Scouting Dave

“Why does the Dark Cloud seek to harm the pale-face maiden?” retorted Red Wing.

“Does Red Wing think to take the pale-face to his own lodge, that he is thus careful of her?” was the sarcastic response.

“The White Bird speaks kindly to the Red Wing; he will not forget,” was the sententious rejoinder.

For a time the two stood looking at each other; then the Dark Cloud stepped to one side and attempted to pass his opponent. But the latter divined his intention, and, grasping him by the throat, hurled him backward with such force that he was almost thrown to the ground. Furious now past all control, Dark Cloud drew his knife, and prepared to rush upon his foe. Red Wing seized his hatchet, and awaited the onset. Others of the party, seeing they were likely to lose at least one of their most chivalrous braves, interposed to stay the conflict.

“Why will not the red braves learn wisdom?” demanded the chief of the party, with a voice of authority. “Why will they war upon each other? The blood of the pale-faces only should flow at their hands.”

By threats and persuasion a reconciliation was effected. The two braves returned their weapons and moved moodily from the spot, while the journey was at once resumed.

On they tramped, mile after mile, through the forest, until at length morning broke over the earth. But the dawn brought no relief to the prisoner. As the light increased, the dusky features of her attendants were brought more fully to view, with all their horror of war-paint and inhuman ferocity.

At length the party emerged upon the banks of the Mississippi. The guards, who were loitering about the flotilla, flocked around the fair prisoner with the greatest expressions of curiosity and satisfaction. A huge dug-out, capable of carrying the entire party, was launched, and they set forth across the stream.

Poor Emily gazed into the yellow waters of the mighty river. How calmly they flowed. Oh! that she could rest beneath them. Then all sorrow would end, and she could join those loved ones gone before. She would make the attempt, and God forgive her if she came unbidden to his presence. It was a fearful resolve, but she was unable to reason. Only wishing to rid herself of a life which could bring naught but misery, she awaited the propitious moment to carry out her plan.

It came at length. No eye seemed upon her. Rising, she closed her eyes, and with a desperate leap plunged, not into the water, but into the strong arms of the watchful Red Wing. Seating her upon the thwart from which she had risen, he said, in tones of kindness:

“White Bird must not die. Great chief love White Bird, and make her very happy. Pale-face must live for pale-face.”

Emily did not reply. She sunk down with a bursting heart, and wept the bitterest tears of her life.

Soon the boat reached the shore, and the party hastily clambered out. No sooner did Emily step forth than the savages set forward, without waiting for her to mount. But they soon stopped and made preparations for lighting a fire. Around this they stretched themselves, and soon were dozing. The maiden was securely bound, and left without a guard.

For a long time she sat and watched the lazy motions of the barbarians, until all except the outlaying guards were asleep. Then she, too, sunk into a disturbed slumber. Strange visions and dreams were hers, as she lay thus, with the bare earth for a couch, her arm for a pillow, the leafy trees and blue sky for a covering. Her sleep of innocence was soothing and strengthening to her overtasked frame.

She was awakened by a hand upon her shoulder, and a guttural voice in her ear, speaking in incomprehensible tones. The savage spoke no English, but pointed to his comrades, now about to resume their journey. He unbound the thongs and raised her to her feet.

The brief slumber which the poor girl had enjoyed had been of infinite service to her. She felt more calm and self-possessed; a sense of resignation she had not before felt, took possession of her heart. Could it be that in her sleep some fond spirit had hovered near, and whispered words of cheer and consolation?

The sun sunk low. Many miles had been passed. Here and there she had seen hurrying groups of warriors, as well as of women and children passing toward the river. Only too well she knew that they were hastening on to swell that horde which was already spreading death and desolation through the settlements.

Finally, the party again halted, and most deeply was the poor prisoner rejoiced. Weary, faint and hungry, she longed for rest and repose. She was to be gratified. The Indians had shot a fine buck, and from the savory meat they regaled themselves sumptuously. Emily, after her long fast, partook gladly of the game.

When the meal was concluded, the Indians smoked for a time, as usual, and then, securely binding the prisoner, all stretched themselves to sleep. It was not until morning that the sleepers were aroused. Now and then during the night, one would awake, assure himself that the prisoner was safe, and then return to sleep the more lustily.

