Читать книгу The Trail of Black Hawk - Paul G. Tomlinson - Страница 7

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Neither Joseph nor Robert nor Deerfoot stopped to see who it was that had fired at them. Without a word they plunged quickly in among the trees and once again started on a race for their lives. From behind them came the faint sounds of the war whoops, which only served to increase the speed of the three fugitives.

They had baffled and eluded their pursuers the night previous, but could they do it again? That was the thought uppermost in the minds of the three hunted men who were once more closely pressed by their enemies. Certainly they intended to do their utmost.

No sounds reached them from behind now, but this did not mean that their foes had given up the chase. The two brothers and their Indian friend realized that this time it was to be a race to a finish. Black Hawk and his band had been foiled once and consequently it would be all the harder to escape them the second time. The three fugitives knew that their enemies would keep up the pursuit until the race was definitely settled.

On and on Deerfoot led the way until they emerged from the woods onto the open prairie. There was an open space, at least a mile wide here, bordered on both sides by the forest and directly out upon this Deerfoot sped.

“They’ll see us here surely, Deerfoot,” panted Joseph. “We’ll be in plain sight and they can easily shoot us down.”

“Follow Deerfoot,” came the short, sharp reply, and neither Joseph nor his brother offered any more objections.

Deerfoot did not go far from the shelter of the trees, however. He ran perhaps twenty-five or thirty yards from the border of the forest and then turned abruptly to his left. The ground was hard here and the trail as a consequence difficult to follow. Deerfoot kept on in this new course perhaps fifty yards more and then made another sharp turn to his left. This brought them back toward the woods once more.

Both boys now saw Deerfoot’s plan. He was doubling on his tracks. The ground on the prairie was hard and along the surface of the earth ran a vein of solid rock. It would be almost impossible to follow a trail there, at least with any degree of speed, and Deerfoot had counted upon that as an aid. He hoped to gain a few precious moments by his strategy.

Safe within the shelter of the forest, once more the wily Pottowattomie called a halt. The three fugitives crouched behind the shelter of a bush and gazed eagerly out across the prairie. They were all out of wind and a chance to regain their lost breath was heartily welcomed.

“Think we’ve thrown them off the trail?” whispered Joseph.

“No for long,” replied Deerfoot quietly.

As he spoke an Indian bounded out of the woods, closely followed by several more. They all stopped and looked about them in a puzzled manner, and as more of their companions at that time joined them, a hasty consultation was held. They gesticulated and pointed in all directions, evidently at a loss what to do next. One of them pointed to the woods beyond the prairie, but evidently the others did not think their quarry could have gained enough ground to have reached that shelter.

“Come,” said Deerfoot, slinking away. “They find our trail soon.”

“No. Let’s not waste any time,” agreed Robert, and once more the flight was resumed. Soon they came to a brook. Into this Deerfoot plunged without any hesitation and began making his way down stream as fast as he was able. The two brothers followed closely behind, and, imitating their guide, they jumped from rock to rock when such a course was possible, and at other times they waded in the shallow waters of the stream. This was another trick to throw their pursuers off the trail. Evidently Deerfoot was using all his skill and cunning.

Down the stream they went for at least a third of a mile before Deerfoot decided to try the solid earth again. At a small rocky beach they left the brook and struck out through the woods once more. A short time later he once more entered the brook and went ashore on the opposite side. He was doubling on their tracks continually, and certainly no one but a skilled Indian could follow the course he was leading.

After a further flight they came to Fox River. Along its shores were marshes overhung with willows. From underneath one of these Deerfoot drew a canoe, skillfully hidden in the rushes, and a few moments later the three fugitives were seated in this frail craft, paddling swiftly down the stream.

“We fool them, I think,” said Deerfoot grimly. “We fool Black Hawk, all right. He no catch us now.”

“I hope you’re right,” exclaimed Joseph fervently. “I know I should hate to have him catch us.”

“I’ve gotten so I don’t much care what happens,” said Robert, speaking with difficulty.

“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired his brother.

“I’m so tired and so hungry, I feel as if it didn’t make much difference what becomes of us. Our family is all gone and what’s the use?”

“Don’t talk like that,” protested Joseph. “Weren’t you the one who was swearing vengeance only a couple of hours ago?”

