Part 8 (2/2)

The fact of our not meeting with any emigrant trains made Maysotta's report more probable. Of course I felt somewhat anxious about ourselves, for, even although we had a couple of rifles and two muskets, besides our pistols, we might find it a hard matter to drive off any large number of mounted a.s.sailants; but I felt far more anxious about the inmates of the farm.

We kept the two men moving ahead of us at such a rate that Barney more than once cried out, ”Sure, lieutenant, our bastes will have no wind left in thim at all, at all, if we don't pull up!”

”Go on, go on,” cried the lieutenant; ”do not mind your beasts, as long as they can keep their legs.”

”Thin it's meself I'd be plading for,” cried Barney, turning round.

”Do not mind yourself either,” answered the lieutenant. ”The lives of our friends are at stake, and if we are to help them we must get to the farm without delay.”

Whack, whack, whack went Barney's stick. The German also urged forward his mustang in the same manner--his feet, from the length of his legs, nearly touching the ground. Indeed, when pa.s.sing through long gra.s.s, his feet were so completely hidden, that, as he kept moving his legs about all the time, it appeared as if he were running along with his horse under him.

At length the mountains which rose above Roaring Water appeared in sight. As we neared them I looked out eagerly from the summit of a ridge we had reached, to ascertain if any Indians were in the neighbourhood; but as none were to be seen, I hoped that we might reach the farm before any attack had been commenced.

As we pa.s.sed the confines of the property I saw none of our people about; but, as the evening was drawing on, I thought it probable that they had gone home from their work. Still, I felt somewhat anxious; my anxiety being also shared by the lieutenant, who was making his tired beast breast the hill faster than he, as a humane man, would otherwise have done.

As we got close to the house, an Indian started up from behind a copse which grew on the side of the hill. He had neither war-paint nor ornaments on, and looked weary and travel-stained. He was a young, active man; but, at the first glance, I did not like his countenance. A person unaccustomed to Indians cannot easily distinguish one from another, although in reality they vary in appearance as much as white men do; as does also the expression of their countenances.

”Are you going to the farm?” he asked, addressing me. He knew at once by my dress that I was a settler.

”Yes,” I replied. ”Why do you put the question?”

”I wish to go there too,” he answered. ”I want to tell the Palefaces living there that they are likely to be attacked by enemies who have sworn to take their scalps, and that unless they run away they will all lose their lives.”

”You do not bring us news,” I replied; ”but you can accompany us to the farm and speak to the white chief, telling him what you know--although I do not think it likely that he will follow your advice.”

”Come on, come on, Ralph,” cried the lieutenant; ”do not lose time by talking to that fellow.”

I quickly overtook my companion; while the Indian followed, notwithstanding his tired appearance, at a speed which soon brought him up with us.

As we rode up to the house, Uncle Jeff appeared at the door.

”What has brought you back?” he exclaimed, with a look of surprise.

”Glad to see you, at all events; for we have had our friend Winnemak here with news sufficient to make our hair stand on end, if it were addicted to anything of that sort. He declares that the Arrapahas are coming on in overwhelming force, and that, unless we are well prepared for them, we shall one and all of us lose our scalps. He has gone off again, though, promising to make a diversion in our favour, as he has been unable to get his people to come and a.s.sist in defending the farm, which would have been more to the purpose. However, as you have returned,--and brought your two deserters, I see,--we shall be able to beat the varmints off. No fear of it, though they may be as thick as a swarm of bees.”

A few words explained how we had fallen in with the runaways.

The Indian who accompanied us then stepped forward. He told Uncle Jeff that he was a p.a.w.nee, that his name was Piomingo, and that, having a warm affection for the Palefaces, he had come to warn us of the danger in which we were placed, and to advise us forthwith to desert the farm and take to the mountains, for that we had not a chance of defending it against the numerous bands of Arrapahas who were advancing to attack us.

They had, he said, put to death all the white men, as well as women and children, they had met with in their progress, as their manner was to spare no one; and they would certainly treat us in the same way.

”We have already heard something of this,” said Uncle Jeff, looking as unconcerned as he could; ”but how did you happen to know about it?” he asked.

”I was taken prisoner by the Arrapahas while on my way to visit a young squaw, who is to become my wife. But on the night before I was to be tortured and put to death I managed to make my escape, and came on here at once to tell the Palefaces of their danger, of which I had heard when in the camp of the enemy.”

I suspected that Uncle Jeff did not altogether believe the account given by the Indian. At any rate, he received it with perfect composure.

”We thank you, friend Piomingo, for your good intentions. You are now at liberty to pursue your journey on your intended visit to the young squaw of whom you speak,” he answered.

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