Chapter XXVI: A Bird-Song in the Night

TOM and Charley lay in the shadow of the wood, intently listening. Save the liquid lullaby of the gently-flowing stream, and the whisper of the trees stirred by breath of zephyr, silence reigned.

Wary watchers they. Only those trained where the stealthy step and keen senses of the death-dealing savage must be watched by a foot as noiseless, and a vigilance as acute, could preserve such motionless quietude and alert wakefulness.

Past their covert slunk a large, black wolf, unsuspicious of their proximity. Over their heads perched a monstrous owl, his staring eyes stretched to see the first creature to his taste that moved; then on downy wing, he swooped to their very side upon a plump field-mouse, and supped at his leisure on raw rat steak. An antlered deer proudly guided his mate to the stream to slake her thirst. Tempting game; but the bullet sleeps in the pioneer boys' rifles. The deer drink deeply, and browse the pendent boughs, and wander away unharmed.

What a scene for the stars to look down upon through the rifted clouds and glimmering treetops—that solitary pair of youthful faces, patient, resolute, unwearied, keeping brave vigil far from the haunts of civilization, the gloom of the forest at night enshrouding them, and rolling off immeasurably from the woods the uninhabited prairie.

Hush! A faint sound from out the far-off darkness. Was it the dip of an oar, or the feathered plunge of a night-bird? None, save an ear educated to it, sharpened and rendered preternaturally quick, would have caught the muffled indistinctness. The eyes of the venturesome young scouts shine, and they scarcely breathe. A lengthy interval of unbroken quiet succeeds. Were they deceived?

Suddenly, up-stream, a robin carols. How hard for birds that can sing not to sing! Perchance tuneful red-breast, in dreaming of his true-hearted mate, uttered his love-lay unawares. None the less sincere, however, for that.

What now! From the bushes where Tom and Charley wait is wafted a responsive warble. Did bird-wife wander in the swift-descending twilight from her husband's side, and the darkness compel her to alight on the first object her tiny foot might press, and wait there in loneliness for the dawn of a new day? And did she fold her wing on Tom's lips? For the answering notes seemed to rise therefrom.

If, however, you will notice, as well as you can for the darkness, the countenances of the frontier brothers, you will perceive an aroused expectancy that was not apparent before. Did the bird-note telegraph important news that the young men now peer with strained vision through the gloom? That's a secret, confided only to the prudent few. "Won't you tell?" Then let me whisper that no bird was concerned in the song you admired so, and the tuneful reply. It was the signal agreed upon between Long Hair, the friendly Indian, and Tom.

And observe. Down the narrow river, through the black vista of overarching trees, shoots a canoe. It pauses opposite the brothers' place of concealment. A savage, with cat-like agility, springs ashore, and swiftly drags the light craft into a sheltered baylet, hidden by tangled thickets. The bird-call is sounded cautiously again. Tom and Charley hurry noiselessly to the Indian's side. It is Long Hair.

"Quick; got pappoose dere!" said the latter, pointing to the canoe, from her prone condition in the bottom of which an Indian girl arose, and, aided by Long Hair, stepped upon the bank. It was Blue-Eyes.

"O, Alice!" whispered Tom, trembling with excitement, as he extended his hand.

"O, Tom!" she answered, and, overcome with the tumult of her feelings, in a very un-Indianish way, flung her arms around the squatter son's neck, sobbing wildly for joy, while Tom, giving the reins to his long-pent-up emotions, in an exceedingly unmasculine manner, fell to laughing and crying together; and Charley, forgetting military propriety and fear of pursuing savages, turned an old-fashioned summersault, crashing the bushes with his descending heels.

"Pappoose fool; Tom fool; Charley fool," rapidly whispered angry Long Hair. "What for make noise? Want Injun come?"

"Nature will have its way."

It did, in this instance, with white and copper-face. Fortunate for the escaping captive that Indian nature was there as an ally. Clapping his ear to the ground, Long Hair said,—

"Injun come bimeby—'quick!'"

The trio understood by this that the pursuing Indians were close upon them. You should have seen the change this startling intelligence caused in Tom and Charley. Active, adroit, sagacious, their faces like marble, yet expressive of fearless determination—from weak weeping to heroes in deportment. Thus do great emergencies bring out and invest with the sceptre the nobler elements of the soul.

Alice understood her three friends not to be panic-stricken. She had intrusted her safety to their hands, and felt assured that they would not undertake the dangerous and difficult enterprise of her rescue from captivity and restoration to her home without adequate preparation. And she hopefully accompanied them, as they glided rapidly through the forest towards the open land.

Alice's heart beat with a joyous, grateful throb, as Tom, taking her hand, guided her to a sheltered spot, where stood her own dear pony. Hidden also near by were spirited steeds for himself, Charley, and Long Hair. Dashing out upon the prairie, the whiz of an Indian's arrow gave notice that their foes were pressing them hard.

"Let them come on," said Tom; "we are safely out of their ugly claws."

"Safe!" ejaculated Alice, as a spent bullet smote Charley's horse.

"Look! Injun over dere," said Long Hair, pointing ahead, slightly to their right.

He was correct; dusky forms were hurrying to intercept them.

"No matter," coolly replied Tom; "we'll turn a little to the left. They'll soon go back faster than they came."

The assertion was not mere bravado; for suddenly there was a bright flash in the prairie grass, followed by a simultaneous discharge of fire-arms, and, with an astonished yell, the savages recoiled to the woods.

At the same instant, on the extreme left, there was similar firing on the advancing Indians at that point, with like result.

"Good," grunted Long Hair. "White soldier fire from de ground."

But their defenders remained flat on their faces, and the prairie seemed as destitute of military force as before.

"The Indians won't molest us any more," said Tom, exultingly. "They'll think the prairie is sown with soldiers. Captain Manly is a splendid tactician. He can fight the Indians better with a score of picked men than some officers could with a regiment at command."

And the three rode courageously on.