CHAPTER IV

THE BIRCH BARK MESSAGE

"THERE, I could see him reach down then and strike at a leaping wolf!" exclaimed Dick, showing signs of excitement, something he seldom did, since he had wonderful control over his emotions for a boy of his age.

"Just as I told you," continued Roger, trembling all over with eagerness, "he has used up his arrows, and is trying to cut down the number of his four-footed enemies by other means."

"There, listen to that howl!"

"Oh! he made a splendid strike that time, Dick!"

"Yes, and you can see what that clever brave is up to, if you notice the wild scuffle at the foot of the tree," the other replied.

"Why, the wolves seem to be fighting among themselves, Dick. What makes them act that way, do you know?"

"I can give a guess. These mad animals are almost starving, though just how that should be, at this season of the year, I am not able to say. The scent of blood makes them wild, you see, and, every time the brave's knife wounds one of the pack, the rest set upon the wretched beast to finish him."

"In that way the Indian could clean them up in time, I should say, without any help from us," Roger suggested, though he showed no sign that his intention of giving aid had changed in the least.

"But they might take warning, and stop jumping up at him," Dick explained; "then his knife would be useless. And, too, other wolves hearing the noise are apt to hasten to the spot, so that there might be an increasing pack, a new one for every beast he helped to kill."

"Dick, he is a brave fellow, even if his skin is red!"

"I agree with you there," said the other, softly.

"Then are we not going to bring about his rescue, even if it does cost us some of our precious powder and shot?" Roger demanded.

"Yes, but I hope it will not be more than one load," replied his cousin; for all their lives this question of a wastage of ammunition had been impressed on their minds as the utmost folly, and on that account they seldom used their guns except to make sure of worthy game.

"Come, let us rush forward with loud yells, waving our arms, and doing everything we can to scare the animals off before we begin to fire. After we get close up, and they are hesitating what to do, that is the time for us to blaze away."

"A good plan, Roger, and worthy of our fathers' old friend, Pat O'Mara. Only as a last resort will we use our fire-arms."

"And you be the one to say when, Dick, remember!"

"Depend on me for that," Roger was told quickly. "Just as soon as I see that something is needed to force the ugly beasts to make up their minds, I'll call out to you to give it to them."

"Give me one last word of advice before we rush them, Dick."

"Yes, what is it, Roger?"

"If, instead of taking to their heels, the pack turns on us, and starts to fight, what must we do?"

"There isn't one chance in ten it will happen that way," said Dick, "for wolves are too cowardly. When they see us rushing boldly forward you'll notice how every beast's head will droop, and that he'll begin to skulk away, showing his teeth, perhaps, but cowed and whipped."

"But suppose it should?" urged Roger, as they paused, just before bursting out upon the strange scene.

"If it comes to the worst we may have to take to a tree just as the Indian brave has done," Dick told him, "and then start to work killing them off as fast as we can load and fire. Now, are you ready to do a lot of yelling?"

"Just try me, that's all, Dick!"

"Come on, then, with me!"

With the words Dick sprang boldly forth from his concealment, with his cousin alongside. Both of them started to make the woods ring with their strong young voices, and when two healthy boys yell and whoop they can produce a tremendous volume of sound!

Some of those predatory wolves must have conceived the idea that a whole company of the strange two-legged foes was rushing toward them, judging from the hasty manner of their exit from the scene. Others, however, either more bold or hungry, half crouched and, snarling, showed their white teeth in a vicious manner.

Evidently these leaders of the pack were not as yet quite convinced that the game had gone against them, despite all the noise made by the oncoming boys. On seeing this, Dick and Roger tried to shout louder than ever, while they waved their arms in the most frantic manner.

It devolved upon Dick to decide whether or not they should keep on in this fashion until they came to close quarters with the wolves that lingered, loth to give up their chance of a dinner. Rushing forward at this rate, they would be on the scene in half a dozen seconds, and might find the ugly beasts springing up at their throats.

Never before had the boys seen wolves acting in this manner, for as a rule their nature is cowardly. There was nothing for it but to fall back upon their guns for the finishing stroke, and so Dick gave the word.

"We must shoot, Roger--take that big fellow in front!" he gasped, for he was by this time fairly out of breath after all those strenuous exertions of running, thrashing his arms, and shouting at the top of his voice.

Accordingly both of them halted just long enough to throw their long-barreled rifles to their shoulders, and glance along the sights. They could actually hear the savage snarls of the defiant pack. Roger, always a bit faster than his companion, was the first to fire, and with the crash of his gun the big leader of the pack sprang upward, only to fall back again with his legs kicking.

