CHAPTER V.
IN A TREE-TOP.
THE Yankee looked hard at the gleaming orbs close to his own, and could just make out a dark body stretched along the limbs. He was far from liking the appearance of the affair. It might be an Indian, or it was just as likely to be a panther. If the latter, a struggle with him would bring the Indians upon him, whose footsteps already sounded along the bank. He loosened his knife in its sheath, though he well knew how powerless he would be in a tree-top, fighting against an animal which could light like a feather upon a bending bough and leap to another with all the quickness of a cat.
"Jehosaphat!" he muttered. "What'n thunder will I do now? I guess I'm gobbled 'up this time, shure. I wish I had a pike, I dew. Thunder and lightning, this ain't pooty."
The dark object upon the limb did not move, and there was no time to be lost. Seth determined to know what it was at all hazards. Thrusting his hand into his pouch, he drew out a box of punk, struck a spark and ignited the whole piece. As the light flashed up he caught a glimpse of an Indian, extended at full length along the limb. Dropping the fire he hurled himself downward, falling upon the prostrate figure and clasped his long arms about its throat tightly, with his bony knuckles pressed hard against the windpipe. So quickly was it done that the Indian had only time to utter a smothered cry before his breath was stopped completely. The limb bent and swayed under the weight of the heavy bodies, and they began to slide downward. A fall of twenty feet was not what Seth wished for, but, locked in the embrace of the savage, he could not help himself unless he let go his hold upon the throat, and then the cries of the Indian would bring his friends to the rescue. They slid down, turned completely over once, and fell with a dull sound upon the moss-covered knoll at the foot of the tree, the Yankee uppermost. A fall from that distance would have been likely to shock the savage some, but add to that the avoirdupois of a man weighing as much as this Yankee, and the damage is likely to be greater. All the remaining breath of the Indian went out like the flame of an expiring lamp, and he lay senseless under the body of Spink, who was somewhat confused by the fall.
"Dead, I guess," he muttered. "Teach him to tree in my place, the darned heathen. Ugh!"
Picking up the senseless body he threw it over a log out of sight, and then, instead of returning to the tree, he crept cautiously back toward the river. The Indians were scattered along the banks, and, just as he peeped out, a loud whoop announced the discovery of the canoe.
"That'll bring 'em together," said he to himself. "I guess we'd better put out for camp."
He turned to go back, when, to his utter surprise, from every direction the savages bounded out upon him and clung to him like cats. At this moment the wonderful strength of the athlete showed itself. Stretching out his long arms, he dragged the Indians who clung to him on either side from their hold, and dashed them to the earth, and then, placing his back to a tree, he drew a knife and hatchet, and braining a Wyandot who rushed upon him incautiously, sent his knife through the shoulder of another, while he planted his right foot with desperate force in the stomach of a third, doubling him up and sending him rolling to the earth with the life nearly kicked out of his body. At the same time he gave utterance to a terrific yell, which rung through the arches of the deep woods, rivaling the shouts of his assailants. With savage screams the Indians rushed at him from three sides, but those long arms and feet made deadly work among them, and though a dozen rushed at him together his desperate valor kept them all at bay.
There was a hearty shout and war-cry from the rear, and, the Dead Chief and Will Floyd rushed in, scattering the savages right and left. They reached the side of the Yankee, who was fighting with desperate zeal.
"Break for the canoe," he whispered, as he struck down an Indian. "It's your only chance."
Darting round the tree, and overthrowing the savages who barred their way, they reached the canoe, which still lay upon the shore. So sudden was the action that the Indians were stupefied, and the brave trio gained a rod or so in advance before their foes started in pursuit. They had gained the canoe, the Dead Chief and the Yankee were already in it, and Floyd was following, when he fell by a hatchet hurled at him by Willimack. Seth would have turned back to aid him, but the Dead Chief seized the paddle and pushed off quickly, just as the Indians pounced upon the fallen man. A score of them plunged into the water, each with a hatchet or knife in his teeth, but the quick strokes of the paddle soon left them far behind. A useless volley from those on shore followed.
"Poor lad," said Yankee Seth. "I'm afeard he's gone under."
"The young soldier is very brave," replied the chief. "If he is not dead, he will die like a man. And now, hear the words of the Dead Chief. I swear by the grave of my father, by the totem of my tribe, that I will not go back to the village where my squaw and pappooses dwell, until the young war-chief is saved or I have avenged him. It is spoken; the Dead Chief can not lie."
