Frank in the Woods

“Finally, some o’ the varlets yelled out my name – the rest took it up, an’ clouds of the warriors went scourin’ through the camp an’ over the prairy to find me; ’cause they knowed that whenever the ole man war to be found, I warn’t a great way off. It begun to get mighty onhealthy for me in them diggins, so I turned my hoss, an’ made tracks acrost the prairy. I rid some, now, I reckon, an’, in a short time, war out o’ hearin’ o’ the yells o’ the savages.

“As soon as I thought I war safe, I camped down on the prairy, an’, with my hoss for a sentinel, slept soundly until mornin’. I then started for the camp, or, rather, the place where the camp had been, for when I got there, I found nothin’ but its ruins. The Injuns had burned every thing they did not want or could not carry away, an’ made off with their prisoners. Their trail war plain enough, an’ I to onct commenced follerin’ it up, determined that I would either save ole Bill or die with him; an’, on the fourth day, durin’ which time I had lived on some parched corn I happened to have in the pockets o’ my huntin’-shirt, an’ war in constant danger of being ketched by stragglers, I seed the Injuns enter their camp. In course there war a big rejoicin’ over the prisoners an’ plunder they had brought in, an’ it war kept up until long arter dark.

“The camp, which numbered ’bout fifty lodges, war pitched in a small prairy, surrounded on three sides by the woods. The nearest I could get to it without bein’ diskivered war half a mile; an’ here I tied my hoss in the edge o’ the woods, an’ lay down to sleep.

“’Arly the next mornin’ I war aroused by a yellin’ and the noise o’ drums, an’ found the hull camp in motion. Near the middle o’ the village war a small clear spot, where the prisoners war stationed. They war not bound, but a single glance at a dozen armed warriors, who stood at a little distance, showed that escape warn’t a thing to be thought of. All except two o’ the prisoners sot on the ground, with their heads on their hands, as if they wished to shut out all sights an’ sounds o’ what war going on around ’em. The two who were standin’ seemed to take matters more easy. They stood leanin’ against a post with their arms folded, an’ watched the motions o’ the Injuns as though they war used to sich sights. One o’ these I picked out as ole Bill, but, in course, I couldn’t tell sartin which one war him, it war so far off.

“A little way from the prisoners were the principal chiefs o’ the tribe, holdin’ a palaver regardin’ what should be done, an’ a little further off stood the rest o’ the tribe – men, women, an’ children – waitin’ the word to begin their horrid work.

“It war nigh noon afore the council broke up; then one o’ the chiefs commenced shoutin’ some orders, an’ one o’ the prisoners was led out o’ the camp by two Injuns, while the rest o’ the varlets set up a yell, an’ armin’ themselves with whatever they could lay their hands on, commenced formin’ themselves in two lines; the prisoner, whoever he was, must run the gauntlet. While the savages war fixin’ themselves, the white chap stood between the Injuns who had led him out, watchin’ what war goin’ on, an’ I could easy tell what he war thinkin’ of, ’cause I had been in sich scrapes myself. I knowed that, as he looked through them long lines o’ screechin’ Injuns, an’ seed the tomahawks, clubs, knives, an’ whips, all ready to give him a cut as he passed, he thought of every thing he had done durin’ his life. But he warn’t given much time for thinkin’, for, purty quick, the chief set up a yell to let the prisoner know that the time had come. The chap didn’t hesitate a minit, but jumped from the place where he war standin’, like a streak o’ lightnin’. I see him disappear atween the lines, and made up my mind that that chap war a goner, when, all to onct, out he come, all right, and made toward the place where I war standin’. I guess them Injuns never see any thing done quite so purty afore, an’ I knowed well enough now who the fellow war, ’cause there warn’t but one man livin’ that could come through them lines in that way, an’ that war Bill Lawson. In course, the hull tribe, yellin’ an’ screechin’ like a pack o’ wolves, war arter him in less nor the shake of a buck’s tail, and tomahawks, bullets, an’ arrers whizzed by the prisoner in a mighty onpleasant kind o’ way; but Bill kept jumpin’ from one side to the other in a way that made him a mighty onhandy mark to shoot at, an’ the way he did climb over that prairy was somethin’ for owls to look at. But, fast as he run, I could see that there war one Injun gainin’ on him, an’ I made up my mind that if the ole man could hold out long enough to fetch him within pluggin’ distance o’ my shootin’-iron, I would put an end to his jumpin’ for awhile. Nearer an’ nearer they come, the Injun all the while gainin’ purty fast, an’ when they got within ’bout forty rod o’ me, I could see that the varlet war gettin’ ready to throw his tomahawk. I watched him until he raised his arm, an’ sent a bullet plumb atween his eyes. The next minit the ole man jumped into the bushes.

