CHAPTER XX
THE COUNCIL FIRE
"WHO calls me?" exclaimed the French trader, looking around him in somesurprise.
Evidently, although he must have known that the Indians had a prisoner,whose fate was to be decided at the council that was even thengathering, he could never have dreamed, up to now, that it was any onewho knew him.
"This way, please, monsieur. I am here in the lodge! Just to yourright; now, if you look down you will see me!" cried Sandy, eagerly,though, if asked, he could not have told just why he fancied theFrenchman would assist him in the least.
"Sacre! what haf we here? A young Eenglish viper, it seems. Ha! andsurely ve haf before now met! Is it not so?" said the trader, as by thelight of the council fire he saw Sandy's face.
"Oh! yes, it was at Will's Creek. You remember we came into the placejust before you left there, monsieur? You asked my father ever somany questions about what his business was. I am Sandy Armstrong, theyoungest of his boys."
"So, zat ees the vay ze vind blows? You belong to zat Eenglish colonyzat mean to cheat honest men out of zere bread and butter. Worst ofall, you own to being ze son of ze very man who would take away ourtrade with ze red men! Ho! Sandy Armstrong, say you? A very goodevening to you, Sandy. It ees quite varm, but perhaps not yet so varmas it may be, eh?"
The words were filled with much more of bitterness than seemed possibleon the surface. Although he had not yet appealed to the trader forassistance, Sandy understood that no matter what he said, it wouldnever touch the stony heart of the Frenchman. Jacques Larue was one ofthose frontiersmen who, having spent much of their lives amid scenes ofturmoil and violence, could not listen to a plea for mercy, especiallywhen uttered in an English voice.
"But I am a prisoner here, and these Indians may mean to put me todeath?" the boy went on, making a last effort to touch the trader.
With a shrug of the shoulders the indifferent Frenchman answered back:
"Zat would be a great pity--for ze muzzer. But what would you haf medo? Zese Indians haf been my good friends. Zey haf lost many of zerebest braves in zat battle with your people. It is ze habit of ze redmen to put prisoners to ze death. I am sorry for you, boy; but mybusiness it ees too valuable to reesk it by offending zese friends. Soagain, I bid you ze good evening, young Armstrong."
Trembling with indignation, Sandy cast discretion to the winds.
"Yes, I know why you will not lift a finger to try and save me!" hecried aloud; "you hate my father just because he expects to tradehonestly with the friendly Indians. I have heard Colonel Boone speak ofyou and your breed. You set the redskins against the English--you fillthem with firewater, and start them out on the warpath, to burn andmurder. You are like a snake in the grass, Jacques Larue. And some daythe rifle of a true borderer like Boone will lay you low!"
The Frenchman could hardly believe his ears. For a mere youth to bravehim thus to his face staggered him. He took a step toward the lodge,and half raised his arm as though tempted to strike the boy.
"Yes, that would be just like a man of your stripe, Monsieur Larue.Helpless, a prisoner, and with my hands tied behind my back, hit me ifit please you!" dared the impetuous lad, not even deigning to move backinto the recesses of his lodge.
"Sacre! I forgot!" muttered the Frenchman, bringing himself up with around turn; and, whirling on his heel, he strode off toward the circleof braves.
Presently several warriors were dispatched to convey the captive to thecouncil ring. One of them Sandy recognized as the fellow who had spokena few words of English at the time of his capture.
"Cut my hands loose," he pleaded, backing up to this brave in asuggestive manner. "Surely you need not be afraid of my running away.But my arms are so tired of being cramped in this way. Use your knife,Mr. Eagle Feather!" for, though he had no idea of what the name of thebrave might be, he recognized the three feathers in his scalp-lock asbelonging to the king of birds.
"Ugh! paleface boy say true. No danger run away!" and with the wordsthe other drew his knife, the same with which he had once threatenedSandy, across the stout buckskin thongs.
"That feels better; and thank you for it," observed the boy, with anod, as his hands fell apart, and he could chafe his numb wrists into astate of feeling.
"Ugh! paleface boy much brave! Tell Swift Bullet him fool! Ugh!" saidthe warrior, as he took hold of Sandy's right arm, a companion leadinghim on the left.
From these few words the boy understood, first, that the French tradermust go by the name of Swift Bullet among the Shawanees; second, thatthe brave had heard all that had just passed between them; and, lastof all, that possibly he did not chance to bear the best of feelingstoward the French trader, since he evidently admired the stripling whodared defy Larue.
When he found himself in the midst of that great throng Sandy's heartmisgave him. Every face around the triple circle of braves looked darkand forbidding. In fact, aside from this single warrior who had helpedcapture him, he did not seem to have a single friend in the village.
The French trader was present, sitting cross-legged beside the headchief. He smiled most of the time, as though simply amused at what wasgoing on. Evidently Jacques Larue cared precious little whether thecouncil decided upon the death of the young English pioneer or not. Helooked upon all such as a breed of vipers, to be treated with scantceremony whenever encountered.
Of course Sandy could not understand what was said, so far as wordswent; but there was no mistaking the gestures of the speakers, some ofwhich were passionate and striking. They were calling for his blood!Those who had fallen in battle must be avenged. Boy or not, he belongedto the hated English, and was not their country, given to them by theGreat Spirit, being invaded by these bold compatriots of Boone andHarrod?
