CHAPTER V.

THE HOLE IN THE HILL.

“Total darkness down here, isn’t there?” said Kent, putting out his hand to see how wide the passage was, and finding hard walls within a foot of where he stood.

“Yas,” answered Wild Nat; “but thet’s nothin’. Foller yer nose, an’ I’ll foller you.”

The young man cautiously advanced, feeling his way, and after going some ten paces, suddenly emerged into a cavern—how large it was impossible to tell, owing to the darkness. It was evident, however, that there was somewhere a communication with the outer world, as the air was not stifling or mephitic, as usual in caves, but quite fresh and agreeable.

“Do we stop here?” asked Kent.

“Yas; I’ll have a light in about a minnit,” replied the trapper, groping about in search of some torchwood, which he soon found and lighted, revealing the size of the cave. It was a small, oval-shaped room, not more than sixteen feet in length, and proportionately narrow. On two sides there was a small recess, beyond which were several openings or chambers communicating with each other by rugged passages, some of which were several rods in length—mere rifts in the rock.

Kent amused himself with looking at the different rooms, while the trapper built a small fire, and went out to take the horses to a more secure place. In one of the chambers adjoining the first cavern was a small pool of clear, cold water on one side, evidently a living spring, for the water ran bubbling over the stones, disappearing on the other side of the cave. The curious Kent followed the passages from one cave to another until he had passed five, and then came to a large hall or room, with which the cavern terminated. After examining these several subterranean wonders as well as the dim light would permit, the explorer returned to the outer room, and sat down to await Wild Nat’s return.

It was some time before the trapper returned, and when he made his appearance his usually long face was considerably elongated.

“What is the matter?” asked his companion, noticing the hunter’s looks.

“Wal, sir,” said Wild Nat, “jist tew tell the truth in plain langwage, kalkulated for everybody’s understandin’, thar’s an Injun been doggin’ our steps. Gallernippers an’ centerpedes! I’d like to scratch his bald head!”

Kent smiled, despite his anxiety, at the trapper’s manner, and said:

“Dogging our steps, eh? How did you find it out?”

“Found out by virtew of my opptickles, in course! When I went out I see sign plenty—broken twigs an’ misplaced bushes thet I knew dogoned well we didn’t dew, an’ then I perceeded tew look about a little, an’ on lookin’ about I see the catapiller’s tracks. Yes, I did.”

“Do you think he saw us come in here?” asked Kent.

“Can’t say,” replied Nat. “Might or mightn’t ag’in. I’m sumwhat afeard he did. But, ef he did, an’ I git a chance at him, I’ll bet a holler cottonwood full of beaver-tails thet he’ll wish he’d died afore he saw me.”

“What will be the consequence if he has seen us?”

“Be down on us with a whole tribe, like bagpipes and wolf-preachin’; but I’m not goin’ tew leave this place jist yet, till I see. When I pre-empt a spot, I generally squat thar for sum time, as I shell on this present occasion, ef nothin’ turns up wuss’n a red nigger’s moccasin. Let’s have a little grub. I’m ’ginnin’ tew feel empty as an old sugar-cask.”

Seizing the piece of broiled meat, the trapper tore it in twain and tossed his companion half. This being discussed, ere long they relapsed into slumber.

The next morning the two men were out early, setting traps.

“We’d better keep our opptickles peeled,” said Nat, “or we might git sick with lead pills on the stomach. I persume tew say thet thar’s copper-skins ’round. Jist toss me over thet hatchet, will ye?”

When the traps were set, both men proceeded up the stream. As they were passing through a small open spot, they were suddenly surprised by half a dozen Indians, who rushed out at them from the bushes.

“Yahoo!” shouted Wild Nat. “Here’s for a scrimmage. Come on, ye yaller-skinned alligators. I’m ekal tew any ten of ye!” and drawing his bowie-knife with his right hand, and his revolver with his left, he plunged at them, striking right and left, and firing at the same time.

Wayne, meantime, was not idle. With his rifle he brought down one of the savages, and then, as the other barrel was empty, he clubbed it, and swinging it about his head dealt blows right and left with terrible fury.

