There was a crackle of broken tree limbs, as the beast fell back. Then something else stirred in the woods, and into the circle of the blaze stalked a tall dark man whose face exhibited the features of an Indian, and who, after a glance at the boy, uttered one word:

"Sagoola!"

CHAPTER IX

OUT OF THE WOODS

For nearly a minute Roger stood and stared at the Indian, who, despite his modern clothes was yet sufficiently a redman to make the boy wonder how in the world he ever came there. On his side the newcomer glanced at Roger by the light of the flickering fire, and a smile came on his bronzed face.

"Sagoola! Sagoola!" he repeated. "How do!"

"Oh!" said Roger, faintly comprehending that his companion had only greeted him in the Indian tongue. "Oh, how do you do yourself?"

"Fine--good," answered the Indian.

"I'm glad you came along just when you did," went on Roger. "The wild-cat had me down, and I thought I was a goner."

"Hu!" grunted the redman. "Smart boy. Light fire. Wild-cat heap 'fraid fire. Ole Johnny Green shoot 'um."

"Johnny Green?" repeated Roger in an inquiring tone.

"Yep. Me ole Johnny Green. My boy, he young Johnny Green."

"Why, I thought Indians had different names from that," said the boy.

"Names like Yellow Tail, Eagle Eye, and Big Thunder."

"Hu! Good names wild Injun. Me tame Injun. Have tame name. Live to Reservation at Castle. Where yo' from?"

"My name is Roger Anderson," and he spoke slowly, so his new friend would have no trouble in understanding, "I am staying with my uncle, Bert Kimball, at Cardiff, and got lost in the woods. I was riding with my cousin, and the horse ran away."

"Bert Kimball yo' say yo' uncle?"

"Yes."

"Over by Cardiff?"

"Yes, do you know him?"

"Sure, sartin. Bert an' me good frens. Yo' loss?"

"Well, I guess that's what you'd call it; I'm lost," admitted Roger, whose spirits had improved very much in the last few minutes. He was no longer in fear of the wild-cat, and, as for the Indian, he thought, rightly, that he need be in no worry as to his intentions, though it was the first time he knew how near he was to an Indian encampment.

He briefly explained how he had come to be in the woods, and then he waited to see what Johnny Green would propose. The Indian stood his rifle up against a tree, stalked off into the darkness, and returned presently, lugging the body of the wild-cat, which he threw on the ground near the smouldering fire. Seeing that the blaze was dying out for lack of fuel, Roger cast on some twigs and branches, until the flames leaped up brightly. Johnny Green squatted down on a log, and Roger followed his example. For a moment there was silence between them.

Then the Indian spoke.

"Not much good for eat," he said, indicating the carca.s.s of the dead animal he had shot. "Radder have c.o.o.n. Fur of 'um good; that all."

"Were you out hunting c.o.o.ns?" asked Roger, and Johnny Green nodded that he was.

"Will you show me the way back home, when you are through hunting?"

asked the boy, after a pause.

The Indian nodded his head once more, to indicate that he would act as guide. He looked to the loading of his rifle, and then proceeded to tie the legs of his prize. He slung the body about his neck, picked up his gun, and looking at Roger, said: "Come 'long. We go to Bert Kimball. I show yo'."

He paused to trample out the embers of the fire, that it might not spread in the dry woods, and then he started off through the forest, seeming to strike the path without even looking for it. Roger hesitated a moment, then followed.

The boy kept close behind his guide, who walked at rather a swift pace, as though he was on a country road, instead of being in the depths of the wood, with only a pale moon, now half obscured by clouds to light him. The boy could not help admiring the unhesitating manner in which the Indian picked his way through the maze of trees. It was what might be expected of a wild Indian, Roger thought; of one who had lived all his life in the open. But here was apparently a civilized redman, who had not a chance to exercise his woodcraft in years, perhaps. Yet he made no false steps and moved as swiftly through the dark woods as Roger could have done on a brilliantly lighted street. It must be a sort of animal instinct the boy concluded.

