The next stream was reached by the Indians a couple of hours later. This was not as deep as the other and they did not stop to make rafts. After a little searching, they found a portion where the current did not come above their knees and they waded.

In doing so, Black Bear took the lead, and, in accordance with a custom universal among Indians, each warrior carefully stepped into the footprints in front of him. The water was so limpid that the impression made by the chieftain's moccasin was plainly shown, so that there was no difficulty in this respect. Had a person been trailing them, he would have seen before him what seemed to be the footprints of a single man.

There was but a slight variation near the further sh.o.r.e, where the moccasin of one of the Winnebagos had slid from a stone on which, like all the others, it was placed. The brown stone was slippery with a faint coating of slime, and the sc.r.a.pe of the deerskin down the side gave it a white gleam like the belly of a fish. It was a "slip" in every sense, and, when the slight splash announced it, Black Bear at the head of the procession turned about with his most impressive scowl.

The party made a halt on the other bank. It was considerably past noon, and, while some busied themselves in starting a fire, and a couple began fishing in the stream, two others going into the woods with their guns, Deerfoot was quite sure that they had decided to spend an hour or so for dinner. He concluded, however, to follow the two who went into the woods, and it was fortunate that he did so.

The first surprise that came to him was when the Winnebagos had gone nearly an eighth of a mile from camp. All this time they were making their way up quite a steep slope, so that they were close to the top of a high, wooded ridge.

The Shawanoe might well wonder why they had taken such a course, but when two frightened deer burst through the undergrowth and dashed by at full speed, within easy gun shot, and the Winnebagos looked at them without raising their guns to fire, then it was that Deerfoot was genuinely astonished.

The conclusion was inevitable that these red men were not looking for game.

With a suspicion of their real errand (and that caused another surprise), Deerfoot stealthily followed the Winnebagos until they paused on the highest part of the ridge. He was not long kept in doubt as to their business.

The top of the ridge was almost bare. There were a few stunted trees, a number of bowlders and rocks, and here and there, patches of scraggly gra.s.s. From this elevation, however, a magnificent view opened out on every hand before the spectator. To the north stretched the undulating country covered with prairie, stream, valley and forest, the last brilliant with all the gorgeous hues that come with the frosts of autumn.

These flaming colors were visible in whatever direction the eye turned, and the same varied surface was seen everywhere, but to the southward, the Ozark Mountains had a faint bluish tinge, like a ma.s.s of clouds resting in the horizon. It was in that direction that the camp of the hunters lay, and thither the footsteps of pale face and redskin were directed.

The two Winnebagos spent only a minute or so in scanning the surrounding country, when they began gathering wood, until they had quite a pile. A quant.i.ty of leaves, some of which were damp, was mixed among the twigs, so that when with a little trouble they were fired by means of the flint and steel in the hands of one of the red men, the fuel did not burn clearly but gave off considerable dark smoke, which was what the Winnebagos wanted.

As soon as the fire was fairly burning, one of the Indians flung his blanket over it, his friend seizing the other part, while both held it thus until it was in danger of taking fire or smothering the flames. Had the coa.r.s.e cloth been a little more cleanly it is likely that it would have been burned, but as it was it strangled the blaze until it may be said there were several bushels of smoke gathered beneath and the embers were at their last gasp.

At that moment, the Indians raised the blanket so that they stood upright, and plenty of fresh air was allowed to feed the blaze. Then they slowly waved the blanket between them, sometimes lowering it until it was scorched by the sleepy flames, and then elevating it above their heads. All the time, they manipulated the blanket, sometimes straight up and down, sometimes diagonally, and indeed, in every possible way.

The result of all this varied swinging was that the black column of vapor which slowly climbed the sky, was broken into circles, spiral curves, and all sorts of odd-shaped figures, which did not dissolve for several minutes in the clear air above.

I need not tell you what this meant, for in another place I have described the same thing. It was a signal fire intended by the Winnebagos for the eyes of a party of friends who were too far off to be reached in any other way. Deerfoot had seen such telegraphy many a time and oft, and more than once he had used it. He could interpret such a signal when made by a Shawanoe, Wyandotte, Sauk or Fox, but he had never learned the code in use by the Winnebago military authorities.

However, it was not possible that there was any very fine shade of meaning in the various manipulations of the two warriors. Keen brained as is the American Indian, he is unable to do a great many things with which he is credited: one of these is to do more than telegraph the simplest messages by means of fire, though it is beyond question that important tidings has been flashed hundreds of miles in a single night, from mountain top to mountain top, by means of the signal fires of the Indians.

What disturbed Deerfoot was this proof that there was a second party of Winnebagos in that section of the country. He had not dreamed of such a thing, and it might well cause him alarm, that is, for the three men who were so intent on gathering their furs comparatively a short distance away.

