THE young Shawanoe smiled, shook his head and looked into the keen eyes before him.
“Deerfoot thanks his brother, but he never tasted of liquor and will die before he wets his lips with it.”
The amazement of the trapper was not without its humorous feature. He remained leaning toward the youth, his hand outstretched with the uncorked flask in it and staring at him as if literally paralyzed. Then he drew a deep breath, swung back and exclaimed:
“Wal, I’ll be skulped! You’re the first Injin I ever seed that wouldn’t sell his moccasins for a swaller of red eye. It gits me!”
Deerfoot watched him with amused interest. Jack Halloway held up the flask at arm’s length and surveyed it thoughtfully. Once he started to place it to his lips, but shook his head, then jammed the cork back in place (the screwed tops were unknown in those days) and thrust the flask into his pocket again.
“Ef you won’t drink with me, Shawanoe, I won’t drink afore you.”
“Let my brother do as he feels like doing.”
“Which the same is what I’ve done. As I was sayin’, I allers take a keg of the extract of happiness with me and manage things so it will last till I get back to St. Louis; but bein’ as I stayed longer than usual, I’ve come so near running out that that flask has got to keep me alive for some weeks to come. I tell you it’s powerful tough, but there’s no help for it. Every trapper or hunter that I run across—if I run across any—will be as bad off as me.”
“When my brother gets to St. Louis what will he do with his peltries!”
“Why, sell ’em, of course. What did you think?”
“He has a good many,” remarked Deerfoot, glancing at the piles on the ground near at hand.
“You’re right. It has been a good season, and them skins is vallyble. There’s one black fox that’s the same as a hundred dollars to me, and the rest will bring three hundred dollars more.”
“My brother has much money saved from his labor.”
“Much money! Not a blamed cent, though I orter have. Shawanoe, the biggest fools—I admit it—is we trappers, who spend winters in the mountains, freezin’, starvin’ and dodging redskins, and then travel hundreds of miles to git back to St. Louis, where we can sell our peltries as quick as a wink. Then we go onto a big, glorious spree, and at the end of a week or two haven’t enough left to buy a plug of ’backer. We loaf around, doin’ ’nough odd jobs to keep us from starvin’ till the weather begins to git cold, when we’re off for the mountains agin. And so it goes year after year, and we’re fools to the end.”
“Is my brother alone in the world?”
“Lucky I haven’t any wife or children, but I’ve got the best old mother that ever drawed breath. She has a little home which she manages to hold onto by takin’ in sewin’ and doin’ little fancy things for the neighbors, who be kind to her. If they warn’t I don’t know what would become of her, for I’m no good; I don’t deserve such a mother,” added the trapper with a sigh, “for she is never as happy as when I’m with her, and she’d work her fingers off for me. ’Bout all she does is work and pray, and never an unkind word to say to her good for nothin’ son.”
“By and by she will close her eyes and go to the Great Spirit, and when my brother walks into the little home she will be gone and”——
“Thar! thar! Don’t say nothin’ more!” interrupted the trapper with a wave of his hand. “I can’t stand it. If I go back home and find her dead, as I ’spose I shall some day, I’ll die myself; if I don’t, I’ll blow my worthless brains out, for I won’t want to live.”
“My brother longs to see his mother again. If he should kill himself or do wrong he will never see her more. Let him live right and they shall dwell together forever. Let him go back to St. Louis and drink no more. Let him give the money to the mother who loves her son and has suffered much for him. Then my brother will make her face shine with happiness, and she will live much longer.”
Jack Halloway turned his head and stared at Deerfoot for a full minute without stirring or speaking. The Shawanoe kept his gaze upon the fire, but he knew the scrutiny he was under, and he “waited.” When the trapper spoke it was in a low voice, as if addressing himself:
“To think of an Injin talkin’ that way to Jack Halloway! Why, I never had a white man do it; but his words are as true as gospel. Fact is, they are gospel.”
He relapsed into a reverie which lasted so long that Deerfoot gently interposed.
“My brother tells me that his mother prays. Does my brother pray?”
Jack started and again stared at the dusky youth.
“This beats all creation. Yas, I used to pray, but it was a long time ago, when I was a younker and bowed my head at my mother’s knee. I’ve been a wild, wicked scamp that ain’t worth the prayer of such an angel as she is. Shawanoe, do you pray?”
“Once when Deerfoot was a child he was as wicked as Satan himself; but he was made a prisoner by the palefaces. There was a good woman among them who told him about the Great Spirit who is a loving Father to all His children, and she taught him to pray to Him. Deerfoot prays to his Father every morning and night, and often through the day, and his Father always listens and does that which is best for him. Let my brother do the same. He will give him strength to drink that poison no more, and when he dies he will see his mother again.”
Again Jack Halloway asked himself whether he was awake or dreaming. He had heard in a vague way of the missionaries and their labors among the Indians. He had been told that there were some converts among the red men, but never until now had he seen one. Like most of his calling, he looked upon all Indians as bad, and therefore the implacable enemies of the white men. He had had more than one desperate encounter with them, and when he groped his way into the mountains it was always a contest of wits between him and them, with the prospects more than once against him. He looked upon them as he looked upon so many rattlesnakes, that were likely to be found coiled at any moment in his path.
And yet here was a full-blooded Indian talking to him better than he had ever heard any missionary talk. The trapper knew from the build, the alertness, the assurance of movement of the youth, and a certain something impossible to describe that he would be a terrific antagonist in a fight, but nothing seemed further from the Shawanoe’s thoughts. He talked with the persuasive gentleness of a woman, and in all his experience never had the grizzled trapper felt such an arrow pierce right into the core of his heart.
In a few simple words Deerfoot had drawn a vivid picture of that sweet, patient, forgiving, praying parent, waiting in her far-away home the return of the rough, profane, wicked son, for whom she was ready to sacrifice her life at any time, and, indeed, was sacrificing it to his thoughtlessness and indifference. Most astounding of all, the Shawanoe had held out a hope to him that he had never known of or in fact dreamed had an existence.
With that fine-grained tact which was one of Deerfoot’s most marked traits, he refrained from breaking in upon the meditation of the other. He knew the leaven was working and did not wish to interfere with it.
Jack Halloway, the trapper, now did a singular and unexpected thing. Without a word, he rose to his feet and faced the stream flowing past the camp. The youth, who was watching his movements, saw him bring the flask from his breast pocket and swing his arm backward. Then he brought it quickly forward, striking and checking his hand smartly against his hip and making the throw known as “jerking.” The flask shot from his grasp and sped out in the gloom, falling with a splash that was plainly heard in the stillness.
“Thar, Shawanoe!” he exclaimed, facing about, “you’ve made me do what I never believed any man could, make Jack Halloway do. Now I’ve got to travel all the way to St. Louis without a swaller of the infarnal stuff. It’ll take two or three weeks, and I know it’ll be powerful tough, but I’m going to do it!”
Deerfoot had risen to his feet and, in a voice tremulous with emotion, he said:
“My brother has done well. He will never be sorry. The Great Spirit will make him strong, but my brother must pray to Him for himself.”
“Pray!” repeated the trapper; “that’s goin’ to be ’bout all I’ll do atween here and St. Louis, and I won’t let up till the good Lord does what you say, and what I know He’ll be powerful glad to do for such a miserable scamp as me.”
The next act of the trapper was as remarkable as the former one. He strode out to where he had sent the three horses, roused each and began reloading them and saddling and bridling his own. Suspecting his purpose, Deerfoot asked:
“Will not my brother wait till morning?”
“Not a minute longer than I have to. I’m afeard that mother of mine will die afore I can git to her and beg her to forgive and help me to be a half-decent man.”
Instead of protesting, Deerfoot aided in reloading the animals. Neither spoke while this was going on. When it was finished and the massive trapper had swung again into his saddle, he reached his broad palm down to his new friend.
“Good-bye, Shawanoe. May I ax you when you’re at your prayers to put in a word for me! I’ve an idee that the Lord will be more pleased to hear from you than me.”
“Deerfoot will never forget to do as his brother asks, and he is sure that all will now be well with his brother.”
“I’ll make a big wrastle for it. Good-bye!”
He struck his heels against the side of his horse, who, though roused from rest, moved off, followed by the pack animals as if they were a couple of docile dogs. They soon disappeared in the moonlight, but Deerfoot stood for a long time gazing thoughtfully toward the point where he had last seen the man who had come so strangely into his life and then passed out again.
“Something tells Deerfoot that his brother shall do well and they shall meet again.”
The Shawanoe, as we shall learn in due time, was right in this belief.
A soft rustling caused him to look round. The Blackfoot was standing at his side.
“My brother is late in awaking Mul-tal-la,” he quietly said.
“My brother did not need to be awakened, for he heard the words of the white man who has just gone.”
“Yes; Mul-tal-la heard all that was said by him and Deerfoot. The Great Spirit is pleased with Deerfoot.”
“Deerfoot prays that He will ever be pleased with him. He is striving to live so the Great Spirit will not frown upon him.”
Forgetting in his ardor the somewhat formal manner of speaking, the Blackfoot earnestly said:
“If you are not good, then there never was a good man. Let my brother rest, for the Great Spirit will watch over him like a father.”
The Shawanoe walked to the place vacated by the other and lay down, while the Blackfoot took upon himself the duty of sentinel for the remainder of the night.
As Deerfoot stretched out he recalled the singular disturbance heard earlier in the evening, and he shifted the enveloping blanket so as to allow him to rest one ear against the cool, damp earth.
As he did so he caught the same faint, curious pulsing again. It was more distinct and instantly drove all thought of sleep from his brain. It was as if thousands of feet were striking the ground, mingling, running into one another, and yet preserving a certain regularity that was puzzling to the last degree.
