CHAPTER III.
OLD FRIENDS.
The discharge of the second arrow over the head and shoulders of NedPreston and Wildblossom Brown lent wings to their flight; instead ofcoming to a standstill, as they did a short time before, they bent alltheir energies to escape, and ran with the utmost speed.
In such an effort the advantage was on the side of Ned as comparedwith the negro, for he was much more fleet of foot, and, as aconsequence, within two or three minutes he was almost beyond sight.
"Hold on dar!" shouted Blossom; "dat aint de fair ting to leave a chapdat way."
Ned Preston could not desert the lad in this fashion, though it wouldnot help him to stay behind and share his fate.
But his own disposition and the training received from his father ledhim to reproach himself for leaving him even for so short a time. Hetherefore stopped, and called back--
"Hurry, Blossom; every minute counts."
"Dat's jes' what I am a doin'," panted Blossom, struggling forward;"but I never could run as well as you----"
At that moment Ned Preston, who was looking toward the African, caughtsight of an Indian close behind him. The warrior was in close pursuit,though the intervening vegetation for the moment prevented the youngpioneer from seeing him distinctly. Enough was visible, however, tomake his aim sure, and Ned brought his rifle to his shoulder.
"I hear de Injines! Dey're right behind me!" shouted the terrifiedBlossom; "get 'em in range, Ned, and shoot 'em all!"
Such a performance as this was out of the question, as a matter ofcourse, but the boy was determined to do his utmost to help hisfriend.
When Ned raised his gun there was but the single warrior visible, andthe sight of him was indistinct; but it was enough to make the aimcertain, and the youth felt that one red man was certain to pay forhis vindictiveness. At the same time he wondered why no others wereseen.
But at the very moment the finger of Ned was pressing the trigger, theIndian disappeared as suddenly as if he had dropped through the mouthof a cavern. The target at which the gun was aimed had vanished.
Mystified and astounded, Ned Preston lowered his piece and stared atthe point where the red man was last seen, as if he doubted his ownsenses. At the same moment a suppressed whoop was heard, and thewarrior stepped to view from behind the sycamore, where he had leapedto dodge the bullet of the rifle which he saw aimed at him.
Ned was in the act of raising his gun again, when he almost let itfall from his grasp, with the exclamation--
"DEERFOOT!"
As the single word fell from his lips, his eyes rested on the figureof a young Indian of singular grace and beauty, who, without regardingthe bewildered Blossom, walked forward to greet Ned Preston.
THE MEETING WITH DEERFOOT.]
Deerfoot the Shawanoe, at the most, was no more than a year older thanyoung Preston. He was about the same height, but of lighter mould, andwith a length of lower limbs and a suppleness of frame whichbetokened great natural abilities as a runner: when we add that thesecapabilities had been cultivated to the highest point, it will notseem unreasonable that Deerfoot's unequalled swiftness of foot wasknown to several tribes besides his own.
Although a Shawanoe by birth (which tribe at that day had theirhunting-grounds north of the Ohio), Deerfoot roamed through theforests south, and the exploits of the youth in running were told inthe lodges by the camp-fires of the Shawanoe, the Wyandot, the Miami,the Delaware, and the Cherokee.
His expertness with the bow and arrow, his bravery in battle, hisskill on the hunt, the fact that his mother was shot by settlers, andhis father was killed in the famous Crawford expedition, causedDeerfoot to be formally ranked as a warrior when he was only fourteenyears of age.
His deftness with his primitive weapons was no less remarkable thanhis fleetness of foot. Had he been living to-day, he would have takenthe prize at the annual archery tournaments, even though he used ahickory bow instead of the double-backed yew or lancewood, and hismissiles were made of the former material, with a single featherinstead of the three, and were tied instead of being glued in place.
The bow and arrows of Deerfoot would have made a sorry show amongthose of the fair ladies and graceful gentlemen at the archerycontests in these times; but those same shafts of the dusky American,with the keen flint or iron heads, had been driven by him with suchprodigious force that they had found the heart of the deer or bear orbison at scarcely less than a hundred yards.
Deerfoot therefore refused to use the rifle, but clung to the bow,whose use he began studying when he was less than three years old.
