CHAPTER XXXI

THE CAMP ON THE BIG WATER

"THERE is the big water, Dick!" said Roger, in the ear of his cousin, as he chanced to peer through a narrow opening in the dense woods beyond.

"And the chief has called a halt, which looks as though we were not to go any further just now," Dick added.

They could catch a glimpse of what looked like an inland sea. The wind was raising whitecaps on the tops of the waves, as they rolled past toward the south. As far as the eye could reach the same broad expanse of clear crystal water lay. The Indians did well to call it the "big water," though to-day it is marked on the map as Yellowstone Lake.

A spy was sent out while the remainder of the party remained in hiding. This was about an hour from sundown. He came back as the last glow was fading in the western sky, and there was a consultation between the chief and his leading warriors.

"Try to find out how the land lies, and what the plan of campaign will be," Dick told Mayhew.

The guide returned presently with all the information they required.

"As near as I can tell," he explained to the boys, "the spy brings in the news that the Blackfeet have mostly departed, and only the four Frenchmen are left in the camp."

"But I hope they have left Jasper behind also," exclaimed Roger, taking fresh alarm. "You remember we were told by Lascelles that he meant to try to get the Indians to carry him far away to their village, and either adopt him into the tribe, or else burn him at the stake."

"Make your mind easy on that score," Mayhew assured him.

"Then he is still in the camp?" asked the boy.

"Yes, the spy saw him there, tied to a tree," Mayhew continued. "One of the Frenchmen gave him a kick in passing, like the coward that he is. I used to believe the French were gentlemen, but my opinion has changed."

"Oh! you must not judge all Frenchmen by these rascals," said Dick. "They are of the bad kind. Perhaps Jasper will be glad of a chance to return that kick with interest before sun-up."

"And if he doesn't, I will!" asserted Roger, impulsively, for he hated a coward and a bully above all things.

"What does Beaver Tail mean to do?" Dick asked.

"I think his first act will be to send the spy back again, so as to keep track of what is going on in the French camp," Mayhew told him. "Then at a later hour all of us will creep over and surround the place. Any Blackfeet who may be found are apt to be given a short shrift, because they are the mortal foes of the Sioux; but I do not believe the traders will be harmed, unless they should be unwise enough to shoot one of Beaver Tail's warriors."

Shortly afterwards Dick saw the same skillful scout go forth, and he knew that Mayhew had guessed the truth when he said a close watch was to be kept over the camp on the lake shore.

In good time the signal would be given for the general advance. Until then, all of them must possess their souls in patience. As the cold of the night increased it was likely to prove no laughing matter, since they were unprovided with blankets, and dared not build a fire. Still, with success so close to their hands, the pioneer boys felt that they could put up with almost anything.

How slowly the time passed, in spite of all these brave resolutions! Roger found it necessary several times to get up and, as noiselessly as possible, thresh his arms around him, so as to start his stagnant blood into renewed circulation. Had it not been for this expedient he believed he would be unable to respond when finally the signal was given to move on.

When it appeared to Roger that many hours must have passed, he was elated to discover that the chief, Beaver Tail, had begun to show signs of life. He had been sitting like a block of stone, simply casting a look up at the stars occasionally, as though one of the heavenly bodies must reach a certain altitude before the time could be reckoned as up.

This must have been a signal to the others, for immediately each warrior was on his moccasined feet, and on every side bows could be seen being strung in readiness for twanging, while quivers of arrows were fastened over the left shoulder of each soft-footed brave.

Once the expedition was in motion, the chill soon left Roger's body. In its place he experienced a gratifying warmth that must have started through the increased pumping of his youthful heart due to excitement.

The boys found as they advanced that the crafty Sioux chief had made as complete arrangements as any war captain could have done. He had divided his force into three sections of about equal numbers. One of these was sent ahead, and it was easy to surmise that the duty of these warriors was to proceed to the further extremity of the Frenchmen's camp, so as to cut off escape from that quarter.

A second lot could come up from the rear, while those with whom the palefaces and Beaver Tail himself were associated advanced along the shore of the lake, and expected to reach the vicinity of the camp in that way.

The boys had never gazed upon a body of water anything like the size of that lake, though accustomed to the big Missouri River in flood-time, when it was miles from shore to shore. Once they had cruised down to the Mississippi in company with Roger's father, Sandy Armstrong, who had built a big canoe and wanted to revisit the place where, as a lad, he had had a temporary home.

Seen in the sheen of the starlight, the lake looked as though it might be an ocean in itself, for no further shore was visible. Roger wondered if this was what the sea resembled, and if he and Dick would really be permitted to continue on with the explorers, cross the rocky range of mountains, and finally bring up on the golden strand of the Pacific Ocean.

