Free Trapper's Pass

Hawkins threw himself upon his horse, making a signal for the men to mount and follow. Without questioning the propriety of his move, they obeyed, and all set out in the direction – nearly at right angles with the trail – of the nearest encampment of the Crows. They held on this course for some distance, until the bed of a stream was reached, and then forward for a few hundred yards, till the hoofs of the horses struck upon hard ground, pointed out by the half-breed, and over which it would be difficult to trace them. Taking, at length, a bend over this, they returned to the stream at some distance from the spot where they had previously crossed it. Halting at the stream, the leader made a sign for the rest to stop, and at the same time taking his blanket from its place, behind his back, he dismounted and advanced to the low, shelving bank, and spreading the blanket carefully along the ascent. The blankets of the others were used in like manner, and soon a sort of bridge was made over the grassy turf, upon which the animals were led. Then the hindmost blankets were raised, and placed in front, the horses proceeded a few steps, and the same process was repeated. A few rods thus passed over brought them into their old trail. Along this they hastily galloped, much time had been consumed in the operation, and if the foe should arrive a little before the expected time, their plans might not admit of a full completion.

At the old camping ground they found Antonio awaiting them; and, by the same means employed at the stream, they begun to transfer their horses to the shade of the clump of timber upon their right.

Antonio leading, they soon came into an opening; but, as man after man defiled into it, from the opposite side came a scream, so shrill, so weird and unearthly, that in mute amazement they halted. Silence brooded over the group, touching all with its icy hand. The horses shrunk back with an irrepressible fear, and not a man was there whose thumb did not strike, with startled quickness, the lock of his rifle.

The levelled pieces were let drop into the hollow of their hands, and Hawkins turned to Antonio with:

“I’ve heerd tell o’ this critter often, an’ I’ve seed him myself, twice afore, but I never heerd, and I never knowed of his gettin’ that close to a man without tryin’ to git closer. They’re an ugly brute, an’ I believe I’d sooner try a rough an’ tumble with a grizzly hisself. What does it mean?”

“It’s a sign,” responded the half-breed.

The men threw themselves down, to await in patience the expected arrival. The trapper, who, on the first apparition of Antonio, had recognized him, was disposed to continue the conversation. Some few words passed, and then the question was asked as to what time the Indians might be expected.

“An hour yet. The horses of the Blackfeet will be wearied; but, when the moon rises, their scouts will be at the spring. If my white brethren had been unwarned, they might have been seen. Then they would have travelled fast. The golden-haired would have been mounted on a swift horse; the road to their land is but short, and a young squaw, given to the Great Spirit, is never seen again.”

“Right, my mighty! You know the red varmints like a book.”

Ned Hawkins, meantime, had been diligently watching the horizon, straining his eye-sight in the endeavour to discover something to repay him for his trouble. Now, more through surprise than the fear of the presence of an enemy, he uttered a warning.

“Sh!” On the plain a long line of dark, moving forms could be seen coming on at a fast pace. There was sufficient light to show to the breathless watchers that they were Indians; but to what tribe they belonged could not be told until they drew nearer, or the moon should fully rise. There was, however, but little doubt in the minds of the trappers that they were the expected enemy. The story of the half-breed had been so far verified.

As they filed, one after another into full view, and no signs of prisoners could be seen, the half-breed shook his head in an unsatisfied manner, while Hawkins said, in a whisper:

“Prairie Wolf, I allow yer sharp in Injun matters an’ death on black critters, but you’ve mistook the thing this time, an’ run us inter a purty snarl asides. Thar’s only about twenty of the red-skins, an’ nary a prisoner.”

“Antonio was right. The band was twice as large when it passed, three suns ago.”

“Ef yer right, it beats me,” put in Stevens, in a gruff, but low tone; “only one way to clear it up They’ve been whipt like thunder, an’ consequently ther in a bully flame of mind for rubbin’ us out, if they once get the scent.”

“If the pale-faces will wait till they are settled, they shall learn why but half of these who went returned. They look not like men who have been beaten.”

“Waal. I allow it might be some sort o’ a consideration to know about them things, but then, as the Major ’pears safe, there’s other things nearer home to look at.”

