Читать книгу The Trail of Black Hawk - Paul G. Tomlinson - Страница 5

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Both boys immediately darted toward the bush where their rifles were hidden. Silently and swiftly they ran and then at their highest speed returned to the spot where Deerfoot lay crouched upon the ground. The air now resounded with the terrible war cry of the marauding Indians and shots rang out through the evening air.

“Come on, Bob,” exclaimed Joseph, as he swiftly started forward.

He had taken only a few steps, however, when he felt himself gripped strongly by his arm and held back.

“No be a fool,” muttered Deerfoot. “Black Hawk have fifty braves. You be killed unless stay here.”

“But my family, my mother and sisters,” pleaded Joseph. “They will be killed unless I go to help them.”

“They be killed anyway,” said Deerfoot stoically. “No use you be killed, too.”

With one hand he held Joseph in a grip of iron, while with the other he maintained a firm hold on Robert. Both boys struggled to free themselves but to no avail. Their Indian ally held them fast, while all the time in a low voice he talked to his young friends.

“Black Hawk come with big band,” he explained. “Me run ten mile to warn Halls. Black Hawk say he kill your father. He say your father bad to Indian. No use you be killed, too. Soon they look for you. You better run. Deerfoot take you away safe.”

“No! No!” protested Joseph and Robert in one breath.

“Let go of me, Deerfoot!” exclaimed Joseph. “Do you think I can leave, while my family are being murdered? Let me go, I say!”

“Deerfoot no let go,” replied the Indian calmly.

The air now was resounding with the cries of the bloodthirsty redmen. If the wild shouts provided a just basis by which to estimate the numbers in the attacking party then it must be as large as Deerfoot had declared it to be, the boys concluded. In their hearts both boys were already convinced that whatever they might do would be of no avail. At the same time it is not easy to watch an attack upon one’s family, and both boys would rather have lost their own lives than to sit quietly by without making an effort to aid.

Every time the war whoop sounded a shudder ran through them and they begged Deerfoot for a chance to try to protect or avenge their father, mother and sisters. Both boys knew well that when an Indian makes war he spares no one from the head of the family down to the baby in the cradle. They already were convinced that soon they would be the only survivors in what had but recently been a family of six.

Suddenly Robert wrenched himself free from Deerfoot’s hold and sprang to his feet. Night was rapidly coming on and objects at a distance were hard to distinguish. Through the gathering dusk he could see his home in the distance. It had been set on fire and around and around it the red marauders were dancing, sending forth their fiendish shouts of victory. Undoubtedly everyone in the house was now dead and soon only the charred remains of what had once been their home would remain.

An ungovernable feeling of rage surged up in Robert’s breast and he vowed vengeance. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. Never in his life had he been more self-controlled in his actions than he was at that moment. The roof of the cabin suddenly burst into flame and lighted up the awful scene being enacted nearby. As he pulled the trigger one of the Indians suddenly leaped high into the air and fell headlong upon his face and lay still. Robert’s aim had been true.

As if by magic the war dance of Black Hawk’s band abruptly ceased. Comrades rushed to the side of the fallen brave and tried to lift him to his feet. Their efforts, however, were without avail; the warrior was dead. As soon as the others became aware of the fall of their comrade they immediately turned to see from which direction the fatal shot had come.

As often happens at sundown there was no breeze stirring. Rising among the trees over the spot where Robert and his two companions were standing, appeared the smoke from the young frontiersman’s gun. The sharp-eyed Sac Indians immediately spied this and with a shout of rage a score or more of them started at full speed in the direction of the tell-tale smoke.

When Robert had fired his rifle, Deerfoot realized that their position was now disclosed and he instantly released his hold on Joseph. There was no advantage to be gained by any further attempt to hide. Joseph gained his feet just as the hostile Indians spied the smoke from his brother’s gun, and hastily taking aim he fired at the approaching warriors. The fact that one of them stopped suddenly and clutched his shoulder proved that Joseph as well as Robert was skillful in the use of a rifle.

“Fools!” exclaimed Deerfoot in the ears of the two boys.

“But, Deerfoot—” began Robert, at the same time hastening to reload his gun.

“Come!” exclaimed Deerfoot, breaking in upon him. “Come, if you no wish to die.”

Without a word he turned and sped into the forest, the two boys closely following him. Less than a quarter of a mile behind them they could hear the war cry of the enraged redmen, hot upon their trail. This was no time to think of family or anything else except self preservation. Both boys realized that this was to be a race with a prize of life or death at the finish, and this knowledge provided them with additional strength.

