"All right, Mr. Scott!" said Tom, his face flushed, and panting with excitement. If he had not felt that so much depended upon it; if he could have thrust out from his mind the sense of the awful peril in which he stood--he would have enjoyed the furious pace at which his horse was carrying him.

The horses ridden by the Indians were not equal in speed or endurance to those which the two friends bestrode. They were fresher indeed, but they did not make up for the difference between them. There was one exception, however: Dan, the stolen horse, was not only equal to either of their horses, but had the advantage of being fresher. This, after a while, began to tell. It was ridden by a young Indian brave, a brother of the leader. Soon he drew away from his companions, and, yard by yard, lessened the distance between himself and the pursued. At the end of three miles he was close upon them, and at least fifty rods in advance of his comrades. Scott saw this in one of his backward glances.

"Tom," said he, "the redskin on Dan is overhauling us."

"Will he catch us?"

"I mean to catch him," said Scott coolly.

Tom did not need to ask for an explanation. Scott wheeled round, took hasty but accurate aim at the Indian, and fired. The hapless warrior reeled in his saddle, loosed his hold of the reins, and fell to the ground, while his horse, continuing in his course, his pace accelerated by fright, soon galloped alongside of Scott. There was a howl of rage from the main body of Indians, who saw the fate of their comrade, without being able to help him.

"Now, Tom, ride as you never rode before!" shouted Scott. "We will circ.u.mvent those Indian devils yet, and bring Dan safe into camp. Come along, Dan, old fellow; you're doing n.o.bly."

Dan recognized the familiar voice. He entered into the spirit of the race, and, relieved from the weight of his rider, dashed forward with increased speed, till he led, and Scott and Tom were forced to follow.

The Indians were mad with rage. Their comrade had received a fatal wound. They saw the round hole in his breast, from which the life-blood was gushing, and they thirsted for vengeance.

Should two palefaces, one of them a boy, escape from them? That would be a disgrace, indeed; the blood of their brother called for blood in return.

Could they have inspired their horses with the same spirit which animated themselves, they might, perhaps, have overtaken their intended captives; but, happily for our two friends, the horses were less interested than their riders.

The danger was well-nigh over. It was scarcely two miles to the camp.

There they would be so re-enforced that the Indians would not venture an attack. That was the goal they had in view. Already they could see in the distance the wagon-train, ready for a start. They were surely safe now. But at this unlucky moment Tom's horse stumbled. The motion was so rapid that he could not retain his seat. He was thrown over the horse's head, and lay stunned and insensible upon the ground. His horse kept on his way to the camp.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

TOM BECOMES AN INDIAN.

Scott did not immediately notice Tom's mishap. The boy had shown himself so good a rider that such an accident had not occurred to him as likely to happen. When he did look back there was already a considerable distance between them. In fact, Tom lay midway between the Indians and himself.

What was he to do?

If he returned there was no hope of rescuing Tom; and he would infallibly fall into the hands of the Indian pursuers. In that case his fate was sealed. He had killed an Indian warrior, and his life would pay the forfeit. By going on he could head a rescuing party from the camp.

His heart ached for Tom. It was hard to leave him in the hands of the savage foe; but Tom was a boy, and there was hope that he would be spared; so he felt that it was better to continue his flight.

There was a shout of fierce joy when the Indians saw Tom's fall. They would have preferred to capture Scott, for he it was who had killed their comrade; but they were glad to have one prisoner. They reined up their horses, and halted beside the still insensible boy. They held a brief consultation, and decided not to continue the pursuit. They could see the encampment, which Scott was sure to reach before he could be overtaken. They could not tell the number of the party to which he belonged; but, being few in numbers themselves, the risk would be a hazardous one. They decided to retire with their prisoner. Tom was lifted to a seat in front of one of the party, and they rode leisurely back.

This was the position in which our hero found himself when he roused from his stupor. One glance revealed to him the whole. His heart sank within him. They might kill him. Remembering the ghastly sights he had seen on his trip across the plains, he thought it likely that they would. Life was sweet to Tom. To what boy of sixteen is it not? It seemed hard to be cut off in the threshold of an active career, and by savage hands. But there was an additional pang in the thought that now he would be unable to help his father. The result of his plan would only be to impose an additional burden upon the modest home which his father found it so hard to keep up. Tom sighed; and, for the first time in his life, he felt discouraged.

He looked about him, scanning the dark, grave faces, and read no hope or encouragement in any. Finally the Indians came to a halt at their old camping-ground, and Tom was lifted from the horse. He was placed upon the ground, in the center of the group. Then followed a consultation.

From the glances directed toward him Tom understood that he was the subject of deliberation. In fact, his fate was being decided.

It was certainly a trying ordeal for our young hero. He was not sure of half an hour's life. An unfavorable decision might be followed by immediate execution. Tom felt that his best course was to remain perfectly pa.s.sive. He could not understand what was said; but we are able to acquaint the reader with the general purport of the conference.

Several of the Indians favored immediate death.

"Our brother's blood calls for vengeance," they said. "The white boy must die."

"The boy did not kill him," said others. "It was the white warrior who spilled our brother's blood. He must be pursued and slain."

"What, then, shall be done with the boy? Shall he go?"

"No; we will keep him. He has strong limbs. We will adopt him into our tribe. He will make a brave warrior."

"He shall be my brother," said the chief. "I will take him in place of my brother who is dead."

There was a low murmur of approval. Even those who had first recommended the infliction of death seemed to have changed their minds. They looked at the boy as he lay stretched out upon the ground. He was stout, comely, and strongly made. He had proved that he was an admirable rider.

If he should join them he would grow up into a warrior who would do credit to their tribe.

So the matter was settled. The only thing that remained was to acquaint the prisoner with the decision.

The interpreter approached Tom, and said, "White boy, you are our captive. Why should we not kill you?"

"You can if you wish," answered Tom; "but why should you kill me? I have done you no harm."

"Our brother is killed. He lies dead upon the plain."

"I did not kill him," said Tom.

"The white boy speaks truth. He did not kill our brother, but his white friend took his life."

"You ought not to kill me for that," said Tom, gathering courage, for he inferred he was to live.

"The white boy speaks truth, and therefore he shall live, but he must join us. He must live with us, hunt with us, and fight for us."

"You want me to become an Indian!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom.

"We will take you in place of the warrior that is gone," said the interpreter.

Tom looked thoughtful. He did not enjoy the prospect before him, but it was, at all events, better than death. While there was life there was hope of escape. He concluded to make one appeal for freedom, and, if that was denied, to accept the proposal.

"I have a father and mother far away," he said; "I have brothers and a sister, who will mourn for me. My father is poor; he needs my help. Let me go back to them."

The interpreter communicated Tom's words to his companions, but it was easy to see that they were not favorably received. The original advocates of the death penalty looked at our hero with hostile eyes, and he saw that he had made a mistake.

"The white boy must become one of us; he must take our brother's place, or he must die," said the interpreter.

Tom very sensibly concluded that it would be better to live with the Indians than to be killed, and signified his acceptance of the offer.

Upon this the Indians formed a circle about him, and broke into a monotonous chant, accompanied with sundry movements of the limbs, which appeared to be their way of welcoming him into their tribe.

It seemed like a dream to Tom. He found it very hard to realize his position, so unexpectedly had he been placed in it. He could not help wondering what the family at home would say when they should learn that he had joined an Indian tribe far beyond the Mississippi.