Because the noises were heard more plainly he believed that whatever caused them was drawing near the camp. Still the approach was slow, which it would seem could not have been the fact if the unknown animals were approaching. They must be following a course that, while bringing them somewhat closer, would carry them by on one side or the other.
The strange peculiarity already noted again presented itself. By and by the sounds grew fainter, as if the creatures, whatever their nature, were receding. This suggested the odd theory that they were traveling in a great circle and might again approach. Deerfoot rose and walked to where Mul-tal-la was standing near the resting horses, which still showed no signs of uneasiness. The Shawanoe told of the puzzle that troubled him.
The Blackfoot had not observed anything of that nature. When lying on his blanket it interposed between him and the earth, and thus shut out the almost inaudible throbbings that mystified his companion. Mul-tal-la now knelt and pressed his ear against the ground, Deerfoot doing the same.
Both held their position for some time and then rose.
“They are strange sounds,” remarked the Blackfoot, “but very soft.”
“They were a little louder when Deerfoot first heard them. They must be made by some animals that cannot be buffaloes.”
“No, the noise would be different. Mul-tal-la knows what they are, for he heard them when he came this way many moons ago and his eyes rested on the animals.”
“What are they?” asked the surprised Deerfoot.
“Wild horses,” was the answer.
The Shawanoe was astonished, for he had never thought of anything of that nature. He had heard rumors, as far away as his own home, of droves of wild horses that roamed over the western plains, numbering many thousands. Reports of the same nature reached him when in St. Louis. Some one had told him that when the Spaniards came to the Southwest, more than two centuries before, a few of their horses had wandered off, and it was from them that the numberless droves had descended.
You need not be reminded that this is a fact. A century ago enormous droves of wild horses roamed over the Llano Estacado and in northern Texas, to which region and neighborhood they mainly confined themselves, though many of them were met on the plains a considerable distance to the northward. It would not be strange if our friends came in contact with them, though not one had yet been seen.
Mul-tal-la said that he and his companion encountered a herd that was as numerous as the buffaloes that had lately threatened them, and at one time the two were in danger of being run down by the equine rovers. By hard work, however, they got out of their way.
THE camp was astir early. George and Victor Shelton were surprised when told by Deerfoot of the visit received the night previous. A trapper had called upon him with three horses, conversed for an hour or more, and then departed, and was now miles away on the road to St. Louis. The Shawanoe related nothing of what passed between him and Jack Halloway except to say that he was belated in leaving the beaver runs in the mountains and meant to lose no time in reaching his distant home.
The towering peak, crested with snow, showed to the westward, but apparently it was little nearer than when first descried in relief against the blue sky. Mul-tal-la said that instead of keeping on to the peak and the range, which was quite extensive, they would now swerve to the northward and make more directly for the Blackfoot country. The headwaters of the North Fork of the Platte were among these elevations, and the journey would become easier through flanking them, as he and his companion had done when coming eastward. The range, however, trended to the northeast, and they would have to cross it in order to reach the sources of the numerous branches of the Yellowstone and Missouri. Then the course would bend to the northwest, parallel to the great Rocky Mountain range, but always east of it. Remember that the names of rivers and mountains which I use were wholly unknown to our friends, who had to rely for their general knowledge upon the information given by the observant Blackfoot.
The morning meal finished, and animals having been saddled and the packs replaced, Deerfoot, declining all offers to ride, asked George Shelton to loan him his spyglass for a few minutes. He pointed the instrument to the south, and stood for some time closely studying the horizon, for the sky was bright, and in the clear air his vision, thus aided, reached for a long distance.
It was apparent to his friends that he had discovered something of interest. They peered in the same direction, but without seeing anything except the monotonous undulations of the grassy plain. Not a tree, not a mountain, nor any prominent object was in sight.
Still it was evident that the Shawanoe was interested. Finally he handed the glass to George, who was in the saddle on the back of Jack.
“Let my brother tell me what he sees,” he quietly remarked.
The boy leveled the instrument and a moment later exclaimed:
“Horses! There are ten hundred thousand of them!”
“Deerfoot fears his brother has not counted right,” remarked the Shawanoe.
“I may be two or three out of the way,” replied the lad, “but I never before saw so many.”
He passed the glass to the impatient Victor, who took his turn at scanning the remarkable scene. Mul-tal-la sat as immobile as a statue on his horse, calmly waiting for the others to complete their scrutiny. His eyes were turned to the south, and the slight wrinkling of his cheeks showed that he was looking hard, though there was no other evidence of concern. Victor added his expressions of astonishment to those of his brother, and handed the instrument to the Blackfoot, who, of course, had learned its use long before. Thus the round of observation was finished.
That George had been extravagant in his estimate became clear when it was agreed that the drove of wild horses numbered perhaps two or three hundred. They were coming at an easy canter in a direct line for the camp, so that in a short time all were in plain sight of the unaided eye. No doubt they had wandered northward from the plains of Upper Texas—as it is now called—tempted by the fine pasturage, and possibly by that longing for change which sometimes shows itself in a quadruped to a hardly less degree than in a biped.
The picturesque scene did not make our friends lose sight of their own situation as regarded these wild animals. If they chose they could overrun the camp and trample all to death as the stampeded bison threatened to do but a short time before. Would they do so?
Mul-tal-la, whose previous experience gave him greater knowledge, did not think he and his companions were in special danger. Wild horses were not disposed to attack travelers, though there was a possibility of their doing so if provoked or if strangers got in their path or annoyed them. He warned his friends to watch against their own horses dashing out and joining the drove, though even if they did so they were liable to harm by the others, who were likely to resent such an intrusion.
The domestic horses were only a few minutes behind their owners in discovering the strangers’ approach. They showed considerable excitement, throwing up their heads, snuffing the air and staring affrightedly to the south. Only one, however, betrayed a disposition to make closer acquaintance with his wild brethren. It was Zigzag, who broke into a sudden awkward gallop, heading directly for them.
But he had time to go only a few paces when Deerfoot leaped in front of him, seized the rope halter and whirled him around with no gentle force. The horse persisted, but the youth spoke sharply, slapped the side of his head, and Mul-tal-la, who was the only one of the company that had provided himself with a switch, brought it down about the head and neck of the stubborn creature with a vicious vigor that quickly subdued him. Zigzag would have cut a fine figure in bouncing about among the wild animals with his huge pack on his back. Meanwhile a close watch was kept on the others, who could not fail to be impressed by the object lesson that had just been given them.
The drove maintained their easy swinging gallop until within two or three hundred yards. They had acted as if unaware of the little group drawn up on the prairie and scrutinizing them. Then the canter dropped to a trot, and then to a walk, the varying movements when these changes took place adding to the novelty of the picture. Among the horses were piebalds, roans, grays, sorrels and several of a milk-white color. The undulating bodies, with their different tints, were like the changing figures of the biograph.
Deerfoot explained to the boys that nothing was to be done unless the wild creatures continued to advance and showed a purpose to attack. At the proper moment he would give the word and they would fire into them, relying upon bringing down a number and stampeding the herd. Each of the party sat or stood, rifle in hand, awaiting the order from their leader, and closely watching every action of the wild horses, ready to let fly the instant it became necessary.
All at once, as if in obedience to a word of command, the herd paused, threw up their heads and stared at the small group. Several whinnied and showed excitement, for the sight must have been wholly new, and if they were not alarmed they were mystified.
Bug, Jack and Prince behaved better than was expected. They were in a tremor and plainly frightened, but remained under control. Zigzag seemed to be meditating some coup, but Deerfoot stood within a pace of his head, and was prepared to check anything of that nature. The animal had enough sense not to invite any more punishment, and remained still.
But previous to this, all had noticed the most striking feature of the exhibition. The drove was under the lead of a stallion that was the most superb steed upon which any of the travelers had ever looked. He was of large size, of a glossy coal-black color, and had a long flowing mane and a tail that reached almost to the ground. With head erect and every limb and movement the picture of beauty, grace and strength, he was impressively perfect. The sight was one to hold a spectator spellbound with admiration. Even Deerfoot forgot for a moment the situation of himself and companions in his wonder at the picture before him.
Perhaps you know that the roving bands of wild horses are generally under the leadership of a stallion who has attained the honor by beating off all rivals, and who retains his supreme power until, as his years increase and his prowess declines, some younger aspirant dethrones him and takes his place as king. As commander-in-chief of his equine army, the stallion must be of unflinching courage and game to the death. No band of wolves, no matter how numerous, dare attack the compact body under his leadership, nor indeed need the horses fear any marauder of the plains, for with such an example of knightly dauntlessness ever before them, their heels and teeth are impregnable.
Like obedient soldiers, the members of the herd stood motionless, with heads raised, snuffing the air and gazing at the strange creatures, three of whom were astride of members of their own species, and one afoot; and, like an officer who will not permit a subaltern or private to assume a risk that he fears to take himself, the stallion of midnight blackness now advanced, as if to call the strangers to account.
He came forward at a measured deliberate walk, head high in air, tail sweeping near the ground, mane falling low, with his silken ears thrust forward, eyes glowing, and indulging in a peculiar flirting of his nose, as if he sought thereby to sharpen his perceptions. The mouth was partly open, and it was clear that he did not feel quite at ease in thus approaching the strange group. But the eyes of his subjects were upon him, and he would die before faltering in the face of an enemy. So he came on, with a step that was the more impressive because it was so slow, so deliberate and yet so unhesitating.
While Mul-tal-la, George and Victor Shelton were studying him with absorbing intentness, Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, became an actor in the extraordinary drama.
