Books: The Lost Trail

E >> Edward S. Ellis >> The Lost Trail

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The reflection of the turbid current showed that it was flowing
swiftly. The dark line of the forest on the other shore appeared
like a solid wall of blackness, while to the north and south the
view ended in the same impenetrable gloom.

Impressed and awed by the scene, the lad saw something which at
first startled him by its resemblance to a man, standing in the
river, with his feet braced against the bottom and his head and
shoulders above the surface. The current seemed to rush against his
bared breast, from which it was cast back and aside, as though flung
off by a granite rock. Then the head bowed forward, as if the
strong man sought to bathe his brain in the cooling waters, that he
might be refreshed against the next shock.

A minute's scrutiny was enough to show Jack that the object was a
tree, which, rolling into the river at some point, perhaps hundreds
of miles above, had grown weary of its journey, and, plunging its
feet into the muddy bed of the stream, had, refused to go further.
The fierce current would lift the head several feet with a splash,
but could hold it thus only a part of a minute, when it would dip
for a brief while, to rise again and repeat the action.

The tree was what is known to-day on the Mississippi as a "sawyer,"
and which is so dreaded by the steamers and other craft navigating
the river. Many a boat striking at full speed against them, have
had their hulls pierced as if by a hundred-pound shell, and have
gone to the bottom like stone.

It was the sound made by the "sawyer" which had puzzled Jack
Carleton before he caught sight of the great river. He could not
wonder that he had failed to guess the cause of the intermittent
swash which reached him through the woods.

"And we must cross that stream," murmured Jack, with half a
shudder, as he looked out upon the prodigious volume rushing
southward like myriads of wild horses; "it seems to me no one can
swim to the other shore, nor can a raft or boat be pushed thither."

The plucky boy would not have felt so distrustful and timid had the
sun been shining overhead.

"Ish dot you, Jack?"

Young Carleton turned his head as if a war hoop had sounded in his
ear. He fairly bounded feet when he recognized his old friend at
his elbow. The good-natured German lad was grinning with delight,
as he extended his chubby hand and asked:

"How you vos?"

"Why, Otto!" gasped Jack, slapping his palm against that of his
friend and crushing it as if in a vise. "I am so glad to see you."

"So I vos," was the grinning response; "I'm always glad to shake
hands mit myself"

"But," said the other, looking furtively over each shoulder in turn,
"let's move away the trail, where we cannot be seen or heard."

The suggestion was a wise one, and acted upon without delay. The
friends entered the wood, which continued quite open, and tramped
steadily forward with the intention of finding place where they
could start a fire and converse without danger of discovery by
enemies.

The hearts of both were too full for hold their peace while stealing
forward among the trees.

"Otto," said Jack, "where is the colt?"

"I dinks he's purty near New Orleans as soon as dis time."

Young Carleton looked wonderingly toward friend and asked, "What do
you mean?"

"I don't mean vot I don't say and derefore dinks I mean vot I vos."

"So the colt went into the river? Where were you?"

"Mit de colt and he vos mit me, so we bot vos mit each other. Just
feels of me."

Jack reached out his hand and pinched the clothing of his friend in
several places. It was saturated.

"Ven I valks, de vater in my shoes squishes up to mine ears--don't
you hear 'em?"

"Why don't you pour it out?"

"I hef done so, tree time already--I done so again once more."

And, without ado, the young German threw himself forward on his
hands and head and kicked his feet with a vigor that sent the
moisture in every direction. Indeed the performance was conducted
with so much ardor that one of the shoes flow off with considerable
violence. Otto then reversed himself and assumed the upright
posture.

"Mine gracious," he exclaimed, "where didn't dot shoe of mine went?"

"It just missed my face," replied Jack, with a laugh.

"Dot vos lucky," said Otto, beginning to search for his property.

"Yes; it might have hurt me pretty bad."

"I means it vos lucky for de shoe," added Otto, who, in groping
about, stumbled at that moment upon the missing article. "Bime by
de vater soaks down mine shoes agin and I stands on head and kicks
it out."

But Jack Carleton was anxious to learn what had befallen his friend
since their voluntary separation some hours before, and so, while
they were advancing along the shore, the story was told.

