Part 11 (1/2)

CHAPTER XII

IN THE MIDST OF INCREASING PERILS

Rodney did not dare to follow Francois back to the village, nor did he think it wise to return to the tree. Being thirsty, he risked a visit to the spring, waiting till the dusk deepened and the last squaw had filled her kettles or the deerskin bottles in which they carried water. Having drank, he concluded he would pa.s.s the night on a little dry knoll near the spring, and from which he could observe what was happening in the village.

As he lay looking out upon the bluff, whereon sat the village, and down on the broad meadow, he admired the location with the eye of a young pioneer. What a delightful spot for a plantation! His boyish imagination pictured a home like ”The Hall” on the bluff overlooking the creek. Back of that he would have the negro cabins and the stables, for he would have fine horses like Nat. With such a home he would be as important a man as Squire Danesford and his father need be under obligations to no man. Had Lisbeth married her cousin and gone to England? And so day dreams drifted into those of sleep.

The next morning he returned to Ahneota and told him what had occurred. The old chief seemed contrite after his debauch, but did not mention it. As Rodney left him he said: ”Better be Ahneota's brother,”

but the boy shook his head, saying: ”You know why I cannot be.”

Francois had left the village. Caughnega did not look at the boy as they met. That evening Conrad came and, much to the boy's surprise, suggested that they go fis.h.i.+ng in the morning. Rodney readily agreed and the following morning they went up the creek several miles to a place where the stream broadened out into a small pond. Its sh.o.r.es were lined with lily pads under which the pickerel lay in wait for their prey, motionless as sticks, which they resemble.

Rodney, who had fished there, led the way to the mouth of a little inlet, where a tree had fallen into the water. He had cleared away the rotten limbs so that he might go far out on the trunk and be able to cast the bait at a specially inviting spot. Wis.h.i.+ng to be friends, he offered Conrad the place at the farther end and also the loan of his better fis.h.i.+ng gear. Conrad, who was very glum, hesitated, but finally accepted the offer.

Now, there is luck as well as skill in fis.h.i.+ng, as every one knows who has tried it. Again and again they would both cast their minnow bait, which was exactly similar, and Rodney's would be the hook that was seized. Once, while the latter was baiting his hook, a huge pickerel, darting like a flash of light, took Conrad's and he, being too eager, yanked vigorously before the fish had taken the bait far enough into the mouth to be securely hooked. Rodney immediately skipped his bait over the place and the fish, taking that, was skilfully landed. He was a beauty. The look of hatred in Conrad's face startled his companion but he soon forgot it in the sport he was having. Tired at last, he said: ”Let's go back to the village, Conrad. We've got enough for one day.”

”Yah! You back go vith basket full an' show Louis an' ol' chief vat a smart brave you be.”

Rodney made no reply, but turned and carefully picked his way over the slippery trunk toward the sh.o.r.e. While doing this a thought of the look of hatred in his companion's face prompted him to turn his head.

Close behind him, with his hatchet uplifted in the act of striking, was Conrad!

Rodney thrust his pole backward as one would thrust a spear and the b.u.t.t hit the other boy full in the chest, knocking him off the slippery log into the water.

Squirming and spluttering, he tried to regain his feet but, instead, sank deeper and deeper.

He had fallen into a quagmire!

By the time Rodney had recovered his self-possession Conrad had sunk to his chin. The delay of another minute and he would have disappeared from this story.

Rodney ran back and reached out his pole. The other seized it and was pulled to safety, covered with mud.

The boys stood looking at each other. Conrad said nothing, but looked more sullen than ever, though his blazing wrath was well extinguished.

Finally Rodney spoke.

”Why did you try to kill me?”

”Och! me, I hate you.”

”What for?”

”You, you a paleface.”

”That's not the reason. So are you.”

”_Nein_, me, I a Wyandotte brave; ain't so.”

”I never wronged you.”