Chapter XXIII (2)

But he only beckoned me away, then advancing a few paces took from a recess in the rock, a heavy flagon not unlike our own in shape, and placing it in my hand, informed me that their vessels for drinking were like that, varied in shape and size according to taste. Holding it to the light, I was astonished to find it was made of gold, fine and pure as any I had ever seen. There were instruments of silver, also, which he assured me, would carry sound many miles, and others of glass and silver to shorten objects to the sight at an equal distance. And these, said he, handing me some curious shaped vases are like the material of which we made many of our ornaments to our dwelling. They appeared to be made of glass, yet they were elastic. He said the material was imperishable. There were helmets, shields, curiously shaped weapons, chisels, and many things I knew not the use of, all made of copper, among the rest a shield precisely like the one you have, Anne."

"Did you bring nothing away? uncle," asked the children.

"No: when he had shown me all he desired me to see, he led me back to the mouth of the cave, and motioning me out, followed, closing the opening he had made and ascending to the table where we stood before.

"Then I begged the old man to tell me more of his race, to unfold the curtain that hung like a pall between them and us. He shook his head sadly, and standing with his face towards the south, communing with himself awhile, turned to me, and said: 'You believe in a God, good and evil, rewards and punishments?'"

I answered in the affirmative.

"Would you hesitate to break an oath taken in the name of the God in which you believe?" he asked.

"I would not dare to commit such a crime," I answered.

"Then, swear," said he, "that what I have told and shown you, you will never reveal to human being by word or sign."

"Oh, no, you cannot mean that; leave us some clue to your lost race," I entreated.

"Yes, swear," repeated he imperiously.

"No: oh! no, I cannot. Though for your sake," I said, "I will be silent any reasonable number of years you shall dictate to me."

He gazed sternly on me for a few moments, then said.

"Let it be so. When I have passed away you are absolved from your oath."

"You will teach me to read the recorded past," I said inquiringly, "and tell me of the arts now lost, at some future day!"

"It is too late, my days are spent, he said; then rousing himself, he exclaimed, in a voice that still rings in my ears: 'Son of a degenerate race, go over this whole continent and there trace the history of my people. Our monuments are there, and on them are chiseled our deeds, and though we moulder in the dust, they can never die; they are imperishable. Go where the summer never ends, where the trees blossom, still laden with fruit, and there we once were mighty as these forests, and numerous as the drops in this lake; there read of our glory--but not of our shame--that was never chiseled in our monumental pillars; it is here, (placing his hand on his heart) and with _me_ must die. Go, (said he, waving with his hand towards the path that ascended the table) go, and leave the last of a mighty race, to die alone. It is not fitting you should be here: Go? I am called.'"

I obeyed him reluctantly, but I never saw him again.

Chapter Fourth.

Their journey continued. Finding a Prairie. Encamping for the Night. Singular incident. A Mirage on the Prairie. Alarm in the Camp. The Prairie discovered to be on fire. Flight to the Sand Hills. Their final escape. Search for water. Finding a stream. Encampment.

The next day the camp was struck and packed; the oxen, rested and invigorated by roving over and cropping the rich grasses that grew in luxuriance along the banks of the river by which they had encamped, moved with a brisk step along their shady track, while the voices of the drivers sounded musically, reverberating through the stillness of the forest. Towards noon they came to one of those singularly interesting geological features of the west, a _Prairie_. This was something entirely new to the younger children, who had never been far from the place where they were born, and it very naturally surprised them to see such a boundless extent of territory, without a house, barn, or fence of any kind--nothing but a waving mass of coarse rank grass.

"Oh! father," cried little Benny, as the vast prairie burst on his sight, "see what a great big farm somebody has got! But where does he live? I don't see any house."

"And the fences, apple, peach, and pear trees?" said Anne.

"It is not a farm; it's a big pasture kept on purpose to feed buffaloes and deer in," said Martin.

"You are all wrong," retorted Lewis, "for though buffaloes and deer do feed on the prairie, it is not kept for them alone; it has always been so--trees will not grow on it."

"You, too, are wrong, Lewis," said Mr. Duncan. "Though it is true trees will not grow on the prairie now, yet it was not always so. Geologists tell us that the vegetable growth, some thousand years ago was, in many respects, different from what now covers the solid surface of our earth. Changes of temperature and constituents of soil are going on from age to age, and correspondent changes take place in the vegetable kingdom. Over large tracks, once green with ferns, stately trees have succeeded, followed in their turn, in the course of ages, by grosser and other herbaceous plants."

"According to that theory, after a regular course of time has elapsed, these rank grasses will be succeeded by some ether form of vegetable growth," remarked Sidney.

"Certainly," replied Mr. Duncan. "When one class of trees has exhausted the soil of appropriate pabulum, and filled it with an excrement which, in time, it came to loathe, another of a different class sprang up in its place, luxuriated on the excrement and decay of its predecessor, and in time has given way to a successor destined to the same ultimate fate. Thus, one after another, the stately tribes of the forest have arisen, flourished, and fell, until the soil has become exhausted of the proper food for trees, and become fitted for the growth of herbaceous plants."

