The Dog Crusoe and His Master/Chapter 19
Chapter XIX.—Crusoe Discovers the Prisoners.
A RUN of twenty miles brought the travellers to a rugged defile in the mountains, from which they had a view of a beautiful valley of considerable extent. During the last two days a steady thaw had been rapidly melting away the snow, so that it appeared only here and there in the landscape in dazzling patches. At the distance of about half a mile from where they halted to breathe the horses before commencing the descent into this vale, several thin wreaths of smoke were seen rising above the trees.
“Is that your camp?” inquired Cameron, riding up to the Indian runners, who stood in a group in front, as fresh after their twenty miles run as though they had only had a short walk. They answered in the affirmative, adding that there were about two hundred Peigans there.
It might have been thought that thirty men would have hesitated to venture to attack so large a number as two hundred; but it had always been found in the experience of Indian life that a few resolute white men well armed were more than a match for ten times their number of Indians. And this arose not so much from the superior strength or agility of the Whites over their red foes, as from that bull-dog courage and utter recklessness of their lives in combat—qualities which the crafty savage can neither imitate nor understand. The information was received with indifference by most of the trappers, and with laughter by some; for a large number of Cameron’s men were wild, evil-disposed fellows, who would have as gladly taken the life of an Indian as that of a buffalo.
Just as the word was given to resume the march, Dick Varley rode up to Cameron and said in a somewhat anxious tone,—“D’ye obsarve, sir, that one o’ the Redskins has gone off ahead o' his comrades?”
“I see that, Master Dick, and it was a mistake of mine not to have stopped him; but he was gone too far before I observed it, and I thought it better to appear unconcerned. We must push on, though, and give him as short time as possible to talk with his comrades in the camp.”
The trappers pressed forward accordingly at a gallop, and were soon in front of the clump of trees amongst which the Peigans were encamped. Their approach had evidently spread great alarm among them, for there was a good deal of bustle and running to and fro; but by the time the trappers had dismounted and advanced in a body on foot, the savages had resumed their usual quiet dignity of appearance, and were seated calmly round their fires with their bows and arrows beside them. There were no tents, no women or children, and the general aspect of the men showed Cameron that his surmise about their being a war party was correct.
A council was immediately called. The trappers ranged themselves on one side of the council fire and the Indians on the other. Meanwhile, our friend Crusoe had been displaying considerable irritability against the Indians, and he would certainly have attacked the whole two hundred single-handed if he had not been ordered by his master to lie still; but never before in his life had Crusoe obeyed with such a bad grace. He bristled and whined in a low tremulous tone, and looked at Dick as if for permission to fly at them.
“The Pale-face traders are glad to meet with the Peigans,” began Cameron, who determined to make no allusion to his knowledge that they were a war party, “for they wish to be friends with all the children of the woods and prairies. They wish to trade with them—to exchange blankets, and guns, and beads, and other goods for furs of animals which the Pale-faces require.”
“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the Indians, which expression might be translated, “Hear! hear!”
“But,” continued Cameron, “we wish to have no war. We wish to see the hatchet buried, and to see all the red men and the white men smoking the pipe of peace, and hunting like brothers.”
The “ho-hoing” at this was very emphatic.
“Now,” resumed the trader, “the Peigans have got two prisoners—two Pale-faces—in their camp, and as we cannot be on good terms while our brothers are detained, we have come to ask for them, and to present some gifts to the Peigans.” To this there was no “ho” at all, but a silence, which was interrupted by a tall chief stepping forward to address the trappers.
“What the Pale-face chief has said is good,” began the Indian. “His words are wise, and his heart is not double. The Red-men are willing to smoke the pipe of peace, and to hunt with all men as brothers, but they cannot do it while many of their scalps are hanging in the lodges of their enemies and fringing the robes of the warriors. The Peigans must have vengeance; then they will make peace.” After a short pause he continued,—“The chief is wrong when he says there are Pale-faces in the Peigan camp. The Peigans are not at war with the Pale-faces; neither have they seen any on their march. The camp is open. Let the Pale-faces look round and see that what we say is true.”
The chief waved his hand towards his warriors as he concluded, as if to say, “Search amongst them. There are no Pale-faces there.”
Cameron now spoke to Dick in a low tone. “They speak confidently,” he said, “and I fear greatly that your poor comrades have either been killed or conveyed away from the camp and hidden among the mountains, in which case, even though they should not be far off, it would be next to impossible to find them, especially when such a band of rascals is near, compelling us to keep together. But I’ll try what tempting them with goods will do. At any rate, we shan’t give in without a scuffle.”
It now, for the first time flashed across Dick Varley that there was something more than he imagined in Crusoe’s anxiety, which had not in the least abated, and the idea of making use of him now occurred to his mind.
