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