Chapter IV: A Terrible Surprise

Tobe Castor sat down to the table and without ceremony began what he would have termed a "square meal", eating as though his whimsical assertion was true--that he had not eaten a bite for two weeks. Evidently he was not a man to be disturbed by trifles, and who threw his entire energies into one thing at a time.

Edward Wilson conversed earnestly with his wife and daughter, telling the tidings imparted by their friend, the old hunter. He asked their advice, for, like a sensible man, he did not think it derogatory to his manhood, to consult one of the "weaker sex."

"What does Tobe say?" asked Mrs. Wilson.

"_He_ says thet you hed better jest git up an' git, while you kin," replied that worthy, as emphatically as the crowded state of his mouth would admit. "They've got a dead open an' shet on ye, 's long's you stay hyar. Dusky Dick wouldn't 'a' shot off his mouth thet a-way, unless he had some one nigh to back him up. An' I _know_ the pesky imps hez riz, down furder; an' it stands to reason that it'll spread up this a-way, whar thar's a few skelps to be got, 'thout much resk. So _I_ say--_mosey!_"

"But where--which way? If, as you say, the Indians have broken out below us, they must be between here and the settlements--at least such as are strong enough to offer any hope of safety."

"Jest so, Ed; but see. The longer you wait the wusser it'll be. An' it'll keep a-spreadin', natur'ly, up this a-way. Ef you start now, you stand a chaince o' gittin' through. Ef you wait ontil to-morrer--providin' Dusky Dick don't put in _his_ oar, afore--it'll be wuss, a heap. Dog-on it! You _must_ start to-night!" earnestly added Castor.

"But Fred--he is not here, and we can't leave him."

"No more shall you. My plan's this. Say we gits out o' here, an' a'terwards Dusky Dick gives the cabin a call, an' finds us gone. Won't he natur'ly s'pose you've struck out fer the settlements? An' won't he look fer us in thet direction? In _course_ he will. So much fer so much, then.

"We'll take the hosses an' start in thet d'rection fust. Fer it's more'n likely they'll hunt fer our trail by torchlight, ontil they set the p'int we head torst. Then they'll set off to run us down. So we must go fur enough on critter-back to fool 'em, _thet_ way. Then we'll turn 'round an' strike back in a crooked route, torst the Stevens shanty, find Fred, tell our yarn, an' take the hull caboodle with us.

"We kin take a turn ag'in, an' then by hard ridin', make up fer lost time. Ef we're ahead o' those imps by day, then we're all right fer _them_. We must take the chances 'bout t'others. But I think we kin work it. Thar--thet's my plan; what d' you think o' it, anyhow?" demanded Castor, arising from the table.

The party were silent. They could see no other way, and yet this one seemed full of danger. But indeed, if the rising of the Indians in insurrection was a fact, which way could they turn without incurring danger?

So this plan was finally acquiesced to, and the work of preparation for flight commenced. Castor and Wilson set about saddling the horses, while the women packed food and extra clothing, with such little articles of value that they could not bring themselves to abandon, in small and compact bundles.

They worked as if for dear life, and but a few minutes were consumed ere all was pronounced ready for a start. Castor had taken a hurried scout along the route they proposed to follow, and discovered nothing suspicious.

There were only four horses, but Tobe scornfully declared that he would none of them; that he never yet met the four-footed animal that he could not wear out, on foot. But he advised them to take the extra one along for Fred's use.

Then after a few words of caution, he led the way from the clearing, and they entered the gloomy forest, leaving the home that had sheltered them for two years, with sensations of choking regret. It seemed like parting with some near and dear friend.

The trail was narrow and winding, and frequently the riders were forced to stoop low down in their saddles, to avoid the pendent boughs, but to offset this, they had the advantage of knowing the route thoroughly, from so often traversing it. Tobe Castor led the way with long, swinging strides, that forced the horses to their best walking, to avoid being distanced.

There was urgent need of haste, as they understood matters to be, for Fred might return to the deserted house, before they would have time to gain Stevens', if any delay occurred. And unsuspecting the threatening peril--as they believed--he might run into an ambush and be either killed or captured by the red-skins.

"We've gone fur a plenty," said Tobe, when nearly a half-mile had been traversed. "We must strike fer the other shanty now, or we mought miss Fred. Take keer fer your heads, now, as thar hain't any trail the way we must go."

"Ain't you afraid of losing the way, Tobe? It's so dark," muttered Wilson.

