With lusty strokes the two boys urged the boat up-stream. The Indian sat amidship and seemed to be scanning the shore as though deeply interested in everything he saw; though, from what he told Jasper Williams, the locality must have been familiar to him, since he knew all about the fishing to be had in the smaller stream.
Now and then the boys exchanged a few words, though as a rule they kept most of their “wind,” as Roger called it, for their arduous work.
“I wonder what Jasper Williams meant,” remarked Roger, after they had gone possibly a full mile.
“Of course you mean when he said there was a difference between red and white,” Dick suggested. “I was thinking of the same thing myself, and came to the conclusion it must have been Jasper’s way of telling us to keep an eye on our dusky pilot here. In plain words, he warned us to look out for our guns.”
“Which we will certainly be sure to do!” commented Roger. “Though, after all, we may be wronging the poor Indian by our suspicions.”
“If he never knows it there can be no harm done, don’t you see?” Dick told him.
Various things about the shore attracted their attention just then, and for the time being they forgot all about the red man, and the warning given by their old frontiersman friend, Jasper Williams.
“The farther we go up the river,” Dick was saying, “the greater the forests seem to become. From all I’ve been able to learn, we will pass through many a stretch of wood before we reach the foot of the big mountains.”
“Yes,” added Roger, “and, as the river is getting more and more shallow every day, Captain Lewis seems to believe we must soon abandon our boats, and take to the horses for the rest of the journey.”
“Look up ahead and on the left, you will see signs of a stream coming into the Missouri. That must be where we are to stop.”
At that Dick made gestures to the Indian, who, quickly comprehending what was wanted, nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Yes, he says that is the place,” Roger observed, as he started to put still a little more vim into his strokes with the paddle, so, as Dick was compelled to follow suit, or have the boat headed in toward the shore, their progress increased to a wonderful degree.
In good time they reached the mouth of the tributary stream. It was found to be as clear and cold as any one could wish on a warm day. No wonder, Roger thought, the trout loved to frequent its waters, and lie in the deep, dark pools that doubtless existed here and there, though without a guide they could have been found only after much patient searching.
Obeying the gestures of the Indian, they made for the shore and left the boat, first making sure that it was pulled well up. Of course, besides their poles and the little box of bait, they carried their faithful guns along with them.
So far as they could see, the friendly Indian seemed to be almost as deeply interested in the outcome of the fishing trip as the boys themselves were. He immediately led them to a certain spot on the bank, holding up a hand to impress upon them the need of caution and silence when attempting to catch the wary fish of many colors.
Roger was already prepared, for he had fastened one of the largest and most attractive grubs to his hook. Creeping up close to the edge of the bank he thrust his long pole carefully forward, and allowed the baited hook, with a small lead sinker attached to the line a foot above, to sink into the depths.
As it slowly descended Roger’s heart was beating tumultuously, for he had been entertaining high hopes. These were not doomed to disappointment, for, even before he found bottom, there was a sudden vicious tug, and the end of the stout pole began to move up and down vigorously.
Immediately Roger, who had laid his gun down at his feet so as to have the free use of both hands, hunched his shoulders in the effort to lift his prize. As it came struggling out of the water, he switched it high in the air and it fell with a thud some little distance behind the excited fisherman. At this good luck Roger could hardly contain himself.
A warning “hist” from Dick told him to repress the shout of triumph that was bubbling to his lips, and he realized the necessity for silence if they expected to continue the sport, as the trout are easily alarmed.
The capture proved to be a magnificent specimen of the lovely variety of trout that differed from anything either of the boys had ever seen before. In later years this vigorous species of fighter was classified, and given the deserved name of “rainbow trout,” and for a very good reason, as any one who has ever seen one fresh drawn from the water will admit.
Meanwhile Dick started in to try his luck, and it certainly began to look as though the Indian had told only the truth when he said the fish lay in countless numbers in those deep shadowy pools, for, just as had happened in Roger’s case, there was a fierce pull on his pole, and Dick found himself struggling with a captive that it required all his powers to land successfully.
So the sport progressed, the friendly Indian hovering near them and often, when the bites came less frequently, leading the way to some new spot on the bank, where another pool would be found.
Always did they find these places inhabited by a hungry family of trout, eager to snap at the attractive lure which was dangled in front of them.
The Indian gathered up the spoils as they went along. He knew just how to fashion a tether out of tough but yielding willow, and, when half a dozen of the trout had been strung in this manner, he saw to it that they were placed in the water to keep fresh, while the sport continued as before.
