The Fiery Totem Part 18

"I can't say I like the look of him myself," returned Bob. "He hasn't got the expression of a fellow you could trust. Besides, don't you think that if our fathers were well and had sent a native messenger to us--don't you think that they would have sent some sort of written message as well?"

"It would have been easy enough. Father always carries his notebook and pencil with him----"

"So he could have easily explained matters. I don't think he would have trusted an Indian to be understood. It isn't as if we knew anything of the lingo."

While the boys were thus discussing the situation in low tones, they did not heed how Red Fox was observing them sharply from the corners of his eyes. He was trying to discover how far his deception had succeeded, though he endeavoured to hide his anxious observation by the action of lighting his redstone pipe. And it must be confessed that his keen scrutiny of the lads' faces did not rea.s.sure him. He could see suspicion plainly marked in both, while his heart burned with fire of anger, though resentment was mainly directed to the younger lad, whose inadvertent remarks had cut so deeply into the savage pride.

But the redskin's mental observations were suddenly cut short by Bob, who wheeled upon him with a sudden inspiration.

"Look here," he said quickly, though his voice was pleasant and almost rea.s.suring, "it is very good of you to travel so far to bring us this news. We are glad to see you, and will try to give you a good present.

But we will settle our business first. So, give me the letter, and then we will go to the tent and eat."

"Letter?"

The Indian repeated the single word in a puzzled tone.

"Yes; the one my father gave you," said Bob.

So mystified was Red Fox by the intelligence that apparently he had not only been expected by the boys but that he had been looked for as the bearer of a letter from the fathers to their sons, that he was momentarily startled out of his caution in pretending an only slight acquaintance with the English language.

He stared open-eyed at the question, and Bob continued evenly--

"Of course my father would send a letter if he wanted us. He would do that to prove that his messenger was one whom we could trust. Did he give you one?"

Red Fox was quite taken off his guard by the white boy's guile, but he strove to cover his confusion by further lying.

"Yes--the white man send paper by hand of Red Fox, but--but Red Fox foolish; he--lose letter--on trail----"

"But you are _sure_ you had one? It would be written--in red--with a red pencil--a red paint-stick."

"My white brother speaks true," said the Indian.

"Of course he does!" chimed in Alf, to whom his chum's ruse was now clear. "And if that letter was written in red and sent to us, we would know where it came from, and would follow the messenger at once."

The Indian flashed a quick glance of hatred towards the last speaker, but instantly lowered his eyelids again, as he returned with more calmness than before--

"It is well. The pale-face did paint letter with red. But--Red Fox foolish Indian. He lose letter on trail. He seek much--much--but no'

find."

The game of bluff had succeeded. Now the boys knew for certain that the man was lying--that he had not been commissioned by either of their parents, and both laughed derisively.

"Trapped!" exclaimed Holden triumphantly. "You've got him tight as a rabbit in a gin, Bob."

How that sneering laughter scorched the redman's pride! It touched him at the quick, and caused him to writhe inwardly, until his fingers twitched beneath the folds of his blanket with eagerness to tear out the tongue that thus jeered at him. Yet the lads did not dream how near they were to tragedy as they laughed at the little comedy, with the chief actor sitting huddled at their feet. They did not notice how the Indian's eyes first measured the distance from the overhanging bank to the surface of the water, and then as quietly calculated the distance between himself and the lads.

"Yes, you were indeed foolish," resumed Arnold, "for you have shown us that your words were lies. My father never wrote such a letter, I am sure, for a red pencil is not a thing that he possesses. And if he were well enough to write, he would be well enough to come himself, instead of sending such a foolish Indian and a bad liar."

"At the same time," whispered Alf, "the chap must know something, or he wouldn't be here at all. We must find out that in some way or other."

"True," Bob said.

But there was no time allowed for considering what means to adopt to obtain further information, for just at that moment Red Fox uttered a wild cry, and sprang from the ground with the leap of a deer. Next instant Bob was gripped as in a vice and flung into the centre of the pool; then, with a snarl like that of a wild cat, the Indian sprang for Alf's throat.

CHAPTER XV

OFF!

The Indian is nothing if he is not unexpected in all his actions.

