CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH WHITE BUFFALO APPEARS

“Something must surely have happened to Sam, or he wouldn’t stay away as long as this,” said Rodney to Casbury, after half the night had passed without the old frontiersman reappearing.

“I am afraid you are right, Rodney. Maybe the Injuns caught an’ killed him.”

“Don’t you think somebody ought to go out and try to hunt him up?”

“It won’t be any safer for us than it was for him,” answered the borderman, with a grave shake of his head.

Had it not been for Nell and the twins Rodney might have gone on a hunt for his old friend. But he felt his responsibility, and so remained in the cavern. He felt that if an attack came his place was beside his sister and the twins. Barringford thought as much of the twins as if they were his own flesh and blood, and would not forgive him did he not do all he could to shield the youngsters from harm.

Slowly the time wore away. Nell, the twins, and Mrs. Dobson had gone to sleep, and also several of the frontiersmen and regulars, who were off duty for the time being. The cave was kept in total darkness, so that those inside could see better what was happening without.

Rodney had listened for the cry of a catbird in vain, and stood leaning against a rock, peering forth into the semi-darkness. He was tremendously sleepy, having gotten only a short nap the night before.

Presently he straightened up and listened. Was he mistaken, or had he heard the croaking of a frog? He had not noticed this earlier in the night.

He was not mistaken; the croaking was repeated, at regular intervals. He could not resist the temptation to croak also, mimicking the sound as best he could. At once the answer came back, and the heart of the young soldier gave a bound of astonishment and gratification.

The call was one often used by White Buffalo, the old chief of the Delawares who had proved such a friend to the different members of the Morris family. What he could be doing in this vicinity was a mystery, since it was supposed that he was either at the regular village of his tribe or at the conference being held by Sir William Johnson and the red men at Johnson Hall.

“Perhaps it’s a ruse,” thought Rodney. “I must be on my guard—it won’t do to be caught in a trap.”

The croaking of the frog continued, moving gradually closer to the mouth of the cave. Then Rodney saw something wave in the air, between two bushes. The object went up and down twice, then crosswise three times and then around in a circle.

“White Buffalo true enough!” murmured the young soldier. He called some of the others to his side. “White Buffalo, a friendly Indian, is out there. He wants to talk to us.”

“I’ll trust none of them,” said one of the regulars promptly. “They are all cutthroats!”

“White Buffalo has been a friend to our family for years,” went on the young soldier. “I can vouch for him in every respect. You know him, Casbury, and so do you, Malloy.”

“Yes, he is square, so far as I know,” answered Casbury.

“He’s a putty good Indian, so he is,” said the Irish borderman mentioned. “But not wan av thim can be thrusted whin the war’s goin’ ag’in ’im. Betther be afther bein’ careful, Rodney.”

“He wants to talk to us—he has something important to say,” persisted Rodney.

“How do yez know that?”

“He just signaled to me. He and my brother Henry and cousin Dave are great friends, and White Buffalo taught us some of his signals. We had better let him come in and talk to us.”

Those in the cave discussed the matter and at last agreed to follow Rodney’s advice. But they remained on guard, to shoot White Buffalo or any other Indian down, at the first sign of treachery.

The matter settled, Rodney signaled White Buffalo to approach. He started to go forth, to meet the friendly red man, but White Buffalo quickly warned him back. In a minute the old Delaware chief was in the cavern.

“White Buffalo, I am glad to see you,” cried Rodney, shaking hands.

“How! how!” returned the aged Indian. He peered closely at Rodney in the darkness. “My friend Rodney is better? He can walk well?”

“Yes, I am much better. And how are you? Hello, there is blood on your face!”

“White Buffalo had a fight—down by the river—with some other Indians. They had almost killed his old friend Barringford.”

“Sam! Is he alive?”

“Yes—White Buffalo knocked an Indian over. Then he took Sam and ran through the forest. They were about to torture Sam—to make him speak of this place and who was here. First one Indian wanted his scalp, but Moon Eye came up and stopped the bloody work.”

“And you fought the Indians alone?”

“No, White Buffalo has six warriors with him—they are watching down at the river. Sam could not come—he is too sorely wounded. He sent White Buffalo. He told White Buffalo to cry as a catbird, but that is a bad signal—it would bring Moon Eye and his warriors to the spot. So White Buffalo used the old signal—the one he taught to Dave and Henry. He thought his friend Rodney would remember.”

“And I did remember. But you are hurt. Let me bind up the wound.”

“’Tis but a scratch,” answered the aged Indian. The cut smarted greatly, but he would not show his pain.

“See here, what do you know about the other Indians around here?” asked Casbury.

