The Dog Crusoe and his Master Part 13

"D'ye know, d.i.c.k, I doubt if the pup's so cliver as ye think. What if he don't quite onderstand ye?"

d.i.c.k replied by taking off his cap and throwing it down, at the same time exclaiming, "Take it yonder, pup," and pointing with his hand towards the bluff. The dog seized the cap, and went off with it at full speed towards the willows, where it left it, and came galloping back for the expected reward--not now, as in days of old, a bit of meat, but a gentle stroke of its head and a hearty clap on its s.h.a.ggy side.

"Good pup, go now an' _fetch it_."

Away he went with a bound, and, in a few seconds, came back and deposited the cap at his master's feet.

"Will that do?" asked d.i.c.k, triumphantly.

"Ay, lad, it will. The pup's worth its weight in goold."

"Oui, I have said, and I say it agen, de dog is _human_, so him is. If not--fat am he?"

Without pausing to reply to this perplexing question, d.i.c.k stepped forward again, and in half an hour or so they were back in the camp.

"Now for _your_ part of the work, Joe; yonder's the squaw that owns the half-drowned baby. Everything depends on her."

d.i.c.k pointed to the Indian woman as he spoke. She was sitting beside her tent, and playing at her knee was the identical youngster that had been saved by Crusoe.

"I'll manage it," said Joe, and walked towards her, while d.i.c.k and Henri returned to the chiefs tent.

"Does the p.a.w.nee woman thank the Great Spirit that her child is saved?"

began Joe as he came up.

"She does," answered the woman, looking up at the hunter. "And her heart is warm to the Pale-faces."

After a short silence Joe continued--

"The p.a.w.nee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces. Some of them hate them."

"The Dark Flower knows it," answered the woman; "she is sorry. She would help the Pale-faces if she could."

This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning glance of the eye.

Joe hesitated again--could he trust her? Yes; the feelings that filled her breast and prompted her words were not those of the Indian just now--they were those of a _mother_, whose grat.i.tude was too full for utterance.

"Will the Dark Flower," said Joe, catching the name she had given herself, "help the Pale-face if he opens his heart to her? Will she risk the anger of her nation?"

"She will," replied the woman; "she will do what she can."

Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding style of speech, and spoke for some minutes rapidly in an undertone. It was finally arranged that on a given day, at a certain hour, the woman should take the four horses down the sh.o.r.es of the lake to its lower end, as if she were going for firewood, there cross the creek at the ford, and drive them to the willow-bluff, and guard them till the hunters should arrive.

Having settled this, Joe returned to the tent and informed his comrades of his success.

During the next three days Joe kept the Indians in good-humour by giving them one or two trinkets, and speaking in glowing terms of the riches of the white men, and the readiness with which they would part with them to the savages if they would only make peace.

Meanwhile, during the dark hours of each night, d.i.c.k managed to abstract small quant.i.ties of goods from their pack, in room of which he stuffed in pieces of leather to keep up the size and appearance. The goods thus taken out he concealed about his person, and went off with a careless swagger to the outskirts of the village, with Crusoe at his heels.

Arrived there, he tied the goods in a small piece of deerskin, and gave the bundle to the dog, with the injunction, "Take it yonder, pup."

Crusoe took it up at once, darted off at full speed with the bundle in his mouth, down the sh.o.r.e of the lake towards the ford of the river, and was soon lost to view. In this way, little by little, the goods were conveyed by the faithful dog to the willow-bluff and left there, while the stuffed pack still remained in safekeeping in the chief's tent.

Joe did not at first like the idea of thus sneaking off from the camp; and more than once made strong efforts to induce San-it-sa-rish to let him go, but even that chief's countenance was not so favourable as it had been. It was clear that he could not make up his mind to let slip so good a chance of obtaining guns, powder, and shot, horses and goods, without any trouble; so Joe made up his mind to give them the slip at once.

A dark night was chosen for the attempt, and the Indian woman went off with the horses to the place where firewood for the camp was usually cut. Unfortunately the suspicion of that wily savage Mahtawa had been awakened, and he stuck close to the hunters all day--not knowing what was going on, but feeling convinced that something was brewing which he resolved to watch, without mentioning his suspicions to any one.

"I think that villain's away at last," whispered Joe to his comrades; "it's time to go, lads, the moon won't be up for an hour. Come along."

"Have ye got the big powder-horn, Joe?"

"Ay, ay, all right."

"Stop! stop! my knife, my couteau. Ah! here it be. Now, boy."

The three set off as usual, strolling carelessly to the outskirts of the camp; then they quickened their pace, and, gaining the lake, pushed off in a small canoe.

At the same moment Mahtawa stepped from the bushes, leaped into another canoe and followed them.

"Hah! he must die," muttered Henri.

"Not at all," said Joe, "we'll manage him without that."

The chief landed and strode boldly up to them, for he knew well that whatever their purpose might be, they would not venture to use their rifles within sound of the camp at that hour of the night; as for their knives, he could trust to his own active limbs and the woods to escape and give the alarm if need be.

"The Pale-faces hunt very late," he said with a malicious grin. "Do they love the dark better than the suns.h.i.+ne?"

"Not so," replied Joe, coolly, "but we love to walk by the light of the moon. It will be up in less than an hour, and we mean to take a long ramble to-night."

"The p.a.w.nee chief loves to walk by the moon too, he will go with the Pale-faces."

"Good," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Joe. "Come along, then."

The party immediately set forward, although the savage was a little taken by surprise at the indifferent way in which Joe received his proposal to accompany them. He walked on to the edge of the prairie, however, and then stopped.

"The Pale-faces must go alone," said he; "Mahtawa will return to his tent."

Joe replied to this intimation by seizing him suddenly by the throat and choking back the yell that would otherwise have brought the p.a.w.nee warriors rus.h.i.+ng to the scene of action in hundreds. Mahtawa's hand was on the handle of his scalping-knife in a moment, but before he could draw it, his arms were glued to his sides by the bear-like embrace of Henri, while d.i.c.k tied a handkerchief quickly yet firmly round his mouth. The whole thing was accomplished in two minutes. After taking his knife and tomahawk away, they loosened their gripe and escorted him swiftly over the prairie.

Mahtawa was perfectly submissive after the first convulsive struggle was over. He knew that the men who walked on each side of him grasping his arms were more than his match singly, so he wisely made no resistance.

Hurrying him to a clump of small trees on the plain which was so far distant from the village that a yell could not be heard, they removed the bandage from Mahtawa's mouth.

"_Must_ he be kill?" inquired Henri, in a tone of commiseration.

"Not at all" answered Joe, "we'll tie him to a tree and leave him there."

"Then he vill be starve to deat'. Oh! dat is more horrobell!"

"He must take his chance o' that. I've no doubt his friends'll find him in a day or two, an' he's game to last for a week or more. But you'll have to run to the willow-bluff, d.i.c.k, and bring a bit of line to tie him. We can't spare it well; but there's no help."