CHAPTER IV.

LOST MARION.

“Injuns thar! Come on, boys!” cried Nat, as he dashed away at the top of his speed.

Vic and Kent followed, leaving the quaking Scip behind, and soon arrived at the edge of the wood, in view of the emigrants, who were running hither and thither in the wildest confusion and alarm.

A group of girls stood near, crying hysterically.

“What’s up?” cried Wild Nat, bounding into the center of the confused camp.

“The Indians have carried off Marion!” sobbed one of the girls, while the others huddled together with frightened faces, and fearful glances toward the darkening woods.

“How?” “When?” “Where?” were questions asked, simultaneously, by the excited men, who at length drew from the frightened girls the following facts:

Marion Verne, in company with half a dozen other girls, had been strolling about in the grove, and tempted by the beauty of the scene, and the lovely and varied flowers that constantly met their view, they had wandered further into the woods than they had intended, or thought they were doing.

Noticing at last, that it was growing dusk, they turned to retrace their steps, when a small band of savages sprung from the bushes, and seizing Marion, who was a little in the rear of the others, disappeared in the woods before the poor girl could hardly comprehend her fearful situation. The other girls ran crying in the direction of camp, and had only just arrived there when the men came up.

It was now deep darkness, and for a moment every one stood irresolute, trying to think what to do. Wild Nat was the first to speak:

“It never’ll dew tew stan’ here an’ think about it,” were his first words. “While we’re thinkin’, the reds are actin’, an’ ef we stan’ here idle long, we’ll run a good chance to be in the gal’s place.”

“Fact,” said Vic Potter; “tharfore, fix yerselves tew welcome the painted devils.”

For a while the emigrants worked with a will, and half an hour later every thing was in the best possible shape for defense.

Guards were stationed every few rods, on every side, and Wild Nat took his stand on the side from which the most danger was apprehended.

Vic occupied his time in standing sentinel, and occasionally taking the rounds of the camp, to see that every man was in his place, and every thing as it should be. But the long night wore wearily away, and the morning dawn came, showing the wide prairie and woodland, from which the light was fast dispelling the shadows, but no signs of the dreaded enemy.

“It’s about as well for _them_ thet they didn’t tackle us,” said Wild Nat.

“It’s about as well for _us_, I guess,” said one of the men. “We are only sixty, all told, and there is no doubt hundreds of the Indians.”

“Wal,” said Nat, shutting one eye and aiming a tobacco-spit directly at the tip of a small dog’s tail, “it’s jist as well for _them_, anyhow, for thar’d be ’bout two dozen less ‘live an’ kickin’, at this present speakin’, on _my_ account merely.”

“Do you think you could dispatch that number in _one_ fight?” asked Kent, smiling at the trapper’s remark.

“I’m equal to an indefinite an’ unkalkulated number of ’em,” responded the trapper, “an’ answer in the place of meat-vittals an’ drink to ’em. I kalkerlate,” he added, squinting along his rifle-barrel, and waiting to draw a fine sight on a large eagle overhead—“I kalkerlate thet I save about five hundred bufflers every year by removin’ thar nateral enemies, which ain’t qualified, so to say, to live on any thing but buffler, an’ what they git for the hides. Thet eagle’s tew fur off tew shoot, ain’t he?”

“Laws!” said Scip, who stood near, listening in wonder to the trapper’s words, “did ye ever kill enny Injuns, sah?”

The trapper turned, and drawing his tall, ungainly form to its full hight, gazed on the negro in dead silence for a few moments, evidently too much astonished to speak, at this exhibition of ignorance and apparent incredulity.

“Africa,” he said, solemnly, after an impressive pause, “did ye ever eat any pertaters?”

“Reckon I hab,” said Scip, with a broad grin, “’bout forty bushels a year.”

“Wal,” continued the trapper, planting his rifle down solemnly, and gesticulating with his left hand, “I reckon thet for every pertater ye eat, I hev knocked down, tipped over, dragged out, sculped, mewtilated, an’ otherwise disfiggered, one dozen Injuns. An’ I’m good for as menny more.”

During this address, Scip stood listening, with the grin on his black face gradually expanding, until, as Vic told him, his “mouth war in danger of runnin’ inter his ears,” and when the trapper finished speaking, he stood silent for a moment, evidently thinking how to express an opinion without giving offense. At last he broke out with:

“Sah, am dar any Injuns left?”

“Plenty of them,” responded Nathan; “they’re thicker’n skeeters in August.”

“Wal, den,” said Scip, after a moment, “I don’t b’lieve ye ever killed a dozen for every tater I eat. What did ye do wid dar sculps, jest tell dis chile dat, will ye?”

Vic came up before the trapper had time to reply, and called him away to participate in a council, the result of which was that the train lay by, while twelve of the best men, led by Wild Nat, were to take the trail. After considerable trouble this was found, and traced for about thirty rods, where the captors had evidently joined a party of nearly or quite two hundred. From there the trail was so cleverly covered that when, after going a short distance, it struck a sandy tract, only partially grassed, it broke into three sections, thus baffling pursuit for a rescue.