Dick's gun spoke fast on the heels of the first report, and he, too, succeeded in knocking over the beast his quick eye had selected.

Then with renewed shouts, Dick and Roger once more started forward, but there was a hasty scurrying of gray bodies, and presently not a wolf remained in sight save the pair that had gone down before the deadly fire of the guns.

The Indian up in the tree dropped to the ground, and the boys saw immediately from his manner of dress that he was, just as Roger had surmised, a Sioux warrior. From the fact that he was bleeding in various places the boys understood that he must have put up a valiant fight at close quarters against his four-footed enemies, before finally seeking refuge among the branches of the friendly tree.

Naturally both lads immediately began to wonder why a Sioux brave should thus venture into the neighborhood of the Mandan village, since the two tribes had been at knives' points for many years. Indeed, the preceding fall, when the boys had been aided by Beaver Tail and some of his Sioux warriors, who accompanied them later to their camp, it had required all the tact and diplomacy of which Captain Lewis was capable to prevent an open rupture between the old-time rivals.

"First we must make him let us look at his wounds," suggested Dick, "because it is no child's play to have the teeth of wolves draw blood. Some of his wounds look bad to me."

"I think you are right, Dick," agreed the other, always accustomed to leaving the decision to his cousin. "See if you can make him understand what we want to do. I'll get some water in my hat, so you can wash the wounds."

The boys always made it a practice to carry certain homely remedies with them, for in those pioneer days the family medicine chest consisted in the main of dried herbs, and lotions made from them, all put up by the wise housewife. Those who lived this simple life, and were most of the time in the open air, seldom found themselves in need of a doctor, and most of their troubles sprang either from accidents, or injuries received in combats with wild beasts of the forest.

So it was that they had with them a salve they always used to soothe the pain, as well as neutralize the poison injected by bites or scratches received in struggles at close quarters with carnivorous beasts.

The Indian was looking at them as though puzzled. Whites were rarely seen by the dwellers in these far regions beyond the Mississippi; indeed, most of the natives had never as yet set eyes on a paleface.

This brave, however, may have been in company with Beaver Tail, the friendly chief, at the time he aided the two boys, and, if so, he undoubtedly recognized Dick and Roger.

Unable to speak the Sioux tongue, of which they knew but a few words, it would be necessary for Dick to make use of gestures in conducting a brief conversation with the other. Still, the smile on his face, as well as the fact of his recent acts, would readily tell the red wanderer that he was a friend.

"Ugh! Ugh!" was all the Indian could say, but he accepted the hand that was extended, though possibly this method of greeting was strange to him.

Dick pressed him to sit down, and the brave did so, though with increasing wonder. He speedily realized, however, what the white boys meant to do, and without offering any remonstrance continued silently to watch their labor, as they proceeded to look after his injuries.

Roger fetched his hat full of cool water from a running brook close by, and one by one Dick washed the numerous scratches and ugly furrows where those wolfish fangs had torn the flesh of the stoical brave's lower limbs.

He gave no sign of flinching, though the pain must have been more than a trifle. The boys knew enough of Indian character to feel sure that, if it had been ten times as severe, he would have calmly endured it, otherwise he could not have claimed the right to wear the feather they could see in his scalplock, and which signified that he was a warrior, or brave.

Finally the task was completed. There had been nothing further heard from the remnant of the baffled wolf pack all this while, proving that the loss of their powerful leaders must have taken the last bit of courage from the animals, known never to be very brave.

All the while the Sioux continued to keep those black eyes of his glued on Dick Armstrong. It was as though he was in search of some one and had made up his mind that, since there could be no other paleface boys within a thousand miles of the spot, these must be the ones he had been commissioned to find.

Just about the time Dick, with another of his rare smiles, indicated that the work of looking after his injuries had been completed, the Sioux fumbled in his snake-skin ditty bag, where he kept his little stock of pemmican, and numerous other necessary articles, perhaps his war paint as well. To the astonishment of the boys he drew out a small roll of birch bark, secured far to the north, and handed it to Dick.

Filled with curiosity, the boy opened it with trembling fingers, to find, just as he had anticipated, that it was covered with a series of queer characters, painted after the Indian fashion and representing men and animals.

"It's Indian picture writing, you see, Roger!" Dick declared, "and must be meant for us, or else this brave would not give it over. He has been sent here from the far-away Sioux village to find us, and deliver a message."

"Yes," added Roger, excitedly. "And look, Dick, there is what seems to be the awkward but plain picture of a beaver at the end of the message. It must have been sent by our good friend, the chief of the Sioux."

"You are right that far, Roger, for it is meant to be the signature of Beaver Tail, himself. Now to see if we can make out what it says!"