"Good for yew, old man," said the Yankee. "I'm with yew threw thick an' thin. Thar's my hand on it. Shake."
The two woodmen clasped hands, while the canoe floated at will in the midst of the dark stream.
They lifted Floyd and dragged him up the bank into the bushes, where Willimack and Elskwatawa stood. He had been stunned at first by the stroke of the hatchet and was still dizzy and faint when he faced the chiefs. Their dark looks convinced him that he had little to hope from them. The death-wail was rising from the Indian band as they lifted the bodies of the fallen and laid them in a row along the bank. Four were dead, including the neighbor of the Yankee in the tree-top, and as many more desperately wounded. In such a melée as this, when a body of men assail a desperate athlete like the dreaded Long Man, some must get hurt. The cloud upon the face of the Prophet grew darker as, one by one, the dead were brought out, and Willimack uttered a snarl like a tiger as a man who had been his best friend was laid with the rest.
"It is finished then," thought Floyd. "They will revenge themselves upon me for the death of these men. I can only meet my fate like a man; but my poor father, my darling Madge! Oh, if the Skeleton Scout would but come now and scatter these fiendish knaves as he did at the stockade! I wonder if Yankee Seth or the chief were injured? Even if they are safe, what can they do against so many?"
At this moment the panther-call of which Seth had spoken came from the opposite bank of the stream. A faint hope came into the heart of the prisoner. The call was given to show that he was safe and would not desert him in the hour of need. Willimack advanced and looked in the face of Floyd with that vicious glance of triumph which small natures feel in the power they may gain over an enemy.
"Floyd," said he, "the white man can not have all his own way. To-night I was insulted in your wigwam—I, a chief of a great nation. I told you then that a chief never forgot, and that the day of revenge would come; behold it is here already!"
"Do not trouble me by too much talking, Willimack. I am in your power, it is true, but for all that you shall not force me to cringe to you, or to ask mercy at your hands."
"Waugh! Will you not beg for life from the Wyandot and Shawnee?"
"No."
"Listen. Was it you that cut the bonds which bound the Dead Chief to the tree?"
"It was."
"Good! That is another thing against you. Did you know that the Dead Chief was our prisoner?"
"Yes. That is the reason I set him free," replied Floyd, in an undaunted tone.
"It is well. You speak like a great brave, and had you lived would have been a great chief among the white men. But, the white men must cease from off the face of the Indian country. We love it too well to let the feet of bad men press it, and tread upon the earth where our fathers' bones are laid. The English are friends to us, and will not take our country; the Americans steal all."
"Do what you mean to do, and at once. I can bear any indignity you may heap upon me, as becomes a man."
Willimack stood aside, and the Prophet advanced. His dark face was working with passion, and he seemed to struggle to repress a desire to strike down the young soldier where he stood. His fingers clutched the handle of a hatchet convulsively, and now and then he half drew it from its sheath.
"Let Elskwatawa speak, for he is the great Prophet of the Shawnees. I see before me the dead of my tribe and one warrior of the Wyandots. They had hoped to live to fight many battles against the whites and again possess the land of their fathers. The Manitou came to me in a dream and told me that the time had come for the Indians to drive out the white dogs and take their own again. Therefore you see us in our war-paint to-day."
He paused and cast a wild glance about him which seemed to have a great effect upon the savages, and they uttered a wail of agony.
"But see," he cried. "They lie in their blood upon their own soil, and the man who killed them is in our hands."
A triumphant shout went up as he said this, and fierce looks were directed at the young soldier, who returned them by a glance of haughty defiance.
"The Indians deal justly by all," said the Prophet. "No man can die by their hands who is not worthy of death for some great wrong done to the nations. Warriors and chiefs, I have gone among the white men at Vincennes, and have spoken to the war-chief Harrison. The tears have flowed from my eyes when I spoke of the wrongs of my people; yes, my tears have fallen like rain. He is a man of iron, and I can not melt him. He cares not for us, but for his own people. You stood by, Willimack, when all the chiefs were seated and Tecumseh stood up like a child about to be punished. At last they saw how great an insult this was to the great chief. They offered him a chair; but the chief looked at them with scorn when they said, 'Your father offers you a seat!' 'My father?' he cried. 'The sun is my father and the earth is my mother. I will repose on her bosom.'[1]
"The chief will bear no more. The battle must be fought and we will win again the lands of our fathers. We must not fail. The mortification of failure shall never be ours, and my great brother will not disgrace me by a mistake. I hear the warriors shout as they gather. I hear them in the South and East, in the North and West, with a sound like the summer leaves rising and rustling in the breeze. I hear their tread upon the mountains, by the silent rivers and in the green valleys. It is well. Shall Tecumseh tremble and shall Elskwatawa fail? No! The mountains and plains the Great Spirit gave us are around us, behind and before.