After pitching their camp that night, the children in rambling round it, came to one of those landmarks with which the prairies are so thickly studded along the different trails--_a grave_. Saddened at the thought of any one dying in that lonely place, they gathered around it, wondering if the hand of affection soothed his last, his darkest hour, if tears bedewed his resting place, or whether he died unmourned, unwept, hurried with unseemly haste beneath the sod, and only remembered by a mother, wife or sister, who a thousand miles away was wondering why the absent one, or tidings of him, came not.

The children assembled thus in a group, Howe drew thither also, to ascertain what they had found.

"A grave," said he, "ah! poor fellow, he sleeps well in his prairie bed."

"Here is a name cut in this bit of board at the head, uncle, but it is done so badly I can't make it out," said Martin.

"Let me try," said Howe; "it is plain enough, sure."

"JOSHUA CRANE
"DIED
"OCT. 20, 1834, AGED 27."

"Now, children, would you like to see Mr. Joshua?" said Howe.

"Why, uncle," said they, "how can you make light of such a thing?"

"I am in earnest; for, from various indications about it, I am of opinion that he is a curious fellow."

Anne, with a tear in her eye, cast a reproachful look towards her uncle, while the rest were too much surprised to do anything but stare at him in wonder.

"Bring me a crowbar and shovel, Edward. I find I must convince these little doubters that I am really in my senses."

"Oh, uncle!" said Jane, "you could not have the heart to disturb the dead!"

"Bless me, child, who thinks of disturbing the dead; I am only going to show you what a funny fellow Joshua is. Now," said he, raising the crowbar, "if Joshua is sleeping here, this iron cannot reach him; but, if as I suspect, why, then, you see"--and down went the crowbar in the loose earth. "Now give me the shovel," said he, and commenced removing the dirt, the children looking on in astonishment. He soon brought to the surface, and rolled on the grass a _barrel of brandy_. The broad lonely prairie fairly resounded to the shouts and laughter of the children, as they danced about the barrel; Howe standing by enjoying a deep ha! ha! peculiarly his own.

"What a curiosity, Joshua is! Who would have thought of finding such a thing there?"

"It is a rare thing, I own," said Howe, "yet occasionally resorted to when oxen have given out, or died. Sometimes wagons have been over-loaded, and then unable to make their way over the rough roads, some heavy article is taken and buried with all the signs of a grave about it, to prevent its being disturbed and stolen, as in the present instance. Probably the owner will be along here for it, or sell it to some one who will come for it in course of the summer."

"Will you leave it here, or bury it again?"

"The prize is mine; I shall carry it along with me," said Howe.

"That would not be right," rejoined Martin. "It is another man's property."

"Which he forfeited by false pretences. No, children, whatever found without an owner in these wilds, falls to the finder by right," said the Trapper.

"I think the children are right," said Mrs. Duncan, who had come hither at the sound of their mirth.

"Suppose the owner is dead and never comes for it," said Howe.

"It in no wise alters the case. It is better that it never finds an owner than possess ourselves of what has purposely been hid from us."

"Such notions are right and proper for a settlement, but for a place like this, it is carrying it to too nice a point."

"The rights of others should be as sacred to us in one place as another," replied Mrs. Duncan.

"Suppose somebody had trapped beaver and foxes in some particular locality, would that make the animals that were uncaught in that locality his own?"

"Certainly not. The case is different; as the beaver uncaught never were his, he had no claim on them. But if he caught a hundred beaver and cured the skins, and secreted them in some place until he chose to sell them, it would be decidedly dishonest for any one to take them away as their own, because they had found the place in which they were hidden."

"I believe you are right, Mary. Joshua shall be reinterred," said Howe, rolling the barrel in its old bed, and proceeding to cover it.

"Mother is always right," cried the children, as they wended their way back to camp.

Early the next morning, as they were moving over the prairie, a beautiful vision burst on their sight. It was a mirage of the prairie. As the sun rose in all the splendor of an unclouded sky in the east, the objects in the west became suddenly elongated vertically, the long rank grass stretching to an amazing altitude, while its various hues of green were reflected with vivid accuracy. As the emigrants approached the optical illusion, it gradually contracted laterally above and below towards the centre, at the same time rapidly receded towards the horizon, until it assumed its original aspect. As the sun approached the meridian, the atmosphere become so intensely warm that Mr. Duncan thought it prudent to rest until it began to descend, to which they all joyfully assented, as their oxen appeared to be almost overcome with the heat. They had been a day and a half on the prairie, and as the water they brought with them would not last them longer than the next morning, they were anxious to make the distance to the hills, which were looming faintly before them in the west, where they were sure of finding an abundant supply. Accordingly, the oxen were turned loose, the horses and mules being picketed, and all resigned themselves to the disagreeable necessity of an encampment in a burning noonday sun on the prairie, with not even a shrub to shelter them from its rays. But there was no help for it, the oxen could not proceed with the wagons, and they were obliged to wait until the heat of the day was over.

Towards evening, a light breeze began to stir the heated air, and borne on its wings, came also a disagreeable odor caught only at long intervals, but which served to put Howe and Mr. Duncan on their guard.

"There is a fire on the prairie, away at the north," said Howe, "and there is not a moment to be lost, if we would save our baggage, cattle, or even our lives!"