Roger was enjoying himself as he had hardly ever done before. Such royal fishing, and such game fighters made a combination that ought to have been sufficient to fill any boy’s heart with supreme joy, especially one so devoted to the sport as Roger had always been.
Dick did not lose his head over the wonderful success that was coming their way. Because Roger gave himself up so wholly to the excitement was a very good reason why Dick himself should do the watching for both of them.
And yet it seemed almost absurd to suspect that anything evil could be threatening them on that bright summer morning. The very insects seemed to hum more noisily than usual, as though with the pleasure of living on such a perfect day.
Dick often cast a side glance toward the Indian, but so far he had seen absolutely nothing suspicious in his manner. He seemed to be as happy as Roger, and kept close to the heels of the boy as he worked his long rod, and added constantly to the number of fish he was taking.
It seemed as though each one of the grubs was good for a fat trout, and so savagely did the fish snap at them that they were securely hooked in nearly every instance, so that the losses were next to nothing.
If things continued to go on as they were doing, they would soon be in possession of all the fish the camp could use. Roger even told his chum in a whisper that, unless they looked out, they would be unable to carry the whole of their taking back in one trip of the boat, though possibly that was only meant in the light of a boast.
Dick’s arms were beginning to ache on account of the strain on the muscles caused by raising so many heavy prizes over his head. He would have suggested that they had quite a large mess now, and perhaps had better go back to camp, allowing some of the others the pleasure of coming up later and trying their luck; but he knew Roger well enough to feel sure that the other would decline to quit fishing as long as a single grub remained.
At any rate, when the supply was really exhausted, Dick meant to decline to linger any longer, or to look for a new lot of bait.
For the moment the fish seemed to have stopped biting.
“We have only about six more grubs left, Dick,” said Roger, after examining the contents of the bait box, “and that ought to mean as many fish, if the Indian guide knows of still another good hole. I’m going to try to ask him. And, Dick, I promise you on my word of honor that I’ll agree to quit when we use up the last bait. I can see that you’re getting tired. You never were as crazy over the sport as I have always been.”
“It’s a bargain then, Roger,” assented the other, pleased to know that his comrade meant to be reasonable about it, for he had half-expected trouble in trying to tear the other away from such a fascinating game.
Roger accordingly began to make motions to the Indian, and the other must have understood what he wanted, for he nodded his head, and beckoned to them to follow where he led.
Dick would rather have remained where he stood, but he did not wish to have Roger go off alone with the Indian brave, so he went along. He thought the copper-colored visitor at the camp showed even more eagerness than at any previous time in the immediate past, as though he had been keeping the finest place of all to the last, in order to further astonish them.
Indeed, when Dick saw Roger drag out a trout that exceeded all the rest in size and fierceness he decided that he had guessed the true reason for that look he had detected on the usually emotionless face of the brave.
Again did Roger drop his baited hook in, and with a similar result. He was fairly trembling with the excitement, and, too, a little weariness; but according to his count there still remained four more grubs, and the work must proceed. As Dick seemed bent on letting him finish the tale, Roger, nothing averse, set to work to get his hook in readiness once more.
The spot was a picturesque one. Several large trees grew close to the edge of the stream, casting their shadows upon the water just where the deep pool lay. In the dusky depth the trout were lying, and hungry at that. Dick could not remember of ever having seen such a combination of scenery and splendid fishing grounds, and he believed the memory of that day would always be marked with a white stone in their lives.
It certainly was destined to be remembered, but not on these accounts alone. There were other reasons why the pioneer boys would look back to that sunny day and conjure up ghosts of the past.
Roger was making good his boast that he meant to take six fish with those half dozen grubs, for already a third one had been pulled in.
The Indian, apparently just as deeply interested in the sport as Roger himself, was hanging at the boy’s elbow, and every now and then making gestures as though showing him where to drop his hook the next time. It seemed as though his wonderful eyes were able to pierce those dark depths and discover where the largest fish was lazily working his fins, as he faced the current, waiting for something suited to his taste to come within striking distance.
There was nothing at all suspicious about this, and Dick was beginning to believe the vague fears that had oppressed him must have been the result of too much imagination, when without the slightest warning something happened.
He saw a dark object drop from the branches of the tree directly upon the back and shoulders of poor Roger, who was instantly carried to the ground. Dick’s first inclination was to give a shout, and raise his gun, for he had seen their dusky guide pounce upon the weapon which Roger had laid on the grass at his feet.
Before Dick could make a move, however, he too felt a heavy weight strike him on the shoulders so that he was knocked to his back; and, as he lay there gasping for breath, he looked up into the painted faces of several Indian warriors who came dropping from the trees as though they were over-ripe plums in a gale of wind.