With the first beam of morning the party was astir. Emily felt unpleasantly from the constrained manner in which she had passed the night, but a little exercise soon dispelled the feeling. A breakfast was prepared, and then the party set forward once more. Red Wing walked beside Emily. Feeling assured of his kindness, she bent nearer him, and asked:

“Will not Red Wing tell the White Bird when their journey will end?”

The Indian paused a moment, then indicating the sun with his outstretched arm, slowly raised it until it pointed to the zenith.

“Then,” he said, briefly.

The maiden understood him, and bowed her thanks.

Noon came, and Emily began to grow despondent. She was fatigued, and longed for rest. Still there were no signs of stopping, and she began to doubt if there had been a perfect understanding between herself and Red Wing. She could see that the sun had passed the point indicated, but still they kept on.

Suddenly the loud barking of an Indian dog startled her. In less than a minute a group of filthy, squalid women and children appeared, curious to discover the cause of the outbreak. They seemed very much astonished, and, while a few ran to spread the tidings, the remainder clustered about the party. Emily looked upon the wretched creatures for a moment, then turned from them, overcome with feelings of shame and disgust.

In a few minutes they arrived in sight of a small Indian village, and this Emily felt was to be the scene of her captivity. She regarded it with eager interest.

A collection of rude huts were scattered along the banks of a small stream. There was no taste or regularity there, every thing being in disorder, and fearfully filthy and repulsive. It seemed the tidings had already reached the place, as women and children were huddled along the way. Like those Emily had seen before, all were disgustingly repulsive in appearance. It would have been but human, had all the fortitude of the poor girl deserted her now. But, she closed her eyes to shut out the spectacle, and nerved herself to bear all.

The party took its way into the village, and, surrounded by a motley throng, proceeded up the street, till near the upper end of the place. Here they stopped, and the prisoner was allowed to alight. The throng now gathered more closely about, and a living circle of faces peered curiously upon the captive. They were allowed to gaze for some minutes, when a word from the chief dispersed them, and they retreated, apparently dissatisfied that they were not to have the luxury of seeing the fair prisoner tortured.

There remained but one woman in her presence. Emily saw with horror that she was a white woman like herself, though dressed in Indian costume, and like them in appearance. She stood a little apart from the braves, and was regarding our heroine with a curious scrutiny. When the horde dispersed, the chief of the warriors approached the woman indicated, and conversed earnestly with her for some minutes in the Winnebago dialect.

“So, ma’am,” the woman said, in a coarse voice, as she approached, “you air the new bird o’ Mister Ashbey, be you!”

Emily remained silent, while the other continued:

“Wal, yer don’t dispute it, so I s’pose ’tis so. Thar’s nothin’ bad about it, on’y Billy is a leetle wild, that’s all. But, come with me, fer they tell me I’m ter tek keer o’ ye till yer husban’ comes.”

Mechanically, Emily followed the wild-looking creature, while an Indian walked upon either side of her.

CHAPTER VIII.

AFFAIRS AT THE VILLAGE

They stopped before a low, dismal-looking hut, and Emily shuddered with horror as her eyes took in the disagreeable prospect. She entered after her conductor, while the savages followed closely. The hut was constructed of logs, miserably laid together, and the numerous yawning interstices filled with mud, which, having become hard and dry, answered its purpose quite well.

Within, it was divided into two rude compartments by a curtain formed principally of skins, extending from side to side.

The apartment which they entered was much the larger, containing a small, wooden chimney, a rude table, three or four blocks, answering the purpose of chairs, and two rude couches of skins. A few reminiscences of civilization were scattered around, while against the walls hung various weapons and trophies.

The maid noticed this with a quick eye, and, as the door was closed and barred by the Indians, she sunk upon one of the blocks. She needed not to be told where she was, for every thing about her bespoke the renegade’s home. Strange and uncouth as was the place, it really seemed to her that it was not complete without his hideous presence.

