Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

CHAPTER XV
THE TRAGIC CIRCLE

There was not a moment to lose. The two youths seized their rifles and plunged into the forest.

"This way, Jack. Come!"

"Lead on, quickly!"

Young Eagle remained but a few seconds to take the victim's scalp and to give the defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then he, too, followed in their trail.

On they went. Their only chance of saving their lives now lay in putting as great a distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk. 'Twas getting dark already, but they stumbled on through the tangled undergrowth, over fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.

Several times they heard the yells of the Algonquins, and once they heard the crack of a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.

"Listen! That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll swear. He's either missed our trail, or he's purposely misled them to give us a chance of getting away."

"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried Jamie, who was a little way in advance. "That second scalp has cost him too dear."

'Twas getting quite dark now, and they were compelled to slacken their pace, partly from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they were constantly being tripped up by ground vines, trailers and fallen trunks.

Once they got separated, and Jamie thought that he heard Jack call him. He halted and listened, but hearing the swish of branches close behind him he thought that his comrade was following, and continued for another ten minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he glanced back, but saw no one following.

"Jack!" he called softly. "Where are you?" but no answer came back from the gloom.

Again he called–louder still, but only the cry of the night-raven and the screech of an owl gave reply. Then he retraced his footsteps across the clearing, but he failed even to discover the spot where he had left the forest. Five–ten minutes he remained there, searching for his own trail, but in the darkness he had lost his bearings, and not only Jack, but he himself was lost!–lost!

Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown tree-trunks, and dark, dank undergrowth, closing in upon him like a thick screen, separated him from the nearest habitation, and even the nearest fort. What was to become of him?

In his despair he threw himself down upon a rough, raised bank that ran part way round the clearing; then he remembered that fancied cry, back there by the swamp, when he had thought for an instant that Jack had called him by name.

"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he murmured. "It was Jack calling for help; it must have been. Perhaps he sank in the swamp, or perhaps the Indians attacked him from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died calling my name."

Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds, for he felt that he had wilfully deserted his comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.

"Ah–to die! That would be easy, if only Jack were here. We have too often faced death together to be afraid, but this wild loneliness unmans me," and here the lad broke down and sobbed in his bitterness.

This weakness, if such it can be called, was of short duration, however, for certain sounds fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him something or somebody was approaching. A rustling amongst the branches, a heavy but stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth. All this came from the forest not fifty feet away.

There was just enough light to see half-way across the small clearing. His every faculty became alert, and he instinctively raised his rifle, examined its priming, and fixed his eyes at that spot where the object must leave the forest to enter the clearing.

Perhaps it was Jack–at last. Should he call? Better wait and see. Perhaps it was an Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy. What could it be?

The next instant a shaggy head was thrust out from amongst the bushes, scarce twenty feet away from where he sat, and then a huge brown bear shambled into the clearing, stopping every few yards to raise his snout, and to sniff the air, as though it scented danger.

Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously, to feel if his hunting-knife were there, lest his rifle should fail him. The bear caught the movement, quick as it was, and looked suspiciously in the direction of the youth.

Having reached the middle of the clearing, the huge monster reared itself up on its hind legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws, began to advance in the direction of Jamie.

Jamie forgot every other danger in the face of this new one that now threatened. He forgot also all his fears, in his desire to overcome the bear. 'Twas to be a fair fight and no favour, and unless he killed "Bruin," then the beast would kill him.

With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie levelled his rifle, as the bear shambled towards him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to hug his victim in a fatal embrace. The youth knew the vulnerable spot in that thick, shaggy hide, and if he could only place his bullet there it would end the combat, but on a dark night like this could he do it?

He was about to pull the trigger when a strange diversion, entirely unexpected, occurred.

A plumed and painted warrior, from the Algonquin camp, hot upon the trail of the young paleface, quickly entered the clearing and almost rushed into the embrace of the huge monster. Discovering his mistake, and uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the warrior fell back in dismay, and dashed into the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape. The branches closed upon the bear and the Indian, and they were hidden from sight.

"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed Jamie, as he slipped quietly into the forest in another direction, thanking Heaven for this double escape, and taking hope, for he felt that God had not deserted him, and would somehow deliver him from his still terrible plight.

On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came to a little stream. Here he stooped to quench his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for he was fevered with excitement, after the quick transitions of feeling he had undergone since they alarmed the camp.