Carefully screening himself from observation, the Shawanoe looked intently in the direction of the gaze of the Winnebagos. He saw that they were not peering at any other ridge, but at the broad low valley to the north-west. They had not long to look when they detected a thin bluish column of smoke creeping upward among the tree tops and dissolving in the clear air above.

Deerfoot also saw it, and he knew that it was a reply to the first signal. There was another party of Winnebagos in the neighborhood; they would soon join Black Bear's party, and there was no time for delay.

Indeed, but for the discovery he had made, the Shawanoe would have felt that he had tarried too long already.

It was not far now to the camp of the Hunters of the Ozark, and it was perilous to wait to warn them. Every hour counted. Not only that, but, as you can readily see, Fred Linden and Terry Clark were in still greater danger.

CHAPTER XXVI

ON THE EDGE OF THE PRAIRIE.

The night was far advanced when Fred Linden and Terry Clark reached the stream, where the former remarked that their progress was stopped. Of course he meant that they could continue if they chose to make another raft or they could wade, but they had journeyed so far since dusk, and the trouble of constructing a float was such that he thought it best to wait where they were until daylight. They were pretty well f.a.gged out, and nothing could have been more grateful than to throw themselves on the ground and sleep for several hours.

Terry was as tired as his companion, but he stood irresolute, inclined to think it best that they should push on.

"The stream doesn't look very deep," said he, "and if ye agraas wid me that we can wade, it'll be wiser if we make tother side and then journey to the nixt straam."

"But that may be a good many miles further on."

"Thin all we have to do is to travel a good many miles," said the plucky Irish lad, sitting down to take off his shoes.

"I shall never give in to _you_," remarked Fred, also seating himself and beginning to remove his foot-gear.

Before any thing more could be done, however, both were startled by the discovery that some one was on the other side of the stream. First they heard the guttural exclamations which they knew were made by Indians, and then they saw one of the red men come out into full view in the moonlight.

Without a word, the boys hastily moved back under the shadow of the trees, making sure that they also placed several rods between them and the trail which they had followed to the edge of the water. Secure from observation, they fastened their eyes on the other bank, where they saw an interesting sight.

Three Indian warriors stood for fully five minutes in plain sight, while they discussed the same question that had engaged the lads--that is, in what manner the stream should be crossed.

It did not take them long to decide. The foremost stepped into the water, followed by the other two, none removing his moccasins or leg-gear, and in a brief while they came out upon dry land again, within fifty feet of where the lads were crouching under shelter.

The boys trembled as they realized how narrow their escape had been. Had they not paused for a few minutes, they would have been in the middle of the stream, just as the others came down to the edge of the water. In the light of their recent experience with the Winnebagos, they had not a particle of doubt that the three belonged to the same tribe and that they were fierce enemies. Had they not slain the boys, they would have made captives of both and conducted them to the main party. Then when it should have been found that one of the prisoners had the gun that once belonged to the Wolf, their fate would have been sealed.

The incident drove from the mind of Fred all wish to tarry on the road.

He wished that they were many miles on their way to the camp in the Ozarks. They considered themselves members of the little party of hunters whom they could not reach any too soon.

"I obsarved while the spalpeens were wadin'," said Terry, "that none of them wint lower in the water than their knees. Why didn't they take off their shoes like dacent gintlemen, and cross as they should; but bein'

as they didn't do the same, why, we'll sit them the example."

A minute later, the boys stepped into the stream, and, by using care, reached the other side, with all their garments dry. Their shoes were quickly replaced, and the two were off again, so moved by what they had seen, that for the time they forgot fatigue and every thing else.

"I tell you, Terry, that matters are beginning to look worse than even Deerfoot thought, and you know that when he left us he didn't feel satisfied, by any means."

"Could it be," asked his companion, "that these spalpeens don't belong to the same crowd that we saw?"

"I am quite sure they do; these three would not have been so separated from the others."

"Where could they have come from?" asked the puzzled Terry.

"Where all the Indians come from--the woods. I suppose a large party of Winnebagos have been off on a tramp, and they are coming together with a view of going home or of making an attack on some place or persons."

A random guess, like this, sometimes comes closer to the truth than a labored theory. The three Indians whom they had so narrowly escaped were members of Black Bear's party and were on their way to meet him.

Furthermore, there were more of them at no great distance.

"Me father lost his life by the Indians," said Terry, in a soft voice; "but though it was not known what tribe the same belonged to, I don't think they were Winnebagos; but Indians are Indians and are always ready to kill white people whiniver the chance comes along."

"You are right; father doesn't think there is the least danger or he wouldn't have sent for me. He has hunted several seasons without any trouble with them, but he ought to have learned long ago to be forever on the watch."

"Fred," said the other, stopping short in his excitement; "do ye think they are goin' to attack the _sittlement_?"

"Impossible! There's the blockhouse and plenty of men to defend it against a thousand savages."