CHAPTER XV

ON THE TRAIL OF THE IROQUOIS

"YES, you are right, Sandy," said Bob, as he, too, discovered the small flaming signal, evidently a part of a large red kerchief he remembered the jovial Irish trapper possessed, and which he was not averse to sacrificing in an emergency.

They headed the boat straight for the willow that hung over the edge of the water, and a minute later its keel grated on the pebbly beach. Both boys instantly jumped ashore, and hastened to reach the signal; for they saw that again had the woodsman left a note in a splintered stick, as though desirous of giving those he knew would surely follow after him such information as he himself had obtained.

"The four Senecas at cabin--Black Beaver, young chief--lodges on shore of Great Lake, far to north, and west of big falls. I push on. We may meet later. Hope! Remember our signal calls!"

Every word was to the point, and in that brief communication the trapper had given them much news. First and most important of all he had confirmed the suspicion both boys had entertained as to its being Black Beaver who had done this cruel and treacherous deed. Then he had told them where the village was located to which the Seneca belonged, which information might yet prove of great value to them in case they were unfortunate enough to lose the trail, and have to push on at a hazard. They had heard of the mighty cataract, Niagara, that lay between two of the lakes, and which was undoubtedly meant.

What he wrote about the signals they also understood to signify that if, at any time, they heard the call of a bird, thrice repeated, it would be his method of communicating the fact that he was near by. Many times had O'Mara amused and interested the Armstrong boys with his clever imitations of various feathered and furred inhabitants of the wilderness; and even taught them to copy the same, so that they could read a message in such sounds.

"We must first of all conceal the dugout," said Bob, when his brother began to exhibit an eagerness to be off.

"Then let us not waste another minute, Bob!" cried Sandy, as he laid hold on the bow of the craft, prepared to do his share toward carrying it into the adjacent bushes, where it might remain hidden until such time as they again wanted to cross the river.

This duty done, Bob was ready to take up the trail.

"See how thoughtful O'Mara has been," he remarked, immediately.

"I see what you mean," replied Sandy, quickly. "He has made heavy tracks as he followed after the Indians, so that we might have an easier task. That ought to help us greatly, Bob, don't you think?"

"Surely," the older boy remarked, as he led the way into the thickest of the neighboring woods.

"But you look unhappy," continued Sandy, who was quick to read the face of his brother. "What worries you now, Bob? Are you positive that Kate is with these Indians? Once or twice a horrible fear has forced itself into my brain that they may have slain her, and hidden her body away somewhere."

"No, no, do not think that!" cried Bob, instantly, though he could not repress the shudder that his brother's gloomy words brought upon him. "I know she is alive, or was when the Indians stepped ashore, for I believe I saw the faint impression of her little moccasin in the earth, almost hidden by the tread of a brave."

"Then what makes you frown and look so black?" demanded Sandy.

"You forget that the day is almost done," the other remarked, significantly.

"To be sure it is," replied Sandy, casting a glance aloft to where glimpses of the sky could be seen through the dense branches of the tall forest trees.

"And that when night comes we shall no longer be able to follow the trail, while those we hunt can keep right on, hour after hour, putting mile after mile between us. That is what makes me bitter," Bob said, even though he did not pause in his onward movement.

"But what is to hinder our securing torches, and continuing on as long as we can put one foot before the other?" demanded his brother.

"An excellent idea, and we must try it," declared Bob, nodding his head as if pleased over this bright thought. "In that way we may at least cut down some of their long lead, which will count sooner or later in our favor."

"Yes," continued the other lad, "and if, by chance, Pat O'Mara should glimpse our moving torch, be sure he will hasten to join us. I will keep an eye out from now on, so as to pick up enough fat pine wood to serve us for torches, once it grows too dark for you to see the trail plainly."

Bob hastened as well as he was able, and, for another hour, they kept moving on, steadily heading into the deeper forest, where perhaps the foot of a white man had never before been set.

