CHAPTER XIX

A SUDDEN PERIL

"NOW they have gone!" said Roger, as the figures, outlined against the sky, vanished behind some outcropping rock.

"Yes, and they seemed to be starting down the side of the ridge toward us, as near as I could see," Dick declared, nor did the guide dispute the assertion.

"Could that have been our friend Jasper Williams?" demanded Roger, voicing the vague hope that was pounding at his own heart door.

"He was too far away for us to make sure, one way or another," admitted Dick.

"But he seemed to be of about the same build; and, Dick, you could see nothing to prove that it was any one else, could you?"

"No, only that he was in the company of Indians," and Dick shook his head in a way that spoke of considerable doubt.

"But then," argued Roger, "they might be friendly Mandans, or Sioux, or even some of these Sheep-eaters we've heard about, who live in certain sections of the Wonderland in brush shacks." (Note 6.)

"Yes, that might be true, for they were too far away for us to tell from the feathers in their scalp-locks what tribe they belonged to," the other boy admitted.

"And the last thing we heard about Jasper, from Hardy and Mordaunt, was that he was being chased by Blackfoot Indians," Roger continued.

"Well," Dick explained, "this white man was no prisoner, for I saw him point ahead at something, which would mean that his arms were not fastened."

"We know that Williams is a remarkable man," mused Roger, "and, even if those braves were of the fierce Blackfoot tribe, he might have managed in some way to have made them his friends. I know it doesn't sound reasonable, but Jasper knows Indian character better than any white man we ever met."

"If he could do that he would be a magician."

"So he would," admitted the other boy, reluctantly; "but what are we going to do about it, Dick?"

"There is nothing for us but to wait and see," came the reply. "They acted as though heading in this direction. If you asked me about our best move I'd say, hide and watch. If it turned out to be Jasper we could call out; on the other hand, if it were one of these French trappers, who are hand in glove with the Blackfoot Indians, we needn't let them know we are around."

"But do you think they noticed us?" asked the other boy.

"That is more than I can say. I saw nothing to indicate it; but these redskins are so tricky they would hide it, even if they knew, and were watching us out of the tail of their eyes."

"Let us hide, and see!" Mayhew said just then, showing that he approved of Dick's scheme.

Looking around, they quickly decided where it would be best to conceal themselves. The ground was so rough and uneven that there were plenty of places that had an inviting look. Mayhew selected a patch of bushes as a retreat, and in another minute they were crouching under this shelter.

Although most of the leaves were off the bushes, they grew so densely that it would require something more than a casual glance in that direction to betray the fact that several figures lurked there.

They heard many different sounds, for silence was hardly ever present in this land of the spouting wells, which roared and hissed and spluttered as they shot up their steaming fountains toward the heavens. There was almost constantly a fretful murmur in the air that might suddenly turn into a whining shriek or a dull roar.

A low exclamation from Mayhew announced that his trained vision had detected some sort of movement, far or near.

"What is it?" demanded Roger, on the right of the guide.

"They are coming!" was the answer.

"Tell us where, that we may see also," the other urged.

"Then turn this way, and look between those two leaning trees," said the guide. "But be careful that you move slowly. It is the quick actions that catch the suspicious eye of an Injun."

"Oh! now I can see them plainly," whispered Roger. "They are heading straight for us!"

"Blackfoot warriors for a certainty!" Dick muttered.

"Can you see the white man plainly, Dick?" asked Roger, impatiently.

"Not just yet," came the reply. "He must be back among some of the Indians who hide him. But we will soon know what to expect. Keep watching."

Almost immediately Roger himself gave a grunt. It sounded as though bitter chagrin was connected with the sound.

"There, I saw him plainly, Dick," he whispered, "and it isn't Jasper Williams at all. The man is a Frenchman, unless my eyes deceive me, and I ought to know what one of them looks like."

"I believe it is none other than our old enemy, François Lascelles!" Dick said in the ear of his cousin; a bit of information that must have given poor Roger a strange thrill, for he could not have imagined any more discouraging news.

"Oh! what if he runs across us here?"

"We would have to fight for our lives, I fear. That man hates all our family about as bitterly as I've heard my father say another Frenchman named Jacques Larue once did."

"But see how many there are of the Indians; a full dozen or more. They look as fierce as any braves I ever saw. I hope they pass by, and fail to notice us."

