CHAPTER XX
PRISONERS OF THE BLACKFEET
FLIGHT was out of the question, for the boys could hardly hope to excelthose fleet-footed Indian braves, however successful Mayhew might haveproved.
Indeed, there was little time given to any of them to think of escape.When the wily French trader had conveyed his suspicions to some of theBlackfoot braves there was a concerted dash toward the clump of bushes.
Some of the Indians started to circle around, evidently in theexpectation that, if the whites were concealed, they would attemptflight, and the idea of these runners was to forestall any such dash.
"We must hold them back or all is lost!" exclaimed Mayhew, who, beingan experienced Indian fighter, doubtless knew the weak and strongpoints of the red men, no matter to what tribe they belonged.
The report of his long-barreled rifle followed his words almostinstantly. There could be no question but that his bullet found itsbillet, for Mayhew was a crack shot.
Roger strained his eyes to discover the form of Lascelles among thoserushing straight toward the bushes, but he looked in vain. The shrewdFrenchman must have suspected that he would be a shining mark for theconcealed riflemen, and hence he had discreetly taken shelter behinda convenient tree trunk, from whence he could observe all that wenton, and be ready to appear after the battle was over. Failing to seeLascelles, Roger took hasty aim at the nearest Indian and fired, butapparently missed.
Dick had not thought about trying for the trader; indeed, it might havebeen the most foolish thing Roger could have done, since the Indians,if successful, would probably dispatch the boys without hesitation,unless there was a restraining hand put out to prevent it.
The tricky warriors came leaping and dodging to the attack, so that itwas not the easiest thing in the world to hit such an eccentric target.When Dick fired he felt sure he had not missed, and yet his intendedvictim failed to fall, though he did act as though wounded.
The guns being now empty the boys drew their pistols. These of coursewere of the same construction, being furnished with flint locks. Itrequired considerable knack to be able to discharge such a weapon.The powder had to be shaken afresh into the pan, or there would be noexplosion after the flint and steel had come violently in contact.Then, unless the connection were assured through the minute hole, itwould result only in a flash in the pan, instead of the weapon doingits full duty.
Roger, always more careless than Dick, snapped his pistol in vain, forthere was no report. Perhaps it was just as well, since, in the end,one enemy more or less would have made very little difference.
By this time the Indians were upon them, and each one of the littleparty found himself in the midst of a whirling force that frustratedall their wild efforts to strike with knife or hatchet.
From a point close at hand a shrill voice was screaming orders in theIndian tongue. Francois had come to life suddenly, after making surethat the whites could no longer cover him with their fire-arms. He wasordering his red minions not to finish the three palefaces, if theyexpected to obtain the reward he had promised them.
All this the boys heard as in a dream. They were so furiously engagedat the time, it was little attention they paid to anything that wasgoing on. To avoid the savage blows aimed at them by dusky hands thatgripped stone tomahawks, was about as much as they could manage. It wasonly later on, when they had a chance to exchange views concerning thefight, that they reached such a conclusion.
Such an unequal contest could not last long. Dick and Roger were pulledto the ground by the many hands that gripped them. Struggling to thebitter end, they expected that some one of their red antagonists wouldfinish them with a fell sweep of those flourished tomahawks; indeed,Dick shut his eyes in anticipation of such a tragedy, and before hisinward vision there flashed one glimpse of the dear ones in the fardistant home on the bank of the Missouri.
But the blow did not fall. He could hear the excited voice of Lascellesharanguing the braves, and, opening his eyes again, Dick found that theFrench trader had interposed his arm between the threatening weaponsand the two boys.
Just what Francois was saying to his allies Dick could not tell, sincehe knew little of Indian talk, and nothing at all of the Blackfootlanguage. He could, of course, guess that Lascelles, for some reasonof his own, did not wish the boys slain. It could hardly have been pitythat influenced the trader, for he was a cruel man.
Dick became aware of several other things just then. One was that Rogerwas keeping up his vain struggling, despite the fact that a couple ofbrawny braves were sitting on him.
"Keep still, Roger," commanded Dick, realizing that the impulsive ladwas imperiling both of their lives by his senseless actions; "you cannever break away, and by keeping up that fighting you may force them toknock us on the head. We are prisoners, and there is no help for it."
Roger stopped his writhing and beating with his fists, though the factthat he had to yield to the inevitable forced a groan from his lips.
"Where is Mayhew?" asked Dick, noting that the scout did not seem to benear.
Before Roger could frame any sort of a reply they heard a series ofyells from a little distance, followed by a shot.
"He must have managed to break away, Dick," exclaimed Roger, when hecould get rid of the dirt that impeded his speaking; "and some of theIndians have followed after him. Oh, I hope he has not been killed!"
"That didn't sound like it," Dick told him. "There was a deal ofbaffled fury in those Indian yells. Mayhew may get clear away, afterall. He has no equal as a runner among all the men of the expedition."
