CHAPTER XIII

THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST

During their stay amongst the Iroquois, which had now extended over rather more than a year, the two English youths had gained the esteem and friendship of two young Indians, both the sons of the White Eagle. Their names were respectively "Young Eagle" and "Swift Arrow."

The former was a strong and supple youth of seventeen, sturdy as an oak, but as straight as a cedar. His brother, who was a year younger, had gained his title of "Swift Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot that he could overtake the swiftest deer of the forest with comparative ease. Both inherited much of the courage and fearlessness of their sire.

These four companions spent much of their time, now that the summer had come again, in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks together in the fastnesses of the forest. They became well-nigh inseparable. Many were the adventures and escapades, and many the dangers, too, that they braved in each other's company.

Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring stream, their canoe had struck a rock which capsized her and hurled all the occupants into the boiling surf. This was nothing unusual, but they were expert swimmers, and immediately struck out for the bank. Arrived there, the Young Eagle missed one of his paleface friends. It was Jack, who had struck the rock in falling and was rendered unconscious, and carried away down the stream. The other two, exhausted with their desperate struggle in the rapids, were hardly able to reach the shore; but Young Eagle, arriving there first, and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried away, immediately leapt into the boiling surf, and succeeded, after a desperate struggle, in saving Jack from drowning.

This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to repay the week afterwards, for in pursuing a wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had the misfortune to lose his footing, and when he attempted to rise the bear was just in the act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded frenzy; when Jack, heedless of the danger which he himself ran, rushed into the very "hug" of the wounded bear, and plunged his long hunting-knife into its heart. The bear rolled over upon them both, but the last wound proved fatal, and the huge monster lay still in death.

A dozen incidents of this nature had only cemented the ties which bound these friends together, and the English youths could scarcely bear to think of that near future when they must part from their red brothers, for much as they loved the forest, they felt somehow that their life was not to end here, and their desire to help their country, either on land or sea, during the present war with the French, which, though it had commenced on the continent of Europe, and had been continued on the high seas, had yet had its echo in the forests and backwoods of the North American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined to have its end there.

Once, during the latter part of the summer of the year 1759, they had been absent from their lodges for several weeks, hunting the shaggy brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and the wolf, for their skins, in that part of the forest which stretched far away from the head waters of their own streams to the Mohawk River, when one afternoon they suddenly struck a fresh trail, which showed the prints of moccasined feet.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who was the first to discover them.

"What is the matter? Is it the trail of an enemy or a friend?" demanded Jack. "By your demeanour I should say that you've struck the trail of a serpent."

"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian youth.

All four of them now got down to the work of examining the trail. Every bit of turf, every leaf or broken twig was carefully examined. Then they cautiously followed the trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles. At any moment they might be ambushed, if it should prove to be an enemy that had passed that way.

"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy, when we are so near the hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red Feather.

"Look! This no Iroquois moccasin," said the Young Eagle, stooping to pick up a worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads after the pattern of the French Indians.

They clustered round this piece of evidence, which seemed incontestable, for a rude attempt had been made to work even the Lilies of France on the discarded footgear.

When they had finished their scrutiny of this moccasin, one word broke from all their lips--

"Algonquins!"

But what were the fiends doing here, so far from the River of Canada? And how many of them had come from across the lakes?

These were the questions they set themselves to settle next, as they continued their keen search for any little trifle which might help to explain these things, for to the Indian the forest is an open book, and every twig and leaf may be a written page.

They followed the trail cautiously for another quarter of an hour, until they came to a spot where the footprints showed more deeply in the soft black earth, and after another careful examination, Swift Arrow declared that there were at least fifteen or twenty of the enemy, and that they must be a war party, out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of the Canadas.

"Look! This is not an Algonquin moccasin that has left this mark," said Red Feather, who for some minutes had been examining a footprint that was both broader and longer than the rest, and also of a different pattern. "Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it for yourself."

The young chief did as he was requested, and measured the print with the palm of his hand, and compared it with the others.

"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any of the other prints, as though the man had walked like this----" and here Jamie imitated the carriage of a man who plants his heels firmly on the ground when he walks.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from the ground. "My paleface brother is right. 'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."

"Not an Indian?"

"No!"

"Who, then, can it be?"

"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has left that mark!"

"A paleface?" exclaimed the English youths, raising their voices above a whisper, for the first time since the trail had been discovered.

"Then it must be a French officer who is in command of the party!" and this seemed to all of them the solution of the problem.

The trail was a fresh one, too, and the enemy could not be far away, so they immediately held a council of war, to decide what had best be done. But the sun had set and it was almost dark, and they were compelled to camp in a little bower near by, where the overhanging trees afforded them a secluded spot, not easy for an enemy to find.

They did not light a fire, lest it should discover their position to the enemy. In silence they ate their evening meal, which consisted of a little dried venison. Then they resolved to wait till morning before they followed the trail further.

"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young Eagle and Swift Arrow will watch," said the young chief.

"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for you'll never wake us till sunrise, and you must be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did more than your share in carrying the canoes at the portage."

"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an enemy is near. He feels not fatigue. Let my brothers sleep."

