CHAPTER VIII
IN THE HANDS OF FRIENDS
Shamer was completely exhausted, and reaching the trunk of the tree in which Dave was perched he threw himself down to rest and regain his breath. His uniform was much torn and covered with dirt and there were ugly scratches on his hands and face.
“I had a terrible time of it after we got separated,” he said, after a pause. “Four redskins attacked me, and I had to knock over two of them before I could get away. Then I ran down to the shore, and got into another mix-up with an Indian and some Frenchmen, who had just come down the lake in a big flat-bottomed boat.”
“Was that when you saw Henry and Silvers?”
“No, I didn’t see them until two hours later, after the fight came to an end. I hid in the rocks down near the lake, and while I was there I saw the flat-bottomed boat again. There were six Indians in it and two Frenchmen, besides Silvers and your cousin.”
“Was Henry much hurt?”
“I can’t tell you about that. Both he and Silvers were bound with ropes and crowded into the bow of the boat, and I couldn’t get a very good look at them on account of the others. I might have given the Frenchmen and the redskins a shot or two, but I was afraid they would come ashore again and catch me, for I was too tired out to run. I went back into the woods, and early this morning I got into a fight with another Indian. But he was wounded, and I soon got the best of him,” concluded the soldier.
“How was the flat-bottomed boat headed?” asked Dave, after another pause.
“The last I saw of it it was headed almost due north.”
“Then the Frenchmen and the Indians were bound to Canada with their prisoners,” groaned Dave.
“It looks like it, Morris.”
A long spell of silence followed, Dave turning the situation over in his mind and Shamer dragging himself to the pool, to drink and to bathe his wounds.
It was some time after the noon hour when Raymond came back, skulking through the forest as silently as a shadow. On catching sight of Shamer he raised his musket, but just as quickly lowered the weapon.
“So you escaped, eh?” said he. “I am glad to hear it. I saw poor Gilfoy’s body, scalped, and I was afraid you and the others had shared the same fate.”
He sat down and had the German-American soldier tell his story, as it had already been told to Dave.
“It’s too bad,” he declared. “And the worst of it is, we are not yet out of this trap. The most of the redskins are gone, and I saw no Frenchmen, but at least four Injuns are still on guard—two at the lake front and two down on a trail leading to Fort Oswego.”
“That means that we are hemmed in,” said Dave, who was leaning down from the tree branch listening.
“Yes, lad. How is the knee?”
“I am sorry to say it is just as bad as ever, if not worse.”
Raymond climbed into the tree and inspected the injured limb, which was considerably swollen.
“It certainty does look bad,” he said. “One thing is certain, you are not able to sneak through the woods now, and it’s doubtful if you can do it after sundown.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t remain here forever,” returned the young soldier, rather helplessly.
“We can help him along, after I get my wind back,” put in Shamer, who had bound up the arrow wound he had received.
During his tour of inspection Raymond had been able to pick up a few stores, left near the shelter by the rocks, and he now offered both of his companions something to eat. Shamer partook readily of the food, but poor Dave was almost choked by it. The young soldier’s thoughts were constantly with Henry. Would he ever see his cousin again?
Raymond noticed how downcast the lad was, and did his best to cheer him up.
“Don’t take it so hard, Dave,” he said kindly. “Remember, he isn’t killed, and many a prisoner has escaped ere this. Besides, if they put him in prison, this war is bound to come to an end, sooner or later, and then he’ll be set free.”
“That may be true,” returned the young soldier. “But you know as well as I do what the French prisons are like—the very worst holes on earth.”
“That may be only evil report, my lad. True it is that some Frenchmen, even though they be our enemies, are as good-hearted as any Englishman ever dared to be.”
“That is true,” broke in Shamer. “A good man is a good man, and a bad one is a bad one, no matter what his nationality. But I have no use for an Indian.”
“Well, there are some good Indians,” added Dave quickly. “White Buffalo, for instance. If he was here I am sure he would help us out of our trouble. But I can’t get Henry out of my mind,” he added, with a sigh.
Dave was glad enough to leave his cramped position in the tree and stretch himself at full length on a bed of dry leaves in the sunshine. So the balance of the day passed, with nothing coming to disturb them. Raymond half expected to see the old she bear, but she did not show herself, and he was content to let her remain with her cubs.
“How far is the trail to Fort Oswego from here?” asked the young soldier, when the darkness began to gather.
“Not over half a mile.”
“I was thinking I might get that far on a pinch. But even if we got to the trail, what then?”
