Boys' Book of Frontier Fighters Part 25

"All of us. Old White Eagle and Singing Bird are going with us, to clean the fish. But that doesn't matter."

They were the old father and mother who lived in the same family with Buck Elk.

"Time's getting awful short," Fat Bear mused. "But maybe we can try something."

With wrinkled White Eagle and Singing Bird scuttling close behind, they went fishing in the river below the village. They had not said it to each other, but they hoped never to come back. They must make a break for liberty soon. The warriors might return within a week. The forest beckoned close at hand. And southward, far, far southward, their real home called to them. They had been gone almost eight months, but it felt like an age.

"To-night, huh?" murmured Buck Elk, as he and Little Fat Bear fished together, and the two old Indians drowsed in the shade, or wove baskets of reeds.

"How?"

"Light out from camp while they're asleep. May not get another chance.

That's why I told 'em we'd like to stay all night, so as to get plenty fish."

"They'll signal help and trail us. Some of those old men can travel heap fast."

"So can we. We'll have a head start, and I don't believe there's anybody in the village who can catch us."

"All right. They can't do any more than beat us if they do catch us.

We'll tell the other fellows."

They sidled along, until they could tell their partners.

"I'll go," Fat Bear's s.p.u.n.ky brother agreed at once. "If they try to catch us we'll fight 'em off with clubs and rocks. Who's afraid of the old men? We'll make their tongues hang out."

"I'll go, you bet," agreed the fourth, also. "My folks need me. I'm sick of playing Injun."

"Well, we'll all lie down to sleep; and in the middle of the night I'll wake you up," proposed Buck Elk.

"Sure?"

"Sure. Now don't let's talk any more."

At dark the camp went to bed. The two old Indians were sound sleepers.

About midnight Buck Elk softly turned; he had not slept a wink. He nudged the next boy, the next boy nudged the next, and the nudge was pa.s.sed on. They softly slipped, one after another, from their blankets. The two old Indians never stirred. In the star-light the four hastily grabbed what food they could; and leaving White Eagle and Singing Bird lying there they tiptoed away, on their silent moccasins, into the forest.

Fat Bear led. He was a good woodsman. Soon they ran; and they ran and walked fast until daylight, traveling with their backs to the North Star. Then the sun guided them, until about noon, when they had to stop and rest.

"How far, you think?" panted the fourth boy.

"Twenty-five miles, I guess. We'd better cover our trail and hide.

Come on. Follow me," bade crafty Fat Bear.

They stepped on rocks and logs, swung from tree to tree, and dropped down among bushes. That was an anxious afternoon. One kept watch while the others slept. They took turns watching and listening. They heard not a sound of the pursuit. Except for the birds and squirrels the forest was quiet. Their hearts beat hopefully. But of course tottering old men on the trail was a different matter from that of swift, crafty warriors.

In the dusk they started on again, to travel all night. After this they traveled by night and slept by day. That was the proper way.

They knew how to do, as well as men. They trudged down hill and up, scrambled through ravines, crossed brush and forest and swamps, they waded and swam, they ate the ripe berries and nuts of the October crop, managed to kill a squirrel and rabbit, now and again, with a rock or a club; their buckskin clothes and moccasins were worn to tatters, but they slept warm in sunny nooks: and all the nights they were pushing steadily on southward for the Ohio River and Louisville.

A journey like this, of over two hundred miles afoot, making their own trail, avoiding the Indian villages and hunters and out-pacing the pursuit, and living off the country, getting food by their wits, no boys ever had achieved before.

It took them three weeks. In November they emerged upon the north sh.o.r.e of the Ohio, squarely opposite Louisville. They had struck their goal exactly. They shouted and waved, but n.o.body would come for them, and the rapids of the falls ran swiftly between the two sh.o.r.es. They could see people gazing; the people saw them.

"They think us Injuns," Fat Bear gasped, at last. "Blame it, guess we do look some like Injuns, in our rigs."

"Shucks! How'll we get over? We can't swim."

"And Injuns are on our trail. You know we sighted smoke last evening.

We don't want to be caught here."

"We'll go up above the rapids and make a raft. Quick! We can manage with this knife."

They hurried. They went up the sh.o.r.e about six miles, and worked hard gathering logs, and cutting brush and vines with their one knife. They feared that they'd hear the Indians any moment. The warriors were hot after them. Whew! And there was home, just across!

The raft, when finished, did not amount to much.

"It won't hold all of us," puffed Fat Bear. "You get on. I'm the heaviest. I'm the best swimmer, too. You-all paddle, and I'll swim alongside."

They tumbled aboard, with branches for oars. Little Fat Bear shoved off and began to swim and push. They had no time to spare--

"Listen!"

Shrill whoops sounded. The Miamis were on the fresh trail.

"Hurry!"

Fat Bear kicked and pushed mightily; the others dug with their boughs.

The clumsy raft moved slowly, and was carried down stream by the current. Would they never get away from sh.o.r.e! Would the Miamis swim after them, or shoot! They made a good target.

"Look! Somebody's coming to meet us!"

That was so. From the opposite sh.o.r.e a boat--two boats had put out.

The raft was drifting badly, but the danger sh.o.r.e gradually receded, the rescue boats neared, and the home sh.o.r.e grew plainer. Swimming, Little Fat Bear was getting blue around the mouth, his face was pale and pinched. The November water had chilled him to the bone.

"Can you keep going?"

"Yes, I'm all right. You keep paddling."

"There they are!"

The Miamis had burst out upon the sh.o.r.e behind. They yelled furiously, and shook their fists--but they yelled and threatened in vain. Now they dared not follow farther. The boats from the Kentucky sh.o.r.e took the paddlers off the raft; dragged Little Fat Bear from the cold water.

His teeth chattered. He could not manage himself. He had not been taken out any too soon.

"Who are you, anyhow! White boys? Where from?"

"We're the boys that the Miamis stole from the Pope settlement last February--all except Billy Wells. He's with 'em still."

"What! How'd you get away? Your folks had give you up. I declare!

Made off alone, did you!"