As we have said, the young Shawanoe, now no more than seventeen yearsof age, was graceful of figure, with elastic, supple limbs, and with aperfect symmetry of frame. When he smiled, which happened now andthen, he disclosed two rows of teeth as white, even, and beautiful,and free from decay, as ever existed. The nose was slightly aquiline,the eyes as black and piercing as those of a serpent, the foreheadhigh, the cheek bones slightly prominent, the whole expressionpervaded by that slight tinge of melancholy which seems to be thecharacteristic of the American race.
Deerfoot's costume and dress were those of the defiant warrior, whowas the implacable foe of the white man. His hair, as long, black andcoarse as that of a horse's mane, was gathered in a knot or scalp-lockon the crown, where it was tied and ornamented with eagle feathers,that were stained several brilliant hues; his hunting-shirt encasedhis sinewy arms, chest and waist, the ornamented skirt descending tohis knees. The whole garment, made of buckskin obtained from thetraders, was of a yellow color, the fringe being a deep crimson.Deerfoot shared the love of his people for flaring colors, as wasshown by his handsomely decorated moccasins which encased his shapelyfeet, the various-hued fringes of his leggings, the string of brightbeads around his neck, and the golden bracelet that he wore on hisleft wrist.
The red leathern belt, which clasped the waist of the young Shawanoe,formed a pretty contrast to the pale yellow of the hunting-shirt, and,a short distance off, would have been taken for the crimson sash wornby the civilized officer of modern times.
Behind this belt were thrust a tomahawk and hunting-knife, both keenof edge and terribly effective in the hands of the owner. The bundleof arrows was supported by a string passing around the neck, themissiles themselves resting behind the shoulder, the feathered pointsplainly seen by any one as they projected upward in front. In thisplace they were so accessible that Deerfoot, in discharging them at afoe or an animal, would have two or three in the air at the same time,there being what might be called a procession of arrows from the bowto the target, whatever it might be.
In the coldest weather, the youthful warrior gathered a heavy blanketabout his shoulders, which hid all his figure, from his chin down tohis twinkling moccasins. During the sultry season he occasionallythrew off his hunting-shirt, except the skirt, so that arm, chest andneck were covered only by the rude figures which the mother hadtattooed there by a most painful process during the days whenPa-wa-oo-pa, or Deerfoot, was a stoical papoose, tied to a flat pieceof bark, and swinging in the tree branches, or lying motionless on theground with limbs tied, and calmly watching the torturing operationwith the bravery which is a part of the nature of the dusky huntersof the forest.
The bow of Deerfoot was of seasoned hickory, the string was driedsinew, and the weapon itself was all of six feet in length; so that,in discharging it, he did not hold it perpendicular, as is the rule,but in a slanting position; in short, the young Shawanoe violated morethan one fundamental regulation in archery, but the fact remained thathe could spit the gray squirrel on the top of the tallest oak; hecould bring down the buck when leaping through the air; he had drivenhis sharp-pointed shaft through the shaggy body of the bison, and hadbrought the eagle flapping and dying to the ground when circling inthe clear air far above his head.
Two years before, Deerfoot was the most vindictive enemy of thepioneers, who had slain both his father and mother. While attackingsome settlers' cabins near Maysvi
lle, with nearly a score of otherShawanoes, they were surprised and almost annihilated by a party ofwhites led by Macaiah Preston, father of Ned. Deerfoot was wounded andtaken captive. He fought like a young tiger, and the settlers, whoknew his extraordinary skill and the injury he had done them,insisted on putting him to death.
But Macaiah Preston interposed, and would not permit it. He took himto his own home, and carefully nursed him back to rugged health andstrength.
On the part of the good Samaritan he was assisted by his wife and Ned,who formed a strong attachment for the captive Shawanoe. The youngbrave more than reciprocated this friendship, the sentiment ofgratitude being the most characteristic trait in his nature. He becamehenceforth the unfaltering ally and friend of the white race; from thebitterest enemy he was transformed into the most devoted friend, hisfervency, like that of Saul of Tarsus, being as extreme as was hisprevious hatred.