"I too have my warriors; and here, on the Wabash, on the Scioto, and on the broad waters of the North, my voice shall be heard for war."
He ceased for a moment, and cast a sad glance upon the bodies on the ground.
"There be our brothers, who had thought to take a part in this great battle to come. Their eyes are closed, their voices are not heard, their lips are pale, their ears hear no sound. What is this I see upon their faces? It is blood, the blood of the white man's shedding. And now, I think I hear a voice, speaking from the dead lips, and it says, 'Avenge me on my foes! My blood has been shed, and I can not cross the dark river until I smell the blood of one of the accursed race.'"
His eyes again fell upon Floyd, and fire seemed to flash from their depths.
"Who is this I see before me? His hands are red with blood. It is the blood of Negarish and Monado, of Cartain and Zeman. My brothers, let us light a fire and burn this white man, and then the souls of my brothers shall find rest and peace."
A wild cry arose from the assembled band, and they began to collect dried leaves and sticks from the surrounding woods, and pile them about the limbs of young Floyd after they had tied him to a tree. The pile rose until it reached nearly to his shoulders, and he felt that his last hour had come. He was brave enough to meet his fate, but it was agony to him to know that, when the flames had consumed his body, there would be no one left to protect his father, and Madge, whom he had hoped to make his wife when the autumn leaves were yellowing in the sun. He began to suspect that when he was gone, Willimack would go back and storm the stockade. What then would be the fate of his father and that sweet girl he could not think. Madge was brave, he knew, but, would she have strength enough, when the hour of her great peril came, to save herself from dishonor with her own hand?
"Stand back," said Willimack. "Let the voice of a chief speak terror to the ears of his enemy before he dies. I am Willimack, chief of the Wyandot, and I am ashamed to be at the death of a child. I see water in your eyes, and I know you are weeping in your heart. You fear the pain which will come when the flames curl and the smoke rolls about you. Let the chief of the Wyandots speak. You know that you refused me the shelter of your dwelling when I came to it. The yellow-haired hunter struck me down and bound me, but I saw that the Bright Eyes looked sadly upon the disgrace of a chief. Good; the Bright Eyes shall make the fire bright in the lodge of Willimack."
Bright Eyes was the Indian name given to Madge by those who, from time to time, visited the cabin of the Floyds.
"Oh, red hound!" shrieked Floyd. "Oh, if I had dreamed half the villainy you had in your black heart, I would have killed you as you sat by my fire."
"The heart of a chief is not open to the eyes of a dull pale-face," replied Willimack, scornfully. "The Bright Eyes is very beautiful. Her voice is like the song of the birds when the summer sun is high. Floyd would have made a nest for her that she should sing for him alone; but Willimack laughs, for he knows that she can only sing in his lodge."
Floyd struggled manfully to break his bonds, glaring furiously at the savage who knelt at his feet, and, striking a flint and steel, began to kindle the flame. It burned slowly, for the leaves were damp. Again and again it smoldered and went out, but the Indian persevered until a little jet of flame leaped up. This he fed, leaf after leaf, until he had a little fire burning, apart from the pile, about the person of the young soldier. He took savage delight in prolonging the scene, and the Indians, understanding his motive, yelled in concert and danced wildly about the tree.
Willimack now took up a lighted brand, and with it touched the person of the prisoner in various places, laughing in demoniac glee when he shrunk from the contact. Others took the hint and followed the same amusement for some time, the young man bearing it bravely. They at length lit the pile, and the flames began to creep up about his person, and a thick smoke arose. He was dimly able to see through the smoke and flame, that the Indians were dancing and shouting all around, when a new cry arose, and he saw the Indians break and run in every direction, evidently in the greatest dread. Then the figure of the being known as the Skeleton Scout bounded into the open space. Seeing him closely, the young man could conceive of nothing more horrible than the ghastly head, blazing eyes, and tremendous hight of this strange being. "Oonah! Oonah!" was the cry of the Indians as they fled, and the next moment the brands were scattered and the young man was free!
"Stand here until you hear the loon-cry, and then make for the river, where your friends are waiting. Remember the Skeleton Scout!”