“There warn’t no time for talkin’ or sayin’ how de do?’ for the rest o’ the Injuns war comin’ up, an’ we must put a good stretch o’ prairy atween us an’ them afore we war safe.

“‘Bill, says I, there’s my hoss. I’m younger nor you be, so jump on him, and be off in a hurry; I’ll meet you at the ole bar’s hole, Good-by.’

“I didn’t wait to give the ole man a chance to say a word, ’cause I knowed that he didn’t like to take that hoss; but I made off through the bushes. Ole Bill seed that I war gone, an’ jumpin’ on the hoss, he rode out on the prairy in plain sight, to get the Comanches to foller him, which some of ’em did; but the ole braves, who had heered my shot, an’, in course, knowed that there war more’n one feller ’bout, couldn’t be fooled easy, an’ thinkin’ they could ketch a man on foot sooner nor a man on hossback, they kept on arter me. But I war fresh for a long run – a week’s travelin’ acrost the prairy on foot warn’t no new thing for me – an’ as I never see the Injun yet that could beat me in a fair race, I felt safe, an’ knowed that I should come out all right. I didn’t waste time in tryin’ to throw ’em off my trail, but kept straight ahead at a steady pace, an’ whenever an Injun come in sight, me an’ my rifle settled things with him in a tarnal hurry. This made ’em kind o’ keerful, an’ afore sundown I war out o’ hearin o’ their yells, an’ a greenhorn wouldn’t have thought that there war an Injun in them woods. But I war too ole a coon to believe that they had give up the chase, an’ it warn’t until the next mornin’ that I camped to take a leetle sleep, an’ eat a squirrel I had shot.

“Wal, I traveled for ’bout ten days, durin’ which time I didn’t see a bit o’ Injun sign, an’ finally found myself gettin’ purty nigh the ole bar’s hole. As soon as I come to the woods that run down from the mountain, I tuk to a creek that run clost by the cave, an’ walked along in the water, all the while keepin’ a good look-out for Injun sign an’ for ole Bill. Arter I had gone ’bout a mile, I come to the mouth o’ the cave. It war a hole jest large enough for a man to squeeze himself through, an’ so covered up with bushes that a feller might hunt a week without findin’ it. The cave itself war ’bout as large as this yere cabin; an’ right acrost from the entrance war a passage which led up to the top o’ the hill. Me an’ ole Bill had made this ourselves, so that, in case our harborin’ place should be diskivered, we would have a chance for escape.

“When I come to the cave it war purty dark; so, arter listenin’ awhile for signs of Injuns, if there war any around, I crawled along into the hole, which war, in course, as dark as pitch, an’ commenced fumblin’ around for a torch that I had left stuck into the wall o’ the cave, all ready to be lighted. Arter searchin’ ’bout for a long time I found it – not where I had left it, but lyin’ on the ground in the middle o’ the cave. This seemed suspicious, an’ I begun to be afraid that something war wrong. I hadn’t seed no Injun sign near the cave, neither had I seed any thing of ole Bill, an’ I knowed that that torch couldn’t get moved clear acrost that cave without somebody had been foolin’ with it. I reckon my hand war none o’ the steadiest, as I lifted the torch an’ commenced feelin’ in my possible-sack for my flint an’ steel, thinkin’ that as soon as I could strike a light, I would jest examine into things a leetle.

“Wal, I hadn’t made more ’n one blow at my flint, when the cave echoed with the war-whoop, an’ the next minit I found myself lyin’ flat on my back, with a big Comanche on top o’ me.

“When I first heered the yell, I thought the cave war full of Injuns, an’ I’ll allow it made me feel a heap easier when I found that the feller that clinched me war alone, for I knowed that if any one Injun could master my scalp, he must be a tarnal sight smarter nor any red-skin I had ever met; an’, without waitin’ to ask no questions, I made a grab at the varmint, an’, by good luck, ketched the hand that held his knife; an’ then commenced one o’ the liveliest little fights I war ever in.

“The Injun war mighty strong, an’ as wiry as an eel, an’, although I could keep him from usin’ his knife, I could not get him off me, neither could I get my left arm free, which, in fallin’, he had pinned to my side; but I kept thrashin’ about in a way that made it mighty onhandy for him to hold me. But findin’ that I could do nothin’ in that way, I all to onct let go the hand that held the knife, an’ give him a clip ’side the head that would have knocked down a buck. It kinder staggered his daylight some, I reckon’, for I made out to get my arm free, an’, ketchin’ the varlet by the scalp-lock, I had him on his back in a minit. He yelled an’ kicked wusser nor I I did when he had me down, an’ slashed right an’ left with his scalpin’-knife; but it didn’t take long to settle matters, an’ all fears that our harborin’ place had been broke up war put at rest by the death o’ the Comanche.”