Then he followed the path of the brook some little way, hiding the trail of his moccasins in the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy mould of the forest the water yields no secret. Then, after a while, he struck into the forest again. Forward he went, lest the murdering Algonquins should discover his trail once more, and a tomahawk end his career. Once or twice he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his fierce flight.

The moon was rising now, and it was becoming much lighter, and Jamie was able to make more rapid progress; but he was becoming exhausted, and felt that he must stop soon, when suddenly he noticed that the giant pines and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and the undergrowth less tangled.

A tiny red glow–the glow of a camp-fire, appeared through the trees, and the next moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts of a deserted camp.

Now at length help is at hand, he thought, and he prepared to enter the place.

Horror of horrors! It was the same camp from which he had so blindly fled two hours before. Some malevolent deity had led his bewildered footsteps in a tragic circle, a mistake not uncommon, even for experienced travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and without due precaution.

Where was now the Providence that had guided his footsteps? He almost cursed his ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly fate would have it, this was the best thing that could have happened to him.

He had indeed been guided by Providence, for while both Jack and Young Eagle had been made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the watercourse, and unconsciously doubling back upon the deserted camp, had thrown even the quick-witted Algonquins off the scent, who never suspected such cunning in a paleface.

I have said that the camp was deserted, although the fire still burned, and the evening meal remained untouched, for at the first sound of that fatal cry from the woods every inmate of the camp, except the paleface prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring enemy who had scalped their warrior. In this sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while forgotten, as we shall shortly see.

Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld the fatal error he had made. Wearied and exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish, but even thus a new feeling of terror seized him, the terror of the returning Algonquins. What if they discovered him here?

Once more he plunged into the thicket, for a strange new strength had come to him, but it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.

Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled, and his clothes in tatters, he rushed madly away from the spot. Whither he went he cared not. Anywhere–away from that terrible camp. He rushed blindly on, until at the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly exhausted, beneath the friendly shelter of an elm-tree, and careless now whether the wild beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.

His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and he swooned away rather than sank into sleep; but soon his breathing became more regular, and his slumber more peaceful.

The moon rose above the topmost branches, climbed to the meridian, and sank once more amongst the pines. Then the golden orb of day unbarred his eastern shutters, tinged the far horizon with saffron and yellow, and flooded the landscape of forest, and river, and lake, with gold, but still the youth slept on. Would he never awake?

At length, when the sun was high above the tree-tops, Jamie stretched himself, then opened his eyes. As he did so his first gaze fell upon a man, somewhat past middle-age, but still strong and sturdy. He was in the garb of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt, moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on his head was a beaver cap.

Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw it was no redskin that bent over him.

This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk, against which leaned his rifle also. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and while he vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from his pipe, he was complacently looking at the lad, as though he had been keeping watch.

"The same face–" murmured Jamie. "It is–it must be–the great paleface hunter!"

CHAPTER XVI
THE PALEFACE HUNTER

Jamie half rose from the ground, rubbed his eyes, and appeared surprised and mystified at this unexpected turn of events.

"Am I still dreaming?" he wondered. "I have seen this man many a time in my dreams, but never, to my knowledge, have I seen him before in the flesh. Who can he be, that he thus haunts me, asleep and awake?"

"So you've woke up at last, youngster! I was beginning to fear that you might never wake again," said the stranger, in a kindly and not unfamiliar voice that awoke the echoes of memory.

"Then you've been watching over me? Guarding me, perhaps, whilst I slept?"

The stranger nodded assent.

"Who are you? Tell me your name, that I may thank you, for friends are not too numerous hereabouts, and I have already lost two comrades since I came on this trail. Tell me who you are, if you please?" for the lad saw by the stranger's kindly manner, his honest, sunburnt face, and his clear but piercing eyes, that he was no enemy.

"My real name doesn't matter, my lad, though I am well known in these parts, for the Indians on this side the lakes know me for a trapper, and they call me the 'Paleface Hunter,' and sometimes the 'Grey Badger.'

"But how came you here?"

"This is my home–this forest! I have lived here for fifteen years," said the trapper, indicating the wide stretch of forest land with a broad sweep of his hand.

"And how did you happen to find me, just when I needed a friend, too? When I sank down last night I never expected to see the light of another sun."

"I stumbled across you here at dawn. You were fast asleep, and I saw by your torn clothes and the scratches and flesh wounds on your hands and face that the Indians had been hot on your trail. I half feared to find your scalp-lock missing, but when I examined you I found that you were living, but so exhausted and dead-beat that to wake you up might finish you, so I just carried you in here, covered up your trail, and waited for you to awake."

