CHAPTER II
THE WYANDOT CHIEF
Henry rose quickly from the noonday refreshment and, with a nod to hiscomrades, entered the forest at the head of the little band of hunters.Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross would have gone, too, but Adam Colfax wantedthem to keep watch about the camp, and they were too loyal to insistupon having their own way when it was opposed to that of the leader.
Five men were with Henry, fairly good hunters on the whole, but more athome in the far south than in the woods of the Ohio. One, a big fellownamed Larkin, had an undue pride in his skill, and another, a Frenchman,Pierre Cazotte, was a brave fellow, but uncommonly reckless. Theremaining three were not of marked individuality.
Henry examined them all with swift glances, and decided at once thatLarkin and Cazotte, full of overweening confidence, would want theirway, but he said nothing, merely leading the band into the mass of densegreen foliage that rimmed the camp around. He looked back but once, andsaw his four faithful comrades sitting by the fire, it seemed to him, inan attitude of dejection. Then he went forward swiftly, and in anotherminute the forest shut out camp fire and comrades.
"What's your notion, Henry?" asked Larkin. "Have you seen signs of deeror buffalo near?"
"Both," replied Henry. "There are good springs and little open places inthe woods not more than a couple of miles away. We're pretty sure tofind deer there."
"Why not buffalo?" exclaimed Larkin. "I've shot more deer than I couldever count, but I've never killed a buffalo. It's the first time thatI've been in this part of the country."
"Nor have I," said Cazotte. "We have many people to feed, and ze buffaloees beeg. Ze deer ees too leetle for all ze mouths back there."
"Right you are, Frenchy," exclaimed Larkin jovially. "We'll pass thedeer by an' go for buffalo if we have to travel six or seven milesfurther. What this gang wants is buffalo, an' buffalo it will have."
"I don't think we ought to go very far from the camp," said Henry."These woods from here to the lakes are the hunting grounds of the mostwarlike tribes, and bands may be near us now."
Larkin laughed again his big jovial laugh.
"You're thinkin' a lot about Indians," he said, "You're brave--everybodyknows it--but a fellow can put his mind on 'em so hard that he can see'em where they ain't."
Henry laughed, too. He knew no offense was intended, but he wasconfirmed in his belief that Larkin meant to have his own way. He saw,too, that Cazotte and the others were ready to back him up. But he wouldnot yield without a protest.
"It's true, I am thinking a lot about Indians," he said earnestly, "andI think I have cause to do so. They're here in these woods now. I'm sureof it, and they know of the presence of our fleet. We ought to be verycautious."
Larkin laughed again, and his laugh contained the slightest touch ofirony.
"I'll wager there ain't an Indian within fifty miles," he exclaimed,"an' if there was one he wouldn't keep us from our buffalo, would he,Pierre, old fellow?"
He slapped the Frenchman on the back, and Cazotte returned the laugh.
"Not a hundred Indians could keep us from heem," he replied. "I tastethe steaks of that mighty buffalo now. Ah, they so good!"
Henry flushed through his tan. He did not like even that slight touch ofirony. He had held in mind a tiny prairie not more than two miles awaywhere they were almost absolutely sure to find deer feeding, but heabandoned the idea and thought of another and larger prairie, of whichhe and Shif'less Sol had caught a glimpse three or four miles furtheron. It was quite likely that buffalo would be found grazing there.
"Very well," he said, "if you're bound to have it that way I'll leadyou. Come."
He led swiftly to the northeast, and Larkin, Cazotte, and the others,already tasting their hunting triumph, followed. The undergrowththinned, but the trees grew larger, spreading away like a magnificentpark--maples, oak, beech, hickory and elm. Henry was glad to see thebushes disappear, but for the second time that day the sound that madethe chill run down his spine came to his ear, the warning note of thewind among the leaves. It soon passed, and he did not hear it again.
The open woods ceased, and the bushes began once more, thicker thanever. They were compelled to go much more slowly, and Henry, riskinganother laugh at himself, told them to make as little noise as possible.
"Anyway, if Indians are about they'll hear us shootin' our buffaloes,"said Larkin. "So we needn't mind a little snappin' an' cracklin' of thebushes."
"It's a good plan in the woods never to make any noise, when you canhelp it," said Henry.