His position was slightly in advance of his friends. He now handed his rifle to Mul-tal-la and coolly walked forward toward the stallion. His arms were hanging at his side, and his step was timed to that of the horse, so that it was as if both were marching to the tap of the same drum. His action centered the eyes of all the animals of both parties as well as those of his friends upon him.
When this singular performance began less than fifty paces separated the Shawanoe and the equine chief. The approach continued until half the interval was passed, when the stallion paused. Evidently he was not clear as to the meaning of the youth’s conduct. The latter slowed his pace, but did not stop. The horse raised his head higher, flirted his nose, flinging a speck of foam over his black breast. Probably, had the two been alone, he would have retreated, for there was something uncanny in the advance of the Shawanoe, but he remembered that the eyes of his own soldiers were upon him, and he could not show the white feather. Possibly, too, he understood that his enemy, as he regarded him, was without any formidable weapon with which to defend himself. The next action of the brute gave reasonableness to this theory, for, after his brief pause, he resumed his approach at a brisker step than before.
Deerfoot now stood still and awaited his coming, his arms still at his side, but with all his muscles, nerves and senses strung to the highest tension. The stallion meant to fight him, and the youth was waiting for the battle to open.
Mul-tal-la hardly breathed, so intense was his interest, but he held his bow and arrow ready to launch the missile if it should become necessary to save his friend. The brothers would have shot the stallion without further delay had they dared to do so, but they could only imitate the Blackfoot—hold themselves ready to interfere at the critical moment. They could not run the risk of offending their friend by interposing until the necessity arose.
A Battle Royal.
The black steed advanced with a more confident step, and Deerfoot stood as if he were a figure carved in stone. Then, when they were within a step or two, the stallion thrust forward his head, and his white teeth were seen to gleam as he made a vicious snap at the face of the youth. The latter recoiled just enough to escape the bite, and with the flat of his hand smote the side of the nose with a vigor that must have given a sharp tingle to the horse. With a neigh of rage he instantly reared and savagely pawed the air with his front hoofs. He struck at the Shawanoe, who leaped slightly back to avoid the feet, which, had they landed, would have cloven his skull in twain. Then he ran swiftly for a few paces and with a single bound rose like a bird in air and dropped astride of the satin back.
“Now throw Deerfoot if you can!” he shouted. Then he called to his dazed friends:
“Leave us alone!”
Who can imagine the rage of the stallion when he found that a man was on his back? It took him a few seconds to understand the mortal insult, and then his fury burst forth like the fires of a volcano. In his wild delirium he emitted a shrieking cry, such as his species sometimes utter when in the extremity of terror, and began rearing and plunging in the very desperation of frenzy. “Bucking,” as displayed by the bronchos of the West in these times, was an unknown science to him, but he seemed one moment to be standing on his fore feet with his flying heels kicking vertically upward, and then, reversing in a flash, became upright like a man. Next he spun around as if he were a top, first to the right and then to the left, up-ended again, alternating with an abruptness that would have made an ordinary spectator dizzy.
Deerfoot held his seat as if he were a part of the brute himself. The luxuriant mane gave him a firm support. Sometimes he lay flat on the back of the steed, when he appeared to be trying to stand on his head, and the next moment was extended on his face and gripping the forelock. Then he was over the shoulders, and, in the same moment, astride of his haunches, but never once did he yield his seat.
While this battle royal was raging the other wild horses did a cowardly thing. Frightened by the struggle, whose nature they could not understand, they broke into a panic and dashed headlong to the southward. Had they possessed a tithe of the courage of their leader and gone forward to his aid, Deerfoot would have been doomed, but they basely deserted him in his extremity. What matter if they lost their despot? There were plenty of rivals to take his place. “The king is dead—long live the king!”
Again the stallion’s head went up in air. The right hand of Deerfoot gripped the forelock, and he seemed to hang suspended, so nearly perpendicular was the position of the two. In the delicate poise the slightest impulse was enough to throw the center of gravity outside the base. The Shawanoe gave that impulse by swinging his feet and body backward while supported by the forelock.
Over went the stallion squarely on his back with a thump that shook the ground. The shock was a severe one and by no means pleasant, nor was it what the brute had figured upon. He pawed the air, kicked and quickly struggled to his feet. The moment he came up Deerfoot, who had easily eluded the danger, sprang upon his back again.
Although he could not have forgotten his overthrow, the stallion reared once more, taking care not to rise as high as before. Standing thus nearly erect, his fore hoofs beating the air, the rider holding himself in place by twisting the fingers of his right hand in the forelock, Deerfoot leaned forward alongside the neck of the brute, and, reaching down with his left hand, seized the ankle of the stallion just below the fetlock, where he could almost span the limb.
The grip was like that of Damascus steel, and when the Shawanoe drew upward and held the hoof against the body of the horse, almost touching the upper part of the leg, because of the abruptness of the bend at the knee, it was as if the foot was imprisoned in a vise. The stallion, in his blind struggles, went forward on one shoulder and rolled over. Deerfoot was off again, and, letting the scared brute clamber to his feet, vaulted upon his back as before.
By this time the stallion was panic-smitten. Sweat was beginning to show, and his satin coat gleamed with new luster. Finding himself once more on his feet, he uttered another wild whinny and burst away over the prairie like a thunderbolt. It is not likely that he recalled the drove of which he was leader. If he did, he must have been angered by their base desertion of him, for he headed straight westward, and, when last seen by our friends, was running at his highest bent toward the snow-clad mountain, with the Shawanoe firmly seated on his back. George Shelton kept the glass to his eye till the two became a flickering speck in the distance and then vanished.
Deerfoot was well satisfied with the way things had gone and were still going. He had “cut out” the stallion from his herd, had mastered him in the furious fight, and, to complete the conquest, it was necessary still further to subdue him; that could be done only by allowing or compelling the brute to exhaust himself. The fight recalled his conquest years before of Thunderbolt, also a black stallion, on the other side of the Mississippi.
The heart of the Shawanoe glowed with admiration and pride in the magnificent creature whom he had resolved to capture and subdue. Never had he bestrode so matchless a steed, nor one with a more beautiful stride, as he flew westward like the wind. Could he be made a prize he would be worth a prince’s ransom.
Deerfoot therefore complacently waited for the stallion to tire himself out. It looked as if he would never do so, but there is a limit to the capacity of every animal. Mile after mile was swept under those rhythmic hoofs with no apparent slackening, but by and by the watchful youth noted a lagging of the gait. The pace was beginning to tell. Waiting until the slowing became more marked, Deerfoot struck his heels against the ribs, slapped the sweaty neck and emitted a series of striking war-whoops.
The stallion was off again as if fired from the throat of a columbiad, and maintained the pace for fifteen or twenty minutes, when he began falling away. The rider kicked, slapped and shouted, and the horse responded with another burst, which made the air whistle in a gale past the ears of the rider. The brute was reeking with sweat, but he struggled gallantly. He had flung many miles behind him and was good for many more.
The alternating slackening and bursts of speed were kept up till finally the sorely pressed animal was unable to respond. After several brave but useless efforts he ceased the attempt. He had done his best and could do no more.
DEERFOOT waited till sure of the exhaustion of the stallion. Then while he was still galloping in his tired way, he slipped from his back and, dropping to the ground, began running beside him.
The instant the horse felt himself free of his master he dashed off at the highest bent of his speed, as if determined to be rid of the dreaded one at whatever cost. You know what a wonderful runner the young Shawanoe was, and he now put forth every ounce of energy at his command. The sight was thrilling. The incomparable youth was making a race with the black stallion, and the exhibition was marvelous. Ah, if you could have been there with a camera to take a snapshot of the struggle!
Now, no man ever lived who could outrun a blooded or trained horse. It would be absurd for me to pretend that the Shawanoe youth, with all his marvelous fleetness, could outspeed a wild animal like the black stallion. It would have been idiotic for him to attempt it, unless his rival was so handicapped that a marked advantage rested with the biped. I have shown that Deerfoot possessed that advantage in the fatigue of the steed. Moreover, as I have made clear in another story concerning the young Shawanoe, he was able to keep up the exertion longer than a horse, and had proved it by running one down when each started fresh.
He had no fear, therefore, when he dropped off the animal’s back, nor did he feel any misgiving because, in the first minute or two, the stallion slightly drew away from him. The youth knew he could run him down, and he meant to do it.
The horse gained until he was fifty feet in advance. The consciousness of his advantage nerved him to the utmost. With head aloft and the sweat showing in foam where the limbs rubbed the body, he kept an eye on the fearful thing he seemed to have shaken off. There he was, a short distance to the rear, and a little to one side. The form slowly receded, but while the horse was doing his best it began to close the gap between them. The brute saw it drawing steadily nearer, with the resistless certainty of fate. The Shawanoe’s feet doubled under him so rapidly that the eye would have found it hard to see the twinkling moccasins. He was doing his very best, and you have been able to form some idea of what that was. Not the least remarkable feature of all was that Deerfoot did not seem to be affected in the least by his terrific exertions. He breathed no faster than when walking, and was capable of keeping up the tremendous run for a time that, were it named, would sound incredible.
Near and nearer drew the dreaded figure, and the stallion, if capable of such an emotion, must have felt the chill of despair creeping through his frame. But it was useless to fight against fate, and he put forth no further effort, even when the pursuer drew up alongside, and, repeating his remarkable bound, once more dropped astride the perspiring body.
Deerfoot now changed his treatment of the exhausted stallion. Instead of speaking sharply and beating his heels against his sides, he patted his neck, rubbed a palm gently down its side and uttered soothing expressions. It was hardly to be expected that the brute would understand this, for it was all new and strange to him, but the fiercest wild animal instinctively knows the difference between brutality and kindness. Something within the horse responded to these advances, and by and by he dropped to a walk and made no effort to unseat or harm his rider.
