“That’s a bitter disappointment, Captain Lewis,” declared Dick, when he could speak clearly, after gulping down the lump that arose in his throat.
“Yes, I can well understand that it must seem so, after all the adventures and hardships you have met with in order to overtake us,” replied the genial leader of the exploring party; “but, then, what is to hinder you from accompanying us as far as the Mandan country, where we will undoubtedly come upon Williams again, and you can induce him to affix his signature to the document? Indeed, both Captain Clark and myself will only too gladly witness it, if that would please you.”
Dick looked at Roger, and the latter smiled, although a moment before he had felt the bitter tears of disappointment welling into his eyes.
“It is the only thing we can do, Roger!”
“And, after all, what could be nicer, since it will give us a chance to be in the company of Captains Lewis and Clark for many days,” the other rejoined, as though he had seen the sun gleam through the rain clouds.
“And,” the commander continued, encouragingly, “after we have decided where we shall spend the winter, somewhere near the Mandan village, so as to undertake the scaling of the mountains when spring comes again, we may be sending a couple of scouts back down the river with a message to the President, to inform him of what success we have met with thus far, since he will be anxious to know. If you choose, you can accompany that party; or, if you would rather remain with us, entrust one of them—a reliable man he shall be—with your valuable document, to be delivered, on my word of honor, to your grandfather on their reaching St. Louis.”
“Oh!”
That was all Roger said, but the light that flashed across his eager, boyish face baffled description. What Captain Lewis had just said amounted to an invitation to join the exploring force, and be a member of the expedition that was bound to go down in history as famous.
And perhaps quiet, sober Dick experienced some of the same enthusiasm, although he was better able to restrain his feelings. The prospect of being in the company of these hardy souls for days, and perhaps weeks, was a pleasant one; and, if that pleasure were extended to the entire winter and following summer, it would be the greatest event of their lives.
Dick realized that, having said as much as he had, it was only right that he should go into more details concerning the scheme of the French trader to legally cheat them out of their homes.
Accordingly, he told all that he knew about it, both of the commanders listening with considerable interest, and expressing their sympathy with the settlers.
“I have heard of this Lascelles,” remarked Captain Lewis, “and nothing to his credit, either. He is certainly a rascal. It is a pity the law cannot reach such as he; but his cunning always keeps him from putting his neck in the rope. But some fine day he is certain to meet his fate at the hands of some furious frontiersman whom he has cheated. I understand that, years ago, he used to be a trapper, and by degrees changed into a buyer of pelts, and a rich trader.”
“I have met him many times,” said Captain Clark, “and never liked the man. He is one of those blustering bullies, who believes he can frighten others by a black frown, and hard words.”
When the expedition once more started, the boys were looked upon as members of the party. They had a most delightful afternoon, vastly different from the distress and gloom of the earlier part of the day.
All that was done they watched with considerable interest, learning how these expert French Canadian watermen managed, in order to cope with the swift current of the river at its worst stage.
It was agreed by all that the flood would subside almost as quickly as it had come, and that inside of two days the river would probably be at about the same level as before. Still, as it kept on rising for the balance of the afternoon, Dick was of the opinion that the island must have been fully covered, which, had they remained there, would have necessitated their climbing the tree, in order to keep from being swept away.
They were bubbling over with delight at their improved prospects.
“I’ll always believe in that old saying about its being ‘darkest just before dawn,’” Roger remarked, as they rode on ahead of the rest of the party, though there were always a few scouts far in the van to look for signs of hostile Indians, who might be trying to lay some sort of ambush, with the design of sending a shower of arrows among the whites.
“Who are these Mandan Indians the captain was telling us about, Dick?” asked the younger boy, while they rode together late in the afternoon, with a fair sky overhead, and a brisk breeze blowing that seemed to hint of the autumn season not so far away.
“I’ve heard some talk about them,” replied Dick; “and people say they are different from all the other tribes up here. Some call them the white Indians, because they seem to be less of a coppery hue than the rest. And they have many queer customs, which we may see for ourselves—if we have to stick by the expedition that long, at least.” (Note 5.)
“‘At least!’” echoed Roger, meaningly; “that sounds as if you might be thinking of accepting Captain Lewis’s invitation to become members of the expedition, and go all the way with him to the Western ocean.”
Dick sighed.
“Sometimes I am tempted to say I’d like nothing better, if we could be positive that the paper, that is going to save our parents’ homes, was sure of reaching the hands of Grandfather Armstrong. Then again, a longing to see my mother and father and Sam will grip me, and shake that temptation off.”
“It is the same with me, Dick; and, yet, just think what a glorious chance we have to see wonderful things. It will never come to us again; and perhaps our parents would think we were foolish not to take advantage of it now. Of course I never would dream of such a thing, if we couldn’t get that paper home to them; but Captain Lewis assured us it would go just as safely with his messengers as though we carried it ourselves.”
“Yes, that’s so, Roger; and we’ll talk it over,” Dick went on hastily. “Surely we shall have plenty of time for that as the days pass by. And, if we can see our way clear to do it honorably, without feeling that we are wrong, perhaps—”
“You will say stay?” exclaimed the other, joyfully.
“Wait and see,” was the only satisfaction Dick would give his impetuous companion; but Roger knew that the seed had been planted, and he had reason to believe it must germinate in good season, if all went well.
Then came the camp, as evening approached.
How different it all was to what they had been used to doing. There was apparently no reason for concealment. The fires blazed brightly and cheerfully, and the preparations for cooking the evening meal were gone about in a manner quite the opposite to what they had become accustomed to; the men laughing and chatting as they hovered around the several fires, while sentries, posted by Captain Clark to ensure against any surprise, stood their posts, grim and faithful.
One of the voyageurs, a man named Fields, seemed to be particularly interested in the two lads, and they learned the reason why when they came to chat with him later in the evening, sitting beside a fire.
“I knew Pat O’Mara,” he told them, “and often heard him tell about your fathers, who were to him Bob and Sandy Armstrong. I also knew Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton in the days gone by, for I have roamed over all the country between the Great Lakes and Kentucky. And it pleases me to think that I’ve run across the sons of those pioneers who came down the Ohio River when its banks were lined with savage Shawanees, Delawares and other red foes, waiting for a chance to surprise settlers, and lift their scalps.”
