CHAPTER V.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, hisweight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with bothfists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himselfready to use nature's weapons to his utmost ability.
He heard the soft moccasin press the layer of brown autumn leaves, andthe next moment the point of a knobby, painted nose came slowly in sightaround the side of the trunk, followed by the sloping forehead, thehideous face and the shoulders of the warrior, whose right hand was heldso far to the rear with the gun that it was the last to come into view.
As the Winnebago caught sight of the white-faced boy, his countenancewas disfigured by a grin that made it more repulsive than before.
"Oogh! brudder!--oogh!--Yenghese--"
Just then Terry Clark let fly. He was a lusty lad, and he landed bothfists, one after another, squarely in the painted face, with such forcethat the warrior was knocked completely off his feet. He went overbackward as though from the kick of a horse; but, contrary to the hopesof his assailant, he did not let go of his gun. Had he done so, theyouth would have caught it up and shot him before he could regain hisfeet.
The blow was most presumptuous, and would have insured the death of theone who gave it but for the intervention of the second Indian, whoseemed to take but a couple of bounds from the tree near which he wasstanding when he landed on the spot. The infuriated Winnebago was in theact of clambering to his feet, when he caught sight of the lithe,graceful warrior, standing only a couple of steps away, with loadedrifle pointed at him.
"Dog of a Winnebago," he said in a voice slightly above an ordinarytone; "if he harms the pale face, he shall die!"
There are some expressions so forcible that they can not be made moreso. The young Indian spoke in the lingo of the Winnebago, whose totem hehad recognized, but his posture, erect on his feet, with his cockedrifle in such a position that he had only to pull the trigger to sendthe bullet through the bronzed skull before him;--all this required nowords of explanation. The Winnebago grasped the situation, and, to usethe homely expression common at this day, he saw that the other "had thedrop" on him.
The Indian, though larger, older, heavier and stronger, was taken atsuch disadvantage that he ceased his effort to rise, and looked up athis conqueror with a helplessness so grotesque that under othercircumstances it would have caused a smile. Indeed, Terry Clark didindulge in a slight laugh, for he saw that it was safe to do so; theWinnebago was on the ground before his master.
"If ye want me to ring the old coow-bell, I'll be glad to obleege, forthe performance looks as if a little moosic would give tone to the same.Howsumever, I'll step back and let this good looking young gintleman runthe show."
Thereupon Terry withdrew several paces and watched the proceedings witha depth of interest that can be fully understood.
The look of the Winnebago, who was half reclining on his side,supporting his body with the hand that grasped his gun, plainlyindicated the question that came from his lips.
"Why does my brother look with evil eyes on the Wolf, who has come fromthe lodges of the Winnebagos? Are not all red men brothers?"
"Deerfoot is a Shawanoe, whose warriors have consorted with those of theWinnebagos; but Deerfoot has left his lodge beyond the Mississippi andlives alone in the woods. He will not hurt the brave Winnebago whofights men, but he slays the Wolf that bites the children of the palefaces, that have never harmed him."
Possibly the Wolf was inclined to argue the matter with the Shawanoe,who had caught him at such disadvantage; but the manner and words ofDeerfoot showed that he was in no mood for discussion.
"What does my brother want?" asked the Winnebago, in a voice thatproved all fight had left him. The most, indeed, that he ventured to dowas gently to rub his forehead and nose, where the fists of the sturdyTerry Clark had landed.
"Let the Wolf rise to his feet, but when he does so, his gun must lie onthe ground."
This was a harsh order, but there was no help for it; the Indianhesitated a moment, and then, black and scowling, he slowly assumed theupright posture, and, folding his arms across his chest, looked in theface of the bright-eyed Deerfoot, to signify that he was awaiting hisnext command.
"The Wolf shall now turn his face away from Deerfoot."
The Winnebago obeyed the order as promptly as if he were a soldierundergoing drill.
"Let my brother now raise his eyes, until he sees the beech with thewhite trunk," said Deerfoot, using the word "brother" for the firsttime.
The object to which he alluded was perhaps fifty yards distant, thelight color of the bark showing only here and there among the branchesand undergrowth that happened to be less frequent than in otherdirections. The Wolf signified that he recognized the tree to which hisconqueror referred.
"Now let my brother run; when he reaches the beech he can leap behindit, and it will shield his body; if my brother is slow Deerfoot may firehis gun and Wolf will never bite again."
The Winnebago wanted no explanation of this threat. It was hard for himto depart, leaving his rifle, but it was harder for him to lose hislife, and he did not hesitate as to the choice. He made one tremendousbound that carried him a dozen feet, and then sped through the wood likea frightened deer. When he had passed half of the intervening distance,he seemed to fancy that he was not making satisfactory time for theShawanoe, who, he doubtless imagined, was standing with leveled gun,finger on the trigger. He therefore began leaping from side to side, soas to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also offurther confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which addedsuch grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his headand made the woods ring with laughter.
"I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show."
Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment theWolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flintof the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the anticsof the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein ofhumor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed,but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyeswhich showed how much he enjoyed the scene.
The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and forthe first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have beenreassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear ofthe Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood.
By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the newarrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able tounderstand any of the words that passed between the two, though theiractions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. Buta person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feelotherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interferencewas made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached outhis honest hand.
"If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand ofyours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when hecatches the chills an' faver."
Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave himhis hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The youngShawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly.
"My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makesthe heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend."
"Ye were a friend indade, though ye'll admit, Deerfut, that I toppledover the spalpeen in foine style, now didn't I?"
"The Wolf who is a Winnebago, fell as though the lightning struck him."
"How is it," asked Terry with no little curiosity, "that ye, who are asfull-blooded an Injin as the Winnebago, can talk the English with almostas foine an accint as meself?"
"Deerfoot has lived among the pale faces; when he was a small child hewent with the Shawanoes to harm the white men, but they took himpriso
ner; they treated him kindly, and told him about God, who loves allHis children, whether they be white or red, or the color of the night;they showed him how to read books, and to make his name and words onpaper, so that others might read."
"Can ye read and write?" asked the astonished Terry.
Deerfoot smiled and nodded his head.
"Well, well, that bates ivery thing!" said Terry, who instantly repeatedthe absurd belief of many of his race, by adding, "I didn't s'pose thatan Injin could learn."
Without replying to the last remark, the Shawanoe, looking the ladsteadily in the eye, said, "Deerfoot has a message for Fred Linden; doesmy brother know him?"
"Do I know him?" repeated Terry; "I know the same better than I knowmesilf; he started wid me to hunt the coow, and I rickons that he can'tbe very fur away."
"He's coming," quietly said Deerfoot, looking off to the left of Terry,as if about to salute a new arrival. The Irish lad wheeled in his quickway, but his sharp eyes caught no glimpse of his approaching friend.