CHAPTER XVIII

End of the Trapper and Black Mustang

“ MY first job, arter I war sartin that the Comanche war done for, war to light the torch an’ examine the cave. First makin’ sure that thar war no more Injuns about, I crawled along up the passage that led to the top o’ the hill, where I found that the log which covered the hole had been moved, an’ I knowed in a minit that that war the place where the Comanche had come in. I didn’t care ’bout showin’ myself much, ’cause I didn’t know how many more o’ the savages there might be about; so I pulled the log over the hole agin’ an’ crawled back into the cave. I stuck my torch in the ground, an’ arter movin’ the Comanche up in one corner out of the way, I pulled over a pile of hemlock-boughs, that had many a time served me an’ ole Bill for a bed, an’ found a kag o’ spruce beer, an’ enough jerked meat to last a month. Me an’ Bill allers took good keer to leave plenty o’ provender at the cave when we left, so that if we should get hard pressed by the Injuns, or game should get scarce, we would know where to go to find good livin’. As I hadn’t had a good meal since we lost the train, I eat a heap o’ that jerked meat, an’ then lay down to sleep, hopin’ that when I woke I should find ole Bill with me. I warn’t much anxious about him, ’cause I knowed he war on as good a hoss as ever tracked a prairy, an’ war too ole in Injun fightin’ to be ketched easy; an’ I went to sleep, sartin that he would turn up all right afore daylight.

“Wal, I slept like a top until ’arly the next mornin’, but didn’t see nothin’ of ole Bill. Arter a breakfast on jerked meat an’ spruce beer, I smoked a pipe, an’ crawled up the passage to the top o’ the hill, pushed off the log, an’ settled down to listen. For two days, I kept watch at that hole, listenin’ an’ peepin’, but there war no signs of ole Bill. On the second arternoon, I heered the tramp of a hoss in the creek, an’ a’most at the same minit a big Comanche poked his head over the bushes not ten foot from where I war, an’ looked toward the place where the sound come from. How the rascal got there without seein’ me, I didn’t stop to think; but, risin’ to my feet, I chucked my tomahawk at him, an’ there war one Injun less in them woods. Nigher and nigher come the trampin’ o’ the hoss, an’ I war sartin it war ole Bill; so when he got within yellin’ distance, I give the gobble of a turkey, jest to let him know that there war danger ahead. The ole man heered it, for the trampin’ o’ the hoss stopped, an’, for a minit, the woods war as still as death; but all to onct I heered the crack of a rifle, follered by the death-screech of a Comanche, an’ then the clatter of hoofs an’ a loud laugh told me that the ole man war retreatin’. I knowed there warn’t no use o’ watchin’ any more, so I pulled the log over the hole agin, crawled back into the cave, an’ went to sleep. It war night when I woke, an’ takin’ my rifle, I crawled out into the gully an’ lay down in the shade o’ the bushes. I lay there till near midnight without hearin’ any thing, an’ had a’most made up my mind that ole Bill warn’t comin’, when the low hootin’ of an owl come echoin’ down the gully. I answered it, an’, in a few minits, up come Bill an’ crawled into the cave.

“‘Here I am,’ said he, ’an’ I had mighty hard work to get here, too – the timmer’s chuck full o’ the outlyin’ varlets.’

“‘Where’s my hoss?’ I asked.

“‘He’s down in the bushes, all right side up with keer, an’ hid away where the rascals will have to hunt a long time to find him. He’s worth his weight in beaver-skins, that hoss is.

“Ole Bill eat his supper in silence; but, arter fillin’ his pipe, said:

“‘Dick, them ’ar Comanches have got my hoss, an’ I’m goin’ back arter it.’

“Now a feller would think that, arter what Bill had gone through, he wouldn’t be in no hurry about goin’ back among the Injuns agin. But sich scrapes warn’t no new thing to him; an’ when he said ‘Go,’ in course I warn’t goin’ to stay behind. So, arter takin’ another smoke, the ole man tuk the knife and tomahawk o’ the Injun I had killed in the cave, an’ led the way out into the gully. As he had said, the timmer was full of Injuns, an’, as we crawled along on our hands an’ knees, we could hear ’em talkin’ to each other all around us. But we got past ’em all right, an’ as soon as we got out o’ the gully, the ole man rose to his feet and said:

“‘That hoss knows that there’s somethin’ wrong; he hasn’t moved an inch; he knows a’most as much as a human man, he does;’ an’ pullin’ aside the branches of a thicket of scrub pines, I see my hoss standin’ as quiet an’ still as could be, jest as Bill had left him. He seemed mighty glad to see me agin, an’ rubbed his head agin my shoulder, as I fastened on the saddle an’ jumped on his back.