“I’ve a notion that I’ll settle this matter in a shorter time than you think,” he said hurriedly, “if you’ll agree to try what threatening will do.”
The trader looked grave and undecided. “I never resort to that except as a last hope,” he answered; but I’ve a good deal of confidence in your prudence. What would you advise?”
Dick and the trader whispered a few minutes together, while some of the men, in order to show the Indians how unconcerned they were, and how ready for anything, began to smoke. Both parties were seated, and during this interval the Indians also held eager discussion.
At length Cameron stood up, and said to his men in a quiet tone, “Be ready, lads, for instant action. When I give the word ‘Up,’ spring to your feet and cock your guns; but don’t fire a shot till you get the word.” He then stepped forward and said,—“The Peigan warriors are double-tongued; they have hid the Pale-face prisoners. We do not wish to quarrel, but if they are not delivered up at once the Pale-faces and the Peigans will not be friends.”
Upon this the Indian chief again stood forward and said, “The Peigans are not double-tongued. They have not seen Pale-faces till to-day. They can say no more.”
Without moving hand or foot, Cameron then said in a firm tone, “The first Peigan that moves shall die! Up, lads, and ready!”
In the twinkling of an eye the trappers sprang to their feet, and cocking their rifies stood perfectly motionless, scowling at the savages, who were completely taken by surprise at the unusual suddenness and informality of such a declaration of war. Not a man moved, for, unlike white men, they seldom risk their lives in open fight; and as they looked at the formidable row of muzzles that waited but a word to send instant death into their midst, they felt that discretion was the better part of valour.
“Now,” said Cameron, while Dick Varley and Crusoe stepped up beside him, “my young warrior will search for the Pale-face prisoners. If they are found, we will take them and go away. If they are not found, we will ask the Peigans to forgive us, and will give them gifts. But in the meantime, if a Peigan moves from where he sit, or lifts a bow, my young men shall fire, and the Peigans know that the rifle of the Pale-face always kills.”
Without waiting for an answer, Dick immediately said, “Seek ’em out, pup,” and Crusoe bounded away.
For a few minutes he sprang hither and thither through the camp, quite regardless of the Indians, and snuffed the air several times, whining in an excited tone, as if to relieve his feelings. Then he put his nose to the ground and ran straight forward into the woods. Dick immediately bounded after him like a deer, while the trappers kept silent guard over the savages.
For some time Crusoe ran straight forward. Then he came to a spot where there was a good deal of drifted snow on the ground. Here he seemed to lose the trail for a little, and ran about in all directions, whining in a most piteous tone.
“Seek ’em out, pup,” repeated Dick while his own breast heaved with excitement and expectation.
In a few seconds the dog resumed his onward course and led the way into a wild, dark spot, which was so overshadowed by trees and precipitous cliffs that the light of the sun scarce found entrance. There were many huge masses of rock scattered over the ground, which had fallen from the cliffs. Behind one of these lay a mound of dried leaves, towards which Crusoe darted and commenced scraping violently.
Trembling with dread that he should find this to be the grave of his murdered companions, Dick rushed forward and hastily cleared away the leaves. The first handful thrown off revealed part of the figure of a man. Dick’s heart beat audibly as he cleared the leaves from the face, and he uttered a suppressed cry on beholding the well-known features of Joe Blunt. But they were not those of a dead man. Joe’s eyes met his with a scowl of anger, which instantly gave place to one of intense surprise.
“Joe Blunt!” exclaimed Dick in a voice of intense amazement, while Crusoe snuffed round the heap of leaves and whined with excitement. But Joe did not move, neither did he speak a word in reply—for the very good reason that his mouth was tightly bound with a band of leather, his hands and feet were tied, and his whole body was secured in a rigid, immovable position by being bound to a pole of about his own length.
In a moment Dick’s knife was out, bands and cords were severed, and Joe Blunt was free.
“Thank God!” exclaimed Joe with a deep, earnest sigh, the instant his lips were loosened, “and thanks to you, lad!” he added, endeavouring to rise; but his limbs had become so benumbed in consequence of the cords by which they had been compressed that for some time he could not move.
“I’ll rub ye, Joe; I’ll soon rub ye into a right state,” said Dick, going down on his knees.
“No, no, lad; look sharp and dig up Henri. He’s just beside me here.”
Dick immediately rose, and pushing aside the heap of leaves, found Henri securely bound in the same fashion. But he could scarce refrain from laughing at the expression of that worthy’s face. Hearing the voices of Joe and Dick Varley in conversation, though unable to see their persons, he was filled with such unbounded amazement that his eyes, when uncovered, were found to be at their largest possible stretch, and as for the eyebrows, they were gone, utterly lost among the roots of his voluminous hair.