Deerfoot’s wish was to return to his friends, for they must have been left many miles to the rear, and, though they were quite likely to follow him, they must still be separated from him by a long distance. He therefore tried to turn the stallion the other way. This proved harder than he anticipated. He first drew the nose around, but the animal kept going straight on as before, even with his head awry. Then the youth slipped to the ground, placed himself in front of his charge, and flung up his arms. The stallion stopped, made a motion as if to bite him, and then, frightened by his own temerity, paused. Still he refused to change his course.
The Shawanoe was working patiently when the horse turned to one side, pricked up his ears and started off at a trot. The youth suspected the meaning of this action: the brute had scented water, of which he must have felt the need, and was hurrying to it. Instead of remounting Deerfoot ran ahead of the animal, and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was followed, broke into a lope which he accommodated to the speed of his pursuer.
The youth was right in his supposition. Not far in advance, in a slight depression of the prairie, he caught the gleam of water, marking where a small tributary of the North Fork flowed from the mountainous regions on the west. Increasing his speed, the Shawanoe reached the water first, and, stooping down, drank his fill of the clear current, which still retained much of the coolness of the elevated regions whence it came.
The stallion broke into a faster gait as he drew near, and pushed his nose into the stream beside the youth and drank his fill. It was odd, when he had finished, to see him raise his head, with the current dripping from his frothy mouth, and look earnestly at the youth. Had he been gifted with the power of speech he probably would have said:
“I have come across many queer creatures while roving the plains, but you are the queerest of them all. You don’t look as if you would stand any show in a fight with me. I’ve beaten many rivals and am ready to beat more, but you’re too much for me. I take off my hat to you, and now what do you intend to do with me? If I get the chance to lay you out, I’ll do it, but I’m afraid I won’t get the chance.”
The Shawanoe was on the alert, suspecting the stallion would try some trick after refreshing himself with water. In turning away from the stream, the head of the steed happened to point eastward, the direction in which Deerfoot wished to go. He again vaulted upon his back and the brute continued on that course.
What the rider feared was that the stallion would set out to find the drove that had deserted him. This could not be permitted, for it would ruin the plan the Shawanoe had in mind. He expected to have another battle with his prize, and held himself alert for it, but he was pleased and surprised by the docility of his captive. This may have been partly due to his exhaustion, or who shall say that the brute did not wish for time in which to formulate some scheme for overthrowing the being that had outwitted him!
Deerfoot kept up his caresses and gentle treatment of the prisoner. He strove to familiarize him with his voice and to win his confidence. He had proved he was master of the terrible brute, and the task was now to convince the brute that he was his friend. This was sure to be hard, and he could not hope to succeed for awhile to come.
They had traveled a few miles when once more Deerfoot slipped to the ground. As he landed he walked close to the shoulder of the horse and patted and addressed him as he would a child whom he loved. The stallion at first resented the familiarity. He shook his head as if displeased, edged away and finally snapped at the youth. The Shawanoe knew it would not do to let the animal forget who was master. So, when the black muzzle and gleaming teeth showed, he slapped his nose and spoke brusquely to him. This was followed by more caresses and soothing expressions. By and by the horse ceased showing resentment. Then Deerfoot remounted as before.
Thus the strange acquaintanceship progressed. It was impossible for the wild stallion to become tamed in a few hours, though we have professors in these times who conquer the most vicious beasts in less than a single hour, but sometimes the horses do not stay conquered. It can be said that the youth and horse became quite intimate as they journeyed together, and the youth had good reason to believe that ere long they would become friends.
As he had supposed, Mul-tal-la and the boys did not remain idle after the Shawanoe’s hurricane departure. Hardly had he vanished in the horizon when the three set out to follow him, pressing their animals hard. While it cannot be said that they were free from anxiety for their friend, they were not much alarmed. There could be no after-contest that would be fiercer than that which had taken place under their very eyes, and they had come to ask one another whether there was any situation in which the young Shawanoe would not be well able to take care of himself.
At every few paces George Shelton brought his glass into use and scanned the prairie in advance, not forgetting to bestow a glance now and then in other directions, for there was no saying what whim would control the black stallion.
“I see them!” suddenly called George. “They are coming this way!”
“Is Deerfoot on the horse?”
“Of course; you don’t suppose he would walk, do you?”
“I didn’t know but that the stallion was so tired Deerfoot would have to carry him,” was the innocent answer. “Let me have a squint.”
Victor and Mul-tal-la each descried the animal, but since he was in a direct line and held his head high it was some minutes before they could make sure that the Shawanoe was on his back. It was the Blackfoot who announced that he was riding the captured horse at a walk.
But Deerfoot had descried his friends before this, and he now showed his mastery over the animal by forcing him to a moderate gallop, which was kept up till the two parties had come within a few rods of each other. Then the stallion stopped and showed renewed excitement. It was due to the nearness of the other horses, whom he did not like, and he repelled a closer acquaintance.
Three of the animals were indifferent and displayed no curiosity, but Zigzag seemed to think he was excepted from the disfavor of the captive. He pointed his nose toward him, whinnied, and then advanced rapidly. Mul-tal-la was about to interfere when Deerfoot called to him not to do so.
The Shawanoe did all he could to quiet his horse, but with the light of mischief in his eyes watched the meeting between the two brutes. Zigzag came right on, with nose thrust out, as if he intended to kiss the other, who grew more and more displeased. Suddenly the stallion whirled around—his rider not trying to restrain him—and let fly with both heels, which, had they landed fairly, would have injured Zigzag, but a portion of the bulging pack interposed. Zigzag was sent backward for several steps, and so shaken that he was disgusted. The snubbing was too direct to be misunderstood, and he sullenly wheeled and rejoined his own friends, quite content to leave the aristocratic interloper to himself.
All four laughed, for there was a humanness about the whole thing that was amusing. The boys and the Blackfoot were delighted, while the expression of Deerfoot left no doubt of his pleasure over the prize he had gained. Many a wild horse had been brought to earth by the skilfully thrown lasso or riata, hobbled and mastered by the horseman who had his own animal to give him aid, but whoever knew of such a thing being done by a single person without help in any form whatever! And yet you have been shown that that was precisely what was done by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
Mul-tal-la quite overwhelmed his youthful friend with praise. Addressing him in the tongue of the Blackfeet—for he did not wish the boys to understand his earnest words—he declared that the feat was one that no other living man could perform. There were fine horsemen among the different tribes, and Mul-tal-la had witnessed many of their exhibitions of skill, but there was none to be compared with Deerfoot. The dusky fellow was specially ardent in praising the deftness, power and quickness with which the Shawanoe had thrown the wild stallion without bridle or saddle or aid of any kind.
“See the fellow blush!” said the grinning Victor to his brother. “That shows that Mul-tal-la is praising Deerfoot. I never saw an Indian blush, for it’s too much like a negro trying to do it, but Deerfoot can’t help showing his confusion.”
“There,” added George, watching the countenance of their friend, “he has told Mul-tal-la to stop, and he daren’t refuse. If I had half the smartness of Deerfoot I should expect to sit down and hear everybody praise me. They couldn’t help it.”
“I don’t know about that. I don’t wait for folks to praise me.”
“Because you would grow gray before they did it. Hark!”
Sitting astride of the motionless stallion their friend called:
“Will my brothers give Deerfoot a name for his horse?”
“Yes,” George hastened to answer; “call him Dewdrop.”
The Shawanoe shook his head. The inappropriateness of the name was apparent, even to the Blackfoot. Indeed, the proposer was in jest.
“I have it,” said Victor. “Make it Whirlwind.”
“My brother speaks with the words of wisdom,” replied the Shawanoe. “His name shall be Whirlwind, though it would not be bad if it were Thunderbolt, like the steed that was conquered many moons ago.”
THUS the noble black stallion was named. If ever a person felt proud of his prize it was Deerfoot, the Shawanoe. The wild horse had been literally cut out from the herd of which he was monarch and made captive by the dusky youth. The battle between the two was a fair one, and the Indian was the victor, and never was a more striking victory won.
Deerfoot, however, knew that his work was not yet done, though he had made fair progress with it. He must win the affection of the creature, or all that had been previously done would go for naught.
Since the Shawanoe never made use of a saddle, his blanket serving that purpose, and since also there was none at command, no suggestion was offered him in that respect. Victor Shelton, however, took upon himself to say:
“You will have to bridle him, and he will fight that.”
The captor shook his head.
“So long as Deerfoot lives Whirlwind shall not wear saddle or bridle. He shall be ruled by kindness, as all animals should be ruled.”
“Well, if anyone can do it, you’re the chap, but it will be as big a job as teaching him that you’re his master.”
The Shawanoe improved every minute. He continually spoke soothingly to the stallion, patted his neck and sides, and never lost patience with his restlessness. By and by the youth approached and in the gentlest manner possible spread his blanket over the glossy coat, not yet dry from the moisture caused by his determined fight. Whirlwind shied and for some minutes would not permit the liberty, but after a time suffered himself to be persuaded. The blanket was held in place only by the weight of Deerfoot, who bestrode it. Then, rifle in hand, he urged the steed forward, and he responded somewhat uncertainly.
One thing interested and amused our friends from the beginning. Whirlwind did not hesitate to show his contempt for the common horses around him. The snubbing given to the presumptuous Zigzag was no more marked than his feeling toward the others. Had they invited the rebuff, it would have been as decisive as the one described, but they knew enough to keep their distance. When cropping the grass at the noon halt, the stallion did so at some distance from the others, and it may be added that at night Deerfoot humored his aristocratic prejudices by allowing him to “flock by himself.” He would have nothing to do with any of his species, further than a captured prince is obliged to come in contact with his inferiors.
