Читать книгу The Trail of Black Hawk - Paul G. Tomlinson - Страница 9

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Deerfoot offered the two boys dried venison and some cakes made of corn meal. The three fugitives partook heartily of this simple repast and then prepared to continue their flight. Silently and with extreme caution they made their way to the place where the canoe lay hidden and a few moments later all three embarked. The night was dark, but this fact did not seem to trouble Deerfoot. He wielded the paddle and with strong, sure strokes propelled the light canoe swiftly over the waters of the lagoon.

In a short time they were once more among the rushes and through the narrow waterways Deerfoot paddled the frail craft as confidently as a man might walk down the street of some familiar town. Joseph and Robert crouched low in the canoe, made no sound, but constantly marveled at the skill of their Indian friend, who so easily found his way in the marshes.

Presently they emerged from the swamp into the main channel of the river. As close to the shore as possible Deerfoot steered his course and now did scarcely more than guide the canoe; he allowed the current to carry them along. Although it was somewhat sluggish here, the Indian seemed to be content with the speed they were making. So quietly did the canoe drift down the stream and so dark was the night that an observer from the shore might easily have mistaken the ghostlike object for a floating log.

The motion of the canoe was so soothing and all about them everything seemed so quiet and peaceful that the two brothers almost forgot the danger they were in, and had nearly fallen asleep again when the grating of the bow on a sandy beach quickly aroused them.

“Out here,” whispered Deerfoot.

A moment later the canoe had been hauled ashore and hidden, and without further delay Joseph and Robert followed their Indian guide as he struck out through the woods.

On the river the night had seemed dark, but in the woods it was pitchy black. The great overhanging trees shut out whatever feeble light the stars might give, so that the forest was inky dark. As a consequence progress was very slow. Deerfoot did not even for a moment relax his caution; the three fugitives proceeded one behind the other and so close that they could almost touch one another. Speed was sacrificed to quietness and as a consequence it required the better part of an hour to traverse this strip of woods, though it was only a half-mile wide.

At last they emerged from the shelter of the forest onto the prairie. Far ahead of them it stretched like the waters of a huge lake, apparently boundless in its extent. Bushes formed the only cover on this vast expanse of level country and both Joseph and Robert could not help wondering what they should do if their enemies should discover them while they were crossing this plain. There was no choice, however, if they wished to reach Dixon’s Ferry, and the chance must be taken.

Soon their progress was more rapid. Swiftly they walked and as the moon broke from behind a cloud its rays made the three figures look like ghosts, as, bending low, they hurried forward on their perilous journey. Mile after mile they covered and scarcely a word had been spoken since they left Deerfoot’s hut on the island in the swamp. Finally, however, the Indian called a halt.

“We rest here,” he exclaimed, pointing to a clump of bushes nearby as he spoke.

“Good,” said Joseph heartily. “That was a fast pace, Deerfoot.”

“Huh,” grunted the Indian. “Must hurry.”

“Are we going to travel all day, too?” inquired Robert. He had sunk to the ground as soon as their march had ceased, and now, stripped of his gun, he lay at full length upon the earth.

“No,” said Deerfoot in response to Robert’s question. “We stay Scott’s today.”

“Scott’s!” exclaimed Robert. “Where is that?”

“On prairie,” replied Deerfoot. “You know Scott’s.”

“I do,” said Joseph, turning to his brother as he spoke. “Don’t you remember that family that stopped at our house about five or six years ago, Bob? They had come from Virginia and we heard later that they had settled out on the prairie here. You must remember them.”

“I sort of recall something about them,” agreed Robert. “How far from here is their house, Deerfoot?”

“Six miles.”

“We’ll reach there early in the morning then, won’t we?”

“Daylight,” said Deerfoot. “We stay here half-hour, then go on again.”

“When ought we to reach Dixon’s Ferry?” asked Joseph.

“Tomorrow, mebbe. Mebbe next day,” grunted Deerfoot, and rolling over on his back the Indian immediately fell asleep.

“Look at that,” exclaimed Joseph. “He is just like a dog and can go to sleep whenever he feels like it. I wish I could do it.”

“It’s all practice,” said Robert. “Deerfoot has been trained to it all his life and that’s why he can do it now.”

“Well, you and I had better try to rest, too,” said Joseph, as he stretched himself on the ground beside Deerfoot.

“Suppose we all go to sleep and no one wakes up in a half an hour?”

“Don’t worry about that. Deerfoot will wake up all right.”

