CHAPTER VIII.
A WELCOME ACQUAINTANCE.
On the fourth day after the arrival of the hunters at their cabin, theaccident of which Mr. Linden made mention befell Bowlby. It was early inthe morning, when the three were making their round of visits to thetraps. Since no two inspected the same ones, they were quite widelyseparated from each other. Bowlby was walking over a rocky stretch ofland alongside the creek when a loose stone turned under his foot,giving his ankle such a wrench that when he tried to stand he found hecould not bear the least weight on it. It was one of those hurts thatare more painful and troublesome than a fractured limb.
"Here's a pretty go," he growled, as he sat down on the ground, his facecontorted with pain; "it'll be a long time before I'll be able to stand,and the boys will have to bring one of the hosses here or else carry mehome. _Hello!_"
He shouted at the top of his voice, feeling no alarm, for he knew thathis friends would come to his relief before long, even if they did nothear his voice; but then he reflected, as he sat on the ground besidethe two beavers that he had killed and was carrying to his home, that hewas in bad form if a wild animal should assail him, or there shouldhappen to be a hostile Indian prowling in the vicinity. He had left hisgun at the cabin, as was his practice, since he needed all his strengthto bring in the products of the traps.
He was startled, therefore, after his third shout; an Indian warrior,fully armed, walked out of the wood and came toward him; but his signsof peace, and more than all, the words he uttered, removed his fears.
"My brother suffers; Deerfoot will help him to his cabin."
"If that's so," said the greatly relieved Bowlby, "you're just the chapI'm waiting for. We'll leave these beavers here for the others to comeafter, and if you'll let me lean on your shoulder I guess I can hobbleback; but I'll have to lean heavy," he added, looking doubtfully at theIndian, "and you ain't much more than a likely lad."
"Let my brother try me," said Deerfoot, with a smile.
The disabled hunter did try him, often compelled, as he was, to bear tosuch an extent upon his new friend that it may be said the lattersustained half his weight. The progress was slow, and when they reacheda small stream of water, Bowlby sat down and allowed the young Shawanoeto bathe the inflamed limb. Great relief was felt.
During this labored walk homeward, the two naturally talked a good dealtogether and learned much about each other. Deerfoot said that he hadoften hunted through the surrounding country, and he told why it was hehad found it necessary to leave his tribe on the other side of theMississippi. He said that he had spent more than one night in thedeserted cabin of Bowlby and his friends during the summer months, whenhe found himself belated in the vicinity, and he once shot a wolf thatwas resolved on entering against his protest. It was his intention tomake a call upon the hunters, and if they needed his aid, he was glad togive it in the way of helping trap or shoot game. You need not be toldthat though James Bowlby felt an innate dislike of the American race,there was now one exception: henceforth he was the sworn friend ofDeerfoot the Shawanoe.
Linden and Hardin had got back from making their rounds, and werewondering what could have delayed their friend, when they saw himlimping painfully on one foot, and supported by a fine looking youngIndian warrior. Their astonishment was great, for they could notunderstand what it meant. Linden hastened to the help of Bowlby, but hewaved him aside and said no one could do as well as Deerfoot.
While Hardin went out to bring in the two beavers that had been takenfrom the traps by Bowlby, the latter was assisted to a seat on the login front of the cabin. Then Deerfoot insisted on giving attention to theinjured limb. It had swollen a great deal since he bathed it. There wasnothing in the cabin in the way of ointment or liniment, but Deerfoothastened into the wood and soon came back with the leaves of some plantwhose virtues seemed to be well known to him. These were wrapped in apiece of linen, which the establishment managed to afford, and poundedto a pulp, and then the poultice was gently applied to the inflamedankle. Bowlby declared that it felt better at once, but his facelengthened when Deerfoot told him that it would be a moon, or severalweeks, before he would fully recover the use of his limb.
"That will make us short-handed, and we need every one," said Mr.Linden; "I wish Fred was here to give us help."
"I think I can ride my hoss to Greville," said Bowlby, "and bring himback with me."
"That is hardly worth while."
"Where is the home of my brother?" gently asked Deerfoot.
"At the settlement of Greville, about a hundred miles to the north."