Toward Mul-tal-la and the Shelton brothers the steed was indifferent. While he displayed no ill will to them, he exhibited no special friendship. If they approached with caresses he permitted the liberty, but it gave him no pleasure, and he would have been quite content if they kept their distance and left him to himself.
It was different, however, regarding Deerfoot. No animal living is quicker to recognize his master, or to know when an incompetent has him in charge, than a horse. To his last day Whirlwind would vividly remember that desperate struggle in which he was thrown and subdued by the matchless youth. There must have been a feeling akin to respect, mingled perhaps with fear, toward the victor who had done what was never yet done to Whirlwind by man or animal.
This sentiment may be considered the foundation upon which Deerfoot set to work to build the friendship, the trust and the affection of the magnificent brute. It was a task demanding limitless patience, prudence, tact and skill; but the Shawanoe possessed all those virtues, and he called them into play. While riding in advance of his companions he set out to teach Whirlwind to understand and obey his commands. In this task he showed a peculiar shrewdness which I cannot help believing would not have occurred to another.
When he wished the stallion to turn to the right or left, he employed two methods. The pressure of the right knee meant that Whirlwind should turn in that direction, and of the left knee that he should take that course; the pressure of both knees that he should increase his pace, the increase to be added to so long as the pressure was repeated, the same as if he were pricking his sides with his spurs.
Now, all these methods are in use at the present day and have been from time immemorial, so there was nothing noteworthy in them. But Deerfoot had a word or synonym for each, as he had for several other commands, and which he taught his steed after a time to obey with equal promptness. These words were not English, but a mixture of Shawanoe and Blackfoot, accompanied by sounds that were original with himself.
His reason for adopting this plan was to prevent anyone else knowing how to control Whirlwind. It might come about that at some time in the future the animal would fall temporarily (Deerfoot would not allow himself to believe it could ever be permanently) into the possession of some one else. That person, not knowing the code of the Shawanoe and the stallion, would be at great disadvantage. The trick was worthy of the Shawanoe.
While leading the advance the youth held little or no communication with his friends; his whole interest was in the instruction of Whirlwind, and he gave his skill to that. The stallion possessed a fine grade of intelligence, much above that of the animals plodding behind him. Deerfoot was not long in discovering that his horse was pretending to a dullness that was not real. But the time came when the kind patience of the youth made its impression, and the steed responded with a quickness that delighted Deerfoot. Thenceforward his progress was so rapid that it astonished the Blackfoot and the boys.
The party were now journeying almost due north. The guide would have insisted upon this change of route had it not been made by Mul-tal-la, because he was not wholly free of the fear of the reappearance of the herd of wild horses which had deserted their chief that morning. A troublesome if not dangerous complication was more than probable in such an event. Every mile, therefore, that the travelers progressed made the meeting less likely, and, I may as well say, it never took place.
While there was no lack of pasturage for the animals, the men and boys were not always so fortunate. At that time the country through which they were journeying abounded with elk, deer, antelopes, wild turkeys, grouse and beaver, and the streams were stocked with pike, bass, salmon-trout, catfish, buffalo fish, perch and other fish, including a species of shrimp, yet these were not always within reach. Some of the game mentioned were scarce in one section and plentiful in another, and, although they often showed themselves in the distance, were often shy and fled upon the first approach of a hunter. Instinctively they feared man, and the raids of the Indians taught them lessons that were not forgotten.
When at noon a halt was made on the bank of a small, winding, sluggish stream that found its way into one of the branches of the Platte, the boys tried their luck at fishing. It need not be said that several hooks and lines were in their outfit. The couple were not rewarded with a single bite. Then Mul-tal-la took up the task with no better success. Finally Deerfoot was appealed to, for, as you know, the brothers believed he could do anything within the range of human possibility. He carefully baited his hook with angleworms and seized the occasion to remark:
“Mul-tal-la and my brothers are small children. They are slow to learn. Let them watch Deerfoot and he will teach them how to bring fish from the water.”
He whirled the line, weighted with a pebble, out to the middle of the creek, and was so confident of quickly drawing in some sort of fish that he did not squat down as the boys and Mul-tal-la had done. The three stood around and looked wishful, though had they not been so a-hungered they would have been glad to see the Shawanoe make the failure they had made.
By and by the boys began to make remarks:
“I like to see Deerfoot yank out the fish just as soon as he throws in his hook,” was the first observation of George, made within five minutes after the pebble had sunk from sight.
“He’s waiting to catch two at a time. He knows how hungry we are, and I shouldn’t wonder if he feels that way himself,” added the grinning Victor.
“Maybe some of the fish saw him throw out the line, and have gone off to bring up their friends, so as to give him a good show.”
“Don’t catch too many, Deerfoot. We don’t need more than fifty or a hundred.”
Mul-tal-la said nothing, but his teeth showed. He was enjoying the quiet fun. The Shawanoe acted as if he heard nothing. The line rested lightly in his fingers, which were so delicately poised that he was sure to feel the slightest tug or twitch, and he kept his eyes on the surface of the turbid stream.
Suddenly he gave a jerk and rapidly hauled in the line, hand over hand. When the hook came creeping out of the current the bait was gone, and no fish was in sight.
The brothers snickered.
“Did you ever know of meaner fish?” asked Victor; “that hook was fast in his gills, but he twisted it loose. It wasn’t fair. I hope Deerfoot doesn’t feel bad.”
“I saw something like the tail of a fish as he flirted off,” added George. “I guess he doesn’t know who is fishing—that is, who is trying to fish.”
Never a word did Deerfoot speak. He baited his hook with the utmost care, and in obedience to an old superstition which prevailed even at that day among fishermen, spat upon the bait before casting it into the water.
“Ah, that’ll fetch ’em!” exclaimed George, smacking his lips in anticipation of the coming feast. “No fish can refuse such a bait as that.”
All the same they did refuse it. Though the Shawanoe waited patiently for a full half hour and once or twice felt something toying with the hook, he caught nothing. Finally he drew in the line and wound it up.
“My brothers talked so much they scared the fish away,” he remarked. “We shall have to wait till to-night or to-morrow or next week for food.”
The dismay on the faces of the brothers gave Deerfoot his turn at merriment. They knew he was able to go a day or two without food and not seem to mind it. With them, however, it was different, but seemingly there was no help for them. They accepted the situation with the best grace possible, which was poor enough.
Meanwhile the horses were cropping the juicy grass, Whirlwind by himself and the others herding together. All had had a good rest, and the party now gathered together for their journey, which was pressed as before, Deerfoot in the lead, talking with and giving instructions to Whirlwind. The weather became perceptibly colder, as if from the proximity of the snow-covered peak and the lofty range of mountains that stretched beyond the limit of their vision.
About the middle of the afternoon Whirlwind showed a slight limp. It was so slight, indeed, that no one noticed it except Deerfoot. He instantly checked the stallion, slipped off his back and made an investigation. The cause was apparent: the left knee showed signs of swelling. That was the leg whose ankle the Shawanoe had gripped and imprisoned for a minute or two during the fight in the morning. In falling violently the knee had been injured, but to so small an extent that this was the first evidence of any such thing.
The hunters and trappers, when absent on their long excursions in the mountains and solitudes, were, of course, without the means of shoeing their animals, and it need not be said that Whirlwind’s hoofs had never been thus shielded. This was a small matter, for the protection was not needed. Moreover, the outfit of our friends contained nothing in the nature of liniment, ointment, unguent or even grease that could be used in an emergency like the present. Deerfoot was without any medicament that could be applied to the knee of the stallion. All he could do was to give it rest and leave the healing to nature. That he instantly decided should be done.
“Let my brothers go on. When Whirlwind is well Deerfoot will join them,” he said, addressing the three.
“How far shall we go?” asked George.
“My brothers will go as far as they can. Deerfoot will find them when Whirlwind is able to walk without pain. It may be one, or two or three days, but Deerfoot will have no trouble, for the trail will be plain.”
The Shawanoe and Blackfoot talked for a few minutes in order to perfect an understanding, and then the three rode off, leaving Deerfoot alone with Whirlwind, to whom he gave his full attention.
No mother ever passed her cool hand across the fevered brow of her child more lovingly than did the young Shawanoe fondle the sensitive knee of the mettled steed. The latter did not twitch or resent the caress, for the magnetism of the touch, its gentleness and the soothing words were worth more than any medicinal oil could have been. The soft, cool palm slid over the silken hair like the brush of down. The motion was always toward the hoof and never up the limb “against the grain.” Sometimes, while one hand was thus employed, the other patted the nose that was bent down in acknowledgment of the kindness.
When finally Deerfoot stepped back and straightened up, Whirlwind stood firmly on all his legs. Had his master called for it, he would have galloped off with hardly a perceptible limp.
But Deerfoot had no such thought. That knee should not be permitted to go into service until as strong and sound as the other. While the injury was insignificant, it was sure to become worse through unwise treatment. All that was necessary was to give nature a chance; she always strives to right such matters, and the most that medical skill can do is to help, and all too often the effort proves a hindrance rather than an aid.
The downy rubbing was repeated at intervals and did much good. Whirlwind showed his appreciation by lowering his head and resting his nose on the shoulder of the stooping Deerfoot, whose heart responded to the caress. He felt that they had become real friends.
Some time later he coaxed Whirlwind to lie down. The stallion was reluctant at first, for a horse dislikes to do this except when tired out, and then he is often satisfied with rolling on his back, but he yielded. Then Deerfoot plucked several handfuls of grass, cutting off the roots with his knife, and fed them to his friend, who ate probably to please him, for surely he could not have been hungry.