Fields, whose name will be found written on the scroll of fame as a member of that wonderful little party, was a man of more than ordinary intelligence, and both Dick and Roger came to be very fond of him in the long days that followed, as they continued to press on, always into the northwest, with the river gradually becoming smaller the farther they advanced toward its unknown source.
The two Armstrong boys were not willing to simply act as guests, and accept favors. They wanted to do their part toward supplying the expedition with fresh meat while in company with those who had been so kind to them.
So from time to time they went out, generally in the company of some older hunter, like Fields, to look for buffalo, elk, antelope or any other kind of game. And, as had usually been the case in their hunts, the boys were lucky in finding plenty of game; so that before long they began to be looked on as the main source of fresh meat supply for the camp.
They met with more or less adventure while engaged in this work; but nothing of a really serious nature came along. Nor were they so unfortunate as to run across hostile Indians, though constantly warned to keep a sharp lookout for signs of the treacherous Sioux, who were feared more than any of the other tribes along the upper reaches of the “Big Muddy,” as the Missouri came to be called even in those early days, on account of the condition of its turgid waters.
Another thing Dick and Roger bore in mind, and this was the possible presence of the French trader, François Lascelles, and his son Alexis in the neighborhood. Not a thing had they heard concerning this pair since leaving St. Louis, and secretly Dick was hoping that they had been turned back by the innumerable obstacles they must have met with soon after starting.
It was only natural that, finding themselves in the company of such men as Fields, who were wrapped up heart and soul in the determination of the expedition to cross the mighty mountain chain that was known to stand as a barrier between the plains and the far distant Western sea, the boys should become daily more and more deeply interested in the enterprise.
By degrees even the stern resolution of Dick to let nothing tempt him to delay his return to the mother whom he missed so much, was weakening; and it seemed probable that in the end he would be ready to accede to Roger’s eager plea that they cast their fortunes in with the others, on condition that the signed document could be surely carried to Grandfather Armstrong by a trusty messenger.
As they ascended higher up the river, and it became clearer, the fishing became greatly improved. Often of an evening, when waiting for supper to be announced, Roger would indulge to his heart’s content in his favorite sport; so that many a time he was able to supply fish for the whole camp.
There were other ways in which the two lads proved that they were hunters with a good knowledge of the habits of game. When the river ran through great sections of wooded country, as frequently happened, they would take a dugout canoe, and, after dark had set in, push further up-stream, keeping close to the shore, and carrying a lighted torch in the bow.
In this way they frequently sighted deer that were feeding in the water, possibly making a meal from certain lily pads they fancied. Startled by the sudden glow of the wonderful fire, they would often stand there, staring as though unable to understand what it all meant, until the keen eyes of those in the boat sighted them, when a well-aimed arrow would very likely provide the camp with another abundant supply of food.
Once the boys came unexpectedly on a buffalo bull also standing knee-deep in the river, drinking his fill, or cooling off after a warm day. And Roger, being quick to act, had fired his feathered barb almost before Dick could warn him to be careful. The result was that the wounded beast charged the boat, and upset it, so that the boys were given wet jackets, and might have even suffered the loss of their long-barreled guns only that they had the good sense to keep a tight grip on these as they floundered in the water.
The enraged and wounded buffalo was ready to attack them again, and so Dick, in order to settle the matter in their favor, was compelled to make use of his rifle, shooting the bull at close quarters, just as he was rushing toward the spot where Roger was splashing in his endeavor to keep his head above the surface.
It can be understood that after such an experience Roger was apt to stay his hand whenever it happened that they discovered a buffalo in the river; since another time they might not chance to be so fortunate.
So the days passed, and the pioneer boys were enjoying themselves vastly; but the time came when the peaceful scene was suddenly changed. There seemed to be a commotion ahead, and the boys, who had been riding in the rear, galloped up in order to learn what it all meant.
Some of the scouts had come in to announce that they were now drawing close to the Mandan village, where Captain Lewis was thinking of settling down for the autumn and winter, if the signs were favorable. This meant, if he could make the chief a good friend by the bestowal of presents, such as looking-glasses, beads, knives, and other things kept in stock for this very purpose.
“To-morrow, they say, we ought to be there,” Roger told Dick, as they rode on.
“Yes, and oh! how I hope that we will find Jasper Williams waiting for the expedition to arrive,” returned Dick, with considerable emotion; for the longer this meeting was delayed, the more it began to get upon their nerves.
“Well,” remarked Roger, turning philosopher for once, “we’ve been so lucky up to now that I don’t see how we could miss getting his signature to that paper. He must be in the Mandan village; and by to-morrow night we may have had the two captains witness the signing of his name, that will mean so much to all at home.”
“You’re right, Roger, and I believe the same, deep in my heart,” Dick went on. “And, even if he should be away when we get to the Mandan village, it can only be for a short time. We will find him, believe that, if we have to go out after him.”
All that evening they were rather silent. The near approach of the crisis in their affairs rather appalled the lads. They had anticipated this thing for so long a time, that the coming of the fateful hour, when all must be put to the test, rather unnerved them.
Little sleep visited their eyes that night, for Captain Lewis had informed them that some time on the morrow they would reach the Mandan village. He had received a message from Williams, reporting that the great chief of the Mandans was disposed to be friendly, and was sending a token of amity in the shape of presents, being handsome robes, decorated after the Indian custom, and very valuable.
With the coming of the dawn the expedition again commenced its forward move. As the river flowed smoothly all through this region they were able to make rapid progress throughout the morning, and most of the afternoon.
About three o’clock they came to the great Mandan village, situated among the trees in a place where the country was rolling. Long before they arrived they knew they were drawing near the place, from the uproar that greeted their ears—the beating of tomtoms, barking of dogs, neighing of horses, and all manner of sounds that would indicate unusual excitement.
Then a large band of warriors came out to greet them, with orders that the white men should be given all honors as the guests of the chief. Thus those on the three boats, as well as that part of the expedition ashore, were escorted to the village, amid a great clamor. But it was to be noticed that the soldiers kept close together, and had their guns always in a condition for immediate use, to impress the Indians with their ability to defend themselves.
