Kitabı oku: «Frank in the Woods», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XVIII
End of the Trapper and Black Mustang
“ MY first job, arter I war sartin that the Comanche war done for, war to light the torch an’ examine the cave. First makin’ sure that thar war no more Injuns about, I crawled along up the passage that led to the top o’ the hill, where I found that the log which covered the hole had been moved, an’ I knowed in a minit that that war the place where the Comanche had come in. I didn’t care ’bout showin’ myself much, ’cause I didn’t know how many more o’ the savages there might be about; so I pulled the log over the hole agin’ an’ crawled back into the cave. I stuck my torch in the ground, an’ arter movin’ the Comanche up in one corner out of the way, I pulled over a pile of hemlock-boughs, that had many a time served me an’ ole Bill for a bed, an’ found a kag o’ spruce beer, an’ enough jerked meat to last a month. Me an’ Bill allers took good keer to leave plenty o’ provender at the cave when we left, so that if we should get hard pressed by the Injuns, or game should get scarce, we would know where to go to find good livin’. As I hadn’t had a good meal since we lost the train, I eat a heap o’ that jerked meat, an’ then lay down to sleep, hopin’ that when I woke I should find ole Bill with me. I warn’t much anxious about him, ’cause I knowed he war on as good a hoss as ever tracked a prairy, an’ war too ole in Injun fightin’ to be ketched easy; an’ I went to sleep, sartin that he would turn up all right afore daylight.
“Wal, I slept like a top until ’arly the next mornin’, but didn’t see nothin’ of ole Bill. Arter a breakfast on jerked meat an’ spruce beer, I smoked a pipe, an’ crawled up the passage to the top o’ the hill, pushed off the log, an’ settled down to listen. For two days, I kept watch at that hole, listenin’ an’ peepin’, but there war no signs of ole Bill. On the second arternoon, I heered the tramp of a hoss in the creek, an’ a’most at the same minit a big Comanche poked his head over the bushes not ten foot from where I war, an’ looked toward the place where the sound come from. How the rascal got there without seein’ me, I didn’t stop to think; but, risin’ to my feet, I chucked my tomahawk at him, an’ there war one Injun less in them woods. Nigher and nigher come the trampin’ o’ the hoss, an’ I war sartin it war ole Bill; so when he got within yellin’ distance, I give the gobble of a turkey, jest to let him know that there war danger ahead. The ole man heered it, for the trampin’ o’ the hoss stopped, an’, for a minit, the woods war as still as death; but all to onct I heered the crack of a rifle, follered by the death-screech of a Comanche, an’ then the clatter of hoofs an’ a loud laugh told me that the ole man war retreatin’. I knowed there warn’t no use o’ watchin’ any more, so I pulled the log over the hole agin, crawled back into the cave, an’ went to sleep. It war night when I woke, an’ takin’ my rifle, I crawled out into the gully an’ lay down in the shade o’ the bushes. I lay there till near midnight without hearin’ any thing, an’ had a’most made up my mind that ole Bill warn’t comin’, when the low hootin’ of an owl come echoin’ down the gully. I answered it, an’, in a few minits, up come Bill an’ crawled into the cave.
“‘Here I am,’ said he, ’an’ I had mighty hard work to get here, too – the timmer’s chuck full o’ the outlyin’ varlets.’
“‘Where’s my hoss?’ I asked.
“‘He’s down in the bushes, all right side up with keer, an’ hid away where the rascals will have to hunt a long time to find him. He’s worth his weight in beaver-skins, that hoss is.
“Ole Bill eat his supper in silence; but, arter fillin’ his pipe, said:
“‘Dick, them ’ar Comanches have got my hoss, an’ I’m goin’ back arter it.’
“Now a feller would think that, arter what Bill had gone through, he wouldn’t be in no hurry about goin’ back among the Injuns agin. But sich scrapes warn’t no new thing to him; an’ when he said ‘Go,’ in course I warn’t goin’ to stay behind. So, arter takin’ another smoke, the ole man tuk the knife and tomahawk o’ the Injun I had killed in the cave, an’ led the way out into the gully. As he had said, the timmer was full of Injuns, an’, as we crawled along on our hands an’ knees, we could hear ’em talkin’ to each other all around us. But we got past ’em all right, an’ as soon as we got out o’ the gully, the ole man rose to his feet and said:
“‘That hoss knows that there’s somethin’ wrong; he hasn’t moved an inch; he knows a’most as much as a human man, he does;’ an’ pullin’ aside the branches of a thicket of scrub pines, I see my hoss standin’ as quiet an’ still as could be, jest as Bill had left him. He seemed mighty glad to see me agin, an’ rubbed his head agin my shoulder, as I fastened on the saddle an’ jumped on his back.