In a moment half the Indians were down, and the remainder, surprised and bewildered by the decision and effect with which they were met, when they had counted on a complete surprise, took to their heels and vanished in a twinkling.

“Purty well done,” said the trapper, coolly. “We’ve unkivered four greasy nobs, an’ the rest, residew, an’ remainder has measured sile. He! he! I guess they thought the climate warn’t healthy—not adapted to thar peculiar constitutions, so tew speak. Let’s lift ha’r.”

“Heavens!” ejaculated Kent, “you are not going to scalp them?”

“I consider I _be_!” returned the trapper. “Wild Nat Rogers ain’t the feller tew let ’em off with thar top-knots unmerlested. Kinder mortifies ’em, ye see, tew hev thar ha’r lifted, an’ any thin’ to morterfy a red nigger, I say.”

“Only the savages practice that barbarity,” said Kent. “Why are you better than they if you follow their customs?”

“By virtew of bein’ born a white man,” replied the trapper, proceeding to remove the scalps of the fallen foe, while his companion went aside, not caring to witness the operation.

The scalps the hunter carried to the cave, where he hung them up as “trophies,” he said, “an’ ter remind him of the scrimmage.”

“Well,” said Kent, “I’d rather the ‘noble red-man’ should keep away from here. I don’t relish the idea of having them discover this cave, and likely enough keep us in here until we starve.”

“I should objeck tew thet thing, myself,” said the trapper, “but, I guess they won’t find us. I’ve ockepied this domicil for several seasons, an’ I hain’t been walled in yet. Fact is,” said the old hunter, waxing eloquent, “I never was born an’ reared for the purpose of bein’ killed by an Injun. I’ve lived in this kentry for a number of years, an’ been in some four hundred an’ thirty-two scrimmages, reckonin’ it by arithmetickal progression, an’ snatched some half-dozen copper-skins bald-headed in each one; an’ I’m now goin’ on my fifty-tooth year, an’ at this present speakin’ I’m a whole individual, an’ endowed with sartin unailyunable rights, among which is life, liberty, an’ the pursuit of Injuns.”

This was said while the old trapper proceeded with the manufacture of a pair of moccasins which he “wanted tew fool the reds with. Ye see,” he said, cutting away at the leather, “thar’s Injuns ’round, an’ I want tew scout a bit, an’ seein’ these moccasin-tracks they’ll naterly suppose it’s an Injun made the tracks.”

Several days passed without any signs of Indians, and the young man was enjoying himself. This wild, free life greatly pleased him. He went and came, with no cares nor duties to hinder or perplex.

One day Wild Nat was busy cleaning his gun, which he averred had been “consarndly bamboozled in some way. Why, it’s a solemn fackt, thet yesterday when I shot at thet wild turkey it held fire, an’ it’s suthin’ it never done afore since I got it,” he continued, giving the wiper a vicious jerk.

“Well,” said Kent, taking up his rifle and examining the priming, “I believe I’ll go out a while, and see if I can get a wild turkey. I can’t say that I appreciate buffalo-hump as a regular diet.”

He shouldered his rifle and started, followed by the trapper’s warning words:

“Keep yer eyes open for Injuns, or they might ask ye to taste tomahawk. I don’t doubt but they’re ’round.”

“All right; I will keep a sharp look-out,” was answered, as the young man emerged from their retreat in the hill, and started up the ravine.

Passing from the gorge, Kent turned up the creek, which he followed for a considerable distance, and then struck off to the south. From this point there was a beautiful view of the mountains, and the young hunter resolved to explore further. Accordingly he shaped his course toward the desired point, and walked briskly for the space of half an hour, paying, meantime, but little heed to Wild Nat’s injunction about keeping a look-out for Indians. His thoughts were with Marion Verne, and he wandered on abstractedly, till the extreme beauty of the scene before him drew his attention, and he stopped to look about him.

