"Well, it grew worse and worse, I dreamed o' home all night, an' thought of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos gittin'

tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, `I give out, lads, I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried to laugh me out of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bid them good-day, an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. The very first mile o' the way back I began to mend, and before two days I wos all right again."

Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of a solitary horseman on the brow of an eminence not half a mile distant. The three friends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump of trees, but not in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who uttered a loud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at full gallop.

"Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is one of _peace_."

The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri was making preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Before another word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of about twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not a war-party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed, and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplary patience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, the council-fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long palaver.

We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on this occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of any importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual expressions of good will.

Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally friendly, and only one war-party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed it in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of sight.

The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage, and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers escaped.

It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war-party of Blackfeet were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the prairie at this place was almost dest.i.tute of trees or shrubs large enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the gra.s.sy wave into the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to elude the savages, so he gave the word,--but at the same moment a shout from the Indians told that they were discovered.

"Look sharp, lads, throw down the packs on the highest point of the ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must keep them at arm's length, boys--be alive. War-parties are not to be trusted."

d.i.c.k and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably, that in the course of two minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a wall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketted close beside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with their rifles c.o.c.ked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came sweeping down towards them.

"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt, "but keep yer eye on 'em, d.i.c.k, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin'

chief. I'll throw up my left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't draw till I git back to ye."

So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their little fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a few seconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was surrounded.

At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to intimidate him; but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed, and a grave expression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and, drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he was doing there.

Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to shout vociferously, and evidently meant mischief.

"If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go back to his braves," said Joe, pa.s.sing suddenly between two of the warriors and taking a few steps towards the camp.

Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter were about to be pierced by a hundred arrows, when he turned round and cried:--

"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first that moves his _horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shall die."

To this the Blackfoot chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talks with a big mouth. We do not believe his words. The Snakes are liars, we will make no peace with them."

While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand; there was a loud report, and the n.o.ble horse of the savage chief lay struggling in death agony on the ground.

The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known at this period among the Indians of the far west, and many had never heard the dreaded report before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of its fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore, quite paralysed them for a few moments, and they had not recovered from their surprise when a second report was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a second horse fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion in the camp of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped it, and from the midst of this a loud shriek was heard, as d.i.c.k, Henri, and Crusoe bounded over the packs with frantic gestures.

At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds round, the dismounted hors.e.m.e.n sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole band dashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.

Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of great anxiety, for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must have been accidentally blown up.

"No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming up.

"Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight over his face. "Oh! oui, great damage--moche damage, me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes."

"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said d.i.c.k, who was very slightly singed, and forgot his own hurts in anxiety about his comrade. "Let me see?"

"My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin overspread his countenance, "ye've not improved yer looks, Henri."

This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extent that his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universal frizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quite uninjured, a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt, afforded so much satisfaction to Henri, that he capered about shouting with delight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him.

The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted to replace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety for Joe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite d.i.c.k's entreaties to wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up.

d.i.c.k and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was not disposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies so promptly to the right-about.

This band followed them for some nights, in the hope of being able to steal their horses while they slept; but they were not brave enough to venture a second time within range of the death-dealing rifle.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

DANGERS OF THE PRAIRIE--OUR TRAVELLERS ATTACKED BY INDIANS, AND DELIVERED IN A REMARKABLE MANNER.

There are periods in the life of almost all men when misfortunes seem to crowd upon them in rapid succession, when they escape from one danger only to encounter another, and when, to use a well-known expression, they succeed in leaping out of the frying-pan at the expense of plunging into the fire.

So was it with our three friends upon this occasion. They were scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them too watchful to be caught napping, when, about daybreak one morning they encountered a roving band of Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike aspect that Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if possible.

"They don't see us yit, I guess," said Joe, as he and his companions drove the horses into a hollow between the gra.s.sy waves of the prairie, "any if we only can escape their sharp eyes till we're in yonder clump o' willows, we're safe enough."

"But why don't you ride up to them, Joe," inquired d.i.c.k, "and make peace between them and the Pale-faces, as you ha' done with other bands?"

"Because it's o' no use to risk our scalps for the chance o' makin'

peace wi' a rovin' war-party. Keep yer head down, Henri! If they git only a sight o' the top o' yer cap, they'll be down on us like a breeze o' _wind_."

"Hah! let dem come!" said Henri.

"They'll come without askin' yer leave," remarked Joe drily.

Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had sufficient prudence to induce him to bend his head and shoulders, and in a few minutes they reached the shelter of the willows unseen by the savages. At least so thought Henri, Joe was not quite sure about it, and d.i.c.k hoped for the best.

In the course of half an hour the last of the Camanchees was seen to hover for a second on the horizon, like a speck of black against the sky, and then to disappear.

Immediately the three hunters bolted on their steeds and resumed their journey; but before that evening closed they had sad evidence of the savage nature of the band from which they had escaped. On pa.s.sing the brow of a slight eminence, d.i.c.k, who rode first, observed that Crusoe stopped and snuffed the breeze in an anxious, inquiring manner.

"What is't, pup?" said d.i.c.k, drawing up, for he knew that his faithful dog never gave a false alarm.

Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then bounding forward, disappeared behind a little wooded knoll. In another moment a long, dismal howl floated over the plains. There was a mystery about the dog's conduct which, coupled with his melancholy cry, struck the travellers with a superst.i.tious feeling of dread, as they sat looking at each other in surprise.

"Come, let's clear it up," cried Joe Blunt, shaking the reins of his steed, and galloping forward. A few strides brought them to the other side of the knoll where, scattered upon the torn and b.l.o.o.d.y turf, they discovered the scalped and mangled remains of about twenty or thirty human beings. Their skulls had been cleft by the tomahawk, and their b.r.e.a.s.t.s pierced by the scalping-knife; and from the position in which many of them lay, it was evident that they had been slain while asleep.

Joe's brow flushed, and his lips became tightly compressed, as he muttered between his set teeth, "Their skins are white."

A short examination sufficed to show that the men who had thus been barbarously murdered while they slept had been a band of trappers, or hunters; but what their errand had been, or whence they came, they could not discover.

Everything of value had been carried off, and all the scalps had been taken. Most of the bodies, although much mutilated, lay in a posture that led our hunters to believe they had been killed while asleep; but one or two were cut almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered and trampled sward around, it seemed as if they had struggled long and fiercely for life. Whether or not any of the savages had been slain, it was impossible to tell, for if such had been the case, their comrades, doubtless, had carried away their bodies. That they had been slaughtered by the party of Camanchees who had been seen at daybreak, was quite clear to Joe; but his burning desire to revenge the death of the white men had to be stifled, as his party was so small.

Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a band of trappers who, like those mentioned at the beginning of this volume, had set out to avenge the death of a comrade; but G.o.d, who has retained the right of vengeance in His own hand, saw fit to frustrate their purpose, by giving them into the hands of the savages whom they had set forth to slay.