Otto, as he had agreed to do, was riding at a leisurely pace, when,
without the least warning, the sharp crack of a rifle broke the
stillness of, the woods on his right, and the bullet zipped so close
to his forehead that it literally grazed the skin, leaving a faint
mark, which was visible several days afterward.

The lad was never so frightened in all his life. For a minute or so
he was absolutely speechless, during which the horse, alarmed in a
less degree than he, broke into a trot. Otto, however, quickly
regained his self-control, and fully realized his danger. He did
not glance behind him nor to the right or left. No investigation
was needed convince him of his peril. He put the horse to a dead
run, first throwing himself forward on his neck so as to offer the
least possible target to his enemies.

Only the single shot was fired, and Jack counted it strange that the
report failed to reach his ears. When the fugitive had gone a
considerable distance, he ventured to look back. He thought he saw
several Indians, but it was probably fancy, for had they observed he
was leaving them behind (as would have been the case), they surely
would have appealed to their rifles again.

Otto was in such danger from the overhanging limbs, and was so
fearful that he was running a gauntlet of Indians, that he kept his
head close to the mane of his steed and scarcely looked to see where
they were going.

The awakening came like an electric shock, when the terrified horse
made a tremendous plunge straight out into the river. The first
notice Otto received was the chilling embrace of the waters which
enveloped him to the ears. He held his rifle in his right hand,
and, in his desperate efforts to save that, was swept from the back
of the animal, which began swimming composedly down stream,
carrying saddle, blankets and other valuable articles that were
strapped to him back.

Encumbered with his heavy clothing and his gun, young Otto Relstaub
had all he could do to fight his way back to land. He escaped
shipwreck as by a hair's-breadth, from the sawyer which had
attracted the notice of Jack.

"I vos swimming as hard as nefer vos," he explained, "and had just
got in front of the tree, ven as true as I don't live, it banged
right down on top mit me and nearly knocked out my brains out. I
grabbed hold of it, when it raised up and frowed me over its head.
Den I gots mad and swims ashore."

Jack laughed, for, though he knew his friend was prone to
exaggeration, he could understand that his experience was similar,
in many respects, to what he had stated.

"After the shore reaches me," continued Otto, "I turns around free,
four times to find where I ain't. I see de colt going down stream
as fast as if two Indians was on his back sitting and paddling him
mit paddles. I called to him to come back and explained dot he
would cotch him cold if he didn't stay too long in de vater, but he
makes belief he don't hears me, and I bothers him no more."

"There will be trouble at home when your father finds out the colt
is lost," said Jack Carleton, who knew how harsh the parent of Otto
was; "it must be he returned to land further down."

"Yes; bimeby he comes ashore."

"Why didn't you recover him?"

"'Cause he swims out on de oder side and he would not wait till I
could go back mit de settlenients and got mine frens to come and
build one boat. I vos gone so long dot it vos night ven I comes
back, and ven I sees you I dinks you vos an Indian or maybe some
other loafer."

Jack Carleton was about to reply to this remark when both he and his
friend caught sight the same moment of the star-like twinkle of a
point of light.

While there was nothing specially noteworthy in this, yet both were
impressed by the fact that the light was not only on the river, but
was serving as a signal to some one standing on the same shore with
them.

CHAPTER IV

THE VISITOR FROM THE OTHER SHORE

Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub saw the twinkling point of light,
glowing like a star from the bank of darkness on the other side the
Mississippi. It shone for a minute with an intense brightness, and
then, to their amazement, began revolving in a circle of a foot or
more in diameter. It sped round and round with such swiftness that
it resembled a wheel of fire without the slightest break in the
flaming periphery.

"What can it mean?" asked the mystified Jack.

"I vos told something apout afire dot vos to jump apout in one
circle," was the remarkable statement of Otto.

"What was it?"

"I don't forgot him now," replied the German with the hesitating
speech of one in doubt.

"Well, you're the prize blockhead of the West," was the impatient
comment of the young Kentuckian. "How you could have heard anything
of that signal--as it must be--and forget it is beyond my understanding."

"Dot's what I dinks. I'll remember sometime after a few days--
helloa!"

His exclamation was caused by the blotting out of the circular fire
which had caused so much speculation. Looking toward the western
bank of the Mississippi all was darkness again, the light having
vanished.

Jack stooped so as to bring his head on a level with the surface of
the river, and peered intently out over the moonlit surface.

