CHAPTER XIX

UNDER THE FALLEN FOREST MONARCH

"THERE! that makes the fourth tree I've seen blown down in the storm," remarked Roger, after they had been walking through the forest for some time.

"Yes, and in every case if you went to the trouble to examine those trees," he was told by Dick, "you would find that they were rotten at the heart. They may keep on standing up with the rest, and seem to be perfect, but when the wind sweeps through the forest it searches out the weak and imperfect trees, and topples them over."

"That must be what grandfather means when he talks about the 'survival of the fittest,'" Roger mused. "He says that Nature knows what is best for everything, and keeps thinning out the weak ones along every line."

"Then there must have been a lot of poor trash over yonder," chuckled Dick, "for I can see a number of trees down."

"Oh! what was that!" suddenly asked Roger.

"It sounded to me like a groan," his companion admitted, as both of them stood still in order to listen.

"There it comes again, Dick, and, just as you said, it must be a groan. I wonder if any one could have been caught under a tree when it fell?"

"We must be cautious how we move forward," as Dick's advice, "because we know the treacherous nature of these Indians."

"Do you mean it might turn out to be a trap?" demanded Roger.

"There is always a chance of that, so, while we make our way in that direction, we must be ready to run if we discover any lurking reds about."

Dick also kept his rifle in readiness in case of a sudden emergency. It might be a shot would check a rush on the part of their enemies, and thus enable the boys to get a fair start.

Guided by the groans, which now came louder and more frequently, they were not long in making a discovery.

"Dick, I see him!" exclaimed Roger, in fresh excitement; "and, sure enough, he is caught in the branches of that big tree over there. It isn't a trap after all, but some one in trouble."

"And an Indian at that, Roger," added the other, as he, too, managed to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate one.

"Will that make any difference; or do you think he may be just shamming?" asked Roger, hesitating.

"There is no mistake about his being in a bad fix," ventured Dick. "He may not be terribly hurt, but the tree has pinned him down, you can see; and if we left the poor fellow there he would either starve to death or else be devoured by the wild beasts."

"Oh! we never could have the heart to do that," asserted Roger, who possessed a generous nature, like all his headstrong class.

They pushed forward, and were soon at the fallen tree. The Indian must have discovered their presence, for he had ceased groaning, as though too proud to show any sign of cowardice. A brave would sooner have his hand cut off than be reckoned timid or weak.

"How are we going to get him out of that trap?" Roger remarked, after they had looked the situation over. "We have no hatchet for cutting the limb, and my knife would never do the job in a day."

"He's held down as if in a vise," Dick observed thoughtfully, "and I can see only one way of getting him loose. Let me have your knife and I'll hack my way in close to him. There seems to be just one avenue open for that."

Roger, filled with curiosity, watched his cousin set to work. He could readily understand how the other intended to reach the side of the imprisoned brave, but just what means he expected to use in order to free the warrior Roger was unable to guess.

A short time afterwards Dick had gained the side of the brave, to whom he spoke a few words; and, doubtful whether he was understood, these were supplemented by various reassuring gestures.

Then, to the astonishment of Roger, Dick started to dig furiously in the ground. At first his intentions were a mystery to Roger, who wrinkled his brow as he looked on. All at once, however, he grasped the idea.

"Now I can see what you're up to, Dick," he called out; "and I must say it looks like a winning scheme. All you have to do is to dig under the brave, and let him sink down a little. Then, when the pressure of those limbs grows less, he can either squirm out himself, or be dragged forth."

That, in fact, was the idea Dick had conceived in his fertile brain. He continued to delve away with a steady purpose in view, and presently it could be seen that he was making an impression on the earth. The trapped Indian brave began to sink downward by slow degrees until finally the pressure had relaxed to such an extent that by making a great effort, and assisted by Dick, he managed to wriggle out from under the limbs of the fallen tree.

He had been hurt in various places, though Dick did not believe any of his wounds were really serious. Accustomed, as they were, to treating injuries, it was only natural for the boys to make up their minds that they would do something for the poor fellow.

When Dick made motions to this effect, the Indian allowed them to do what they willed, although he watched every movement with eyes that were filled with curiosity.

"I wonder whether he's more surprised at seeing us have this soothing ointment mother made along with us, or that 'palefaces' should go to such trouble just for an Indian?" Roger remarked, as he assisted in the work. (Note 6.)

"It doesn't matter much which affects him most," said Dick, calmly, "we are doing just what our parents have taught us to do. Besides, how can we tell whether this brave is an enemy or a friend?"

"They say an Indian never forgets an injury, or an act of kindness," ventured Roger; "and, if that is true, we can count on one friend among the Dacotahs, for I'm sure he belongs to that tribe."

"Yes, he is a Dacotah, but they all look alike to me, so I couldn't say whether he was among those who captured us or not. He seems to be listening to what we are saying, and I really believe he half understands our talk. Perhaps he knows a little English, for there have been white trappers who have penetrated this far."

"Suppose you try him, and see if he can understand, Dick?"

"I mean to do that," was the reply, "because I'd like to put a spoke in the wheel of that revengeful Andrew Waller. He has told these foolish Indians we are the sons of the Great White Father at Washington, and that if we were held as prisoners a mighty ransom would be paid for our release. We must convince the reds that it is false, and that we are only ordinary white boys."

This idea held some weight with Dick, and after completing his work in connection with the brave's wounds he commenced the attempt to talk with him.

At first it looked as though there would be little chance of success; but after a little he succeeded in getting the painted brave to understand what he was trying to explain. This was done by means of single words, accompanied by much gesturing and pointing.

If the Indian had not already known about the boys, and what was said about their being the sons of the White Father he could never have understood matters at all. Gradually Dick began to believe he was hammering the facts into the head of the other. He saw a light as of comprehension dawning on his painted face.

"I do believe you've managed to pound it into his brain, Dick," said Roger, who had been an earnest witness of all this. "He looks as if he knew what you wanted him to do. See, he even nods his head when you speak."

Dick felt that he had reason to be proud of what he had done. To get an Indian, who could not talk English, beyond a few words, to understand that they were only ordinary, every-day boys instead of the important personages Andrew Waller had pictured, was a triumph indeed.

"I am asking him to pass the news along, and spread it far and wide," explained Dick, as he continued his gestures and forceful words; "and I think he knows. Here, let me do a little picture writing for him; perhaps that may help."

He picked up a piece of smooth bark, and, using the point of Roger's hunting knife, managed to scratch several crude designs upon it. Two of these represented the rising and the setting sun. Then a figure with a Dacotah head-dress stood half way between with arms outstretched.

Showing this to the brave, Dick once more began to speak and make gestures. While he could not of course be certain, still he had every reason to believe that the other understood what he was driving at, for he nodded, touched each of the boys on the chest, then shook his head in the negative, and said something in the Dacotah tongue which Dick fancied meant White Father.

"That's the best I can do with him, Roger; and now we must be on our way again. Whether it works or not, at least we can feel that we have done the right thing."