"It is true, there is fire, and now I see the smoke away yonder, looking like a thin mist against the sky; should it blow this way, our only refuge is the Sand Hills, that I know lay yonder towards the forest," said Mr. Duncan, looking intently towards the point whence the odor came.

"Saddle the horses and mules, boys," said Mr. Duncan, "and place Mary and the children on them. Benny, you must ride with your mother, I am afraid to trust you alone on a mule chased by fire. You must sit still, my boy, and keep up your courage; the Sand Hills are yonder, not more than three miles over the plain; you see them, Mary," he continued, "but do not mind the trail; keep your horses headed direct for them, and ride for your lives. I do not think there will be any danger for any of us; but it is better to make all ready for the worst."

"But, suppose you, with the oxen, wagons, and cows, are surrounded with fire," said Mrs. Duncan.

"We will do our best in the emergency. But I hope to gain the hills in safety. Perhaps the wind will shift and blow the fire in another direction. We must hope for the best, doing everything in our power for our safety. Now go; give the horses and mules a loose rein."

And away over the plain the cavalcade went, followed by the wagon as fast as the oxen could travel, but the progress they made was slow in comparison to that of the fire. On it came, and on went the cattle, goaded by the drivers at first, but at last catching sight of the heavy, rolling wave of fire that was sweeping towards them, they started into a gallop, frightened and seeming to comprehend the danger that menaced them. Mr. Duncan saw his wife and children gain the Sand Hills in safety, and then the smoke and half consumed grass filled the air, hiding the rescued from view as the burning wave swept toward them, maddening the oxen and making the stout hearts of the pioneers quail, as the burning fragments eddying through the air, fell thick and fast among them. Prairie dogs, in droves went howling past, wolves and panthers laying their bodies close to the ground in their rapid leaps, heeded not each other, and even an antelope joined in the flight unmolested, from their common foe. Innumerable prairie fowls filled the air with their cries; but, above every other sound arose the roar and crackling of the scorching billowy mass, as on, still on it came, now rising until its seething flame seemed to touch the sky, then falling a moment only to rise the next still higher.

A prairie on fire is a sublime spectacle, which those who have had the good fortune to see, in a place of safety, will not soon forget. But a horrible ordeal it is for those who are overtaken by the raging flame; for, if the grass is dry, with a slight breeze to fan the flame, it travels with the speed of a whirlwind.

Mr. Duncan could not abandon his noble beasts in the extremity, for he knew if left to themselves, unaccustomed to the ground, they would lose themselves, and ensure their destruction; but, in keeping by their sides, encouraging them by his presence and urging them on, he still hoped to save them, although half blinded with smoke and the hot air that surrounded them. Howe had charge of one of the teams, and Sidney the other, who, following the example of Mr. Duncan, stood their ground bravely, resolving to share the fate of their cattle.

Mrs. Duncan and the children, from their hill of refuge, saw with terror the fearful and unequal race on the plain below, until they were entirely enveloped in smoke, and then their suspense was harrowing till a puff of wind lifted the smoky cloud, which it occasionally would, giving them for an instant a glimpse of their friends, as on they came towards them in their headlong career. But, as nearer, still nearer came the flames, the cloud became too dense to be lifted by the wind, and all was one circling, eddying wave, hiding every object from view. A few moments of suspense, during which no words were spoken, and then bursting through the cloud came their noble oxen, their tongues dry and blackened and hanging from their mouths, their hair scorched from their sides, and the wagon covers on fire, while the drivers feeling they were safe sank on the sand, half way up the hill from exhaustion.

Mrs. Duncan, and the children, were soon by the wagons, tearing off the covers, and by so doing, saved the contents from burning. Then pouring water over and down the throats of their exhausted oxen, they were soon able to breathe freely. In the meantime, by Mrs. Duncan's direction, Anne had taken a basin of water and bathed the faces and hands of the drivers, so that they were, though quite exhausted, very comfortable. The fire rolled past them without reaching them further, and finally, after having spent itself died away, leaving the broad prairie that was at noon so heavily covered with verdure, a blackened plain.

"This is a pretty fix for us to get in, Duncan," said Howe, as the fire rolling away, left them clear of smoke, and gave them a full view of their position. "Here we are," he continued, "every drop of water spent, without a blade of grass around us, begrimed with soot and smoke, looking worse than any Indians I ever saw."

"We ought to be thankful," said Mr. Duncan, "that no lives are lost. We have escaped better than we had reason to hope, placed as we were."

"To be sure we have escaped ourselves, but see what a pitiable plight our oxen are in. They will not be able to draw another load in a week, at least; and what are we to do in the meantime?"

"I declare, uncle, I think you have the horrors; for whoever before saw you at a loss for an expedient under any circumstances?" said Jane, with a merry twinkle in her eye; for this was a peculiar phase in her uncle's character, to hold up to others the worst side of any circumstance, while at the same time he was taking active measures to remedy it. So in this instance: for he had already made arrangements to reconnoitre the forest, that lay west of the Sand Hills, not over two and a half miles distant. Accordingly, mounting one horse, with Lewis on the other, they galloped over the plain, and striking the forest at the nearest point, they found it dry, destitute of grass, and totally unfit for a camping ground. Taking a circuit in a southerly direction, where the surface seemed more broken, they found they were on higher ground, and as they rode on, the thick undergrowth all the while growing more dense, encouraged them to proceed; for which they were rewarded by striking a small brooklet of pure water, whose banks were lined with rich grasses, sheltered by tall trees that grew on either side. Here he resolved the camp should be pitched, and lighting a fire to mark the place, they galloped back to the Sand Hills. To remove the heavy wagons was no easy task, as the oxen were only able to walk without a burthen.