The object which most attracted Emily’s attention, was the strange woman who had preceded her. So far as Emily could judge, she was twenty-five, or might have been thirty years of age. Her hair, which was long, black and matted, hung in wild disorder; if it ever had made the acquaintance of comb or brush, it was evident they had long been strangers. Her eyes were black and flashing, and, as Emily saw their cold look, she beheld only harshness and cruelty depicted there. The features were quite regular, but the beauty they might once have boasted had faded, and given way to dark passion-marks.

“Wal, ma’am, as this is tew be yer hoam now, I s’pose ye’d like tee know it, I didn’t hev’ much tew notify me ye’s comin’ or I’d had things lookin’ a little purtyer ’round here. Ye see this ’ere is the ‘kitchin,’ and threw yender’s our room; I’ll show it tew ye.”

The woman rose and passed from the room, jabbering a few words to one of the Indians. Lifting a heavy bear-skin, she motioned for Emily to pass through. It was very narrow, scarcely six feet in width, though perhaps twice that length. The only relief to the mud-bedaubed walls, consisted of two piles of skins for couches, and a couple of blocks, like those without. Emily shuddered as she took in the whole of the narrow apartment at a glance.

“Thare, ma’am,” the creature said, with a tone of officiousness, “this is our room. The men foaks sleep out there” – indicating the apartment they had just left. “Ye see I think this is a real purty room, don’t you, Miss – ?”

Emily did not heed the implied question, but inquired whom she styled the “men-folks.”

“Why, Mister Ashbey, when he’s here, and the Injin-men; thar’s two on ’em stays here most o’ the time. But, while they were gone I had the hull house tew myself. I suppose, miss, so long as we kalkerlait tew be reum-mates, ye’ll hev’ no objection tew tellin’ me yer name, all in confidence, ye know.”

“Certainly,” Emily replied, with forced composure. “I have no reason to conceal my name. I am called Emily Hinton – my father was Elisha Hinton.”

“Lishur Hinton!” the other responded, somewhat surprised. “Why, I used tew know your foaks, and maybe yew’ve hearn o’ me. My name is Sall Simms – I used tew live in the settlements, years ago.”

Emily had heard of “Sall Simms.” For the first time she now recollected having heard that Wild Bill had married her, and taken her home to his Indian settlement. She stated as much to the woman herself.

“Oh yis,” was the ready response. “Me an’ Billy could not live without each other; so when he ’cluded tew move this way, we jist hitched, and cum with him. But, I didn’t change my name ’cos I didn’t see any use on’t.”

Sall soon excused herself to attend to household duties, while Emily sunk upon one of the piles of skins. From the painful reverie into which she fell, our heroine was soon aroused by the harsh voice of Sally, calling her to dinner.

Reluctantly Emily arose, and made her way into the outer room, where the not over-prepossessing meal was placed upon the table. Sally and the two Indians were awaiting the appearance of their guest. Her entrance was the signal for a general attack upon the meal. Sally wheeled herself into position, and opened a charge upon the edibles, while the Indians, seizing such portions as best suited their palates, squatted upon the ground, and swallowed rather than ate the food. Emily shrunk from the spectacle, yet seated herself upon the block placed for her, and managed to swallow a small quantity of the roasted meat. Romantic Sall, meanwhile, entertained her guest with a most incessant flow of conversation, until Emily arose, and sought the other apartment, hoping to remain for a time undisturbed. Her solitude was of short duration. Sally, having performed her few duties, soon entered, and her flow of coarse remarks burst in an agonizing torrent upon the devoted head of Emily.

Another dreary meal, very like the preceding, and the shades of evening were falling upon the earth. She was rejoiced now, and, stealing away as soon as possible, ensconced herself in the skins, to quiet her sorrows in slumber.

Once she awoke, and feeling a sense of curiosity, raised her head to listen. She heard the heavy breathing of Sally in the other bed, and, satisfied that she slept, Emily arose, and cautiously lifted the bear-skin which separated the apartments. A bright fire blazed in the rough chimney. One of the savages slept, while the second leaned sleepily against the wall. The slight noise made by the raising of the skins startled the guard, and, looking up he saw the face of Emily peering through the aperture. With a guttural exclamation, he left his post and moved that way.