The others heeded him for a few moments, but soon relapsed into theirslovenly ways. It sounded to Henry's sensitive ear as if an army werepassing. But he would not speak again of the need of caution, knowinghow soon another warning would be disregarded. Meanwhile he kept a warywatch in behalf of his careless comrades, searching the thickets witheye and ear, and trying to guard them from their own neglect.
Another mile passed, the third since they had left the camp, and theycame to a little brook. As Henry crossed it he distinctly saw theimpression of a moccasined foot in the soft soil of the bank. It couldnot be more than an hour old.
"Look there!" he said to Larkin and Cazotte. "See the proof of what Ihave told you. An Indian has passed here this very afternoon."
Larkin glanced at the trace in the soft earth and shook his headdubiously.
"Do you call that the footprint of a man?" he asked. "It may be, but Ican't make it out. It might have been put there by some animal."
Henry frowned. These men would not be convinced. But he said nothingmore and continued to lead the way. Before him lay a stretch of thickwood with matted undergrowth, and beyond this, as he had discovered whenscouting with Shif'less Sol in the morning, was the prairie on whichthey might find the buffalo.
This thicket opened and received them, the bushes closing up behind themin such compact order that nothing could be seen ten yards away. ButHenry's eyes caught the glimpse of something to their right. It was thefeather of an eagle, the second that he had seen that day, but it wasthrust upright, and it adorned the head of a living warrior.
"Down! Down at once!" he cried, and, seizing the careless Larkin, hefairly hurled him to the earth. At the same instant a dozen riflescrackled among the bushes. The light-hearted Frenchman fell stone dead,a bullet through his head, and two more men were wounded. A bullet hadgrazed Larkin's shoulder, burning like the sting of a hornet, and, wildwith pain and anger, he sprang again to his feet.
Henry had felt all along that the party was in his care, and he wasresolved to save Larkin from his own folly. He also sprang up, seizedthe big man and dragged him down a second time. But as he sank into theconcealment of the bushes he felt a blow upon the side of his head. Itwas like the light tap of a hammer, and for a second or two he thoughtnothing of it. Then his knees grew weak and his sight dim, and he knewthat he was hit badly.
"Run, run!" he cried to Larkin. "The way by which we came is yet openand we may escape! It's the only chance!"
Larkin glanced back. He had been foolish, but he was no coward.
"You're hit and we won't leave you!" he exclaimed.
"Go on! go on!" cried Henry, summoning up his energy with a great effortof the will. "I'll look out for myself! Run!"
His tone was so compelling that Larkin and the others sprang up and madeat top speed for the camp, the bullets whistling about them as theywent. Henry tried to follow, but that extraordinary weakness in hisknees increased, and it was growing quite dark. He had risen to hisfeet, but he sank down despite every effort of the will, and he saw adim world whirling about him. A dozen dusky figures shot out of theobscurity. One raised a tomahawk aloft, but another stopped the arm inits descent.
He was conscious that the dusky figures stood about him in a ring,looking at him intently. But he was fast growing dizzier, and hiseyelids were uncommonly heavy. He gave back their looks with defiance,and then he sank to the ground, unconscious.
Henry revived in a half hou
r. Some one had thrown water on his face, andhe found himself sitting up, but with his hands tied securely behind hisback. His head ached terribly, and he felt that his hair was thick withblood. But he knew at once that it was only a glancing wound, and thatthe effects, caused by the impact of the bullet upon the skull, werepassing.
He was a prisoner, but all his alertness and powers were returning. Hewas not one ever to give up hope, and a single glance was enough to tellhim the whole situation. A half dozen warriors stood about him, eight orten more were returning, evidently from a chase, and one bore a ghastlytrophy at his belt. Then three had escaped! It was perhaps more than hehad hoped. He knew that another hideous decoration was in the belt ofsome warrior near him, but he closed his eyes to it, nor would he lookat the body of the fallen Frenchman.
"You come with us," said a warrior in fairly good English.
Henry looked at the speaker and recognized at once a chief, a young manof uncommon appearance, great in stature and with a fierce and loftycountenance, like that of the ancient Roman, sometimes found in theNorth American Indian. He was a truly impressive figure, his headclean-shaven except for the defiant scalp lock which stood aloftintertwined with small eagle feathers, a gorgeous red blanket from someCanadian trading post thrown carelessly about his shoulders after thefashion of a toga, a fine long-barreled Kentucky rifle lying in thehollow of his arm, and a tomahawk and knife at his belt.