Now and then the knee was tenderly kneaded, and certainly improved, if indeed it was not already cured. When at last the chilly night closed in, the young Shawanoe lay down beside Whirlwind, so arranging the blanket that it covered both, and their bodies were mutually warmed by the contact. Physician and patient were doing well, thank you.
ALTHOUGH George and Victor Shelton parted for the time from Deerfoot with regret, it cannot be said that either felt any misgiving. There could be no doubt of the Shawanoe’s ability to track them all the way to the Pacific if necessary, for the trail would be plain except when they took to the water, which was not likely to be for a long time to come. Moreover, Mul-tal-la had said that little was to be feared from the Indians of the country through which they must make their way. Had the boys been alone danger might threaten, for most of the hunters and trappers who penetrated those vast solitudes looked upon and treated the red men as their enemies, and naturally were thus looked upon and treated in their turn.
The Blackfoot and his companion met with no trouble of this nature on their eastward journey. They were always able to make clear their meaning by signs, and the fact that the two belonged to the same race with the different tribes was a sufficient passport. It seemed reasonable, therefore, to believe that the presence of Mul-tal-la gave all the protection that could be needed.
The Blackfoot took Deerfoot’s place as leader, the brothers riding a little to the rear, with Zigzag plodding in his usual indifferent fashion. Just now the chief concern of the boys was as to how they were to obtain a meal, for the thought of going to sleep without food was intolerable.
To the left, in the direction of the foothills, they descried a half-dozen elk browsing; but the game were as timid as antelopes, without their fatal defect of overwhelming curiosity, and they made off long before our friends could get within range. Several miles to the eastward a dark undulating mass which covered hundreds of acres showed where another vast herd of bison were moving southward. Victor was disposed to ask Mul-tal-la to change their course so as to get a shot at one of the animals, but his brother urged him to wait in the hope of a better chance to bring down something edible.
An hour later this chance presented itself. Three graceful antelopes came in sight as the horsemen rode over an elevation. They were cropping the grass on the slope of a hill nearly a half-mile distant. George brought his glass to his eye and saw that the alert creatures had already caught sight of them. They were standing with heads erect and staring at the strangers, ready to dash off like the wind on the first demonstration or further move toward them.
“There’s our supper!” exclaimed Victor, as the three halted, for the Blackfoot was also interested in the sight. “I know they aren’t the best food in the world, but I’m too hungry to be particular. Mul-tal-la, how are we to manage it?”
“I will let my brother shoot one of them,” replied the Blackfoot, who, as you know, had caught Deerfoot’s manner of speech.
“That suits me. George, you don’t mind. It will be your turn next time.”
“I’m satisfied,” returned his brother; “but you must remember and not let your impatience run away with you. Keep cool or we shall have to go without supper.”
“Don’t fear for me,” remarked the ardent Victor, who slipped out of the saddle and set off without delay; “I know what’s at stake.”
Had he gone directly toward the antelopes they would have been off on the instant. Instead, he went back over the ridge just crossed, thus interposing that screen between him and the animals. By following this he could approach within a fourth of a mile of the game, and from that moment the utmost caution and skill would be necessary. His brother and the Blackfoot withdrew so as to occupy a position on the crest of the elevation, where they could observe the actions of Victor from the beginning and at the same time keep an eye upon the antelopes themselves.
The latter fixed their attention upon the point where the horsemen had first come into view, hesitating whether to break away in swift flight or to wait until they could gratify their resistless curiosity. George Shelton and Mul-tal-la had dismounted, and lying down in the grass, took care not to show themselves, through fear of alarming the game, for, if the antelopes should make off, slight chance of securing a meal would remain.
Meanwhile Victor was stealing along the ridge until, as he judged, he had reached a point nearly opposite the animals, who were a furlong distant. Then he crept up the elevation, whose crest fortunately was crowned with the same exuberant growth of grass that grew in the valley beyond.
So painstaking was he that his friends lost sight of him and did not know when he was at the crest of the elevation until the antelopes showed by their excitement that they had detected him. They had resumed cropping the grass, when all three abruptly raised their heads and dashed off at the height of their astonishing speed. A moment later Victor was seen running down the slope until a little beyond the base, when he dropped on his face.
Immediately after, while his body was screened from sight, he raised the ramrod of his rifle, with his cap on the upper end. The lower point was pushed down into the earth so that unaided it supported the headgear. He had improved on the method of the Blackfoot.
At first it looked as if this artifice had come too late, for the antelopes continued running. When first seen they were in a valley-like depression with a width of a third of a mile. They made a pretty picture as they skimmed up the opposite slope with their bodies showing in relief against the green background.
The cap, however, on top of the ramrod was so conspicuous that they were not long in discovering it. The three stopped, turned sideways and stood a few minutes gazing intently at the strange object. Then all three broke into a gentle trot toward it, keeping side by side most of the way. One of the trio had more sense or possibly more timidity than his companions, for he abruptly stopped and refused to go any farther. Strangely enough, the others showed no hesitation until within a hundred yards of where the boy, stretched out in the grass, was waiting for the moment when he could make his aim sure.
“I wonder if they ain’t twins like me and George,” was the whimsical fancy of the lad, as he watched the similarity of action on the part of the two antelopes. They had halted at precisely the same second, and now moved forward again, both stepping high and advancing with a curious hesitation which indicated the mental struggle between fear and curiosity.
One turned to the left and ran nimbly in a circle of several rods diameter, coming around and facing the ramrod and cap again, as if hypnotized. At the same moment the other described a similar circle to the right, returning like his companion, so that the two stood side by side, with heads raised, and stepped off again, as if keeping time with the signals of some one who had trained them to the performance.
Victor was impatient, but he had too much prudence to throw away the opportunity that he knew would come to him in a few minutes. When both animals were nigh enough for him to be sure of his aim he still hesitated, with gun pointed, hammer raised and finger on the trigger. He was wondering how much nearer they would approach. Surely, when they caught sight of him in the grass, their curiosity would vanish, and they would dash off in the very extremity of terror. He lay low and waited.
His plan was to hold his fire until the discovery should burst upon the antelopes and they wheeled to flee. This turning would give him his best chance, and he intended to shoot at the crisis of the change of direction.
One of the creatures paused, as if he had observed something that warned him to halt. His companion took three steps more and then halted, with head high in air and one foot lifted and poised like a pointer dog.
It was at this juncture that Victor Shelton bore hard on the trigger, for he dared wait no longer, though he had decided a moment before to fire as the animals wheeled.
To his dismay the hammer of his rifle did not descend. He pressed harder, but the iron claw which grasped the flint remained immovable. Then the truth flashed upon him. In his excitement he had only half-cocked his gun. There should have been three clicks when he drew back the hammer, but there were only two. In that position it would not obey the trigger, no matter how hard the pressure. It must be drawn to a full cock.
Without shifting his posture, he raised his thumb from the trigger guard, so that it passed over the hammer, and then pulled it back as far as it would go. It was at full cock, but in reaching that point it emitted a single click.
Faint as was the sound, it was heard by the two antelopes fully fifty yards away, and they whirled to dash off. At the instant that their sides were toward him, Victor discharged his gun and sent the bullet straight and true. One antelope kept on running, his head flung back, while he sped across the valley like a swallow on the wing. The one that had been smitten flirted back again and then came on a full run straight for the spot in the grass from which the fatal missile had been fired, as if determined to slay his foe before his own strength failed him.
“Great C?sar!” exclaimed the scared Victor; “I didn’t know an antelope was that sort of beast. I’ve got to get out of here mighty quick!”
There was no time to reload his weapon. Never did he leap to his feet and make off at greater speed than when he saw the antelope bearing down upon him, and it may be added that never did he run so fast as in going up the slope and down the other side, and then in a line for his companions.
At such critical moments a boy does not consider his duty done unless he does all he can in the way of yelling. The shouts that Victor Shelton sent resounding over the surrounding country must have reached several miles. He did not look behind him, for that would have interfered to a fractional extent with his speed, but ran with might and main, marking each leap by a tremendous outcry.
He expected with every breath to feel the antelope’s razor-like hoofs carve their way downward into his shoulders. That several minutes passed without such carving he accepted as proof that he was making as good time as his furious pursuer. If this was gratifying it was also surprising, for Victor had never been noted for his fleetness of foot, and he knew something of the fleetness of the antelope. He concluded that there was no telling what a boy of his age can accomplish in the way of running until the actual necessity for it arises.
All this time Victor did not forget to yell. But after awhile the expenditure of so much breath began to affect his strength. So he closed his mouth and gave his whole attention to getting over the ground in the best possible time.
Because of this cessation of his outcries he became aware that his brother was also shouting. Listening carefully, Victor was finally able to catch his words:
“What are you running for?”
“That’s a pretty question!” he reflected, “when he can see for himself that the antelope is determined to have my life!”
It occurred to the fugitive to look around and see how far he was leaving his fearful enemy behind. He was not in sight. He had not even come over the ridge, but had fallen before taking more than a dozen steps in the direction of the lad. This spurt was a blind, aimless flight, its direction being involuntary. The antelope would not have dared to attack the boy any more than it would have dared to assail a grizzly bear.
THAT night, after a bountiful meal, George Shelton quietly said to his brother:
“You remember, Victor, that you and I left home on the morning of the turkey shoot, telling father that we didn’t wish to stay and win the prize?”
“Of course, but nobody believed us.”
“I don’t suppose anyone did, but if you had gone into that foot-race against Deerfoot and Ralph Genther, neither would have had a show. I never dreamed how fast you can run till I saw that antelope after you.”
“See here now, George, what’s the use of talking forever about that? You would have done just as I did if you saw a wild animal coming down on you like a whirlwind, and just after you had wounded him.”
“I suppose I should, but I couldn’t have made the time you did.”