“It war a good two weeks’ work to get back to that camp, for the prairy an’ woods war full o’ Comanches huntin’ around for Bill, an’ sometimes we had to go miles round to get out o’ their way.
“When we reached the camp, we found it nearly deserted by the braves; still, there war enough left to ketch me an’ ole Bill, if we should be diskivered. Wal, we lay round in the woods until dark, but not a glimp could we get o’ the ole man’s mustang. The critter might be in the camp, but more ’n likely as not he war carryin’ a Comanche on his back, an’ scourin’ the prairy in search o’ Bill.
“As soon as it war fairly dark, the ole man stuck out his hand, and said:
“‘Dick, I’m goin’ now. Good-by.’
“I never before felt so bad at partin’ from him. Somehow I knowed that somethin’ mighty onpleasant war goin’ to happen; but it warn’t no use to try to keep him from goin’; so I bid him good-by, an’ he commenced crawlin’ through the grass toward the camp. I watched him as long as he war in sight, an’ then settled back agin a tree, an’ waited to see what would turn up. For two hours I sot there listenin’, an’ thinkin’ of all the fights me an’ ole Bill had been in, an’ wonderin’ when the time would come when we must part – not as we had now, for a little while, but forever – when all to onct I heered the barkin’ of a dog in the camp. In course the hull village war aroused to onct, an’ a loud yell told me that ole Bill had been diskivered. The yell was follered by the crack of a rifle, an’ the ole man come gallopin’ out o’ the camp on his own hoss, shoutin’:
“‘Come on now, Dick, I’m even with the rascals. There’s one less Comanche in the world.’
“The Injuns were clost on to Bill’s trail, an’ come pourin’ out o’ the camp on foot an’ on hossback; an’, seem’ one big feller far ahead of the others, I hauled up for a minit, sent him from his saddle, an’ then, jumpin’ on my hoss, started arter the ole man. In course the yellin’ hounds war soon left behind, ’cause there warn’t no hosses on them prairies that could hold a candle to ourn; an’ we war beginnin’ to grow jolly over our good luck, when, the fust thing we knowed, crack went a couple o’ rifles, an’ Bill throwed his arms above his head an’ fell from his saddle.
“We had run chuck into a party o’ Comanches who had been out huntin’ the ole man, an’ had give up the chase, an’ were ’turnin’ to camp. The minit ole Bill fell I war by his side, an’, while I war liftin’ him from the ground, the rascals charged toward us with loud yells, sartin that they had now got both of us in their power.
“‘Dick,’ said the ole man, a’most in a whisper, ‘I’ve sent a good many o’ them screechin’ imps out o’ the world, an’ it’s my turn to go now. They have finished me at last. You can’t help me – so save yourself; but remember that every Comanche that crosses your trail falls, to pay for this. Leave me.’
“‘Bill, me an’ you have been together too long for that. When I leave you it’ll be arter this, said I, an’, liftin him in my arms, I got him on my hoss, an’ started off agin. The way that little mustang got over the ground carried us ahead of all except two o’ the Comanches, who kept bangin’ away at us as fast as they could load their rifles. If I hadn’t had ole Bill in my arms I would have put an eend to their shootin’ an’ yellin’ in a tarnal hurry.
“It war no light load that hoss had to carry, an’ I knowed that we must come to closer quarters soon, ’cause he couldn’t stand that gait long. But he carried us five mile ’bout as quick as I ever traveled, an’ then, all to onct, commenced to run slow. He war givin’ out fast. The yellin’ varlets kept comin’ nearer an’ nearer, an’ I had only one chance for life, an’ a poor one at that. I would stick to the hoss as long as he could step, an’ then try it on foot. So I turned toward a strip o’ woods which lay ’bout a mile off, but he hadn’t made a dozen jumps when one o’ the pursuin’ Injuns sent a ball through his head, an’ we all come to the ground together.
“The minit I touched the prairy I dropped ole Bill an’, at the crack o’ my rifle, one o’ the Injuns fell; the other then commenced circlin’ round me, ’fraid to come to clost quarters. But I kept my eye on him, an’ jest as he war goin’ to fire, I dropped behind my hoss, and kept dodgin’ ’bout till I got my rifle loaded, and then I settled matters to onct. I war safe – but ole Bill war dead. I tuk him up in my arms agin, and carried him into the woods, where I rolled a log from its place, an’ arter scoopin’ out some o’ the ground, I put him in, an’ pulled the log back over him. It war the best I could do for him, an’ arter swearin’ above his grave that a Comanche should fall for every har on his head, I shouldered my rifle, an’, jest as the sun war risin’, struck out acrost the prairy, which I knowed I must now tread alone.