The men returned to camp, when it was decided that pursuit was simply impossible; and with gloomy forebodings and sad hearts, the emigrant-train prepared to move on. During these preparations, Wayne Kent stood a little apart in silence, his usually bright, frank face overclouded and troubled.

Wild Nat stood near, watching the breaking up of the camp, one elbow leaning on the saddle that covered the back of a large mustang, which he had procured from the train, and the other hand holding “Roarer,” as he termed his rifle.

When every thing was ready, Vic shook hands with Wild Nat, saying:

“As I didn’t engage tew guide the train only jist through the pass, I dare say ye’ll see my ugly picter some time in the course of a month. I’m kalkerlatin’ ter trap up this way somewhar.”

“Come up on Deep Creek an’ ye’ll find me,” said Wild Nat; “the beaver is so thick thar, thet they cover the ground, an’ thar tails lap by a piece. I’m bound for thar, at this present speakin’.”

“Will you take me along for company, Nat?” asked Kent, suddenly. “If you want a companion, I will act in that capacity. I have some curiosity to try a trapper’s life.”

“Take ye along?” said the trapper. “In course! Yer as welcum as the posies, my boy, an’ I hain’t enny kind o’ doubt but what, in _time_, ye’ll git tew know a thing or two about Injuns. All ready tew go?”

“Yes,” was the response; “all ready, and waiting.”

Bidding the emigrants good-by, the two men rode away, and were soon out of sight of the long train of white wagons left behind. For some time Kent was silent and thoughtful. He was thinking of Marion Verne, and wondering what her fate was. A desire to find, or at least be near her, had led him to stay with Wild Nat, rather than any great love for trapping, though it was curiosity to try life in the wilderness that led him to leave his home in Ohio and join the train. It was there he first saw Marion Verne, an orphan, who, in company with one of her mother’s sisters, was going to California. His musings were suddenly brought to an end by Wild Nat exclaiming:

“Thar’s suthin’ off yender. It’s Injuns tew, but they don’t see us. I’ll snatch ’em bald-headed if they cum close enough.”

“The party appears to be a very small one,” said Kent, rising in his stirrups to look at the distant object, which was so far off as to look to him like an indistinct mass, which might be buffalo, or Indians, or whites, though Wild Nat declared it was a party of seven Indians.

“My eyes are purty considerable sharp,” he said, in answer to Kent’s wondering remark, concerning the keenness of his vision. “In fact, I never yit saw the man who could see as fur as I could. Them Injuns are goin’ off north. I’d like tew have a chance to sp’ile sev’ral of thar purty picters. Blarst thar karkasses, anyhow!”

“Nat,” said Kent, suddenly, “what makes you feel so bitter a hatred of the Indians?”

“Beavers!” ejaculated the trapper, “I should think I’d hed _reason_. Younker, ten year ago I hed a little cabin an’ a wife an’ tew children. I war livin’ peaceably an’ mindin’ my own consarns. One night a band of Injuns come, took me prisoner, an’ butchered my wife an’ children afore my very eyes. Then they burnt my cabin, an’ took me off for torture. I got away the second night, an’ left seven dead red-skins as part pay. Since then, I’ve been an Injun-hater, an’ I’ll lift the head-gear off of every red devil thet I cum acrost.”

The trapper relapsed into silence, and spoke no more until they came upon several buffalo, feeding at some distance from the main herd. One of these the old trapper shot, and, after securing a considerable quantity of the meat, they again rode on, and sunset found them near Deep Creek, a small stream that had its source in the mountains, and after making a winding course for many miles, was finally lost in the Sweetwater river.

Wild Nat halted at a little distance from the stream, among a thick growth of timber.

“Guess we’ll stop here. Tie yer hoss an’ I’ll show ye my den. This ar’ ’bout as nice scenery as ye generally find. This stream hurryin’ along over the stuns, an’ the woods here, an’ the mount’ins up thar—I can’t see how any one can like the towns. Give _me_ the wild peraries, an’ the woods, an’ mount’ins, an’ git away with yer towns an’ cities! Here, foller me.”

The two men turned back from the stream, and pursued a narrow, deep ravine, extending back toward the mountains that towered above them; the sides of which were covered with luxuriant bushes and wild vines tangled about them, often forming impenetrable thickets.

Among these the men advanced, the trapper leading the way, and neither of them aware of the dark face that looked after them from a thicket of bushes, nor the pair of malignant eyes that followed their movements with such keen scrutiny.

The trapper continued up the ravine the distance of ten rods, and then thrusting aside the thick vines from one side, removed a large stone, revealing a small, dark opening. Into this he crept, hastily calling Kent to follow. The young man obeyed, and in an instant the stone slid into its place, and the twisted vines, relieved of its support, fell down over it, effectually concealing all trace of the opening.

A moment after, the bushes, a few yards off, parted slowly, and the dusky face became visible. For many minutes the glittering eyes gazed about, and then a look of disappointment succeeded the previous one of triumph. After remaining in silence for a short time, the savage cautiously ventured forth. He had lost sight of the men and was trying to regain the lost clue. Stepping carefully forward, he bent down and earnestly examined the ground. But he was foiled; the ground betrayed no print of footsteps. After searching vainly for some time, the baffled Indian turned and strode away, shaking his tomahawk in futile rage at the silent covert behind him.