With a little cry of alarm, she sprung from the place, and, sinking into her bed, lay shivering with fear. The Indian opened the skins, thrust his tawny face through, and gazed until satisfied all was quiet, when, with a grunt like that of a satisfied grizzly bear, he turned away.

It was morning, and the sun was just rising above the trees, when the captive again awoke to be startled by a wild outcry without. She was not long in determining that something unusual had happened, as the village was a perfect bedlam of cries and vociferations. Women and children were abroad hurrying about in the greatest excitement. What could it mean? Emily’s first thought was that the renegade had returned, but a moment’s reflection convinced her this could not be the case. She looked around for her companion. Sally had gone, and as she was probably in the outer room, our heroine took her way thither.

Just outside the door, she was met by one of the Indian braves, who, taking her quickly by the arm, led her into the apartment she had just left.

“The White Bird must not leave her nest,” he said, and stood guarding the entrance, in a manner which showed his determination.

“But, tell me,” she ventured, “what it is that causes this commotion among your people?”

“The White Bird can not know,” he returned, sternly. “Make her young heart heavy.”

The poor captive sunk down upon her bed of skins, and the savage left the apartment to gaze on the spectacle without. As soon as he was gone, the tumult without seemed to increase, as did, also, the anxiety of Emily. She examined the wall over her couch, and, finding a small aperture, she soon succeeded in enlarging it, so as to afford quite a view.

Men, women and children soon appeared, in one brawling, yelling mass, gathered around an object of common interest in the centre. Just as they were opposite her prison-house, an opening in the throng revealed to her anxious gaze the cause of all the excitement. It was a white prisoner – his arms pinioned behind him, and guarded by savage braves. Women and children pressed around him, hooting, taunting and belabouring him with fists and clubs.

Surely, she knew that tall form – those handsome features, and backwoods garb! It was, indeed, Alfred Markley, who stood thus in the midst of cruel captors. Her head swam, while a thousand questions and conjectures rushed through her brain. Where was the brother of the prisoner? Was he also a captive? She could no longer think that he was dead.

A long scene of commotion ensued without, which Emily dared not attempt to witness. At length it ceased, and, with yells of triumph, the throng moved away. Shortly afterward, Sally Simms entered the apartment. The maiden felt sure this person could enlighten her, if she would, so she remarked as unconcernedly as possible:

“I heard quite a commotion without, but could not learn the cause.”

“Yas,” was the answer, “the Injins has got a white prisoner, and was puttin’ him through the exercises. He’s a smart-lookin’ young chap, and should known better’n to come so near Billy Ashbey’s place. His scouts are a deal too smart for white hunters.”

“Was the prisoner taken near this place?” Emily questioned, her interest becoming still greater.

“Not fur away, I should tek’ it!” was the reply. “A party set out tew jine the people acrost the river, an’, in about tew hours, cum’ back with this chap. I’m kind o’ sorry fer him; but he orter l’arn wisdom, an’ I guess he will when he gits out o’ this.”

“But how came he to be so near? What was he doing on this side of the river?” Emily asked, her suspense overcoming all other feelings.

The woman noticed the anxiety of the maiden, and all communicativeness was at an end.

“I don’t know,” she replied, abruptly. “I believe he had one or two companions, what got shot; but that’s all I knows. Breakfast’s ready.”

Poor Emily! She wished for nothing to eat; so, merely saying that she desired none, she was left alone with all her fearful doubts and surmises. She knew not that Sally had fabricated the last portion of her story, merely to add to the poor captive’s sufferings!

CHAPTER IX.

A TASTE OF THE STICKS

As early morning broke over the earth, two persons stood upon an eminence which overlooked the Indian village where Ashbey had taken up his residence. So close were they, that scarce two hundred yards separated them from the very cabin which contained Emily. These persons were none other than David Barring and his ally, Charles Markley. The former was pointing out to his companion the cabin of the renegade, and they were anxiously watching for any sign which should assure them that the one they sought was a prisoner within.

Was she there! If so, how long before they could rescue her? For the thought of failure never entered the lover’s heart. Suddenly, from every hut and wigwam, poured forth a host of savages, young, old, and heterogeneous, taking their noisy way toward the lower portion of the village.