There was no time to say more, nor were the conditions by which the twoboys were surrounded of a nature to invite conversation.
Lascelles had apparently convinced those of the Indians who seemedmost bent on finishing the white boys that it would be more to theiradvantage to hold them as prisoners or hostages, for reluctantly theydropped their uplifted weapons. That more than one of them did thisunder protest could be seen from the manner in which they eyed theprisoners, and shook their feather bedecked heads.
"Get up, you American swine!" said Lascelles, accompanying his remarkwith a kick from the toe of his moccasin.
As there was no longer a weight on his chest Roger sprang to his feetas though he had been shot up by a gigantic spring. His face was whitewith anger, and he would have leaped straight at the throat of theinsulting French trader, despite the fact of Lascelles holding aleveled pistol in front of him, only that Dick seized hold and held himback.
"You are crazy to think of that, Roger! Have some sense. Think of thoseat home, and do nothing to force his hand!"
It was a terrible task for the hot-blooded boy to subside. He gaveLascelles a look that spoke volumes, but which only caused theFrenchman to grin in pleasure, for he had no idea that these boys wouldever be given the chance to turn the tables on him.
Neither of the boys had been badly hurt in the fierce scrimmage, thoughscratches and minor cuts were in evidence, and they looked the worsefor wear. Deprived of every weapon, they were helpless in the midst ofthat circle of hostile Blackfeet, and could only grit their teeth andgive back look for look in a resolute fashion.
Lascelles stood before them, with folded arms, and a sneer on his darkface. From a point still more remote there came again those yells ofbaffled rage to tell that the skillful Mayhew must still be eluding hispursuers.
"So, zis is ze young Armstrongs zat I haf ze pleasure to entertain?"the trader started to say, as though he had a communication to makewhich he fancied would add still more to their wretchedness, and it wasnecessary to first of all "break the ice."
"Yes, we are the Armstrong boys, and you are Francois Lascelles,"replied Dick. "What business have you trying to make us prisoners? Weare not interfering with these Indians in their hunting grounds. Thelast time we saw you it was at the cabin of our grandfather, DavidArmstrong. Why do you not order these warriors to set us free? We willgo back to the camp from which we came, and they will not see us again."
"Eet is not to be as you wish, but as I say," the Frenchman observed,with a pompous inflation of his chest, as became a victor. "I haf youin my power, and zat ees vat I am here for. Eef you evair return to zehome again eet vill not be until ze winter is gone. Zen eet vill be toolate to take ze leetle paper to zose zat sit by ze fireside, and waitday by day for you to come back!"
At hearing this Dick felt considerable relief. Perhaps, after all,the Frenchman was not quite so bad a man as he had believed. He spokeas though there might be a possibility of their being kept prisonersthrough the winter, and set free in the spring, when it was no longerpossible for them to reach home before the time limit had expired, andtheir parents ousted from their property.
That would mean that long months must elapse. They might even be takento the Blackfoot village, leagues and leagues away, but there wouldalways remain a chance for escape. Dick was a firm believer in the oldmotto that "while there's life there's hope."
"You know why we are here in this strange land, then?" he remarked,chiefly to draw the other out, so that something might be learnedconcerning the whereabouts of Jasper Williams.
"Yes, eet is all plain to me vy you come here," Lascelles assured him,nodding as he spoke. "I haf made sure zat ze paper you could nevairesecure. I haf already ze Williams a prisoner in anuzzer camp, vere myson Alexis and ze brave French comrades zay watch heem like ze weasel."
"You mean that Jasper Williams is a prisoner, do you?" asked Dick,while Roger listened eagerly, trying to read the grinning countenanceof Lascelles, and determine whether he was speaking the truth, orconcocting a lie for some evil purpose.
"Zat ees vat I am saying," continued Lascelles; "I haf arranged zat hemay be taken to ze village of Black Otter, and adopted into ze tribe.Ze big chief haf long wished to haf ze white man show zem many thingszat zey do not know. Williams nevaire come back from ze Blackfootcountry. Eet is many days' journey into ze cold Northwest, and no whiteman has ever seen the wigwams of Black Otter."
"But what will you do with us; I hope you will not send us with theBlackfeet also?" asked Dick, still seeking information.
"I haf not yet made up my mind, but pouf! vat does it matter to me? Sozat you may not send ze word down to ze town on zat Missouri I care notvat becomes of ze Armstrong vermin. I haf Williams, and now both endszey are tied up. Zat ees well!"
"You will have to prove it before I believe Williams is your prisoner!"said Dick.
"Ah! zat ees easy," retorted the Frenchman; "you haf seen zis knife inhees possession, it may be. Do you not recognize eet? Williams think somuch of zat knife he would not let it leave hees person. But I haf eethere. So you see zere ees ze proof zat he ees a prisoner in zat uzzercamp."