“They number thirty,” said White Buffalo, who had learned how to count in English style. “All strong, crafty, and full of the war spirit. White Buffalo’s small band can do but little against them.”

In his own fashion the Indian then told his story in detail, how he and his followers were journeying to a distant village, to try to bring their entire tribe in harmony with each other. They had seen the actions of Moon Eye and his followers while at a distance and come to the conclusion that something unusual was going on. They had come closer and heard the other Indians discuss the subject of an attack on the cave. The followers of Moon Eye intended to wait until daybreak and then try to smoke out those in the place. All the men were to be shot down and scalped, and the woman and the children were to be made captives. This much White Buffalo had learned before going to the rescue of Sam Barringford. What Moon Eye and his men were going to do now, the old chief could not tell.

“What do you think we had best do?” asked Rodney, after the recital had come to an end.

“Escape from the cavern without delay,” answered the aged Indian. “’Tis the only hope. Unless that is accomplished you will surely be shot down like bears coming from a smoke-out.”

“How shall we go?”

“If you will trust yourselves to White Buffalo he will do what he can,” answered the old chief, simply.

Rodney was willing, and some of the others said they would follow the chief, but several of the regulars demurred and so did Malloy the frontiersman.

“I’ll thrust meself to no redskin,” said the Irishman, with a vigorous shake of his head. “I have no desire to wake up in the marnin’ wid me throat cut!”

“I shall follow White Buffalo,” said Rodney, decidedly. “And I shall take Nell and Tom and Artie with me.”

“White Buffalo is a good Indian!” cried Nell, who had awakened and run forward to greet the old chief, whom she knew by the voice. “I know he will save me,” and she took his hand confidently.

At last Malloy and the regulars gave in and all looked to see what White Buffalo’s first move would be. His plan to rescue them was as old as it was simple.

“White Buffalo will go back to his braves,” said the aged chief. “They will make a great noise to the northward, fire shots and yell. They will attack one or two of Moon Eye’s men. That will cause Moon Eye to rush with more warriors to that point. Then my friends must slip away in the darkness and go down to the river—to the spot where Sam has been left. I will tell how the spot can be found.” And he did so.

This matter arranged, White Buffalo added that he and his braves would join the whites in the morning—the signal to be the croaking of frogs. Then, after a few additional words to Rodney, he bowed to those around him, leaped over the barricade of stones, and vanished into the night.

No time was lost, after the departure of the aged Indian chief, in getting ready to leave the cave. Such things as could be dispensed with were left behind. Two horses were brought to the front, and Nell and Tom were placed on one and Mrs. Dobson and Artie on another. All the men looked to their firearms and their hunting knives.

“This may be our last night on earth,” said one regular. “At the best, we have only a fighting chance.”

Casbury had followed White Buffalo and was outside, on the watch. He fancied that he saw an Indian at a distance, but was not sure and did not fire.

A half-hour went by—an unusually long time to those in the cavern, whose nerves were strung to the topmost pitch. All was now in readiness for the flight, but so far not a sound had broken the stillness.

“Mebbe something has miscarried,” observed one regular.

“White Buffalo may be dead,” said another. “One of the Moon Eye crowd may have been lying in wait for him.”

A few minutes more passed, and even Rodney was beginning to worry, when from a distance came a rifle shot. Then arose a mad yelling, and more shots were fired. The din increased, until the alarm appeared to spread through the whole of the forest to the north of the cave. White Buffalo and his six trusty followers were making noise enough for a band of fifty, and it must be confessed that Moon Eye and his warriors were taken completely by surprise.

“’Tis the Delawares!” was the cry. “They have come to do us battle!”

“Mist of the Lake has been killed!” called out another. “And Squat Foot is wounded!”

The din kept on, and for the time being the attention of all the Indians was taken from the cavern. This was what Rodney had hoped for, and as soon as he thought it safe, he ordered an advance. The men rushed out of the cave and, finding the coast clear, urged forward the horses, and away went the whole expedition into the woods to the south of the cavern.

“There is one Injun!” cried an old frontiersman.

“Don’t shoot—unless it becomes necessary!” said Rodney, hastily, as the man raised his rifle. “If we can get away silently, so much the better.”

The Indian had only his bow and arrows with him. He did not stop to attack the whites, but ran into the forest,—to join those moving to the north. He, like the others, imagined that a large band of their hated rivals, the Delawares, had appeared.

Rodney kept as close as possible to the horses on which rode Mrs. Dobson and the children. On the other side was Asa Dobson, in such a tremble that he could scarcely walk. The settler imagined that every minute might be his last.

“I’d give all my money to be back home again!” he groaned.

“Money doesn’t count here,” said Rodney, briefly. “We must use our wits, and if the worst comes to the worst, fight to the last,—for the sake of your wife and the children!”