This speech, notwithstanding the important facts which it contained, was somewhat dangerous to their safety, for Biting Fox, the speaker, had incautiously let his voice rise to a very loud whisper. Accordingly, Antonio expressed his opinion on the question of “what’s to be done” by admonishing silence.

“Ef we were squaws, who talk, we might be in danger; but we are men who fight, and do not talk. Antonio will creep up to their camp, and hear what they say.”

No dissenting voice was raised to this proposition, and he departed with that quick and stealthy step, for which the aborigines of our country have been so noted. So weird-like was his motion that he seemed like a ghost flitting through the trees. When he reached the edge of the copse he disappeared entirely.

When the scout had crept up within hearing distance of the encampment, he redoubled his caution. Advancing like a serpent, he felt well around before he drew his body forward, fearful that something might lie in his path, which, giving forth a sound, might herald his approach. Long practice in this kind of work enabled him to advance noiselessly to within a few yards of the nearest group, where, sheltered by the already mentioned trunk of the fallen tree, he could easily understand their conversation. The halt was a temporary one, but a number of the braves, tired by their long journey, had sunk to sleep, only four or five, apparently, being yet awake. These, engaged in a conversation as earnest as would be consistent with their savage dignity, were stationed nearest to the cover which concealed the hunters. All of them appeared to be chiefs of some importance.

Antonio remained in his position near a quarter of an hour; then, having learned those things which he wished to know, sought to retrace, unobserved, his steps. This he succeeded in doing, and, just as the hunters were becoming anxious, on account of his prolonged absence, he stood in their midst.

“Waal, what did yer make out?” was the anxious inquiry.

“Antonio was right. The white chief and the young squaw, his daughter, are prisoners. Those who have the two followed another trail, but they will meet each other at the great crossing of the Yellowstone River. These, at the spring, have the scalp of the Crow at their girdle, and the Prairie Wolf would fight them for revenge.”

Even as the half-breed was speaking, the four Indians in council raised themselves from the ground, swiftly wending their way to the spring. Standing there for a moment, they cautiously set out on the trail which had been made. As the form of the last brave was lost to view, Ned Hawkins whispered, in a meaning tone:

“We’re in for it now, boys! Yer can’t blind old Eagle-eye, nor yer can’t run away. It’ll be a fightin’ matter, an’ it ar a blessin’ that half them varmints are sleepin’. Don’t fire unless they’re right atop of you, or gin the yell. Then fight like grizzly bears or catamounts. Ef yer don’t, yer hair will be riz, sure.”

“What do you think, Wolf?” queried Biting Fox.

He, thus addressed, quietly shook his head for an answer, making a gesture indicative of doubt.

“Yer in doubt. Now I allows it ar a doubtful subject, an’ if – hillo! Fire an’ yer a dead Injin!” whispered he, in a stern, low voice, at the same time bringing his rifle in line with the heart of Antonio, who, regardless of their dangerous position, was aiming in the direction of the Blackfeet camp.

The movement and address of Biting Fox recalled him to his senses, and, carefully letting fall the muzzle of his gun, he pointed to a dark object, dimly to be seen creeping slowly along toward the thicket, and, in a voice even lower than he had formerly used, he whispered:

“That is Talmkah.”

With a sagacity all their own, the Indians had divined that the whites had taken refuge in the thicket. Moreover, it was patent that from the care which they had exercised, and the time occupied in the movement, that they did so with the intention of watching them – perhaps of making an attack if a favourable moment presented itself.

The half-breed turned to the hunters.

“Prairie Wolf will go fall upon Talmkah. If he can meet him the chief shall die, and know not the hand that struck him. If it fails, let the white men ride straight through the camp, and they will escape. Fear not for Antonio – he can take care of himself. If the great braves of the Crows and the white trappers do not rescue the prisoners before, we will meet at the Great Crossing.”

Before nay could be said, he was gone. Five minutes passed as an age, and there was a wild, fierce yell; two figures arose from the ground, then fell again, writhing together in a desperate, deadly encounter. Quick as thought the score of warriors were on their feet, and rushing toward their horses. As they rose, five steeds, with their five riders close clinging, charged madly out of the thicket, and bore down upon the confused mass. With a volley from their fire-arms, the horsemen dashed through them, and several of the savages fell. Before the Indians could bring their arms to bear, they were comparatively useless, for the whites were out of range.