After all, the supposed friendly Indian had played them false, and had actually led the two boys into a cleverly arranged ambuscade.
Dick knew the folly of resistance when he saw that, besides the two warriors who held him down, there were half a dozen others nearby. Roger, always impulsive and headstrong, was struggling desperately, though without the slightest chance of breaking away from his captors. Understanding what was taking place close by, Dick called out:
“Give up, Roger; it is foolish to fight against such odds. You will only be hurt for your pains, and nothing gained. Leave it all to me!”
Not only did Roger hear these words, but his own good sense told him the wisdom of yielding to overwhelming numbers. But it was always a difficult thing for Roger to believe in the old saying to the effect that “he who fights and runs away may live to fight another day.”
After being disarmed the two boys were allowed to get upon their feet. They discovered that their dusky captors undoubtedly belonged to the same tribe as their treacherous guide, and, therefore, must be Dacotahs. That guide was clutching Roger’s gun as though he expected to retain it as the price of his labors in thus entering the camp of the strange “palefaces,” and luring the two boys into the trap so cunningly contrived.
Dick was far from downcast. It took considerable to make him feel as though everything were dark around him. And, in order to cheer Roger up, as well as to arouse his interest in planning an escape, the first remark Dick made was in the line of an attempt to guess how it had all been planned.
“Look, they are marking a smoke now,” he told his companion, as several of their captors struck flint and steel together, and with the spark thus generated started a fire in a little pile of greenish-looking wood.
“That must be meant for a signal to some one who is away from here,” Roger commented, on observing what was going on. “Dick, what does all this mean? You are always good at hitting on the truth while I grope in the dark. Why do you think these Indians want to make us prisoners?”
“It was a trap, you understand, Roger?”
“Oh! yes, that’s as plain as can be,” replied the other, readily enough; “for they were all hiding up in these trees while we kept on fishing so merrily, without dreaming that we were being watched every minute of the time.”
“And, Roger, the guide led us into the mess; now we can understand why he was so eager to fetch us up here.”
“Then you believe, do you, Dick, he planned this thing; that perhaps he even entered our camp with such a game in his mind?”
“It begins to look that way, I am sorry to say,” Dick replied.
“But can he be in the pay of that revengeful Frenchman, François Lascelles?” demanded Roger, rather appalled by the thought.
“We will soon know, because, unless I am mistaken, that smoke they are sending up yonder is meant to call him here. And it would not surprise me very much, Roger, if that brave who has been eating at our campfire for two days, crept out last night and told how he had been engaged to take us to this stream to-day. That would account for the Indians being concealed here.”
The boys were without weapons, and could do nothing toward the making of their escape; so they waited with what patience they could command to see what was about to happen.
Shortly afterwards some one was seen approaching, at sight of whom Roger gave utterance to an exclamation of disgust.
“Why, after all, it’s that skunk, Andrew Waller!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, he must have found some way to get in with these Indians, and they have been working for his interests,” Dick suggested. “Perhaps he has lied to them, and made them believe we are two very important persons. He may take the trouble to explain the thing to us, thinking it will add to his glory.”
“I can see the look of satisfaction on his face from here,” said Roger, in a surly tone, as though it cut him to the quick to have the traitor triumph over them in that way.
Waller soon arrived on the scene, and his first act was to look insolently into the faces of the two boys.
“So, you fell to the bait, did you, boys? When I told you we would meet again you didn’t believe it would be so soon. And let me say that you are going to be in a pretty pickle after this. These Indians will make sure that you do not slip through their hands.”
“What have you been telling them about us?” demanded Roger, impetuously. “Some big lie I am sure, for it would be just like you.”
The man frowned as though angry, and Dick feared he was about to strike the bold boy a blow in the face, which would have precipitated a fight in which Roger would have gone down to defeat. However, Waller managed to keep his temper in control, and sneering again, went on to say:
“Oh! to make sure that you would be held a close prisoner, I merely told them that you boys were the sons of the Big White Father away off in the Land of the Rising Sun; and that if they held you safe they could demand a great ransom in wampum, sticks-that-shoot-fire, and everything that the heart of an Indian could wish. In other words I have cooked your goose for you. You may be sure you will never be allowed to go free.”
He turned his back on them and commenced talking with one of the Dacotahs, who, from the feathers in his black hair, seemed to be some sort of sub-chief. Much of the conversation was carried on by gestures, in which Waller seemed to be unusually expert.
