Bill Biddon, Trapper Part 12

"Yes, I'm convinced that's Injin blood," added Nat, rubbing it between the tip of his finger and thumb. "The blood of a Blackfoot Injin, too--a man's about thirty-two years old. Probably a brother to the one I frightened."

"What do you know about that?" I asked.

"Oh! it's only a supposition of mine."

"Biddon, I believe, as I just said, that we will find the body of that savage near at hand. Let us follow it."

"Jes' what I's agoin' to do," he replied, starting off at once upon the trail.

It was easy to follow, as every step was marked by blood, which, in many places, was dripping from the bushes to the ground. It was followed but a short distance, however, as it led in a direct line to the river.

"It's as I s'pected," said Biddon, turning round in disgust.

"He must have drowned then."

"Dunno 'bout that. He's taken to the water to hide his trail, an' jes'

as like as not some of the other painted heathen have helped him off."

"No doubt about that. I've been thinking that some of them helped off that fellow when I was loading my gun."

"We mought as well go back agin," said Biddon. "I'm tired of huntin'

spirits, and I dunno but what we'd better move traps and leave this plagued place to 'em."

"That's what I am in favor of--"

Nat suddenly paused, for Biddon, with a slight "sh" motioned us down.

We both sank quickly and silently to the earth, while he, in a crouching position, gazed stealthily up-stream.

"What is it, Bill?" whispered Nat.

"_There's a canoe comin' down stream!_"

We said nothing; and Nat looking meaningly in the water.

"Skin me, if there ain't two reds and a squaw in it," added Biddon, without changing his position, or removing his gaze.

I could not restrain the singular agitation that came over me at this announcement. Fearing to betray myself, I cautiously arose beside Biddon.

"Let me take a look," I whispered.

"Be keerful you ain't seen," he whispered, in turn, as he stepped back.

As I looked, I saw, not more than two hundred yards distant the canoe approaching, heading directly towards us. For this reason, I could only see the foremost Indian, though I was positive another, together with the white captive, were in it. I gazed but a moment and then looked inquiringly at the trapper. He made no reply, but again peered forth.

"That ain't a squaw; it's a white gal," said he, looking round upon us with an astounded look.

"Shall we rescue her?" I asked.

"Ef she wants us to, in course."

"You going to shoot them?" asked Nat, anxiously.

"Can't tell yit. Jest see that yer irons is ready, and we'll wait till they get out yer. Don't make no noise till I give the motion."

The trapper stole a yard or two in front of us, where he sank softly down upon his face until only his head was visible. Nat fingered his gun nervously beside me, while I, not a whit less agitated, waited for the canoe to appear through the interstices of the bushes in front.

In a moment, I heard the faint ripple of an oar, and saw the trapper slowly raising his head and bringing his rifle in front of him. He raised his hand warningly for us to remain quiet until the moment should arrive. I heard the click of my companion's gun, as he raised the hammer, and admonished him to be careful.

Suddenly, I saw the red head-dress of one of the savages glittering through the bushes, and, before I could speak, came an explosion beside me like the crash of a thunderbolt. Almost simultaneously, the herculean frame of the trapper bounded over me, and he exclaimed:

"Who fired that? I'm shot."

Nat and I sprang to our feet and dashed after him; but as I turned, though bewildered with excitement, I looked at the spot where the canoe was seen. It was gone!

We dashed up the bank, and in a moment reached Biddon. The excitement had completely gone, and he stood coolly feeling his ear.

"Was that your gun, Ja.r.s.ey?" he asked.

"No, sir; mine is still loaded."

"How is yours, Greeny?"

Nat lifted his, examined the lock and looked into the barrel. He had indeed discharged it, grazing the trapper's head so closely as to wound his ear.

"Wonder if that was my gun? Sure, I believe it was," he remarked, still looking into the barrel.

"Was it your gun?" repeated the trapper, his brow darkening like a thunder-cloud, and laying his hand upon his knife-handle, as he approached. Nat looked up and started as he saw his visage fairly gleaming with pa.s.sion.

"I didn't shoot it, Bill, by thunder!" he expostulated.

The face of the trapper changed. It grew paler, and the dark cloud fled from it. He replaced his drawn knife. He believed the words of Nat.

Matters were approaching a crisis. The recent startling events had their effect upon us all. The trapper avowed he could not stand "sich goin's on," and should leave for some other quarters. Little sleep came to Nat at night. His adventure with the savage, and the more recent occurrence alarmed him. He had discovered that there were consequences to be feared from both sides.

I was still unwilling to believe that there was anything in the events given which would not soon be explained. It was evident our foes were around, and from some inexplicable cause, had pursued an unusual course toward us. We had all been exposed to their power, and had yet escaped harmless. What was the meaning of this? And, above all, what was the object of the appearance and disappearance of the canoe at the different times mentioned? Who could be that fair being of whose existence I only was as yet aware?

These questions, prompted only my anxious curiosity and desire to learn more of that mysterious being whom I had now twice seen. I ridiculed the ideas of Biddon, and Nat strove hard to convince him that he was not afraid. Biddon, consented to remain until more was learned, intimating at the same time, that it must be very soon. He visited the horses each day, and found them undisturbed. This, however, only added to his anxiety. Had they been gone he would have taken it as convincing evidence that _bona fide_ Indians were in the neighborhood.

The next day, after the closing scene of the last chapter, Nat agreed to accompany me for the last time to the spot where we had seen the canoe. The trapper could not be prevailed upon to go, affirming that he should probably have his hands full at home. It required my utmost skill to succeed with Nat, as the horror had plainly settled upon him.

"It's awful!" said he, as we started, "this walking right into danger, but I want to see that canoe agin, but especially that gal, and so I'll go."

"And, I trust, behave yourself. You well know, Nat, you fired that shot which came so near ending Biddon's life."

"Wonder if I did pull the trigger!" he exclaimed, suddenly stopping and looking round at me.

"You _know_ you did, and had he known it, too, it would have been a sorry piece of business for you. That temper of his is terrible, when it is once excited."

"I remember c.o.c.king my gun, and kind of pulling the trigger, but I didn't mean to pull hard enough to make it go off."