But the Mandans were evidently disposed to be friendly. They lacked the fierce disposition of the Sioux, with whom they were constantly at war, though they could fight, and bravely too, when they had to.
Once in the Indian village, the boys saw a thousand things of interest around them; for this was the first opportunity they ever had had to roam about among the lodges of a large Indian camp. But they were in a fever of suspense concerning Jasper Williams; for surely the scout would have shown himself at their approach, had he been there.
Captain Lewis, knowing the anxious state of their minds, had promised to ask the chief concerning the scout in his first interview; and they hung around the wigwam which, by its gay markings, they knew must be the council chamber, and into which both the captains had been led half an hour before.
“Here he comes!” announced Roger, finally, in a gleeful tone.
Dick did not answer, for he could see that Captain Lewis looked serious, as though he had rather disappointing news for them; and his heart seemed to almost cease beating for a brief interval as the leader of the explorers advanced toward the spot where he and Roger stood awaiting him.
“Dick, he looks as if he was bringing us bad news!” exclaimed Roger, quickly. “Oh! I hope nothing has happened to Jasper Williams! What if he should be dead! All our long journey would be for nothing; and we would not be able to save the homestead property after all.”
“Hold on,” said Dick, laying a hand on his cousin’s arm. “I hardly think it can be as bad as that. At the worst I think we’ll learn that he has gone out again to scout around. They say he can’t keep quiet for an hour; I guess he’s built on the same plan as you are, Roger. But here’s the captain.”
“Too bad, my lads,” observed Captain Lewis, as he came up to them; “but your patience will have to hold out a few more days, it seems.”
“Jasper Williams—is he away, then?” asked Roger.
“Yes,” answered the commander, “he did not expect us to get up here so soon, it seems; and, only three days ago, started out on another wide detour, to find what the hostile Sioux were doing; for we’ve had more or less trouble with them at times. He may not be back for a week or so.”
“Of course we’re disappointed,” said Dick, bravely hiding his chagrin, “but I guess we’ll have to stand it, and wait for him to come in.”
“There may be some way of reaching him and letting him know that we are here in the Mandan village, where we have met with a warm welcome,” the captain went on.
“In what way, may I ask, sir?” questioned Dick, eagerly.
“I understand that Williams left word with our friend, the Mandan chief here, that he would swing around in a few days to a certain salt-lick; and that, if the other wished to send him out any word, he could have a brave meet him there.”
“Oh! perhaps we might go with that messenger!” exclaimed Roger, immediately.
“It might be so arranged, I suppose,” the captain observed, smiling at the eagerness exhibited by the boy, which he could easily understand. These lads had quite won his heart in the days they had spent with the explorers.
“When would he be going out to find Jasper Williams?” asked Dick, himself just as anxious as Roger, to hasten the meeting with the man who held the fate of their homes in his hand.
“Some time to-morrow, the chief promised me,” came the reply.
“And is this salt-lick far away from here?” continued Dick; not that he and his cousin were anxious to set eyes on it, except that it marked the meeting-place with the scout, for they knew what a salt-lick was like, and had often heard their fathers tell of the wild animals they used to shoot, far back in Kentucky and Ohio, when they came to partake of the much-prized salt to be found at one of these places. (Note 6.)
“Not more than a day’s journey, I understand, so that you could easily get to it before night, if you started early,” Captain Lewis went on. “We will in all probability remain where we are for a long time, perhaps throughout the winter, so that all these matters can be easily arranged; only I appreciate how anxious you must be to find Williams. Please yourselves, my lads; I am ready to do almost anything for you.”
“And we can never forget that, sir,” replied Roger, as he gave the other a look of affection; for, during the time they had been in the society of Captain Meriwether Lewis, they had come to admire him more than almost any man they had ever met.
While they continued to wander around the great Mandan village, and observe the many strange things to be seen there, they felt a sort of impatience for the morrow to come, in order that they might hunt for Jasper Williams.
The warriors had taken their cue from the friendly attitude of their chief, and were disposed to welcome the palefaces who had come from the far distant Land of the Rising Sun.
As for the squaws and younger element, they followed the boys around wherever they went, observing their guns, their clothes, and even their powder-horns, with the deepest interest, as though they had never before set eyes on such wonders.
Several of the boldest Indian lads were disposed to be friendly, and make advances, though they knew not a word of English; but then, signs can go a great way, especially among youngsters, and it was not long before both pioneer boys felt as if they had made good friends of these dark-faced Mandans. The bestowal of a few little trinkets, with which they had provided themselves, caused the most remarkable exhibition of interest. After that the crowds following them grew larger than ever.
Hearing that the wonderful medicine-man of the tribe had been chasing away the Evil Spirit that was making a fever come upon a sick man, the white boys expressed a desire to see him, and, when their new friends understood this, they led the way to his lodge, which was apart from all the others.
Here he came, after a bit, the queerest figure either of the white boys had ever seen in all their lives. (Note 7.)
He paused long enough to gravely extend a skinny hand to each of the boys, and utter the one word he knew of English, just as Indians of to-day repeat it:
“How?”
Then, as if not wishing to remain on exhibition longer, he shook himself so that the little shells, rattlesnake rattles, dried gourds filled with pebbles, and other articles attached to his person gave forth, every variety of quaint sound, and vanished within his teepee.
The boys could hardly keep from laughing aloud, the old magician looked so ridiculous in his make-up as a “doctor,” who could chase away the spell cast about a sick person by the Evil Spirit, and by some “hocus-pocus,” as Roger called it, such as lying on the invalid, breathing into his nostrils, droning a singsong tune like nothing ever heard before by the ears of white men, and many other silly practices.
As they came near the village the boys had noticed that in a wood on a little mound there were numerous strange bundles, done up in dried buffalo hides, and tied with leather thongs, reposing on elevated platforms, which they could not make out at all. Fields told them, however, that this was the burial-place of the tribe; and he even pointed to various earthen vessels that were filled with food of a certain kind, resembling succotash. This, he stated, the Mandans believed was necessary, when members of the tribe had recently died, because they would need some sort of nourishment while on their long journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
“During the night,” Fields told them, “of course the hungry wild animals can creep up, and clean out these bowls. The Indians must know this, but they prefer to delude themselves with the idea that the spirit of the dead person has come in the night, and eaten the offering.”