“Is it a wonder, then, that I hate an Injun? The bones of many a brave that lay scattered ’bout the prairy can tell how well I have kept my oath. Of all the Injuns that have crossed my trail since ole Bill’s death, the three that camped in this shantee that night ar the only ones that ever escaped. I am not done with ’em yet; an’ when I go back to the prairy, the Comanches will have further cause to remember the night that see the eend of ole Bill Lawson an’ the Black Mustang.”
CHAPTER XIX
The Indians Again
THE next morning the boys were up before the sun, and after a hearty breakfast, set out to spend the day in the woods; Frank and Harry, bending their steps toward the creek that ran through the woods, about a mile from the cabin, to set their traps for minks, while Archie and George started toward a ridge – the well-known “fox run-way” as it was called – to engage in their favorite sport. The trapper and Uncle Joe set off in an opposite direction, to cut down a bee-tree, which the latter had discovered a few days before.
When Frank and Harry arrived at the creek, the latter said:
“Now I want to understand something about this business, before we commence operations We’re after minks, and nothing else; and I don’t want you to endanger a fellow’s life by getting him into any more wolf scrapes, or any thing of that kind.”
“All right,” answered Frank, with a laugh. “I’ll not get you into any scrape to-day.”
This satisfied Harry, and he was ready to begin the hunt. They found plenty of mink tracks on the bank of the creek. After eating their dinner, they commenced following up some of them, and, before night, succeeded, with Brave’s assistance, in capturing two large minks, after which they returned to the cabin, well satisfied with their day’s work.
They found Uncle Joe and his brother seated at the supper-table, and a large plate full of honey, which was rapidly disappearing before their attacks, proved that they also had been successful. Archie and George came in shortly after dark, tired and hungry. A fox-skin, which the former threw down in the corner, bore testimony to the fact that Sport was losing none of those hunting qualities of which his young master so often boasted. The day’s hunt had been successful on all hands; and the boys being pretty well tired out, the trapper’s stories were omitted, and all the inmates of the cabin sought their couches at an early hour.
The next morning the boys were “fresh and fierce” for the woods again, and once more started out in their respective directions, leaving Uncle Joe and the trapper seated before the fire, solacing themselves with their pipes. Frank and Harry, as usual, went together; the latter, as on the previous morning, exacting a promise that Frank would not get him into any “scrapes,” to which the latter, as before, readily agreed, little dreaming what was to happen before night.
A few moments’ walk brought them to the place at which they had set their first trap, in a hollow stump, where they had noticed a multitude of “mink signs,” as the trapper would have called them, and as Harry bent down and looked into the stump, Frank exclaimed:
“Look at these tracks; somebody besides ourselves has been here.”
“Yes, some other hunters, I suppose,” answered Harry, peering into the stump. “I hope they were gentlemen enough not to interfere with our arrangements here. But where’s that trap gone to?”
“These tracks were not made by white persons,” said Frank, bending over and examining them, “for the hunters in this part of the country all wear boots. These fellows wore moccasins, and the tracks all toe in.”
“Indians, as sure as I’m alive!” ejaculated Harry; “and, shoot me, if our trap isn’t gone.” And thrusting his arm into the stump, he commenced feeling around for the article in question, but it could not be found.
“Yes, sir,” he continued, rising to his feet, “it is gone, and no mistake. Feel in there.”
Frank accordingly got down on his knees and made an examination of the stump; but the trap, beyond a doubt, had been carried off.
“Now, that is provoking!” he exclaimed.
“There was a mink in the trap, too,” continued Harry, pointing to some bits of fur that lay scattered about over the snow. “I wish the rascals that took it had it crammed down their throats.”
“It does no good to scold, Harry,” said Frank, “for that won’t mend the matter. But let us go around and visit the other traps; perhaps they have carried off all of them.”
The boys accordingly went around to every place where they had left their traps, but not one of them could be found.
“Now, there’s thirteen dollars gone to the dogs,” said Harry, angrily; “for every one of those traps was worth a dollar, at least. I wish Dick was here. We would follow up the scoundrels and recover our property. What shall we do?”
“Let’s follow them up, any how,” replied Frank. “Perhaps we can catch them – the trail seems plain enough. How many of them do you suppose there were?”
“There were two Indians and as many dogs,” answered Harry. “Here’s a track made by a fellow that must have had a foot as big as all out-doors; and here’s another, of very respectable size.”
