The Lost Trail by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read this summer .TXT) 📗

Osage warrior," said the Shawanoe, flinging it to Otto, who turned it over several times in silence, Jack looking over his shoulder.

"I suppose he caught sight of that before we came up and learned the truth; don't you think so?"

"I don't dink nodings more," replied Otto, still pouting from the offence given a few minutes previous.

Bending over, Deerfoot carefully drew some leaves aside and revealed the upper bone of a deer's foreleg, to which a good quantity of partially broiled venison was clinging. Judging from this discovery and the number of bones scattered about, the Osages had more food than they needed.

"We—that is, you and I, Deerfoot—are hungry. Is the meat in shape for us to eat?"

The Shawanoe had satisfied himself by examination that it was ready for the palate, and he so expressed himself.

"That is good; there is just enough to make as a good dinner. Otto doesn't look as though he cared about any, and he can wait till tomorrow."

This statement of the situation quickly loosened the tongue of the sturdy German, whose hunger had reached a ravenous point.

"I speaks mit myself luf ven I vishes," he hastened to say; "I vos as hungry as nefer could be, and what for you dinks I ain't, eh?"

Jack laughed, and, sitting on the same tree which had served the red men, all three used their keen hunting-knives upon the rarely-cooked meat. They could have enjoyed much more had it been at their disposal; but as it was, they made a substantial meal, receiving enough nourishment to last them till the morrow.

"How many warriors were here?" asked Jack of their leader.

"Seven," was the prompt reply.

"What brought them to this place?"

"They were hunting; an Osage village is not many miles off yonder," said Deerfoot, pointing to the southwest; "and they have gone there. They spent the night here."

"Did they get my horse?" asked Otto, whose face was aglow with good nature and grease.

"My brother shall soon know."

CHAPTER XX "GOOD-BYE!"

Deerfoot directed his course toward the elevation where he and his friends stood when they first caught sight of the smoke of the camp-fire. It was an easy matter to determine, whether the Osages had discovered the horse while in that section. If they had not done so, the probabilities were against their finding him at all.

An interesting question had already been answered by Deerfoot, respecting the degree of hostility of the Osage Indians. There was comfort in the thought that they were not active and malignant in their enmity. They were not likely to trail a white man for the sake of taking his life, as their fierce brethren across the Mississippi loved to do, nor did they possess the courage of the warlike Shawanoes, whose encounters with the early pioneers of the West form the most thrilling episodes in its history.

But, like the vagabond red men of to-day, the Osages were of that character that a white man would much prefer not to meet them in a lonely place, unless help was present or within call. If they should come across the two boys, their treatment of them would depend very much on the mood in which they happened to be. They would be inclined to rob them of everything worth taking, and might end the matter by shooting both or turning them adrift without guns or ammunition.

Had Deerfoot been alone, he would have given them no thought. He had visited their villages more than once, and though the questions of several of their warriors showed that they regarded him with suspicion, they offered no indignity, and made no objection to his departure.

Had the Osages found the wandering they would refuse to give him up on the demand of the owner. In that case, as in one already related, he could be regained only by strategy, in which the boys were sure to need the help of Deerfoot.

But all this speculation speedily ended. An examination revealed the fact that the trail of the steed and that of the warriors crossed, but the latter was fully two hours older than the former, and from the point of intersection they diverged. Thus it was proven that the colt had been grazing for a considerable time close to the Indians without them suspecting it.

The Osages had continued traveling in a southwesterly direction, while the stray horse had kept on in a course slightly to the north of west. There could be no doubt that the warriors were making their way homeward, while the animal seemed guided by an instinct that promised to place him in the possession of his owner, without any assistance from the son.

The discovery was most gratifying to all parties, Deerfoot expressing his pleasure that Otto was not likely to suffer at the hands of his irate parent for the disaster which was unavoidable on his part.

"Good fortune awaits my brother," said he; "he may not meet any red men on his way home, where Deerfoot hopes the horse will greet him when he arrives."

"Did you see any Indians on this side the Mississippi when you were riding him?" asked Jack.

Otto shook his head, as he was sure that style of answer could not be criticized by either of his companions.

"The outlook is a good one indeed," said Jack, heartily; "and what you have done, Deerfoot, is more than we can ever repay. You need not be, told that if it ever comes within our power to give you help, it will not be denied."

To their surprise the young Shawanoe extended his hand to Otto.

"Good-bye, brother."

The lad shook it warmly, and said:

"Ish you going not—I means, will you leave us?"

"Deerfoot must go; good-bye, brother."

The second farewell was addressed to Jack Carleton, who fervently pressed the soft hand, an said with much feeling:

"Sorry are we to part company, but you your own master. I hope we shall soon meet again!"

"We shall," was all that the Shawanoe said as he released his hand and moved off, vanishing almost instantly among the trees.

The boys stood several minutes, silent and thoughtful, looking toward the point where the Shawanoe was last seen, as though they expected him to return; but the silence around them continued as profound as at "creation's morn." They knew that when the young warrior took such a step, he was in earnest.