Being deeply interested, the two boys made a close inspection of the place. In the open center of the burial-place were many skulls formed in a circle, all facing inward.
“What can they do that for?” asked Roger, who was hardly able to repress a shudder at the grim sight.
“I asked Fields, and he told me that, after the platforms break down, the skulls of the dead persons are preserved, and placed here. Although in life, perhaps, the brave has beaten his squaw many times, after he is gone she can be found here every day, talking to this poor old reminder of his presence on earth. Yes, he said she would caress it, even if, when the brave was alive, he had nothing but blows for her.”
“Well, they are a queer lot,” Roger confessed, “and I suppose whites never could understand them. Ugh! let’s get away from here, Dick. We ought to find something more cheerful to look at than this graveyard of mummies.” (Note 8.)
“I’m wondering why they have so many yellow dogs around,” Dick remarked; “but then, all Indians like baked dog; and Fields says they serve them up on any special occasion when they give a great feast. You know they have no regular time for eating, like white people, but wait till they’re real hungry, and then just fill up till they look as if they would burst.”
“Why, yes,” Roger went on to say, “Pat O’Mara used to tell about Indians who would go hungry for three days, just to get their appetite good and gnawing, and then start in and eat for two hours. I don’t think that would suit me.”
Tiring at length of peering around among the painted lodges, and seeing the queer sights with which the Indian village seemed to be filled—queer to their eyes, although perfectly natural to the dusky natives who knew no other way of living—the boys finally rejoined the rest of the party.
Captain Lewis was only making a temporary camp as yet, and sticking by his boats. He believed that the Mandans meant to be the best of friends to his little force; still, many of the frontiersmen had but a poor opinion of all redmen, and made him not trust any one with Indian blood in his veins. When he came to know the old chief better, and they could feel perfectly safe, then it would be time to locate a permanent camp for the winter. And, yet, they would never cease to keep themselves in constant readiness, so that a surprise and a massacre might not come about.
Of course, having made up their minds to go forth on the following morning, when a messenger was to start for the distant salt-lick, Dick and his cousin could think of little else. Again and again that evening they would turn away from the conversation that was general around one of the fires to talk it over, and agree as to what they should carry with them.
“Captain Lewis said that the warrior would start an hour after daylight; so we must be up early, and get our breakfast,” Dick remarked.
“Shall we carry our blankets, and some food, besides our guns?” asked Roger.
“I don’t think that necessary, as we expect to spend only one night, or a couple at most, at the lick,” Dick replied. “Perhaps it would be only proper if we carried some pemmican along. And, should the chance come, we might shoot an antelope, or a buffalo, and get plenty of fresh meat. The brave will be only too glad to show us where one can be found, if only to hear the thunder of the ‘talking-sticks.’”
“How can we sleep when all this noise is going on?” asked Roger, referring to the shouting of brown-faced pappooses, barking of dogs, and loud voices of the squaws as they jabbered among themselves, not being allowed to join in with the warriors, who were mingling freely with the soldiers and hunters of the expedition.
“Oh! it’ll quiet down after a while,” Dick replied, laughingly. “They cannot keep it up much longer. And by the time you’re ready to turn in, I promise you it’ll all be as silent as a church between meeting-days.”
And somehow Dick turned out to be a good prophet, for an hour later it seemed as though even the yellow curs that went slinking about the village had been warned that the time for making a racket was passed; for they seldom gave tongue, except to bay the moon occasionally; and then some brave was apt to slip out of a lodge, and hurl a stone at the offender.
“Listen!” said Dick, as he and his cousin were getting ready to crawl under their blankets, tired, and ready for sleep.
“I hear what you mean, Dick, and it is a sure enough wolf, too. I’ve listened to too many of them not to know the sound.”
“And it is over in the direction of that place where all the platforms are standing, or tumbling down, you know, Roger,” pursued the other.
“Yes, showing that the wolves, coyotes, and foxes must find a regular treat out there every night, in the bowls meant for the spirits of the dead braves. How silly it all seems, Dick!”
“To us, yes; but it’s all right for these Indians. And, Roger, if some of them went to the towns and cities of the palefaces, don’t you think they’d look on lots of things the white people do, and believe them just as foolish? It depends on which way you’ve been brought up. Father says that what’s food for one man is poison to another.”
“I guess that’s right,” Roger replied; and that finished the talk, for with the far-away, mournful howl of that gray wolf still sounding in their ears at intervals, the two lads fell asleep.
They were up before daylight, and got some breakfast ready, because word had been received from the Mandan chief the night before that the brave, who was to be Captain Lewis’s messenger, would be ready to start at exactly an hour after dawn, while the sun was still peeping above the horizon; and they did not wish to delay his departure if they could help it.
Captain Lewis even arose before there was any necessity for his appearance, just to shake the boys by the hand, and wish them the best of good luck.
“Here is the brave who is going to take you to the salt-lick,” he remarked, as a Mandan warrior came up, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as a small pouch made of fine otter skin, in which he kept his paints and other essentials that went with the office of a messenger brave. “I have given him to understand that he will be held accountable for your safety; and, when you both come back unharmed, he is to receive several handsome presents. His name stands for the Wolf That Howls in the Night; but you can just know him as the Wolf. And now, good-by to you both. We shall be glad when you come back with Williams.”
The valiant explorer shook them warmly by the hand; then, as the Indian glided silently away, the boys followed in his wake, filled with fresh hopes that both sincerely trusted might not be doomed to disappointment.
“It seems as though we were foolish not to have brought our horses with us, Dick,” Roger said, when noon had come and gone, and they were still pressing on at the side of the Mandan brave, mostly through timber.
“Yes,” replied his comrade, “I’ve been sorry more than once that we made up our minds to let the poor beasts have a rest, while we were gone on this little hunt for Jasper Williams. But as the Wolf expected to travel afoot, I thought it would be all right.”