A cry from the throat of Antonio brought them to their senses. The grasp of Talmkah had slipped, and his antagonist drove home his knife. Then a piercing whistle rang out, so shrill and loud that Ned Hawkins, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, turned in his saddle. As the last sound of the note died away from the shrubbery, with crash and tear, came a coal-black mustang, dashing for the spot where the single combat had taken place. Then Antonio separated from his antagonist, and threw himself upon his horse. One more cry of exultation, and he rode recklessly over the plain, coal-black mustang and stout-limbed brave vanishing from sight of both friend and foe.

“Anybody hurt?” was the first query, after the trappers were out of gun-shot.

“Nary one,” said Bill Stevens.

“Blessin’s don’t come single-handed. Got out o’ the durned scrape easier than I ’spected. An’ the half-breed, who are cl’ar grit, ’cordin’ to all appearances, will save his scalp, too. Meanwhile, what are we to do? stay here, strike for head quarters er foller ’em on?”

A little conversation, a few questions as to route and distance, and then, with a hardy assurance, the hunters struck across the broad prairie. Now along its level surface, now through thin belts of timber, or clumps of bushes; again over undulating mounds and through the beds of numberless summer streams which lay in their way, they ceaselessly pursued their course. Every sign which lay in their way was instinctively noted as they flitted by, and, by long practice, they could see far around them.

For several hours they travelled on, until the moon seemed nearly ready to sink behind the mountains, which lay off and away to the west. Noticing this, Biting Fox partly drew rein, and remarked:

“I should calkerlate that it war time, nigh about, to stop. We haven’t so very many more miles ahead, an’ ef we should happen to cross the trail too soon, we don’t do any good, an’ mebbe a sight o’ bad. The hosses ar a leetle blowed; here’s a good place to rest ’em, so I’m in fur holdin’ up.”

“All right,” responded Hawkins, and the party halted.

As they did so the moon dropped quietly behind a black cloud, and, for a few moments, they were left in nearly total darkness.

CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTIVES. – FRIENDS ON THE ALERT

Wearily passed the day to the captives; when night came down there seemed no sign of cessation from the toilsome march. On, still on, the column kept its way, until it was only an hour or so before midnight, that the savages gave signs that their resting-place was nigh. Then some of the younger braves began to stretch their wearied limbs, while Rutter looked eagerly around, striving, through the darkness, to see the various landmarks with which he was familiar. Though the renegade had said but little during the afternoon and evening, yet he ever rode near to the prisoners, keeping a watchful eye upon them. Now, as they came to a huge boulder, around which they were compelled to make a circuit, he ventured to inform the Major that they were near the end of the day’s journey, and that they would soon encamp for the night.

This intelligence, welcome as it was, elicited no remark from the captives.

At length the foremost of the file of warriors uttered a not unmusical grunt, expressive alike of satisfaction and intelligence. They were in a small timbered bottom, admirably suited for an encampment. It was toward this spot they had been aiming, through their hurried march.

Thomas Rutter, however, was not the first man to take advantage of the location. A party of red-men had evidently remained on the spot for some time, and the lodges which they had occupied were standing in a good state of preservation. One of the best of these Rutter immediately set apart for the reception of the captives. Two other huts remained, rather larger in size, though hardly as well constructed. These were made the headquarters of the chiefs; the braves were compelled to take up with beds on the bare ground, the sky their only roof.

After these dispositions had been made, Rutter sought out one of the older chiefs, and held an earnest consultation with him. During the course of the conversation, glances were more than once cast towards the hut, and then across the dimly lighted prairie. Pursuit was evidently feared, and the white man was asking the opinion of the chief, whether it would be safe, under the circumstances, to build a small fire. For some reason, best known to themselves, it was important that the Major and his daughter should be brought, safe and sound, to the land of the Blackfeet, and in order that this might be done, Rutter insisted that they should have some refreshment after eight hours travel without rest or food.

“The white brave may do as he pleases,” was the response of the red-man.

When Rutter entered the cabin, bearing a meal, plain, of course, and such as western men and western women are obliged to be content with, but abundant and substantial, there was actually an expression of benevolence on his countenance.