"That torch was waved by an Indian in a canoe," said he, in a low
voice, "and he is paddling this way."

Otto imitated the action of his friend, and saw that he had spoken
the truth. The outlines of a boat, dimly distinguishable, were
assuming definite shape with such rapidity that there could be no
doubt the craft was approaching them.

As there was no question that the fiery ring was meant for a signal,
Jack Carleton concluded that a party of red men were communicating
with those from whom the boys had effected so narrow an escape.
Such a supposition showed the necessity of great care, and the
friends, without speaking, stepped further from the edge of the
stream, where they were in no danger of being seen.

As the boat came nearer, and its shape was more clearly marked, the
boys discovered that only a single warrior sat within. He was in
the stern, manipulating his long, ashen paddle with such rare skill
that he seemed to pay no heed to the current at all.

"There's only one of them," whispered the astonished Jack. "How
easily we can pick him off!"

Otto brought his gun to his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" demanded the angry Jack.

"Pick him off!"

"No, you don't. He may be a friend."

"We'll found dot out, after we don't shoot him. Let's shoot him
first," was the suggestion of Otto, "and then ax him the question."

"Even if an enemy--as he undoubtedly is--it would be cowardly to
slay him in that fashion. As there is only one--!"

"Dere!" exclaimed the young Teuton, hardly to suppress his
excitement over the recollection; "I knowed dat I had recumlected
some dings."

"What is it?"

"Dot young gentleman in dot boat is a great friend of mine. He told
me he would meet me at the crossing, if I didn't reach him pefore
till it was come dark. Dot vos vat I didn't forget till de fire
pegun to whirl apout, and then I didn't remember."

"Who is he?" asked the astonished Jack.

"Deerfoot, the Shawanoe," was the reply of Otto, who, with a light
heart, stepped closer to the edge of the swiftly flowing river and
called out:

"Holloa, Deerfoot! How you vos?"

The mention of the name called up strange emotions in the breast of
Jack Carleton. For a year previous, stories had reached the
settlement where he had made his home, of the wonderful Shawanoe
youth, who was captured when a child, and while he was as untameable
in his hatred of the whites as a spitting wildcat, but who was
transformed by kindness into the most devoted friend of the
pioneers.

Ned Preston, who lived at Wild Oaks, nearly a hundred miles distant
from Jack's home, visited the latter a few months before, while on a
hunting excursion, with his colored friend Wild-blossom Brown, and
it was from him that Jack had gained many particulars of the
remarkable history of the young Shawanoe.

Jack credited the statements of Deerfoot's amazing skill in the use
of his bow and arrow, his wonderful fleetness of foot, and his
chivalrous devotion to his friends; but when told that the youth
could not only read, but could write an excellent hand, and that he
was a true Christian, Jack felt many misgivings of the truth of the
whole story.

Jack recalled further the statement that Deerfoot was held in such
detestation by his own race that he became convinced his presence
was an element of weakness rather than strength to his friends, and
it was for that reason he had migrated west of the Mississippi.

The youthful warrior, seated in the stem of the canoe, gave no
evidence that he saw the stubby figure of the German lad who stepped
close to the water and hailed him by name. One powerful impulse of
the paddle sent the bark structure far up the bank, like the snout
of some aquatic monster plunging after the lad awaiting it.

Before it came to rest, Deerfoot sprang lightly ashore, and,
grasping the front of the boat, drew it still further from the
river, where it was not only safe against being swept away, but
could not be seen by any one passing in the neighborhood.

His next proceeding was to pick up his bow from the bottom of the
canoe, after which he was prepared to see that others were near him.
Turning about, he extended his hand to Otto with the smiling
greeting: "How do you do, my brother?"

The words were spoken with as perfect accentuation as Jack Carleton
could have used. Had the speaker been invisible, no one would have
believed him to be an Indian.

"I does vell," replied Otto, shaking his hand firmly. "Dis ish my
friend, Jack Carleton, dot I dinks a good deal of."

Dropping the hand of the German, Deerfoot took one step forward and
saluted the young Kentuckian in the same manner. He pressed his
hand warmly, and, with the same smile as before, said:

"Deerfoot is glad to meet his brother."

As he uttered these words the moonlight fell on his face and the
front part of his body, so that a better view of countenance and
features could not have been obtained.

