CHAPTER XVII

PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS

"NO shoot! no shoot!" cried Blue Jacket, who seemed to size up the situation instantly; though up to that time he had not even suspected that he was about to be made the object of a savage attack on the part of a panther.

Bob, too, understood the motive that influenced the Shawanee brave to exclaim in this way, as he jerked out his knife and threw himself in an attitude of defence. Should a musket be discharged, there was always a chance that the report might be carried to the ears of the Senecas, if they happened to be within a few miles of the spot.

Few Indians used guns in those days, the vast majority depending still upon the bows and arrows of their race, backed by tomahawks and knives, and sometimes war clubs in time of battle. Hence, they might suspect that pursuers were on their trail, should the boom of a heavily-loaded musket be carried to their ears.

So Bob threw out his hand, and instantly covered the pan of his brother's gun, so that, when the hammer fell, it caught his fingers, and no spark followed. Bob winced under the sharp pain; but he had accomplished his end, and what mattered a trifling cut?

But the panther had not waited all this time to accommodate these intruders in his forest preserves. The boys saw the sheen of his satiny sides as he sprang.

"Oh! he missed!" gasped Sandy; but Bob knew why this was so, for he had seen the agile young Indian jump sideways just at the critical instant, so that, while the aim of the big cat may have been correct, he only alighted upon the ground.

Blue Jacket never wavered, but instantly threw himself upon the gray beast. His keen-pointed knife was raised, and came down once, twice, thrice in less than as many seconds. It was no longer glinting in the sunlight, for after that first descent the steel seemed to be dulled.

Both boys pushed forward, eager to get in a blow that would be of some assistance to this devoted red friend, who counted not his own safety or comfort when a chance arose whereby he could help his paleface comrades.

They had dropped their guns as useless, since they could not be fired. Bob had drawn his knife, while Sandy had a hatchet in his grip; and both circled around, looking for an opening.

The Indian and the panther were revolving so fast, however, that it seemed well nigh impossible for any outsider to get in a blow, without running grave chances of seriously injuring the very one they wanted to assist.

And, while they thus made half-hearted blows, fearful lest they strike their good ally, Blue Jacket suddenly sprang aside, leaving the animal struggling on the ground. In vain it attempted to follow its human adversary. The ready knife of the stalwart young Shawanee had struck in too deeply, and already was the panther feeling the throes of approaching death.

Even as the boys gazed, spellbound, the animal stiffened out, after one last violent movement. Blue Jacket was breathing very hard; but upon his set face they could see the look that comes to a victor in a well-fought battle.

"Are you hurt much, Blue Jacket?" asked Sandy, fearful lest those terrible claws might have torn the young Shawanee.

The other glanced down at a few places where the blood had commenced to show, as marking the scratches he had received; then he shook his head scornfully.

"Not much hurt," he announced. "Panther hard kill--fight back--take many times finish," and he opened the fingers of both hands to illustrate how many strokes he had made with that knife before he felt that he had accomplished his purpose.

"But why didn't you let me shoot him?" demanded Sandy, as though feeling hurt, because at that short distance he knew one shot would have surely finished the "woods terror," as such beasts were known at the time.

"Make noise--tell Iroquois we here--no good, see, Sandy?" was the way Blue Jacket put it; and Sandy immediately realized how great a sacrifice the other had just made in order to keep their presence on the trail unknown to those they hunted.

He looked at his brother, and drew a long breath.

"Where could we have found a better friend, Bob?" he said, earnestly.

"We must have looked a long way, Sandy," returned the other. "But let me put a little salve my mother made on those cuts, Blue Jacket. There is poison in the claws of a tiger cat, and you may have a bad time, unless we look out for it."

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian, even while he allowed Bob to do as he wished. "Much papoose, warriors think. No care 'bout hurt. Get well, bimeby. Blue Jacket come 'cross medicine grass soon, chew and put on cut, good. If white squaw make, then try. Ugh!"

Anything Mrs. Armstrong did was all right in the eyes of the young Shawanee brave. He had watched her, and learned to respect the gentle woman who ruled the Armstrong cabin with a sceptre of love.

Leaving the dead panther where it had fallen, the three pressed onward again. If, during the balance of that weary day, the limbs of Blue Jacket ached, no one ever knew it, for not a single complaint or groan passed his lips. Bob realized that he in all probability suffered, for some of the scratches had been pretty deep; but he also understood the singular nature of Indians, and how it was considered childish to show any evidence of pain.

Night came on, and they were forced to halt, with those they hunted still far ahead. How the Iroquois managed to travel so far and so fast puzzled both boys, especially since they knew that Kate could not have possibly kept up under that fierce strain.

Blue Jacket told them that there were occasions when the footprints of the girl utterly vanished for a mile or more. At such times he would even point out which of the four Indians must be carrying her, because the indentation of his moccasins showed deeper than those of his companions.

And the boys were astonished at the simplicity of this reading of signs. Every hour they found something new to marvel over in connection with the work of their dusky friend. He pointed out twigs that had been bent and righted; to leaves that had been displaced by the feet of the fugitives; and by such means easily figured just how long a time had elapsed since the others had passed.

They started again at daybreak and, all the morning, followed the trail of the Iroquois.