It is supposed by some that sorrow destroys the appetite. If such be the case, then were the prisoners not at grief’s lowest depth, for they did ample justice to the renegade’s preparations. Perhaps it was this that so far softened Robison’s heart as to enable him to speak to the man before him.

“Perhaps Rutter,” said he, “you can tell me what this thing is going to end in. You know well enough that I never had any difficulty with the tribe of which you are now, I suppose, a member. If every white man had treated the Indians in as fair a manner as I have, there would, or ought to be, a more friendly relation existing between the two races. I never was really in your region but once; and then the only harm done was shooting a deer or two and a grizzly. According to the best of my knowledge, no Blackfoot’s eye fell on me from the time I entered until the time I left their hunting-grounds.”

“Waal, Major, yer c’mencing to talk kind o’ sensible. I got nothin’ agin ye, an’ wouldn’t of myself a hurt ye; but I had my orders. If yer done as ye say, yer won’t be hurt, ner yer darter neither; if yer didn’t, it’ll be apt to be rough for both. I don’t want yer bad will, but what I done was all on account o’ justice.”

“I don’t really understand what you mean, but, if the tribe thinks I ever did it wrong, they are greatly mistaken. Can you give me any idea of the matter?”

“You’ll find that out soon enough. I got orders not to tell yer anything, but ye kin calculate on yer darter’s life bein’ safe, anyhow.”

“Thank Heaven for that. For myself I do not care. What I have done, I have done for her and her brother – her brother is safe; if she remains so, I am satisfied.”

The inside of the lodge presented a wild and picturesque appearance. Rutter was standing near the entrance, and the light from the torch which he held in his hand fell full upon his curiously-shaped head, bringing it out in all its strange oddity. The girl, young and fair, half reclined on a bed of skins, which formed part of the spoils of the Blackfeet in their late foray. The third one of the party stood in the shadow, so that his face could not be clearly seen, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and guarded.

“One more word with ye, Major,” continued Tom. “Don’t try to run away, fur you can’t do it. If ye do; I won’t be responsible fur yer safety. A chance shot in the dark sometimes goes home.”

“I make no promises, but so long as success seems improbable, I will not attempt anything of the kind.”

“Thar ar’ one thing. Ef ye git clar out o’ this it’ll be the best thing that could o’ happened to ye. It’ll pay.”

Muttering over the words, “it’ll pay,” he stuck the torch in a crevice, and left the lodge.

Stillness reigned within the rude cabin, and in half-an-hour father and daughter were buried in a profound sleep.

Outside all was silent. At different places around the camp, sentinels were placed – four in all – but these gave no cry, standing mute and grim, their forms scarcely to be distinguished in the dim gloom of night.

For some hours nothing of importance occurred, though the fleecy clouds scudding across the heavens were drawing more closely together, moved in darker and thicker procession. The wind, too, came sweeping along with a moist and dreary sound, that foretold an approaching storm. These threatening appearances could scarce escape the observation of the outposts, and their experienced eyes had clearly foreseen that a rain gust was fast coming.

The red-skins were not the only ones who foresaw the approaching storm. Hawkins and his party, some two miles distant, looked dubiously about, and making the best of an apparently bad bargain, prepared, in the absence of shelter, to submit to a drenching. Not exactly knowing in what place they were, they did not think of turning their footsteps in the direction of the deserted lodges, though they had doubtless been seen by some, if not all, of them.

“I say, Ned,” muttered Biting Fox, “ef the Major an’ his darter is dragged through this here rain, we mout as well pull horses an’ take back track. She won’t be likely to git over it; an’ ef one goes under you can bet the other will too.”

“Wait till it rains, will ye,” was the rather surly response. “Ef it rains hard forgit sights if they don’t find cover. I hain’t voyaged here so many years fur nothin’. I know Injun nature an’ Injun luck right up to the handle. Ef the Blackfeet hes the Major an’ Adele, an’ wants to keep ’em, jist bet yer back load o’ pelts, they’ll take ’em along slick an’ smooth, ef we don’t stop ’em.”

“Yaa’s, that’s ther ticket. Mules an’ Injuns hev good luck to pay ’em fur the hard licks everybody’s bound to give ’em. Meanwhile I wonder, now I’m thinkin’ of it, whar’s Jake. Nothin’ would do him but he must go on a lone scout, ’cause he felt copper-skins in his bones, an’ he must er fell in with these ’dentical cusses. Wish he was along agin. If he does blow like a tired buffalo, he’s some on a fight. Wonder what’s become of him?”