There were two pairs of mules and one of horses, and these being hitched to one of the wagons, were taken to the place designated by the stream, and then brought back for another until all the wagons were on the ground, which the last reached about ten at night. In the meantime, Mrs. Duncan had walked thither with the children, Mr. Duncan, with the other boys, driving the oxen a little way at a time, and at last reached the camp ground as the last wagon came up.

Chapter Fifth.

Preparing a Supper. Heavy Storm. The Place of their Encampment. Straggling Indians seen. Apprehensions of an Attack. Preparations of defense. Approach of the Crows. A Fight. The Camp Attacked. Capture of Five in the Camp. The Pursuit. Recovery of some of the Captured. The pursuit Continued. Tabagauches meet the Crows, and defeat them. They are discovered. Encampment.

Tired and sleepy, our travelers provided themselves with supper, having pitched their tents, and laid down to court sleep the great restorer for body and mind. The sky was cloudless betokening a clear night; and presuming on this they had not re-covered their wagons, intending to leave it until they had slept off their fatigue. But in this, even Howe had something to learn. People under such circumstances should presume on nothing, but make everything sure, for at one hour they are not certain that the next will find them secure. It did not them, for they had slumbered scarcely three hours, when the whistling winds and creaking of their tent poles aroused them from their slumbers. Springing from their beds they were almost blinded by the lightnings' glare, as flash followed flash, in quick succession, each accompanied by a deafening peal of thunder that reverberated portentously through the forest. Mr. Duncan hastened into the open air. The sky was overcast with fleecy clouds, while from the northwest came slowly up a dark heavy cloud stretching over the whole of that part of the sky. As higher and higher it rose, louder grew the thunder, and more vivid the lightning, the wind sweeping round in angry blasts until it seemed as if every element in nature was in commotion.

Immediately every hand was brought in requisition to fasten the tent poles more securely, and by the time it was accomplished, the storm, with all its fury burst upon them, while they were straining every nerve to fasten the tarpaulin covers on the wagons to protect the contents from the storm, should the rain penetrate the tent. The cover on Mrs. Duncan's wagon they had succeeded in fastening, and were proceeding to the next, when a terrible crash was heard near them, that shook the ground.

"There is high wind to-night," said Howe. "It must have taken more than ordinary force to have blown down that tree--there goes another--crash! what a fearful night it is!"

"The smoke from the burning prairie has formed itself in clouds, which, becoming overcharged with moisture, are discharging themselves," remarked Mr. Duncan.

"A glorious cooling we shall get, after being nearly baked," remarked Sidney.

"Oh! what is that!" cried Mrs. Duncan, as a heavy body fell against the tent, crushing it as if it had been a feather.

But no one could answer, for in a twinkling their light was out, and the rain in torrents pouring in upon their water-proof wagons. The whole family had taken refuge in Mrs. Duncan's wagon, after having secured the covers in their proper places; and it is well they did, or they would have been deluged in an instant; for it seemed as if the heavens had opened their windows, and were pouring from thence a flood of water. They could only catch a glimmering of the mischief done to their tent by the flashes of lightning; but they saw enough to ascertain that a tree had fallen across it, and had crushed one of the wagons beneath its weight. They had escaped unhurt, being buried beneath the falling canvass by its splitting in the centre. Gradually the storm spent itself, and by morning, but a few flitting clouds were seen above the horizon.

Less stouter hearts than those of our pioneers would have been dismayed at the destruction which had been going on in the night, and which the light revealed. Their tent, rent in a dozen pieces, one of the wagons badly broken, and everything out of the wagons saturated with water. Right manfully, however, they went to work. The tent was spread where the sun would fall upon it, and everything that had been wet during the night, together with the blackened suits that went through the fiery ordeal the day before, were taken to the brook-side by Mrs. Duncan and Jane, and very soon were waving in spotless purity from the bushes where they had been hung to dry, giving the scenery around the encampment a home-like appearance.

The place of their encampment was a lovely spot; but truly refreshing after their tiresome journey over the prairie; and though their first night was exceedingly uncomfortable, it was owing to the warring elements, and not to any fault of the place. Before the night again set in, busy hands had been at the tent, and once more it reared its conical shaped head among the forest trees, but bearing marks in its numerous patches, of the tempest that had raged so fiercely through the past night.

Day after day wore away, and still the cattle exhibited a great deal of lassitude, so much so, as to preclude the possibility of moving on. This was no great annoyance to the travelers, as it was early in the summer, and their only object was to find a place that would suit them for a permanent settlement, before cold weather set in, which they were sure of not effecting, should they be detained a month in their present encampment. Besides, their camp being in a lovely valley, on the borders of a clear stream, surrounded by everything that could make the lordly groves enchanting, game of almost every kind abounded, to which they paid particular attention, as their stock of dried meat and roasted ribs, broiled steaks, and savory soups, could testify.