Nearly a year had passed since we last saw Deerfoot (see "Ned on the
River"). During that period, he had almost attained the full
stature of a warrior. It may be said that there was no single
person, whether of his own or the Caucasian race, whom Deerfoot held
in personal fear.

Those who have done me the honor of reading the "Young Pioneer
Series," will recall the marked attractiveness of Deerfoot's
countenance. The classical regularity of his features was relieved
from effeminacy by the slightly Roman nose, which, with the thin
lips, gave him an expression of firmness and nerve that was true to
his character.

When he stepped in front of the great Tecumseh, with his knife
clenched in his band, and dared the chieftain to mortal combat, the
luminous black eyes flashed lightning, and the muscles on the
graceful limbs were knotted like iron. They were now in repose and
the eyes were as soft as those of a maiden.

When Deerfoot smiled it was rarely more than it faint, shadowy
expression, just sufficient to reveal the small, even, white teeth
and to add to the winsomeness of his expression.

The love of finery and display seems natural to every human being,
and it manifested itself in the dress of the young Shawanoe. The
long black hair, which streamed down his shoulders, was ornamented
at the crown by several eagle feathers, brilliantly stained and
thrust in place. The fringes of the neatly fitting leggings were
also colored, and the moccasins which incased the small shapely
feet, were interwoven with beads of every line of the rainbow. The
body of the hunting shirt as well as the skirt, which descended
almost to his knees, showed what may be called a certain subdued
gaudiness which was not without its attractiveness.

The waist of the Shawanoe was clasped by a girdle into which were
thrust a knife and tomahawk. Relying upon the bow, instead of the
rifle, he carried a quiver full of arrows, just showing over the
right shoulder, where they could be readily plucked with his deft
left hand, whenever required.

Deerfoot had tested both the rifle and the bowl and as has been
shown gave his adherence to the latter.

Jack Carleton said to himself, "He is the handsomest being I ever
looked upon."

He was perfect in build, graceful in every movement, with an
activity and power almost incredible, an eye large, black, and
honest, but keen and penetrating, and a command of which approached
the marvelous.

These characteristics of the young warrior struck Jack Carleton
while pressing the warm hand of his new friend and looking into his
pleasing countenance for the first time.

"I am delighted to see you," he said, recalling the amazing stories
told of Deerfoot by Ned Preston, and beginning to think that, after
all, they may have contained more truth than fiction.

Before Jack could add anything more, Otto Relstaub, who was staring
at the two, heaved a great sigh, as if fearing some danger would
come upon them.

"What is the matter with my brother?" asked Deerfoot, looking
inquiringly toward him with his old smile.

"I asks mineself if we stands here till all last night, don't it?"

"I suppose we may as well seek more comfortable quarters," remarked
Jack Carleton, who turned to the young warrior and added, "When
Deerfoot is present no one else dare lead. What says he?"

CHAPTER V

AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE

On a tempestuous night in midwinter the little settlement of
Coatesville, in Kentucky, was assailed by a fierce band of Shawanoes
and Hurons. The pioneers were surprised, for the hour was near
daybreak, and, accustomed as they were to the forays of the border,
they were without the slightest warning of the danger which burst
upon them. They rallied, however, and made an heroic defense, but
when with the dawning of day the warriors withdrew, they left more
than half the hearthstones darkened with sorrow and woe, because of
one or more of its defenders who had fallen in the strife.

Among those that had perished was Abram Carleton, shot down on his
own threshold while fighting for his wife and his boy Jack, who
themselves were doing their utmost to beat back their merciless
enemies.

The youth, as he grew older, gradually recovered from his grief, but
the blow was so terrible to the stricken widow that its effect
remained with her through all the years that followed. The
vivacious, bright-hearted wife became the sad, thoughtful woman, who
rarely smiled, and who walked forever in the shadow of her
desolation. She had only her boy Jack, and to him she gave the
whole wealth of her attention; but she could never forget the brave
one that had yielded his life for her and her child.

Some years later a portion of the settlers became dissatisfied with
their home, peculiarly exposed as it was to attacks from marauding
red men, and determined to cross the Mississippi into that portion
of Louisiana which to-day forms the great State of Missouri.

To many it seemed a strange refuge, for the change, it may be said,
took them still further from civilization; but the reader well
knows that the settlement of no portion of the Union was marked by
such deeds of ferocity as that of the Dark and Bloody Ground, and
the pioneers had good grounds to hope for better things in the
strange land toward which they turned their footsteps.