With Deerfoot in the lead, they fled silently and swiftly through the fast gathering darkness of the forest. If they could outstrip their pursuers and keep out of their way until darkness fell, then their chances of escape would be redoubled. They were fully aware of this fact and they knew also that the foes at their heels knew it, too. Deerfoot set a heart-breaking pace and if the two brothers had not been in excellent condition they never could have hoped to maintain the speed with which they were running.

Neither boy had any idea of the direction in which they were fleeing. They followed their leader blindly, trusting implicitly in him to save them. Their entire attention was centered in Deerfoot and they paid no attention to any task other than that of doing their utmost to keep pace with their leader.

Behind them resounded the shouts of their pursuers and the fugitives seemed to acquire renewed speed every time they heard the blood-curdling cries.

At length, however, they began to weaken. No one was able to maintain such a pace very much farther. At least that is what both Robert and Joseph were thinking. They still had their rifles, and they were determined to hold them at any cost. The guns were heavy, however, and undoubtedly prevented the boys from maintaining their speed.

The darkness increased and Deerfoot began steadily to draw away from his two young friends. Born and reared in the woods, and lightly dressed, he proved more than a match for the fast tiring brothers. They struggled desperately to keep up but they both realized that before long they would be compelled to stop. And ever nearer sounded the war whoop of the Sacs.

“I can’t go much farther, Deerfoot,” panted Joseph.

“Nor I,” gasped Robert.

At the word the flying Indian slackened his pace and waited for the boys to catch up.

“Only little more,” he exclaimed, “no stop now. All die if stop now.”

“But where are you taking us?” exclaimed Joseph.

“Follow Deerfoot, he show you,” and once again the fleet-footed Indian sped down the darkening aisles of the forest. Night was now so near at hand that it was with difficulty that the two boys kept their guide in sight. They made one last effort, however, and exerting all the strength and will power they possessed they managed to follow where Deerfoot led.

Suddenly the Indian stopped.

“Black Hawk no see trail now,” he exclaimed. “We hide here.”

He darted behind a huge tree as he spoke, the boys instantly following his example.

“Where are we going to hide?” demanded Joseph.

“Follow Deerfoot,” and as he spoke the Indian began to climb the nearest tree. Seemingly he went directly up the side of the tree and there were no branches to which he might cling for a considerable distance above the ground.

“Steps in tree,” announced Deerfoot, stopping when he had gone a few feet. “You find ’um easy. Follow Deerfoot.”

Standing where Deerfoot had stood Joseph ran his hands over the hark of the huge oak tree. Sure enough, steps large enough and deep enough to render climbing comparatively safe had been cut into the side of the tree. They were just about as far apart as the rungs of a ladder and having once started on the strange stairway it was very easy to continue. Joseph and Robert speedily discovered this condition and soon were following Deerfoot as he directed them and were moving nearly as rapidly as the Indian himself.

In a very brief time all three had reached the first huge branches of the oak. Here a small platform had been built, consisting of only two or three planks, but they were so arranged that when the three fugitives lay down there was sufficient room for them all. These planks had been cunningly concealed by branches and moss, though naturally the boys did not know this in the darkness. It was about all they could do to make out the indistinct outlines of the nearby trees.

The description of their activities required more time than Deerfoot and his two companions consumed in their efforts to gain this place of refuge. In a very short time they were lying prone on the platform and peering eagerly down into the depths of the forest. They had moved cautiously and silently and well it was that they had made no noise. Scarcely were they settled in the place before shadowy forms began to flit past them in the dim light below.

No war whoops now were heard. The redmen were on the trail to avenge their dead comrade and the one who had been wounded, and now that night had fallen they had no desire to disclose their position. Joseph and Robert could not repress an involuntary shudder as they watched their pursuers speed past them. At the same time they had a feeling of satisfaction as they thought that they had thus far outwitted their foes and for the present at least were comparatively safe.—

Twenty-seven warriors passed beneath the platform in the old oak tree, according to Joseph’s count. Certainly there were enough of them to overcome any resistance the three fugitives could furnish. Night came on, but not for a moment was the vigilance of any one on the platform relaxed. Hour after hour dragged by and soon the dawn would appear. Robert understood as well as Joseph and Deerfoot, that when morning came their position would no longer be safe. With the coming of the morning light the hostile Indians would surely discover their trail and follow it to the base of the large oak tree. If they were to escape, now was the time to do so.

“Come,” said Deerfoot in a low voice.

He cautiously arose and started to make his way down the strange stairway. Joseph and Robert followed closely behind. Slowly and as quietly as possible they descended the tree and soon their feet were on solid ground once more. There they stood for a moment, and then, with Deerfoot in the lead, they started to retrace their course of the night before.

They had covered a hundred yards or more when suddenly from a bush almost directly in front of them came the sharp bark of a rifle. A bullet whistled over their heads.