Howe's time was spent, when not following game, in giving the boys lessons in distinguishing one kind of game from another by signs before they were near enough to see it; and then the best mode of bringing it down and disposing of it. They practised shooting at a target, with both gun and bow, hurling a knife or tomahawk, and handling the Indian's war club daily. Mrs. Duncan's tent bore more the semblance of a large room in a thriving farmer's house, than a temporary camp in the wilderness, so homelike was its appearance. A cupboard made by standing two boards perpendicular, with cleats nailed across, in which were laid the shelves, held her crockery and tinware; a temporary table, made in equally as primitive a style, but now covered with a table cloth, stood at one side, while at the left, was a barrel covered also by a white cloth, on which was set a dressing glass, the top wreathed with mountain laurel, and wild flowers, and placed in that post of honor by little Anne, who was sure to renew it every day. Camp stools stood around the tent, while the whole surface of the ground in the tent was matted with dried buffalo skins, making it free from dampness, and not altogether uncomely in appearance.

Mrs. Duncan, had ever been noted for a love of orderly household arrangements, and now, as ever, they developed themselves in a thousand little comforts that she had thoughtfully stowed away; and now that they were needed, added essentially to their comfort and pleasure. Hardly an article was desired that she did not produce from some corner, its whereabouts unknown to the rest of the family, until wanted; and when she one day brought out an old familiar boot-jack, one being wished for, Mr. Duncan said he believed she was in possession of Aladin's lamp.

They often saw around their camp a straggling Indian of the friendly tribes, to whom some of them were known. But this was not always to continue, for a few had been spies, that had carried to their tribes an account of the emigrants, their heavily loaded wagons containing a coveted prize, and the owners too few to protect it from any great force against them. Some of these were "Crows," a tribe noted for treachery, and others "Arapahoes," in whose professions of friendship Howe and Mr. Duncan had great confidence. They were under no apprehension of being molested, and retired every night as usual, with the precaution of a single guard. Everything went on as usual for a week, when they were aroused with caution, and armed by Howe, who was sentinel that night, who said he saw things in the forest that, at the least, looked very suspicious. Nothing transpired, however, to confirm his suspicions until daylight, when Howe cautiously reconnoitered the ground around. He discovered traces where they had been, but so artfully had they covered their trail, that, without the tact of detecting it, possessed by the trapper, it would have passed unobserved, for the rest of the travelers declared they could see nothing.

"Their designs are against us; their approaching and then returning without coming into camp, proves it a certainty," remarked Howe, after satisfying himself that they had not only been there and gone away, but were anxious to obliterate all traces of their presence.

"We must not be taken by surprise," replied Mr. Duncan. "Courage has more effect in subduing an Indian than even a ball. However, I do not apprehend that they really intend to make an assault on us."

"Perhaps not," said Howe, "but they act very suspiciously, prowling about like beasts. Why don't they show themselves, if friendly? But," he continued, "if they want to skulk about, and pounce upon us, let them take the consequences, our rifles do not miss fire."

"We had better use great precaution about wandering from camp, for a few days, or they will carry all off while we are away. Perhaps it is only a straggling war party returning home, and in a few days we will be rid of them."

That night they retired, but Howe was too suspicious of treachery to allow any one else to be sentinel but himself, and as he had slept a while during the day, he was equal to the self-imposed task. As the shades deepened, his practised ear detected sounds that others would have thought little of, but which he considered, unmistakably to be produced by the stealthy tread of Indians. As hour after hour went by, shadows were flitting from tree to tree, and then Howe knew for a certainty that the camp was surrounded by hostile foes.

Stealthily every one in the camp was awakened, and armed with rifles, with the exception of Benny and Anne, who were placed in a secure position. Mrs. Duncan and Jane could handle a rifle with as much precision as was necessary to protect themselves in an emergency. Mr. Duncan and Howe, disposed their little band so as to bring their arms to bear on three different points from which they were certain, in case of an attack, the foe would come, by the moving figures in the shadows but dimly seen, but which could be traced by keeping the eye intently fixed upon them.

"Make no movement or noise," was the order, "but at the first sound from the savages, every one be ready to fire; probably when they find their fire anticipated, they will retreat, if not, give them another volley on the moment." They had stood in this position for half an hour, when a single savage stept from behind a tree, advanced a yard or two into the open glade that lay for a few rods around, and divesting himself of his tomahawk, scalping knife, bow and arrows, laid them on the ground, and after pointing at them, as if to draw attention to them, advanced with finger on his lip towards the camp.

Howe had observed his movements, but when he saw him lay down his arms and come towards them, he felt certain the Indian desired a conference. Duncan thought it a ruse to draw some of them from the camp where the ambushed Indians could make a sure target of them.

"I agree with you that it is not safe to go out of the camp, but there can be no harm in letting the savage in. He is unarmed, and at the first appearance of hostility, he must be dispatched," replied Howe.

"If he enters the camp to-night, he must not return until daylight," said Mr. Duncan.

"Certainly not! Hark! he is close to us; see, he pauses: what can he mean?"

