Free Trapper's Pass

“Saddle your horse, quickly! We must have some token here for the boys, if they come in to-morrow, as they ought to, and then start in pursuit. Linked in, as we are, with Robison, no question of odds can for a moment allow us to think of deserting him and his daughter. We can follow close on them, Hawkins can hurry his men along our trail, and we may be able to attack them before they reach their village.”

“It ain’t no use to get in a flurry. My animal won’t be fit to start for a couple of hours yet, and I always was in favour of taking things cool. Saddle your horse, though, get your traps ready, leave your signal; and when you’re in the saddle, I guess Jack Howell won’t keep you too long awaiting.”

As they could not start for several hours, all their preparations were made with deliberation. Their saddles were first examined, every strap and thong undergoing a close scrutiny. Next their arms were inspected, and those things which might be necessary to them while following the trail, were brought out from the cabin. A moderate supply of provisions, prepared to keep, a canteen for water, a small flask of liquor, a rifle, a pistol, a blanket, and a hunting-knife comprised the equipment of each. With these, and a sufficient stock of ammunition, the hardy hunters and trappers would willingly strike out upon the surface of the broad prairie, or into the deep recess of the rugged mountains, though stirred only by the prospect of a small pecuniary compensation. Having these, the reader may suppose that the two would hardly hesitate as to the course which they were to pursue, when urged on by a strong friendship and a stern sense of duty – and, with one of the two, a still tenderer sentiment.

Howell led the horses out of the thicket, and stood waiting for his companion.

“Come on, Archer! We mustn’t loose too much time or the scent ’ll cold. The black rascals has got a good start on us now, and the sooner we wipe that out the surer we’ll be about our job.”

“Wait a little,” was the reply. “We must leave a note here for Ned and his party, telling him what is up, and what we intend. The Crows, too, if they make any pursuit, will doubtless send a runner here, so that it will be well to show them the direction in which they can find us.”

“Yer right about that last, though I didn’t think of it afore. As for Ned, what’ll ye bet he won’t be on the trail, and closer up than us by to-morrow mornin’?”

With the touch of a good amateur artist, Charles Archer – or Waving Plume, as he had been named, from the feather that, through storm or shine, floated from his sombrero – was busily engaged sketching on the rough door of the little house; and the bit of charcoal was sufficient to convey a rude, but significant hint to the eyes of any beholder. A pair of feet, as black as soft coal could make them, and an arrow pointing in a northward direction.

Simple as this appeared, yet it was abundantly sufficient for the purpose. The Crows, if they saw it, would understand at a glance, that the trappers were not only aware of the presence of the Blackfeet, but had also gone in pursuit. In fact, this idea struck Howell rather forcibly, for he remarked:

“There you are! If Ned comes in, he can understand that without any spectacles at all, and so kin the Injuns, if they come to get our help, which they couldn’t if it was writin’.”

CHAPTER II.

THE STRATAGEM OF THE TRAPPERS

With the privilege of the romancer, let us transfer the reader to a spot some thirty miles distant from the locality mentioned in the preceding chapter. It is a beautiful place. On the west the mountain, on the east and south the plains, on the north a spur of hills running out from the original chain. Here vegetation flourished, and the sweet breath of nature was fresh and dewy. Trees and flowers, and green grass, and sparkling streams greeted the eye, and the soft undertone of winds and waters, so like to silence itself, rang soothingly in the ear.

Hard by a spring of clear water, which bubbled out from under the huge trunk of a fallen tree, a small body of men were encamped around the smouldering embers of the fast-dying fire, on which they had prepared their evening meal. That duty having been disposed of, and their horses seen to, they were, after the manner of their class, engaged in a talk. The subject, too, which claimed their attention, was one of more importance than mere calculations as to peltries, or the ordinary run of camp-fire stories.

“I tell you,” said one, the youngest, apparently, of the company; “I tell you that’s the trail of a party of Blackfeet on the war-path. You kin see that with half an eye.”

“I don’t know,” chimed in another. “It’s nigh into fifteen years since I first crossed this here region, and I calculate that them resembles Injins tracks, an’ made by a crowd it ’ud be cussed onhandy for us to meet. They’re bent on mischief, and we’d better outen the fire and make a clean break, for we can’t tell how many of ’em may be about.”

“The Biting Fox is right,” said a voice, which seemed to come from their very midst.

Instantly the whole party leaped to their feet, and, with surprise pictured on their faces, gazed in the direction from which the voice proceeded. Right by their fire stood a man, tall of stature, and apparently of the Crow nation. In full war-paint he stood, leaning on his rifle, and gazing intently upon the hunters.

“The Biting Fox is right, for the train is of the Blackfeet. Their number is large, and their blood is warm, for they seek the scalps of the Crows. Three suns ago they passed here; to-night they will return – Antonio waits for them. The fair-haired daughter of the great white Medicine may be with them, and they will pass quickly; but the rifle is long, and the eyes of the young eagles are sharp. Will they wait for them?”

“Yer right,” shouted Biting Fox, leaping to his feet. “They’ll pass the Major’s house, sure as death, an’ ef Wavin’ Plume an’ his chummy ain’t along here on their trail, I’ll never look through sights agin.”

“The white men will need all help. The two braves may come, and the warriors of the great Crow tribe will press hard on behind them, for they are very brave.”

The person whom we introduced as the first speaker had been viewing Antonio rather curiously for some time, and now, with a half-puzzled sort of tone, he asked:

“Look-a here, I’ve got two questions to ask – how did that ar log git thar, an’ how did you happen to be in it? Ef you had a bin one of the sneakin’ cusses as made that trail you could a knocked both of us over before we could a knowed whar the shots come from.”