“I know it,” admitted Robert mournfully. “Just think, though, we didn’t have any sleep last night and we have had no food since yesterday sometime. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

“Deerfoot know where food is,” exclaimed the Indian. “We be there soon. Also can sleep too.”

He had but little sympathy with Robert’s complaints. It was a part of his training, and was bred in the blood of every Indian youth, to endure what came and not grumble. Whether he encountered good or bad fortune his attitude was the same and he always looked with contempt at what he considered the weakness of the white people if they complained of their sufferings or misfortunes. He was intensely fond of both Joseph and Robert, however, and he did not hold them personally responsible for what he regarded as a grave fault. In his heart he blamed their race.

“Thank goodness,” ejaculated Robert in response to Deerfoot’s statement. “Food and sleep are the two things I want most of all right now.”

“I need them too,” said Joseph. “I think, however, that our hardships have just begun. That is, if we meant what we said this morning about avenging our family. I know I meant it anyway.”

“So did I,” exclaimed Robert. “I didn’t mean to be a baby just now and it won’t happen again. Here, Deerfoot, let me paddle.”

“No. Deerfoot paddle,” replied the Indian quietly.

His manner immediately changed toward Robert, however, as he saw a revival of spirit in the boy. It was never his custom openly to rebuke either of his young friends. He set an example and took it for granted that the brothers would follow it. He was immensely proud of his young pupils, for it was in this light that he regarded them, and stoical as he was he could not always hide his feelings.

Down the narrow stream they went about two miles. Here the channel became lost in a huge swamp, a place that had always been a mystery and an attraction to the two brothers. They had never explored the swamp to any extent, however, for they invariably lost their bearings when they entered it and experienced difficulty in finding their way out. The channel of Fox River was easily discerned and not hard to follow, but Deerfoot soon left the channel and bore off to his left.

The reeds and rushes grew high in the swamp. Great overhanging trees shut out the sun and made the place dark and gloomy. Here and there muskrat houses appeared and more than once these ratlike denizens of the marshes could be seen hastening to cover at the approach of the canoe. Everything was so still that it had a pronounced effect on the three men in the canoe, as they wound their way in and out along the narrow waterways.

Deerfoot seemed perfectly sure of his course and did not once hesitate as he skillfully maneuvered the frail craft through the swamp. In absolute silence they progressed, the hoarse croak of a heron disturbed by their approach being the only sound to break the stillness.

The narrow channel suddenly turned sharply to the right and a small lagoon appeared before the eyes of the three fugitives. In the center of the little lake was an island about a hundred feet square and heavily wooded.

“There place,” said Deerfoot calmly.

“Can we land there?” questioned Robert doubtfully. “It looks pretty swampy to me.”

“No swamp in middle,” replied the Indian.

A few powerful strokes of the paddle brought them to the shore of the tiny island. Beneath the low hanging branches of a great willow tree they glided and a moment later stepped ashore. Deerfoot carefully drew the canoe out of the water and concealed it behind the screen of a heavy growth of bushes.

The ground was wet and marshy near the shore, but a few yards farther inland it rose abruptly, affording a firm, dry footing. Robert and Joseph followed Deerfoot as he led the way to the very center of the island. Here was a log hut, only a few feet high and carefully hidden by vines which had grown until they entirely covered the building. A narrow window afforded fresh air and a scanty supply of light.

The Indian stooped and unfastened the low door. Then on his hands and knees he crawled inside, closely followed by the two young pioneers. To say they were surprised to find this retreat would be stating the case mildly. Never a word had Deerfoot ever spoken of this island or the hut upon it and neither of the boys had ever suspected that such a place was located within only a few miles of their own home.

“Just think how many times we have passed this place and yet we’ve never known a thing about it,” remarked Joseph.

“Well, I should say so,” exclaimed Robert. They were seated on the hard earthen floor of the tiny house, interestedly examining every detail of their shelter and hiding place. Robert’s fatigue and hunger had entirely given way to his interest in his new surroundings. When Deerfoot produced dried venison and corn from a stone closet in one corner, however, these two feelings soon returned.

“Food,” said the Indian shortly, offering the provender to the two young brothers. “Then sleep.”

No second invitation was needed. The two boys grasped the food like starving men and soon ate all that had been given them. Deerfoot offered them no more and they both knew better than to ask for it. If the Indian had wished them to have more he would have given it to them. A moment later, the food gone, they stretched themselves at full length on the ground, and immediately fell fast asleep.