Henry felt instinctively that he was in the presence of a great man, agreat chief of the woods. He recognized here a spirit akin to his own,and for a full minute the two, boy and man, gazed intently at eachother. Then the chief turned away with a slight laugh. He made no sound,but the prisoner knew from the motion of his lips that he laughed.
Henry looked again at the group of warriors, and now it was an examiningglance. They were not Shawnees or Miamis, but certain features of paintand dress showed him that they were Wyandots, a small tribe, but thebravest that white men ever faced on the North American Continent. Itbecame an axiom in the Ohio Valley that a Wyandot might be killed inbattle, but he could not be taken prisoner. Thirteen Wyandot chiefs werein the allied Indian army that was beaten by Wayne at the FallenTimbers; the bodies of twelve were found on the field.
Henry fully understood the character of the Wyandots, their greatenterprise and desperate courage, and he knew that their presence here,west of their own country, portended some great movement. His eyes cameback to the chief, who repeated his statement or rather command:
"You go with us!"
"I have no other choice," replied the youth with a tinge of irony. Thenhe added, with some curiosity: "You are a chief, I see that. Will youtell me your name?"
"I am called White Lightning in your tongue," replied the young man,making at the same time a movement of his head, very slight, but full ofindescribable pride.
Henry's gaze showed an increase of interest. He had heard that name,White Lightning. Before he went south to New Orleans it was beginning tohave ominous significance on the border. White Lightning had fought inthe great battle when the emigrant train was saved at the crossing ofthe river, but it was only since then that he had become a head chief,with the opportunity to display his terrible talents. An intensity ofpurpose and action like the fire that burns white had caused men to giveto him the name, White Lightning, in English, but in his own Wyandottongue he was Timmendiquas, which means The Lightning.
Henry had risen to his feet, and as they stood eye to eye each felt thatthe other was a worthy opponent. The chief marked the great proportionsand lofty bearing of the captive youth, and a glint of approval appearedin his eyes.
"The Wyandots are happy to have taken such a prisoner," he said, "andnow we will go."
He made a gesture, and instantly the group fell into single file, as heled the way through the forest. Henry was the fourth man in the file.All his strength had come back, but he was far too wise to attemptescape. His hands were bound behind him, and he would have no chancewith such woodsmen. He must bide his time, and he marched withoutprotest.
When they had gone about a mile all stopped at a signal from WhiteLightning. The chief dropped back to a subordinate place in the line,although his was still the air and actual manner of command, and hisplace at the head of the file was taken by a heavy, middle-aged warriorwho carried at his belt one of the hideous trophies at which Henry wouldnot look. But he understood Indian custom well enough to know the causeof this change. The middle-aged warrior had taken the first scalp inbattle, and therefore it was his honor to lead the party back in triumphto their village or camp.
White Lightning remained but a moment or two in his place. Then hestepped forth, while the others stood rigid, and drew a medicine bagfrom beneath the folds of his blanket. He held the bag for a momentpoised in his hand, as if it were a sacred object, which, in fact, itwas to the Wyandots, while the warriors regarded it with reverentialeyes.
Then every warrior took his totem from some secure place next to hisbody where it had been tied. The totems were small objects various inkind, such as the skin of a snake, a piece of the tail of a buffalo, apart of the horn of a buck, or a little packet of feathers. But everytotem was sacred, and it was handled with worshipful care. The chief putthem one by one into the medicine bag, which he handed to the temporaryleader, the first scalp-taker, who would bear it in triumph home.
Henry watched the proceeding with interested eyes. He knew the Indianway. In his early captivity he had seen the entire rite, which waspractically sacred. He knew that before these Wyandots had started onthe war-path every man had put his totem in the bag, and then WhiteLightning had carried it bound securely to his body. Whenever theyhalted the bag was laid down in front, and no one might pass it. Thewarriors, now on the war-path, were not allowed to talk of home, wife,or sweetheart, lest it weaken their hearts and turn them to water. Whenthey camped at night the heart of whatever animal they had killed in thecourse of the day was cut into small pieces and burned. During theburning no man was allowed to step across the fire, but must walk aroundit in the direction of the sun. When they laid the ambush, and the enemycame into sight, the chief gave back his totem to every man, and he woreit on his body in the conflict as a protection given by Manitou.