Dick watched closely in the hope that he might be able to catch the drift of what was passing between the two. That he and Roger were the objects under consideration he had not the slightest doubt, for several times one or the other pointed toward the spot where they stood.
“Can you make it out at all, Dick?” Roger asked.
“I am sorry to say it’s more than I’ve been able to understand, Roger; but I think he’s telling the chief again how valuable we are as prizes. And to think we have no way of proving to him that we are only ordinary boys, without rich fathers to pay a big ransom. It is just the sort of game we might have expected Andrew Waller to play.”
The man who had been sent out of the camp of the explorers now approached them again. He was rubbing his hands as though in great glee.
“Now, I shall not only have my pick of two good guns, but plenty of ammunition for them, in spite of Captain Lewis. I am going to say good-by to you here, for I have to meet M’sieu Lascelles at an appointed rendezvous. Oh! he will be very much pleased when he learns how the Dacotahs prize the boys he hates so bitterly, and mean to carry them off to their villages, far to the north, there to keep them until the big ransom arrives. It tickles me to know how soon my debt to you has been so nicely cancelled.”
Roger gritted his teeth, but he managed to keep from saying anything.
“Just as you told us when you were leaving camp, we may meet again, Andrew Waller,” Dick said, with an unmistakable meaning in his voice.
“Oh! that is possible,” the other jauntily added, purposely misunderstanding what the boy meant; “for it may be M’sieu Lascelles, he would wish to see for himself that you are comfortable, so for that reason we might journey into the Dacotah country ourselves.”
With that thrust he waved his hand to them, and, turning, walked away as he had come. None of the Indians paid the least heed to his movements; but Roger almost choked in his indignation.
“Just to think, Dick,” he muttered in a quivering voice, “the beast is carrying my dear old gun which he took from our red guide, on his shoulder. How much I will miss it, because, ever since I’ve been able to look along the sights of a rifle, that gun has been my companion day and night.”
“We shall hope that in some way or other you will see it again,” Dick told him. “Even if not, there are others just as sure shooters at the camp. The one he used to own, and which they refused to let him carry off, is even a better-made weapon than yours.”
“Yes, but that gun has associations away above its value in money,” said Roger, heaving a sigh; “and at the best the chances of my ever handling it again are three against one.”
“Well, we must try to think of other things now,” Dick told him.
“You mean about escaping from our captors, don’t you, Dick? What if we can convince them that Waller is a man with a double tongue, and that what he told them about our being the sons of the Great White Father at Washington is only a package of lies?”
“Of course we can try, but I’m afraid it will be useless, because the Indians want to believe that wonderful story. See how all of them are examining my gun now. I suppose every one of them is picturing himself as owning just such a marvelous weapon that ‘spits out fire,’ and kills the game just as thunder and lightning do in the storm.”
“What do you think they expect to do with us now?” asked Roger.
“They will not want to stay here much longer,” affirmed Dick, “because they are afraid of the ‘palefaces with their thunder sticks.’ Consequently, they will start off toward their village, which we understand lies several days’ journey away from here toward the northwest.”
“But, when we fail to come back to-day, Captain Lewis is bound to send some of his best trackers up here to learn what happened to us. And, Dick, surely they will try to follow our captors, and effect our rescue.”
“Listen, Roger. We must not leave it all to them. These cunning red men know how to cover a trail so that the keenest eye cannot find a trace. Depend on it, they will leave no stone unturned to hide the tracks we make. And then, besides, do we not know that the summer is already beginning to wane?”
“Yes, yes, all that is only too true, Dick. Captain Lewis understands there is no time to spare, with those terrible mountains yet to be scaled, and also black deserts to cross, and all before snow flies. I am much afraid he will decide that the success of the whole undertaking would be put in peril should he detach any of his men to engage in a wild goose hunt for us.”
“We two have before this been in positions of peril,” said Dick, firmly, with a flash in his eyes that aroused new hope in the breast of his chum; “and always, in times that are past, have we succeeded in saving ourselves. So let us keep up our spirits and watch constantly for a chance to give these Indians the slip.”
“If we should find the opportunity,” said Roger, immediately, “I hope we manage to get hold of your gun, and our hatchets and knives. To lose my good shooting-iron is bad enough, but that knife, you know, has served me since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Promise me you will do your level best to save our side-arms if we find a way to escape, Dick!”
To this entreaty Dick assented. Indeed, he knew well enough that it was their only policy to go away armed rather than in a helpless condition.
Shortly afterwards they were given to understand, through grunts and gestures, that the march was about to be taken up. With several Indians stalking along in single file ahead, and others bringing up the rear the two boys had to turn their backs upon the “Big Muddy” and start upon the long journey into the Northwest, at the end of which lay the Dacotah village.