He would have been glad to keep them company, but some good reason took him in another direction.

"We shall meet him again," said Jack Carleton, with a slight sigh of regret, recalling the last words of Deerfoot; "from all that was told me about him in Kentucky, he is such a friend to the whites that he was never away from their settlements for a very long time. I have been anxious to know him."

"They used to dell von great shtories apout him," said Otto, speaking with great care.

"And I never believed one half of them. The idea of a young Shawanoe reading his Bible every day, and being able to write the prettiest kind of a band, was something that made us laugh, but every word of it was true, as he proved to us."

"Den vot pig dings be doos in de woods!"

"I should say so. Just think of it, Otto! There we were among a pile of logs, surrounded as you may say by Indian warriors, bent on having our scalps, and yet he delivered a letter to us, explaining the plan he had formed, and then alone scared away the whole lot, so we could out. When you get back home and tell parents this story, what will they say?"

"Mine fader will say nodings, but he vill cut pig stick and bang me as bard as nefer vos lying."

"And I can't wonder much at it," said Jack with a laugh, "but it will be truth, nevertheless, and it is no more wonderful than many things he has done."

"Vy doesn't dey calls him Deerfoot—dot ish, why does dey?"

"On account of his fleetness; he is the swiftest runner ever known in Kentucky. A year or two ago, he was captured by the Wyandots, who hate him worse than poison. He pretended he was lame, which put the idea in the head of his capture to have some fun with him. They took him out on a long clearing and placed him in front of the swiftest warriors, and then told him to run for his life. Well, he ran."

"Did they cotch him and kill him, or didn't he get away?"

"Those Indians," said Jack, ignoring the absurdity of Otto's question, "saw such running as they never looked upon before. Deerfoot just scooted away from them, as though he had wings. One of the Hurons had treated him very bad and Deerfoot paid him."

"How vosn't dot?"

"He drove his tomahawk through his skull."

"Yaw; I dinks he doesn't bodder Deerfoot not much more."

"I never heard that he did, but you can't understand why the Indians hate him as they do. I've heard that Tecumseh offered a dozen horses, and I don't know how much wampum and other presents, to the warrior who would bring back his scalp. But I've no doubt he had to send out a proclamation taking back the offer."

"Vy vosn't dot?"

"I've been told that the rule was when a Huron or Shawanoe went out to hunt for Deerfoot, that was the last heard of him. He never came back, and you see that Deerfoot still wears his scalp."

"Vere didn't them goes to vot didn't comes back?"

"To their happy hunting-grounds. Sometimes, their bodies were found moldering in the woods. And sometimes no one ever knew where they perished. Deerfoot is a Christian (and, Otto, made me feel ashamed of myself), but he isn't the kind to sit down and allow any one to walk off with his scalp. Tecumseh is a young chief, who's is ambitious to make war upon the whites. He must have concluded that if he didn't stop his warriors hunting Deerfoot there would be none left for him! I can't understand, Otto, how it was your father turned him away from his door, when he stopped there at night in a storm."

"Ah, Jack, you doesn't know how mean mine fader ish," said the German with a grin though proud of his parent.

"He couldn't have known that it was Deerfoot," said Jack, reflectively.

"Dot wouldn't make no difference; he treat all Indians de same. One dimes they stole a pig vot didn't pelongs to him and he whipped me as hard as nefer vos, and he hates all Indians for dot."

"It is a great mistake," added Jack thoughtfully, "for you know how revengeful they are, and one of these days some trumping redskin that he has abused will steal up to his house and shoot him dead."

"Dot is vot I tolds him," said Otto; "and he will be as sorry as dunderation ven it afift too late."

"Well," added Jack, looking around him, "it isn't worth while to stand here, when we have such a long ways to travel, and there is no certainty the colt hasn't changed his course and gone away from the settlement instead of toward it."

Otto agreed with his friend, and, picking up his damp blanket, he threw it over his shoulder, and each with his gun in his hand, resumed the pursuit of the stray, which they hoped was at no great distance.

The hoof-prints showed that the horse continued to take matters very philosophically. His fastest gait was a leisurely walk, and often he stood still and nibbled the buds of the vegetation not yet fully developed.

It was gratifying to find that in spite of an occasional digression, his general course was as named. It is pleasant to discover that the missing wanderer is steadily making his ward, even though he is a long time in arriving at his destination.

It was comparatively early in the afternoon when Deerfoot the Shawanoe bade them good-bye, and for two hours the route underwent little change; but at time, Jack Carleton was forced to admit that the course they were following was not the one to take them to the settlement.

Shortly after the departure of their friend, they crossed the trail over which Otto had ridden some days before, and then the hoof-prints tended more to the north, so that, in a general way, the boys took the direction of the Mississippi itself. It could not be expected that while keeping a considerable distance from water, would follow its amazing tortuosity, probably surpasses that of any river on the globe. Thus it came about that sometimes Jack and Otto found themselves close to the immense stream and then again they