Henry noticed the rapt, worshipful air with which every man regarded histotem before it was replaced in the medicine bag. He was a child of theforest and the wilderness himself, and, while he knew that this wassuperstition, he could not find it in his heart to criticize it. It wastheir simple belief, the best that they knew, and here was the proof ofits power. They had suffered no loss in the ambush, while they had slaintwo and taken one.
The elderly warrior who now bore the medicine bag and who was to leadthem back home preserved a stoical face while the brief ceremonies weregoing on, but Henry knew that his heart was swollen with pride. He hadachieved one of the greatest triumphs of an Indian's life, and thememory of it would remain with his tribe as long as he lived.
"You are now our leader, O Anue (Bear)," said the young chief in Wyandotto the successful warrior.
"I take the trust, O Timmendiquas (Lightning)," replied Anue as hestepped back to the head of the line.
But the spirit and authority of Timmendiquas were still omnipotent,despite the formal leadership of Anue, and he turned to the prisoner,regarding him a moment or two with his piercing glance.
"You have come with the great white force up Yandawezue?" he saidinterrogatively.
"Yandawezue?" repeated Henry, who was not familiar with the Wyandottongue.
"The great river," repeated Timmendiquas, waving his hand toward thesouthwest.
"Ah, I understand," said Henry. "You mean the Mississippi. Yes, we havecome up it all the way from New Orleans, and we have a strong force,many men with many rifles and with cannon. We had a great battle fardown the river, and we defeated all the Indians and white men, theirrenegade allies."
Timmendiquas, the White Lightning of the whites, the great young chiefof the Wyandots, drew himself up in all
the majesty of a perfectlyproportioned six feet three, and the fierce, Roman-like featurescontracted into a scornful smile.
"No Wyandots were there," he said. "But they are here, and with themtheir allies, the Miamis, the Shawnees, the Ottawas, the Delawares, andthe Illinois. You may be many, you may have cannon, and you may bebrave, and you have come up Yandawezue, but you will findOhezuhyeandawa" (the Ohio--in the Wyandot tongue, "something great")"closed to you."
"Ohezu--do you mean the Ohio?" asked Henry.
"In your language, the Ohio," replied the young chief with dignity, "butthe Wyandots had given it its right name, Ohezuhyeandawa, long beforethe white people came."
"I suppose you're right in that," said Henry reflectively, "but yourname for it is too long. Ohio is better. As for our fleet, I think, inspite of what you say, that it will make its way up the Ohio toPittsburgh, although I do admit that the dangers are great."
White Lightning merely shook his head. His dignity would not permit himto argue further with a prisoner. Henry regarded him with secretadmiration. He did not believe that the chief could be over twenty-fiveor twenty-six years of age, but his great qualities were so obvious thatit seemed natural for him to lead and command.
The chief stepped back into the line, Anue gave the signal, and the bandresumed its rapid march toward the northeast. So swift, indeed, was thepace of the warriors that none but the forest-bred could have maintainedit. They never stopped for a moment, striding on over the ground with along, easy step that was like the trot of a horse, and almost as fast.Nor did they make any sound. It was like the passing of so many ghostlyforms, phantoms flitting through the wilderness.
Henry noticed bye and bye that the pace increased. The legs of thewarrior in front of him worked with the speed and regularity ofmachinery. But no perspiration appeared upon the bare brown neck, therewas no evidence of fatigue, and Henry was sure that all the others weremoving with the same ease and vigor. He wondered at first at this newspeed, and then he divined the cause. It was to test him, and he wassure that some sort of signal had passed between Timmendiquas and Anue.
This was a picked band of warriors, there was not a man in it under sixfeet in height, and all were lean, but muscled powerfully and with greatshoulders and chests. They had an intense pride in physical strength andprowess, such necessary qualities to them, and they would show the whiteprisoner, large as he was and strong as he looked, how much inferior hewas to the chosen warriors of the Wyandots.
Henry accepted the challenge. They did not know his natural powers andthe perfection of his training. He answered them, stride for stride. Hefilled his lungs with the fresh air of the woods, but he kept hisbreathing steady and regular. No gasp, no quick breath should ever showthat he was not a match for them, one and all. His own pace increased.He almost trod upon the man in front of him, a warrior whom he had heardTimmendiquas address as Hainteroh (The Raccoon).