The boys commenced measuring the tracks, and found, as Harry had said, that there were but two different sizes. As soon as this had been determined, Frank exclaimed:
“Well, we mustn’t waste any more time. Let’s start after the rascals; and if we catch them, we’ll make them give up those traps or fight.”
Harry shrugged his shoulders, and answered:
“If you are going in for a fight, just count me out, will you? One of those Indians must be a strapping big fellow, judging by the size of his feet; and the other, although he may be a smaller man, would probably prove a tough customer. If Dick was here, I wouldn’t mind it. Let us go after him.”
“O no,” answered the reckless Frank. “I guess we and our double-barrel shot-guns, with Brave’s assistance, can recover those traps. If we can’t catch the thieves, we’ll make the trail, at any rate.”
Harry made no reply, but ran along after Frank, who commenced following up the trail of the Indians, which, as no care had been taken to conceal it, was very plain. As on the former occasion, it appeared as if the tracks had been made by one person; but, on closer examination, Frank discovered that the larger savage had taken the lead, and that his companion had stepped exactly in his tracks. The trail ran directly away from Uncle Joe’s cabin, and then turned abruptly and ran parallel with a ridge for the same distance; and here the boys came to a place where there was a confused mingling of tracks, conspicuous among which were some made by boots. There were also the tracks of two more dogs, and several drops of blood on the snow.
“The thieves have received reinforcements here,” said Harry. “A couple of white hunters, or else two more Indians, with boots on.”
“Yes, it looks like it,” answered Frank. “And they must have killed some game, for here’s blood on the snow.”
“I guess we’ve gone about far enough,” said Harry. “Four men and four dogs are more than a match for us.”
“No matter; I’m going to see the end of it now. You won’t leave me to go on alone!”
“O no. If you are bound to go on, I shall stick to you.”
Frank immediately set off on the trail, which turned suddenly to the left, and led toward a ravine. After running a short distance, he said:
“These last fellows that joined them are not Indians, Harry, because they didn’t step in each other’s tracks.”
The trail led directly through the gully, and up the other side; and while the boys were climbing up the bank, they heard the angry barking of dogs, followed by the report of a gun, and a yell that made their blood run cold. Harry immediately drew back, but Frank kept on; and when he reached the top of the bank, he saw a sight that filled him with horror, and which disturbed his sleep for many a night afterward.
But let us now return to Archie and George, whom we left starting out with their hounds.
When they reached the bottom, through which the creek ran, they found Sport standing over a fox-trail; and, at his master’s command, he at once set off upon it, followed by Lightfoot, while the boys struck off through the woods toward a ridge which they knew the fox would be certain to follow. They reached it just as the hounds passed; and were about to start off again, when they were startled by the crack of two rifles in rapid succession, accompanied by a howl of anguish. The baying of the hound ceased, and, the next moment, Lightfoot came running back, and took refuge behind his master.
“What’s the matter, I wonder?” inquired Archie, in alarm.
“Somebody has shot Sport,” answered George, as the howls of pain continued to come from the part of the woods where the shots had been heard.
“Sport shot!” repeated Archie, indignantly. “I won’t stand that, you know. Come on; let’s see who it was.”
As the boys commenced running up the ridge, the howls ceased, and Archie began to be afraid that his hound had been killed; but, in a few moments, he saw Sport coming toward him. He bore an ugly-looking wound on his back, which had been made by a bullet; and although it had at first disabled him, he was fast recovering his strength and ferocity, and answered his master’s caresses by showing his teeth, and giving vent to angry growls.
“I’m going to find out who that was,” said Archie. “Hunt ’em up, Sport! hunt ’em up, sir!”
The hound was off on the instant, and led the way to the place where he had been shot, which was marked by a little pool of blood on the snow, and here he turned off to the left of the ridge and ran down into a gully. Instead of baying as when on the trail of a fox, he ran in silence, and the boys soon lost sight of him; but just as they reached the bottom of the gully, they heard his bark, followed by a yell, and a crashing in the bushes, as if a severe struggle was going on; and when they gained the top of the bank, they found Sport resolutely defending himself against two Indians and their dogs. The latter – large, shaggy animals, of the wolf species – had closed with the hound, which would undoubtedly have proved more than a match for both of them, had not the Indians (who could not use their rifles for fear of wounding their own dogs) attacked him with clubs. But Sport was valiantly holding his own against their combined assaults, now and then seizing one of the dogs in his powerful jaws, and giving him a tremendous shaking, and then turning fiercely upon one of the Indians, who found it necessary to retreat, in order to save himself.
The boys comprehended the state of affairs at a glance. Running fearlessly up to the place where the fight was going on, Archie placed the muzzle of his gun against the head of one of the dogs, and killed him on the spot, exclaiming:
“Turn about is fair play, you know. I’ll teach you to shoot my hound when he isn’t bothering you.”
