The Boy Chums In The Forest Part 15

"The young white chief carries an old head on young shoulders," at last he said approvingly. "He speaks truly when he says that the air is thick with danger. When the blackness of night comes, then will come, also, those who make war from behind the trees of the forest. In the darkness, how is the young white and his friends to tell enemies from friends? The jackals will wriggle through and over the wall of trees like snakes through tall gra.s.s. After what they have seen, can my white friends expect mercy at hands already stained red?"

Charley shook his head. "Thou speakest my thoughts, but are we to be murdered in the dark by creatures such as those?"

"The mind of the young is ever quick and hasty in its flights,"

reproved the wounded chief, gravely. "What use for the medicine man to point out the sickness, unless he has the proper barks and plants?"

"Well," said Charley, "let the wisdom of one grown wise in councils tell us of the cure for this disease."

The wounded savage was again seized with a fit of coughing, and it was some moments before he could reply. "Between the glades and here--a swift half day's journey--a small island lies in the middle of the river. There, four men could stand off an army. If I commanded the paleface friends as I do my tribe, I would say, bury all things too heavy to carry away in the canoes of cloth, while it is yet light, turn the ponies loose that they may not starve. Put all else in the cloth boats. Let some keep up a noise and fire from the wall of trees to convince the white men without hearts that you are going to stay and fight. With the first darkness of night let all take to the boats. I with the Little Tiger will lead the way, then may come him you call captain with the little one whose face is like the night, lastly, may come you and the one with the eager face (Walter). Without noise must we go, and keep close to each other, for the river has many arms stretched out for the unwary stranger. At the island of which I spoke, you may camp in safety while we go on alone. I stop at my wigwam to die, alone, in peace and quietness with the great spirit, as becomes a chief of a long line of chiefs, but he, who will soon he chief, will travel quickly on gathering together my people. With them he will return, and of the twelve who murder from behind trees not one shall return to boast of his deeds. When the buzzards are feeding off their bones, then, may you return and secure that which you have buried, the ponies, and all of that which is yours. That is the counsel of one of a race of chiefs. What is the answer of the young white chief?"

"I must consult with those who share my dangers, Chief," said Charley gravely. "We talk not like squaws, and in five minutes you shall have our answer."

The Seminole rolled over on his side exhausted from his long speech and frequent coughing spells, while Charley beckoned the captain and Walter out of earshot.

"You have heard it all, now I want your opinion," he said simply.

"After this last terrible mistake of mine, it will be long before I trust to my judgment again."

"We all fell into the same error, lad," said the captain, kindly. "The blame, if any, belongs to us all. Forget it, Charley, and don't let it weaken your self-confidence. Now what do you think of the plan of our red-skinned friend?"

"I believe it's our only chance for life," he answered regretfully, "those cut-throats have got us foul. It's run away or be killed."

"Then I'm for running. But, think you, he can be trusted to pilot us aright?"

"He will not pilot us far, I fear," said Charley, sadly. "I doubt if he will reach his wigwam. That bullet touched a lung all right. If he dies on the way we must look to the son; he is of the same spirit as the father, or I am no judge of character."

"They both speak English wonderfully well," said Walter musingly.

"So do most of the Seminoles," explained Charley. "They come in to the outlying towns at rare intervals to exchange their venison and skins for ammunition and cloth, and it's wonderful how quickly they pick up the language. But I am rambling. The question before us is, shall we abandon all our things and run away with a fair chance of escaping with whole skins, or stay and fight it out with the certainty of being killed, sooner or later?"

"Run," said the captain decisively, "and trust to luck and the chief to recover our things."

"Retreat," voted Walter regretfully.

Without another word, Charley turned back to the bedside of the suffering savage, whose pain-tortured eyes had never strayed from their faces during the conference.

"Chief, we have decided that your plan is the only one to follow,"

Charley said, simply.

Exultation showed for a second on the Indian's, set features. "Good,"

he exclaimed, "listen, young white chief. Do not mourn the loss of ponies and things such as you must leave behind. To-day you risked your life to save a stranger Indian and his boy. Great shall be your reward when this trouble is over. That with which to trade for many ponies shall be yours."

In his excitement the wounded man had partly raised himself on his elbow, but the exertion was too much; there was a rush of blood from his lips and he sank back on his couch in a dead faint. In a second Charley was by his side forcing down more brandy between the clenched teeth. The powerful stimulant acted quickly. In a moment the sufferer again opened his eyes to consciousness. Charley beckoned to his chum.

"Go relieve his boy," he whispered, "and send him here. I want him to get his instructions from his father before there comes another attack.

The captain and I will fix for our departure."

"Good," exclaimed the chief, whose keen ears had caught the low-whispered conversation, "we won't die yet, though. Die in our own wigwam when Great Spirit tolls the bell of mystery."

Walter was off like a shot, and the young Seminole soon stood by his father's couch. While the two indulged in earnest conversation in their own tongue, the captain and Charley worked hastily, for the sun was already setting. What things they dared risk carrying were hustled into the frail canoes. One of the couches was conveyed to the dugout and spread out in the bottom and two of the thickest blankets spread on top of the leaves. The ponies were cast loose to shift for themselves.

Their remaining stuff was shoved into the water-proof bag and buried in a high spot. By the time this was done, the first shades of night had fallen. At Charley's suggestion, all hurried into the barricade, and for fifteen minutes poured a hail of bullets into the forest to convince the outlaws that they were still there and on the alert.

