With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga Part 12

Enoch fired his rifle into the midst of the pack as he ran, but although one of the wolves rolled over, kicking convulsively upon the ice, the others scarcely noticed the attack. So eager were they to get at the quarry which they had followed far, that the shot did not frighten them.

But the boy was among them in a moment, his gun clubbed, and a fierce desire in his heart to slay the horrid beasts.

He really thought the fallen man was killed, and his attack was inspired wholly by a desire for revenge. He laid about him with the gun-stock in a most furious fashion, and the wolves were soon cleared from above their prostrate victim. His attack quelled the courage of the pack for a little, and even the leader shrank away, howling dolefully. But the respite was not sufficient to allow Enoch to reload his gun.

When the brutes fell back, the man upon the ice showed that he was by no means dead, though his exhaustion was plain. He struggled to his knees, and reaching up seized the hunting-knife from Enoch's belt, and the small axe with which the latter had cut the ice away from his traps.

With one of these weapons in each hand he crouched in readiness to defend himself when the wolves should renew their attack.

And he had not long to wait, for both hunger and natural ferocity urged them on. Suddenly the leader, with a savage snarl which fairly turned the blood cold in Enoch's veins, cast itself full at him!

Raised upon his hind legs the old timber-wolf, the hero of a thousand fights with other pack-leaders, or with the young upstarts of his own tribe, was fully as tall as his antagonist. The sight of its wide red jaws, from which the froth flew as it does from the lips of a mad dog, the gleaming yellow teeth, the capacious throat which seemed fairly to steam with the fetid breath expelled from the beast's lungs, almost overcame young Harding. For the moment he was enthralled by the terrifying appearance of the wolf, and his arms lacked the strength necessary to swing his gun.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WOLF SPRANG AT HIS THROAT]

The charge would surely have overborne him had Enoch not slipped upon the ice as he shrank back, and providentially he fell upon one knee. The wolf had sprung at his throat and the pioneer lad's sinking to the ice caused the beast to leap clear over both the human actors in the drama.

But as its lean gray body flashed past, the stranger reached up and with Enoch's keen hunting-knife slit a great wound in the exposed body. A wild yell rose above the clamor of the pack and the old wolf rolled over and over on the ice in the agonies of death, the blood spurting from the wound at every pump of its heart.

Instantly half the pack sprang upon the dying leader, every male desiring to be master, and all doubtless bearing upon their own bodies marks of the wounded beast's displeasure. This change of front enabled Enoch to recover both his equilibrium and his presence of mind; and when the other beasts gathered courage to attack him in turn, he was ready to beat them off with his gun and to ably a.s.sist his companion in continuing the slaughter. The wolf he had first shot was attacked by its comrades, too, for at the smell and taste of blood the creatures showed all the characteristics of cannibals.

Nevertheless, Enoch and the man crouching at his feet, had all they could do to defend themselves from the charges of the remaining wolves.

If the beasts sprang high the boy met them with long-arm swings of his rifle; if they fell short the axe or the knife flashed and the wolves limped away with savage howls, their blood dyeing the frozen surface of the creek. For yards about the besieged the ice soon had the appearance of a mighty strife and although he had only received a scratch or two himself, Enoch was well spattered with blood.

Hunger and the issue from their own veins drowned the natural cowardice of the canines. They charged blindly, and as fast as one went down beneath the blows of Enoch's gun, or was seriously wounded by his companion, another wolf sprang to the attack. Three already lay dead on the ice, torn limb from limb by their comrades, and three others limped upon the outer edge of the circle, seriously wounded; but still the fierce brutes sprang at their prey, and sprang again!

Involuntarily Enoch shouted aloud at every blow he struck, but his companion maintained a desperate silence. The boy did not cry out because he expected any aid; yet a.s.sistance was within call. A figure came running over the ice from up stream and the sharp crack of a rifle announced the approach of Lot Breckenridge, who had come out to meet his friend. Another wolf rolled over in the throes of death, to be seized by its companions and torn to pieces with horrid cries. Lot came on with shouts of encouragement and together with Enoch laid about him with clubbed rifle until the remaining wolves, their cries now turned to yelps of fear, stampeded from the scene of the battle and sought safety in the forest, from the edge of which they howled their disappointment at their antagonists.

It was Lot who first regained his breath and spoke. "Zuckers! but that was a great fight," he cried, hugging Enoch in his joy at finding him practically unhurt. "But you look as though you had been killin' beeves, Nuck. And who's this with you?" The individual in question rose stiffly to his feet with a significant "Umph!" "Why!" exclaimed Lot, "it's an Injin--it's Crow Wing! Where'd you pick him up, Nuck?"

Enoch was vastly astonished to see whom he had befriended. "I had no idea who it was," he said. "How came you in this country, Crow Wing?"

The Indian, now grown to be a tall and magnificent looking warrior, was breathing heavily and had some difficulty in answering for a moment. He stood, too, on one foot, holding up his left one like a lamed stork.

"Umph!" he grunted at last, "White boys in good time. Save Injin sure!"

He gravely offered his hand first to Enoch and then to Lot. "Crow Wing lame. Hurt foot--break gun--wolves come howl, howl, howl! No can scare 'em; no can make fire; no can run good. Umph!"

"You'll have to go to our camp," said Enoch. "You can't travel on that foot. You've sprained or broken it."

Crow Wing nodded. He made no sign that the foot hurt him, excepting by holding it off the ice. "Some wolf pelts good," he remarked, sententiously.