Surprise attacks were ever his weapons of warfare. From among the long gra.s.s of an apparently innocent meadow he would suddenly rise up with his followers to attack the caravan that was quietly pursuing its way along the prairie in absolute ignorance of the nearness of enemies. In the dead hour of night the war-whoop would suddenly ring through the forest, and the settlers would be scalped and dead before the last echo had time to fade away.

So it was on this occasion. Utterly unsuspicious of attack, both boys were taken at a disadvantage. Bob was floundering in the water before he had time to realise the a.s.sault, while Alf was equally unprepared as the Indian sprang towards him.

The claw-like fingers missed their intended grip upon the boy's throat, but the arms managed to grapple the lad in a tight embrace. Alf struggled well, but he was no match for the muscles of the giant Dacotah.

"I'm coming! I'll be with you in a second!" called Bob from the water, striking out strongly for the sh.o.r.e as soon as he had recovered breath.

The Indian looked hastily around him without releasing the bearlike hug.

He saw the swimmer quickly approaching, and he gave a cry of fury as he thought that he would be baulked of his purpose of revenge, for he rightly thought that he would stand a poor chance against two active lads. He might succeed in injuring the one, but there was little chance of his escaping.

Suddenly he released Alf. Feeling himself free for the moment, the boy jumped back in readiness for another attack. But once again the unexpected had him at a vantage. The boy antic.i.p.ated no other attack now but that of fists or a knife at the utmost. These were the only contingencies that his inexperience could imagine. But before he had time to conjecture other possibilities, Red Fox had slipped off his blanket, flung it around the lad just as the ancient gladiator was wont to entangle his opponent in the deadly net, and before Arnold had reached the river bank the Indian had wound the blanket tightly round his captive, picked him up in his arms, and commenced running towards the tent.

Bob gave a cry of dismay and rushed on in pursuit.

But the redskin had the start, and ran straight towards the picketed horse, still carrying the lad, who was half stifled by the thick cloak, and practically helpless, owing to the tightness with which the bond was twined.

It would have been an easy matter then for Red Fox to have killed his captive and yet escape the other boy. But that was not his purpose. In his thirst to revenge the insult of Alf's words, he had quite forgotten Thunder-maker's commission and the coveted ermine robe. These were nothing to him now. He had listened to sneers with patience. The time had now come to repay the taunts with interest. He ran towards the pack-horse. A slash with his hunting-knife severed the rope within two or three feet of the halter. Alf was then thrown roughly across the animal's back, while the Indian was himself astride an instant afterwards. A vicious dig of the heels, and the horse sprang forward.

And the last that Bob saw as he reached the tent was an ugly face grinning at him and an arm waving tauntingly as horse, rider, and burden disappeared into the woods.

Arnold was aghast!

He rushed into the tent and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his repeating rifle, which was already loaded; by the time he emerged again he could only hear the distant sound of the fugitive rider pressing the branches through the bush track.

He ran forwards at top speed, but he knew well that unless some accident befell the horse he stood a poor chance of being able to aid his chum.

The Indian would know the bush as well as his namesake fox. He would not be likely to take any risk that would imperil his safety or blight any evil purpose that he might harbour.

The boy followed the track, which was well marked. It was the same course that had been taken by Mackintosh and Haggis earlier in the day.

For a time it led through an avenue of trees. Then it branched off to the left, where the ground was hard-packed and dry, having been stripped of vegetation by a bush fire earlier in the year. Here the tracks were less easy to follow, for a steady breeze was blowing, and the imprints of the hoofs were covered almost as quickly as they were made.

It was heart-breaking to have to slacken speed at such a time, when every second might mean disaster to his chum. But what else could he do?

And when ultimately the tracks led him to the border of a vast marshland, the lad was obliged to halt in what was almost despair.

"What is to be done now?" he exclaimed to himself. "Poor old Alf! What a fool I was not to be prepared for such a rascal, when once my suspicions were so roused!"

But it was no use sitting down in hopelessness. Such weakness would have nothing to gain and everything to lose. So Bob pulled himself together, as the apt saying has it, and racked his brains to meet the occasion.