But there was a glimmering light close by, which he surmised was a smoldering fire in the French traders' camp. Carefully they continued to creep forward. It gave Roger a thrill to realize that he was in the company of savages such as his father and grandfather had fought in the years gone by; but who were now their best of friends. What wonderful stories he and Dick would have to tell should they live through all these manifold perils to return safely home, and resume their old places at the domestic fireside.

Both boys were secretly hoping that Lascelles and his compatriots would not be so foolhardy as to attempt to resist. Bad as these men were, the boys did not wish to see them butchered, as they undoubtedly would be should they fire on the Sioux, or even wound one of Beaver Tail's warriors.

As for any stray Blackfeet who may have remained in camp while the main body was off somewhere, if they got in the way of the Sioux arrows or tomahawks that was their lookout; the boys could not be expected to include them in the scheme of general amnesty.

The attack was not to be started until certain signals announced that all the detachments had reached the positions assigned to them by the chief. When he heard the howl of a wolf given with a certain little twist at the finish, and then also caught the cry of the screech-owl, he would feel assured that nothing remained to be done but order a concerted assault.

Indians have always had a certain set plan for their surprises. No matter how slyly they crept up on blockhouse or camp or border fort, when a certain time arrived they felt it was absolutely necessary to break out in ferocious yells. No doubt this was done partly to give freedom to their pent-up feelings, and, at the same time, add to the alarm of those whom they were attacking.

Dick and Roger knew this fact. They had had some little experience themselves in connection with Indians. Besides this, they had heard innumerable stories from Grandfather David concerning those days along the Ohio, when the tribes from the Great Lakes to the southern border of Kentucky were all on the warpath, and seeking day and night to destroy the hardy pioneers.

This being the case, neither of the lads felt any surprise when there arose a series of the most dreadful yells. The warriors whom they accompanied added to the din with all their might, at the same time springing forward and running in the direction of the near by camp.

From every quarter arose that deafening clamor. It must have struck terror to the hearts of the Frenchmen, even though they may have fancied that they were friendly with all the tribes of the far Northwest, because of their dealings in the matter of buying the stores of pelts collected by the red men.

There was nothing for the boys to do but keep company with the braves as they thus closed in on the surrounded camp. Already they could see signs of tremendous excitement in that quarter, as the inmates, alarmed by the clamor of many tongues, turned this way and that, hardly knowing whether to run, or else raise up their hands in token of submission.

Several dusky figures were discovered by the light of the fire darting into the thickets close to the camp. These must be the few Blackfoot braves who, for some reason, had been left behind. They knew there would be no mercy for them at the hands of their mortal foes, the Sioux, and on that account they preferred taking their chances in the brush and half-darkness.

Had it not been for that horrid din, perhaps the boys might have caught the sharp twang of bowstrings; they might also have heard the death cries of those who met the flight of those swiftly-driven arrows, with their tips of jagged flint.

Just then it mattered nothing to Dick and Roger whether any of the Blackfeet managed to run the gauntlet and escape or not; their thoughts were all taken up with the hope and expectation of finding that one for whom they had long sought, Jasper Williams, whose signature at the bottom of a new document would mean so much to the folks at home.

As they entered the camp they saw a cluster of figures standing with fear-blanched faces. The flickering firelight showed the boys that Lascelles was there, and the smooth-faced young man, cowering at his side, must be his son, Alexis, whom accounts reported as being as great a rascal as his father. Besides, there were two more of the traders.

At sight of the boys whom he had so greatly wronged Lascelles cried out something. Neither of them could exactly understand its nature; but Dick fancied the cowardly Frenchman must be pleading with them to have his life spared.

"Hold up your hands, and they may not harm you; but under no conditions try to run away or you are dead men!" was what he flung out at them as he ran past.

Roger was at his heels. The guide, with wonderful good sense, gave the fire a little kick in passing, which had the effect of starting up quite a bright blaze. By the aid of this light they could see what was going on.

Already a number of the Sioux had entered the camp. Their appearance, with flourishing hatchets and knives, doubtless chilled the blood of the Frenchmen, knowing as they now did that these braves of Running Elk must be on the most friendly terms with Dick and Roger Armstrong.

Dick looked further. It was, however, the keen-eyed Roger who chanced to be the first to discover what they were searching for.

"This way, Dick; here he is, tied to this tree!" he cried.

As Dick leaped after him he saw that there was indeed some one bound fast to a tree, a white man at that; and the firelight disclosed the fact that it was Jasper Williams.