As the three whites had approached the village, Alfred Markley had preferred an earnest request that he might be allowed to make the circuit of it, hoping to discover something of advantage to himself and companions. To this request, the scout had granted a ready consent – really supposing but little danger would exist at an hour so early.

Alfred set out joyously, fully confident of rejoining his companions within an hour. He had found the way more rough and obstructed than anticipated; so that, in order to keep the village in view, and exercise due caution, he was obliged to proceed very slowly. For this he cared but little, rather preferring to await the time when the people would be astir, as the sanguine fellow more than half fancied he would thus be enabled to see the prisoner.

A war-party of Indians, eager for the trail, had left the village a few moments before the three adventurers reached the vicinity. No sooner were they beyond the reach of other eyes, than their ardour cooled, and the entire party loitered about, until the light footfall of Alfred fell upon their keen ears. Without the least commotion, they instantly glided into cover.

All unsuspicious of danger, Alfred walked directly into the trap. He had been obliged to make a slight detour, in order to avoid some obstacles in his way. This had taken him more deeply into the forest. The first premonitions he felt of danger, was upon noticing some dusky form glide from tree to tree. What it was, he could not tell; but, knowing he was in danger, he darted behind another tree, only to find himself face to face with a hideously-painted savage!

Alfred was not the man to be tamely caught. His rifle was in his hand, and, darting back a pace, he delivered the astonished native a blow which ended his war-path forever, and transplanted him at once to the happy hunting-grounds of his forefathers. Scarcely had the blow descended, when three or four athletic braves hurled themselves upon the youth. Dropping his rifle as he fell, Alfred drew his hunting-knife, and, as an assailant exposed his breast, it was buried in his bosom.

A despairing yell arose from the Indians, as a third received a severe cut, and the remaining two, who were hurrying toward the scene, paused, dismayed. Putting forth all his strength, the youth shook himself from those who held him, and stood, for a moment, free. Ere he could realize the fact, a heavy blow from behind felled him to the ground, and, in a moment, he was bound, hand and foot.

Leaving their slain companions, the Indians made their way into the village, sending the wounded brave before them to bear the joyful tidings. As the clamorous multitude rushed about him, Alfred nerved himself for the worst.

As the word was given, he set his teeth, braced his nerves, and bounded forward like a deer. The young settler was strong of limb, and very active. None were fleeter of foot than he, and the speed with which he set forth, fairly astonished the warriors themselves. Nearly half the line was passed before the blows seemed to touch him. Then, as they came with more effect, he staggered beneath their weight. His strength proved sufficient, however, and he reached the end of the line, smarting and bruised, yet with a spirit unbroken. A yell from the Indians showed their appreciation of the sport, as the prisoner was led away to a place of security.

Upon the outskirts of the village was a strong, dark old cabin, built of logs, and covered with bark. The structure was clumsily formed, but solid, and the door so constructed as to bar heavily upon the outside.

This above-ground dungeon was opened, and Alfred, securely bound, was thrust in. The savages took a hasty survey, and, finding the place secure, set a guard and departed.

The prisoner’s arms and shoulders were bruised and swollen, while his head throbbed and ached fearfully. He endeavoured to think calmly of himself and companions, but the effort was too much, and he bowed his head with a groan.

* * * * * * * *

“I’m afeard they’ve got Alf,” said David, with a shake of the head.

Charles feared the same, but he could not bear the thought.

A few moments confirmed their worst suspicions, and revealed the fact that the daring youth was really a prisoner. With a gasp of pain, Charles clutched the arm of the scout, whispering:

“Good Heaven! it is Alfred.”

“It’s certainly him,” returned Dave, in a collected manner; “an’ I afeard he’s got us all into a scrape this time. But we can’t help it now. Thar’s one advantage; it’ll show us what force the reds have got here, an’ we can calculate accordin’ly.”

“But may there not be danger for Alfred?” asked Charles. “I fear they may sacrifice him, at once, in their excitement and rage.”

“Not a bit o’ danger there,” responded David, with the utmost coolness. “Yer see, Bill has control of all that’s done in this village, and the red reptiles ’d no more dare take the life of a prisoner, than jest nothin’ at all. They’ll save him till their cruel leader gits home – then’ll be the danger.”