“Henri, friend, I knew I should find ye,” said Dick, cutting the thongs that bound him. “Get up if ye can; we haven’t much time to lose, an’ may hap we’ll have to fight afore we’re done wi’ the Redskins. Can ye rise?”
Henri could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp, “Eh! possible! mon frère! Oh, non, non, not possible. Oui! my broder Deek!”
Here he attempted to rise, but being unable fell back again; and the whole thing came so suddenly, and made so deep an impression on his impulsive mind, that he incontinently burst into tears; then he burst into a long laugh. Suddenly he paused, and scrambling up to a sitting posture, looked earnestly into Dick’s face.
“Oh, non, non!” he exclaimed, stretching himself out at full length again, and closing his eyes; “it are too goot to be true. I am dream. I vill vait till I am wake.”
Dick roused him out of this resolute sleep, however, somewhat roughly. Meanwhile Joe had rubbed and kicked himself into a state of animation, exclaiming that he felt as if he wos walkin’ on a thousand needles and pins, and in a few minutes they were ready to accompany their overjoyed deliverer back to the Peigan camp. Crusoe testified his delight in various elephantine gambols round the persons of his old friends, who were not slow to acknowledge his services.
“They haven’t treated us overly well,” remarked Joe Blunt, as they strode through the underwood.
“Non, de rascale, vraiment, dey am villains. Oui! How dey have talk, too, ’bout—oh-oo-ooo-wah!—roastin’ us alive, an’ putting our scalp in de vigvam for de poopoose to play wid!”
“Well, niver mind, Henri; we’ll be quits wi’ them now,” said Joe as they came in sight of the two bands, who remained in precisely the same position in which they had been left, except that one or two of the more reckless of the trappers had lit their pipes and taken to smoking, without, however, laying down their rifles or taking their eyes off the savages.
A loud cheer greeted the arrival of the prisoners, and looks of discomfort began to be evinced by the Indians.
“Glad to see you, friends,” said Cameron.
“Ve is ’appy ov de same,” replied Henri, swaggering up in the joviality of his heart, and seizing the trader’s hand in his own enormous fist. “Shall ve go to work an’ slay dem all at vonce, or von at a time?’
“We’ll consider that afterwards, my lad. Meantime go you to the rear and get a weapon of some sort.”
“Oui. Ah! c’est charmant,” he cried, going with an immense flounder into the midst of the amused trappers, and slapping those next to him on the back. “Give me veapon, do, mes amis—gun, pistol, anyting—cannon, if you have von.”
Meanwhile Cameron and Joe spoke together for a few moments. “You had goods with you, and horses, I believe, when you were captured,” said the former.
“Ay, that we had. Yonder stand the horses, under the pine-tree, along wi’ the rest o’ the Redskin troop; an’ a hard time they’ve had o’t, as their bones may tell without speakin’. As for the goods,” he continued, glancing round the camp, “I don’t know where—ah! yes, there they be in the old pack. I see, all safe.”
Cameron now addressed the Indians.
“The Peigans,” he said, “have not done well. Their hearts have not been true to the Pale-faces. Even now I could take your scalps, but white men do not like war, they do not like revenge. The Peigans may go free.”
Considering the fewness of their numbers, this was bold language to use towards the Indians; but the boldest is generally the best policy on such occasions. Moreover, Cameron felt that, being armed with rifles, while the Indians had only bows and arrows, the trappers had a great advantage over them.
The Indian who had spoken before now rose and said he was sorry there should be any difference between them, and added he was sorry for a great many more things, but he did not say he was sorry, for having told a lie.
“But, before you go, you must deliver up the horses and goods belonging to these men,” said Cameron, pointing to Joe and Henri.
This was agreed to. The horses were led out, Joe’s goods were strapped upon them, and then the trappers turned to depart. The Indians did not move until they had mounted; then they rose and advanced in a body to see the Pale-faces go away. Meanwhile Joe spoke to Cameron, and the men were ordered to halt, while the former dismounted and led his horse towards the band of savages.
“Peigans,” he said, “you know the object for which I came into this country was to make peace between you and the Pale-faces. I have often told you so when you would not listen, and when you told me that I had a double heart and told lies. You were wrong when you said this; but I do not wonder, for you live among nations who do not fear God, and who think it right to lie. I now repeat to you what I said before. It would be good for the Red-men if they would make peace with the Pale-faces, and with each other. I will now convince you that I am in earnest, and have been speaking truth.”
Hereupon Joe Blunt opened his bundle of goods, and presented fully one-half of the gaudy and brilliant contents to the astonished Indians, who seemed quite taken aback by such generous treatment. The result of this was that the two parties separated with mutual expressions of good-will. The Indians then returned to the forest, and the white men to their camp among the hills.