The brothers lapsed into silence but they did not sleep. They had had more rest than Deerfoot recently and were not in such need of sleep as was their guide. In addition, the ground was hard and lumpy, and no matter which way they adjusted themselves it seemed as if some particularly hard bump was immediately underneath them. The ground was hard and the grass was dry, for but little rain had fallen recently, and this fact only served to make their beds more uncomfortable. They obtained some rest, however, and were ready to start again when Deerfoot gave the word.

He opened his eyes presently and sat up. A moment later he sprang to his feet, while the two brothers quickly followed his example.

“Wind blow now,” grunted Deerfoot.

“It is freshening,” agreed Joseph. “It’s right in our faces too.”

It was at least two hours before the dawn when they once more resumed their march. The wind blowing over the prairie was cool in their faces and sweet with the odor of grass and the earth. Soon they would come to the Scott’s home where they were confident that they would be heartily welcomed and furnished with a sumptuous meal. Perhaps the Scotts would join them in their flight to Dixon’s Ferry; at any rate they could be warned of the presence of warlike Indians in the vicinity. These and similar thoughts occupied the minds of the two brothers as they hurried on their way.

They had covered perhaps five of the six miles when Deerfoot suddenly stopped. He bent slightly forward as if he was listening to something, and imitating him Joseph and Robert both listened intently. No sound came to them, however, but evidently the case was different with Deerfoot. For some moments he remained in a listening attitude, and then turned to his young friends.

“War whoop,” he said quietly.

“What!” exclaimed Joseph and Robert together.

“War whoop,” repeated Deerfoot. “Black Hawk kill Scotts.”

“Are you sure?” demanded Joseph. “Are you sure you hear war whoops?”

“Ugh,” grunted Deerfoot.

“This is terrible!” cried Joseph. “It seems as if we ought to have warned them. What shall we do?”

“How could we have warned them?” demanded Robert. “We’d have been killed ourselves if we had tried to get here any sooner.”

“But what shall we do?”

“I don’t know. Ask Deerfoot.”

The first faint streaks of dawn were now lighting up the sky. Little by little objects began to be distinguishable and as Joseph turned to Deerfoot for an answer to his question, the Indian pointed to something he saw in the distance. Both boys instantly gazed in the direction he indicated.

“What is it?” demanded Joseph in a low voice.

“Smoke.”

“Sure enough,” cried Robert. “I see it. They are burning the Scotts’ house just as they burned ours. They’re probably all dead by now.”

Deerfoot was evidently uneasy. He shifted from one foot to the other and glanced about him as if he was undecided what to do next. The three fugitives simply stood and gazed at the distant column of smoke.

“You can smell the smoke now,” exclaimed Robert suddenly.

“Yes,” agreed Joseph. “The wind is coming this way.”

“So fire,” said Deerfoot.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Joseph.

“Fire come this way, too.”

“How will it?”

“Prairie burn,” said Deerfoot quietly.

“Do you think the prairie will catch on fire?” demanded Joseph in alarm. “Do you think it is dry enough?”

The two young pioneers gazed anxiously across the level plain to the place where the fire was raging. They knew the horrors of a prairie fire and they had no desire to be caught in the midst of one.

“Sure prairie dry,” grunted Deerfoot.

“We’d better leave here as fast as we can then, hadn’t we?” exclaimed Joseph, now fully alarmed. As he spoke they could see the fire suddenly spring up all about the former home of the Scotts. Fanned by the ever freshening breeze it made its way swiftly along the ground and gathering power as it ran, leaped into flame and started on its mad career.

“Come,” said Deerfoot, and he turned about and ran. The smell of smoke was now strong in their nostrils and this new foe, much more deadly than the former ones, inspired the fugitives with a fear that seemed almost to put wings on their feet. A deer suddenly passed them, wide-eyed and snorting with fright; close behind it sped two gray wolves, the fact that the deer was their quarry apparently being forgotten in the fear of a common peril.

To escape by running around the fire was out of the question. It not only traveled straight ahead, but as it came it continually widened its scope, the wall of flame and smoke growing broader and broader with every moment that passed.

The three men ran as they never had run before. Behind them roared the racing fire, the noise striking terror to the heart of every living thing within hearing distance. Side by side ran men and animals, their ancient enmities forgotten, everyone aware of the fact that a foe more powerful than any of them was at their backs. Water was what they all sought, and unless they could reach it before the fire did they were lost.

Neither Joseph nor Robert knew of any water nearer than the stream they had left the evening before. It was out of the question to think of gaining that. Perhaps Deerfoot knew of some lake or pond on the prairie. At any rate he could not stop to say so now, and meanwhile the fire raged behind them, ever nearer and constantly increasing in fury.