"Arapahoe! white man's friend," distinctly they heard him pronounce.

"What are you doing here, then?" said Howe, "don't you see I could shoot you like a dog, that comes stealing around, as if afraid of daylight?"

"The son of the 'Great Medicine' would not hurt Whirlwind," replied the Indian.

"Ha! Whirlwind, what are you doing here, you are indeed, safe," said Howe, lowering the barrel of his rifle.

"Whirlwind, returning to his village with his braves, found a snake encircling his white brother's wigwam, and has crept within the circle to save them," returned the Indian.

"What is that you say? are there other Indians beside your own, about?"

"The hills are dark with 'Crows,' who stand ready at the sound of the war-whoop, to sweep down on my brothers, drink their blood, and steal their goods."

"Perhaps it is not so easily accomplished," said Howe, "you know we are no cowards, to give our lives and property without striking a blow to save them."

"My brothers are a handful, the Crows cover the hills; but my warriors, though but few, are brave and will fight for their white brothers."

"If things are as bad as you represent, this is very kind of you; but, how are we to know that the 'Crows' are around in large numbers to attack us?"

"The tongue of Whirlwind is not forked; he cannot lie;" returned the Indian proudly.

"I know it, Whirlwind, I know you are true, as well as brave. The danger forced the thought, though I really did not doubt your truth for a moment. I will take your advice, Whirlwind. What is the most effectual mode of protecting ourselves?"

"My white brothers will guard their camp, and should the Crows press us too hard, help to repel them," said the Indian, and by his tone, he evidently had not forgotten the suspicion cast upon his veracity.

"You do not intend to stand the brunt of the fight, do you?" said Howe. "No, Whirlwind, I can't allow that."

"The braves of the Arapahoes have, for many moons longed to meet the 'Crows' in battle; now, surely, my white brother will not go between them."

"I certainly shall not consent to any blood being shed," interposed Mr. Duncan, "without provocation. We wish to be on friendly terms with all the tribes, and will not do anything that will have a tendency to irritate them."

"Yonder, the Crows, in numbers, await the signal of their chief, to drink the blood of my brothers, and carry their wives and children prisoners to their wigwams; when this is done, it will be too late to strike a blow. But it shall not be; see, yonder in the thicket, a hundred Arapahoe warriors are panting for the onset. The children of the 'Great Medicine' shall be saved. They are in Whirlwind's hunting grounds, and he will protect them." So saying, the irritated Chieftain turned on his heel, and strode away, pausing to collect his arms, when he disappeared in the thicket.

A council was immediately held in camp; but before any decision was determined upon, a deafening war-whoop was heard from the hills, at the same moment the battle-cry of the Arapahoes broke from the thickets around the camp. Then a charge was heard and the combatants' yells, shrieks and groans were mingled with the fierce war-whoop, as the Indians rushed on each other. The Crows astounded to find they were confronted by their deadly foes, at first broke and retreated; but the taunting jibes of the Arapahoes as they pressed on them aroused the demon in their natures, and turning, they charged on their pursuers, driving them back before them, towards the camp, at the same moment making the forest re-echo their cry of victory. Howe heard the hoarse note, as it swelled fiercely on the air, and springing from the camp, cried, "Come! now is our time: follow me!" and dashing into the forest, followed by Mr. Duncan, Sidney and Lewis, he met the retreating Arapahoes who, encouraged by this timely assistance, faced about, and the rifles of the pioneers telling with fearful effect, caused the Crows to fly with terror; and as their pursuers loaded running, the constant volleys prevented the Crows rallying, and in a few minutes the whole band was either killed, wounded or dispersed through the forest.

"Back to your camp, there is trouble there," cried Whirlwind, "my braves will pursue the Crows," and calling a dozen warriors to his side, he bade them follow on with him after the pioneers.

When the Crows gave the cry of victory, about a dozen of them rushed through to secure the whites prisoners, and having been unobserved by the Arapahoes, or our pioneers, when they heard their own tribe a second time driven back, they determined to carry them off as first intended, hoping to secrete themselves before the victors returned.

With varying sensations of hope and dismay, Mrs. Duncan heard the combatants advance, retreat, advance again, and at last retreat, followed by their rescuers, and at the moment when she supposed they were freed from danger, the swarthy robbers burst into her camp, and were in the act of seizing her when the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and the foremost savage leaped in the air with a hoarse yell, and fell dead at her feet. Martin had saved his mother, for stepping back on the instant, she raised her rifle and another fell beneath her aim; at the same moment Jane's rifle disabled another; but the savages closed so fast around them that they were disarmed and overpowered, their hands bound and they were hurried away over the stream towards the South. Not ten minutes had elapsed before they were pursued by their friends; but in that short time their captors had effected their escape, and morning dawned on the agonized pioneers still scouring the forest in search of the lost ones. They were ably seconded by the Arapahoes, a few of them having been left in charge of Anne and Benny who, having been concealed in one of the wagons, had been saved. Those stolen were Mrs. Duncan, Jane, Edward and Martin.