“We have covered a good many miles since starting, Dick, and I hope they soon show signs of stopping for the night.”
The afternoon was getting well along when Roger made this remark to his cousin. His tone had a vein of complaint in it, for, although Roger could tramp through the woods all day and feel it but little, he did not like being forced to do the walking against his will.
Another thing that fretted the boy was the fact that every furlong passed over carried them further away from their friends of the expedition, the only whites, saving the French traders, within hundreds of miles.
Dick had begun to notice this growing feeling of irritation on the part of his comrade. He himself could look trouble in the face without flinching, and he now concluded it was time to cheer up Roger’s drooping spirits.
“No question but that they intend to pull up pretty soon, Roger,” he said, as he trudged along close to the other’s elbow. “In fact, I’ve noticed some of them looking about as if they expected to reach a good camp-ground at any minute. They were tired at the time they lay in wait for us, and must have come a long way.”
“Of course you noticed, Dick, that two of the braves stayed behind when we left the river, though they did catch up with us several hours afterwards?”
“Yes, and it is not difficult to guess what their part in the retreat was,” replied Dick. “They remained to conceal every trace of moccasined feet, so that it would have to be a mighty good tracker who could tell what had happened there on the bank of the small stream.”
“Yes, and of course they’ve blinded our trail in the bargain every now and then on the way,” continued Roger, ruefully. “Three separate times did we walk for half a mile in shallow water, and leave the creek on the stones, so there would be no sign left after the sun and wind dried the wet marks. It was the old Indian trick that we know so well.”
“I tried my best to leave a plain track,” added Dick, “but the braves coming behind must have seen me do it, and made sure to cover it.”
“What do you believe Captain Lewis will do about it?” asked Roger, he himself having pondered on this subject without coming to a conclusion.
“When we fail to return to the camp of course they will send some of the men up to look the ground over,” Dick answered, thoughtfully. “The disappearance of the friendly Indian will give them a clew. Then they are apt to find some of the trout that were left behind fastened to the willow withes.”
“I hope they enjoy them,” muttered Roger, with a grimace, for he could not help remembering how his mouth had fairly watered with anticipation of the treat he had expected to have that evening.
“I’ve been wondering, myself, how it came that the Indians overlooked taking the fish,” continued Dick, “and the only thing I can see is that they were so anxious to get on the move before any of the white men came along with those terrible ‘fire-shooting-sticks,’ that they forgot about it.”
“Yes,” Roger added, “and that treacherous chap who guided us into the trap was so taken up looking over your gun, which Waller had turned over to him, that he forgot all about the fish, too. Well, I hope they are found, and will make a fine supper for the men.”
“It has clouded up, and looks a little as if we might have a storm of some kind before morning breaks,” went on Dick.
“More trouble if that happens,” grumbled the other, glancing up at the heavens to verify his comrade’s statement.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” Dick told him. “It may turn out to be a great help to us, for all we know, and give us a chance to make our escape.”
“What, do you think that, after all, some of the trailers among our friends will be able to follow us, and take these Indians by surprise?” asked Roger.
Dick, however, shook his head at this.
“To tell you the truth, Roger,” he observed, “I’m afraid we can count on no such help from our friends, even if they could discover our trail, which is much in doubt.”
“But why not?” demanded the other. “Captain Lewis thinks a lot of us, and he is hardly the man to desert a friend, Dick.”
“Every word of that is true,” his chum assured him. “There never could be a finer man than Captain Lewis; but stop and think, Roger; he is not on business of his own now, but bent on carrying out a great exploring expedition that was sanctioned by Congress, and backed by President Jefferson himself. Every day counts in the spelling of success; a delay here might ruin all their plans.”
Roger nodded his head, as though he grasped the idea.
“Yes, I can see what you mean, Dick,” he admitted, slowly and regretfully, “and I guess you are right. Much as Captain Lewis himself might want to lay over and send a party of his men out in search of us, his duty binds him the other way. He will have to go on, and leave us to our fate.”
“Well, we have been able to take care of ourselves lots of times before now, Roger, and why not again?”
Somehow his last words seemed to arouse the dormant spirit of confidence in the other. Roger gritted his teeth, while his eyes flashed defiantly.
“You’re right, Dick, we have done plenty of things before, and can again,” he declared with a ring in his voice that Dick liked to hear. “Our fathers never showed the white feather when they faced troubles just as bad, and why should we? How many times have we listened to them tell how they followed that band of Iroquois Indians ever so far into the North, and rescued their sister Kate, who had been carried away.[3] I’m done with repining, Dick; from now on you’ll find me different.”