Hainteroh said nothing and did not look back, but he felt the strongstep that narrowly missed his heels, the step of a white youth, aprisoner, and he moved faster--a great Wyandot warrior could not suffersuch an indignity as to be crowded by a captive, one whom he hadregarded as a physical inferior. Those in front moved faster, also, andnow the second increase in speed had been caused by the prisonerhimself.
Henry had become for the time as primitive, as much a child of thewilderness as they. An ironical spirit laid hold of him. They would testhim! Well, he would test them! The inside of his chest bubbled withmalicious laughter. Once more Hainteroh, great warrior of the Wyandots,mighty hunter, taker of scalps, fearless among men, felt the planting ofthat vigorous step at his very heels, almost upon him. It would not bepleasant to have so much weight come down upon them, and it would be adisgrace in the tribe to have been trodden upon by a white prisoner.
A third time the line increased its speed, and a second time it was thecaptive youth who caused it. They fairly fled through the forest now,but the breathing of every man was yet steady and regular.
They came to a wide brook, almost a creek. Anue never paused for aninstant, but took it with a light leap, nor pausing an instant on theother side, sped on. The second man took it in the same way, thenHainteroh, and Henry, so close behind that the moccasins of the Wyandotwere scarcely twinkling in the air before the feet of Henry were restingwhere his had been.
Henry heard the light sound of the others behind him as one by one theyleaped into his place, but he never looked back. He was still pushingthe Raccoon hard, and a terrible fear was slowly eating its way to theheart of the redoubtable Hainteroh, chosen warrior of the Wyandots, thebravest of all races. Sooner or later this demon white youth would treadupon his heels. He could feel already the scrape of his moccasins, theineffable disgrace. He shuddered from head to foot. Such a thing couldnot be endured. He fairly leaped through the air, and once more a newimpulse was communicated to the line.
The way now became rougher, leading over stony hills, but there was noslackening of speed, the line remaining as even and regular as the linksof a chain, Timmendiquas from his position in seventh place looking nowand then with admiration over the heads of the men in front of him atthe captive.
They crossed the hills, entered the deep and tangled woods again, andsped on as few war parties had ever traveled. The miles fell swiftlybehind them, no one spoke, they heard nothing but the regular breathingof one another, and Henry did not yet see the drops of perspiration onthe bare brown back in front of him. The sun passed far down the westernarch. Shadowy twilight was already creeping up, the distant waves of theforest were clothed in darkening mists, but they did not stop. Anue gaveno word, and Timmendiquas, for the time, would wait upon the formalleader.
Henry, always keenly sensitive to everything about him, noticed that theair was changing. It was growing heavier, and it had in it a touch ofdamp, but so slight that an ordinary person would not have observed it.There was, too, a faint circle of mist about the sun, and he believedthat the beautiful weather was passing.
His mind returned to the broad bare back in front of him. The figure ofHainteroh was still working like a perfect machine, but the keen eyes ofthe youth saw the sight for which he had long been looking. Squarely inthe middle of that brown surface a silver bead was forming. The yellowlight of the low sun struck upon it, revealing clearly its nature andgrowth. Nor did it remain long alone. Brothers and sisters and cousins,near and then distant, gathered around it, and the great brown back ofHainteroh was wide enough for them all.
Henry enjoyed the sight. It appealed to the powerful, primitiveinstincts in his nature, and again the inside of his chest bubbled withsilent laughter. His wicked delight increased when a slight wheezingsound came to his ears. Hainteroh's breath was growing short. Now thewheeze at intervals became something dangerously resembling a gasp, andthere could be no doubt that Hainteroh, mass of muscle and mightywarrior of the Wyandots, was growing tired, while the prisoner, thewhite youth just behind him, seemed still fresh and strong, and wouldstep in Hainteroh's tracks before the latter was fairly clear of them.
Henry heard the same slight wheezing sound behind him, and took onequick glance over his shoulder. The face of the warrior next to him wasbedewed, but that of Timmendiquas was as cool and calm as his own. Itseemed to him that just the touch of a smile appeared in the eyes of thechief, as if he understood and appreciated, and the fleeting look ofHenry was not too brief to give back the smile. A singular bond ofmutual respect was established in quick time between White Lightning andhimself.
On sped the dusky line. The sun sank in a cloud of mist and vapors.Thick night crept up, broken only when heat lightning flared on the farhorizon, but Anue, bearer of the medicine bag, taker of the first scalp,honored among warriors, still led.