Then came the darkness which they dreaded. By slow degrees Bob was finding his task more and more difficult. Time was when he could see the plain trail left by their friend, the Irish trapper, as well as the footprints of the savages, without bending over to any extent. Then he had to get his face closer to the ground, as twilight came on, until, finally, he declared that he could no longer be positive that he was right.

They dared not risk losing the trail. Consequently it became necessary to halt for a brief rest, during which they might munch some of the tough pemmican provided for just such an emergency. Then, a little later, when they felt refreshed, the tracking could be resumed by the aid of a flare.

Darkness now surrounded them. The trackless forest stretched ahead, peopled only with enemies, both animal and human. These young pioneers never once faltered in their self-appointed task. If, at any time, such a feeling tried to take possession of their hearts, it was indignantly suppressed. Only a thought of Kate, or of that almost distracted mother whom they had promised so faithfully to serve as though they were men grown, was needed to inspire them anew with determination.

Presently Sandy took his tinder bag, got to work with flint and steel, and, being somewhat of an expert in this necessary woodsman's accomplishment, soon had a torch blazing merrily.

This Bob held as he once more took to the trail, gripping his gun in one hand. Sandy came close at his heels, with his cocked musket ready to be discharged at a second's warning, and endeavoring to see into the impenetrable walls of darkness that surrounded them.

"How does it go, Bob?" he asked after a bit, during which they had covered fully fifty yards.

"Fine!" answered his brother. "I have no difficulty now, in seeing the tracks. If only they would halt for the night, we might come up with them. But Indians can keep up a dog-trot for hours, you know; and these thieves are doing that now."

"But can one of them be carrying our sister all this time?" asked Sandy.

"Not so. Look here, and you will see the print of her moccasin. I know it well, because it is so much smaller than the others," remarked Bob, halting a minute to point to the ground at a certain open spot.

"Yes," cried Sandy, eagerly, "and surely I ought to know it, too, since I helped Kate make those same moccasins. She is alive and well up to now. But, after all, Kate is a girl, and she will not be able to travel long in this fashion."

"Then they will either have to stop and make camp, or else pick her up and carry her," Bob declared, positively.

"But which do you think it will be?" asked his brother.

"They fear the anger of the whites so much," Bob continued, once more moving on, "that they are anxious to get as far away as they can from the settlement. Perhaps they know Colonel Boone to be our friend, and his name is feared in every Indian wigwam from Fort Pitt to the Mississippi, and from the Great Lakes down to the southern border of the Dark and Bloody Ground known as Kentucky. They will go on, and carry Kate."

After that for a long time the brothers did not exchange words, save when something came up to excite their curiosity or their fears that they were about to lose the trail.

"I can see signs to tell me they have begun to stop now and then to hide their tracks. Only for the help given by O'Mara I would perhaps have to stop until we had daylight to show us the trail," Bob had declared, much to the distress of his companion; for Sandy was easily influenced to extremes by either good or bad fortune.

"We must go on just as far as we dare to-night," he said, stubbornly. "Every furlong gained will count in the end. As for being tired, I forget all that when I see mother's dear face as she kissed us good-bye, and begged us not to give up until we believed every hope gone."

So, for another half hour, they managed to move along. Three torches had been consumed thus far, and Sandy held only one more. It would probably be sufficient, for human nature has its limit, and the boys could hardly expect to keep up this killing pace all through the long hours of that dreadful night.

Now and then Bob would stop for a brief time to straighten up, and rest his cramped back. At such times it was only natural for him to stare ahead into the black depths of the woods that confronted them, stretching away hundreds of miles to the mysterious north, until finally they ended on the shore of that inland fresh water sea now known as Lake Erie, but at that time going with the others under the general name of the Great Lakes, though some called it after the tribe living on its shore.

It was on one of these breathing halts that Sandy, happening to send a glance back along the hidden path they had come over, gave a low cry, and gripped the arm of his brother convulsively, as he exclaimed in a whisper:

"We are followed, Bob! I surely saw the figure of an Indian flitting from tree to tree, back there! Drop the torch and fall flat, before an arrow comes!"