The English youths had to give way, for they had to confess that though they had learnt many things during their sojourn amongst the Iroquois, yet their sense of alertness and keenness of perception could in no wise be matched against these children of the forest. Soon, therefore, the young palefaces were fast asleep upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches, unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.

They had been asleep perhaps for an hour, when the cry of a night-hawk, followed by the howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance. On hearing these the Young Eagle gave a significant look at Swift Arrow, and without speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly pushed aside the branches, and disappeared into the forest in the direction of the sounds.

It was quite dark now, for there was no moon, and the stars showed but faintly through the thick foliage of the trees overhead.

An hour passed--two hours--but the Indian youth returned not. Had he scented danger? Was the enemy lurking near? Then why did he not return? Surely nothing had happened to him. The young chief noticed that Jamie's sleep began to be troubled. Once or twice he had murmured something in his sleep, and Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to close them, lest the sounds might betray them.

"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface brother," said the young chief inwardly, "for his sleep is still troubled."

The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled, and yet 'twas only a dream, that he had often dreamt before. His brain had often been puzzled as to why this particular dream should recur to him so often. He dreamt that he was a little bairn again, far away across the Big Salt Lake, in the Homeland; and that a rough but kindly man took him on his knee, and spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness. "Poor motherless bairn!" he said, and the tears rained down his rough face. But the little child, with sunshine in his bonny face, and laughter in his bright blue eyes, crowed and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's beard.

It was at this point that Young Eagle had placed his hand on the lips of his sleeping companion, causing him to start, and to open his eyes for an instant, but he quickly closed them again.

Then his dream continued, but it changed suddenly. Side by side with Jack, and his two dusky companions, he ranged the forest, hunting the bear, and trapping the beaver in his lodges of bark and logs, when suddenly they came upon an Indian camp in a little clearing of the forest, and there with his back to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was an old paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the hands of a band of cruel red men.

Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and not a cry of pain escaped his lips. A dozen arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree about his head and face, and although the coup de grâce had not been given, yet the blood flowed freely from several wounds. His lips were compressed, and not a groan escaped them, but inwardly he prayed to God that death might bring him release from this slow and cruel torture.

A fierce-looking chief taunted him with being a paleface snake, and a Yengeese, and urged his warriors to prolong the torture.

"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red blood in his veins, or whether he has the heart of a Delaware," he cried.

"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your warriors tremble at the sight of a paleface, so that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried the hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies to end his torture by a fatal blow.

"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese can bear pain like a red warrior."

"Your young men are squaws! Go tell your Canada Father to find them petticoats!"

This stinging insult brought a shower of tomahawks and knives about his head. One of them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the tree, but he bore the pain bravely, and smiling grimly back upon his captors, said--

"Let your young men come nearer, chief, so that a paleface may show them where lies his heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the fire-water of the Canadas, and they miss their mark."

The chief lifted up his hand, and said--

"The Great Spirit has given the paleface the heart of a red man, so that he fears not the hatchet and the tomahawk. Let us see if he fears the spirit of the flames."

A shout of hellish delight greeted this suggestion of their leader, and the Indians scattered into the forest to collect brushwood and dead timber, for an Indian delights in prolonging the torture of his prisoner.

Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet of the hunter, and the match was about to be applied, when the intense agony and suspense of the moment burst open the gates of slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and awoke suddenly.

The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up the eastern horizon. He sprang to his feet, immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself--

"Thank God! 'Twas only a dream, then! And yet it was the same face that I have seen so often in my dreams. What can it mean?"

Then he turned and beheld the Young Eagle and the sleeping form of Black Hawk, but Swift Arrow was missing. He forgot his troubled sleep in an instant when he remembered that Young Eagle had watched with sleepless vigilance throughout the whole night, and said--

"My red brother is too kind. He should have called me, and let me watch, while he slept."

"Hist!" remarked the other, rising suddenly, and holding up a finger to indicate silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst the bushes a few yards away. Both instinctively grasped their rifles, and stood ready for whatever foe might suddenly appear.

The branches parted, and Swift Arrow stepped quietly into the opening. This brave youth had spent the night in the forest, sometimes lying still as a log, at other times crawling and wriggling like a snake, or crouching like a panther. He had discovered the scouts of a cruel enemy, within ten arrow-flights of their present abode. He had done more.

He had succeeded in passing the scouts unobserved, and in penetrating to the very edge of the hostile camp. His unsleeping vigilance had saved the lives of his comrades, and he had even covered up his own tracks in returning to the camp, by taking a circuitous route and wading for some distance in the bed of a little stream, and had so well timed his efforts that he reached the camping-ground just as dawn was breaking.

Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he remained silent; though even Jack, who had now awakened, could see that he had something of importance to communicate, but he seemed already possessed of all the restraint of his tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a breakfast, which consisted of a little pemmican and hominy, which was soon finished.

"My brother has seen an enemy?" said Young Eagle, when the meal was over.

"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though he considered the news of little importance and scarcely worth the telling.

"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has seen?" said Jack, and then the young warrior spoke briefly and as follows--

"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising is an Algonquin camp, of twenty-four braves--and one prisoner...."

"And the prisoner? Who--what is he?" asked Jamie, remembering his dream.

"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend of White Eagle."