“It war a good two weeks’ work to get back to that camp, for the prairy an’ woods war full o’ Comanches huntin’ around for Bill, an’ sometimes we had to go miles round to get out o’ their way.

“When we reached the camp, we found it nearly deserted by the braves; still, there war enough left to ketch me an’ ole Bill, if we should be diskivered. Wal, we lay round in the woods until dark, but not a glimp could we get o’ the ole man’s mustang. The critter might be in the camp, but more ’n likely as not he war carryin’ a Comanche on his back, an’ scourin’ the prairy in search o’ Bill.

“As soon as it war fairly dark, the ole man stuck out his hand, and said:

“‘Dick, I’m goin’ now. Good-by.’

“I never before felt so bad at partin’ from him. Somehow I knowed that somethin’ mighty onpleasant war goin’ to happen; but it warn’t no use to try to keep him from goin’; so I bid him good-by, an’ he commenced crawlin’ through the grass toward the camp. I watched him as long as he war in sight, an’ then settled back agin a tree, an’ waited to see what would turn up. For two hours I sot there listenin’, an’ thinkin’ of all the fights me an’ ole Bill had been in, an’ wonderin’ when the time would come when we must part – not as we had now, for a little while, but forever – when all to onct I heered the barkin’ of a dog in the camp. In course the hull village war aroused to onct, an’ a loud yell told me that ole Bill had been diskivered. The yell was follered by the crack of a rifle, an’ the ole man come gallopin’ out o’ the camp on his own hoss, shoutin’:

“‘Come on now, Dick, I’m even with the rascals. There’s one less Comanche in the world.’

“The Injuns were clost on to Bill’s trail, an’ come pourin’ out o’ the camp on foot an’ on hossback; an’, seem’ one big feller far ahead of the others, I hauled up for a minit, sent him from his saddle, an’ then, jumpin’ on my hoss, started arter the ole man. In course the yellin’ hounds war soon left behind, ’cause there warn’t no hosses on them prairies that could hold a candle to ourn; an’ we war beginnin’ to grow jolly over our good luck, when, the fust thing we knowed, crack went a couple o’ rifles, an’ Bill throwed his arms above his head an’ fell from his saddle.

“We had run chuck into a party o’ Comanches who had been out huntin’ the ole man, an’ had give up the chase, an’ were ’turnin’ to camp. The minit ole Bill fell I war by his side, an’, while I war liftin’ him from the ground, the rascals charged toward us with loud yells, sartin that they had now got both of us in their power.

“‘Dick,’ said the ole man, a’most in a whisper, ‘I’ve sent a good many o’ them screechin’ imps out o’ the world, an’ it’s my turn to go now. They have finished me at last. You can’t help me – so save yourself; but remember that every Comanche that crosses your trail falls, to pay for this. Leave me.’

“‘Bill, me an’ you have been together too long for that. When I leave you it’ll be arter this, said I, an’, liftin him in my arms, I got him on my hoss, an’ started off agin. The way that little mustang got over the ground carried us ahead of all except two o’ the Comanches, who kept bangin’ away at us as fast as they could load their rifles. If I hadn’t had ole Bill in my arms I would have put an eend to their shootin’ an’ yellin’ in a tarnal hurry.

“It war no light load that hoss had to carry, an’ I knowed that we must come to closer quarters soon, ’cause he couldn’t stand that gait long. But he carried us five mile ’bout as quick as I ever traveled, an’ then, all to onct, commenced to run slow. He war givin’ out fast. The yellin’ varlets kept comin’ nearer an’ nearer, an’ I had only one chance for life, an’ a poor one at that. I would stick to the hoss as long as he could step, an’ then try it on foot. So I turned toward a strip o’ woods which lay ’bout a mile off, but he hadn’t made a dozen jumps when one o’ the pursuin’ Injuns sent a ball through his head, an’ we all come to the ground together.

“The minit I touched the prairy I dropped ole Bill an’, at the crack o’ my rifle, one o’ the Injuns fell; the other then commenced circlin’ round me, ’fraid to come to clost quarters. But I kept my eye on him, an’ jest as he war goin’ to fire, I dropped behind my hoss, and kept dodgin’ ’bout till I got my rifle loaded, and then I settled matters to onct. I war safe – but ole Bill war dead. I tuk him up in my arms agin, and carried him into the woods, where I rolled a log from its place, an’ arter scoopin’ out some o’ the ground, I put him in, an’ pulled the log back over him. It war the best I could do for him, an’ arter swearin’ above his grave that a Comanche should fall for every har on his head, I shouldered my rifle, an’, jest as the sun war risin’, struck out acrost the prairy, which I knowed I must now tread alone.