“I wonder whether Deerfoot will come up with us to-night,” remarked Victor, anxious to change the subject of conversation, and peering in the gloom to the southward.
“No,” replied the grinning Mul-tal-la; “you will see nothing of our brother for some days. He will not let Whirlwind use his leg till he knows he can’t hurt it, and that won’t be for some time yet.”
The camp had been made on the slope of the ridge, over which they had passed once or twice, and at the base of which meandered a small stream that finally made its way into one of the tributaries of the Platte, and so finally reached the Gulf of Mexico. Beyond this water the land sloped upward again. Thus it will be seen that our friends were near the bottom of a valley, covered with succulent grass, and showing here and there growths of willows and a species of alfalfa, whose bark sometimes serves animals for food, but owing to the small size of the growth itself the wood is comparatively worthless.
It was the turn of Victor to mount guard for the first half of the night. The horses had become so accustomed to the routine that, after packs, saddles and bridles were removed, they could be trusted to crop the herbage until ready to lie down for the night. Zigzag had gotten into the habit of nibbling much longer than his companions. Perhaps his teeth were not so good, but the sentinels had often observed him moving here and there long after his companions were asleep. George Shelton named his natural stubbornness as the cause, though the charge was hardly fair.
The night had progressed far enough for George to wrap himself in his blanket, for the night was quite cold, and lie down with his feet to the fire. The Blackfoot was not yet ready to sleep. Instead, he sat with his blanket around his shoulders and seemed to sink into a reverie. He remained motionless for a long time, gazing absently into the fire and saying nothing to anyone. At last Victor gently reminded him that he was at liberty to sleep while the boy guarded the camp.
Instead of lying down the Indian rose to his feet and stood for some minutes looking off to the northward toward the nearest stretch of mountains or the opposite side of the valley. It was as if he had noted something in that direction which interested him. He turned to the boy:
“Let not my brother fear; Mul-tal-la will not be away long.”
And with this remark he walked down the slope, soon passing from sight in the gloom.
“That’s a queer piece of business,” reflected Victor. “I wonder what’s the matter; maybe he’s seen some of his people over yonder and has gone to call upon them.”
However, there was no cause for misgiving, and the youth gave the Blackfoot no further thought, knowing he would return when he thought proper. Meanwhile the brothers need not fear disturbance from man or animal.
The weather was still clear, though the travelers had observed a heavy black cloud over the mountains, just before sunset, which threatened a downpour of rain, but the black mass was moving northward above the peaks and soon disappeared. The moon was near the end of the first quarter, and shed enough light for one to see quite clearly for a distance of fifty yards more or less. This illumination was steady, for not a cloud drifted across its face to produce the shifting shadows and alternations of light and obscurity which often mystified the man or boy on guard.
It had struck Victor more than once that whoever acted as sentinel was—for most of the time—wasting the hours that might as well have been spent in rest. Not once had anyone been in danger of attack from wild animals, nor since crossing the Mississippi had any Indians molested them. Moreover, he was sure that in the event of anything of the kind the horses would give timely warning. But Deerfoot had made the order, before leaving the young State of Ohio, that never was the camp to be left unguarded, and while he was with them the rule had not been disobeyed. It was useless to protest to the Shawanoe, who had a way of enforcing his views which no one dared oppose. No argument, therefore, had been offered, and that sense of honor which was ingrained with the twins made each more careful of carrying out the views of the “guide, counsellor and friend” during his absence than when he was with them. Consequently, Victor Shelton, resting his gun over his shoulder, began slowly pacing to and fro, after the manner of a veteran sentinel. His beat was twenty steps or so, and one termination brought him near where the horses had already lain down for the night. Rather it should be said that only three of them had done so, for Zigzag, acting out his queer disposition, was seen moving slowly here and there as he munched the lush grass. He was likely to keep it up for an hour or two, and the boy gave no heed to him.
A monotonous hour had worn away when Victor’s attention was drawn to the wakeful horse. He was standing with head raised, bits of grass dripping from his jaws, ears pricked, and staring toward the other side of the valley, as if he had discovered something in that direction.
“I guess Mul-tal-la is coming back,” was the thought of the lad, “and Zigzag hasn’t noticed that he is absent.”
But no Blackfoot came into view in the dim light, and the animal’s restlessness, instead of passing, became more marked. He threw his head still higher, looked more keenly and emitted a faint neigh.
“I wonder what’s the matter with him,” said Victor, turning aside from his beat and walking out to the animal, whom he patted and tried to soothe. To his astonishment he found the horse was in a tremor, as if scared by something he either saw or heard.
Victor turned his gaze in the same direction, but could discover nothing to explain the alarm of the brute. Then he listened.
From the direction of the mountains he heard a peculiar sound. It was a dull but steadily increasing roar, such as you have noticed at night when a railway train was first detected miles distant. The boy supposed it was a gale of wind, similar to what he had felt more than once since crossing the Mississippi, and, indeed, while still on the other side of that river.
But no sooner had he formed this conclusion than he was sensible of a difference in the sound from that which had come to mind. It was more intense and its volume was growing faster than he had ever observed before.
“I wish Mul-tal-la was here,” was the thought of Victor, who began to feel uncomfortable; “he would know the meaning of that, which is more than I know.”
He still believed the uproar was caused by wind, though of a more violent nature than any yet noted by him. A whirlwind, a hurricane, or what in these times is called a cyclone, may have been born among the mountains, and would soon be careering over the prairies with terrific might. If such proved the fact, Victor could think of nothing to do; for, though he and his brother fled, they would be as liable to run into the vortex or centre of disturbance as to be caught where they were.
His alarm, however, led him to hurry to the side of George and awaken him. The latter was on his feet in an instant, startled by the terrifying noise, which had aroused the other horses, who also arose and showed signs of fear. Before the two could exchange more than a few words the darkness was pierced by the voice of the Blackfoot from some point on the other side of the valley.
“Make haste, brothers! Flee to the highest land you can reach!”
“That means a cloudburst!” exclaimed George. “That is what the black cloud did. The valley will be a rushing torrent in a few minutes!”
The words were yet in his mouth when the roar of the brook a little way off was heard. The forerunner of the flood was sweeping down the valley and would be quickly followed by a Niagara of water.
The boys ran to the horses and began with desperate haste to make them ready for flight. The goods on hand were too valuable to be lost. Saddles and bridles were hurriedly adjusted in a slipshod fashion, and then both bent their energies to replacing the packs upon Zigzag, who won the gratitude of the brothers by acting as if he understood the danger and was eager to give all the help he could. He stood motionless while with nervous, trembling hands the two fixed the bulky bundles in position.
“It’s here!” called out Victor, who felt the water about his ankles and rapidly rising. “It won’t do to wait another minute!”
The horses were headed up the slope and all broke into a gallop, for the instinct of their species often surpasses the reason of man in such crises of peril. The lads ran alongside, slapping their haunches and urging them to greater speed.
It looked for a few minutes as if, despite their haste, they would be overwhelmed, for within two or three minutes after starting they were wading through the rushing volume that reached to their knees. Victor stumbled, and George, with a cry, caught his arm, believing he was about to be swept off his feet, but he recovered himself and plunged up the slope faster than before.
Nothing could have saved the boys and animals but the steady ascent which they made. A river was sweeping down the valley like that which wiped out Johnstown in the Conemaugh Valley nearly a century later. Few comprehend the appalling power of a great volume of water, which in the disaster referred to tossed locomotives about as if they were so many corks.
The moonlight showed the muddy torrent carrying limbs, trees and even rocks, tumbling and rolling together in one fearful swirl down the valley. The stream was already more than a hundred feet wide, and gathered width and volume with terrifying rapidity.
In a few minutes—though it seemed ten times as long—boys and horses paused on the crest of the ridge. They were now fifty feet higher than their camp, and the torrent steadily pursued them until within a dozen paces of where they stood. If it climbed that interval nothing could save them. They watched the rushing river for a time in silence.
“Is it coming any higher?” asked Victor in an awed voice.
“I think it is creeping up, but not so fast as at first.”
“Won’t it be safer to keep on running?”
“No; we shall have to go down into the lowland beyond, and if the water comes over this ridge we shall be caught.”
“And if it does that we shall be caught here.”
“It’s likely to pass round at some point above, and then it will be all up with us—it has done so!” added the startled George.
As he spoke he pointed down the other side of the slope which they had climbed. He was right; the muddy current had forked above and was flowing down on both sides of them. Boys and horses were standing on an elongated island which might be overflowed at any moment.
The destructive cloudbursts that sometimes break with cyclonic suddenness in the West are as short-lived as they are violent. It is impossible that it should be otherwise, for they consist simply of a sudden precipitation or fall of an enormous mass of water from the skies, which naturally hunts with the utmost swiftness for the lowest level. That found, the frightful flurry is speedily over.
It was with unspeakable relief that George and Victor Shelton finally saw that the torrent had ceased to climb the slope. A few minutes later they uttered a prayer of thankfulness when they perceived that the volume was diminishing and the margin of the torrent was steadily retreating down the incline again. All danger for the time was over.
“How is it that Mul-tal-la is on the other side of the valley?” asked George.
“I don’t know. He left camp soon after you lay down, telling me he wouldn’t be gone long. He must have had some business or pleasure to look after. I thought maybe he had gone to make a call on some of his people. It was lucky for us that he saw what was coming and gave us warning in time.
THE torrent loosed by the cloudburst steadily grew less and less, and at the end of two hours the stream had shrunk almost to its former insignificant proportions. The boys might have returned to the site of the camp and remained in safety until morning, but they had no inclination to do so. Indeed, it would have been hard to identify the spot, for the grass everywhere lay as flat as if a mountainous roller had pressed it down. Here and there could be dimly seen the trees, some shorn of their limbs, so that they were like so many logs, twisted and pronged stumps and, strange as it may seem, boulders weighing in some instances several tons, lay where they had been flung by the raging waters.
