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

of his gun lowered, neither dreaming that the youth thought of assailing them.

Deerfoot spoke in the slow but impressive voice natural to his race. But the last exclamation escaped him like the discharge from a Leyden jar. So quickly that neither saw a movement, he hurled the broken gun of the chief straight at him, following it with the second gun driven at his companion.

Both hit their mark. Black Bear was struck in the chest with such force, that he was carried off his feet and knocked half fainting to the earth. The other was hit and compelled to recoil a step, but the weapon struck him lengthwise, and he was not harmed. He rallied and brought his gun to his shoulder, but by the time it was leveled, the Shawanoe had vanished.

Such an exploit, as you may well suppose, caused consternation among the Winnebagos for the space of several minutes. No gun had been fired, but the American Indian is a light sleeper, and slight as was the disturbance, it aroused every one. There was a gathering about the fallen chieftain, who, however, came to his feet without help, though he gasped and was weak for a few moments. The explanation given by the other sentinel removed the general fear of an attack, but three of the warriors scattered through the wood to make sure that no surprise overtook them, while the others with an agitation rare among red men talked over the astounding occurrence.

The broken rifles lying on the ground left no doubt that when the Shawanoe declared he had slain both the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan he spoke the truth. Else, how could their shattered guns be in his possession?

And this same youth, with an audacity beyond comprehension, had flung the two guns at the chieftain and his brother warrior and defied them. It seemed as though he must be more than a human being, to be capable of such deeds. Legends had reached them of some of the exploits of the wonderful young Shawanoe, but this surpassed them all.

The Winnebagos, however, were among the bravest tribes in the west, and when they broke camp at early dawn, Deerfoot, who was on the watch, knew that it was their determination to slay every one of the three hunters in the camp at the foot of the Ozarks, as soon as they could reach them.


CHAPTER XXV.

THE SIGNAL FIRE.

Deerfoot the Shawanoe remained in the vicinity of the Winnebago camp until the warriors made their start at an early hour the following morning. He took more than one survey of the red men, who gathered about the blazing fire and talked over the remarkable events of the night. He could easily have slain every one of the scouts whom they kept moving through the wood, but he had no wish to do so.

He heard and saw enough to convince him that they intended to make an attack on the camp in the mountains, but he did not feel absolutely sure that they would not turn aside and follow in the path of the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan, until the party had advanced several miles to the southward along the Ozark trail.

It seemed strange that the Winnebagos paid no attention to the two missing warriors, and yet, after all, it was not singular. They knew they were dead and it was therefore a waste of time to give heed to them. If by any possibility they were alive, they must take care of themselves, just as all brave Indians did: if unable to do so, the consequences must be on their own heads.

So the ten Winnebagos, under the lead of the famous chieftain Black Bear, moved along the trail in the direction of the camp of the Hunters of the Ozark, and the expressions and words that had been overheard by the watchful Shawanoe, left no doubt that by way of revenge they meant to slay the three trappers who had located there for the winter.

The Winnebagos came from the north-east. Their lodges, villages and hunting grounds were many moons' travel away, and the section of country through which they were journeying was so sparsely settled that they had no fear of pursuit. Now, when you give an American Indian the chance to commit some vicious mischief with no fear of being made to pay therefor, you may set it down as a truth that nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every one thousand will commit that crime. It was a matter of indifference, in the first place, whether they harmed the hunters or not. Since the latter were removed some distance from their path, it is probable that they would not at that time have taken the trouble to go in quest of them: it was the feeling of revenge that was the deciding weight in the scale.

Let us recall the situation as it was on the second morning after Fred Linden and Terry Clark left their homes in Greville. The boys themselves were the furthest advanced along the trail to the mountains, while at a considerable distance behind, filed the ten Winnebago warriors, and hovering in the vicinity was Deerfoot the Shawanoe, watching every movement with the vigilance of a lynx.

Whenever he chose he could make a circuit around the Winnebagos, and joining the boys beyond, hasten to the hunters' camp and apprise them of their danger; but there remained an abundance of time in which to do that, and he did not wish to leave the vicinity of the enemies until he saw a little more of them.