Lot had already turned away to examine the dead beasts. Only two skins were fit to be stripped from the carca.s.ses and added to the pelts Enoch had brought from the traps. The two white boys quickly obtained these and then, with the Indian hobbling between them, and leaning on their shoulders, the trio made their way to camp through the moonlight, while the remaining wolves slunk back to the scene of the battle and devoured their dead comrades.

CHAPTER XIV

THE TESTIMONY OF CROW WING

The natures of the white man and the red are so opposed that it was impossible from the beginning of our North American history that either should really understand the sentiments and desires of the other. In the eyes of the Indian the most stoical and repressive white man was little better than a garrulous old woman. The "Yenghese," as the Indians called the English, were less criticised on this point than were the French; but the latter, being an imitative race, more easily adapted themselves to the manner and life of the red man, and therefore won his confidence if not his respect.

Crow Wing displayed neither astonishment at finding the two white boys here, nor pain at the serious accident which had overtaken him. And it would have been a waste of time to urge him to explain more fully his being in this neighborhood. When he was ready to speak he would do so, and long after Lot Breckenridge was asleep, rolled up in his blanket and with his feet to the fire which blazed at the opening of the hut, did Enoch wait for the story. Crow Wing waited until he had slowly smoked out the little bra.s.s-bowled pipe which he carried with tobacco in a pouch at his belt. This pouch of tobacco and another of parched Indian corn, were all the provisions the ordinary Indian carried when on the march. The forest must supply his larder from time to time as he had need; and if game was scarce the red man went uncomplainingly with empty stomach.

"Harding and Lot found much pelt?" he said, questioningly, waving his hand at the bales of furs in the back of the shelter.

"So-so. We can't complain, Crow Wing. You were trapping, too?"

"Yonder," replied the Indian, pointing to the west. "Crow Wing look at trap; wolves met him; wolves very hungry; make much mad when hungry.

Umph!"

"And they attacked you right away?"

"Umph! Me shoot; then club gun. Hit tree first time; break gun; then run some more. Catch foot and fall; much hurt. That all."

"Are you alone at your camp yonder?"

"Umph!" said the Indian, nodding affirmatively.

"You had better stay here till your foot's well. I reckon that gun can be repaired, too. Only the stock is broken."

The Indian's eyes gleamed, showing that this statement pleased him vastly. Crow Wing's "fire-tube" was his most precious possession. "Me thought no good," he said.

"I know of a man in Bennington who can fix it," declared Enoch. "Have you many pelts at your camp?"

On his fingers Crow Wing showed how many beaver skins, otter pelts, wolf hides, and other and less worthy furs, he had obtained. He also stated that he had three steel wolf traps and two beaver or otter traps which he had obtained from a farmer for whom he had worked.

"We can bring 'em all over here. Lot and I will go for them. You can't get around on that foot much for several weeks. It's bad. You 'tend camp and stretch pelts, while Lot and I look out for the traps. Then, when we go home, you take one third of the pelts."

Crow Wing thought of this silently for a moment and then held out his hand with gravity. "Good! Crow Wing go to Bennington with Harding and Lot; sell pelts there and get gun fixed. Umph!"

Although Enoch had suggested this scheme upon his own responsibility he knew Lot would agree to it. Really, it was a good thing for all three.

Crow Wing's gun was useless, and his lame foot made traveling next to impossible for a while. But he could keep camp all right and look after the pelts. The traps the Indian had would be of much service to the white boys and would increase their own gains not a little. So upon this amicable basis the Indian joined the party and the next day Lot and Enoch, directed by Crow Wing, traveled to the Indian's camp and packed back both the traps and the skins.

The boys learned that Crow Wing's people now resided in New York colony, on the sh.o.r.es of Lake George, and that the young warrior had not been east of the Twenty-Mile Line since the raid of Simon Halpen upon the Widow Harding's cabin. By patient questioning Enoch learned that Halpen had lived for months at a time with the tribe, but that he was not an adopted member of it, and was not altogether trusted by Crow Wing's people.

"When burn cabin, old chief--my father--be told. Injins friends with Bennin'ton men; friends with York men, too. But Hawknose," the Indian's sobriquet for Simon Halpen, "sent away. He never come back."

"You have hunted with him?" said Enoch, with some eagerness. "You were with him that day--you know--long ago; the day the Yorkers came up to James Breckenridge's farm?"

Crow Wing made no reply for some time, gazing with gloomy eyes into the fire. Finally he said, speaking in an oracular manner, yet brokenly as he always did, for the English tongue was hard to him: "Jonas Harding not friend to Injin; Injin not friend to him. You friend to Crow Wing.

You fight Crow Wing; fight 'um fair; when foot well we fight once more?

Umph!"

Enoch laughed. "I'll wrastle you any time you like, Crow Wing. But you can beat me running."

The Indian, undisturbed, went on: "You not like father; you not speak Injin like he be slave-man; Injin free!" and he said it proudly, for the redskins looked down upon the negroes because they were the slaves of the colonists. "Hawknose no like Jonas Harding; he own your land; he buy it from Great Father of York and he buy it from Injin. All land Injin's once," he added, with a cloud upon his face. "Injin come with Hawknose to measure land; white man bring little thing to measure it; Jonas Harding throw Hawknose in creek and more white men beat him. White man, like Injin, feel he squaw when beat. Hawknose mad; tell Injin he kill Jonas Harding; drive you from land."

"But father was killed by a buck in the forest," said Enoch, carefully hiding the emotion he felt.

"Umph!" grunted Crow Wing, and would say nothing further at the time.