The Hunters of the Hills by Joseph A. Altsheler (best books under 200 pages txt) 📗

and save to us our green forests, our blue lakes and our silver rivers! Remember, O, Tododaho, that although the centuries have passed since Manitou took you from us, your name still stands among us for all that is great, noble and wise! I beseech you that you give sparks of your own lofty and strong spirit to your children, to the Hodenosaunee in this, their hour of need, and I ask too, that you help one who is scarcely yet a warrior in years, one who invokes thee humbly, even, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of thy own great League of the Hodenosaunee!"

He bent his head a little to listen. All the legends and beliefs of his race, passed from generation to generation, crowded upon him. Tododaho leaning down from his star surely heard his prayer. Tayoga shivered a little, not from cold or fear, but from emotion. The mystic spell was upon him. Far above him in the limitless void little wreaths of vapor united about a great shining star, taking the shape of a man, the shape of a great chief, wise beyond all other chiefs that had ever lived, and he distinctly saw the wise serpents, coil on coil, in Tododaho's hair. They were whispering in his ear, and bending his head a little farther he heard the words of the serpents which the rising wind brought, repeated, from the lips of Tododaho:

"Fear not, O young warrior of the Onondagas! Tododaho leaning down from his star hears thy pious appeal! Tododaho, for more than four hundred years, has watched over the great League, night and day! Let the fifty sachems, old in years and wisdom, walk in the straight path of truth, and let the warriors follow! Let them be keepers of the faith, friends to those who have been their friends, sage in council, brave in battle, and they shall hold their green forests, their blue lakes and their silver rivers! And to thee, Tayoga, I say, thou shalt encounter many dangers, but because thy soul is pure, thou shalt have great rewards!"

Then the wind died suddenly. The leaves hung motionless. The vapors about the great shining star dissolved, the face of Tododaho, with the wise serpents, coil on coil in his hair, disappeared, and the luminous heavens were without a sign. But they had spoken.

Tayoga trembled, but again it was from emotion. Tododaho had sent his words of promise on the wind, and they had been whispered in his ear. Great would be his dangers but great would be his rewards. He was uplifted. His heart exulted. His deeds would be all the mightier because of the dangers, and he would never forget that he had the promise of Tododaho, greatest, wisest and noblest of the chiefs of the Hodenosaunee, who had gone to a shining star more than four hundred years ago.

He sat down under one of the trees and sleep remained far from him. He still listened with all the power of his sensitive hearing for any sound that might come in the forest, and after awhile he took his bow and quiver from their case, putting his quiver over his shoulder. He covered his rifle with the leaves, and holding the bow in his hand stole away among the trees.

The faintest of sounds had come to him, and Tayoga did not doubt its nature. It was strange to the forest and it was hostile. The mystic spell was still upon him, and it heightened his faculties to an extraordinary degree. He had almost the power of divination. A hundred yards, and he crouched low behind the trunk of a great oak. Then as the moonlight fell upon a small opening just ahead he saw them, Tandakora and two warriors.

The Ojibway was in full war paint, and the luminous quality of the moon's rays enlarged his huge form. He towered like Hanegoategeh, the Evil Spirit, and the figures upon his shoulders and chest stood out like carving. He and the two warriors also carried bows and arrows, and Tayoga surmised that they had meant to slay in silence. His heart burned with rage and he felt, too, an unlimited daring. Did he not have the promise of Tododaho that he should pass through all dangers and receive great rewards? He felt himself a match for the three, and he did not need secrecy and silence. He raised his voice and cried:

"Stand forth, Tandakora, and fight. I too have only waano (the bow) and gano (the arrow), but I meet the three of you!"

Tandakora and the two warriors sprang back and in an instant were hidden by the trees, but Tayoga had expected them to do so, and he dropped down, moving silently to another and hidden point, where he waited, an arrow on the string. He knew that Tandakora had recognized his voice, and would make every effort, his shoulder healed enough for use, to secure such a prize. The Ojibway would believe, too, that three must prevail against one, and he would push the attack. So the Onondaga remained motionless, but confident.

Nearly ten minutes of absolute silence followed, but his hearing was so acute that he did not think any of the three could move without his knowledge. Then a slight sliding sound came. One of the warriors was passing to the right, and that, too, he had expected, as they would surely try to flank him. He moved back a little, and with the end of his bow shook gently a bush seven or eight feet away. In an instant, an arrow, coming from the night, whistled through the bush. But Tayoga drew back the bow quick as lightning, fitted an arrow to the string and shot with all the power of his arm at a bronze body showing among the leaves at the point whence the arrow had come.

The shaft sang in the air, and so great was its speed and so short the range that it passed entirely through the chest of the warrior, cutting off his breath so quickly that he had no time to utter his death cry. There was no sound but that of his fall as he crashed among the leaves. Nor did Tayoga utter the usual shout of triumph. He sank back and fitted another arrow to the string, turning his attention now to the left.