The large Indian immediately ceased his attacks upon Sport, and, turning upon Archie with a yell, threw his brawny arms about him, and hurled him to the ground. But Archie still retained his presence of mind, and, while struggling with his assailant, shouted to his companion:
“Shoot the other dog! shoot the other dog!”
George had just time to act upon this suggestion, when the smaller savage closed with him. Of course the boys, although they fought desperately, were speedily overpowered by the athletic Indians, who at once commenced beating them most unmercifully with their clubs. Archie, especially, was being punished most severely, when the hound, finding himself at liberty, sprang upon the Indian, and pulled him to the ground. Archie was on his feet in an instant; and, cheering on the dog, was about to spring to George’s assistance, when he noticed that his late assailant was in a most dangerous situation, the long teeth of the hound being fastened in his throat; and although he struggled desperately, he could not release himself. Archie at once hurried to his relief, and endeavored to choke off the hound, while the smaller Indian continued to shower his blows upon George, who received them without giving vent to a single cry of pain.
Such was the scene presented to Frank’s gaze as he came up out of the gully. Of course he was entirely ignorant of the cause of the trouble, but, seeing George’s situation, he at once ran to his assistance. The Indian, seeing him approach, uttered a yell, and, springing to his feet, was about to “make himself scarce,” when the sight of Frank’s double-barrel, which the latter aimed straight at his head, brought him to a stand-still. By this time, Archie, with Harry’s aid, had succeeded in releasing the Indian, but it required their utmost strength to prevent the hound from renewing his attacks.
The savage, however, had not fared so badly as they had at first supposed; for, although during the last few moments of the struggle he had lain so still that Archie began to fear that he was dead, the moment he was released he sprang to his feet, and, uttering the usual “ugh,” was about to retreat, when he also was brought to a halt by Frank’s double-barrel.
The circumstances which had brought the boys together in so singular a manner were speedily explained, after which Frank commenced an examination of the “possible-sacks” that the Indians carried slung over their shoulders, which resulted in the recovery of the missing traps.
“Now, what shall we do with these rascals?” he inquired.
“They’re the same ones that camped in the cabin that night,” answered Archie; “and this is the second time they have been guilty of stealing traps, and I say let’s take ’em prisoners, and let Dick pass judgment upon them.”
This plan was hailed with delight by the others; and the savages, who, during the conversation, had stood with their arms folded, as if they were in no wise concerned in what was going on, were at once relieved of their knives and hatchets, and, in obedience to Archie’s order, fell in behind Frank, who led the way toward the cabin. George and Harry followed close after them, carrying the weapons that had been taken from the prisoners, and ready to resist the first attempt that should be made at escape, while Archie brought up the rear, struggling hard to restrain the hound, which, every moment, renewed his endeavors to reach the Indians. In this order they marched through the woods, and, just before dark, reached the cabin. Frank entered first, standing with his gun at a shoulder-arms until the prisoners had passed him and the rest of the boys had entered and closed the door.
“Eh! what?” ejaculated the trapper, who had watched these movements in surprise. “What did you youngsters fetch them ar tarnal varlets back here for?”
The affair was soon explained, and Uncle Joe and the trapper rolled up their eyes in astonishment. At length the latter said:
“They stole your traps, did they, an’ shot the hound, an’ you follered ’em up an’ ketched ’em, did you?”
“Yes,” answered Archie, “and they mauled George and me with clubs; and we have brought them here to know what to do with them.”
“Wal, I never did see sich keerless fellers as you youngsters be,” said Dick. “You get wusser every day. Why didn’t you come arter me?”
“We should have lost too much time. Besides, we wanted to catch them ourselves.”
“Wal, ’cordin’ to prairy law,” continued the trapper, “there oughter be short work made of ’em; but what’s law on the prairy won’t do in the settlements. Pitch ’em out-doors, and don’t never bring no more Injuns here.”
“Shall we give them their guns?” asked Frank.
“No; don’t give ’em nothin’. Open that door.”
Frank did as the trapper ordered, and the latter walked up to the large Indian, and, seizing him around the body, lifted him from his feet, and threw him headlong into a deep snow-drift outside of the cabin. A smothered “ugh” broke from his lips as he sank out of sight. After considerable struggling, he reappeared, completely covered with snow, looking very unlike the sedate Indian that had stood in the cabin but a moment before, and started, at the top of his speed, for the woods. As soon as he had disappeared in the darkness, the trapper seized the smaller Indian, and served him in the same manner; then, without waiting to see what became of him, closed the door, and returned to his seat in front of the fire.
