Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 49

Finally the hoofbeats of the approaching horse became more and more distinct. Then through the still, clear night came a clear, faint whistle.

"d.i.c.k it is!" exclaimed the Texan joyously.

d.i.c.k it was, and with him he brought Felicia safely back to them. They did not arouse the others, but she was wrapped in blankets and left to sleep, if possible, through the remainder of the still, cool night.

Young Merriwell's story filled the Texan with unbounded astonishment and admiration. He seized d.i.c.k's hand and shook it with almost savage delight.

"Talk about a howling terror on ten wheels!" he exclaimed. "Why, you simply beat the universe. You hear me gurgle! Now you just turn in, for I reckon you're a whole lot pegged out."

"Well, sleep won't hurt me if I can corral some of it," acknowledged d.i.c.k.

Brad continued to stand guard, thinking that later he would arouse one of the others to take his place. His restlessness and worry had pa.s.sed somewhat, and after a time he sat down, thinking over the startling things that had happened. It was thus that, exhausted more than he knew, he finally slid to the ground and also slept. The night pa.s.sed without any of them being disturbed. But in the morning the first man to awaken was Pete Curry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes, and uttered a shout of astonishment. The remaining sleepers awoke and started up.

What they saw astounded them no less than it had Curry, for on the ground near at hand lay little Abe, with Joe Crowfoot's dirty red blanket tucked about him, and within three feet sat the redskin, calmly and serenely smoking his pipe.

d.i.c.k flung off his blanket and was on his feet in a twinkling.

"Crowfoot!" he joyously cried, rus.h.i.+ng forward with his arms outstretched.

For one who complained of rheumatism and advancing age the redskin rose with remarkable quickness. Usually stolid and indifferent in manner, the look that now came to his wrinkled, leathery face was one of such deep feeling and affection that it astounded every one but himself. The old man clasped d.i.c.k in his arms as a father might a long-lost son. To Curry and his companions this was a most singular spectacle. Curry had seized a weapon on discovering Crowfoot. He did not use it when the old fellow remained silent and indifferent after his shout of astonishment and alarm.

That the boy should embrace the Indian in such an affectionate manner seemed almost disgusting to Curry and his a.s.sistants, all three of whom held Indians in the utmost contempt. For a moment it seemed that the old man's heart was too full for speech. Finally, with a strange tenderness and depth of feeling in his voice, he said:

"Injun Heart, Great Spirit heap good to old Joe! He let him live to see you some more. What him eyes see make him heart swell with heap big gladness. Soon him go to happy hunting ground; now him go and make um no big kick 'bout it."

"Joe, I have longed to see you again," declared d.i.c.k, his voice unsteady and a mist in his eyes. "Sometimes my heart has yearned for the old days with you on the plains and amid the mountains. I have longed to be with you again, hunting the grizzly, or sleeping in the shade by a murmuring brook and beneath whispering trees. Then you taught me the secrets of the wild animals and the birds. I have forgotten them now, Joe. I can no longer call the birds and tiny animals of the forest to me. In that way I am changed, Joe; but my heart remains the same toward you, and ever will."

Now the old redskin held d.i.c.k off by both shoulders and surveyed him up and down with those beady eyes, which finally rested on the boy's handsome face with a look of inexpressible admiration.

"Heap fine! Heap fine!" said the old man. "Joe him know it. Joe him sure you make great man. Joe him no live to see you have whiskers on um face, but you sure make great man. Joe him getting heap close to end of trail.

Rheumatism crook him and make um swear sometime."

"Don't talk about getting near the end of the trail, Crowfoot," laughed d.i.c.k, whose heart was full of delight over this meeting. "You old hypocrite! I saw you last night! I saw you when you took to your heels after I perforated the gentleman who contemplated cutting your thread of life short. Rheumatism! Why, you deceptive old rascal, you ran like a deer! If your rheumatism was very bad, you couldn't take to your heels in that fas.h.i.+on."

Crowfoot actually grinned.

"Injun him have to run," he a.s.serted. "Bullets come fast and thick. If Injun him run slow mebbe he get ketched by bullet."

Little Abe had risen on one elbow, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and watched the meeting between d.i.c.k and the old savage.

Felicia also was awakened, and now she came hastening forward, her dark eyes aglow and a slight flush in her delicate cheeks.

"Joe! Joe! have you forgotten me?" she asked.

The redskin turned at once and held out his hands to her.

