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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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Not knowing this, however, and being under the impression that each day’s march lessened his chance of ultimately finding his lost ones, he walked along, mile after mile, and day after day, in stern silence.
On the third day out, towards evening, the party descried a thin line of blue smoke rising above the tree-tops. They had reached an elevated and somewhat hilly region, so that the ground favoured their approach by stealth, nevertheless, fearing to lose their prey, they resolved to wait till dark, and take their enemies, if such they should turn out to be, by surprise.
Soon after sunset Robin gave the word to advance. Each man of the party laid aside his blanket, and left his provisions, etcetera, in the encampment, taking with him his arms only.
“I need not say that there must be no speaking, and that we must tread lightly. You’re up to redskin ways as well as me, except mayhap our friend Stiff here.”
Stiff who was a tall Yankee, protested that he could “chaw up his tongue, and go as slick as a feline mouser.”
On nearing the fire, they made a détour to examine the tracks that led to it, and found from their number and other signs that it was indeed Hawk’s party.
Robin advanced alone to reconnoitre. On returning, he said—
“It’s just the reptiles; there’s forty of ’em if there’s one, an’ they’ve got a white man bound with ’em; no doubt from what you said of him, Slugs, it’s Macdonell; but I don’t see Wapaw. I fear me that his days are over. Now, then, lads, here’s our plan: we’ll attack them from six different points at once. We’ll all give the war-whoop at the same moment, takin’ the word from Walter there, who’s got a loud pipe of his own, then when the varmints start to their feet—for I don’t like the notion o’ firin’ at men off their guard—Walter, Larry, an’ Stiff will fire. Black Swan, Slugs, an’ I will reserve our fire while you reload; the reptiles will scatter, of course, an’ we’ll give ’em a volley an’ a united yell as they cut stick, that’ll keep ’em from waitin’ for more.”
The plan thus hastily sketched was at once carried out. Advancing stealthily to their several stations, the six men, as it were, surrounded the savages, who, not dreaming of pursuit, had neglected to place sentinels round the camp. When Walter’s loud “halloo!” rang in their ears, the whole band sprang to their feet, and seized their arms, but three shots laid three of them dead on the ground. As they fled right and left the reserve fired, and shot three others, among whom was Hawk himself. Black Swan had picked him out, and shot him through the head. Before they were quite out of shot, the three who had first fired had reloaded and fired again with some effect, for blood was afterwards observed on the snow.
Slugs now made a rush into the camp to unbind Macdonell, but to his horror he discovered that a knife was plunged up to the handle in his breast, and that he was almost dead. Hawk had evidently committed this cowardly deed on the first alarm, for the knife was known to be his. Macdonell tried hard to speak, but all that he was able to say was, “Wapaw, wounded, escaped—follow.” Then his head fell back, and he died. From the few words thus uttered, however, the pursuers concluded that Wapaw was not dead, but wounded, and that he had escaped.
“If that be so,” said Walter, “then they must have been on Wapaw’s tracks, an’ if we search we shall find ’em, an’ may follow ’em up.”
“True,” said Slugs, “and the sooner we’re away from this the better, for the reptiles may return, and find us not so strong a band as they think.”
Acting on this advice, the whole party set off at once. Wapaw’s track was soon discovered, being, of course, a solitary one, and in advance of his enemies, who were in pursuit. Following the track with untiring vigour, the party found that it led them out of the lower country into a region high up amongst the hills.
“Wapaw must have worked hard, for we should have overhauled him by this time,” said Walter to his uncle on the evening of the next day, as they plodded steadily along through the snow.
“I would give up the pursuit,” said Robin, somewhat gloomily, “for it’s losin’ time that might be better spent on another search; but it won’t do to leave the crittur, for if he’s badly wounded he may die for want o’ help.”
“Guess he can’t be very bad, else he’d niver travel so fast,” observed Stiff, who, now that the chief murderer was punished, did not care much to go in search of the wounded Indian.
“When a man thinks a band o’ yellin’ redskins are follerin’ up his trail,” said Slugs, “he’s pretty sure to travel fast, wounded or not wounded—leastways if he’s able. But I don’t think we’ll have to go much farther now, for I’ve noticed that his stride ain’t so long as it was, and that’s a sartin sure sign that he’s failin’; I only hope he won’t go under before we find him.”
“Niver a fear o’ that,” said Larry O’Dowd, with a grin. “I’ve seed him as far gone as any one iver I comed across, wi’ starvation; but the way that fellow walked into the grub when he got the chance was wonderful to behold! I thought he’d ait me out o’ the house entirely; and he put so much flesh on his bones in a week or two that he was able to go about his business, though he warn’t no fatter when he began to ait than a consumptive darnin’ needle. True for ye—it’s naither walkin’, starvin’, nor cowld, as’ll kill Wapaw.”
