry, who was in earnest in his momentary belief of the narrow escape of himself and companion.

"It is well that you kept guard last night; neither of us would have heard the approach of the Winnebago; and wouldn't have known any thing about the other wolf until he lit on our shoulders."

"My brother is mistaken," said Deerfoot; "he is like the rattlesnake; he gives warning before he strikes; I heard him growl, and he stopped at the entrance to the cavern, afraid of the fire."

"Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Would he have died more quietly, or with less pain than from the knife? It is the knife that the Winnebago left; Deerfoot wanted to learn whether it would serve him well."

"And I should think ye ought to be satisfied, as a cousin of me own once remarked after working five years for a man without any pay excipt starvation and kicks."

"The knife proved itself a good one," said Fred; "but the poorest knife would be just as effective in your hands."

Deerfoot withdrew his own weapon from its skin sheath, and handed it to Fred.

"Let my brother carry that, for the hour may come sooner than he thinks when it will be of use to him."

Fred accepted it gratefully, saying, as he managed to find place for it somewhat after the manner of Deerfoot:

"If I can handle it with half of your skill, it will serve me well indeed, but that can never be."

Deerfoot placed the larger weapon within the sheath from which he had withdrawn his own and made no reply to the compliments of his friends. He had heard many such before, but he placed no value upon them. He regarded himself as simply trying to use in the best way the gifts of the Great Spirit. His many escapes from death and injury were due solely to God's protecting care, and he could never take to himself any credit for what he did.

The excitement of the boys having subsided, the three sat down in front of the cavern to eat their breakfast. Enough of the food brought by Fred was left to give each and all the meal needed, but when they were through, not a particle was left; henceforth they must depend upon what their rifles brought them for support while on the way to the camp in the Ozarks.

"We have two or three days' travel yet before we can reach camp," said Fred, while they were making ready to resume their journey; "but I don't think we shall want for food. What troubles me the most is that scamp of a Winnebago. You have spared him twice, but I don't believe it will make a friend of him."

"He was so boilin' mad," added Terry, "because he lost his gun that now that he has also lost his knife he may get so much madder that he'll flop over and become pleased again."

This, however, was a kind of philosophy to which the others could not agree. Deerfoot owned that he was in doubt; the sentiment of gratitude is not one of the chief virtues of the American race, though many story-tellers would have us believe that it is. There have been instances known where a red man has shown something of the kind, but as a rule they have no more of it than had the frozen serpent that was warmed in the bosom of him who proved his foolishness by making the experiment.


CHAPTER XXI.

THE CAMP OF THE WINNEBAGOS.

Now that the little party had started once more toward the camp in the Ozark Mountains, they moved at a brisk pace. It took them but a short time to reach the main trail, where there was a short pause while Deerfoot made what may be called a microscopic scrutiny of the ground.

The result did not please him, for he saw the proof that the Wolf had turned to the right, and had preceded them over the route which they were to follow. He would have been better satisfied had he crossed the trail or turned the other way. The fact that he had gone southward meant that the main party which he was seeking to join were in that direction, though the keen eyes of the Shawanoe could detect no signs that they had trodden the same ground. That signified nothing, however, as they might have pursued a slightly different route, falling back upon the main path further on.

Deerfoot, in telling his young friends what he had learned, added that he had no doubt that they would hear from the Winnebagos again, and possibly at an hour when least expected. Fred Linden was disturbed more by the knowledge that the party were approaching the camp where his father and his companions were unsuspicious of the danger. They could easily steal close enough to the cabin to shoot down all three without warning.

When he mentioned his fear to Deerfoot, that sagacious young warrior told him that he saw no cause for anxiety, though he could not deny that something of the kind might take place. His theory was that the Winnebagos were not disposed to attack any party of whites in mere wantonness, the act of the Wolf being the whim of a single gnarly-brained warrior.

Be that as it may, our young friends were anxious to make the best progress they could, and, for fully a dozen miles, they kept up their brisk gait. At the end of that time, the sun was overhead, and they were obliged to stop on the bank of a broad, swiftly-flowing stream. The prints made by the hoofs of the horses that had passed that way some days before were plainly seen, though there had been a fall of rain since. A glance at the water showed that it was so deep that the hunters must have swam their animals across.

It would have been an easy matter for the boys to swim also, but they preferred to use a raft. Accordingly, they set to work, and it did not take them long to gather enough logs and driftwood to float all three. These were deftly fastened together by Deerfoot, who used hickory withes for that purpose, and, then, with a long pole which he cut and trimmed with his tomahawk, he pushed from shore.

The propelling pole was fully fifteen feet long, and in the middle of the stream, the boys were surprised to see that when one end was pressed against the bottom, no more than two feet were above the surface: the depth was much greater than they had suspected.

It was hard work to keep the clumsy raft moving at such disadvantage, but Deerfoot would not yield the pole to either of his companions, and, after awhile, he drove it against the shore, and all stepped upon dry land, without so much as their feet having become moistened.

They had been carried some distance below the trail by the current, but they quickly regained it, and pushed on. Having eaten nothing since morning, all three were ahungered, but Fred and Terry grimly determined to wait for Deerfoot to suggest a stop before they asked for it. Had they but known that many a time, when on the tramp, he had gone two days and nights without taking a mouthful, they would not have been so willing to await his pleasure.

But though he would not have thought of stopping before nightfall had he been alone, he was too considerate to subject them to discomfort; but it was useless to stop, since as yet they had seen nothing in the way of game to shoot.

Terry and Fred were beginning to feel impatient with each other because of their mutual stubbornness when the Shawanoe, who had been walking quite fast, slackened his pace and turning his head, said:

"My brothers are hungry, and they shall have to eat."

"Ye couldn't tell us better news," replied the grateful Terry, "though I would be obliged to ye if ye would impart the information where there is any chance of our gettin' any such thing, as the people used to say whin me uncle on me mother's side offered to bet a sixpence on anythin'."

Deerfoot made no answer, but walking still more slowly, he was seen to raise his hand to his mouth. Then followed the peculiar cry that a wild turkey makes when it is lost from its companions. The Shawanoe knew that the birds were in the surrounding woods, though none had shown itself.

By and by there was an answer to the call from a point ahead. Asking the boys to wait where they were, he trotted lightly forward,