For a few minutes after he started Roger could not help feeling a bit distrustful. How could he be sure that the Indian was what he said he was? How could he know that Johnny Green would guide him safely to his uncle's house? Once he was almost on the point of turning back, but the thought of the dark forest into which he would have to plunge, without knowing where the path was, and the fear that there were hiding behind the trees more and uglier wild animals than he had yet encountered, deterred him.

Besides, Johnny Green did not seem to care much whether the boy followed him or not. He had promised to guide him out of the wood, and if Roger didn't want to be taken home, what concern was it of Johnny Green's?

Reasoning thus, the boy concluded it must be all right, and then he began to follow with swift steps, keeping up as well as he was able, with his silent leader.

In what seemed to Roger to be a very short time, he and Johnny Green emerged from the deeper forest into a sort of clearing, where a number of trees had been cut down. Traversing this was a rough wagon road, used, it seemed, by the wood choppers. Johnny Green struck into this with a grunt of satisfaction at the easier going, and he increased his pace so that Roger, exhausted and wearied as he was, found it difficult to keep his guide in sight. Perhaps the Indian heard the boy breathing rather heavy because of the exertions, or he might have recalled that his legs were longer and tougher than his companion's. At any rate, Johnny Green slackened his pace, and Roger was glad of it. Half a mile of travel along the wood trail brought the two out into the main road, and Roger, feeling the hard-packed dirt under his feet, saw that he was on the same highway where he and Adrian had driven with the grapes. It seemed almost a week ago, though it was but a few hours. There was considerable light now, even though the clouds did darken the moon at times, and Roger could distinguish dimly the fields, fenced in and extending to right and left away from the road.

"Tree mile now," grunted Johnny Green. It was the first time he had spoken since they started.

"To where?" asked Roger.

"Tree mile Bert Kimball," and the boy was glad to learn how near home he was. It was slightly down hill going now, and the walking was good, so both stepped out at a lively pace. The night was chilly, and the damp wind made Roger shiver, so he was glad of the vigorous exercise that kept his blood in circulation. It was lonesome too, even though Johnny Green was just ahead of him, and the boy listened, with a sort of dread, to the mournful hooting of the owls, the cheeping of the tree-toads and the chirping of the crickets. For some time the two kept on in silence.

Then the Indian suddenly halted in the middle of the road. He bent his head as if to catch some sound in the distance.

"Hark!" he cautioned, and held up his hand warningly.

Roger stopped. Yes, there was some noise quite a way in front, but at first its character could not be distinguished. Then in a few moments it resolved into a sort of confused shouting.

"What yo' name?" asked Johnny Green, turning quickly to the boy at his side.

"Roger."

"They callin' yo'," he announced. "Bert Kimball I tink"

"Is it?" joyfully.

"Yep. Listen."

Faintly Roger heard a voice shouting. He could make out no words, however. It increased his respect for Johnny Green's attainments that the Indian could understand a name called from such a distance.

Then Roger's companion raised his voice in a long, loud, shrill, far-carrying halloo: "Hi! Bert Kimball! Here yo' boy Roger!"

There came an answering shout, in which the boy could scarcely distinguish his own name, and he, too, cried out: "Here I am, Uncle Bert! I'm all right!"

A few minutes later there flashed from behind a bend in the road the gleam of a lantern, and soon another flickering light appeared. Roger ran toward them, and Johnny Green hurried on also. Nearer and nearer came the lights, and then in a few minutes the seekers and the lost were together.

While Adrian, who was with his father, was shaking hands with Roger and telling him how glad he was to see him again, Mr. Kimball was exchanging greetings with the Indian and looking at the wild-cat slung across his shoulders. It didn't take long for Roger to tell his experience, and the words of praise that came from his uncle and cousin, at his wise and brave conduct in the fight with the beast, more than repaid him for the fright and discomfort he had undergone. The cuts and scratches on his back proved to be only slight ones, when Mr. Kimball insisted on looking at them by the light of the lanterns.