“The Great Spirit placed the tree there – three suns ago I was here at the spring, when the dogs of the Burnt Stick came, and I crawled into the tree to hide from them. While they were at the spring I heard their plans, and to-night I waited for them to return. I was sleeping, but awoke at the sound of your talking.”

This conversation, carried on by two of the party, reassured, as it was intended to do, the rest; and, satisfied that the half-breed was a man to be trusted, they were ready to enter into a discussion as to what was to be done. One of the first things to decide was as to the probable course which the Blackfeet would pursue. Should they come by this route, would they be likely to have in the possession either the Major or his daughter? If these questions were answered affirmatively, what was to be done?

The discussion was short but harmonious. Only one feeling was manifest – to attempt a rescue. Thus it was that Ned Hawkins – a sharp-witted and experienced hunter, who had command of the men – having spent some little time in thought, and some little more in conversation with Antonio, announced his determination.

Hawkins threw himself upon his horse, making a signal for the men to mount and follow. Without questioning the propriety of his move, they obeyed, and all set out in the direction – nearly at right angles with the trail – of the nearest encampment of the Crows. They held on this course for some distance, until the bed of a stream was reached, and then forward for a few hundred yards, till the hoofs of the horses struck upon hard ground, pointed out by the half-breed, and over which it would be difficult to trace them. Taking, at length, a bend over this, they returned to the stream at some distance from the spot where they had previously crossed it. Halting at the stream, the leader made a sign for the rest to stop, and at the same time taking his blanket from its place, behind his back, he dismounted and advanced to the low, shelving bank, and spreading the blanket carefully along the ascent. The blankets of the others were used in like manner, and soon a sort of bridge was made over the grassy turf, upon which the animals were led. Then the hindmost blankets were raised, and placed in front, the horses proceeded a few steps, and the same process was repeated. A few rods thus passed over brought them into their old trail. Along this they hastily galloped, much time had been consumed in the operation, and if the foe should arrive a little before the expected time, their plans might not admit of a full completion.

At the old camping ground they found Antonio awaiting them; and, by the same means employed at the stream, they begun to transfer their horses to the shade of the clump of timber upon their right.

Antonio leading, they soon came into an opening; but, as man after man defiled into it, from the opposite side came a scream, so shrill, so weird and unearthly, that in mute amazement they halted. Silence brooded over the group, touching all with its icy hand. The horses shrunk back with an irrepressible fear, and not a man was there whose thumb did not strike, with startled quickness, the lock of his rifle.

The levelled pieces were let drop into the hollow of their hands, and Hawkins turned to Antonio with:

“I’ve heerd tell o’ this critter often, an’ I’ve seed him myself, twice afore, but I never heerd, and I never knowed of his gettin’ that close to a man without tryin’ to git closer. They’re an ugly brute, an’ I believe I’d sooner try a rough an’ tumble with a grizzly hisself. What does it mean?”

“It’s a sign,” responded the half-breed.

The men threw themselves down, to await in patience the expected arrival. The trapper, who, on the first apparition of Antonio, had recognized him, was disposed to continue the conversation. Some few words passed, and then the question was asked as to what time the Indians might be expected.

“An hour yet. The horses of the Blackfeet will be wearied; but, when the moon rises, their scouts will be at the spring. If my white brethren had been unwarned, they might have been seen. Then they would have travelled fast. The golden-haired would have been mounted on a swift horse; the road to their land is but short, and a young squaw, given to the Great Spirit, is never seen again.”

“Right, my mighty! You know the red varmints like a book.”

Ned Hawkins, meantime, had been diligently watching the horizon, straining his eye-sight in the endeavour to discover something to repay him for his trouble. Now, more through surprise than the fear of the presence of an enemy, he uttered a warning.

“Sh!” On the plain a long line of dark, moving forms could be seen coming on at a fast pace. There was sufficient light to show to the breathless watchers that they were Indians; but to what tribe they belonged could not be told until they drew nearer, or the moon should fully rise. There was, however, but little doubt in the minds of the trappers that they were the expected enemy. The story of the half-breed had been so far verified.

As they filed, one after another into full view, and no signs of prisoners could be seen, the half-breed shook his head in an unsatisfied manner, while Hawkins said, in a whisper:

“Prairie Wolf, I allow yer sharp in Injun matters an’ death on black critters, but you’ve mistook the thing this time, an’ run us inter a purty snarl asides. Thar’s only about twenty of the red-skins, an’ nary a prisoner.”

“Antonio was right. The band was twice as large when it passed, three suns ago.”

“Ef yer right, it beats me,” put in Stevens, in a gruff, but low tone; “only one way to clear it up They’ve been whipt like thunder, an’ consequently ther in a bully flame of mind for rubbin’ us out, if they once get the scent.”

“If the pale-faces will wait till they are settled, they shall learn why but half of these who went returned. They look not like men who have been beaten.”

“Waal. I allow it might be some sort o’ a consideration to know about them things, but then, as the Major ’pears safe, there’s other things nearer home to look at.”

This speech, notwithstanding the important facts which it contained, was somewhat dangerous to their safety, for Biting Fox, the speaker, had incautiously let his voice rise to a very loud whisper. Accordingly, Antonio expressed his opinion on the question of “what’s to be done” by admonishing silence.

“Ef we were squaws, who talk, we might be in danger; but we are men who fight, and do not talk. Antonio will creep up to their camp, and hear what they say.”

No dissenting voice was raised to this proposition, and he departed with that quick and stealthy step, for which the aborigines of our country have been so noted. So weird-like was his motion that he seemed like a ghost flitting through the trees. When he reached the edge of the copse he disappeared entirely.