“But you know he’s used to tramping it, day after day. He’s a strong man, and his muscles are like iron; while we’re only boys, you see, Dick.”
“Still, we’ve gone through more than a little in our time, Roger,” the other rejoined.
“That’s true; and I’m not played out, let me tell you,” Roger asserted; “only we might just as well have had horses, and taken things easy. The Wolf could have run alongside, and we’d have reached the salt-lick quicker than we seem likely to do at this rate.”
“I’ve been trying to get it out of him how much farther we have to go; it’s like pounding a hole through a rock; but at last he seemed to understand, and held up three fingers. But just what that means is the question. It might be that we are three miles away from the salt-lick; and then again perhaps it’s still three hours’ walk.”
“Well, we’ll have to grin and bear it, as old Pat O’Mara used to say,” observed Roger, whose spirits refused to remain cast down for any length of time.
“And we’ve not had the good luck to get close to any game to fire a single shot,” Dick complained.
“But they told us in the village that we’d be almost sure to get a chance at some sort of wild animal at the lick; for they come there right along. I’m hoping that it’ll be antelope. I’ve never forgotten how fine that meat tasted to us; and nothing would please me so much as to have more of the same kind.”
Roger licked his lips as he said this, as though the very mention of that feast made his mouth water.
“One thing, sure,” Dick went on, “the summer has gone, and autumn is coming along now. You can feel the tang of it in the early morning air. Why, before long we’ll be having frost, if this keeps on.”
“Just think how many weeks it has been since we left home,” said Roger, as if at times hardly able to believe the fact himself.
“And what a long distance lies between us and those dear ones,” added Dick; “but, if things go well, we can soon be starting back down the river again.”
“There, look, Dick, the Wolf is making gestures again! He wants to tell you something, I believe. And I hope it is that we’re getting close to the lick at last.”
“Don’t speak so loud, Roger, he seems to be making a motion with his arm as if to point ahead; then he puts his finger on his lips, which must mean that he wants us to keep as still as a mouse. I really believe we must be close by, or else he’s discovered signs of Sioux, and wants us to be on our guard.”
“No, he’s beckoning to us to come on, now, Dick, and he wouldn’t do that if he believed there were enemies around. It must be the lick,” Roger went on, lowering his voice to a whisper, at which the Mandan brave smiled, and nodded his head, as though he approved.
They began to exercise more caution as they crept forward. The boys, being hunters themselves, noticed several things that gave them cause to look upon their guide as one who knew his business.
“See how he sneaks along, with never a sound as his feet touch the ground,” Roger whispered in the ear of his companion. “Did you ever see anything to beat that? No matter how sharp your hearing might be, you’d never catch the first sound with the Wolf moving along.”
“And another thing, Roger, you can see that the breeze is right in our faces. He circled around a little, for I noticed it, and wondered why at the time. Now I know. It was to come in at the lick so as to not alarm any animal that might happen to be there ahead of us.”
“Plenty of timber around,” remarked the other, signifying with a nod of his head the trees they were passing.
“Yes, lots of it; and now, let’s drop all this talk,” suggested Dick, after which silence fell upon them.
They tried to imitate the stealthy manner of advance shown by the Wolf, but realized that they would have considerable to learn before they might equal his noiseless method of placing each foot on the ground, with a quick, accurate movement. Roger believed that a panther could never have walked with a more velvety tread than did that agile Mandan warrior, accustomed to this sort of thing from childhood.
It began to grow a little irksome after a while; but they believed that it must soon come to an end, and that thought comforted both lads.
If anything, the caution of the Wolf increased. This would seem to indicate that they must be getting very close to the end of their journey, and both boys began to imagine they could tell just where the lick must lie.
Yes, their guide was heading straight for a thick clump of bushes under the trees, and, from the looks of things, they fancied they were at the end of the tramp.
The Wolf turned his head then to make a gesture, and nod, just as if he wanted them to understand that they had arrived. Then the three crept forward, a foot at a time. Roger almost held his breath with the suspense, although accustomed to hunting in all its branches. Would they discover any kind of wild animal there, licking the salty rock; or were they fated to be disappointed?
Still, even though there happened to be no game in sight, that was not saying their chance would not come a little later. All they would have to do would be to conceal themselves, and wait, when perhaps a deer, or a buffalo, would appear, bent on gratifying the taste for salt that holds such a strong fascination for most four-footed animals.
Another minute, and they were eagerly peering through the thick bushes. They could see where the lick lay, for it was in the open, and the ground all around had been trampled by many hoofs.
Roger heaved a sigh of disappointment, for there was no sign of antelope, buffalo or any wild animal. On his part Dick felt a keen sense of chagrin, but from another cause; he had secretly hoped to see the form of a white scout lounging in the open, and that would mean, that their long search was at an end, with the much sought Jasper Williams before them. But it was not to be.
The Wolf, if also surprised not to find game there, after all their labor in making such a skillful advance, showed no signs of disappointment. He had doubtless learned early in life that a warrior must never give way to such feelings. When things do not come his way it is his business to keep plodding along until the tide changes, for everything comes to him who waits, even game at a salt-lick.
There was no longer any reason why they should crouch in an uncomfortable attitude. It was just as well to straighten up, relieve their tired muscles, go forward and examine the lick; and then, when the mood seized them, find a new hiding-place, where they could lie in wait.
“Come on, Dick, let’s see what the old thing looks like,” Roger remarked, as he stepped out from the screen of bushes.
Both the Mandan brave and Dick followed at his heels, for the latter was also curious to investigate. He had never seen a salt-lick, although told about such places by his father, as they were more plentiful away back in Kentucky than along the Mississippi. And it repaid them for the trouble they had experienced in making this stealthy advance.
It was easy to see where the salt rock cropped out from the ground. In several places animals had actually worn a hole in it with their rough tongues. Their hoofs had also made various trails in front of each exposed salt rock, and Roger could easily see how a hunter, lying concealed in the bushes within a short arrow-flight of the spot, would be able to bring down his game. No doubt many a tragedy had taken place there, and Roger could picture them in his mind while examining the surroundings.