"Deerfoot knows where it is," he replied; "he will take a message forhis brother, for his footsteps lead him that way."
"You're a mighty clever Indian; I will be ever so much obliged to you,"said Linden; "I will write a few lines to my boy, which will explain ourtrouble, though I have no doubt you could take the message just as well;but it is such an unexpected one that the boy might doubt it unless itwas in my own writing. See?"
The Shawanoe nodded his head to signify that it was all clear to him.Linden passed within the cabin, where he hurriedly wrote the few linesthat are already known to the reader, folded the paper, and wrote on theoutside:
"FREDERICK LINDEN, Grevil."
He then handed it to Deerfoot, saying:
"There is no special hurry, and if you are in the neighborhood ofGreville, and can make it convenient to leave that at my house, it willbe a great kindness to me."
"If the Great Spirit does not will different it shall be in his handsbefore the setting of three more suns, but," added Deerfoot, looking atthe superscription on the back of the paper, "has not my brother made amistake?"
"What do you mean?"
"When Deerfoot writes the word 'Greville,' he adds two letters more thandoes my brother; perhaps, though, Deerfoot is wrong."
No pen can describe the amazement that appeared on the faces of Lindenand Bowlby. Here was a young Indian teaching a white man old enough tobe his father how to spell in the English language! Was the like everknown?
For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke. They were sitting on thelog, while Deerfoot was standing in front of them. He held his rifle inhis right hand and the folded piece of paper in his left, while helooked inquiringly down in the faces of the two men, whose mouths andeyes were open, as though they could not believe the evidence of theirown senses. Finally, with a deep sigh, Linden slowly rose to his feet--
"Well, by gracious! if that don't beat every thing! Do you mean to saythat you can read _writing_? Impossible!"
"For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke."]
Then, as if still in doubt, he reached out and took the paper. Drawing astump of a lead pencil from his pocket he completed the word properly,opened the paper, and handing it back to the Indian, said:
"Let's hear you read _that_."
"My brother writes so that any one can read his words," observed theyoung Shawanoe by way of introduction, and then in a low, soft voice heread the brief note from beginning to end.
Bowlby, who had not yet spoken, seemed unable to express his emotions.Unable himself to read, the attainment of the Indian was almost pastbelief. As the best thing, therefore, that he could do, he solemnlyreached out his hand to Linden and shook it with great earnestness.Settling painfully back on the log, he nodded his head several times asif he was almost overcome, as indeed was the case.
I should state at this point that although Linden had not seen fit tomake it known, he had heard of Deerfoot the Shawanoe long before. Heknew of some of his exploits in Kentucky, as well as those of lateryears on the western bank of the Mississippi (which are told in the"Young Pioneer" and the "Log Cabin Series"), but he had never met theyouth, nor had he ever heard or suspected that he knew how to read andwrite. Taking hold of his arm, he asked:
"Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you learn that? When Iwrote to Fred that I would tell him some
things about you I did not knowof the most extraordinary of all--that which I have just seen. Sit rightdown here, between me and Jim, and let us know all about it."
Deerfoot held back, but yielded, and finally answered in his modest waythe numerous questions with which he was plied. Bowlby had managed tofind his tongue, and his queries were about twice as numerous as thoseof his companion. By the time that Deerfoot had time to rest, Hardincame back, and there was little left to tell.
The Shawanoe had captured the Hunters of the Ozark. They insisted thathe should stay to dinner with them, and he did so. Then he was badgeredto enter into a shooting match. All were fine marksmen, and Linden wasthe best shot in Greville. Using his own rifle, Deerfoot beat every oneof them. Then he exchanged weapons and allowed the crippled Bowlby torest his piece, and the Shawanoe beat all three just as badly as before.They were delighted, and slapping him on the back, asked him to spend aweek with them, but he shook his head.
The sun was already beyond the meridian, and there were reasons for hisdeparture which he could not explain. They liked him too well to insist,though they made him promise that on the first chance he would make thema visit. Then Deerfoot gravely pressed hands with all and quicklydisappeared in the woods, taking the trail that led toward Greville. Youhave already learned about his meeting with Terry Clark and FredLinden.