At daylight the dogs were let loose, and mounting the horses and mules they renewed the pursuit with hearts determined to perish or bring back the fugitives. After two hours' hard riding they over-hauled two of the savages who had Mrs. Duncan in charge, and she was borne back triumphantly to camp. She could give no account of her children, not having seen them since their capture, but thought they had gone in a more westerly direction. Every art was used to persuade the Crows taken to give some intelligence of them, but they were obstinate, and were finally placed, bound, into the hands of the Arapahoes, who had charge of the camp, for safe keeping.

About noon they came up with two more Indians having Martin in charge; but he knew nothing further; the two that carried him off having separated from the rest, the more easily to escape detection; and the Crows, like those that had charge of his mother, refused to give any intelligence, and were placed with the others in custody. The pursuers were again bewildered and were obliged to find a new trail, before they could proceed further, which they succeeded in doing as the evening shades were setting in; but as it was impossible to follow it in the dark they reluctantly returned to camp to spend the night. At the first dawn of light they were again in the saddle, provisioned for a number of days, as they anticipated a long chase, from the fact that the fugitives had a long start of them, and they could scarcely hope to overtake them the first day. But the other pursuers were more sanguine; they knew not the stratagems of the Indians so well as the trapper. After five hours' hard riding they came to a spring of water in a deep glen where the Indians had evidently breakfasted the day before. And from the quantity of bones around, and the trampled grass, it was apparent that there was a number of them.

"Some six or eight persons, certainly. I think this time we shall secure both the missing ones," said Howe.

"We will do as they did, take a lunch, and let our horses feed on this grass by the spring. Perhaps we shall overtake them very soon if we rest and then ride hard," replied Mr. Duncan.

"We shall not see them before to-morrow, depend upon it. They travel, when pursued, like bloodhounds."

Refreshed, and again in the saddle, they went over hill and valley, forded streams, and crept through narrow defiles, still keeping the trail, by the aid of the dogs, without much difficulty. About three in the afternoon, they came to the place where the Indians had encamped for the night. The pursuers were evidently gaining on the pursued. Again they rested themselves and horses for awhile and then continued the pursuit. After two hours rapid riding, while going through a defile, they came to a spot which gave indications of a struggle having taken place. Dismounting and examining closely, they found places where evidently some heavy body had laid and bled profusely. The blade of a broken scalping knife lay among the leaves, with a broken bow and a war-club. These the Arapahoes identified as belonging to the Crows. Searching a thicket of laurel, a little farther on, they found three of the Crows dead. They had probably been mortally wounded, and crawled there to die. They had been scalped, perhaps, while still alive, as the scalp on the crown of the head was gone.

"Tabagauches! Tabagauches!" yelled the Arapahoes, as they discovered a fragment of a blanket, on which was embroidered, in gay colours, the crest of that tribe. "There, away where the sun sets, over the Medicine Bow Mountains, they are. They have conquered the Crows and taken them alive, with the pale faces, prisoners, to their village."

"We must follow them. We may overtake them, for evidently, the fight occurred this morning," said Mr. Duncan.

"Is my brother mad, that he thinks to compel a great nation to give up its prisoners, with a handful of warriors?" interposed Whirlwind.

"Can you think I would desert my children?" said Mr. Duncan, in a severe tone. "No! we white men are made of sterner stuff than that. I will save them, or die with them."

"If my white brother is brave Whirlwind is braver," returned the Chieftain. "What you would attempt and fail to accomplish by force, I will accomplish by stratagem. Let my white brother return, and leave the recovery of the children to me."

"Never!" replied Mr. Duncan, decidedly. "My children are prisoners, in the power of merciless foes, and until I recover them, I will never again turn my back on their path."

"My brother has spoken, but has not spoken well," said the chief.

"We will lose no time in delay--an hour may be of the utmost importance," was all the answer of Mr. Duncan.

At nightfall, as they were casting their eyes around for a good and secure position to encamp in, they discovered smoke arising from a deep ravine that lay below them.

"The camp-fire of the Tabagauches," said Whirlwind.

"Ha! we have overtaken them, at last," exclaimed the trapper. "We must fall back to a secure covert, and send out scouts to see if they have the children, and ascertain their numbers."

Selecting a pine grove, they secured their horses, and sat down to take a lunch of cold bread and meat they had brought with them, not daring to light a fire, knowing it would be a beacon to guide their foes to their retreat. After resting a moment, a guard was posted, and Howe and Whirlwind set out to ascertain the desired information respecting their foes, while the rest of the party threw themselves on the ground to take an hour's repose.

Chapter Sixth.

Strength of the Tabagauches. Attack of their camp. Flight of the Whites. A Council. Pursuing the Indians. Desperate Engagement. Taken Prisoners. Carried off Captives. Submission to their fate. A Curious Dream. Singular Springs of Water. Kind treatment by the Indians. Discovery of Gold. Displeasure of Whirlwind. His story of the early white men. A herd of deer, &c.

Cautiously Howe and Whirlwind crept onward, and coming within pistol shot of the blazing camp fires of the Tabagauches, discovered that they were full two hundred strong, probably, a war party, in search of adventure, intending to fall unawares on some neighbouring tribes. By the middle fire, in the centre of a group of some twenty savages, were Jane and Edward, looking pale and wearied. A little behind them, on the ground, with stoic-like indifference, sat five Crows, the remainder of their captors; but now like themselves prisoners. Evidently, their fate was being decided upon. As cautiously as they went the scouts returned to the pine grove, and decided to make an immediate attack for the recovery of the captives. There were eleven Arapahoe warriors with their chief, and these, together with Mr. Duncan, Howe, Sidney, and Lewis, made fifteen, all well armed and mounted.