The better to aid the settlers, Deerfoot returned to his own people,and kept up the semblance of enmity toward the pioneers. He even tookpart in several expeditions against them, but all proved disastrousfailures to the assailants, and the youth did most effective servicefor those whom he had fought so fiercely a short time before.
It was of the utmost importance to Deerfoot that his true sentimentsand real doings should be concealed from his people; for whenever thetruth should become known to them, the most frightful death that couldbe conceived would be visited upon him.
The daring warrior believed his secret must be discovered; he believedhe would fall a victim to their terrible vengeance sooner or later;but he was none the less faithful to the settlers. He simply resolvedthat he would never submit tamely to his fate; but, if the aboriginessecured him for torment, it would be done by superior daring andsubtlety.
Thus it was that the youthful Shawanoe was playing a most perilous anddangerous part; but he had played it so well that not until to-day hadhe seen just cause to believe any suspicion was afloat concerninghimself.
The action of the Wyandots indicated that they preferred not to trusthim with their secret. It was the first time anything of the kind hadoccurred, and it could not but cause uneasiness in the mind ofDeerfoot.
It did not affect in the least, however, his course of action. He hadset out to befriend Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and it was hispurpose to apprise Colonel Preston at Fort Bridgman of the danger towhich his block-house was exposed.
"Deerfoot!" exclaimed Ned Preston, stepping hastily toward him andextending his hand; "I never was more glad to see you in all my life."
The handsome mouth of the Shawanoe expanded just enough to show thewhite teeth between the dusky lips, and he took the hand of Ned andpressed it warmly, immediately allowing the palm to drop from his own.
Then, without speaking, he turned toward Blossom, who, having seen howmatters stood, was scrambling rapidly forward to greet the youngwarrior, whom he knew so well, and who was the most valuable companionthey could have at such a time.
Deerfoot was left-handed by birth, but he had trained himself until hewas ambidextrous, and he could draw the bow, hurl the tomahawk orwield the scalping-knife with the right as well as with the left hand.
In no single respect, perhaps, was his mental power more clearly shownthan in the celerity with which he acquired the English language.When several years younger he was able to hold a conversation with thetraders; and during the short time he remained with Macaiah Preston,before "escaping" to his people again, he became so proficient that hecould readily act as interpreter.
"War dat you dat fired dat arrer at us?" demanded Wildblossom, as hecaught the hand of Deerfoot, who nodded his head, with just a shadowysmile.
The American Indian, as a rule, does not like the African race, and heoften shows an unreasonable prejudice against him. There seemed to besuch a distaste on the part of Deerfoot, but he concealed it so wellthat Blossom Brown never suspected its existence. He treated the negrolad kindly because he belonged to the Prestons, whom the Shawanoeloved above all others.
"I thought you war a better shot dan to miss us," added Blossom, withthe purpose of teasing their dusky friend; "your arrer neber teched menor Ned."
"Did it hit the buck?" asked Deerfoot, smiling a little moredecisively.
"Dat war 'cause you war so close to him."
"Deerfoot stood further away than did his white brother, who harmedhim not with his gun."
"That was because my rifle missed fire," Ned hastened to explain; "ifit was not for that, the buck would have fallen in his tracks."
"_This_ gun never misses fire," said the Shawanoe, holding up the bowwith no little pride.
"But it misses folks dat it am p'inted at," remarked Blossom, reachingout and giving Deerfoot a nudge in the back.
"Will my brother with the face of the night, walk a long ways in thewood and let Deerfoot send a single arrow toward him?"
There was a gleam in the dark eye of the young Shawanoe as he madethis request, and no doubt it would have proven a dangerous challengefor Blossom to accept. The negro himself did not notice the fullsignificance of the question, but Ned Preston did, and he trembledover the temerity of Blossom, who believed that Deerfoot felt asstrong friendship for him as he himself felt for the matchless youngwarrior.
Unsuspicious of the slumbering storm, the African lad fortunately tookthe very best course to avert it. Shaking his head with a laugh, hesaid:
"Dar aint no better rifle-shots dan masser Ned dar; and I'd radderstand up afore him a hundred yards off, and let him draw bead on me,dan hab Deerfoot send one ob dem arrers whizzin' arter dis chile."