The lead mines of Missouri attracted notice a early as 1720, and
Saint Genevieve, its oldest town, was founded in 1755. At the
breaking out of the Revolution, St. Louis contained nearly a
thousand inhabitants, the country at that time belonging to Spain,
and a considerable fur trade was carried on with the Indians.

Among those who crossed the Mississippi was the widow Carleton. Her
friends believed that if she removed forever from the scene of her
great affliction she might recover; but if she remained she must
soon succumb. She suffered herself to be persuaded, and went in the
company of those who promised to give her the tenderest attention
and care.

Her decision was not made until the little company, that had spent
weeks in preparation, was on the eve of starting. It thus became
necessary for Jack to stay behind to look after certain interests of
both, his purpose being to follow in the course of a few weeks.

The long journey westward was made in safety, a thriving settlement
begun, and young Otto Relstaub, the son of a hard-hearted, penurious
German, was sent back over the trail, according to promise, to guide
Jack Carleton, who was impatiently awaiting him. The next morning
after his arrival the two started westward, all their earthly
effects packed upon the single horse.

They took turns in riding the animal. Accustomed as they were to
constant activity, they would have enjoyed the journey on foot much
more than on horseback. At first both walked, but, after their
animal had run away several times, his capture causing much delay,
trouble, and roiling of temper, they concluded that a change would
have to be made if they expected ever to reach their destination.

One afternoon, when Otto was riding considerably in advance of his
friend, he was fired upon by Indians, narrowly escaping with his
life. The incidents immediately following have already been told the
reader.

It was yet early in the evening when Deerfoot the Shawanoe acted
upon the request of Otto, that some more convenient spot should be
selected in which to continue their talk.

Inasmuch as the destination of the boys lay to the westward, it
seemed to Jack Carleton that, the wisest thing to do was to enter
the canoe, and allow the young Shawanoe to paddle them across; but
he held the gifts and skill of the wonderful warrior in such high
estimation that he feared a hint of the kind might not be received
with favor.

Deerfoot led the way through the wood until a depression was
reached, where considerable undergrowth grew. He came to a stop and
seemed to be looking around in the darkness, which to the others was
impenetrable.

"Let a fire be kindled," said he.

Only a few minutes were needed to gather all the fuel required. It
was heaped against the trunk of a tree, and as each carried a flint
and steel, a bright roaring blaze was soon under way.

Had Jack and Otto been alone, they would have been troubled by the
fear that their campfire would be seen by prowling enemies but the
air of unconcern on the part of the Shawanoe infused into them a
feeling of confidence which drove away all fear.

Enough branches and leaves were piled together to afford them the
best sort of couch. Not one had it blanket with him, and had the
weather been cold, they must have suffered not a little. The boys
had lost theirs when their horse ran away the last time, and
Deerfoot had not brought any with him, though one remained in his
canoe.

Fortunately the night was not only mild, but scarcely a breath of
air was stirring. The fire radiated all the heat needed to make
each comfortable. They assumed easy postures on the ground, and, as
the reflection lit up each countenance, they looked curiously at one
another, as if seeking more intimate knowledge of their appearance.

Deerfoot and Jack have already been sufficiently referred to, and a
little attention is due to the honest German youth, who has his part
to play in the following pages.

Otto was about a year younger than his friend, and bore very little
resemblance to him. Jack possessed a certain rugged grace, and,
while he was not handsome, his face showed intelligence with mental
strength, sustained by bounding youth, and a physical vigor which
was perfect.

Otto was a head shorter than Jack, and his growth seemed to run
mostly to breadth. His short legs bowed outward at the knees, and a
curve seemed necessary in order to preserve the harmony of general
expanse.

His face was very wide, the small twinkling eyes fax apart, and the
funny pug nose inclined in the same direction. His neck was short,
and hair long and thick. His dress was similar to that worn by Jack
Carleton, except that everything, even to the shoes, were of the
coarsest possible nature.

Jacob Relstaub, the father of Otto, was not merely penurious, but he
was miserly and mean. Jack Carleton knew him so well that he was
certain there would be serious trouble with the lad if he showed
himself in the little frontier town without the valuable horse which
had run away and swam the river.

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