Dick was still thinking of Jasper Williams.
“I wonder if he could have been here, and gone again,” he remarked.
“Oh! I had about lost track of what we were coming out after—you mean the scout, Williams. And, sure enough, he isn’t here, is he, Dick? Now, that’s another disappointment. We might have found him waiting for some message from the Mandan chief. Well, there’s only one thing we can do—camp here, and wait for one or the other to show up—game, or Jasper.”
“The Wolf seems to be examining something on the ground, which, I take it, must be tracks,” announced Dick.
“Then perhaps our man has been here, and gone again?” ventured Roger, in a startled tone.
“No, because he was to leave some sign behind him, a bark message in the crotch of a stick, perhaps, and there’s nothing of the kind around, Roger, you see.”
“Well, but the Wolf seems to be bending over more than ever. Do you think it can be game he scents? Why, there are dozens of tracks here, and I don’t see how any particular set could interest him,” Roger continued.
“Let’s go forward and see for ourselves,” Dick suggested.
As they came alongside the Mandan brave he pointed to certain marks at his feet. Both lads saw that these were the faint impressions of moccasins. But that in itself gave them no cause for uneasiness, and it was not until the Wolf pointed once more, and uttered a word they took to be “Sioux,” that they understood. Some of the deadly enemies of the Mandans had only recently been at the salt-lick; and that might mean they were contemplating an attack on the great Mandan village, hardly more than half a day’s journey away.
Efforts had plainly been made to erase the footprints, which would indicate that the Sioux had some reason for not wanting their enemies to know of their presence so close by.
Somehow the fact gave both boys an uneasy feeling, and again Dick found himself wishing that he had thought to bring the horses; then, in case of trouble, they would have had a means for beating a successful retreat.
Roger did not look so far ahead as his comrade, as a rule. He was even now wondering what the Wolf saw in these old tracks to cause him alarm. Why, from time to time no doubt lots of Indians, perhaps belonging to various tribes, must visit this spot, since it was the only salt-lick in all the surrounding country, he had been told.
“Now, for my part,” he started to say, “I don’t see why he should bother with a lot of tracks. Perhaps they are days old. What if the Sioux did try to hide the marks of their moccasins; they’d know the Mandans could tell from the tread that Sioux braves had been here, and, if they were just out on a hunt, it might be they wouldn’t want to have any trouble with their old-time enemies.”
“Yes, that might be as you say, Roger; but if you look close you’ll see that it wasn’t days ago these tracks were made. No dew has ever fallen in this footprint, which would go to show it was not here at dawn this morning.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Roger, “then, if these marks have been made since sun-up, that’s a different story; and perhaps the Wolf does well to look serious. These fierce Sioux are a lot of fighters, they say. The expedition has had ever so much trouble with them while on the way. Now, if we have to leave here before we meet Jasper Williams, it will be too mean for anything.”
“That must be as the Wolf says, and perhaps he can make us understand by motions what he thinks about it. There, see him bending down again over yonder, as if he had discovered something else. Those eyes of his are like a hawk’s, and little can escape them.”
“I wish he would hurry up then, and let us know the worst,” grumbled Roger.
Dick was about to say something more, when the words seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, for something remarkable had happened, something that was so utterly unexpected that he could hardly believe his eyes.
He saw a swift descending object fall directly upon the stooping Mandan brave, and bear him to the ground with the force of the collision. His first impression was that the assailant must be a hungry panther; and then he discovered that it bore more resemblance to a human being, although the two intertwined figures whirled over and over with such incredible swiftness that he could not make sure.
“Oh!” exclaimed Roger, as here and there dark figures began to drop, as though the thick branches of the overhanging trees were raining human fruit; and now it did not require more than one look to tell that these were feathered Indians, undoubtedly Sioux braves, who, seeing their approach toward the salt-lick, had laid this cunning trap to surprise them.
Dick started to throw his gun to his shoulder. It was an involuntary movement, for he could have but little hope of escaping from that circle of enemies; but it was only to have the weapon snatched from his hands, while he was borne to the ground.
In spite of their struggles the two boys were made prisoners, as was the Mandan warrior. There seemed to be fully a score of the hostile braves; but Dick, as soon as he could look around him, after such rough handling, told his cousin they were not on the warpath, because they had not painted themselves, nor did they wear the feathers in their hair that would indicate a foray, and an expected battle.
It was evidently a hunting party in quest of fresh meat, and they had taken chances of falling in with some of their enemies in thus coming to the salt-lick, hoping to find game there.
They seemed greatly interested in the guns taken from the white boys. Apparently these were an almost unknown thing among the Sioux, who hunted with bows and arrows in those early days, just as their ancestors had done before them.
“What do you suppose they’ll do with us?” asked Roger, who looked forlorn. He had a scratch on his cheek, from which his face had become smeared with blood, although in answer to Dick’s anxious question he said that it did not amount to anything.
“Take us to their village, I’m afraid,” Dick answered, shortly, for he was trying to figure out some plan that offered at least a shred of hope; but, after many attempts, he was obliged to confess that he could see little relief ahead.
There followed considerable jabbering among the warriors. It seemed as though they were disputing about something, although Dick fancied that this was only their way of conversing.
“Do you think one side wants to put us to the torture right away, and the other is for holding out till they get back to their village?” asked Roger, nervously; for, in spite of his stout heart, the prospect was enough to alarm any one.
“No, I don’t believe it’s quite as bad as that,” replied his cousin, trying to assume a confidence he was far from feeling. “They’re just having a palaver about whether to head straight back home, or continue the hunt. That is, I guess as much from the way they point toward the northwest, and then at us.”
“But what will happen when we get there, Dick? Can’t you think up something to get us out of this scrape?” asked Roger, turning as usual to his stronger cousin, when trouble descended upon them.
“I’m trying the best I know how, Roger, but so far I’ve thought of nothing that would help us. But we must keep up brave hearts. Even the warlike Sioux have no reason to hate you and me. We have never hurt them in any way, and the most they can have against us is that we’re white boys, and have come to their country without asking permission from Running Elk, their great chief.”
“But will they put us to the torture, as they do their red enemies whenever they make them prisoner?” Roger asked.