“I’ve got a plan,” said Raymond. “I’ll carry you on my back. We can take our time, and we are bound to reach Fort Oswego sooner or later.”
“If we don’t fall into some redskins’ trap,” put in Shamer.
“Well, I suppose we must take some chances,” said Dave. “It is very kind to offer to carry me.”
The start was begun a short while later, Shamer carrying the guns and what was left of the provisions, and Dave perched on Raymond’s shoulders, for that was the manner in which the backwoodsman declare he could carry the load most comfortably.
It was a good hour before the trail to Fort Oswego was gained—a rough, narrow path, first used by the buffalo of upper New York State and then by the Indians and traders. They advanced with caution, Shamer leading the way with his musket held before him, ready to fight at the first sign of an enemy.
The night proved to be clear, with no moon, but with countless stars. Along the trail all was silent—even the night birds failing to utter their lonely notes.
After a rest the journey along the trail was begun, Shamer leading the way as before. The forest was thick on either side, and in many spots there were rough rocks to cross, which made Raymond puff and blow over his load. More than once Dave said he would get down and try to walk, but the backwoodsman would not allow it.
“I’ve brought in a big deer on my shoulders more than once,” he declared. “And you don’t weigh any more.”
By daylight ten or eleven miles had been covered, and all were glad to rest again, by the side of a brook flowing into the lake. The journey had been no easier for Dave than for the others, and more than once he had felt like crying out with pain when Raymond gripped his sore limb harder than usual.
“Ours has certainly been an ill-fated expedition,” observed Raymond, as he munched a bit of biscuit, while the others did the same. “If we ever get out of it alive, it will be a sorry report we’ll have to offer to the commander at Fort Oswego and to Sir William Johnson.”
“I can’t see how we are to be blamed,” answered Dave. “We were attacked by a superior force and fought as well as we could.”
“Sir William told us to keep to the lake,” put in Shamer. “But of course we couldn’t do that with such a wind.”
It had been decided that it would be safest to rest during the day and travel at night. Accordingly Raymond and Shamer lay down for a nap of four hours, leaving Dave on guard.
The four hours were almost up, and the young soldier was beginning to feel sleepy himself, when a noise in the forest on the other side of the brook caused him to start up.
“It must be either a man or a wild animal,” he reasoned and placed his finger on the trigger of his flint-lock musket, after satisfying himself that the priming was in good condition.
Slowly the noise came closer, and presently he heard two men talking in English.
“If they are English they must be friends,” thought the young man joyfully, but still he continued on guard. He awakened Raymond and Shamer by a light touch.
“What is it?” came from Raymond.
“Two men are over yonder. I can hear them talking.”
“Then we had better get out of sight until we are sure of who they are,” put in Shamer.
Secreted in the bushes they waited until the two unknown ones came down the edge of the brook. They were dressed in the garb of frontiersmen and each carried a rifle and a game-bag.
“Game is putty well scart off, Chester,” said one. “The cap’n won’t git much fresh meat from us,” and he gave a droll laugh.
“That’s about the size on it, Holden,” was the reply. “Yet I reckoned on some b’ar bein’ around here.”
“I am sure they will be friends,” whispered Dave. “They are probably from the fort.”
Raymond nodded. Then he called aloud:
“Hullo, there, friends!”
The two frontiersmen started, and each raised his rifle.
“Who calls?” questioned the one named Chester.
“A lost soldier,” answered Raymond, and presented himself to view. “I take it you are English,” he added.
“We are. Where are you from?”
Raymond told them, and then Dave and Shamer also presented themselves. The two frontiersmen leaped the brook and listened to their story with keen interest.
“You’ve certainty had a tough fight of it,” said the man named Holden. “I held all along thet them Frenchmen would be over here nosin’ ’round an’ thet they’d bring some redskins with ’em.”
“Are you from Fort Oswego?” asked Dave.
“We are. We are attached to Cap’n Neely’s company o’ rangers. We came out lookin’ for a bit o’ fresh meat. But now I reckon the best thing we can do is to help you to git to the fort, ain’t thet so?”
“If you will be so kind.”
“Aint no kindness; it’s jest plain duty,” said Chester.
The frontiersmen felt certain that no more Indians were left in the vicinity. Yet they promised to keep a strict guard, and a little later our friends moved off once more in the direction of Fort Oswego, the frontiersman named Chester carrying Dave on his back for a mile or two and then being relieved by his companion, and later by Raymond.
Thus the march was kept up all of that day and also part of the next, and at two o’clock in the afternoon they came in sight of Fort Oswego, with the flag of old England floating proudly in the breeze above it.