"Nary time I ain't. Lose nothin'! Me? _Git_ out! Wasn't I _raised_ in the woods? Couldn't I smell my way, even ef I was blinded? In _course_ I kin. Don't be skeered 'bout thet, Ned. I'll take you as straight thar as a drunken Injun's trail--fer you know we've got to go mighty crooked through the dark, on this bresh. Now keep cluss together and don't make no n'ise. Don't holler out, even ef the limbs saws your heads off. 'Tain't nothin'--a'ter you git used to it."

The guide hurried abruptly to his left, and strode rapidly along, holding onto the bridle of the horse ridden by Mrs. Wilson. After her came Annie, with Wilson bringing up the rear, leading the spare horse.

Owing to the darkness, considerable noise was unavoidably made, but as they soon gained a point at a fair distance from the trail Castor believed there was but little danger of being overheard. As a matter of course, he reasoned that such Indians--and he fell fully assured that there were more or less in the neighborhood, from the bold threats of Dusky Dick--as were lurking around, would naturally keep near the main trail, as the two families were all living within some miles of that point.

Thus he pressed on through the woods at a good pace, for now time was precious. A long road lay before them, and unless a certain distance could be gained before day-dawn, he believed their chances of ultimate escape would be faint indeed.

The riders found that his warning was well founded, for more than once they were almost brushed from their saddles, by the low-hanging boughs, and only by lying almost flat along their horses' necks, could they proceed with any degree of safety. Then their animals were mainly left to their own guidance, but naturally followed close in the footsteps of the one led by Castor.

For several miles the fugitives proceeded in this manner, which was inexpressibly wearisome, and more than once had Wilson urged Castor to seek the trail leading direct to the cabin of Wesley Stevens. But the guide refused, as it would be incurring foolish risk. The unbroken woods were far safer in his estimation.

But their journey was not to be completed without interruption, and one soon came that threatened serious consequences. It occurred in this manner.

As they were proceeding at a fair gait, a bright flash spouted forth from one side of the little party, at only a few yards' distance, and mingled with sharp report, came the spiteful _hum_ of a ragged bullet as it hurtled close to the head of Mrs. Wilson. Then a loud, fierce yell broke upon their hearing.

The horses were badly frightened by these sudden and unexpected sounds, and broke loose from all control, wildly plunging on through the woods. And the voice of Castor was heard, crying:

"Keep together, an' let the animiles went! Foller me!"

Fleet-footed as a deer, he sprung forward and clutched the bridle-rein that had been wrenched from his grasp; then ran beside the horse, now leading the way. Occasionally he would raise his voice--knowing that, if they were indeed followed, this could not add to their peril, as the loud crashing made by the affrighted animals could be heard further than his cries--and it was essential that none of the party should become separated from the others.

For nearly a mile this headlong race was maintained, and then Castor suddenly checked the horse he was guiding. He could hear nothing of any pursuer, and had resolved that now, if ever, was the time to throw any such off the scent.

"Is it all right, Ed?" he anxiously cried, approaching Wilson.

"Yes--I believe so. Is Mary hurt?"

"No--I am safe. But Annie--where is she?" replied Mrs. Wilson, breathlessly.

"Here--I caught her horse as it ran past. Are you hurt, Annie?"

There came no answer, and Wilson repeated the inquiry, in wondering alarm. Tobe Castor sprung forward with a cry, and stood beside the horse.

It was dark and gloomy there, in the forest depths, where the thickly-crested tree-tops effectually prevented the moon's rays from falling on the earth, and nothing could be seen. The sense of feeling must be depended upon, merely.

Castor reached out and touched the snorting horse. It trembled like a leaf. He called aloud on Annie's name, but she did not answer.

His hands fell upon the saddle. _It was empty--Annie was gone!_

The old scout uttered a low cry and staggered back. The blow was a fearful one, and he felt it as though the lost one had been his own child.

"My God! Castor, what is it?" gasped Wilson, alarmed at the tone of the hunter, and bending forward in the saddle as though he would pierce the dense obscurity with his distended eyeballs.

"The gal is gone!"

Mrs. Wilson uttered a low, gasping groan, and reeled in her seat. Tobe sprung forward and caught her sinking form lowering her gently to the ground. In a moment Wilson was beside her, half-distracted by the terrible events that pressed so closely upon them.

"Give her a sup o' this," gloomily said Castor, producing a small flask of whisky. "'Tain't no time fer faintin' _now_. We've got our hands full 'thout _thet_."

"What must we--what _can_ we do?" cried the father, chokingly, as he strove to revive the fainting woman.