Those very names were mentioned, and by Indian lips. Somehow, in hisgreat extremity, the imperilled lad seemed to draw new inspiration fromjust hearing that magical name of Boone. He noted that every time thechief uttered it there was an uneasy movement that passed through,the entire assemblage; while many a head was half turned, as though asudden fear had sprung into being lest the famous borderer make hisappearance there before them, demanding that the prisoner be released.
What manner of man could this be, that even the mention of his nameshould cause a shiver to pass through an Indian council?
"I believe they're going to do it!" Sandy whispered to himself, when hesaw how still more threatening looks were cast upon him.
Then came the medicine man, dressed in most fantastic garb, and wearinga head of a bear, that had attached to it the horns of a buffalo. Intothe circle he danced, waving his hands, and crooning some weird songthat seemed to hold his hearers entranced, though to Sandy it soundedlike the worst gibberish he had ever heard.
But soon he, too, was following the movements of the old charmer withdeepest anxiety; for it became impressed upon his mind that, after all,much depended on what he might decide. The medicine man was believedto be in direct communication with the Great Spirit, and could, aftercertain incantations, learn what the will of the Manitou might be.
If he said that the prisoner must be burned, nothing could save Sandy.On the contrary, should the medicine man declare that the voice ofManitou declared that some other fate be meted out to the palefacecaptive, his word was law.
Just then Sandy had his attention called to a movement in anotherquarter.
"Oh! there is the old squaw who hugged me!" he exclaimed, almostholding his breath in suspense; "and she seems to be wanting to jumpforward when the right time comes. All may not be lost. Perhaps I couldnever love her; but I'd be grateful if she saved my life!"
Once the boy had been seized with a sudden hope, and had eagerlyscanned each and every face in all that triple circle.
"No, he is not here," he muttered in a disappointed tone; "perhaps henever got back home. Perhaps his wound broke out again, and he fell bythe way! Such hard luck!"
He was thinking of Blue Jacket, the young brave whom he and Bob ha
dnursed back from the border of the grave. But Blue Jacket was certainlynot there; or, if so, realizing his inability to help his young whitefriend, he kept his face hidden in his blanket of buffalo skin.
And now the dancing medicine man's movements grew more rapid. Hewhirled his arms more violently above his head, and the various metalornaments which were hung about his person jangled not unmusically,adding to the weird aspect of the scene.
Apparently he had reached a point where he was about to launch hisdecision at the waiting warriors. Just then the harsh voice of a squawwas heard, and the old woman whom Sandy had noticed jumped into thering, speaking eagerly, and making all sorts of impressive gestureswith her talon-like hands.
The prisoner shuddered as he gazed; but something like gratitudeentered his heart. Repulsive as she appeared, the old squaw was tryingto save his life!
He watched the actions of the medicine man closely, as though he couldtell in that way whether the request of the bereaved squaw would begranted, and the prisoner turned over to her to take the place of theson who would never again bring home to her lodge a share of the spoilsof the hunt.
Then the boy's very heart seemed to turn cold. Something about themanner of the entire assemblage seemed to say that the sentiment ofthe council was adverse. And doubtless the wily old medicine manusually gave the answer just as he saw it expressed on the faces of thewarriors!
They would condemn the prisoner, then, to be put to death! Brave ladthough Sandy had shown himself on more than one occasion, he mighteasily be pardoned for experiencing a cold chill when the truth brokeupon him.
He seemed to feel a choking sensation in his throat, as though he couldhardly breathe. Somehow, just at that moment his mind flew far away tothe bank of the great Ohio, to a new cabin he could picture, where agrieving woman sat beside the large fireplace, and there was an emptystool at the rough table.
"Mother!" he whispered, softly.
And then he shut his teeth hard. At least they should not see himquail, these copper-colored men of the wilderness. Always had he heardthat, above everything else, Indians admired bravery. When death in itsmore terrible aspect faced them, they pretended to show utter contempt,laughing their enemies in the face, and mocking them with their lastbreath.
Well, he was an Armstrong! They had ever been a hardy race, andacross the water had always taken a share in all the wars that rentOld England. He would show that, though but a boy in years, he hadinherited the spirit of his ancestors. Not one groan, not one cry formercy, would they hear falling from his lips!
The squaw ceased to implore. She had fallen back to wait for thedecision of the wizard, who was once again beginning to wave his armsabout, and fix his mincing steps to keep time with his singsong words.
Sandy was keeping his eyes glued upon the swaying figure. There was asort of fascination about it all, just as though his own life did nothang in the balance.
"It's coming!" he muttered, presently, as he saw the heads of thewarriors inclined eagerly toward the magician.
Sandy was conscious of a little confusion near by. He could not tearhis eyes away from the dancer long enough to ascertain what it meant.Perhaps some prowling dog had been caught by a squaw stealing from herlodge, and was being soundly kicked and berated in consequence.
The sounds were really coming closer. Loud voices could be heard,excited voices too, but in the Indian tongue. Sandy was not muchinterested, because he fancied that it was only some late comers, whowere demanding to be told what the council was about, not knowing ofthe capture of a white.
Now he could not help noticing, because there was a swaying of theouter lines, where the squaws and boys congregated. Louder grew thevoices. Even the medicine man paused in the act of delivering thedecree of Manitou, and every face was turned toward the quarter whencethe growing clamor sounded.
And as Sandy, half starting to his feet, stared, and held his breath,he saw a figure he knew only too well come limping into the lightedarena.
It was Blue Jacket!