“Like enough he’s rubbed out,” remarked one, and the conversation ended.

But Jake Parsons was alive and well.

In our first chapter, we mentioned that Hugh Robison, when, to the eyes of the eager Indians he made his appearance, was accompanied by a companion, who was none other than Parsons himself.

Jake, by the way, was something of a character – characters are frequently met with in the far West. Though a painter might hope to convey a pretty fair idea of his face; an author could scarce hope to give a respectable description, for, but one distinctive feature could be mentioned, and that was hair. The hair on top of his head was long, but that on his face and chin was, if any thing, longer. A weather-beaten old hat, slouched over the whole, gave him a rather ruffianly appearance, utterly at variance with his real disposition. His voice was by no means unmelodious. As has already been hinted, he was somewhat addicted to “blowing;” but, fighting imaginary battles, as he sometimes did, he was not, for that, any the worse a fighter in the general scrimmage of an Indian melee. Self-reliant and courageous, he cared little for companions, and was willing at any moment to set out upon a trapping excursion into the very heart of the country of a hostile tribe. From such an expedition was he returning, when he fell in with Hugh, and was fortunately with him, when he ran so near a chance of being taken prisoner. Hardly had the excitement of retreat subsided, when the natural feelings of the young man began to find expression, he hardly thought of pursuit. The trapper, on the contrary, took a more philosophical view of the case, and in words well suited for the purpose, cheered up the young man’s spirits.

“I tell ye, Hugh, it ain’t as bad as it mout be. Neither on ’em’s hurt; they have a long journey afore ’em, an’ it’ll be darned queer ef we can’t git ’em out o’ bad hands afore they stop. When ye’ve seen as much as I hev, ye’ll not give in so soon to misfortun’!”

“But, what can we two do against so many?”

“Waugh! Don’t ye know that Jack Howell has seen ’em, an’ that Ned Hawkins will be on the trail afore to-morrow night. They’re in camp, not forty miles from here, and will scent the game right away. Ef we foller strait on ahindt – we’ll be in at the death, sure.”

“You know more about such matters than I do, and so I put myself in your hands. Do whatever you think best, and rest assured that I will aid you.”

“What do yer make out of that, yonder? It looks to me rather like a rise of smoke, though, they’d hardly be fools enough to light a fire.”

“It must be a cloud, and yet – ”

“Ef I’m mistaken, why then, may grizzlies eat me. They are a campin’ in them old lodges what the Crows left, when they war on a big buff’ler hunt up yonder. I know the lay of the land, fust rate, an’ ef you stay here, I’ll go ahead an’ reconnoiter a bit. I can’t tell exactly whether we kin do any good, but, I kin, when I see ’em once.”

“Remember to be careful. I would be but an infant here, without your advice and assistance.”

“In course, I will. I haven’t got sich a great desire to ’pear at a Blackfoot burnin’, so I’ll try to keep a sound scalp for some days to come. Lay low now, an’ ef any thing happens, you’ll soon know it, an’ clear out accordin’.”

In less than half-an-hour, the light-treading scout reappeared. He found Hugh standing on the spot where he had left him, though he had dismounted, and was allowing his horse to pick up such nourishment as he could find within reach.

“Waal, Hugh, I kinder guess we can’t do much to-night. They are just whar I thought they war, camped in the old lodges. I war in among ’em, an’ found the Major war in the middle wigwam; but, as thar war a copper-skin lyin’ right acrost the door, I didn’t think it advisable to try to git in.”

“You say that the prisoners are confined in the middle one of the three lodges, are you certain of this?” anxiously queried the young man.

“Purty much so. That war the one whar the guard war a lyin’ acrost the door, an’ at the other two, every one war on the inside. But then, thar ar half a dozen or so lyin’ around loose, so as it’s rather hard to get between ’em all.”

“Parsons, my mind is made up; I will see my father to-night. I do not entirely expect to rescue him, but I intend to see him, and, if I can, let him know that he has friends near, who will do all in their power to aid him. If I am discovered, I can but give you the same advice which you gave me a few minutes ago, make off in the dark.”