“Perhaps not,” answered his companion. “They may take a notion to adopt us into their tribe. Don’t you think, Roger, that we’d make pretty good-looking Sioux braves? Both of us have dark hair, and, with some feathers in it, we’d pass for Indians right now. I’ve only got one little hope outside of that.”
“Then please tell me what it is, Dick, because things look so dark ahead of us.”
“Stop and remember, Roger, how it was when we were on that island, with the angry waters creeping up, and threatening to make us swim for it—we said then it was darkest before dawn, and didn’t it turn out to be that way? Well, how can we tell but what the same thing may happen to us now, and that out of this capture by the Sioux great good may come?”
“I only wish I had half your faith, Dick,” sighed Roger; “but they’ve made up their minds what to do, and are turning this way, as if meaning to start off on a long tramp. Tell me before they come for us what that one little hope is, that you said you could see. And I pray that it may turn out for the best.”
“It is our guns, Roger,” the other went on hastily.
“What about them?” demanded Roger. “We will never be given a chance to snatch them away from the braves who are now carrying them so proudly. And, even if we did, what would two shots mean among twenty foes?”
“You don’t understand me,” Dick replied. “Our guns are an object of curiosity to every warrior. They will be sure to carry them to the big chief, as his property. Of course not one of them knows a thing about how the ‘shooting-sticks’ are used to make the great noise, and cause the game to fall down, while no arrow is seen to shoot through the air. Then he will send for us, perhaps, and make us an offer to spare our lives if we will show him how to fire the guns, and be taken into the tribe. Yes, I think our only hope lies in the secret of shooting the fire and smoke from those guns. But here they come to get us now.”
“And I’m tired already from our long walk,” sighed Roger. “I hope they won’t try to keep it up all night, for I’d drop in my tracks. And, Dick, we’d have shown more sense if we’d just stuck to the camp, and waited for Jasper to come in.”
Dick was thinking the same thing himself; but then he was not much of a fellow to cry after the milk was spilt. What was done could not be helped and, instead of bemoaning their hard luck, Dick believed in cudgeling his brains in an effort to find some solution to the problem.
The Sioux had evidently decided to head direct for their distant village. Their unexpected luck in making prisoners of the two white boys had excited them considerably. They seemed to think that when those at home saw the palefaces they would forgive the lack of fresh meat. Antelope and buffalo could be killed at any time, but it was a rare event to have white prisoners in the strong lodge, and be given a chance to handle those wonderful “shooting-sticks” that, when pointed at an enemy, spat out flame and smoke, and in some mysterious way encompassed the death of the thing aimed at.
Forming around the prisoners, the warrior band started off. Both boys felt as though a heavy weight had been attached to their shoulders, their spirits had so fallen. Just a short half hour before they had been full of eager anticipation concerning the expected meeting with Jasper Williams; but now the heavens had clouded over, and all was gloom.
Still, they took pattern from the jaunty manner of the Wolf. He had been sorely wounded in his fight with the three Sioux who had pounced upon him, after a descending brave had knocked him down and clutched him, but not for worlds would the Wolf show the white feather.
“We can do no less than a red heathen, Roger,” Dick had said, when calling the attention of his cousin to the proud manner of the other prisoner; and somehow this seemed to have a great influence upon both white boys, so that they forced themselves to appear quite at their ease, even while inwardly groaning with physical pain, and mental tortures respecting their uncertain future.
Long did the Sioux walk in that steady manner. Night fell, but they gave not the slightest evidence of feeling distressed, although doubtless they, too, had been on the go since early dawn.
When some hours had passed since the sun went down, Roger complained that his legs were actually giving out under him. Perhaps some of the Indians had noticed that his gait was becoming rather wobbly; for a word was spoken, and to the great relief of the white prisoners they came to a halt.
The Sioux took the precaution to tie their ankles with deerskin thongs; but no fire was kindled, nor were there any signs of a meal in prospect. Perhaps some of those prostrate braves chewed at dry pemmican as they lay there, resting; but, even though they had not a single bite, that would have mattered little, so great were their powers of endurance when out on the hunt, or the warpath. The same warriors would doubtless loiter around the village for days and weeks, and appear to be the most indolent and lazy of their kind, until an occasion arose for them to once more display their ability to withstand fatigue and hunger.
The weary boys slept, in spite of their discomfort. Nature would not be denied; and while Dick woke up several times during the night, he found himself much refreshed as dawn broke once more.
Again was the march resumed, and all through the day, with only a short stop at about noon, did they keep heading into the northwest.
Roger would have given out but for the earnest pleas of his cousin, and his own natural dislike to appear weak in the eyes of these brawny braves. They had been given some dry food in the morning, before the start was made, and also at noon, and, though neither had much heart for eating, Dick advised that they force themselves to do so, because they would surely need all their strength in order to pull through.
Again and again did Dick continue to paint a possible rainbow of promise in the blank heavens; but Roger could not see it, no matter how earnestly he looked.
“I’ll try to keep going, just to please you, Dick,” he would say; “but I’m feeling so terribly that it would almost be a mercy if one of these fellows put an arrow through me right now.”
It was toward the end of the afternoon that the Indians with them set up a loud and triumphant series of whoops.
“We must be near the village!” declared Dick, and even forlorn Roger brightened up a little.
“I hope so,” he remarked, with a sad smile; “because it’ll be a change anyway, no matter what comes. And I tell you, I’ve just about got to the end of my rope.”
“There, I can see something moving over at the brow of that low hill,” Dick went on to say.
“And I hear dogs barking, too, which is a sure sign,” Roger remarked.
Soon afterwards there remained no longer any doubt that they had arrived at the Sioux village; for over the crown of the hill came a flood of running figures—warriors and boys and old men, as well as squaws, all eager to see what it was that brought the hunting party back so soon from their foray. And at sight of the two white prisoners they manifested great delight; for it was evidently the first time most of them had ever set eyes on a real paleface, though they may have known some of the half-breeds who had wandered up this way.