Before, the mountains reared their heads, and at the left a high cliff shot upward, crowned with a few stunted cedars, and draped with a profusion of wild vines. He stood on a slight eminence, which sloped away to the right, terminating in a series of gorges, deep and shadowy, and covered with a thick growth of slender trees, laced and interlaced with bushes and vines, till they were almost impenetrable. Around him huge trees reared their heads, and bushes and vines grew in the wildest confusion, and high in the ether a large bird screamed harshly as it flew slowly over.

As the young man stood silently contemplating the scene, and wondering at the deep silence which pervaded it, he was startled suddenly, by hearing deep, guttural voices near him.

He had barely time to spring aside in the bushes, when, standing precisely where he had stood a moment before, he beheld eight or nine hideously-painted savages. Evidently the noise of his retreat had startled them, for they stopped and listened attentively. He scarcely dared to breathe, so close were the savages to him—the nearest one standing not more than six feet distant. He was so situated that he could see the Indians, while they could not see him, but, unfortunately, in his haste, he had neglected to get his gun concealed, and about six inches of the muzzle protruded from the bushes. He dared not withdraw it, well knowing that the slightest movement would betray him, and with bated breath he stood, hoping they would not discriminate between it and the stems of the bushes.

The hope was a vain one. The Indian nearest him turned his head an instant, and his eyes fell on the unlucky rifle. With a ferocious grunt, he darted forward, followed by the rest. For Wayne there was nothing to do but run, and, firing both barrels at the advancing foe, he turned and fled toward one of the gorges before mentioned, the whole pack at his heels.

The young man was an expert runner, but running on open ground was quite a different thing from running in this wilderness, as he soon found. However, he made pretty good progress, scrambling over logs, leaping rocks, and dodging under lodged trees, over stones and dead boughs, “ducking” his head to avoid limbs, and diving through thickets of vines, with a celerity which would have astonished any one new to the business, and utterly impossible, had it not been for the “motive power” behind.

Gradually he found he was distancing his pursuers, though they still were not far behind. Hurrying forward, he scrambled through a tangled thicket, and plunged down a narrow gorge, half filled with bushes, through whose rocky bottom a little stream bubbled, and which terminated in a sort of broken dell, intersected by ravines and gulf-like fissures in every direction. Darting into one of these, he followed it until the sound of pursuit grew faint, and then, panting and exhausted, he sunk down against the rocky bank and drew a long breath. As he sat there, mentally congratulating himself on his escape, and thinking of the discomfiture of his enemies, his musings were suddenly interrupted by a vise-like grip on his arm, and a guttural voice saying, in most execrable English:

“Ugh! White man go with us.”

Looking up he found himself surrounded with Indians, painted similarly to the ones he had just left behind.

He was a prisoner!

In an instant the woods rung with the wild whoops of his captors, and directly the Indians who had pursued him arrived, rejoicing at the capture, and brandishing their tomahawks with savage glee. After a short consultation, the white man was bound securely, and mounted on a small nag, whose powers of locomotion evidently had been exhausted years before, and the whole party set out on the march.

As they journeyed on, the young man’s thoughts were of any thing but a pleasant nature. A prisoner in the hands of these merciless savages, with no one who knew of his whereabouts, what hope was there? If Wild Nat knew of his plight there might be a rescue, and yet, what was one man against so many?

They traveled steadily on until late in the afternoon; then halted in a wood, and all dismounted. Wayne was considerably puzzled by the proceedings. The Indians held a short council, and finally an old, grave-looking fellow, who, Kent thought, might be a chief from his appearance, and from the deference paid him, arose and made a speech of some length. The prisoner, ignorant of the Indian tongue, of course did not comprehend a word, but he saw that the chief’s wishes met with approbation, from the nods and grunts of the august assembly.

The chief sat down and the consultation ended. Kent was most unceremoniously taken from his horse and bound to a small tree. The savages evidently were greatly pleased, and while wondering what it all meant, their prisoner saw several Indians busily engaged in gathering wood, which they deposited near him. The mystery was explained! He was about to be burned at the stake!