Then all hurried back to the camp. Many hands made easy and gentle work of conveying the wounded man from his couch to the comfortable bed in the dugout. The young Indian took his place in the stern of the ticklish craft, and with a single shove of his long pole sent it far out into the stream. The captain, with Chris, followed a few yards behind, paddling with soft noiseless strokes. A few yards in their wake came the last canoe containing Walter and Charley, and quickly the outline of the point was lost in the darkness behind.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FLIGHT BY NIGHT.

As the canoes glided silently towards the convicts' camp the paddle strokes of the fugitives grew slower and more guarded, the blades of the paddles were no longer lifted clear of the water lest the falling drops from them should be heard by those on sh.o.r.e. The river narrowed suddenly opposite the point, and the canoes would be compelled to pa.s.s within a hundred feet of the enemy's camp. All of the convicts might be in the woods surrounding the hunters' camp, waiting to close in on their supposed victims, but there was a chance that they had had the foresight to count upon this very attempt at escape and had left some of their number on the point to cut off the retreat.

Charley thought of all this as he knelt in the stern of his little craft and plied the paddle slowly and with infinite caution, his every nerve tense, and sight and hearing strained to catch any sound of movement on the rapidly nearing point. Were it white men only that they were seeking to elude, he would have felt far less apprehension, but he recognized that in the person of Indian Charley they had to deal with a mind crafty and cunning, that would be likely to provide against the very move they were making. Even in his anxiety, Charley could not but notice and admire the marvelous skill with which the young Indian in the dugout handled his clumsy craft. He hugged close to the farther sh.o.r.e and glided along its border as noiselessly as a shadow. The captain, although but little used to the paddle, was also doing surprisingly well and was following closely in the wake of the dugout.

Silently the dugout at last glided past the dangerous point, and a moment later the captain's canoe also slipped gently by.

Charley gave a sigh of relief. They were safely past and could laugh at any attempted pursuit in the clumsy dugouts the convicts possessed.

But that one unguarded moment of relief was disastrous in its result.

In a deep, careless stroke, his paddle struck a submerged log and the slender blade snapped short off with a loud crack, the ticklish canoe careened suddenly to one side, then righted again with a sullen splash.

At the sound the silent point quickly stirred with life. There was the hum of excited voices and a blinding flash of flame lit up the darkness, followed by the sharp crack of rifles and the hum of bullets,--they were discovered.

"Give way all," shouted Charley, as he fumbled in the darkness for the spare paddle, which he at last succeeded in finding. "Are you hurt, Walt?" he called anxiously to his companion.

"Not a bit," answered his chum cheerfully, "but hurry up or we will be getting another volley."

The canoe had drifted beyond the point before her way died out, but was still less than a hundred yards from it. By the splashing of water the boys could tell that the convicts were launching one of the dugouts in pursuit. With vigorous strokes Charley sent their light craft flying ahead; a few minutes and they would be out of rifle-shot and out of danger, but again there was the crack of rifles and Charley called to his chum with a voice hoa.r.s.e with pain, "You'll have to take her, Walt, they got me that time."

"Bad?" cried Walter anxiously, as they changed places.

"In the shoulder," weakly, "but don't mind about me. Shove her ahead as fast as you can, the others have got quite a start of us, and we've got to catch them."

For half an hour Walter paddled silently on, putting all his strength into the strokes that sent the light craft leaping ahead, leaving the pursuing dugout far behind.

"Charley," he called at last, "isn't it time we were up with at least the chief's dugout?"

But only silence greeted his question, his plucky chum had fainted from pain and the loss of blood.

For a few moments Walter let the canoe drift, while he pondered as to what he should do. He felt sure that they had pa.s.sed the captain and his companions--but how? In the excitement of the pursuit he must have pa.s.sed unnoticed a point where the river branched and had taken the wrong fork. There were, he knew, dozens of such forks to the river and the mistake was one that might easily have been made under any circ.u.mstances. The question now was what to do about it. To return was to run the risk of falling into the hands of the convicts, and the chance of finding the stream the others had taken was exceedingly small. There might be a dozen tributaries between him and the convicts' point, and how was he to tell which was the right one? In desperation he crawled forward to his unconscious companion and sprinkled his face again and again with water from the river.

At last Charley opened his eyes with a moan of pain.

"We're lost," shouted Walter eagerly. "I can't find the captain or chief, what shall I do?" He bent his head to catch the feeble answer from the wounded lad's lips.

"Keep on, keep on. When the river forks, take the largest stream, and--" but Charley had fainted again.

With a heavy heart, Walter crept back to his place in the stern and resumed the paddle. It was a terrible situation for a young, inexperienced lad; lost on a great river in a frail canoe, pursued by relentless enemies, and alone, except for a wounded, and perhaps dying companion. It was enough to strike terror into one much older than our boy hunter.

Throughout the long night the despairing lad paddled steadily on, praying for the day to break. At last it came with a blaze of glory in the east. When it grew light enough to see, he rose cautiously and gazed around him.

The prospect was disheartening enough. The river had narrowed to less than a hundred yards in width and wound and twisted amongst the waste of marsh that stretched desolately ahead and astern as far as the eye could see. To the east and west the marsh extended back at least a mile before it met solid timbered land, here and there, and an occasional long point jutted out until it met the stream. Although the weary lad strained his eyes in all directions, not a sign could he see of the other canoes or of any human life. With a sigh of despair, he sank again to his knees and crawled forward to where his chum lay half unconscious and moaning in pain.