"_Work_--work like blazes. No use goin' furder ontil we find thet gal; ef it kin be did. _Ef_--it _must_ be did! Thunder! I'll find her ef I hev to take an' rip the hull teetotal kentry through my old hat! See 'f I don't, now," and Castor spoke with strong emphasis.

Mrs. Wilson now gave signs of returning consciousness. Strong-nerved, she was not one to yield long to any misfortune, however heavy and bitter it might be.

"Now, Ed," added Tobe, thoughtfully, "this is what we must do. You may stay here with her an' the hosses, 'ca'se we may need them afore long. I'll go back 'long the trail as we kem by, an' look fer the gal. She must 'a' bin knocked off by some pesky limb, an' won't hev gone fur. I'll find her, never fear."

"But the Indians--those who fired at us? They may have found her," faltered Wilson.

"'Tain't likely, fer I didn't hear thar yell as they'd 'a' give ef they hed. I don't think they'd notice her tumble a-tall. An' then ag'in, I don't think thar was more'n one or two, or they'd 'a' follered us closter. Most likely jest a stray, prowlin' critter, who run jest as soon's he shot at us."

"I hope so--but why can't we all go?"

"Don't be a fool, now, Ed, _don't_. S'posin' thar _was_ a wheen o' reds nigh, wouldn't we look nice a-blunderin' right spang into 'em? They'd hear us a-comin', an' then lay fer us. Then whar'd we be? No, _sir_. Whatever's did I must do, alone, by myself. You must stay here to keep _her_ comp'ny--onless, indeed, you keep right on to the shanty fer Fred. Which is it?"

"No, we must not leave Annie--Fred is a man, and better able to take care of himself. We will wait here."

"All right, then. But fust, wait ontil I find a better place fer ye to lay low in than this," and Castor started away from the spot.

"Is Annie gone, Edward?" murmured Mrs. Wilson feebly.

"Yes--but Tobe says he can find her. She is safe, I believe, but was brushed off the horse's back. He will find her never fear."

"Here ye be, folks," muttered the old hunter, as he returned. "Kin you walk a leetle, Mary?"

"Yes, I can; I think."

"Holp her, Ed, while I take the animiles. Foller me."

In a few moments the refuge was gained; a sort of natural bower, where, even by the light of day, a casual observer would scarcely have noticed their presence, and in the darkness, unless some noise should betray them, an entire tribe of red-skins might have passed within arm's-length of the covert, without suspecting their presence.

"You stay here an' keep still. Don't move or speak 'bove a cat's whisper, ontil I come back. I'll give the call o' the night-hawk twicet. You know it, Ed?"

"Yes, but be--"

Tobe did not wait to hear the conclusion of this sentence, but turned and glided away. His mind was far from being at ease, although he had endeavored to cheer up the fugitives with a confidence he was far from possessing, as he knew that it was no time for despondency.

He knew that Annie had most likely been knocked from the saddle by a limb, and that she might have received such injury as prevented her crying out. And then again she might have suddenly been pounced upon by the one who had fired the treacherous shot, and taken prisoner before she could give the alarm.

If hurt, the chances were against his finding her, in the darkness, and to await the light of day would be perilous in the extreme, now that the vicinity of deadly enemies was put beyond a doubt. Still he did not entirely despair; it was not his nature to do so, while breath remained.

Tobe glided along cautiously, seeming to avoid collision with the thickly-growing tree-trunks and bushes by instinct, keeping as near as he could tell, in the trace of their wild flight. His hearing was keenly alert, and he looked for some signs or sounds to tell him whether the hidden horseman had followed them or not.

But he reached a point near where the alarm had been given the horses, without seeing or hearing aught to confirm either his suspicions or hopes. Then he paused to listen more intently.

His lips compressed tightly and one hand sought the haft of his ready knife, as he heard the sound of faint footfalls, apparently approaching him. Still he did not speak or move, not knowing whether friend or foe advanced.

The steps sounded more and more distinct, until Tobe felt assured that the comer was not the girl he sought: the tread was too regular and deliberate for that of a frightened wanderer. Then who could it be but a foe?

A dark form appeared outlined against the less opaque atmosphere, within a few feet of the crouching scout. With knife drawn, Castor reached out, and finding a small twig, snapped it with a sharp noise.

A low guttural exclamation came from the figure, and it started back as if in alarm. That satisfied Castor, who sprung forward with a low howl of anger.

His arms closed around a brawny form, but a quick motion rendered the knife-stroke futile, and then they fell to the ground together, battling fiercely for the mastery. Their arms were twined around each other, so that their knives were of little use.

It was now a struggle for life or death!