“Then to-night, when we are in camp, we must try to outwit these red rascals. Even now I have something of a plan in my mind. And you may be sure that every mile we covered I kept tally of the direction, so I know just how to go in order to reach the Missouri again.”
“You shame me, Dick,” frankly admitted the other boy; “to know that, while I’ve been fretting and complaining, thinking only of our troubles, you were keeping track of such things as would help us get back to our friends.”
A little later on, Dick, who seemed to keep his eyes constantly on the alert, once more spoke to his comrade.
“There’s something brewing, as sure as you live, Roger,” he said; “for the Indians are consulting together in hushed tones, and examining the ground as if they had run across some tracks there that excited them.”
“Can it be game, and they are being tempted to start on a hunt?” asked Roger.
“Two-footed game, then,” replied the other boy, “for I can see there are moccasin tracks all around. Of course, as the different tribes make moccasins after their tribal way, it’s easy for these Dacotahs to know the others are not of their kind.”
“They certainly do act as if they suspected there might be a breath of danger hanging around, Dick. Do you know whether the Sioux and the Dacotahs are enemies or not?”
“They have been in the past,” acknowledged Dick; “but I know the print of a Sioux moccasin, and these are different, Roger.”
“Perhaps Shoshones. You remember Captain Lewis told us we were likely to run upon some of that warlike tribe at any time now. Yes, and he remarked that, as a rule, they were enemies to the Blackfeet, Crows, Flat Heads, Dacotahs, and nearly every other tribe up in the Northwest.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if you have hit on the truth, Roger, and that this war party turns out to be fierce Shoshones. Our good friend, Captain Lewis, said he hoped to make friends of them, since we must pass through their country before striking the great mountains.”
“There, we are going on again, Dick, but notice how the braves keep looking to the right and to the left, as if they feared an ambush. The Shoshones must be a fierce lot of fighters, or else be in overpowering numbers.”
“I think, if I can read an Indian’s mind,” said Dick presently, “these braves will make an early camp. If they start a fire at all it will be only a small one without smoke, and hidden in a hole, so that its light will not betray them.”
“Then there’s a poor chance for supper, I take it,” grumbled Roger, who, having a splendid appetite, did not fancy going hungry, or chewing on a tough piece of pemmican, or jerked venison.
“You often complain of things being dull, Roger; but I am sure you must admit there’s no lack of excitement for us now. We are prisoners in the hands of the hostile Indians; there is a storm threatening; and now comes a chance that, before morning, the camp may be attacked by these Shoshones who are out looking for plunder and scalps.”
“If they should come, Dick, what do you suppose would happen to us?”
Roger felt rather anxious, for he had heard it said that among Indians it was the custom to kill their prisoners rather than have them rescued, or taken away by a rival tribe.
“If I can carry out my plans,” Dick assured him, “I don’t mean to wait until the camp is attacked. I’d like to be miles on the way back to the river before that comes to pass, if it really does.”
“There, I think we are going to pull up at last,” ventured Roger, as he saw the leading Indians halt, and begin to look around as though to make sure that no enemy lurked in the neighboring woods.
It was a well-chosen spot for a concealed camp. A shallow depression, very like a large bowl, offered them a chance to build a small fire without any risk of the blaze being seen; and, so far as smoke was concerned, those dusky sons of the forest could be counted on to select such wood that there would not be sent up the slightest column of vapor to betray them.
Roger, still watching, soon uttered a low cry of satisfaction.
“See, Dick, they do mean to have a little cooking-fire!” he exclaimed; “and that means we may get some supper after all. So far they have shown us no particular ill will, and treated us half-way decently.”
“That comes of being taken for the sons of the Great White Father at Washington,” remarked Dick, with a chuckle that told that his spirits had not been crushed even though the future looked so dark and forbidding. “It is a high honor that has come to us, Roger, to be reckoned President Jefferson’s own boys!”
Roger, however, was more interested in what was going on about the little fire than anything else. He observed just how the expert braves formed a small pyramid, and then used the flint and steel to start a tiny blaze.
“Yes, one of them is unwrapping that bundle he carries, Dick,” the boy went on to say, “and, just as I expected, it contains some freshly killed venison. Oh! it’s going to be all right, and we are due for some supper, I reckon.”
But Dick was thinking of other things than eating just then. He surveyed with a critical eye the lowering sky, and wondered if a storm was about to break upon them before morning came.
