Читать книгу The Trail of Black Hawk - Paul G. Tomlinson - Страница 8

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How long he slept neither boy knew. Robert was the first to awaken and for some moments he could not remember where he was. The last two days had been so crowded with events that it had all seemed a confused and horrible dream to the young frontiersman. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, bewildered by his strange surroundings.

For some time he sat still, trying to recall where he was and what had brought him to this place. He looked about him and the sight of his brother Joseph stretched upon the ground by his side suddenly brought a remembrance of his recent experiences to his mind. He stretched himself and yawned audibly. At the sound Joseph stirred and opened his eyes.

“Hello, Bob,” he said drowsily. “Where are we?”

“That’s just what I was trying to think a moment ago,” replied Robert. “I know now though. We’re on Deerfoot’s island in the middle of the swamp.”

“Sure enough,” exclaimed Joseph, sitting up. “Where’s Deerfoot?”

“I’ve no idea. I just woke up.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s broad daylight outside though.”

“It must be afternoon then,” said Joseph. “We arrived here sometime in the forenoon, I think.”

“Yes, I know we did. I don’t think it’s afternoon though.”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel very much rested. I think it must be tomorrow morning, if you understand what I mean by that remark.”

“You mean we’ve slept nearly all day, and all night, too, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Robert. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Impossible.”

“Not at all. That would only bring us up to our average anyway.”

Joseph made his way to the window and looked out. “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “It does look sort of like early morning outside.”

“Don’t you think we ought to find Deerfoot?”

“We might look for him anyway. Let’s go out.”

They crawled out through the low door and after scanning the landscape for possible signs of an enemy both stood up. Deerfoot was nowhere to be seen.

“Let’s look for the canoe,” suggested Robert. “If that is gone, Deerfoot is with it somewhere.”

They walked quickly to the place where the canoe had been hidden, but it was not to be found.

“Where do you suppose he has gone?” demanded Joseph.

“I’ve no idea. Scouting, I guess.”

“I hope nothing happens to him,” exclaimed Joseph. “Suppose he should be killed. We’d be left in a nice fix; on an island in the middle of a swamp we know nothing about, and with no boat to take us off.”

“Don’t worry about anything happening to Deerfoot,” said Robert confidently. “He’ll be back here safe and sound before long.”

“I hope you’re right. Let’s go back to the hut and wait there.”

A few moments later the boys seated themselves in front of the little log cabin. They sat where the sun would shine directly upon them, for the early morning air was cold. They took especial care, however, to select a place where they would not be exposed to the view of any chance passerby. They knew enough about Indians to realize that one can never be too careful when attempting to remain hidden from them. An Indian will see the smoke of a camp fire for miles distant; the slightest noise will alarm him, and a trail is an open book for him to read.

“Do you suppose Black Hawk and his band could trace us here?”

“I doubt it,” said Joseph in response to his brother’s query. “They might have followed our trail up to the spot where we took the canoe. I don’t see how any human being could track us to this island though. If we are discovered it will only be by luck.”

Though hidden from the sight of passersby, the two boys were in a position where they could see all that occurred on the lagoon. As his brother finished speaking Robert half rose to his feet.

“Look!” he exclaimed.

“It’s Deerfoot,” said Joseph, gazing in the direction Robert indicated.

Across the lagoon sped the canoe, propelled by the expert paddle of the Pottowattomie. A moment later Deerfoot landed, drew the canoe ashore and approached the cabin door where the boys were seated. In one hand he held a string of perch and in the other he carried a duck.

What the two brothers both noticed at once, however, was the fact that from his belt now dangled two scalps where the day previous there had been but one. Neither boy dared ask an explanation, however, for they knew that if Deerfoot cared to tell of his exploit he would do so voluntarily. Questions would have no effect upon him other than to make him angry, for curiosity as to other people’s affairs was always regarded by an Indian as very bad breeding.

“Boys sleep long,” said Deerfoot, when he had come to the place where they were seated.

“Yes, Deerfoot,” agreed Joseph. “We were very tired.”

“Me catch fish and duck,” said the Indian.

“So we see,” laughed Joseph. “How did you do it?”

“Fish with hook. Duck with snare. How you s’pose?”

“I didn’t know,” replied Joseph meekly. He considered Deerfoot’s reply a rebuke, for evidently the Indian took it for granted that he should know how the game had been captured. The Pottowattomie did not care for useless questions.

“Did you see anything of Black Hawk?” asked Robert.

“No see him,” replied Deerfoot, who at once began the work of cleaning the fish he had caught. Robert asked no more questions and as Deerfoot did not offer to tell how he had captured the second scalp, the matter was evidently closed, at least for the present. Both boys were burning with curiosity, but to no purpose. Some day perhaps, if Deerfoot felt so inclined, he would tell them all about his exploit, but this he apparently did not consider the proper time to do so.