It had been the Onondaga's belief that Tandakora would remain in front, sending the warriors on either flank, and now he expected a movement on the left. He did not have to make any feint of his own to draw the second warrior, who must have been lacking somewhat in skill, as he presently saw a dim figure in the bushes and his second arrow sped with the same speed and deadly result that had marked the first. Fitting his third arrow to the string, he called:

"Stand forth, Tandakora, and show yourself like a man! Then we shall see who shoots the better!"

But being a knight of the woods, and to convince the Ojibway that it was no trick, he showed himself first. Tandakora shot at once, but Tayoga dropped back like a flash, and the arrow cut the air, where his feathered head had been. Then all his Indian nature, the training and habit of generations, leaped up in him and he began to taunt.

"You shot quickly, Tandakora," he called, "and your arm was strong, but the arrow struck not! You followed us all the way from Stadacona, and you thought to have our scalps! The Great Bear and Lennox did not suspect, but I did! The warriors who came with you are dead, and you and I alone face each other! I have shown myself and I have risked your arrow, now show yourself, Tandakora, and risk mine!"

But the Ojibway, it seemed, had too much respect for the bow of Tayoga. He remained close, and did not disclose an inch of his brown body. The Onondaga did not show himself again, but crouched for a shot, in case the opportunity came. He knew that Tandakora was a great bowman, but he had supreme confidence in his own skill against anybody. Nothing stirred where his enemy lay and no sound came from the little camp, which was beyond the reach of the words they had uttered.

A quarter of an hour, a half hour, an hour passed, and neither moved, showing all the patience natural to the Indian on the war path. Then Tayoga shook a bush a few feet from him, but Tandakora divined the trick, and his arrow remained on the string. Another quarter of an hour, and seeing some leaves quiver, Tayoga, at a chance, sent an arrow among them. No sound came back, and he knew that it had been sped in vain.

Then he began to move slowly and with infinite care toward the right, resolved to bring the affair to a head. At the end of twenty feet he rustled the bushes a little once more and lay flat. An arrow flew over his head, but he did not reply, resuming his slow advance after his enemy's shaft had sped. Another twenty feet and he made the bushes move again. Tandakora shot, and in doing so he exposed a little of his right arm. Tayoga sent a prompt arrow at the brown flesh. He heard a cry of pain, wrenched in spite of his stoical self from the Ojibway, and then as he sank down again and put his ear to the ground came the sound of retreating footsteps.

The affair, unfinished in a way, so far as the vital issue was concerned, was concluded for the present, at least. Ear and mind told Tayoga as clearly as if eye had seen. His arrow had ploughed its path across Tandakora's arm near the shoulder, inflicting a wound that would heal, but which was extremely painful and from which so much blood was coming that a quick bandage was needed. Tandakora could no longer meet Tayoga with the bow and arrow and so he must retreat. Nor was it likely that his first wound was yet more than half healed.

The Onondaga waited until he was sure his enemy was at least a half mile away, when he rose boldly and approached the place where Tandakora had last lain hidden. He detected at once drops of dark blood on the leaves and grass, and he found his arrow, which Tandakora had snatched from the wound and thrown upon the ground. He wiped the barb carefully and replaced it in his quiver. Then he followed the trail at least three miles, a trail marked here and there by ruddy spots.

Tayoga did not feel sorry for his enemy. Tandakora was a savage and an assassin, and he deserved this new hurt. He was a dangerous enemy, one who had made up his mind to secure revenge upon the Onondaga and his friends, but his fresh wound would keep him quiet for a while. One could not have an arrow through his forearm and continue a hunt with great vigor and zest.

Tayoga marked twice the places where Tandakora had stopped to rest. There the drops of blood were clustered, indicating a pause of some duration, and a third stop showed where he had bound up his wound. Fresh leaves had been stripped from a bush and a tiny fragment or two indicated that the Ojibway had torn a piece from his deerskin waistcloth to fasten over the leaves. After that the trail was free from the ruddy spots, but Tayoga did not follow it much farther. He was sure that Tandakora would not return, as he had lost much blood, and for a while, despite his huge power and strength, exertion would make him weak and dizzy. Evidently, the bullet in his shoulder, received when they were on their way to Quebec, had merely shaken him, but the arrow had taken a heavier toll.

Tayoga returned to the camp of the three. All the fire had gone out, and Willet and Robert, wrapped in their blankets, still slept peacefully. The entire combat between the bowmen had passed without their knowledge, and Tayoga, quietly returning the bow and quiver to their case, and taking his rifle instead, sat down with his back against a tree, and his weapon across his knees. He was on the whole satisfied. He had not removed Tandakora, but he had inflicted another painful and mortifying defeat upon him. The pride of the Indian had been touched in its most sensitive place, and the Ojibway would burn with rage for a long time. Tayoga's white education did not keep him from taking pleasure in the thought.

He had no intention