"Keep still, Roger, they are getting too close now for us to talk, even in whispers. Be ready for the worst, even while hoping for the best. That is the Armstrong motto, you know. 'Sh!"

Roger fixed himself so that he could see everything that went on without making the slightest movement. He knew those keen eyes of the red sons of the forest were quick to detect a suspicious movement, no matter how slight, and that, if he so much as lifted his hand, discovery would follow.

The Indians were coming forward in a string, or what the trappers of that day called "Indian file," one stepping in the footprints of the brave ahead of him. In this fashion it would be difficult for any enemy on finding their trail to know whether three or twenty had passed. It was a piece of Indian cunning, and a part of their nature, since it could hardly have been undertaken for any particular reason at this time.

They were heading directly toward the copse, but, since it would offer a bar to their progress, they might turn aside when it was reached.

The boys almost held their breath as they watched the approach of those fierce-looking Blackfeet. Up to then the brave who was held a prisoner in the Mandan village had been the only member of this noted tribe they had seen at close quarters. (Note 7.)

They were all picked men, if one could judge from their appearance; they were lithe, active as cats, alert, and at the same time muscular. Those swelling bronzed arms could doubtless paddle a dugout or a skin canoe at tremendous speed. Among them there must be braves who had won an enviable reputation for speed at foot races; or, it might be, renown as long distance runners, capable of keeping on the trail at a dog-trot for days and nights at a time.

It was therefore with considerable respect, and not a little anxiety as well, that Dick and Roger watched them coming nearer.

Of course they took note of the white man, too. He was a bold-looking adventurer, such as most of those French traders of the early century were, dashing in appearance, and with a certain air of recklessness about him, such as might be expected in those who daily took their lives in their hands and faced unknown perils in a wilderness that was almost a complete mystery to white men of the day.

François Lascelles had entered largely into the lives of these two boys, even though their opportunities to see the wily and unscrupulous French trader had been few, up to then, and mostly at their home, where he visited to talk business with their parents.

If they had not liked his looks at that time he certainly presented a far less prepossessing appearance now that he was away from all the outposts of civilization and saw no need to repress the tiger element in his nature.

To himself Dick was saying:

"That man would stop at nothing in order to have his own way. If ever we had the bad luck to fall into his power we could not expect any mercy, I am sure. And, if Jasper Williams is now in his hands, nothing can save him, unless we are fortunate enough to be able to come to his rescue."

This far Dick had arrived in his train of thought when he received a sudden and severe shock. Mayhew had managed to give his foot a slight kick, as though to call his attention to something that was going on out in the open. Dick hardly required this signal to pay attention, for he had already seen what was happening.

The Indians were no longer pushing forward as before. The one in the lead had suddenly stopped up; and he must have given vent to some exclamation that acted like magic on the rest, for every one had halted as though controlled by a single wire.

They seemed to be gathering around their leader, who was pointing excitedly to the ground, as though he had made an important discovery.

Mayhew grunted very softly, but the sound lost none of its significance on account of being so gently emitted. As for Dick, he did not need to be told what it was the Blackfoot had found; for, like a flash, it came to him that he and his companions had headed toward the clump of bushes from that very spot.

The sharp eyes of the leading brave had discovered their trail! It had been a fatal blunder, their neglecting to cover this up in some manner, although, at the time, it might have seemed as though there was not one chance in a thousand the hostiles would come that way.

No one moved, even though they must have felt hot and cold by turns, as the terrible result of the discovery flashed before their minds. The Indians were jabbering together in excited tones, though what they were saying the boys could only guess, since they knew nothing of the Blackfoot tongue.

The white trader was apparently as curious as any of the dusky braves in his company. He even dropped down on his hands and knees, the better to examine the footprints. Of course it would be patent to them that the tracks were made by white men.

What would be the result? Would they surmise that the three daring invaders of the Evil Manitou's Wonderland, the forge where he made all his thunderbolts, must be secreted near by? Could they read that those tracks had just been made, since blades of brown grass were still springing up after being pressed down?

Perhaps Lascelles even knew that Dick and Roger were searching for Jasper Williams! He seemed to be superhuman when it came to learning things that were supposed to be secret. And, if that were so, then it was indeed a gloomy outlook that faced the pioneer boys.

Dick could only catch his breath and watch to see what would happen next; that, and grip his gun tighter in his hands as he crouched waiting for the explosion. He knew their presence in the copse was suspected, for the trader was even then pointing straight at the patch of bushes, and saying something to his red companions.