Surrounded by a shouting and dancing throng, the two boys and the proud Mandan brave were conducted into the Sioux village. They may have more than once manifested a natural desire to look upon such a settlement; but somehow it did not give them much satisfaction now. As prisoners, with a dark outlook ahead of them, the pioneer boys could hardly be expected to take much interest in the odd sights that met their eyes among the wigwams of the warlike Sioux, concerning whom they had heard so many stories of cruelty and valor.
Some of the brown-faced boys even pinched the prisoners to see whether they could stand pain. Roger was too hot-tempered to put up with this, and proceeded to kick savagely at one of his persecutors, but the other jumped to one side, and, as the paleface had his hands tied behind him, he stumbled and fell on his back, at which a shout went up from the delighted Sioux boys.
Thus escorted they were taken to a big council lodge, the outside of which was decorated with all manner of colored pictures of battles, the Sioux always being the victors in this historical catalogue. Just as Dick expected, the great chief of the Sioux tribe, Running Elk, was sitting there, cross-legged, on a bearskin rug, waiting to look at the prisoners, and hear the story of the capture from the lips of the participants.
The chief was a powerful-looking man, and wore a head-dress of magnificent feathers that trailed down his back to the ground. His deerskin garments were decorated with colored porcupine quills, and beads, as well as small shells. It must have been his “court dress,” as Roger called it, in which he was accustomed to preside at the councils of the tribe.
But the face of Running Elk was stern, and Dick felt his heart grow cold as he looked upon it. Surely they could expect no mercy from such a man. Several times had some of the Sioux attacked the expedition which Captain Lewis was leading into the northwestern country; and, because of their fierce daring, they had not always issued from these conflicts unscathed. Perhaps wounds had been received, and even the death of a warrior might have resulted from the fire of the explorers’ guns. And if this were the case, the Sioux would believe that the Great Spirit had purposely thrown these two paleface boys into their hands in order that they might be tortured, and put to death, so that the departed brave would have slaves with him on his way to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
Standing there, the boys felt the keen eyes of Running Elk upon them. It was as though the chief was figuring in his mind what species of torture should be tried upon the palefaces, in order to appease the grief of the widow of the departed warrior.
“Now he is motioning for them to hand him my gun, Dick,” declared Roger, who was doing the best he knew how to appear at his ease, while all the time he could feel his heart thumping against his ribs like a trip-hammer.
Dick watched eagerly to see what the chief would do next. He examined the long rifle all over, but apparently looked upon it as a dangerous thing for any one not familiar with its working to handle.
Finally his eyes again lighted on Dick, and he made motions to his guards, at the same time saying something in his quick, harsh voice.
Apparently the word of the chief was law, for immediately one of the warriors hastened to loosen the withes that were wrapped around the wrists of the boy. Then the chief motioned to Dick, and held out the gun.
“He wants you to show him how it works, Dick!” exclaimed Roger, eagerly, as though a gleam of new hope had come into his soul.
When he had rubbed his hands until the blood circulated once more, Dick accepted the gun from the chief. It gave him a queer feeling to touch it again; but he knew well that his only chance of escape lay in his being able to interest the chief so greatly in the “shooting-stick” that he would spare the lives of the palefaces in order that they might teach his braves how to use the wonderful thing.
So Dick beckoned to them to let him walk outside, which was agreed upon. Surrounded by a mob of moving figures, the boys were allowed to emerge from the council lodge. Dick was looking for some target at which to shoot. This he quickly discovered in a crow that had alighted on the top of a dead tree some distance away. Quickly leveling the gun, he took aim, and fired.
As Dick was a splendid marksman he had no trouble in bringing down the crow, at which there was tremendous excitement among the assembled Indians. One boy ran and brought back the dead bird, after which every one had to poke a finger into the hole the bullet had made. (Note 9.)
Then Dick, taking his powder-horn, showed them just how he charged the rifle. He put a greased piece of rag about the bullet, as was usual in those days, and rammed it home, after which he primed the pan, making motions that the chief was to try the next shot. But, although Running Elk was known as the bravest man of his tribe, he shook his head, as if to signify that he preferred not having anything to do with such a wonderful invention of the Evil Spirit.
Still, Dick had high hopes that the desire to make use of such a powerful agency against the foes of his tribe might yet influence Running Elk to spare the lives of his white prisoners.
While the assemblage was still engaged in discussing these strange things in an excited manner, the two boys were once more taken in charge by their guards, who led them through the village and thrust them into a log cabin that was undoubtedly the prison, or strong lodge.
It was growing dark, and the boys could hardly see each other’s face as they sat there, with their backs against the rough wall of the cabin. At least their hands had not been fastened again, and for that they had reason to be grateful, though it was such a small thing after all, when their lives might be at stake.
Long they sat there, trying to squeeze some hope out of the situation, and listening to the strange sounds that came to their ears from without.
“Hark!” exclaimed Dick, when perhaps an hour had passed since darkness set in, and they had eaten the bowls of food thrust into the strong lodge by one of their dusky guards; “what can that fresh shout mean, do you think?”
“It sounds to me as if they had brought in another prisoner,” Roger declared. “But it may only be that they are holding a council to settle our fate. I remember old Pat O’Mara saying that was what they always did. We might peep out through some of these wide cracks on this side, and see if it is so.”
But, just as they were about to do this, the door of the cabin was opened again, and the figure of a man thrown in. He landed in a heap on the hard ground, and gave a grunt.
“That might have broken my neck, if my arms had been tied!” they heard the newcomer say, with what seemed to be a half chuckle; and it was at once apparent to the boys that the last prisoner of the Sioux was also white, like themselves.
Dick coughed, to inform the other that he was not alone.
“Who’s there?” asked the unseen man, quickly.
“Two white boys who have been made prisoners by the Sioux,” replied Dick. “We belong to Captain Lewis’s party, and came out to the salt-lick to see if we could meet a scout who was to report there to a Mandan brave; when the Indians dropped down on us from the branches of the trees. Who may you be, sir, I’d like to know?”
“I? I’m the scout who was to leave word at the salt-lick; and my name is Jasper Williams!” came the astonishing reply.
What a meeting, after they had come all these hundreds upon hundreds of miles especially to find this man; and now all of them were prisoners in the hands of the savage Sioux!