When no doubt remained that the danger was over, the bridles, saddles and packs were again placed on the ground and the horses set free. It was impossible to start another fire, since no fuel was obtainable, and the brothers sat on the ground, wrapped in their blankets and near enough to feel their mutual warmth. The shock through which they had passed drove away all inclination to sleep, and they talked and speculated until the gray light of morning glowed in the east.
Naturally they looked for the return of the Blackfoot, who had left them the night before. The valley, strewn with the debris of the flood, stretched out before them, and they gazed up and down its winding extent and across to the corresponding slope, but without seeing man or animal. Not the least striking feature of the scene was the carcasses of several elks and antelopes, while in the distance was recognized the brown, bulky body of an immense bison or buffalo. These various animals, doubtless with others that were not visible, had paid the penalty of being caught in the irrestrainable rush of the torrent.
That Mul-tal-la had met with any mishap was impossible, for it was he who discovered the nature of the peril before the brothers knew of it. The same recourse was at his command, for all he had to do was to make for the higher land, where he would be beyond reach of the wrathful waters.
But the sun climbed the sky and the longing, wandering and impatient boys saw nothing of their friend. Almost directly opposite and a fourth of a mile away was a mass of boulders, some of which had apparently been brought down by the torrent.
“It seems to me,” said Victor, “that something is moving near those rocks. Try your spyglass on them, George.”
A minute’s scrutiny was enough to show that Victor was right.
“There are several Indians,” said George, still holding the glass in place. “They seem to be looking at us.”
“Mul-tal-la must be with them. I suppose he is telling about his two companions.”
“I don’t make him out, for the rocks interfere. You try it.”
He passed the glass to Victor, and, as the brothers stood side by side, the second leveled the instrument at the group. At the same moment the red men came from behind the boulders and moved down the slope in the direction of the boys, as if they meant to call on them. All were afoot, and two were of shorter stature than the others.
With the help of the glass Victor Shelton gained a clear view of the faces of the whole party, who were dressed much the same as the Blackfoot.
“Mul-tal-la isn’t there,” said the surprised lad. “I don’t understand that.”
“He can’t be far off. He’s likely to show up pretty soon. Shall we wait for those Indians, for they mean to visit us—that’s certain?”
“I don’t see how we can help ourselves. If we start to leave it will look as if we are afraid of them, and, though they are on foot, they can overhaul us without trouble. No; let’s stand our ground. I don’t believe they mean any harm, but I should feel a good deal easier in mind if Mul-tal-la was on hand. It is odd that he and Deerfoot should be away at the time we are most likely to need them.”
The strangers came straight forward, and were soon so near that every face was clearly seen without the aid of the glass. The brothers learned that what they suspected was true: two of the Indians were boys, perhaps a little older than our young friends, and one of them was certainly taller. All were armed with bows and arrows, their dress being similar, as has been already said, to that worn by the Blackfoot.
George and Victor felt anything but comfortable. Previous experience warranted the hope that the Indians meant no harm, but for the time the youths could not be certain on that point. While the strangers probably would have acted friendly had either the Shawanoe or Blackfoot been with the lads, it was doubtful how it would be when they found the two alone. Place a party of lawless persons, no matter what their race, in a tempting situation, where they have no fear of any consequences of wrong-doing, and they may be depended upon to do wrong.
Had the boys been certain that mischief impended they would have warned the party off, but doubting and puzzled as to what was best to do, they waved their hands in token of good-will and awaited their coming as if nothing in the world could please them more.
The nearer the Indians approached the less the boys liked their looks. Their dress was shabby and their faces ugly. The taller of the dusky youths had daubed his face with paint at some remote period in the past, and enough remained to add to his repulsive looks, which were not diminished when his broad mouth expanded into a grin. His companion was not quite so tall, and was of broader and huskier frame.
The least repellent of the three warriors displayed some superiority in dress to the others. The hunting shirt had more fringes at the bottom; the dilapidated moccasins showed a few more beads, and he had three stained eagle feathers pointing upward from his crown, while neither of the others sported more than two. From these facts and a certain deference shown by the couple, George and Victor believed this fellow was a chief among his people. Furthermore, our friends were convinced that this particular redskin was the father of the boys, and I may add that in both suppositions the brothers were right.
“Howdy?” grinned the leader, who was a pace or two in advance of the others. As he spoke he extended his right hand to George, his long bow being in the left hand.
“Howdy?” replied George, taking the palm of the other. “I am glad to see my brothers,” he hypocritically added.
It was quickly apparent that none of the Indians could speak English. The salutation of the leader was the only word he knew. He made a response to George’s greeting, but it was unintelligible to the boys. He said something more, and, releasing his hand, reached out and took George’s rifle from his grasp.
It was done so deftly that the weapon was gone before the owner knew it.
“Why did you let him have that?” asked the resentful Victor.
“He took it before I had any idea of what he was after. Maybe he only wants to look over it.”
The chief held up the gun, inspected the hammer and trigger, squinted one eye down the barrel (and Victor Shelton never wished more fervently that the rifle would go off), pretended to aim at some target in the distance, and then, instead of returning the weapon to the owner, passed it to one of his warriors.
He next looked at Victor, and took two or three steps toward him. The boy retreated, shaking his head and griping his weapon with both hands.
“There’ll be a fight before you get this, you old scamp!” replied the lad, compressing his lips and showing his anger so plainly that no one could mistake.
The dusky countenance of the chief took on a dangerous glint and his black eyes twinkled threateningly.
“Better let him have it,” said his brother. “There’s no help for it.”
“He doesn’t get it without a fight. I won’t stand like a lamb and let him rob me.”
The consequences must have been serious had not Mul-tal-la, the Blackfoot, put in an appearance at this critical moment. He came over the ridge from behind the boys, proving that he had crossed the devastated valley some time before.
All the strangers turned their faces toward the new arrival, and it was apparent from the expression on the face of the chief that he recognized Mul-tal-la. They had met when the Blackfoot passed through this region the year before, though none of the other four knew him.
The chief seemed really glad to meet the wanderer. They greeted each other and talked for several minutes, as if they had not the slightest knowledge of the presence of the others.
“They act as if they belonged to the same tribe,” said George, who, like his brother, was closely watching the couple. “I wonder if these folks are Blackfeet.”
“I don’t think so. They are not dressed quite the same. They look different, and the home of the Blackfeet is a good many miles to the north.”
Victor was in a combative mood. He could not get over his anger because of the robbery they had suffered, not to mention the second one that impended. He scowled at the chief and then glared at the youths standing by themselves. The shorter looked back and grinned threateningly.
“I’d like to have a set-to with that imp,” said Victor to his brother. “Did you ever see a meaner-looking thing?”
And to show his contempt Victor deliberately doubled his fist and shook it at the fellow, who grinned and placed his hand threateningly on the haft of his knife at his girdle. When matters looked ominous it was the lot of Mul-tal-la to interfere again in the interests of peace. Turning abruptly, he said to the boys:
“This Indian is Black Elk, chief of the Shoshones. Their warriors sometimes visit the Blackfeet, and he and I talk each other’s tongue. Those are his boys, Young Elk and Antelope.”
“What does he mean by taking George’s gun from him? He was about to rob me of mine when you came up, but he won’t get it without a row.”
“Let not my brother be hasty,” said the Blackfoot soothingly. “Black Elk has thousands of warriors and can do as he wills with us, but he is a friend of the Blackfeet; I stayed for several days and nights with him when on my way through here a year ago. Because he is a friend, he will not do what he meant to do. He says you shall make contest with his two sons, and the two that beat shall own the guns. Are you willing?”
“Nothing will suit me better, if the fight is to be a fair one,” was the prompt reply of Victor.
“I am ready,” added George; “but can you trust these people?”
“Mul-tal-la does not know about the others, but what Black Elk says he will do, that he will do.”
“Well, what is his plan?”
The Blackfoot now turned and talked for some minutes with Black Elk, one of the chiefs of the Shoshones. Then the chief called his sons to him, and there was more talk. The dusky youths looked at the boys and grinned in a way that showed they were pleased over the prospect and counted upon making short work of the pale-faced intruders.
“I’m aching to get at that chunky chap,” said Victor, who for some reason had taken an intense dislike of the ill-favored youth.
“Maybe you will ache more after you are through with him. You must keep cool, Victor, or it will go hard with you.”
Mul-tal-la now addressed himself to the boys.
“Black Elk has made these rules: My brother,” indicating George, “shall wrestle with Antelope—he is the tall one—and, if he throws Antelope, then the gun shall be given back to my brother; but if Antelope throws him, then he shall keep the gun of my brother.”
Mul-tal-la was slyer than his friends had supposed. He had been in the company of the youths long enough to learn that George Shelton was the superior of his brother in wrestling, and indeed possessed no little skill in that respect. The Blackfoot was sanguine that the white youth could overturn Antelope. And yet he was by no means certain, for the Indian was taller and showed that he was strong and agile. Many red men pride themselves on their skill in wrestling, and have good grounds for doing so. Mul-tal-la warned George of this and impressed upon him not to throw away the slightest advantage he could gain from the very outset.
To prove that Black Elk meant to be fair, he compelled his son to lay his knife on the ground beside his bow. The youth carried no tomahawk or other weapon, and to reciprocate, George handed his knife to Mul-tal-la.
“I suppose I am to wrestle that other monkey,” muttered Victor, scowling at the youth.
“No!” replied the Blackfoot, with a grin; “you and he are to fight.”
“Good! that suits me to a dot!” exclaimed the pleased Victor.