CHAPTER XVII

A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE

It was a period of awful suspense, and the two palefaces held their breath for a moment as they watched the scout keenly.

What was it that had attracted the attention of the Algonquin?

He stooped down and picked up something that lay upon the ground. It was a broken scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped or lost in some scuffle long, long ago, for it was thick with rust. He gazed at it for some seconds, turning it round, then flung it away into the forest. The next instant he ascended the hillock and disappeared, entering the camp.

Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and his friend, for the discovery of the scalping-knife had both arrested and deflected the course of the scout, when he was only a few feet away from the fresh trail of the two palefaces. Had he continued on his original course, he could scarcely have failed to discover the prints of their moccasins, and a very awkward situation would have arisen. The alarm once given, fifty braves would have been upon them within a minute.

The sound of voices now reached them more frequently, and it was evident from the commotion that was going on that some movement was imminent. Once the piercing cry of the hawk was heard to come from over the hillock.

"They're moving the camp, and that's the signal for the scouts to draw in. They'll be gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.

"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.

"No. We shall gain nothing by being too eager. Besides, we have still got several incoming scouts in our rear. We must keep closely to cover till they have passed."

This precaution was a very necessary one, for within half-an-hour no less than three scouts passed within a hundred yards of them, each going in the direction of the camp.

Another hour passed away, and the sounds they had previously heard became fainter and then died away. At length the trapper rose from his crouching position in the brushwood and said--

"Let us go!"

They now crept carefully through the long grass that partially clothed the hillock, until they could peer over the brow and obtain a view of the camp.

The place was deserted, for the Indians had gone and taken their prisoners with them. The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay about, also several broken utensils and a pair of cast-off moccasins.

"Whither have they gone, think you?" asked Jamie.

"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."

"They cannot have killed their prisoners, then, or we should have heard them, and there would have been traces of blood."

"See. Here is the tree to which they were tied. The thongs have been so tight that they have cut into the bark."

"Yes. That means that they will have to travel slowly, unless they kill their prisoners, for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet awhile."

The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun, which was now declining, and had reached the topmost branches of the trees on the western side of the forest; then he proceeded to examine the prints of the Algonquin moccasins, following them a little way into the forest for the purpose, while Jamie still examined the ground about the root of the giant elm-tree to see if he could find traces of blood.

There were several spots of blood about the tree and several splashes of it on the bark. There were also many deep cuts and gashes, and an arrow still remained fast in the wood about six feet from the ground, as though they had practised the same cruelties upon the lads that they had essayed upon the hunter.

"Only to think," muttered Jamie between his teeth, "that an hour ago both Jack and Young Eagle were tied up here, expecting a cruel and lingering death from their captors. What were their thoughts? Oh, if they could only have known that help was so near! Hullo! Where is the trapper? He has disappeared!" and the lad was suddenly awakened from his reverie by becoming conscious that the hunter was nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes' search he found the old man some little way in the forest, examining very keenly the trail of the Algonquins.

"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked.

The trapper still continued for another minute to examine the prints of the departing redskins, and then he said, speaking very slowly as though he had come to his conclusion only after much thought--

"They are making tracks for one of the streams that flows into Lake Seneca, where they have probably left their canoes hidden in the forest; then they will pass down the lake to the Seneca River, and from thence into Lake Ontario and thus to the Canadas."

"Then what chance shall we have of recovering the prisoners? Where can we overtake them?"

"Not till we reach the Seneca Falls, I fear," replied the trapper. "Some distance below the outlet of the lake there is a portage past the Falls where they must land to carry their canoes to the river below. That is the spot where we must surprise them. By that time the Eagle will be with us and some of his braves."

"That sounds all right, but what about the prisoners? I had hoped that something might have been done to rescue them before then," said Jamie.

"The lads are safe for another three days, at any rate, unless they attempt to escape, for it now seems more than likely that they are to be carried off to the Canadas."

"What is that picture that you are drawing, trapper?" for the old hunter had stripped a large piece of bark from a birch-tree, and on the inner side had begun to draw a few rough pictures. It contained a cryptic message in the Indian style of "picture-writing," by which these children of the forest spoke to each other at a distance.

It depicted the whole length of Lake Seneca, and the Falls in the river below, then a badger and a feather, representing the Grey Badger and Red Feather following up a trail, while a few wigwams ahead represented the departing Algonquins. Next a White Eagle making a swift curve towards the Falls completed the picture, and the message was complete.

"It is a message to the White Eagle, to ask him to make direct for the Falls and there to prepare an ambush for the foes," replied the trapper.

"Capital! He'll understand that, easily enough, when he reaches here at noon to-morrow."

"Yes. The meaning will be as plain as a pikestaff when he sees it. He'll probably be at the Falls long before us, for he'll travel day and night when he scents the game he's after. And now let us start, while the trail is warm."