The Indians, of whom there were fifteen or sixteen, began to yell and jabber violently, and jumped about, brandishing their war-clubs and tomahawks alarmingly near the prisoner’s head, who heartily wished they would strike a hatchet into his skull, and save him from the fearful death before him. He could meet death bravely in any form, but to be burned at the stake—to die by inches in excruciating torture—the thought was one of horror.

The wood was piled about him, at a little distance, to the hight of a couple of feet, built up artistically with dry fagots, that looked as if they carried in their gray hearts a world of heat and flame.

At last all was ready; the match was applied, and the little tongues of fire began to curl up among the fagots, creeping slowly, but surely, among the dry wood, and lapping hungrily about the sticks as if impatient for its victim.

The young man resolved to die bravely, and as the heat increased so that he began to feel its effects, he mentally commended his soul to heaven and breathed a prayer for the safety and welfare of his aged parents, who would mourn his unknown fate.

The savages were executing a wild war-dance, mingled with shouts and songs, and accompanied by waving of clubs and tomahawks, and brandishing of knives. In the shadow of the falling twilight their dusky forms swayed to and fro, and their painted faces, lit by the increasing flames, looked more like the faces of fiends than human beings.

The forked tongues of fire crawled on, increasing in strength and fury every moment. Already Kent began to feel their scorching effects. His knees were almost blistered, and the dense, rising smoke nearly suffocated him.

Suddenly he heard the brands behind him rattle as if thrown aside by a hasty hand; the same instant he felt the bands that bound him loosened, and a voice which he instantly recognized as that of Vic Potter, shouted:

“Run for yer life! Take thet, ye yaller rips!” and he fired his rifle with such effect that two savages rolled in the dust, and, drawing his knife, struck another who stood in his path; then snatching Kent’s gun and powder-horn, which leaned against a tree near at hand, he bounded away into the woods, closely followed by Kent, and vanished in a twinkling!

So intent were the Indians on their barbarous work, that this sudden onslaught of the guide completely surprised them, and with such suddenness and celerity did he do his work, that, before they could recover the shock, he was out of sight.

Then, with wild whoops of disappointment and rage they started in pursuit.

“Foller me,” said Vic, as he sprung before the young man, “an’ in tew minits we’ll be out o’ danger, so tew speak. Hear the cusses yell!”

The trapper made no slow work of measuring the distance, and Kent was not far behind. After five minutes of hard running and dodging, the trapper darted round a dense thicket, followed by the other. Kent was surprised to see a man seated on a horse and holding another animal by the halter.

“Up behind me,” shouted Vic, springing into the saddle. “Fleetfoot is good for both of us.”

The young man mounted with a bound, and the horses dashed away.

“Varmints!” exclaimed the trapper. “Jist hear ’em holler! Guess they’ll find the game has guv ’em the slip. Ye see they started after us afoot, an’ in course they can’t catch us thet way, an’ it’ll take ’em some time tew go arter their hosses.”

“You arrived just in time,” said Kent, as they swept along. “Ten minutes later it would have been too late.”

“Zackly,” responded the trapper. “It war lucky I happened along. Ye see, Scip and I—”

“Is that Scip?” interrupted Kent. “I hadn’t thought to ask who it was, and the darkness prevented me from seeing. How are you, Scip? So you concluded to try life on the plains a while, eh?”

“Yes,” replied the negro. “Vic said mout as well. I’s rader feerd ob de Injins, but, he says, dar’s no danger. Looks like it, ye bein’ tied up ter brile! Wish I’d staid wid de emergrants.”

“There’s no danger, so long as you keep out of their way,” laughed Kent; “but the trouble is to keep out of reach. I flatter myself that the time I made this morning would be hard to beat, but I fell into their hands after all.”

“How war it?” asked Vic.

The young man then related the circumstances of his capture, adding:

“We have distanced our pursuers. There is nothing to be heard.”

“Gone arter thar animiles,” said Vic. “Which way is the cave?”

“South-west,” replied Kent.

“Guess we’ll p’int for thar, then,” said the trapper.

The horses’ heads were accordingly turned in that direction, and the little party swept on.