“How long do you expect to stay here, Deerfoot?” inquired Joseph after several moments of silence. The Indian was cleaning the last fish and he made no reply until he had finished. The task did not consume much time, however, for the Pottowattomie was an expert in this art. He laid the fish upon a flat stone with the others, wiped his knife clean and then answered Joseph’s question.

“We leave tonight,” he said.

“Where are we going?” demanded Joseph and Robert in one breath.

“Dixon’s Ferry.”

“Dixon’s Ferry!” exclaimed Joseph. “Why, that’s a long distance from here.”

“I know,” agreed Deerfoot. “We go there. Soldiers there, too.”

“Is that so?” cried Joseph in surprise. “You mean soldiers sent against Black Hawk?”

“Yes,” said the Indian. “Governor Reynolds send soldiers.”

“How do you know all this?” inquired Robert doubtfully.

“Me know,” replied Deerfoot shortly. He did not like to have his statements questioned, and immediately lapsed into silence. He ignored any further remarks on the subject made by either of the brothers, and busied himself in his preparations for the meal.

He quickly brought dried birch logs from inside the cabin and a moment later had a cheerful fire blazing. The wood he used did not smoke, so that any danger on that score was removed. As soon as the fire was well under way he seized the captured duck, holding it by its head with one hand and by its feet with the other. A moment later all of its feathers were singed off by the fire and he soon had the wild fowl skillfully prepared for cooking.

Before long a splendid bed of coals had collected and in these Deerfoot placed the fish. The duck he spitted on a sharp stick and soon the savory smell of cooking food reminded the young pioneers how hungry they were. When the perch were done they were rolled in corn meal and quickly disappeared down the throats of the three fugitives. When the duck was eaten and the fire extinguished they settled back against the side of the cabin, feeling very much at peace with the world, in spite of their precarious position.

“Not dark for long while,” said Deerfoot. “Boys better sleep.”

“What?” exclaimed Joseph. “You don’t think we can sleep all the time, do you? I feel as if I never wanted to sleep again.”

“You feel different tomorrow maybe.”

“That may be so, but I can’t sleep now, that’s sure. How do you feel, Bob?”

“Entirely slept out,” replied Robert, his remark followed by a yawn, however.

All three lapsed into silence while they scanned the surrounding landscape and wished for the coming of night. The quiet of the swamp was undisturbed save for the occasional call of a wild fowl or a splash caused by the jump of a fish. The wind blowing gently through the trees and rushes furnished a drowsy hum as a background to the other noises. As far as one could judge from appearances in the swamp, all the world was at peace. Little would anyone suspect that the three men on the tiny island had been forced to seek that refuge because of hostile Indians.

“Where is Black Hawk’s village?” asked Joseph suddenly.

“Where Rock River meet Mississippi,” replied Deerfoot. “That was his village.”

“Why do you say was?”

“White people take it away from him,” said Deerfoot.

“Is that why he’s fighting?” inquired Joseph. “If they stole his village, then I don’t blame him.”

“Don’t forget this though,” exclaimed Robert hotly. “The Whites may have cheated the Indians lots of times, but just the same the Sacs signed a treaty to move across the Mississippi, and they have refused to go. At any rate nothing can excuse their killing our family. We did nothing to Black Hawk or any of his people and I intend to get even if I can. How can the country ever expect to be settled if the people are liable to be murdered at any moment?”

“That’s true,” agreed Joseph. “It’s hard to blame Black Hawk from his point of view though. He probably thinks he’s entitled to all this land and that every white settler is a thief who is trying to steal from him.”

“Black Hawk isn’t the head of his tribe anyway,” continued Robert. “Keokuk is the big chief, isn’t he, Deerfoot?”

“That right,” grunted the Indian. “Black Hawk the war chief. He fighter.”

“All Pottowattomies are fighters, aren’t they?” said Robert, at the same time covertly nudging Joseph as he spoke. Deerfoot merely grunted but his eyes shone at this remark of his young white friend, and unconsciously he felt for the two scalps at his belt. They were not there, however, but stretched on frames, were drying in the sun before the cabin. They presented a gruesome sight but one from which the brothers found difficulty in keeping their gaze.

Both boys smiled at the pride exhibited by Deerfoot in response to Robert’s insinuation as to the prowess of the Pottowattomies. For some time they lazily discussed Black Hawk and his deeds.

Finally Deerfoot stretched himself at full length on the ground and straightway fell asleep. In spite of their long rest the two brothers soon followed his example; they had been more tired than they realized and were soon in the land of dreams. They were awakened by Deerfoot shaking them gently by the shoulder. When they opened their eyes it was dusk.

“Come,” urged Deerfoot. “Time to go.”