The piece of bark was fastened to a tree, and they departed quickly. Night soon overtook them, and they camped for a brief while in the forest. A drink of water and a piece of bear's flesh, which they had brought from the Algonquin camp, sufficed for supper, and then they lay down to sleep, but Jamie thought that he had only just closed his eyelids when a hand was laid on his shoulder and the hunter said--

"Come! The dawn is breaking, and there is the promise of a fine day."

All that day they followed the trail; not without difficulty, for although in the soft soil of the forest the moccasins had left a deep print, yet at times, where the earth was dry and barren from lack of moisture, or where the redskins had followed the beds of the streams, wading in the water, the trail became difficult and the progress slower. There was also another danger that made them proceed with care. The Algonquins might have placed scouts in their rear, and at any moment an ambush might be sprung upon them.

"If only we could reach the canoes first and set them adrift, we could then delay and harass them," said Jamie.

"No! no! That would never do," replied his companion. "Our business is to locate them and then to make a detour, joining our companions at the Falls, without letting them discover our presence. Once they find that they are being tracked, the prisoners' lives are endangered, for to facilitate their progress they will kill the prisoners."

"See, here is a broken twig, and the leaves have scarcely withered, showing that it cannot be more than a few hours since they passed this way," said the lad, who was now keenly alert for every little sign that would guide them.

"Yes, and here is a deeper print in the soft earth, as though one of the prisoners had gone slightly out of his way to leave it for our assistance."

"You are right, trapper! That is the mark of the Young Eagle's moccasin, for here is the little patch on the left heel that he repaired but two days ago, when he had burned a hole in his moccasin by standing too near the fire. But look here! What does this mean?"

And a few feet further on they both stood still and gazed at several splashes of blood which had dyed the ground.

"The villains! One of them has inflicted a wound on Young Eagle, probably for snapping the twig, or leaving a footprint in the soft mould, which shows that they will be watched in future, and that we shall have no more signs."

"The wretches!"

"I hope White Eagle will not miss our trail, should he decide to follow us, rather than go direct to the falls," said Jamie, when the day had worn on into the afternoon.

"There is no fear of that. White Eagle is the greatest chief in all the Six Nations, and he could follow the trail of a humming-bird. Besides, look there. I have left him a trail that he could follow in the dark," and for about the twentieth time the trapper barked a tree with his knife in a peculiar manner, which evidently had a significant meaning for one who was versed in the secret code of the forest.

The ground hardened again now, and the trail almost disappeared, and sometimes failed altogether, so that a full hour was spent hunting for some hidden clue. At length Jamie exclaimed--

"Here is something, trapper! A broken file that Jack has purposely dropped to guide us."

"A broken file?" queried the other.

"Yes. Rather a strange thing to carry in the forest, but--but--he used it to sharpen his knife, and such things," said Jamie, reddening a little as he remembered the history of that little file in the old country. It was the one which had secured their escape from the lock-up two years ago, and Jack had kept it as a memento, saying--

"It has brought us luck once; it may do so again. At any rate, it is sure to be useful, and I will keep it."

The hunter carefully examined the file, and then passed it over to his friend. He, too, remembered to have seen a file exactly like that once--long ago--in a little land across the sea, but all the secrets and memories that it recalled were painful ones.

"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it," exclaimed Jamie. "It's as good as following a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside, I do declare."

"Where did you say?"

"Burnside! In the old country."

The old man looked long and keenly at the youth, whose features were now so brown and tanned that he was more like a redskin than a paleface. Then he was about to speak further, but he checked himself, for at that instant, when they had only followed the newly-discovered trail for a hundred yards or so--

"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them that it pierced Jamie's beaver hat and pinned it to the bark of a tree.

In a second they had gained the shelter of a friendly elm, whose huge trunk offered cover for them both. Scarcely had they done so when--

"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a third, both perilously near.

"I can see him, trapper," whispered Jamie, as he caught sight of a dark shadow behind a tree fifty yards away, just as the third winged messenger whizzed by.

The trapper had seen that dark form too, and had covered it with his rifle, but he hesitated to fire, and looked behind him uneasily once or twice, as though conscious that some one was advancing from the rear. Were they trapped? Had the stalkers themselves been stalked?

He was not mistaken, for a dark figure was flitting from tree to tree behind them, and each instant coming nearer.

Who could it be?

"Keep your gun levelled at that red devil in front, lad. There's some one approaching from behind! Whether friend or foe, I know not, but I'll soon find out," said the hunter.

Jamie did as he was bid, and before long the opportunity he sought was offered to him. He caught sight of the Algonquin again. As he stood fitting another arrow to his string, his right arm was exposed.

"Bang!" a flash of flame spurted from Jamie's rifle. The leaden messenger found its mark, and the Indian's arm fell helpless at his side, even as he prepared to shoot. With a yell of pain the scout plunged into the thicket and disappeared.

The next moment a dark figure bounded from the cover of a tree in the rear and quickly advanced. The trapper had him covered with his rifle, but the instant he caught sight of his face he dropped the piece and said--

"Welcome, Swift Arrow!"