The two prisoners had been made to sit down, and were under constant surveillance. It would not have been possible for them to make any move looking to escape without being immediately detected. Dick realized the foolishness of such an attempt, and made no effort for the time being.
Those eyes of his noted everything that was going on around him, for he knew the time was approaching when utter darkness would come, and, if they expected to make a move, memory must take the place of sight.
Just as Roger had been hoping, the Indians cooked some of the venison, though in a primitive fashion. Numerous pieces, as they were sliced from the haunch, were impaled on the ends of long slivers of wood, and the latter thrust into the earth in such fashion that the meat received the full heat of the little fire.
Of course, when cooked it was also partly burned, but this made no difference to any one who was really hungry. The two boys were glad to receive their share of the venison, and devoured it eagerly.
“Of course they’ll tie us up, as Indians always do their prisoners, Dick?” suggested Roger, while they were still munching at the food provided by their captors.
“There’s no doubt about that,” the other told him. “Already I have noticed one of the warriors looking over some long deerskin thongs, and then glancing in our direction. I think they are only waiting until we get through eating.”
“Then for one I mean to keep at it as long as I can,” affirmed Roger; “because I never did like the idea of being tied to a tree. I suppose that is what they mean to do with us, Dick.”
“We’ll soon know, Roger, and, now that I have the chance, I want to tell you about the little scheme I have in my mind.”
“I wish you would!” hastily exclaimed the other; “and I hope it will turn out to be a success.”
“You may remember,” began Dick, “that I have hands that somehow I can double up into a very small compass. Many a time you’ve tried to fasten my wrists together to see if I could get my hands free, and in nearly every case I did the trick by stretching the thongs a little, and then slipping a hand out.”
“Oh! now I begin to see what you hope to do, Dick; and, let me tell you, the skies look brighter already. I’m sure you can set your hands free, if only it doesn’t stop at that.”
“One step at a time, Roger; we mustn’t expect to run before we can walk. Once my hands are loose, it will be a queer thing if in some way I fail to set both of us free. But here comes several of the Indians this way, as though they mean to trice us up. Better hurry and eat that last bit of meat, if you wouldn’t lose it.”
“I suppose I’d better,” grumbled Roger, “but I don’t see why they want to be in such a dreadful hurry about tying us up. Ugh! a whole night of standing against a tree is something I don’t like at all.”
It turned out just as Dick had said, for the Indians indicated by signs that they wished the two boys to stand up and back against a couple of trees that happened to grow close together.
From the way in which the deerskin thongs were used to tie the captives to the trees it was evident that the braves had had long practice at this art. When they had used up all the hide rope, Dick and Roger were indeed in a helpless position, being bound hand and foot.
“This is about as hard as anything we ever went through, Dick,” remarked Roger, after the Indians had finished their task and left them there.
“Yes, that is very true, Roger, but I want to tell you that I can move one of my hands, and I’m starting to stretch this buckskin thong. After a short time I believe I can get my hands free.”
“That’s good news; and what next, Dick?”
“If only that brave doesn’t happen to remember that he stuck his knife into my tree right here, and return to possess himself of it, why, don’t you see how fortunate that is going to turn out for us?”
“A knife so close to your hands once you get them free—that would be simply glorious, Dick. And I’m going to keep hoping that warrior has no need for his blade during the whole night.”
“I believe I can reach it,” continued Dick, twisting his head around to take another look at the coveted weapon; “and if I do, one slash will cut this buckskin rope. After that, you can depend on me to jump over to your side. But keep on working your hands all you can, Roger, for the looser your bonds are the better in the end.”
The night was by now closing in around them.
Some time before the fire had been carefully extinguished, water being thrown on the burning embers to hasten its end. Dick, still watching the actions of the Indians, soon saw they were taking extra precautions against a surprise. From all of the signs the boys concluded that these Dacotahs had good reason to fear the coming of the hostile war party.
“I’ve got an idea,” he told Roger in following out this train of thought, “that not so very long back the Dacotahs must have made a raid on the lodges of the Shoshone tribe, and done more or less damage. Somehow they act to me as if guilty.”
“And, Dick, if ever the two parties do clash, there will be a lively time of it, we can be sure,” Roger in turn remarked. “These braves seem to be a picked lot, as far as I can tell, and ought to put up a good fight, even if outnumbered.”
“While I’ve never watched a real battle between two war parties of Indians,” observed Dick, “I must say I’m not dying with curiosity to see one. I only hope we have a chance to get away from here before it happens. And, Roger, another thing—I’m keeping an eye on that fellow who is carrying my gun. He has placed it, together with the powder-horn and bullet-pouch, on that log yonder, you notice.”