"And for four hours," replied Jamie softly, and with tears in his voice–"for four hours, since dawn, you have watched over me like a child in a cradle, though any moment the Algonquins might have discovered your trail."

"Tut! tut! my lad! That's nothing–"

"Paleface–if I may so call you–you have saved my life, and I thank you with all my heart, though last night, when I lost my best friend, I cursed my fate and wished to die."

"'Tis more likely you who have saved my life."

"How so?"

"Was it you who fired that shot last evening just before sunset?"

"Which shot?"

"The one that alarmed the camp!";

"You mean when the scout was–"

"Scalped."

"Yes, I fired it."

"Who took the scalp? I reckon that is not your gift, my lad."

Jamie shuddered at the remembrance, and said, "No. I should hope not."

"Then you were not alone? Who was the redskin that was with you?"

"An Iroquois youth, named 'Young Eagle.'"

"The son of White Eagle, the great chief?"

"The same. There was another also–a young paleface friend of mine. We lost each other in the forest, after dark, when the redskins were hot on our trail. After that I missed my way, and wandered back to the camp in mistake. Then, filled with terror and despair, I plunged madly back into the forest, until I sank exhausted, where you found me; but tell me, trapper, how did I save your life? for 'tis all a mystery to me."

"When you fired that shot at sunset, I was in a tight corner, for I was a prisoner in the Algonquin camp. Red Wolf, the Algonquin chief, is a great enemy of mine. Long he has tried to trap me, but I have always been able to circumvent him. This time he took me unawares. He and six of his braves pounced upon me suddenly in the forest three days ago, when I was splitting a few logs for my fire, and before I had a chance to defend myself I was tied up."

"And they tortured you, did they not?" asked Jamie.

"See here what the fiends did!" and the hunter showed a dozen scars and open wounds that had not yet healed.

"The monsters! How did you escape?"

"You know their custom of torturing their prisoners from sunset till dawn."

"Yes."

"Well, after all this they made a fire, and after a few more tortures I believe the varmint would have burnt me to death, for one fiend had made an iron red-hot, with which to sear and brand me, when suddenly the half-uttered yell of their scout, followed by the crack of your rifle, burst upon their ears."

"Yes! yes! What happened then?" asked Jamie impatiently.

"Why, every man Jack of them seized their rifles and tomahawks, and bolted out of the camp to the help of the scout, leaving me alone, bound hand and foot to a tree."

"And how did you free yourself?"

"Why, the scamp who had been threatening to brand me, when he bolted with the rest, dropped the hot iron at my feet, so that it burnt this hole in my moccasin. See here. The opportunity was too good to be lost, so I wriggled and shuffled my feet till the iron came in contact with the lowest thong. It was burnt through in less than a minute, and in another five minutes I was free."

"That was worthy of a trapper and a frontiersman. The implement of torture was a blessing in disguise."

"I didn't remain long in the camp, I can tell you, for at any moment the redskins might have returned, and there is no doubt that they would have scalped me on the spot, in revenge for what the Young Eagle had done. I was unable to walk for a few minutes, so tightly had they bound me; but I rubbed and chafed my limbs till the circulation was restored, and then I seized my rifle and knife and walked off. At dawn I stumbled across you, and–here we are; a match for a dozen Indians yet, let them come when they will," and the trapper laughed silently.

"Paleface, I'm glad to have met you," said Jamie, rising from the ground and extending his hand to his new friend. "I have had so many unhappy experiences during the past twenty-four hours, that I had begun to doubt the Providence which has delivered me so often, but I shall never doubt again, for God has never failed me yet."

There was something very much like a tear that trickled down the rough face of the trapper as he grasped the extended hand and said, in quiet but earnest tones–

"He never will fail you–if you trust Him."

"If only my two comrades were alive I should be the happiest creature in all this wide forest."

"They are both alive."

"What!" exclaimed the lad. "Both alive? How do you know that?"

"Before dawn I heard the Indians return to camp, and their yells of triumph told me that they had either brought in prisoners or scalps. Being anxious to know whether their prisoners were Indians or Yengeese, I crept back again to the edge of the camp."

"Indeed!" interposed Jamie, interrupting the narrative. "Weren't you afraid of being captured again?"

"Tut! tut! He'll be a smart Indian who can catch an old trapper twice."

"Well, what did you discover?"

"Before I reached the spot I heard a fierce yell of anger. That I knew to be caused by the discovery that I had escaped. When at last I reached a little rising ground overlooking the camp, where the shrub was very thick, I saw two prisoners tied to the self-same tree to which I had been tied but a few hours before."