Led by Howe and Whirlwind, they noiselessly gained a place where they could obtain a fair view of the enemy, who were in high altercation on some point on which they seemed to be divided.

"Now is our time," said Howe. "Let every gun be discharged when I give the signal, and every one mark his man. Fall into a line, and bring your rifles to bear on the right hand savage of the centre group, and you the next, so on down the line that no two shots be aimed at one Indian, for we have none to lose. Now, are you all ready?" said Howe, running his eye from his little band to the foes, who stood revealed by their blazing fires perfectly distinct, but entirely unconscious of the danger that menaced them. Not a word was spoken, but Howe knew all was right; then, in a low distinct tone, he gave the word "_fire_." There was but one crack of rifles heard, so simultaneously every gun was discharged, and as they were discharged, fifteen Tabagauches fell dead, with scarcely a sound uttered. "Quick! fire again!" said Howe, "mark your men, the savages are stupefied." Aiming their rifles on the instant, fifteen more fell dead.

Their second fire revealed to the Tabagauches the direction whence the attack proceeded, and with maddening yells of rage they sprang after them.

"Save yourselves;" cried Howe, but he had no need to give the order, for every one had placed a tree between himself and his foes, according to the custom of warfare with Indians, and as they came on, every moment, one or more fell by their unerring aim. They had the advantage, for the Tabagauches were between them and the light, and could be picked off as fast as the guns could be loaded, while they rushed headlong into the darkness, their only guide the flash from the rifles that were thinning their ranks at every fire. But, as the savages gathered closer and closer around them, they were obliged to fall back towards the pine grove, and as time after time they retreated into the darkness, they could distinguish their foes with less certainty, and finally they were obliged to make a scattered flight to save themselves from being surrounded. Strange to tell not one of them had been wounded, which could be only accounted for by the gloom, in which they were enveloped, hiding them from an accurate aim. They were sure fifty of their foes had been slain.

The Tabagauches retreated to their camp, putting out the fires and keeping silent, so as not to guide their foes a second time to them.

On gaining the pine grove, a council was held to devise what was the most prudent step to take.

"I," said Whirlwind, "think it best to hover around them and find out their next movement and guide ours by it."

"That is impossible," said Mr. Duncan. "They will be so on their guard that no one can approach without detection, which would be instant death."

"Whirlwind has said and will do it. Here await his return." So saying, with noiseless strides the chief vanished in the gloom.

"A strange compound of generosity, bravery, and recklessness!" said Mr. Duncan.

"Depend upon it, he knows what is for the best," replied Howe.

"Then you think we had better not take any step until the chief returns?"

"That is my impression. He will return in two hours, or so."

Two, three, and nearly four hours elapsed before the chief returned, and the suspense had become painful, when, without warning, or their knowing he was near, he stept into their midst.

"Why, Whirlwind, had you dropt from the clouds you could not have come more noiselessly. What success did you have?" said Howe.

"The Tabagauches are cowards, they will not fight, but will steal away like dogs. The pale faced prisoners are even now moving toward the west, guarded by fifty of their braves."

"We must head them," cried Sidney, springing to his feet. "They shall never escape thus."

"The pale faced brave has spoken well. We must divide our warriors; part attack the cowards in the rear, to prevent them joining those in charge of the white prisoners, while the other part must ride ahead and attack them in front, and secure the children."

"If we break up our force in this way, all will be lost," said Mr. Duncan. "It is my opinion we had better all keep together, and try to get ahead of the main body by a circuitous route, and thus be more certain of overcoming the savages."

"Certainly, father, the party must not be divided, the half of fifteen is almost too few to attack seventy or a hundred," remarked Lewis.

"Let us keep together, by all means," said Sidney.

"I do not think we had better divide our force," said Howe, after hearing all their opinions, and finding they all coincided with his own, excepting the chief. "We will be too few for them."

"The white chief forgets we cannot expect to overcome them by a fair fight, but must depend on strategy for success."

"If we have as good success as we had last night, I think we may," returned Howe.

"They will build no more fires to give us another such a chance," said the chief.

"We had better follow Mr. Duncan's suggestion," said Howe, "and try to head them off by a circuitous route. Come boys! Lead on chief; we will follow you."

Light began to break in the east, so that they could see to make their way, and rapidly they pursued it, their animals refreshed by the night's rest. On they went, and about sunrise, saw the detachment of Indians not more than a mile ahead. Whirlwind threw the halter (the only accoutrement, his half-tamed prairie horse boasted,) loosely on the proud steed's neck, and with his body bent almost on a level to his back, rode like a Centaur over the ground. The rest gave their horses the spur, but they were out-stripped by the Arapahoes, who one by one darted past them, in the wake of their chief. Before Mr. Duncan and his party had accomplished two-thirds of the distance, the war-whoops of the combatants burst on the air, and when he joined them many a brave had gone to the "spirit land."