CHAPTER XXVIII

WHEN ALL SEEMED LOST

SANDY ARMSTRONG was an impulsive boy, as has been shown more than once in these pages.

He often acted on a sudden inspiration, and without weighing matters over in his mind. This disposition to do things on the spur of the moment was a part of his nature, and did not spring from the mere fact that he was a lad; for his brother Bob had no such failing.

Kenton had seen it in Sandy, and it aroused a fellow-feeling in the breast of the famous borderer for the young pioneer, because he himself had many times been taken to task by Daniel Boone for showing the same weakness.

Sandy only saw that a scoundrel was creeping up behind a brave man with the intention of doing him a deadly injury. Little he considered that Pontiac towered head and shoulders above every Indian foe the struggling settlers in the wilderness might ever know, and that his untimely death would really be a blessing to the entire white race.

Horror filled his young soul at the dastardly nature of the revengeful Larue's intentions. The pondering sachem was utterly ignorant of the presence of an enemy, as he sat there on that log, waiting for the return of the Seneca chief. Even then the French trapper was towering over the bent figure, his hands grasping that club, as he summoned all his strength for the blow, meaning to make short work of his enemy.

The public insult which Pontiac had put upon him doubtless rankled in the heart of the Frenchman. Making his escape from the cavern, where he had been left apparently securely tied hand and foot, he must have headed for the Indian village in order to betray the plans of the invaders. Then, suddenly discovering the great leader of the tribes seated there alone, an overmastering desire for revenge took complete possession of him.

Bob was himself almost frozen with horror as he saw the drama that was being played there before his eyes. He wanted to shout out, and at least warn Pontiac, so that the chief might have a chance for his life; but somehow it seemed as though his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.

Then came a loud report. It was so close to his ear that it almost deafened Bob; but he was conscious of the fact that his brother must have fired the shot.

Sandy had indeed fired, just as he saw the burly Frenchman about to bring down his club on the unprotected head of the sachem.

As we know, the boy of the Ohio river cabin was a splendid shot with that old musket which he carried; but even at such a time he could not find it in his heart to attempt the life of a white man, however much Larue merited such a fate. Consequently he endeavored to prevent the Frenchman's crime by sending a bullet through his uplifted arm.

Instantly all was confusion. It was as though that crash of a gun sounded the signal for an immediate upheaval. Larue's arm fell to his side as, in a panic, he dropped the club, and tried to turn for flight. Pontiac was already on his feet, and, grasping the situation, a yell pealed from his lips as he flung himself boldly upon the back of the French trapper, bearing him to the ground, where they struggled like a couple of angry wolverines.

Scores of braves dashed wildly from their lodges, some calling, others answering, and all running hither and thither like a pack of hounds searching for a lost trail.

Bob was dazed by what had happened. He realized that probably it meant the complete blocking of the bright plans which their friend, Simon Kenton, had arranged for the rescue of little Kate.

Had Sandy been to blame? Should the reckless boy have restrained his impulse to shoot down the wretch who would slay the great Indian leader in cold blood?

It was no time to ask such questions. They were themselves in great danger. The warriors were constantly widening their circles as they ran, and at any moment one of them might discover the crouching figures of the young pioneers in the grass and weeds.

"Back out, Sandy! Quick, or all is lost!" Bob managed to whisper hoarsely in the ear of his comrade.

Doubtless Sandy realized how his act was likely to result. Had he been content to allow matters to take their course Pontiac would ere now have been hurried on his way to the Happy Hunting Grounds of the red men; and all this confusion avoided.

It was too late for vain regrets. The thing was done, and all that remained for them now was to try to escape. If they could manage to get off undiscovered they might effect a reunion with the others, and hide in the forest, waiting for another opportunity to come.

So they started to push backward, hoping that fortune might be kind enough to allow them to reach the thick timber, where it would be easy to glide away unseen by the keen eyes of the red searchers.

Around Pontiac a dozen warriors had clustered. They seemed to understand that a desperate effort had been made to kill the great sachem, whose words had so recently thrilled them in the grand council; for all accounts agree in saying that no Indian ever spoke as did this gifted orator, Pontiac.

Larue was struggling in the hands of several furious braves. They would have made short work of the treacherous Frenchman only that the voice of Pontiac himself prevented his summary execution.

"Lay no hand on him in anger, warriors!" he called out. "Let him be taken to the strong lodge and there kept fast until your chief can decide his fate. It is the will of Pontiac; let none refuse to obey!"

After that no one dared strike the prisoner, who was dragged away shrieking, and wildly defying the man he hated.

All this excitement was in the favor of the two boys. It gave them a better opportunity to push further away from the dangerous vicinity of the log upon which the visiting sachem had been seated when so rudely disturbed by that shot. And it goes without saying that both lads wasted not a second of time in trying to gain the shelter of the woods.

