Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 37

CHAPTER XVI.

CROWFOOT MAKES MEDICINE.

Although taken by surprise, the man looked at his benumbed and bleeding hand a moment, then pulled from his neck a handkerchief tied there and wrapped it around the mutilated member. By this time Hodge had his own pistol out, and Bland was covered.

"You're lucky to get off with your life, you treacherous cur!" he cried.

"Now make tracks, and hurry about it, too."

"All right," said the leader of the ruffians, still with amazing coolness. "But you pays dear for this hand--you and the gent inside who fires the shot."

With that he turned his back and hastily strode away, the handkerchief already dripping with blood and leaving a red trail behind him.

Hodge watched until the hurrying man disappeared down the valley.

Reentering the cabin, he found old Joe standing near the table on which still lay Bart's Winchester. The Indian had refilled his pipe and was smoking again in his most imperturbable manner.

"Crowfoot," said Hodge, with sincere grat.i.tude, "I owe you my life. It's lucky for me you fired just when you did. An instant more and Bland would have shot me down. How did you happen to be so quick with the shot?"

"Look um rifle over," grunted the old man. "Pick um rifle up. When Black Eyes him go out, Joe think mebbe white man act crooked. Joe watch him white man. When white man tries to shoot, Joe him shoot."

"You're a jewel, Crowfoot!" declared Bart; "but this thing will bring trouble to the cabin in a hurry. As soon as Bland can have his hand cared for, he will lead those ruffians over here to wipe us out. Now is your chance to get away."

"Oh, no great hurry," returned Crowfoot. "Plenty time, plenty time."

"On the contrary, there may be very little time. If you're going, you had better go at once."

"Plenty time," persisted the old man placidly. "Joe too old to hurry.

They no come right away. Mebbe Joe him look around a little."

As the old fellow was leaving the cabin, Bart called:

"Here's your own rifle, Joe, standing in the corner. Don't you want to take it?"

"Leave him there now," returned the redskin. "Take him bimeby."

Outside the door, leaning against the wall, were a pick and spade. To Bart's surprise, the old man picked these implements up and shouldered them; after which he found Bland's revolver where it had fallen on being knocked from the man's hand by the bullet, and took that along. Crowfoot turned northward toward a tangled wild thicket, into which Bart saw him disappear.

"Well, of all peculiar things for him to do!" muttered Hodge, completely puzzled. "What the d.i.c.kens is he up to?"

This question bothered Bart not a little, and, after a time, having made sure none of the ruffians were yet approaching from the south, Bart caught up his rifle and ran swiftly toward the thicket. On entering the tangled underbrush, he soon came in sight of Crowfoot, who, although he must have heard the other approaching, paid no attention whatever. The defender of the mines paused in amazement as he noted the Indian's occupation, for old Joe was busily at work, engaged with pick and shovel, digging in the ground.

"What in the name of all mysteries are you doing, Crowfoot?" asked Hodge, as he approached and stood nearer.

"Dig a little," returned the old man, with something like a joking twinkle in his keen black eyes. "Mebbe get some exercise. Strong Heart him great on exercise. Crowfoot hear Strong Heart tell exercise much big thing."

Now, Hodge knew well enough that the aged redskin was not expending so much energy and labor in mere exercise, and he lingered to watch a while longer. Pretty soon old Joe unearthed a long root that ran beneath the ground, which he immediately seized and dragged forth with considerable grunting. Hodge noted then that he had one or two similar roots lying near.

"Mebbe him be 'nuf," observed Crowfoot, as he severed the last root unearthed and placed it with the others. "Think him be. Joe he get plenty exercise for to-day."

Then, abandoning the pick and shovel where he had dropped them, the old man gathered up the roots and started to retrace his steps to the cabin.

Still wondering at Crowfoot's strange actions, Hodge followed.

The suns.h.i.+ne lay warm on the valley, which seemed deserted save for themselves.

"Man git hand hurt, him no hurry back much," observed Crowfoot.

"Not yet," said Hodge. "But he will come and bring his dogs with him soon enough."

When the cabin was reached Crowfoot stood some moments looking at a little pile of wood lying in a corner near the open fireplace.

"You build a fire, Black Eyes," he said. "Joe him cold--him cold."

"Well, your blood must be getting thin," declared Hodge. "You can bake out in the sun to-day if you want to."

"No like sun bake," was the retort. "Too slow; not right kind. Want fire bake."

"Oh, all right," said Bart, ready to humor the old man. "I will have a fire directly."

To his surprise, while he was starting the fire, old Joe brought in more wood that had been gathered in a little pile outside and threw it down in the corner. Several times he came with an armful of wood, but finally, seemed satisfied.

"There's a good hot fire for you, Joe," said Hodge. "Now toast yourself, if you want to."

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian. "You keep watch. Keep eye open wide. Mebbe bad palefaces come soon."

Bart knew this was a good suggestion, and he proceeded to watch for the possible approach of the enemy. At the same time, he occasionally turned from the open doorway to observe what Crowfoot was about. The old Indian did not seem very anxious to warm himself at the fire. Instead of that, he took the roots he had dug and held them toward the fireplace, turning them over and over and warming them thoroughly, after which he beat off the particles of dirt that clung to them. While he was beating one of the roots by holding it toward the fire, he had the others arranged on the flat stones of the hearth quite near the blaze, where they also would receive warmth from the flames.

At last, his curiosity reaching a point where he could repress it no longer, Hodge again asked old Joe what he was doing.

For some minutes the Indian did not reply. Once or twice he grunted to himself, but finally said:

"Joe him make medicine. Sometime him big medicine maker."

"Oh, so that's it," said Hodge. "You are making medicine for your rheumatism?"

"Ugh!" was the answer to this.

Bart was surprised and almost annoyed as the day dragged on and the ruffians failed to appear. It seemed remarkable that they should delay the attack so long; still, he was confident that it must come sooner or later. All through the day after securing his roots old Joe worked over them patiently by the fire. He dried them and turned them over and over.

And, while he was handling one of them and turning it before the heat like a thing he was toasting, the others remained in a long mound of hot ashes. The patience of the Indian over such a trifling task was something to wonder at.

As night came on Crowfoot paused to say:

"Now, Black Eyes, keep sharp watch. Bad white men come to-night. Mebbe they try to ketch um sleeping."

The first half of the night, however, pa.s.sed without alarm. During these hours the old redskin continued to putter with his roots, which he carefully sc.r.a.ped with a keen knife. At midnight he buried them in the ashes, on which hot coals were heaped, and then directed Bart to lie down and sleep.

"Joe him watch now," said the old fellow.

Trusting everything to the redskin, Hodge rolled himself in a blanket and slept soundly for two hours. He was awakened by Joe, who stirred him with a moccasin foot.