It was evident that the Winnebagos were in no hurry. They must have known that two of the youths were following the trail in advance, for the heavy shoes of the lads could not fail to leave their imprints in many places; but, such being the case, the red men might ask in what manner they could know that a party of Winnebagos were following them, unless such knowledge came through Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who, wherever he might be, certainly was not in front of them.

When the Indians came to a stream of water, they did not rush in and wade or swim to the other side, as they would have done had there been any call for haste, but like those who had gone before, they stopped long enough to make a raft on which they could float across. The American Indian is not as fond of water as he should be, and though the Winnebagos would have cared little for the chill of the stream, it was more pleasant for them to pass over dry shod; so they made their several rafts and poled themselves to the opposite bank.

You would not look for humor under such circumstances, and yet on one of the three rafts there was so much of it shown that even the grim Shawanoe smiled.

The structures on which the red men floated were, as a matter of course, of the frailest nature, intended as they were to last only long enough to bear them to the other shore. With proper management, all would have done this, but on one of the rafts holding four of the warriors, there was an aboriginal wag. A single Indian managed the pole, while the others squatted carefully in their respective positions and were expected to keep quiet, so as not to disintegrate the frail structure.

The wag to whom I have referred, while sitting with an innocent expression on his painted countenance, quietly loosened the two or three withes, and gave the logs such an impetus that they separated like two bodies positively charged with electricity, when brought together. The warrior who handled the pole was standing with legs somewhat apart, resting on a different log, when they suddenly separated still more, and he sat down with a splash in the water. Another log revolved backwards, as did the savage who was sitting on it, while the others were also plashing in the stream, which was not deep enough to make them swim, though it came to the neck of the shortest one. The four warriors waded to shore amid the grins of the others, and with no suspicion of the criminal that had played the trick upon them.

The next stream was reached by the Indians a couple of hours later. This was not as deep as the other and they did not stop to make rafts. After a little searching, they found a portion where the current did not come above their knees and they waded.

In doing so, Black Bear took the lead, and, in accordance with a custom universal among Indians, each warrior carefully stepped into the footprints in front of him. The water was so limpid that the impression made by the chieftain's moccasin was plainly shown, so that there was no difficulty in this respect. Had a person been trailing them, he would have seen before him what seemed to be the footprints of a single man. There was but a slight variation near the further shore, where the moccasin of one of the Winnebagos had slid from a stone on which, like all the others, it was placed. The brown stone was slippery with a faint coating of slime, and the scrape of the deerskin down the side gave it a white gleam like the belly of a fish. It was a "slip" in every sense, and, when the slight splash announced it, Black Bear at the head of the procession turned about with his most impressive scowl.

The party made a halt on the other bank. It was considerably past noon, and, while some busied themselves in starting a fire, and a couple began fishing in the stream, two others going into the woods with their guns, Deerfoot was quite sure that they had decided to spend an hour or so for dinner. He concluded, however, to follow the two who went into the woods, and it was fortunate that he did so.

The first surprise that came to him was when the Winnebagos had gone nearly an eighth of a mile from camp. All this time they were making their way up quite a steep slope, so that they were close to the top of a high, wooded ridge.

The Shawanoe might well wonder why they had taken such a course, but when two frightened deer burst through the undergrowth and dashed by at full speed, within easy gun shot, and the Winnebagos looked at them without raising their guns to fire, then it was that Deerfoot was genuinely astonished.

The conclusion was inevitable that these red men were not looking for game.

With a suspicion of their real errand (and that caused another surprise), Deerfoot stealthily followed the Winnebagos until they paused on the highest part of the ridge. He was not long kept in doubt as to their business.

The top of the ridge was almost bare. There were a few stunted trees, a number of bowlders and rocks, and here and there, patches of scraggly grass. From this elevation, however, a magnificent view opened out on every hand before the spectator. To the north stretched the undulating country covered with prairie, stream, valley and forest, the last brilliant with all the gorgeous hues that come with the frosts of autumn.

These flaming colors were visible in whatever direction the eye turned, and the same varied surface was seen everywhere, but to the southward, the Ozark Mountains had a faint bluish tinge, like a mass of clouds resting in the horizon. It was in that direction that the camp of the hunters lay, and thither the footsteps of pale face and redskin