“What does the Black Swan think?” inquired Robin.
“We shall see Wapaw when the sun is low to-morrow,” replied the Indian.
“Mayhap we shall,” quoth Robin, “but it behooves us to get the steam up for to-morrow: so, comrades, as there’s a good clump o’ timber here away, we’ll camp.”
Robin threw down his bundle as he spoke, and his example was at once followed by the others, each of whom set to work vigorously to assist in preparing the encampment.
They had all the requisite implements for this purpose, having returned, after the attack on the Indians, for the things they had left behind them.
“It’s a pity that we shall have to keep watch to-night,” said Walter; “one of us will have to do it, I fancy; for though I don’t believe these murderin’ redskins have pluck to attack us, it would not do to trust to that.”
Slugs, to whom this remark was addressed, lowered the axe with which he was about to fell a neighbouring tree for firewood.
“That’s true,” said he, looking round him in all directions; “hold on, comrades, yonder’s a mound with a bare top, we’d better camp there. Makin’ a big blaze on sitch a place’ll show the red reptiles we don’t care a gun-flint for them, and they’ll not dare to come near, so we won’t have to watch.”
“Arrah! an’ a purty spot it’ll be for the blackyirds to shoot us all aisy as we’re sottin’ at supper,” exclaimed Larry O’Dowd.
“Doubtless there’s a hollow on it,” rejoined Slugs, “for the top is flat.”
“Humph! maybe,” growled Larry, who still seemed to object; but, as the rest of the party were willing to adopt the suggestion, he said no more, and they all went to the top of the little mound, which commanded a clear view of the surrounding country.
As Slugs had surmised, there was a slight hollow on the summit of the mound, which effectually screened the party from any one who might wish to fire at them from below; and as there was no other mound in the immediate neighbourhood, they felt quite secure. Huge logs were cut and carried to the top of the mound, the snow was cleared out of the hole, pine branches were spread over it, the fire was kindled, the kettle put on and filled with snow, and soon Larry O’Dowd was involved in the heat, steam, smoke, and activities of preparing supper, while his comrades spread out their blankets and lay down to smoke with their arms ready beside them.
The fire roared up into the wintry sky, causing the mound to resemble the cone or crater of a volcano, which could be seen for miles round. Ever and anon, while supper was being eaten, the Black Swan or Slugs would rise, and going stealthily to the edge of the mound would peep cautiously over, to make sure that none of their enemies were approaching.
Immediately after supper, they all lay down to sleep, but, for a time, each motionless form that lay rolled tightly in its blanket like an Egyptian mummy, sent a series of little puffs from its head. At last the stars came out, and the pipes dropped from each sleeper’s lips. Then the moon rose—a circumstance which rendered their position still more secure—and the fire sank low. But Slugs was too cautious a hunter to trust entirely to the alleged cowardice of the savages. He knew well that many, indeed most of the redskins, bad as well as good, had quite enough of mere brute courage to make them dare and risk a good deal for the sake of scalping a white hunter, so he rose once or twice during the night to replenish the fire and take a look round; and as often as he rose for these purposes, so often did he observe the glittering eye of the Black Swan glaring round the encampment, although its owner never once moved from his recumbent posture.
Thus the night was spent. The first glimmer of daylight found the whole party up and equipped for the journey.
They did not breakfast before setting out, as they preferred to take their morning meal later in the day. Few words were spoken. At that early hour, and in the sleepy condition which usually results from a very early start, men are seldom inclined to talk. Only one or two monosyllables were uttered as each man rolled up his blanket with his share of the provisions in it, and fastened on his snow-shoes. A few minutes later Robin led the way down the slope, and the whole party marched off in single file, and re-entered the woods.
About eight o’clock they halted for breakfast, which Larry O’Dowd prepared with his accustomed celerity, and assisted to consume with his wonted voracity.
“There’s nothin’ like aitin’ when yer hungry,” observed Larry, with his mouth full.
“’Xcept drinking when you’re dry,” said Stiff, ironically.
“Now I don’t agree with ye,” retorted Larry; “I used to think so wance, before I left the owld country—my blissin’ rest on it. I used to think there was nothin’ like drink, an’ sure I was right, for there niver was anythin’ like it for turnin’ a poor man into a baste; but when I comed into the woods here I couldn’t get drink for love or money, an’ sure I found, after a while, I didn’t need it, and got on better widout it, an’ enjoyed me life more for want of it. Musha! it’s little I care for drink now; but, och! I’ve a mortal love for aitin’!”
It needed not Larry’s assurance to convince his hearers of the fact, for he consumed nearly twice as much dried meat as any of his comrades.
“Well, if ye don’t drink gin-sling or cocktail,” said Stiff, “you’re mighty hard
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