“Now it is queer that I hadn’t noticed such a thing, Dick!”
“Simply because you waste so much time bothering about our hard luck, when you might just as well be using eyes and ears to learn something worth while,” the other boy told him. “Now, if only I can manage to snatch up my gun and other fixings when we leave here, it will make me happy, I can tell you.”
The minutes dragged along slowly to the two boys. When an hour, and then two, had passed, Roger was beginning to complain again, for it was weary work being forced to stand in this way upon their feet.
By this time the Indians had ceased their low droning talk. Only one of them was still sitting there cross-legged, smoking his red clay pipe. Dick did not doubt that somewhere in the gloom one or two sentries, or videttes, had been posted, in order to guard against a surprise in every way possible, though of course he could not see the first sign of their presence.
Only the customary sounds of a summer night in the wilderness came to the ears of the captive pioneer boys. Most of these were very familiar to them, on account of their habit for years of spending nights out of doors.
Still, somehow, things did not seem quite the same as usual. It was different listening to the hoot of the owl, the croak of the night heron, the complaint of the tree-frog calling for more rain, or even the barking of a red fox somewhere in the forest, when tied up in this way, and facing such a gloomy outlook.
“Dick,” whispered Roger, “isn’t it nearly time?”
“Not yet,” replied the other in the same cautious manner, “hold your horses, and have patience, Roger. Another hour or two must go by before I dare start in.”
Poor impatient Roger groaned, and relapsed into silence again. Oh! how time did drag along. It seemed to the boy he would go fairly wild, waiting for something to break that terrible monotony.
There were no stars overhead by means of which they could tell how the night was wearing on. Dick had to resort to other means by which to mark the passage of time; still he knew fairly well when the hour of midnight approached.
Meanwhile Roger had finally fallen asleep, uncomfortable as his position was. Dick could just manage to see, by straining his eyes, that his chum’s head had fallen forward upon his chest, as though tired Nature had overcome him.
Dick concluded that there was no use waiting any longer to put his plan into operation. Everything about the camp seemed silent, and, although he took a desperate chance, the boy believed he would gain nothing by further delay.
His initial act was to draw first one hand and then the other from the stretched buckskin thongs. Then turning as best he could he reached out toward the knife the Indian who had helped tie them to the tree had left sticking there, even with the boy’s head.
What a thrill passed through Dick’s whole frame as his eager hand touched that welcome blade. Its buckhorn handle, too, felt very familiar, and he was almost sure it would turn out to be the hunting-knife Roger valued so highly because of the associations connected with it.
As it possessed a keen edge, he found no difficulty in bending down and severing his bonds. After that he stopped and listened, but there was nothing to indicate that his actions had been discovered. The owl had commenced his mournful hooting again; and the tree-frog piped up louder than ever, Dick noticed with considerable satisfaction, for he hoped the sounds would muffle any slight noise he would chance to make.
Now he turned to set Roger free. He hoped in his heart that, upon being aroused, Roger would not utter an exclamation. With this possibility in mind Dick very cautiously crept over to the other tree.
He could hear Roger’s heavy breathing, showing that the boy still slept. With great care Dick raised himself until he could put his lips close to the other’s ear, when he whispered:
“Roger, wake up, but keep very still! I am going to cut your bonds now!”
The boy gave a great start, but fortunately he did not attempt to answer. He comprehended instantly what the situation was, and knew the necessity for silence.
Already Dick’s hands were seeking for the deerskin thongs that bound the wrists of his comrade to the tree. As soon as he had made certain, the pressure of the sharp blade instantly severed the restraining cords and set Roger’s hands free.
All that remained now was to do the same service with regard to the hide rope that went around Roger’s waist, and then around his ankles further down. After that they could listen for a minute, to make sure they had not been heard, and then depart from the hostile camp on hands and knees, creeping stealthily along like a couple of snakes.
So far Dick’s cleverly arranged plan had worked admirably. If the rest proved to be as easy of accomplishment they could congratulate themselves on having done a big thing, with credit to their education in the line of border cunning.
Dick had just finished severing the last of the bonds, and Roger was in the act of stepping forward, when something suddenly occurred that thrilled both boys to the heart, as well as put a different aspect on their method of hasty departure.
From some place back in the woods a little way a loud and singular whoop rang forth. Dick believed that it must be intended as a signal announcing an attack; for, hardly had it ceased to ring through the aisles of the forest, than a deafening chorus of wild yells rang forth, together with the rush of many bodies crashing through the underwood and advancing from every direction toward the camp of the Dacotahs.