"What were they like?"

"One was an Indian youth. I knew him at once. He was the eldest son of White Eagle, and the other was a stranger to me. He was a paleface in the garb of an Indian hunter, and he must have been your companion. This only I discovered, for my stay was a brief one, and the reason why I have remained in the vicinity of the Algonquins is because I have been hopeful that an opportunity will occur to save them, else they will either be tortured to death, or carried to the Canada lodges."

"You fill me with joy and with hope, trapper. We must and will save them! Nothing shall prevent us!" exclaimed Jamie, who was overjoyed at this good news.

"If only we had White Eagle and twenty of his Iroquois braves here we might do something, before it is too late."

"White Eagle will be here with some of his warriors by noon to-morrow," replied the lad.

"What's that you say? Who has gone for him?"

"Swift Arrow. We dispatched him at dawn yesterday, as soon as we found that you were a prisoner." And then Jamie told the old man all he knew–how they had struck the trail of the Algonquins, how the Indian lad had scouted all night, and had crept up to the enemy's camp, and reported that they held as a prisoner a great paleface hunter, who was the friend of White Eagle, and how Swift Arrow had departed for assistance. He told all, except his dream.

The hunter was bewildered when he heard all this, but merely remarked–

"Swift Arrow. I know the lad. He has the swiftest foot in all the Six Nations, and he will bring the warriors back, but whether they will arrive in time is another matter. And now there is something for us to do."

"What can we do, trapper? Speak, for I am ready. Inaction alone is inglorious, while my comrades are in the hands of those fiends. What can we do?"

"We must hold the trail till the chief comes up. The Algonquins are pretty sure to clear off quickly, for they are in the hunting-grounds of the Iroquois, and my escape will have hurried their departure. Probably they are already preparing to move. Let us go. But stay, you are famished, and cannot stand a long journey. We must have breakfast, and then we will hasten, lest the game should slip through our hands."

They made a hasty breakfast of some dried venison and half-cooked hominy, which the trapper bad snatched from a cooking-pot when he hurried away from the deserted camp; then feeling much refreshed by this rude but welcome meal, they shouldered their rifles and departed in the direction of the camp.

They cautiously continued their way through the forest, sometimes wading in narrow streams in order to hide their trail; sometimes crawling on all fours through the dense undergrowth, till they reached the outskirts of the camp.

Not a word was spoken during this tedious journey, which took upwards of an hour, lest a solitary sentinel should discover their approach. Once, indeed, they passed within a hundred feet of a scout, without even raising his suspicions. At length they paused for a moment to rest at the bottom of a little densely-wooded hillock, scarce an arrow-flight from the camp. They were entirely hidden in the thick shrub, and were so close to the enemy that they could hear the voices of the Indians, and see the blue smoke curling up from their fire, though the fire itself they could not see, because of the little brow or hillock that intervened.

Then they crawled from their hiding-place, through the brush to the top of the brow, and looked down upon the encampment. They doffed their beaver caps, and only permitted their eyes to peep for an instant at the scene below, lest the sharp glance of a warrior should chance to see them, but what a thrill came to Jamie's heart!

Thirty or forty braves were standing or lying about, some of them in little groups occasionally pointing to the forest. Others were examining their rifles and knives, as though expecting to be attacked. A few were hanging over the remains of a feast, the remnants of a deer. But what remained longest in Jamie's memory, during that brief glance, and excited his feelings most, was the sight of his two comrades bound to a huge tree near the middle of the camp. Whether they had already suffered torture or not, or were merely waiting helplessly until such time as pleased their captors to commence their vile and fiendish practices, he knew not; but his own feelings were roused to such a pitch of fury by the sight that it needed all his strength of will to command his feelings, and to restrain his desire to rush forward and liberate the prisoners.

Just at that moment a hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered–

"Come!"

He turned and followed the trapper quietly until they were once more ensconced in their late hiding-place.

They were not a moment too soon, for scarcely had they hidden themselves when a scout came along, peering amongst the trees and bushes, as though expecting to find an enemy behind every cover. Suddenly he stopped almost opposite to them, and looked suspiciously at the ground.

Something unusual had evidently attracted his attention. What was it? He was within a few feet of their trail. Had he discovered it? It was a critical moment for the two palefaces. A single movement, however slight, would betray them. It was dangerous to breathe even, or to stir an inch, for the crackling of a twig would have been fatal. Their very lives hung on a slender thread.