The storm, that had threatened on the previous day and then passed by without a single drop falling, now came back for a second attempt. And this time they were not fated to escape.

"We are in for it," said Bob, when about noon the crash of thunder sounded close at hand, accompanied by vivid lightning.

"Yes," declared Sandy, making a rueful face, "I think I can hear the rain beating down in the treetops even now, over there. What a pity, when we were gradually overtaking the red thieves. Oh! what if we lose them, and have nothing left to follow? What can we do then, Bob?"

"Just what I said before," replied his brother, between his set teeth, as still another crash of thunder made the woods echo with its roll. "We have only one plan to follow, then. Blue Jacket is of the same opinion; for I talked it over with him this morning. We must push straight on for the Great Lakes, and try to waylay the party before they reach their village."

"A desperate chance," groaned Sandy.

"But we said we would never give up until the last gasp, Sandy. You forget, too, that we have a good and wise friend at work for us," Bob went on, cheerfully.

"You mean Pat O'Mara?" replied the other, quickly. "Yes, I did forget. I am too apt to be hasty, I fear. Oh! I do hope he may be able to snatch Kate from the power of the young chief, Black Beaver. But why should he have stolen her at all? Kate is only a child, too young for any one to want to have for a squaw."

"I have been thinking about something Blue Jacket told me," said Bob.

"Then please let me know, too, for I am all in a mix," pleaded his brother.

"He said that he knew Black Beaver had only a short time ago lost a little sister by some disease. He told me that the old squaw, his mother, sat day by day out where the child was laid away, after the custom of the Indians, the body being sewed up in many thicknesses of buffalo skins, and placed on a platform, where the wolves could not reach her."

"Yes, I saw an Indian graveyard when I was a prisoner among the Shawanees, and it was just as you say," declared Sandy, eagerly. "I know that daily the squaws come to talk with the spirits of those who are gone. I saw them placing earthen bowls of succotash on the ground, believing that the steam that arose was spirit food, since it vanished, and no one knew where it went." (Note 5.)

"Blue Jacket said that Black Beaver cared much more for his sister than most Indians do," Bob continued, between the angry growlings of the thunder; "and that he feared the old squaw would lose her mind if she kept on mourning. Now, you remember how he looked at our sister Kate when he came in for a supply of tobacco and maize? I really believe he had a sudden idea flash into his mind when he saw how pretty she was."

"Now I understand what you mean," cried Sandy, excitedly. "He believed that our Kate might take the place of the sister that was dead! They would color her skin, and teach her to forget that her people were the hated palefaces. Bob, I believe you are right; and somehow the thought gives me much comfort, for then our little Kate will not suffer harm at the hands of Black Beaver and those with him."

There was no time for further conversation, for the storm now rushed down upon them with terrific violence. With the howling wind, the flash of lightning, and the crash of thunder came a tremendous downpour of rain. It was possibly the breaking up of summer, and might be followed shortly by frost, such are the rapid changes that mark the meeting of the seasons.

They had found a means for sheltering themselves from the worst of the storm. A hollow tree might have answered fully as well; but, with those frequent zigzag flashes of the deadly electric fluid, none of them felt like taking such desperate chances, especially when a cleft in some rocks opened an avenue of escape.

Here they cowered and waited as the storm rolled over. Bob knew of course that such a thing as trailing the Senecas after this was entirely out of the question; and that the only thing remaining to them was to strike out north, in the hope of finding the village to which Black Beaver belonged, and intercepting the party.

That would mean the placing of some hundreds of miles between themselves and the dearly-beloved cabin on the Ohio, where that little mother waited in daily hope and expectation of their return, with the lost Kate; but, for themselves these brave boys gave little thought. They were ready to face every species of peril in the endeavor to rescue their sister.

When the wind had ceased to howl, and only the mutter of the retreating thunder in the distance told that the storm was over, they came forth, grim and determined-looking, all three.

Sandy tightened his belt; and there even was something suggestive of what was in his mind about that little action. It looked as though he were preparing for the tremendous tramp that loomed up ahead, when they must cross rivers, thread their way through tangled forests where few if any of their kind had ever before stepped; and face all manner of dangers by day and by night.

Blue Jacket never even asked what they would have him do; for he already knew the plan of campaign. Deliberately he turned, until the western sun, shining out from the broken clouds like a ball of gold, was exactly on his left. Then he started to swiftly walk away.

No longer did the young brave look down upon the ground as he moved along. There existed no need for such a thing, since the trail had been utterly washed out by that deluge of rain. Henceforth the trackless wilderness lay before them, and at the other end they hoped to find the village in which Black Beaver had his wigwam.

Even upon the face of Sandy had come a grim look that seemed out of place in the features of a half-grown lad; but in those pioneer days responsibility set its mark early on the growing generation, and even a lad of fifteen could shoulder the cares and burdens of manhood.

Days would come, and days would pass, and night must follow night. Sometimes sun and stars would beckon them onward; again perhaps storms would buffet these bold adventurers; but through it all they would push resolutely onward, with but that one impulse urging them on, the rescue of Kate.

What the near future held for them no mortal could say; but, no matter what lay beyond, Bob and Sandy would press on toward the goal, though they had to face the whole of the Six Nations, or the confederated tribes Pontiac had bound together in his wild hope for a general Indian war.