Part 12 (1/2)
He reined up his horse, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed at them steadily. ”No, that's a waggon, and coming this way too,” he answered, ”they may be emigrants who have turned back either because they have been frightened by Indians, or having lost some of their cattle by the floods have found it impossible to proceed; supposing the latter to be the case, they appear to be coming on very rapidly.”
”They seem to me to be running away from enemies,” I observed, ”however, we shall soon know.”
”At all events we must try to select our camping-ground before they come up, or they may occupy it,” answered Mr Tidey, ”there is a stream to the right bordered by trees. It is just the spot we want. Ride back, Mike, and hurry on the waggons. We shall have formed our camp before the strangers arrive.”
While Mr Tidey rode in the direction towards which he pointed, I galloped back and gave notice of the approach of a train from the westward. I had observed an easy pa.s.s among the hills which led down to the stream, and through it I was able to guide our waggons. We reached the ground selected by Mr Tidey in good time to camp before dark, and our arrangements had just been concluded when the strangers approached.
As they drew near, my father and I went to meet them, to show them a spot near ours where they might encamp. Two men, seeing us coming, advanced towards us: one of them was a st.u.r.dy, strong, bold fellow, but the other had nothing of the backwoodsman about him in appearance.
”Glad to fall in with you, strangers,” said the first; ”and if you follow my advice, you will turn back with us, unless you wish to have your scalps taken by the Indians or your cattle drowned by the floods, or if you escape them, to die of hunger and thirst as you travel over the desert to the westward, though it's my opinion you'll never get many days journey from this.”
”Your report, friend, is not very encouraging,” answered my father, ”though, as I am prepared to encounter some difficulty, I cannot promise to follow your advice; however, as we shall spend the evening together we shall hear more of what you have gone through. To save you time, we looked out for a spot for your camp. You cannot do better than occupy it.”
The stranger thanked us. ”Whereabouts is it?” he asked.
”It is a little to the westward of where our waggons are drawn up.”
”I'd rather go further east,” said the stranger when he saw it, ”and place you between ourselves and the redskins. We've had one battle already, and to say the truth have no stomachs for another. You may take your turn next, should they come, and I am not certain that they will not before daybreak.”
”You are welcome to camp where you like,” answered my father, amused at the stranger's cowardice, of which he did not seem at all ashamed; ”we shall look to you, however, to help us in driving back the redskins if they make their appearance.”
We, however, a.s.sisted the strangers in finding a suitable spot a little to the eastward of our camp, and in a short time they drew up their waggons on it.
As soon as we had finished supper my father and Uncle Denis and I went over to the strangers' camp, to hear a further account of their proceedings.
The story they gave of the dangers they had encountered was sufficiently alarming to make persons less determined than my father and uncle give up the expedition they had undertaken. They had narrowly escaped being carried away by a flood the previous evening, and had been only the day before surrounded by a body of Indians, with whom, as it turned out, they had only exchanged shots, when the redskins had retreated without blood being shed. They mentioned, however, another train of four or five waggons which had been some way ahead of them, and told us that they had considerable apprehensions as to their fate.
”We will hope for the best,” said my father, ”if the people are prudent and keep a careful watch, I believe they may easily beat off any Indians of these parts, who never attack white men unless they can take them by surprise.”
We did our best to persuade our new acquaintances to turn back once more with us, but they had so completely lost heart that nothing we could say had any effect.
”No, no, friend,” answered their leader, ”we committed a folly in leaving our comfortable farm in Ohio. We have made up our minds to be wiser in future, and look out for another location eastward, beyond the reach of the Indians. If you are wise, you will do the same.”
”From my experience I should say that we are as likely to be annoyed by white men as the redskins, and by treating the latter honestly I hope that we shall gain their friends.h.i.+p and have no cause to dread them,”
said my father.
”You'll act as you judge best, but I have warned you of what you may have to expect,” was the answer.
We parted the next morning with mutual expressions of good will, and while the returning emigrants hurried off eastward, we continued our course to the west, the marks made by their waggon wheels enabling us to proceed rapidly until we reached the spot where they had encamped the previous night. Here the truth of their story was corroborated by the appearance of Indian trails which led away westward. We encamped a little further on, and of course kept a careful watch at night, but no enemy appeared.
Next afternoon Mr Tidey and I were riding ahead followed by Boxer and another of our dogs--without whom indeed, we never left the camp, as they were sure to give us timely warning should any Indians be lurking around. We knew, however, that they would not attack the red-men, of whom they seemed to have an instinctive dread, but would silently slink close to us, should any enemies be near. We were looking out, as may be supposed, for Indian trails, as well as for those of the other emigrant train of which we had heard, when we saw signs on the ground which at first puzzled us. We dismounted to examine them more carefully.
”If we had an Indian guide, he would quickly tell us what they mean,”
observed the Dominie. ”See, here are oxen and wheel tracks, and these are the marks of moccasins. I suspect that a party of Indians out on the war-path have followed the waggons, and I fear after all that the emigrants were not so far wrong in their conjectures as we supposed. I only hope the people on ahead have kept a careful watch and beaten back their wily foe.”
”Let us push on, and try to overtake the Indians before they attack the train,” I said. ”When they see another party of white men approaching, they may judge it prudent to give up their enterprise; and if they pursue us, our fast horses will enable us easily to keep out of their way.”
The Dominie, though not blind to the risk we might run, agreed to my proposal; the ground was open and level, and there was no brushwood either to the right or left which might conceal a lurking foe. We accordingly put our horses into a gallop, believing that we should soon come up with the train, or get sight of the Indians, should they still be following it. ”The redskins will be looking ahead, and will not discover us until we have seen them,” I observed.
Suddenly the dogs, which had been keeping alongside us, dashed forward, just at the moment that we, from the unevenness of the ground, were compelled to pull up. On reaching the summit of one of the undulations rather than hills, which rise in different parts of the prairie, we saw some objects in the distance which we both agreed must be waggons. As we got nearer we saw that two were upset, and that from a third smoke was ascending, while from another the tilt had been torn off, one only remaining intact.
”That must be the train we are in search of,” observed the Dominie; ”it has too evidently been attacked by the Indians; but I see no one moving about. Perhaps the savages caught sight of us, and supposing that we were at the head of a large party, have gone off. We may be in time to help some of the poor people, if any have escaped with their lives, though I fear the worst, as the redskins seldom leave their work half finished, and the chances are that all the white men have been killed.”