“Is it a wonder, then, that I hate an Injun? The bones of many a brave that lay scattered ’bout the prairy can tell how well I have kept my oath. Of all the Injuns that have crossed my trail since ole Bill’s death, the three that camped in this shantee that night ar the only ones that ever escaped. I am not done with ’em yet; an’ when I go back to the prairy, the Comanches will have further cause to remember the night that see the eend of ole Bill Lawson an’ the Black Mustang.”

CHAPTER XIX

The Indians Again

THE next morning the boys were up before the sun, and after a hearty breakfast, set out to spend the day in the woods; Frank and Harry, bending their steps toward the creek that ran through the woods, about a mile from the cabin, to set their traps for minks, while Archie and George started toward a ridge – the well-known “fox run-way” as it was called – to engage in their favorite sport. The trapper and Uncle Joe set off in an opposite direction, to cut down a bee-tree, which the latter had discovered a few days before.

When Frank and Harry arrived at the creek, the latter said:

“Now I want to understand something about this business, before we commence operations We’re after minks, and nothing else; and I don’t want you to endanger a fellow’s life by getting him into any more wolf scrapes, or any thing of that kind.”

“All right,” answered Frank, with a laugh. “I’ll not get you into any scrape to-day.”

This satisfied Harry, and he was ready to begin the hunt. They found plenty of mink tracks on the bank of the creek. After eating their dinner, they commenced following up some of them, and, before night, succeeded, with Brave’s assistance, in capturing two large minks, after which they returned to the cabin, well satisfied with their day’s work.

They found Uncle Joe and his brother seated at the supper-table, and a large plate full of honey, which was rapidly disappearing before their attacks, proved that they also had been successful. Archie and George came in shortly after dark, tired and hungry. A fox-skin, which the former threw down in the corner, bore testimony to the fact that Sport was losing none of those hunting qualities of which his young master so often boasted. The day’s hunt had been successful on all hands; and the boys being pretty well tired out, the trapper’s stories were omitted, and all the inmates of the cabin sought their couches at an early hour.

The next morning the boys were “fresh and fierce” for the woods again, and once more started out in their respective directions, leaving Uncle Joe and the trapper seated before the fire, solacing themselves with their pipes. Frank and Harry, as usual, went together; the latter, as on the previous morning, exacting a promise that Frank would not get him into any “scrapes,” to which the latter, as before, readily agreed, little dreaming what was to happen before night.

A few moments’ walk brought them to the place at which they had set their first trap, in a hollow stump, where they had noticed a multitude of “mink signs,” as the trapper would have called them, and as Harry bent down and looked into the stump, Frank exclaimed:

“Look at these tracks; somebody besides ourselves has been here.”

“Yes, some other hunters, I suppose,” answered Harry, peering into the stump. “I hope they were gentlemen enough not to interfere with our arrangements here. But where’s that trap gone to?”

“These tracks were not made by white persons,” said Frank, bending over and examining them, “for the hunters in this part of the country all wear boots. These fellows wore moccasins, and the tracks all toe in.”

“Indians, as sure as I’m alive!” ejaculated Harry; “and, shoot me, if our trap isn’t gone.” And thrusting his arm into the stump, he commenced feeling around for the article in question, but it could not be found.

“Yes, sir,” he continued, rising to his feet, “it is gone, and no mistake. Feel in there.”

Frank accordingly got down on his knees and made an examination of the stump; but the trap, beyond a doubt, had been carried off.

“Now, that is provoking!” he exclaimed.

“There was a mink in the trap, too,” continued Harry, pointing to some bits of fur that lay scattered about over the snow. “I wish the rascals that took it had it crammed down their throats.”

“It does no good to scold, Harry,” said Frank, “for that won’t mend the matter. But let us go around and visit the other traps; perhaps they have carried off all of them.”

The boys accordingly went around to every place where they had left their traps, but not one of them could be found.

“Now, there’s thirteen dollars gone to the dogs,” said Harry, angrily; “for every one of those traps was worth a dollar, at least. I wish Dick was here. We would follow up the scoundrels and recover our property. What shall we do?”

“Let’s follow them up, any how,” replied Frank. “Perhaps we can catch them – the trail seems plain enough. How many of them do you suppose there were?”