They knew that Kenton must have been discouraged in his plans by this unexpected happening, because there came no sudden alarm of fire, though the wind was already strong enough to have answered his purpose. Perhaps he fancied that, through some unfortunate freak of fate, Bob and his brother had fallen into the power of the Indians; that heavy gunshot would seem to indicate as much, since few among the Senecas carried firearms.

While all these things had happened very rapidly, and it could not have been more than three minutes since Sandy fired; still, the time seemed tenfold as long to the retreating boys. Finally they reached the shelter of the heavier timber, and breathed a sigh of relief.

In those early days the settlers had a saying to the effect that "a white man should not shout until he was out of the woods, nor an Indian until he had gained their shelter." When Bob and his brother experienced a sense of safety after finally reaching the timber, they counted without their host.

Flitting figures were around them, though they knew it not, some of the Indians having hastened away at the first alarm, under the impression that it meant an attack on the part of the whites.

These braves flattened themselves against the earth, and lay like logs until the boys, straightening up, started to glide away. Then there was a whoop, a sudden springing into life of the dusky figures, and, before either Bob or Sandy could make a single effort at self-defence, they were borne down under the weight of their enemies, who were not deceived by the paint with which they had covered their faces.

With hearts as heavy as lead the brave boys were conducted into the village, now a seething volcano. Word had gone around of the base attempt on the life of the sachem who had long been the idol of so many tribes; and looked upon as the leader sent by the great Manitou to drive the rash white men back into the sea whence they came.

Every minute the indignation increased. They saw in the act a dark plot to cut them off from the leadership of the only general who had ever been able to make an alliance between a dozen tribes, and unite them against the common enemy.

The open space which, but a few minutes before, had been entirely vacant, save for the presence of Pontiac and Kiashuta, was now a seething sea of jostling braves, waving their hatchets and knives, and demanding summary vengeance on the treacherous snakes who had crawled into their midst with such base designs in their hearts.

Sandy shrank back, appalled at the terrible sight. Bob bore himself a little more bravely, though his heart, too, was cold with dread.

"Bob, forgive me!" cried Sandy, filled with remorse because again had his hasty action brought them to the verge of disaster. "I was a fool to do what I did; but I did not stop to think. I only saw that scoundrel about to kill a defenceless man, and something urged me to prevent the murder. I deserve all that is coming to me. If only you could be spared I wouldn't complain."

"Stop that sort of talk, Sandy," answered the other, hoarsely. "I am not worrying over what will happen to me. All I regret is that now Kate will not have any chance to escape. And poor mother will be heartbroken because all of her children have been taken from her."

"Oh! fool! fool that I was!" moaned Sandy, bitterly. "Father always warned me that some day my hasty nature would play me an ill turn. What do you suppose they will do with us now? Some of these braves look so ugly that I do not think we will ever live to see the sun rise again."

"Wait," said Bob, with a trace of encouragement in his voice; but whether he only spoke in this manner to comfort his younger brother, or because he really saw a sudden gleam of hope, Sandy could not guess.

When Bob uttered this one word his eyes were fastened upon the face of Pontiac, who was thoughtfully surveying the prisoners. And perhaps it was something he saw in the countenance of the renowned sachem that encouraged the boy.

Threatening braves pushed around them; tomahawks were waving in the air above their heads; and awful shouts sounded in their ears.

Sandy closed his eyes, as though unable to face the doom which he feared was so close. Doubtless in that moment of suspense his mind flew to that dear cabin far away, where he knew his mother must be waiting every day for the safe return of her children, and praying that they might be spared to her.

A groan burst from his lips; but it did not spring from fear of the fate that hung over his own head.

"Kate! Mother! Oh! Heaven help them!" Sandy said, again and again.

Still Bob watched the great leader. He seemed to divine that, if help came at all to himself and his brother, it must spring from Pontiac alone. And when he saw the chief suddenly push forward toward the struggling group, where the excited braves were jostling each other about, each anxious to have the glory of finishing the young captives, he had faith to believe that all was not yet over.

Now the voice of Pontiac was heard again, and as before commanding that none dare to injure the prisoners until permission were given.

He stood in front of them now, so close that, had Bob been free to use his arms, and dared, he might have put out a hand and touched the person of the sachem. Long and earnestly did Pontiac look them over. Wonder marked his face when he saw that they were but half-grown lads, striplings who had better have been safe in their cabin far away, rather than here in a hostile land, with a thousand mortal foes around them.

Then Pontiac turned to the heaving crowd of painted warriors, with every wild eye fastened upon his face.

"These paleface boys carry no arms," he said. "Some warrior has the gun of each. Let them bring to me the shooting sticks, that I may examine them!"

And, as he heard these words, somehow the heart of Bob gave a leap for joy.