"Night Eyes," he said, with such softness that all save d.i.c.k and Felicia were astonished, "little child of silent valley hid in mountains, next to Injun Heart, old Joe him love you most. You good to old Joe. Long time 'go Joe he come to valley hid in mountains and he sit by cabin there. He see you play with Injun Heart. Warm sun s.h.i.+ne in valley through long, long day. All Joe do he smoked, and sat, and watched.

Bimeby when Night Eyes was very tired she come crawling close up side old Joe and lean her head 'gainst Joe, and sleep shut her eyes. Then old Joe him keep still. When Injun Heart he come near old Joe, him say, 'Sh-h!' He hold up his hand; he say, 'Keep much still.' Then mebbe Night Eyes she sleep and sleep, and sun he go down, and birds they sing last good-night song, and stars s.h.i.+ne out, and old Joe him sit still all the time. Oh, he no forget--he no forget!"

Somehow the simple words of the old redskin brought back all the past, which seemed so very, very far away, and tears welled from Felicia's eyes.

"Oh, those were happy days, Joe--happy days!" she murmured. "I fear I shall never be so happy again--never, never!"

"Oh, must be happy!" declared the old fellow. "d.i.c.k him make um Night Eyes happy. Him look out for Night Eyes."

"Just the same," she declared, "I would give anything, anything, to be back in that valley now, just as I was long, long ago."

With his head c.o.c.ked on one side, Cap'n Wiley had been watching the meeting between the Indian and his young friends. Wiley now turned to Buckhart and remarked:

"I am learning extensively in this variegated world. As the years roll on my acc.u.mulation of knowledge increases with susceptible rapidity. Up to the present occasion I have been inclined to think that about the only thing a real Injun could be good for was for a target. It seems to my acute perception that in this immediate instance there is at least one exception to the rule. Although yonder copper-hued individual looks somewhat scarred and weather-beaten, I observe that Richard Merriwell hesitates in no degree to embrace him. Who is the old tike, mate?"

"Why, old Joe Crowfoot!" answered Brad. "The only Indian I ever saw of his kind."

Immediately Wiley approached old Joe, walking teeteringly on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, after his own peculiar fas.h.i.+on, made a salute, and exclaimed:

"I salute you, Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire, and may your shadow never grow less. May you take your medicine regularly and live to the ripe round age of one hundred years. Perhaps you don't know me. Perhaps you haven't heard of me. That is your misfortune. I am Cap'n Wiley, a rover of the briny deep and a corking first-cla.s.s baseball player. Ever play baseball, Joe, old boy? It's a great game. You would enjoy it. In my mind's eye I see you swing the bat like a war club and swat the sphere hard enough to dent it. Or perchance you are attempting to overhaul the base runner, and I see him fleeing wildly before you, as if he fancied you were reaching for his scalp locks."

"Ugh!" grunted old Joe. "No know who um be; but know heap good name for um. Joe he give you name. He call you Wind-in-the-head."

At this the others, with the exception of Wiley himself, laughed outright. The sailor, however, did not seem at all pleased.

"It's plain, Joseph," he observed, "that you have a reckless little habit of getting gay occasionally. Take my advice and check that habit before it leads you up against a colossal calamity."

"Wind-in-the-head he talk heap many big words," said the Indian. "Mebbe sometime he talk big words that choke him."

"That's a choke, Wiley," laughed d.i.c.k.

"And that certainly is the worst pun it has ever been my misfortune to hear," half sobbed the sailor. "One more like that would give me heart failure. Did you ever hear of the time I had heart failure in that baseball game with the Cleveland Nationals? Well, mates, it was----"

"We can't stand one of them before breakfast, Wiley," interrupted d.i.c.k.

"It may prove too much for us. After breakfast we will endeavor to listen while you relate one of your harrowing experiences."

"But this thing is burning in my bosom. I long to disgorge it."

"You have to let it burn, I think. We should be on the move by this time."

Thus Wiley was repressed and prevented from relating one of his marvelous yarns, not a little to his disgust.

CHAPTER XXII.

AN ACT OF TREACHERY.

It was past midday. Guided by Wiley, who seemed to know the way well, the party had pushed on into the mountains and followed a course that led them over ragged slopes and steep declivities.

Finally the sailor paused and turned.

"There, mates," he said, stretching out his hand, "barely half a mile away lies the Enchanted Valley. I have a tickling fancy that we have reached it ahead of that delectable crew we sought to avoid."